Villain of the Story

by Thyme In Her Eyes

Author's Note: Another Mytho/Rue fanfic, this time with an added dose of Drosselmeyer! It's always interested me that Rue/Kraehe knew about Drosselmeyer and his influence over the town, and even managed to speak with him and arrange the setup for the Season 1 finale with him, and yet afterwards she never tried to communicate with him again. I just had to explore that, and the possible reason for her attitude. To first disclaim as usual, neither the characters or series belong to me. And of course, all feedback is encouraged and deeply appreciated. Thank you, and enjoy!

- VILLAIN OF THE STORY -

Kraehe had been raised on her Father's tales of battles with the Prince from the Story, and of his cunning and audacious escape from that dead place where nothing could progress. Across the span of her dark life, she'd learned much of the lands hidden between pages, in which the two had once fought. Back when she was a fledgling, she'd longed to see it for herself, and to finally know her place in the world. There was no Crow Princess in the original story, and although she knew that her Father's blood flowed inside her and helped compensate for all the weaknesses of her pitiful human form, she had still been born in the outside world. She wasn't like her Father or the Prince, not completely. She was a daughter born of the Raven's powerful blood and unconquerable will, but her true place and destiny were still uncertain, and she hated that. Was she meant to have been written into the original tale at some point, and was now simply living out the life she'd been denied on the printed page, or did she belong more to this world?

She had always known of the man called Drosselmeyer, and his powers. When she was old enough, she'd found and studied his books, trying to find some answers, while being careful to stay far away from those who might want an answer from her, or an explanation for her existence. As the years turned, she believed she'd learned and understood a great deal. The only thing she wasn't sure of yet was whose will was working through the actions of the other – Drosselmeyer's or her Father's. It was so impossible to think of Father as ever being ruled by anyone, even his own creator. But in the end, it didn't matter. As her Father told her often enough, both their powers and minds were working to take the story to the same conclusion.

The Prince would be consumed by the Raven's blood, and changed forever. He'd love only her, and would offer everyone else's love as a sacrifice to her Father. Her Father would feast and grow strong again, and at last, she'd be praised and appreciated. Soon, her Father would be freed from his prison too, and every heart would surrender itself to him, and the world would fall into shadow – and the cruel and selfish Princess Kraehe would get everything she wanted. It was tragedy itself, a fairy-tale broken beyond repair. This was the true ending the story wanted and was destined for, she was sure of it, but it still wouldn't come easily.

Even though she knew all about the captive town and Drosselmeyer's watchful eyes, knew enough to dare speak to him and issue challenges, she wouldn't ask him for more. He wrote so gleefully about beauty and suffering, beauty in suffering, fun and tragedy and madness, and the sublime and the grotesque dancing together – and a genie granting wishes was none of those things. She could never simply ask him to give her the Prince. It wouldn't ever work that way, because she knew his tastes and fancies.

Drosselmeyer wouldn't just give her happiness, not even if she offered to suffer for it. Not even if she'd already suffered. Princess Tutu probably heard his dry voice advising and whispering in her ear all the time, and all that meant was that she was doomed, and that he was just watching and waiting for her to fail. It was an encouraging thought.

It wasn't in his nature to give anything – in the world he ruled, shreds of joy were hard-won, or were only held for a few fleeting moments. There was no permanence or security, and one character's happiness was always another's misfortune. Under Drosselmeyer's quill, deserving a happy ending had nothing to do with winning it.

And there was no trusting a creature like him – she'd be a fool to even think of it. After all, it was most likely a casual flourish of Drosselmeyer's imagination that had encased her in this ugly human body which she so loathed, and which caused her beloved Father such pain to have to gaze upon. It was him who had designed her this way, and had made her so difficult to love. It was his pen and his will that had sealed her poor Father in his underground cage, and in the same red stroke, shattered the Prince's beautiful heart. Worst of all, it was Drosselmeyer who had brought Princess Tutu back into the tale – a perfect and lovely swan of a princess to torment her, thwart her, steal her Prince, and make her ugliness all the more apparent and unbearable.

Such suffering delighted him, and she would never place anything so precious as the Prince at the mercy of his whims.

But she could still fight. She would fight, and nothing could stop her. There was no giving up – and if she had to, she'd pound and scratch and scream at the door of her happy ending until her fingers bled raw, and it opened for her at last. That was what she had always done, so much that there seemed no other way of going about it. She could scheme and claw, and make the story spin in the right direction. And she would do exactly that, because there was no way that she would ever accept losing her Prince to a sham like Princess Tutu, or anyone else. She would die before surrendering the heart of the one she loved more than anything to a girl who was nothing more than Drosselmeyer's plot device.

There were ways of bartering with him though, and of gaining small victories. She'd done it before and she could do it again. Kraehe understood enough about the twisted workings of his mind, and how she could win. There was a key to unlocking it all, and of making sure the Prince would be hers and nobody else's.

It was as simple as this: Drosselmeyer wouldn't give her what she yearned for the most, unless her happiness caused someone else – several people, preferably – even greater misery. And so she ignored Duck's pitifully sad eyes, so full of hurt and concern, and learned to smile in triumph. She taunted Fakir at every opportunity, bringing back every memory of his failures and inadequacies, and encouraged her Prince to venture out and take the hearts and lives of innocent girls. She prayed for her Father's freedom, for the world to change and bleed under his shadow, and for a thousand unhappy endings to find their victims.

Most of all, she learned to shut out all lingering remnants of Rue, to ignore the weak pieces of her heart that still responded to Duck's sincerely-offered friendship and affection, and to bury every guilty cry of how much she was wronging her Prince. Instead, she caressed him, held him close, and whispered to his corrupt blood to hurry and make him hers at last – and anticipated the delicious moment when she would reveal to poor Princess Tutu that she was the one truly responsible for returning a cursed heart-shard to him, and so changing the one she loved.

Kraehe would give Drosselmeyer his villain, and in return, she would have her hero.

- FIN -