Slipping
A Princess Tutu fanfic by Klondike Aura
The first visit was surprising, to say the least.
The invitation alone was an unexpected joy. The revelation that Rue and Siegfried, or Mytho as he still preferred being called by his Gold Crown companions, could even contact them was received as an early Christmas present. It was a simple letter instructing Fakir to await their carriage on top of the clock tower and to have Duck with him. Both terms were easy enough to keep. Before they knew it, the boy and his waterfowl were swept away by the golden sky chariot drawn by giant swans.
Once they arrived in the world of fairy tale, however, Fakir found his companion less feathered and more flesh.
Duck had let out an alarmed quack and moved to cover herself before realizing she was dressed in a simple white gown. Fakir, who had looked away on instinct and was offering his jacket, turned to her once she tapped his shoulder and explained she was already clothed.
And before anything else could happen, Duck had thrown herself at Fakir, thanking him for keeping his promise to always be with her even while she was a duck. He could only manage to get out a brief, "You're welcome."
Mytho and Rue didn't seem startled in the least, which only increased the air of confusion for the former knight and former princess. Rue had swept Duck up in her embrace while Mytho put his hand on Fakir's shoulder.
"This is a fairy tale, remember?" the prince told his loyal knight.
The next week was spent attending lavish balls and catching up on ballet for the sheer thrill of the dance. It seemed like everyone was out of practice, poor Duck especially. But her enthusiasm carried them all and her every move, no matter how ill-performed, was sincere in emotion.
Fakir couldn't remember being so captivated by a ballerina before. It caused an odd prickle in his heart when he began to realize that it truly didn't matter how well Duck danced as long as it was Duck dancing.
Their last night there, he found her in the garden dancing by herself. He stepped up to her, hands circling over his head in request. He thanked his years of experience making the dance second nature, his mind whirling with other thoughts as he lifted and dipped the lithe young redhead in his arms. He lowered her to the ground in a split and noticed the tears sitting unshed in her eyes in the dim glow of moonlight.
"Moron," he murmured, his callused hand softly moving to brush away the few that brimmed over. "The Lake of Despair is behind us."
Her eyes fluttered closed but his hand didn't leave her cheek.
"Duck..."
And then he closed the small distance between them.
Every visit after that in the fairy tale, they were nothing less than the happiest lovers. They moved as if every step was part of their own dance, one never to be shared with another. A bend of the arm here, a dip of the head there, a stubborn huff, a mumble of "moron" that no longer held malice, a secret shared glance.
And even though he knew it spoiled things, he always had to speak up on the last night.
"It could always be like this," he whispered into her hair, his arms around her as they sat on the balcony of their suite.
"It could always be like this," he said by her ear as they turned and swayed in the ballroom.
"It could always be like this," he murmured to her bare skin and the wrinkled bedsheets underneath.
And every time, he couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes after. They always held the truth he wanted to escape for a few hours more.
It was subtle at first. In Gold Crown, Duck had molted. Beautiful adult feathers of pure white came in, almost swan-like. In turn, her fairy tale self became a little fuller, a little more filled out. The change was so gradual that Fakir didn't notice until a much later visit when one of Mytho's subjects asked if the woman he was escorting about was his mother-in-law.
It struck like a brick to the chest.
Despite her occasional protests, Fakir never shied away from her.
Even as he saw the aging hen slowly drift on the duck pond, he would be by her.
Not once did he hesitate, even when the day came when his young hands smoothed over the crow's feet by her eyes and fingers tangled into graying locks.
"Moron. I promised I would never leave your side, no matter what your form."
Duck felt she couldn't do anything else but cry, the wrinkled hands of a crone wringing Fakir's shirt as he held her. He was only sorry that all his will couldn't age him to match.
Fakir relentlessly loosened the hard ground with his spade, everything focused on the task of digging. Charon offered to help but was turned down. The young man craved the numb feeling the hard work brought. Reality took Duck away from him. Reality's toil would provide the balm it owed for his grief.
He gently took the small wooden box, too small in his mind, that held Duck's body. It was carefully lined with some of their old clothes, both hers and his, and held some of the flowers he knew she loved.
("Freya's the one who takes care of these flowers," he remembered her saying one day when they passed the gardens at the school. "I wish I could care for something like that."
"A klutz like you?" he had scoffed, though his chuckle softened the insult.
She pouted in return.)
As he gave her wing one last affectionate stroke, he knew he would even miss the feel of her feathers under his fingertips.
It wasn't fair.
"Duck..."
He didn't even recognize his own choked voice.
Fakir brought his hand to his lips, both to mime one last kiss and to muffle the unbidden shuddering gasp.
Age cruelly took its time to find Fakir. He spent most of his days still writing by the pond, now published and known for his own fairy tales. Writing was the closest he could get to replacing what was missing.
Not far from the pond was a simple grave which never wanted for fresh flowers and was always protected from predators.
A soft splash and the ripple of tiny waves caught the old man's attention.
"Hey!" he immediately called out, looking up from his writing and putting his duck feather quill down. "Leave the ducks alone!"
"I'm sorry," replied the soft voice of a child.
Fakir turned in the direction of the voice and was surprised to see a redheaded little girl. His voice caught before he could say the name he wanted to say for so long.
"What are you doing here by yourself?" he asked her, kinder than his initial outburst.
"I live nearby," the girl said, her toe digging into the soft clay around the pond. "Mama said I could come here to play."
He looked around, trying to spy which house might be her family's.
"What's your name?"
"Rue."
"Rue?"
Fakir couldn't help but start, especially when he saw the girl's brilliant green eyes. She was as un-Rue-like as possible.
"Yeah," she said. "Like from the stories. Mama really likes 'em. But my favorite's The Duck Princess!"
He allowed himself a little smile at that, even as his glance drifted towards the small marker nearby.
"That's my favorite, too," he admitted.
fin
Author's Notes: Oh wow, my first published fanfic in a good long time and for a canon I've never written in before. But this drabble idea got into my head and wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. Not entirely sure how the urge to publish it came about but I'll go ahead and bare it to the internet. I'll likely not expand on this story's particular idea. There will likely be more Princess Tutu fanfiction to come, most of it more lighthearted than this piece.
A note on names: I chose to call Ahiru Duck for the same reason the dub chose to call her Duck. Ahiru sounds too much like a name to me while Duck carries the clear connotations of the bird.