A/N: This episode has very little Fakir screen time, so I am going to be making most of the events up. Might slip in another Edel encounter. Might slip in more sword practice. Might have him do some reading. Who knows, really? I kind of enjoy episodes like this oddly enough. It gives me a chance to play about more with Fakir's character. Italic blocks still mean dreams. Not much to say this time so let's get started, shall we?
Disclaimer: I do not own Princess Tutu. I do own a Mokona plushie. And a couple of Darth Vader plushies. Yes, those actually exist. What was I saying…? Meh, whatever.
Chapter 7: Enter the Raven
Fakir opened his eyes to find himself standing in a mist shrouded forest. A sword hung at his waist and he was clad in a knight's regalia. He could vaguely make out two figures in the distance and started walking towards them. As he drew closer he realized one of the figures was backing away from the other and felt a thrill of concern shoot through him. He started to run and soon the retreating figure resolved into the form of his best friend. The other figure remained mostly indistinct, but he could make out a white ballerina's costume that was vaguely reminiscent of a swan. "Princess Tutu," the dark-haired knight snarled as he drew his sword. The ballerina danced away from the charging knight and held back far enough that the mist continued to obscure her features from his sight.
The young knight took up position between Mytho and the mist-shrouded ballerina with his sword in a full guard position. "I won't let you hurt him anymore," he hissed viciously. The ballerina only raised her hands to cover her face in a mime of absolute sorrow and turned away. Fakir hesitated at this before he froze as his friend spoke up behind him. "Then why is it you who hurts me the most," the prince asked bitterly. The dark-haired youth turned to look back at the other teen that had turned his back on him and was walking away. The knight tried to pursue, but was cut off by a cloud of ravens that swarmed up from the ground. "Get out of my way," the young man snarled as he swung his blade at the bird-shaped monsters. Yet all his efforts gained was the ravens suddenly turning to attack him and he staggered back under the assault.
Desperately, he tried to fight back but it wasn't long before all he could see was an endless wall of black feathers and evil red eyes surrounding him. Their caws sounded like derisive laughter as their razor sharp feathers, beaks, and talons slipped through his guard and tore into him. He continued to fight on in spite of the apparent futility of his actions. Suddenly a terrible, ripping agony shot through him and he collapsed with a choked scream as everything went black. Fakir's eyes shot open as he lurched into a sitting position with a strangled gasp. Mytho sat up with a look of concern on his face as he tentatively reached out to place his hand on his friend's shoulder, "Are you okay, Fakir? You're shaking." "I'm fine," the dark-haired young man replied unconvincingly as he pressed his hand to his right shoulder. "You're not," the white-haired teen's concerned look deepened. The other young man shook his head and sighed, "It was just a nightmare. Don't bother worrying over it. Go back to sleep, Mytho." The golden-eyed young man frowned at his taller friend, but didn't press the issue as he lay back down and closed his eyes. Fakir watched him drift off into slumber with a worried frown plastered across his face.
The two teens had spent the last week holed up in the old millhouse in the aftermath of the return of Mytho's heart shard of fear. The old mill was draughty and lacked any heat source aside from an old wood-burning stove. In order to keep from freezing at night, Fakir had pulled down a pair of large mattresses from the attic and set them up right next to each other. If either of the teens got too cold they could huddle up against the other for warmth. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable of hideouts, but it was safe and nobody could legally object to them staying there. The building, the actual watermill next-door, and the land it was built on technically belonged to the dark-haired young man. The property had been owned by his parents before they died and the deed had been formally turned over to him when he turned fifteen. He just had never done anything with it before now.
Yet even after a week of isolation, Mytho had not fully recovered from the shock of the heart shard's return. He startled awake at the slightest thing and what sleep he did get was often riddled with nightmares. Fakir absolutely hated seeing his friend in that state, but there was nothing he could do about it save to stick close and offer what comfort he could. The only times he left were to restock on food. Furthermore, the taller teen's own nights had grown increasingly restless. He barely got any sleep thanks to his nightmares and spent many of his nights wide-awake watching over his friend. It was running him down, but he would endure it. Mytho was relying on him after all, and he would not fail to keep his promise just because he was a bit tired.
That last nightmare had been the third consecutive one Fakir had suffered in that one night alone, and he was coming to the conclusion that this might just be one of those nights where he didn't sleep at all. Every time he closed his eyes his subconscious would find some new horror to torment him with, and what sleep he did get was not at all restful. He was going to try at least once more, though. However, instead of attempting to go right back to sleep, the dark-haired young man figured he may as well sit awake for a bit and give himself some time to calm down. He didn't really have much else to do aside from watch Mytho sleep, though. It was far too cold to go out, and Fakir couldn't exactly practice his sword-work for two reasons. One – it would wake his friend up and two – he didn't have a sword to practice with. Practicing ballet was out because that would also end up disturbing the slumbering teen. Reading was also out because light was something that would awaken the sleeping one. He knew all of this because he had tried early on in the week on his first sleepless night. Mytho had woken up and questioned him every time, and Fakir felt horribly guilty for unintentionally interrupting his friend's rest when the other teen had been suffering from his own nightmares. The one mercy was that the white-haired teen seldom suffered more than three a night and they were scattered at broad enough intervals that he wasn't suffering as his taller friend was.
The fact that Mytho was even suffering at all was still absolutely infuriating for the dark-haired teen and he knew exactly who to blame for it: Princess Tutu. 'Damn her,' Fakir thought with a dark glare aimed at the ceiling, 'Who does she think she is?! Mytho was just fine the way he was. Yes, he wasn't happy, but he also wasn't in pain. These emotions that she keeps returning…can't she see what she's doing to him?! How miserable they make him?! They aren't worth it!' He groaned quietly as he allowed his head to fall forward and he wrapped his arms around his knees as another thought occurred to him. 'Then there's the effect his returning heart has on the story,' the dark-haired young man considered, 'The more shards that are returned the faster it picks up momentum. Nothing much may have happened yet, but it's only a matter of time before that creature starts to get involved. I can't allow things to reach that point! Because otherwise…'
Fakir shuddered slightly as he reflected on the many nightmares he'd suffered covering that exact scenario. 'Otherwise…Mytho will have to fight again,' he admitted, 'And I…I could…' His hand slowly crept up to clutch at his right shoulder as he breathed out quietly, "I could die… I don't want to… Not like that…" 'But then,' the green-eyed teen gave a resigned smile, 'I knew that could happen when I promised Mytho I'd protect him…as his knight. I knew…and I made that promise anyway. He's worth risking my life for.' The dark-haired young knight turned to look down at where his friend slept and whispered, "You were my hero when I was a child… You who gave so much to protect so many… How can I not do everything in my power to do the same for you when you are so broken and helpless?"
The dark haired young man eventually dropped off after another hour or two of keeping an eye on his friend. However, he was awakened by yet another nightmare shortly before dawn. By that point there was no reason to bother trying to get anymore sleep even if he was still a bit tired. Instead, he got up and briskly got changed into an old blue shirt with a torn sleeve, a pair of black pants, and black shoes. The shirt was actually his favorite and he wore it whenever he could get away with it…which wasn't often these days. Once he'd changed he returned to the mattresses where Mytho slept and sat back down. He paused before sitting, though, to make himself a pot of tea to drive away as much of his lingering drowsiness as he could. His friend continued to sleep peacefully, and Fakir hoped that meant that the grip of the newly returned fear was weakening and that it would soon fade into dormancy. Yet that hope was dashed not long after sunrise when Mytho awoke with a terrified scream. "Mytho," The young knight leaned over and gathered his friend into his arms with a worried frown, "Get ahold of yourself, Mytho!" The white-haired teen had broken out in a cold sweat and was breathing hard with a look of sheer terror on his face.
The young knight felt a twinge of despair shoot through him once more at seeing his friend so distressed, "Mytho… What's wrong?" The golden-eyed teen looked up at him and spoke shakily, "Fakir… I had a dream. There was a big black being and it…took me and…" This had been a recurring theme in the other teen's nightmares that gave his taller friend a bad feeling. "Don't worry," the malachite-eyed young man soothed. "Who was that," Mytho asked uneasily as he looked down and away. That was one of many questions the dark-haired teen refused to answer. Ignorance, in this case, truly was bliss. "Don't let it bother you. You don't need to know anything," Fakir told the shaking young man gently as he slowly stood, "Got it?" He intended to grab his friend some warm tea. He'd learned from experience that the warmth had a strong calming effect on the white-haired teen, and he also seemed to enjoy the taste of the tea as well. It worked well to dispel the lingering fear of his nightmares. However, his trek to the leftover tea in the pot he'd left on the table was interrupted by a sudden, and unexpected, question from his shorter friend.
"Where's Tutu," Mytho asked as his taller friend walked across the room. The white-haired teen had not asked after the magical ballerina once the entire week, and the sudden curiosity was startling. Fakir hesitated briefly in his trek over to the teapot before resuming his intended path. "Relax," the dark-haired young man replied quietly as he set about his intended task, "No one knows that we're here." "So I can't see Tutu," the white haired teen wondered. Something about the way the question was worded triggered the young knight's suspicions and he turned to look back at the other with a scowl, "That's right." He finished pouring the tea, and grabbed the cup to bring it back to his friend as he continued, "As long as you stay in here you'll eventually forget everything. Then you won't be confused by these worthless emotions, either. That's what's best for you."
Mytho reached out to take the cup and gazed thoughtfully down at the tea, "Okay…" The response was harmless enough, but it was the way the other teen said it that made Fakir start to worry. It sounded…doubtful. 'Is Mytho…questioning my actions,' the green-eyed young man wondered uneasily. "You know I'm only doing all of this for your sake…right," he asked quietly. "I know," the golden-eyed teen replied with a soft smile before that smile faded into a worried frown. "Yet you doubt me," the young knight challenged with a frown. "Not you exactly," the other teen replied thoughtfully, "I don't know what's best for me or not. I don't know… I want to believe that you know what I don't. You always have before. Yet… What if you don't know? What if we both are clueless? That scares me…" "Of course I know what is best for you," Fakir replied sternly, "I know you better than anyone. You shouldn't worry yourself over something so pointless." "I'll try," Mytho replied quietly before taking a sip of his tea.
Fakir was troubled by his friend's confession, though he didn't show it. Combined with the nightmares he'd had the night before, he found his convictions were deeply shaken. Remaining in the mill with Mytho wasn't helping him any; if anything it was making his uncertain feelings even worse. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed to leave for a bit so he could work them out. "You'll be fine on your own if I leave for a while, right," he asked his friend with a concerned frown. "Yes," the white-haired teen smiled softly back, "I won't go anywhere." 'I've heard that before,' the dark-haired young man grumbled to himself, 'And I always return to find he's wandered off. Since his heart started returning these incidents have become a lot less frequent, but… Is it really worth the risk? I really need to clear my head, but… Damnit, what should I do?!'
"You promise you won't wander off," the taller teen finally asked with a stern frown. "I promise," the other teen replied with a nod. 'I guess…I'll just have to trust him,' Fakir sighed and nodded, "All right, then. I shouldn't be gone long. I'm off." "Take care," Mytho replied as his friend walked out the door. For his part, the green-eyed young man still couldn't shake the feeling that it was a mistake to leave the shorter teen unattended. Yet if he stayed his own emotions would end up driving him to distraction, then he'd get irritated, and then he'd inevitably end up losing his temper and lash out at the golden-eyed teen. His friend didn't deserve that. Not when he was already doubting whether either of them truly knew what was best for him. Lashing out…would only make his doubts grow stronger. It was best for the both of them if he took the time to sort himself out. "I guess I'm taking a walk," Fakir sighed quietly as he stepped away from the door.
The young knight didn't have any particular destination in mind as he started to wander around town. There were, however, three locations in particular he avoided. The area of town containing Charon's shop and house, the Academy campus, and the Academy dorms. He ended up standing by a fountain outside of an old church, and just stood there watching the falling water as he thought to himself out loud, "Mytho…you aren't the only one to wonder about that…" The fact was Fakir had been doubting whether some of the actions he'd taken over the year were really for the best after all. His most recent regret was locking Mytho in that library storage room on the night of the Fire Festival…not to mention all the harsh things he'd said to the other teen in recent months. "That nightmare," the young man sighed, "Could it be my subconscious trying to tell me that if I keep on acting as I have been…I will end up driving Mytho away too? Am I really hurting him…just as much as Tutu is?"
The dark-haired teen shook his head viciously in denial. "No, that can't be," he frowned darkly, "I've only ever done what I thought was necessary to keep him safe." Yet he felt terrible about some of the things he'd said and done in recent months. He truly did, and he'd been raised to believe that if something felt wrong…then it probably was wrong. "What else can I do, though," the young knight raised his hand to his forehead and ran it down his face in resignation. Fakir had never had anyone he could truly rely on for advice on how to fulfill his duty to protect Mytho. He'd just been trying to do the best he could, and for seven years his best had been enough. Now though…matters had changed. No matter what he did or said things refused to go back to the way they had been, and he was starting to fear that they never would. Things kept changing, the story kept moving, and he couldn't stop any of it. Without thinking, his left hand drifted up to grip at his right shoulder. "Is that it then," the young man's eyes fell shut heavily, "Is there really nothing I can do?"
He turned to glance down the street as the sound of street organ music sounded from the distance as he realized that strange Edel woman was hanging around again. 'What does she want this time,' he groaned as he turned back to face the fountain. "Hello, Fakir," the green-haired woman greeted as she drew near. He gave her an odd look, "No cryptic statements this time?" She didn't answer and instead asked him a question, "What do you think it means to have courage?" Fakir frowned, "Why are you asking me?" Yet again Edel ignored his question and instead fixed an even stare on him as she spoke, "By insisting you stand alone you face a terrible fate. Yet if you would but seek out the other who fights to protect the Prince and reach out you could turn it aside. Do you have the courage to try?" The dark haired teen gaped at the pale woman before his eyes narrowed in a cold glare, "You claim to know the fate that awaits me. How? Who the hell are you really?" "I am what I am," the green-haired woman replied evenly, "No more and no less." "That tells me nothing," the young man snarled as he turned and reached out to grab her arm, but once he grasped it he froze and stared at her in shock, "What…?!" Her skin didn't even feel like skin, but like polished wood…and it was so cold. "What are you," he asked as he released her arm and stepped away uneasily.
"I am not an enemy," Edel assured him, "This story…is sad. I would like it to not be so, yet I have no power to change things." "Why come to me then," Fakir sighed as he looked away, "I'm not even sure I can stop this story let alone change anything about it." "Because you are the knight," the woman informed him calmly, "If anyone has the will and strength to change his fate it would be you." He looked back at her in surprise, "You…truly believe that?" "I do," the organ grinder replied. The dark-haired youth stared at her in amazement before a faint smile crossed his face, "….Thank you. For believing in me. At least someone does…" "You never answered my question," Edel smiled back, "Do you have the courage to try to reach out?" Fakir frowned, "How can I when I don't even know who it is you want me to reach out to?" "The other who fights to protect the prince," the pale woman replied evenly. "There isn't anyone else though," the young man sighed in frustration, "There's only ever been me." "Until now," the green-haired woman countered. "Who," he wondered as the cold skinned woman started to walk away. "You know who," she replied enigmatically. The green-eyed teen frowned in confusion as he watched her disappear around the corner of a nearby building before he whispered, "I wish that were true…"
Fakir sighed heavily after Edel vanished and rubbed at his forehead in agitation. Between his own troubled thoughts and that strange woman's words he was feeling even worse than he had back at the mill. He was actually nearing the point where he'd accept any sort of assistance from the first person who offered. Unless it were Tutu. As far as he was concerned she was one of the things he needed help dealing with and the only sort of assistance he'd accept from her would be if she offered to stop returning heart shards. "When thinking about things and talking about them fail," he grumbled quietly, "There's always dancing or steel." It had been far too long since he'd practiced either ballet or sword-play, and they had always helped him to settle his thoughts in the past. If nothing else it would calm him down. "Guess I'm sneaking into the house after all," the dark-haired teen laughed bitterly. Hopefully the uncanny luck he'd had in avoiding Charon would hold out. Fakir wasn't in the mood for a confrontation, but then again he never was. Not with the man who had raised him since his parents died. It hurt to have his father figure doubt him so much. Avoiding him like he had been was also painful, for he felt guilty, but…it was far less than that caused by the look the smith kept giving him. That look of disapproval and bitter regret…
Fortunately, the young knight's luck held and he was able to sneak in and out of his house once more without running into his father. His practice blade in hand, Fakir made his way to his old practice spot in the park. It was close to noon, so he made a quick stop to grab something to eat for lunch on the way. Once there he quickly ate, and then began to warm up in preparation for the activities he had in mind. He planned to start with ballet before moving on to practicing his sword-work. It would be strange, practicing his forms without music, but he'd listened to enough of it over the years that it was no real trouble to pick a song from his memory. He could dance to music that sounded out solely in his head just as easily as he could to that which rang through the air.
Once he finished his warm-up routine he launched into a tormented dance. It reflected the troubled thoughts afflicting him perfectly, and as he danced he felt some of his tension ease. 'I may not be able to stop the story the way I had hoped,' he mused as he danced, 'It may be that I will need to use that ritual after all… If so, then so be it. I will accept that risk.' He ended up losing himself in his routine, and a good two hours had passed before he finished. He rested for a few minutes before moving on to practicing his sword-play. Just because he was slightly calmer didn't mean he wasn't going to try to calm himself further. He spent the rest of the afternoon drilling himself mercilessly. It was close to sundown by the time he finished, and he was breathing heavily from exhaustion. Yet he felt almost normal for the first time in days. It was a relief. "I…needed that," he panted with a slight smile.
Fakir returned his practice sword to his room and slipped back out of the house to make his way back to Mytho. He'd been away for far longer than he'd intended, and the sun was slipping below the horizon even as he walked. Still, he felt much better than he had that morning. True he was physically worn out, but his mood had improved. Unfortunately, that good mood came to an abrupt end when he returned to the mill to find his friend had gone missing. His eye twitched slightly as he turned to run back outside to search, 'Why didn't I listen to my instincts?! They're always right about things like this! Damn it!'
"Mytho," he shouted as he slammed the door open and ran out. He ran to the low wall out back that separated the mill-yard from the river and looked around. "Where did he go," he hissed before turning to continue his search. Fakir had a feeling the other teen probably hadn't gone far, so he restricted his search to the neighborhood in immediate proximity to the old mill. However, his search turned up neither hide nor hair of his missing friend. He headed back towards the mill with the intent to check to see if the white-haired teen had made his way back on his own. It was with a thrill of mixed relief and frustration that he noticed the door to the building was wide open as he drew near, and he ran forwards. However, those feelings turned to shock and fear when he beheld the state his friend was in. "Mytho…," he breathed anxiously.
Mytho was sprawled out unconscious on the floor just inside the door. Fakir couldn't keep the fear he was feeling out of his voice as he rushed forward, "Hey, Mytho! Snap out of it!" He knelt next to his friend and was relieved to find that the other teen seemed to be unharmed for all that he was out cold. The dark-haired teen frowned uneasily at that, "Mytho." 'What happened to you,' he finished inside his head. The white-haired teen was breathing easily and steadily, yet was entirely motionless otherwise. He would get no answers from that quarter. Fakir's frown deepened as he started to scan for anything else that might explain what had happened to his friend. Malachite green eyes swiftly focused on a black feather lying on the ground next to the unconscious teen as a slight gasp escaped their owner at the sight. He reached out slowly, picked it up, and brought it before his face. It was a raven's feather. "I see," Fakir glared coldly at the feather, "So this means that it's finally appeared, huh?" He released the feather and allowed it to fall to the ground.
The story had finally progressed to the point where the Raven had started to exert its influence. It wouldn't be the true Monster Raven, of course. So long as Mytho's heart remained incomplete the seal would hold firm. Yet the Raven had minions…agents…avatars who could act on its behalf. They were not so restrained. "I knew it was only a matter a time," he muttered grimly as he stared down at the black feather, "I was just hoping I would have managed to stall the story again before things progressed to this point… I'm running out of options…" The young knight turned to look at his friend and his expression hardened, " I have to protect him…no matter what…" He glanced back at the feather and sighed. They clearly couldn't stay in the mill any longer. Perhaps it would be for the best if they returned to the dorms. At least there the chances for the Raven's avatar to strike would be limited with all the other people around. Gently, Fakir reached out to roll Mytho over onto his back, carefully picked him up, and cradled him in his arms. "Let's get you someplace safe," he whispered as he turned to leave with one last venomous glare at the feather on the floor. The story's pace…had accelerated.
A/N: And that is another chapter down. I think it came out rather well, and I even managed to add in a little foreshadowing for future events! Whoo-hoo! And yes, I did use the British spelling of the word 'drafty'. Why? Because I like how it looks and I read way too much Discworld. I decided to have Fakir work out that Edel probably isn't human in this chapter. He isn't entirely sure what she is yet. Just that she isn't human. I also finally had him admit that he really doesn't want to die the way the knight did in the story. He still hasn't acknowledged his fear of said event, though. That is for later… As for the 'seven years' bit…that has a bit to do with my own head-canon. The way I conceive it, Fakir's parents died when he was around six or seven years old. Flashbacks clearly show him writing legibly and 6/7 is the earliest I can realistically imagine that being possible. He met Mytho between a year and six months later. He made his promise to protect Mytho when he was eight years old. Think about that for a moment. Fakir was eight when he made the decision to take on the responsibility to keep Mytho safe. Eight years old and he has placed himself in a position where he is responsible for keeping another human being alive. That is the kind of decision that cuts a childhood brutally short. Fakir is far more mature than most 15 year olds…and I have a pretty good idea of why. He grew up too fast…he thinks more like an adult than a teenager. That…isn't entirely a good thing. It can cause problems…and, let's face it, Fakir has a lot of problems. However…I am of the opinion that all of his flaws and imperfections only serve to make him even more perfect as a character. Yes, I actually think Fakir is perfect. Because he is. I will fight you over this. And I did slip in another Princess Tutu Abridged bit. It's not a direct quote…more of a stylistic homage if you will. Next episode…is one of my favorites. Because there is much Fakir time…also it is the first time his nice side is blatantly on display. He needs to smile more. MAKE HIM SMILE MORE AHIRU! YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE HE SMILES AROUND WITH REAL ANY CONSISTANCY! I swear I am not insane! ….Okay, I lie. I am a bit insane. Who isn't? Right, enough rambling. I'll see you all next chapter. Present day edit: this chapter didn't really need that much changed, but there were a few small things. Mostly paragraph length issues.
