Prima Donna
Chapter One
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: Howl's Moving Castle does NOT belong to me. No sue.
Dedicated to: vino-chan

Author's Notes: THERE ARE FOOTNOTES! Some of them function more as an author's commentary, so if they bother you, feel free to ignore them. However, as this fic progresses, since this is written in Sophie-biased third person I only thought it fair to occasionally explain Howl's point of view 1.

CONTEST: Belladonna Gracehart (a character in this story - she shows up in the next chapter) is based off of a specific character. The prize for giving me the correct EXACT medium and character was the dedication of the story in their honor, but as you can see, someone already won the contest (congratz to vino-chan!). I'll post the answer at the end of the final chapter. I'm keeping the clues up, however, so feel free to send me a guess vie e-mail or review.

All right, I've dithered for long enough. On to the fic!
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"Hush, hush," Sophie begged, kneeling by the bed. "Don't cry," she whispered, dabbing at his forehead again with a wet washcloth. "Please, sh," she continued. She had been doing this since seven o'clock that night, and it was two in the morning now. She was hot, tired, irritated, and scared out of her mind. She had never seen Markl so sick before. He had come down that morning complaining of a head-ache, but it was all but forgotten as soon as she mentioned a trip to Cesari's to visit her sister. All but forgotten, that is, until he had fallen off of the bench at dinner, curling into a crying and whimpering ball, his forehead on fire, but his hands like ice. She had done the only thing she could think of to do, hustling him up the stairs and into bed, force-feeding him tea and the occasional spoon-full of medicine. He had been crying and whimpering the entire time, his feeble voice echoing around the nearly-empty house in an ominous manner. Sophie had discovered that he would quiet a little as long as he could hear the sound of her voice, and had done her best to talk continuously for the past five hours, alternating prayers and lamentations with soothing nothings. She was terrified that Markl wouldn't go to sleep. She was terrified that he would. All the time that she was whispering and nursing him her mind was forcing her to relive her father's final hours on earth, his fever, and her mother's sorrow.

"Please, little boy, little sweetling, no flesh of mine whom I love so much…" more than anything she wanted Howl to come home. She wanted some company, she wanted some rest, she wanted another living being to come and get her mind off of the single track it had been stuck on, of her father's eyes flittering closed over a sweat-dampened face, never to open again, his lips trying to utter one last word before his soul fled his body. But she was alone in the house. Not even Calcifer was here for company, and she feared that after much more of this it would start taking toll on her already-wearied mind. With a jolt she realized that as she had lost herself in thought she had allowed the monotonous drone of her voice to stop as well. Markl immediately reacted, struggling more under her firm but gentle grip.

Sophie closed her eyes. She couldn't stand to repeat the same entreaties and empty consolations one more time. But as soon as she stopped talking, her surrogate son, as dear as any true child could be, would be in more pain. A thought occurred to her, but she squashed it down. It sprang up again. She banished it with an emphatic shake of her head. The third time it swam across her mind she clenched her fists and pressed them to her eyes. Not again! She thought. Never again.

As Markl's groans echoed in the silence, her head popped up. Well… she thought. It used to calm me down. Maybe it will work on him. Her mind was decided as Markl thrashed out particularly violently. Besides, she thought dryly, it would be hard to make this din any worse.

The first note was wavering and uncertain, and it sounded strange in Sophie's ears after having not sung for so long. But Markl relaxed ever-so-lightly, so Sophie continued, gaining confidence as she softly sang through every lullaby she could remember. Once she had worn out all of the lullabies she began on all of the folk songs she could remember, slowing them down several times so as not to disturb his rest. He had finally quieted and stopped thrashing, but the unevenness of his breathing showed that he was not yet asleep. Lullabies, folk songs, Christmas carols, she had even sung a few of the less-embarrassing parodies to while away the time. For the first time in years she blessed her schooling, which allowed her to sing continuously like this for the past three hours, but she was running out of ideas. She only knew one other song – well, series of songs, really – but she certainly didn't want to sing that. As she gracefully diminuendoed for the last note and watched Markl's ever so close to sleeping form she made her decision, and began the overture of the last music she ever learned 2.

This piece alone took over two hours, so by the time she was finished the sun had long since come up over the trees, and Markl had finally drifted into something resembling a peaceful slumber. Gratefully she rested her head on the edge of the bed, ignoring the protests of the rest of her body, thoroughly cramped from kneeling in the same position for so long.

Her eyes had barely fluttered closed when something caused them to jerk open again. Her first thought was that it had been Markl, and she quickly placed a hand over his forehead. She sighed with relief when she found that, although he was still warmer than normal, the fever had almost completely dissipated. She smiled and ruffled his hair affectionately, taking a brief moment to relax in the morning sounds of the castle: The gentle creaking of a few of the older floorboards, rebelling against the constant motion; the sound of hot water running – wait. The castle… moving? Hot water running? Howl and Calcifer were back?

"Oh, no!" She gasped, leaping to her feet, and promptly falling back down as her legs refused to take her weight. She would've sworn had she not been in Markl's room, so instead she contented herself with thumping the life back into her calves and thighs with judicious feeling. She bit back a yelp as the numbness was quickly replaced with the pain of blood flowing back into sluggish veins, then gritted her teeth and ignored it. She jumped to her feet and raced down the stairs, skidding to a halt in front of Calcifer.

"When did you get home?" she almost yelled, gripping the back of the chair set in front of the hearth until her knuckles turned white.

"About a half an hour ago," was the calm reply. If he noticed that Sophie's dress was dirty and mussed, having never taken it off, and that her face was red and blotchy from keeping back tears he didn't mention it. "You have a very pretty singing voice."

Sophie glared at him, only fatigue keeping her from getting a bucket of cold water. Instead she contented herself with swearing. Quite viciously. At Calcifer. Then she walked with as much dignity as she could muster to her room where she fainted onto her bed and knew no more.
--

"Mm…" She snuggled deeper into the covers. She knew that she had to get up and start breakfast, but she was just so comfortable with the bedclothes tucked up to her chin. She smiled as she felt a soft hand touch her cheek.

"Howl?" she asked without opening her eyes. She heard him sigh from somewhere behind her.

"Thank goodness you woke up," he murmured. This got her attention. She put a hand up over her eyes to protect them from the morning sun and discovered that she didn't need it.

"Why is it so dark?" she asked, pushing the covers off of her and sitting up. With a jolt she realized she was still dressed in the clothes from yesterday. Howl was perched on the edge of her bed, watching her with concerned eyes.

"It's six in the evening," Howl replied. "Sophie, are you feeling all right?"

"How's Markl?" she asked, nearly interrupting him. Howl frowned, but answered her all the same.

"He has a little bit of a cold. He said that he was sick last night and you stayed up with him. Are you coming down with the same thing he had?" Howl placed a hand on her forehead to test her temperature, which she swatted away, not unkindly.

"I'm fine," she murmured with a yawn. "I was just up all last night nursing him." Howl's eyebrows rose.

"He was that sick?" he questioned in surprise. Sophie nodded yes, then stopped herself.

"I… don't know." She whispered, self-consciously playing with the hem of her apron. She frowned, then continued haltingly. "I might have over-reacted. You see…" she paused, very conspicuously not looking at Howl. "You see, my father died six years ago tomorrow." She didn't need to look at him to see the comprehension dawning behind his stormy eyes, and she wasn't surprised when Howl scooped her into his arms, murmuring soothing things. She buried her face in his white silk shirt, reveling in the warmth and humanity of him after the near hysteria she had experienced the night before.

"Sophie, I'm sorry," he muttered miserably. Sophie had to smile at how pathetic he sounded. She allowed herself to be held for a few more moments before wriggling out of his grip.

"It's all right," she replied. "I just keep myself too busy to think on the twenty-fourth of November every year is all." She shook her hair out lightly, trying to lose the sticky feeling that comes from having worn the same clothes for too long. "Well." She said finally after a moment of almost-awkward silence. "I'm going to go take a bath."

"All right," Howl answered, still lounging on her bed. "I'll go bully Calcifer into running some hot water." Sophie nodded. She was nearly out the door when Howl called back to her.

"Sophie? What was the name of the song you were singing?" Howl missed the hooded look that passed over her eyes. For a moment Sophie considered not answering, then sighed.

"It's called 'The Flower of the Wilting Evening'." She sighed when she saw the blank look on his face, and grudgingly continued, "It's from the opera 'Charité'."

A small light of recognition flashed behind Howl's eyes. "One of Macambre's?" he asked. Sophie nodded, and turned away, exiting the room more abruptly then she had meant to. If Howl noticed he didn't give rise to the fact, merely exiting behind her, casually ordering Calcifer to run Sophie some hot water, a preoccupied look in his eyes.
--

"Hsssst!" Calcifer turned towards the door, apparently where the sound had come from.

"Hssst!" It came again, more urgently this time. "Calcifer!" a voice croaked hoarsely. Calcifer stared at the door from his perch in the grate with an aggravated expression.

"Howl," he said finally, "What are you doing? Why are you hiding behind your own front door?"

"Is she here?" Howl called furtively.

"Is who here?" Calcifer asked resignedly, rolling his eyes up towards the cloudy sky he could see through the chimney. There was a soft thwump, and then muttered curses. Calcifer chuckled as he realized that Howl must have kicked his foot against the door and been repelled by his own anti-forced-entry charm3.

"Sophie of course! Who else?" Howl growled, regaining his composure.

"I really don't know. I'll just go pop out and find her, shall I?" Calcifer asked, grinning wickedly, flying halfway up the chimney before heeding Howl's cries and settling himself back in the fireplace.

"She's at Lettie's – the real Lettie's house for the day, as you know perfectly well, you stupid sod. Now stop hanging about on Kingsbury doorsteps and get in here," Calcifer growled, still grinning4.

"All right, all right," Howl moaned, regally throwing the door open and throwing it shut again just as majestically. The door clattered in its frame and flew open again from the momentum.

"But you wouldn't give me that look if you knew what type of back-breaking labor I've been doing all day –" he replied conversationally as he shut the door more gently, but Calcifer interrupted,

"Out gallivanting at the pub again, no doubt, or playing with the pretty dancing girls?"

"You wound me," Howl replied, throwing a hand theatrically over his heart. "To think, such a baseless accusation, especially after I spent all morning and a good bit of the afternoon acquiring these." He reached into his pocket and pulled out two yellow slips of paper.

"These?" Calcifer asked, for the first time showing interest. "What are 'these'?" He bobbed up out of the grate.

"Ah, well you might ask," Howl replied, "for 'these' are…" he flourished them in front of Calcifer's nose, just far enough away that he wouldn't set them on fire.

"Two tickets to 'Charité'? You're taking her to the opera?" he asked in disbelief. "I thought you hated the opera!"

"Well, normally I do," Howl replied, "but this one is supposed to be superb – the music! The dancing! The acting!"

"It's six hours long," Calcifer pointed out.

"I know," Howl grimaced. "But Sophie was singing one of the main songs this morning, and I was trying to think of a way to distract her from her grief tomorrow – I expect you heard that conversation?" Calcifer nodded. "So, what better way then a six-hour-long opera she obviously enjoys? I'll take her out to lunch before hand, the cocktail party will last until at least eleven, I'm sure, and that just leaves one hour that I need to entertain her before the bell tolls twelve!" Howl stretched out on the sofa like a cat, practically choking on self-congratulation.

"Howl," Calcifer began. He realized by the dreamy expression on his friend's face that nothing he said would be comprehended, but pressed on doggedly. "I realize that you must have gone to a supreme effort to get tickets for such a famous opera just a day in advance, but I don't think this is a very good idea. First of all, I think there might be more behind Sophie's singing than just enjoying that opera. Second of all, did it ever occur to you that Sophie might like to use tomorrow to spend with her family? To grieve, perhaps?" Calcifer waited for a reply, but finally gave up when he received none. He shrugged his fiery shoulders and began floating up the stairs towards Markl's room. He wanted to be nearby when the storm broke, but not all the gold in Ingary could get him to sit quietly in his grate while Howl and Sophie were having a row.
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1 I like footnotes.
2 I know that an overture is all instrumental, but I couldn't remember the name for the first sung piece of music.
3 The wording on 'anti-forced-entry charm' bothers me. I feel like there's a word that means 'anti-forced-entry' that I'm forgetting.
4 This is my small tribute to Diana Wynne Jones's novel. If you've never read it, don't let Calcifer's dialogue bother you.

CLUE: The writer is contemporary, but not modern, and his pieces are set in the western United States.

There you go, almost four clues in one. If anybody has any guesses already, please review or e-mail and tell me. Also, if I've made any fluency/grammar/spelling errors, please review and tell me. I'll fix them, to the best of my ability. And, finally, please just review in general! Make me happy! Since unfinished fics bother me, I'm going to post this all at one time, so I'm not going to do any withholdings-of-updates-til-I-get-a-certain-number-of-reviews, but please, verify my existence in the world! (This concludes the shameless groveling. Next chapter ahead.)