· · · · · · ·
· Chapter I · Das Verderbtes Lang Und Glücklich ·
· · · · · · ·
Once upon a time, there was a heroic prince who returned to his kingdom after having defeated the monster raven that had plagued it. At his hand was the fair princess he had won. Yet not all was as pure as it should be. This was not merely in that the princes still carried the Raven's curse or that his princess had been the witch who had cursed him, no, it was something far more troubling, far more untouchable. For what becomes of a fairytale realm that has no proud king nor any kindly enchantress to place it in a spell of long sleep till the day the heir returns?
· · · · · · ·
"Our Prince has returned! He shall take the throne and all will be well now!"
When Siegfried and Rue had sailed towards the story kingdom, they had passed over dirty streets and empty farms. Joyless crowds and vile stenches surrounded the still luminous castle, resembling more of the harsh reality of medieval cities than that of a happy fairytale .... or maybe, it was the reality of the darker fairytales. They had heard pleas and hopes rise from it until the entire city cheered, but no miracle was in their wake to alter this fate this time. This was four years ago and the people still hoped for that miracle.
Seated at the head of a long wooden table, Siegfried was amidst the ministers that had been chosen to rule the country in his absence. All strangers to him, chosen from the people of the lands and even after these four years, they still were strangers. The people demanded it, the laws dictated it, he had all right and obligation to be prince and sooner or later, king. So the acknowledged him, even if they kept themselves as no more than the tolerating, grim faces at this table.
"You are just an ignorant boy."
This they seemed to say every time they addressed him, no matter how respectful and courteous they were. Had they actually spoken those words he would have taken no offense, for it was the truth. What did either he or Rue knows of politics and economics? Such things were not supposed to exist once a land had achieved Happily Ever After.
Siegfried had wandered Gold Crown Town alone and in rags, Rue had grown up in a desolate landscape with only her cold father and rows of white, illuminated feathers. They knew well what it was to live with only the barest of necessities. Yet experience in suffering does in no way provide one with the answer to how one escapes it. While the neighbor kingdoms remained either of ideal beauty or dark haunts still waiting for it, Siegfried's kingdom had become a hybrid with reality and all which it brought : political conflict, hunger, failed trade agreements, rebellions, all around misery. Two hundred years had passed like this and no signs of an end were about. He had to make a decision.
Siegfried rose and requested silence.
"I have decided to approach the other kingdoms for help."
"Your Majesty, they want nothing to do with us." one of the ministers said resentfully. "They are afraid our 'taint' will spread to them. You know this!"
"I understand their fear. However, we have no yet made an official request for help, we only know their opinion. At the very least we should try." he said resolutely.
His words had little impact beyond rousing the all too familiar murmuring amongst the ministers. Yet the prince did not relent. Giving them a few moments to argue further, he then continued :
"Is it so uncommon for royalty to head out and seek to find the cure for the curse upon their land? I will do exactly that, I will undertake a journey to find the knowledge and the material we need to bring back our land to happiness."
"This is no curse that light can lift." another minister argued. "Restoring this land requires careful planning and long therm structures!"
Siegfried nodded. "Indeed it is nothing. But this story must find its true completion and sitting still cannot lead to that. Furthermore, some problems can be solved by magic. I will search for such an answer too."
Their skeptic gazes betrayed their distrust of 'stories' controlling their lives. Perhaps some would gladly discard the power of the story altogether just to have their own fate in their hands. Those who accepted awaits happiness, those who defy fate, glory. Which was more important?
He could not even tell which was to accept fate in this case. Sit still and wait everything out might be, but being his true self as the compassionate Prince could be. So he did the only he knew to do : to be that Prince and to live in a story.
"You have fared well for all the time of my absence. I am certain you will continue doing your best to uphold what little can be upheld in our realm. But I cannot sit by any longer and idly watch as my people suffer, I must take whatever step I can undertake to help them, even if my road is uncertain. I have seen now that me simply staying here will do no such good. Indeed, I am but an ignorant boy on this terrain, but I am also the Prince of this story."
· · · · · · ·
The reflection in the triple mirror again was not hers, yet she knew exactly what it was. As Kraehe she had hated herself, the ugly human-formed crow ..... she had never really looked into the mirror. How ironic that this was the form she always saw gazing back in her darkest hours. The witch clad in simple black contrasted sharply to the rich ornate white she usually wore.
Maybe she should have the mirrors replaced again. Mirrors were strange things in the realm of stories, they were prone to grow a will of their own when given something interesting to reflect. These illusions would cease for a while once the mirror was renewed, until the new mirror started to become interested. Sometimes raven eyes would peek over Kraehe's head and now, black wings folded open from behind her back. Whatever appeared to her was always varied yet endlessly the same thing.
She took the crown off her head, the reflection reached up as well only to lift nothingness of her head. Only when Rue held the crown before her did it appear as a reflection in the mirror, Kraehe longingly looked down on it.
A sudden rustle sounded behind her. Startled, Rue looked over her shoulder. She gasped and dropped the crown onto the cabinet.
For a second she had been certain to have seen black feathers shimmer out of existence. The pounding of her heart increased. Quickly she looked ahead again. Kraehe's expression showed the very same fear as her own did.
A frown dropped over Rue's brow. Kraehe should not look this much like her. She raised her arms and folded the two side mirrors across the primary one and decided to forget about everything she had seen.
Rue then sought out a simple ballet uniform, but never put it on. It remained thrown on her bed, looking less inviting than it should be. In fact, it seemed to taunt her with its simplicity. The lie she had once lived as truth wouldn't return. But she would not exchange the present for that time gone by, when Mytho had possessed no heart, even if it would mean her eyes would no longer be the wine red they were now.
Tired soon of memories that always recalled themselves, she opened the glass door to the balcony and stepped into the night. Only many lights betrayed the life below, if one didn't know better it was a fine, normal city. The darkness hid the suffering country from her sight, but she knew it to be there.
A soft, sorrowful hum started on her lips, a wordless attempt at song. It somehow gave her the soothing feeling that dance lately did not grant her. It was in this state that her prince found her.
"Rue?"
His gentle voice forced away some of the gloom over her mind. As Mytho approached he noticed the uniform on the bed. A strange uncertainty crept onto him as he held out his hand to her.
Yet him she did not deny. Gracefully Rue placed her hand into his, letting him lead her into dance. The balcony was spacious enough to give them the room they needed to and though their royal clothing was not the best to dance in, they soon were lost in the art of motion. What uncertainties words would not speak, dance could express immediately.
"Prince, what is on your mind?" Rue asked.
"Princess, ..... I intend to make a journey." he said after a moment's hesitation.
She let go of his hand and danced opposite of him, she wanted to see his face clearer. Mirror to her, he danced solitary when he continued : "I need to find a cure for our kingdom, somehow. I cannot stay useless."
His dance was graceful, yet at the same time tired. Rue realized that perhaps this reflected her own dance as well.
Once more he reached his hand to her, the question clear : "Will you come with me?"
Did he even need to ask? Rue had become accustomed to not being threatened the entire time and the idea of another story was not appealing. But the very idea of saying "no" was so far from her mind it did not even get a hint of consideration. Mytho wanted to bring happiness to his people, he had to. This is what she had fallen in love with long ago, this compassion that was so deep in him that not even the loss of his heart would erase it. Rue often felt she was a stain on him, for she knew her own compassion was not nearly as boundless as that of his. Oh, love could be such a selfish thing, here she worried for what she was to Mytho when down below far greater pain was upon his people.
She whirled closer to him till his arms were around her.
"Winter will come soon." she said as she looked up at the pale moon. The sky was mournful, she never quite understood how stars and moon could express it, but it was like dance; she had learned to read them as reflections of the world. They would have to head out soon, for this would be a harsh winter.
Yet now they stood still, at the very point where their dance should have expressed vibrancy and willpower to mark the start of an epic journey.
"Rue, why do you only dance anymore when I ask you to?"
For a moment she could not tell whether he had actually spoken or whether it had been a line in a story. Perhaps like the mirrors and the sky, the wind whispered Mytho's fears. Such things the fairytale creatures were oblivious to, yet to someone of her mortal heritage it wasn't difficult to hear what she and the story already knew. This had always been her talent, even to the surprise of Drosselmeyer.
Now she thought of that .....
· · · · · · ·
"Dammit."
Fakir had been writing down a wholly unrelated story, that of the child of Rätsel as she and her husband had come to visit Gold Crown Town. Quite a harmless little tale of the boy discovering some of the magic that still remained here. Ahiru had found her way into it as well, being the child's guide out of the forest near the lake.
It was at that point that something else had forced its way out of his hand.
Fakir, if you are behind this, I hope for you it was an accident ...... and if you aren't, you better make yourself useful. Understood?
Fakir did not make a habit of using his story powers to check in on how Mytho and Rue were doing, fearful that he might initiate another story, though for different reasons than he guessed Rue feared it. He had tried writing some poems however, just to be safe (and because Autor kept pressing him to figure out how the couple was doing, almost as if he was hoping things would go wrong between them .... it made Fakir uneasy, maybe Autor had inherited Drosselmeyer's penchant for tragedy?). So, Fakir knew what state the kingdom was in, but still, he had no way of telling how much of what he wrote of improvement was actually happening and how much merely a reflection of what he wanted to find.
Yet this, this was very distinctly Rue and something was up. After some contemplation, he had finally set pen to paper and started writing. In vain, very in vain. Nothing worked, he could not catch onto a story .... maybe Rue was just venting? This was a comforting thought, yet one quickly erased once he had heard the front door opening. Charon had let in Ahiru, who had just returned from her role in Fakir's little story.
Quite upset and dirty, he guessed what had happened : the moment he had stopped guiding the story, she had gotten lost along with the child. When his half-smiled "sorry" made her alert that something more urgent than a straying mind was the matter, she had stopped her angry quacking and had fluttered up to the desk. Not quite making it, still young as she was, he had caught her and set her down aside of the paper. While unable to speak, reading she still could do.
Large blue eyes then locked into his, riddled with concern.
"It's Rue." he had muttered. "The rest is nothing."
Ahiru had responded by taking a quill with her beak, throwing over a pot of ink in the process and forcing it into his hand. Her very expression forced him to write. It was no flowing story, more like notes one made in preparation for a scene, but here he could feel a story under his fingers. It was not one of his own.
Now he set down the quill and reread what had flown from his hand.
"Dammit." he muttered again.
"Quack!"
He laid down the papers and turned them towards Ahiru. She looked up quizzically, she was unaware of the thoughts that had accompanied Fakir as he wrote.
"That idiot is about to start another story! If only he had patience, then I could .... " Fakir gritted his teeth together.
Ahiru tilted her head to the side. She understood that much, it was rather Fakir's worry that confused her. It seemed logical enough to her that Mytho and Rue would set out for the sake of their kingdom, why didn't Fakir want it? Sadly she beheld the boy as he leaned onto the desk, one hand against his forehead. As Princess Tutu, she could speak to people to make them realize their true feelings, but as a duck, she could only watch.
Fakir suddenly dropped his hand and reached for the quill again, intent on finding out more. Occupied as such, he didn't notice Rätsel until she put her hand on his shoulder.
"Who is this girl?" The woman's hand brushed over a paper with scribbles that represented Rue's reflections.
Fakir looked up, seeing her with her dirtied but grinning child on her arm. She didn't seem angry or anything, though if the child had told her about Ahiru's presence she should have guessed what Fakir had been up to. He didn't want her to think he had been experimenting with her, but she didn't even seem interested in bringing it up. She just pulled her hand back and waited for an answer, her eyes curious, testing but not unkind.
"Rue .... Mytho's princess."
Rätsel set her boy down, then she leaned with her arms on the table so that she was at face level with both duck and boy.
"She seems to be troubled by something within herself. Are you writing a story for her?"
"I don't want to start another story for them .... they deserve their happily ever after." he said sharply. Rätsel only smiled knowingly.
"It seems to me that they themselves would wish for a new story to be born." she said as she pulled closer another paper, which told of Mytho's contemplations.
"They could just wait, it would all settle down eventually. Starting a new story could bring far more trouble than waiting it out." Fakir objected gruffly.
"Stagnant problems do not resolve themselves. I think they both seek for something they can't find without a story." Rätsel said. "Perhaps it is just you who is afraid of another story?"
Ahiru quacked loudly. While Rätsel could not understand her, she guessed as much as it meant. Fakir noticed them banding together against him and he retorted :
"Look, this is a story that Drosselmeyer started, his last sick joke! He meant for Mytho's kingdom to fall to ashes, to suffer long before extinguishing to complete the tragedy he wanted to write. I cannot guarantee a happy ending if it is something he started! What if the old man gets involved again?"
"Do they know this?"
"What?"
"Do Mytho and Rue know this is part of Drosselmeyer's writing? Or rather, do you know for sure?"
He did not. Suddenly angry, Fakir grabbed the papers and stowed them in a folder. Rätsel still smiled when she straightened up, noticing her child was getting tired and should be brought to bed.
As she left, she said : "Fakir, Ahiru, will you have dinner with us tomorrow? I've already invited Charon. I'm not sure whether they'll allow Ahiru to enter, but we can sit outside. It should still be warm enough for that."
"Quack!"
Fakir agreed to come, but his heart wasn't quite in it. Now that Mytho had started another story, he knew his obligation to get involved, but still, he wished it had not been necessary. He could hardly manage the simple stories of this little town and having to yet again watch on helplessly as he could do little to nothing ....
Ahiru walked over to Fakir and leaned her little head against his shoulder, silently offering comfort. Black inked footprints were in her wake, smudging the papers of his writing. He could not help but smile. Sometimes it was more like she was staying for him, rather than him staying for her.
· · · · · · ·