A/N: Three more chapters to go before end of fic… Sadness… Not a lot of Fakir screen-time in this episode which means I get to be creative again! YAY! We'll see how long it turns out to be by the end. By the way…we have long since surpassed my last completed fic in number of pages. My Kingdom Hearts fic was only 249 pages…this one isn't even finished yet and I am already at 279 pages. Yes, I am doing page count and not word count. I use a lot of words when I write. I don't want to know how many are in this entire bloody document. Just like how I kind of don't want to know how many times I've edited this thing before posting it. I am…obsessive…about editing my work. It's never good enough so I am constantly re-reading it and changing the bits that feel awkward to me. I am also constantly re-checking to be sure the story progresses smoothly and that all character development feels natural. With how long it is…it takes me a while to get through the whole thing in one shot. Which I have to just to get a feel of the flow. The version you all get to read is very different from the one that I originally wrote, is the point I am getting at. And because I overwrite all my old saves, the original version is long gone. Why did I tell you all of this? Just felt like letting you know a bit more about my methods. Because I can. Now let's get started with this chapter, shall we? Here we go!
Disclaimer: If I owned Princess Tutu the other main characters would have had more screen time, there would have been…eh…four seasons at least, it would have been darker, the Story Spinning power would have been developed more, the history of the Spinners would have been developed more, Drosselmeyer's backstory would have gotten more than just the blurb in the opening segments and the vague references made by other characters, and Fakir would have kissed Ahiru at least once before the series ended. None of this happened in the actual show. I believe we can all conclude that I do not own it.
Chapter 25: The Calm Before the Storm
"Hey," Fakir exclaimed in shock as the white-clad ballerina fainted. He fell to his knees beside her and gently cradled to her to his chest. Shortly after she slumped against him, Ahiru's body was engulfed in the yellow flash that signified Tutu's form being dispelled. That was about when Autor finally made his way back from wherever the rewinding story had sent him. "What happened," he demanded uncertainly. The young writer ignored the question in favor of anxiously scanning the diminutive ballerina for any sign of injury, but relaxed a bit once he realized she was unharmed. Most likely she was just tired; he could understand that. "What is that girl," the glasses-wearing teen continued, "Why did the story…" "I won't allow the story to go backwards any longer," the dark-haired young man cut off the other teen before glancing up at him. The blue-haired young man stared back uneasily. Clearly the events he had experienced had shaken his confidence somewhat. 'Probably for the best,' the knight-turned-writer decided as he casually grabbed his writing supplies from where they lay on the ground next to him, 'His ego is almost as bad as Rue's was…'
"Fakir, what are you trying to do," Autor inquired cautiously before his eyes suddenly widened in disbelief and he demanded, "You aren't thinking about rewriting the story that's controlling the town, are you?" Fakir sighed under his breath at that as he gathered Ahiru's slumbering form into his arms and stood. "I just want the power to protect people," he replied evenly. He then tensed slightly as he looked down at the red-haired girl in his arms before inquiring, "Autor, can I ask you something?" "What," the glasses-wearing young man wondered. The young writer looked back up at the other teen with an uncertain frown, "Can my power really turn stories into reality? Isn't it just recording what will eventually become reality anyway?" "Those two things are aspects of the same power," the music student informed him, "If your power is immature, naturally it will be swayed by reality. But if your power is strong reality should start obeying your stories. Then it would even be a simple task to manipulate the fates of all mankind!"
The young writer lowered his head at that as his expression darkened. Using his power in that way was the one thing he never wanted to do. Not after having his own fate manipulated ever since he befriended Mytho. Possibly even before that considering the birthmark he bore. Drosselmeyer had clearly always intended for him to die horribly as the knight in his tale; something that gave Fakir even more reason to resent the dead man. Unfortunately, there was a strong chance that – in order to resolve the story in a way that wasn't a tragedy – he would be required to seize control of the fates of everyone involved and guide them to the ending they all wanted. Meaning he wasn't going to have a choice. He didn't like it, but he could live with it…probably.
'Once Drosselmeyer's tale is over and done with,' the former knight decided as he glanced back down at Ahiru's peaceful face, 'I will never seek to use my power in such a way ever again. Regardless of whether or not I continue to write new stories after this all is over, I will never allow myself to become some faceless puppet-master. Fate…is something that should be left up to the individual to define for themselves. Something you choose… It should not be forced upon anyone.' "Fakir," Autor asked uncertainly in response to the taller young man's prolonged silence before some of his former smugness returned, "Don't tell me you're afraid of your powers all of a sudden." Fakir glared sharply at the other teen before growling tersely, "No. I'm not." "Then what could possibly be bothering you so much that you would just stop talking all of a sudden," the glasses-wearing young man demanded with a frustrated scowl. "I was thinking," the young writer replied shortly as he started to walk away, "Of what I will do after the story ends." The blue-haired teen blinked in surprise and could only stare after the former knight contemplatively as he left.
The dark-haired young man only paused long enough to grab the old satchel he'd brought with him before resuming his trek. His house was far closer than the Academy dorms, and it would be far less awkward to bring her there than trying to sneak up to her room. Besides, the next day was the Saturday before Easter which meant no classes. There was no reason to bring her to the dorms in that case. So the young writer returned home with a sleeping Ahiru cradled in his arms. Charon was still awake and sitting in the kitchen reading when they got back. He stared in surprise at the sight of his son carrying the girl he loved before half-rising in concern once he noticed she was unconscious. "Fakir," the smith exclaimed, "Is she all right?!" "She's just sleeping," Fakir replied calmly, "Let me get her settled in bed and I'll try to explain as best as I can." The older man slowly sat back down with a nod of agreement, "Very well."
The green-eyed teen carried the slumbering red-head up to his room and laid her on his bed before setting the rest of his things, including her story, on the nearby shelf. He then turned back around and cautiously removed her shoes. That was about all he was comfortable with doing as far as undressing her, though. Just the thought of doing anything more made him blush furiously, so the only other thing he did to make her comfortable was pull the covers up to her chin. He gazed down at her for a few moments before hesitantly reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair off of her forehead. A tender look spread across his face as his fingers brushed her skin; he still had a hard time believing he'd actually saved her. To have actually succeeded at freeing her from Drosselmeyer's imprisonment… He smiled softly before straightening back up and turning to leave the room. It could have turned out a lot worse, and he knew it. Holding her in his arms, knowing she was safe again….these were memories he would always treasure no matter what else happened.
Fakir returned to the kitchen and took a seat across the table from where is father was waiting expectantly. Then he took a deep breath and started to recount the evening's events. Parts were extremely uncomfortable such as the entire incident with the Bookmen, but that had been the catalyst. He needed to go over it. Charon had not been pleased to hear about this most recent attempt on his son's life and muttered something about needing to have a talk with the old shopkeeper. The young writer did his best to assure the smith that, so long as he was careful with his powers, they should leave him alone. The older man wasn't convinced. The teen continued going over everything until he got to the part about where time started flowing backwards.
"What," the sandy haired man gaped in disbelief. "The story started flowing in reverse," the knight-turned-writer repeated with a sigh, "And time along with it. If I hadn't started writing everything would have probably ended up resetting. I'd have gone back to being terrified of my fate and lashing out at everyone around me in a misguided effort to keep them safe. You'd have gone back to being controlled by that heart shard and doubting me. It would have been hell." "So your story prevented that from happening," Charon wondered curiously, "How?" "I felt something in the back of my head when I was getting ready to write," Fakir shrugged, "It was the thread of Ahiru's story and I ended up tapping into it. In the end, her story allowed me to call her back safely…" "You must be proud," the smith smiled at his son, "To have successfully rescued someone so important to you." The young writer hesitated at that before slowly admitting, "Not as much as you might think… I was just recording events as they took shape instead of actively shaping them."
The young man hesitated again before frowning uneasily, "It was enough this time, but I can't change the story's ending just by recording things. Worse, I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing at the time. I got lucky. I can't count on that happening again. It's going to take a lot more time before I fully master my powers as a Spinner. Hopefully I'll have enough time to work things out a bit more before things come to a climax and I am forced to act whether I'm ready or not…" "You've taken a heavy burden upon yourself, haven't you," Charon frowned sympathetically. "No different than it was before really," Fakir smirked wryly, "Truth is I've been holding myself responsible for the lives of everyone in town for years now. I just went about it differently and always thought I would be fighting on the front-lines of the fight to come. Now it seems my place is to support everyone else with my writing. I'll admit, I'm not entirely comfortable with sitting on the sidelines…but if it means I can prevent this story from ending in tragedy and keep everyone else safe…then I can live with it. I've made far greater sacrifices than that over the years."
He wasn't lying about that. He'd forced himself to grow-up far faster than was healthy so that he could care for Mytho. He'd deliberately ensured that his schoolmates feared him so they would stay away from the prince to keep both sides safe and destroyed his reputation in the process. He'd practically abandoned his education in order to learn how to use his abilities. He'd lost countless hours of sleep staying up to watch over his friends. Hell, he'd even put his own life on the line…and nearly died twice. The dark-haired young man was no stranger to sacrifice…and he still didn't regret any of it. By comparison, something as petty as resigning himself to a support role in the coming battle was barely worth noting. Charon sighed sadly before offering a weak smile, "I know. I wish you didn't have to, but I know. Even if you aren't able to be as proud of yourself as you should be…know that I am very proud of the man you have grown to be and always will be." Fakir gasped softly in surprise before slowly returning the smile, "Charon… Thank you… That means a lot."
The smith insisted his son eat something before heading back upstairs, and the young writer reluctantly agreed. He knew he needed to eat but his priorities were so messed up that watching over Ahiru struck him as being far more important. Fakir compromised by eating as fast as he could, much to Charon's amused exasperation, and then returning to his room. He spent the night wide awake as he divided his attention between keeping an eye on the slumbering red-head and reflecting on the story he'd written. The more he thought about it the less it felt like he had done much of anything. It was like the underground lake all over again. All he had really done was give the diminutive ballerina a way to save herself just as he had back then. The only differences were that this time he had been wielding a pen instead of a sword and hadn't brushed up against death itself in order to achieve his goal.
'Though that could have happened,' he admitted to himself grimly as he read through the pages once more, 'If I had pushed my abilities too far and triggered the fatal variant of backlash. I was lucky to get away with only the lesser ones. I really am going to have to work out exactly what my limits are at some point just so I can avoid killing myself from sheer carelessness.' The young writer sighed heavily as he brought up a hand to rub at his forehead in agitation. Really, these powers of his were almost more trouble than they were worth. He glanced over his shoulder as he noticed the light in his room was growing slightly brighter; the sun was rising. Charon would be waking up around now to head in to pick up ingredients for dinner tomorrow. The man probably would be out for most of the day as a result. The young man sighed before returning his attention to the manuscript in his hands.
'The power to protect, huh,' he reflected bitterly as he stared down at the manuscript, 'Did I really write a story that saved her with my own power? Or was I made to write it?' It was a legitimate concern considering he was still technically filling the role of the knight…which meant Drosselmeyer most likely still had some measure of control over his actions. True, he wasn't exactly a traditional knight, but he was still fighting to protect others in a way. It counted. Fakir looked up at where Ahiru was still sleeping peacefully. She'd stirred and mumbled a few times during the night, but had mostly remained in a deep, restful slumber. He wasn't sure if that was normal for her or not as he didn't make a habit of watching her sleep. That would just be creepy. Still, she hadn't had any nightmares and hadn't spent the night absolutely motionless. He was going to assume she was sleeping normally. The young writer sighed and returned his focus to the story in his hands as he reflected on the events of the previous evening.
'Even though I couldn't write a single word of Mytho's story,' he admitted uneasily, 'The story to save her just flew out of me. But the story I have to write is about Mytho.' Mytho was the Prince after all and it was his story that was shaping events in the town. No matter how you looked at it everything was revolving around him. A sharp breath escaped him as he abruptly stood and headed out of the room. Regardless of whether it had been his power that had saved Ahiru or not, there was no point in hanging on to the completed story now. It contained far too many of her personal thoughts after all. He would respect her privacy as best as he could…and burn it so that nobody else could read it. True, it didn't change the fact that he knew her thoughts since he'd been the one to record them. He wasn't going to deny that there was a selfish, viciously possessive part of him that liked the idea that he would be the only one to know what had been going through her head last night. Fakir's possessive streak was one of the few things that had not changed over the past few months. If anything it had gotten even worse. Anyone who laid a hand on Mytho or Ahiru in a way he didn't like from now on was just asking to be maimed.
The dark-haired young man hesitated as he passed Uzura on his way to the stairs. "Uzura," he called softly, "When did you get back?" The little puppet looked up at him, but remained silent. She seemed troubled, but didn't stick around long enough for him to question her about what was bothering her. It was concerning to see her worry over something considering how cheerful and innocent she was. 'Could Drosselmeyer have done something to her,' he worried as he watched her walk away before resuming his own path, 'I'll have to ask her later… Damn that man! If he did anything to damage her innocence, dead or not, I'll make him pay!' Charon had already left the house by the time his son reached the kitchen and found the note the man had left on the table. Apparently, the smith was going to grab something for himself while he was out running his errands and Fakir would be on his own for breakfast that morning. Well, that was fine. He was more than capable of making a simple breakfast for himself and Ahiru to share after she woke up.
Before he got started on that, however, there was something he had to take care of. The young man knelt before the stove and opened the firebox. He smirked faintly as he found that his father had been considerate enough to stack several pieces of coal inside before he left. All he'd have to do was light the fire. The young writer grabbed the match box down from the shelf, struck a match before lighting the first few pages of the story he'd wrote and tossed them in on the coal. It didn't take long for the fire to blaze up and he patiently fed more and more pages to the hungry flames. Just as he tossed the last few pages in he heard the diminutive ballerina call his name curiously and looked back over his shoulder at her. "So you're awake," he observed casually before turning back to the flames, "You'll eat, right?"
"Yeah," Ahiru replied as she walked over before gasping softly. "Is that the story you wrote, Fakir," she asked. Fakir stared evenly at the flames as they consumed the pages he'd thrown in and quietly replied, "That story is over now." "The story about me that Fakir wrote for me," the red-haired girl murmured sadly before cheering up as she continued, "I kind of wanted to read it…but I'm glad you're able to write stories now." The young writer didn't turn his gaze from the fire, but continued to stare in silence until the last few withered ashes fell through the coal. Then he stood and looked over at her. "I'm not the best cook," he admitted with a wry smirk, "But I can make us something to eat if you're willing to wait. I promise I won't try to poison you." The blue-eyed girl shuddered and scowled at him, "Don't even joke about that!"
The young man laughed at her reaction which prompted her to shoot a look of mixed confusion and surprise. It occurred to him that he had never really laughed openly around her before, so her startled reaction made sense. It didn't mean he wasn't going to tease her about it, though. "What's that look for, idiot," he quipped lightly as he set about grabbing the implements and ingredients he needed. "I'm not an idiot," Ahiru protested indignantly before mumbling, "I've just never heard you laugh like that before is all…" "Contrary to popular opinion," Fakir replied in mock irritation, "I do, in fact, have a sense of humor and am capable of laughing when I find something funny or amusing." The diminutive ballerina squawked frantically, "I didn't mean… I don't think that… I know you… Eh… Um..." "Calm down," the knight-turned-writer sighed as he glanced back over his shoulder and offered a comforting smile, "I was just teasing you a bit. I know you know me better than that." The red-head flushed in embarrassment and pouted at him causing his smile to widen slightly. She really had no idea how adorable it was when she did that.
Fakir soon prepared a simple breakfast for the both of them and set the table before gesturing for his guest to take a seat. Ahiru eyed to food warily as she recalled his joke about poisoning her, but sat down anyways. She then hesitantly served herself before watching as her older friend did the same. "It won't kill you to try it, you know," he teased her with a faint smile. The red-head scowled at him before hesitantly trying a bite and her eyes widened in surprise. "This is really good," she exclaimed. "I'm glad you think so," the young man replied as he started eating himself, "I can generally manage simple meals easily enough. Just don't ask me to try any fancy, gourmet style cooking." "I can't cook anything at all," the blue-eyed girl admitted shamefully between bites. "Well, you did start your life as a duck," he shrugged before continuing, "I doubt the enchantment that makes you human would miraculously give you cooking skills on top of everything else. Even stories have a point where things become excessively convenient or ridiculous. Personally, I think the anthropomorphic talking animals around town are an ideal example. That man is insane…"
"Who," Ahiru asked curiously. "Drosselmeyer," Fakir replied tersely with a scowl directed off to the side. "Oh," the diminutive ballerina shrunk down in her seat slightly before a troubled look crossed her face, "He talked to me…while I was trapped in his dimension." The young writer stiffened as he stared at her, "What?!" The red-haired girl started to explain, "It was really scary. I was all alone in this space full of these enormous gears at first. Nothing was moving at all and it was so quiet! Then these puppets dropped down from somewhere up above me and started making fun of me. They said I was inside the story and that the gears were all frozen because I stopped it! Then I was frozen for a while like I was a puppet myself! Then Uzura showed up and started asking about puppets before she ran off and fell down through the gears! Then I started dancing without any control over my actions and that was really scary and upsetting!"
The diminutive ballerina took a deep breath before continuing, "Then I was dropped into this chair at a long table and Drosselmeyer was sitting there too! He asked me if I had found all the heart shards yet and I had, so I told him yes!" Fakir reached over the table to pass her the butter, but he did not interrupt as she continued, "And then, when I said that I thought they were hidden in the five gates that lead outside he said 'Congratulations!'" "So that means that those shards must be sealing away the Monster Raven," the young writer mused aloud. Ahiru's eyes brightened as she started buttering her roll, "Now we can finally collect them all, right?" 'It's not that simple,' he sighed internally before pointing out with a grim frown, "But that will restore the Raven." The red-haired girl had just taken a bite before he spoke and gasped in surprise…which promptly caused her to start choking as a piece of roll got stuck in her throat. "Calm down," Fakir stated evenly as he poured her a glass of milk so she could wash it down, "It's a bridge we'd have to cross eventually anyway."
The dark-haired young man then turned to head over to the counter to refill the decanter with more milk before continuing, "If we don't hurry, Mytho may never be able to return to normal." "I guess you're right," Ahiru finally replied, "Besides, even if the Monster Raven is restored it shouldn't be a problem with your power to write stories, right?" The young writer stiffened momentarily at her blindly optimistic words. She believed in him so strongly…how could he disappoint her by telling her the truth… That she was the only one he'd ever successfully written for. That, no matter what he tried, he couldn't write anything related to Mytho or the Raven. His powers were effectively useless at his level of skill and it could take him years to get to the point that they would be worth anything. Most of all, he could not tell her that he wasn't even sure if it had been his own power that allowed him to write her story in the first place. So he deflected. "Do your best," Fakir encouraged her quietly as he poured the milk out of the carafe it was kept in. "Okay," Ahiru chirped cheerfully.
A grimace crossed his face as he felt a stab of guilt. He knew he should tell her the truth about his limitations, but he couldn't bear the thought of disappointing her. Not when her faith in his abilities was so strong. Unfortunately, the only one who could tell him how to get around those limitations was Autor…which meant he was most likely going to have to pay the annoyingly condescending teen a visit; yet if that was what it took … Ahiru returned to detailing her most recent encounter with the dead Spinner once her older friend sat back down. "Where was I…? Oh yeah! The gate shards," she exclaimed before continuing, "I tried asking him if restoring those last few shards would return Mytho to normal only… He said that would be boring! But Mytho is suffering and why should it matter if it's boring or not?!"
Ahiru scowled indignantly at that before she continued in a more subdued tone, "Then he went on about how nobody else in the story would have anything to do if Mytho got better! And then he showed me you and Rue and Mytho and you were all miserable! Only he thought this was a good thing! He went on and on like he wanted all of us to suffer and then he got mad at me for thinking more of the prince than of what I wanted… And then after he calmed down he suggested that I not tell anyone about the shards, but there was no way I was going to do that! He's…probably not going to be happy that I told you just now…" Fakir scoffed quietly in derision before muttering, "Too bad for him, then." The red-head beamed back and nodded before a troubled look crossed her face, "Yeah! Only…he made it sound like it would be a good thing. That I would be able to spend more time with Mytho and not have to worry about turning back into a duck permanently. He said that if I thought about things like that…he'd let me go… That was around the time everything started going backwards though, and you probably know how weird that was…"
"Waking flashback with a howling gale and all the colors turning sepia," the young writer shrugged before frowning bitterly at the table, "I refused to go back to the way I was back at the beginning. I've changed since then…" "Me too," Ahiru smiled. "That's when I started writing," the dark-haired teen admitted, "And then…" "You wrote my story and got me out of that place," the diminutive ballerina finished softly. "Yeah," he murmured back as he closed his eyes. They had both finished eating by that point, so Fakir stood and started to clean up without another word. "Ah," the blue-eyed girl gasped as she shot to her feet, "Let me help!" The young writer stared at her blankly for a few moments before nodding and quietly guided her through the routine.
Fakir was more focused on dwelling about what she had told him about her time in Drosselmeyer's dimension though. Her account had effectively answered his questions about why Drosselmeyer was so fond of tragedies. He actually thought it was fun to watch other people suffer and die! Ahiru didn't seem to fully realize just how twisted the dead man was, but Fakir had no such problem. 'This town,' he realized with a grimace, 'Is being controlled by a sadistic psychopath. An insane sadistic psychopath who wants all of us to suffer and die horribly. And I am related to this monster… On top of that, I am going to be seeking assistance from someone who seems to idolize that sick bastard… This is starting to feel like a scenario from one of my nightmares, but I know I'm not dreaming… This is real… Crap…'
With the two teens working together, it didn't take long to clean up and, as soon as the cleaning was done, Ahiru headed for the door. "I'm going to try and work out how to recover the last heart shards, okay," she told her taller friend with a smile. "Be careful," Fakir replied with a concerned frown, "Drosselmeyer still wants both of us to live out the roles he chose for us. He may try to set up a situation where you have no choice but to vanish the way the original Tutu did in the story." "I know," the red-head admitted with a gentle smile, "But I still want to try as hard as I can! For Mytho's sake…" The young writer returned her smile weakly, "Likewise…" 'And for your sake as well,' he admitted as he watched her run out the door before heading back upstairs to get changed.
Ironically, it turned out the only clean clothes he had available was his last spare school uniform. The dark haired young man sighed in exasperation, but wasn't willing to continue wearing the same outfit for two days straight. He sighed again and got changed before heading back downstairs. Before he left the house, though, he grabbed a roll of bandages from the bathroom. He wasn't sure if Ahiru would succeed in her task that day or not, but he'd rather have them and not need them than need them and not have them. Fakir made his way across town to Autor's apartment with a determined scowl plastered across his face. One way or another, he was going to find some way to make his powers work the way he needed them too. Even if he had to resort to threats in order to get his point across. He may not enjoy threatening people, but damn if it wasn't an effective way to get things done!
Autor was not particularly surprised when he opened the door to find a grim faced Fakir waiting outside. "I was wondering when you'd be seeking me out," the glasses-wearing teen smirked as he pushed them up his nose, "After you finally managed to write something useful last night. I imagine you want my help with the next step of honing your abilities?" "Something like that," the dark-haired young man muttered. "Well, you may as well come in," the blue-haired music student sighed melodramatically before stepping back to let the taller teen enter. The young writer was led once more to the replica of Drosselmeyer's study before the other young man left to make them both cups of tea. He'd muttered something about being a good host before walking out which made the former knight scoff quietly.
A 'good host' wouldn't have been so blatantly condescending during his first visit. Also there was the whole nearly getting him killed because he made a mistake that could have been easily avoided if he'd simply bothered to fact check thing. Not that he was being vindictive or anything. Fakir had brought the duck-feather quill along with him and started twirling it idly between his fingers as he waited for Autor to return. Roughly ten minutes later, his wait was over and the other teen re-entered the room with two cups of tea. The green-eyed young man wasn't the least bit surprised when his cup was practically shoved into his hand before the glasses-wearing teen took a seat on the couch. 'Good host my ass,' he quipped internally, 'I think I'm starting to genuinely hate this guy.' "So what in particular did you want to work on," the music student inquired with a smug smirk as he sipped at his tea, "Lord knows the list of things you still don't know is a long one."
"I need to write a story," the young writer replied bluntly as he set his cup down on the desk behind him before turning back to face the other teen, "About a particular person and it can't just be a recording of what is already taking place." "Oh," Autor looked up at him inquisitively though he still kept the smirk plastered to his face, "And why might that be?" "How familiar are you with the story of 'The Prince and The Raven'," Fakir countered evenly. The glasses-wearing teen blinked in surprise before scowling indignantly, "It's only Herr Drosselmeyer's greatest work left tragically unfinished due to his untimely death. It was the first of his many works that I ever read and I've read it countless times since then."
"It's not just a story," the dark-haired young man stated bluntly causing the other's eyes to widen in awe, "It's been affecting this whole town for years now, but was stalled for most of that time. It was only around the start of the year that it started moving again. That was when Princess Tutu first appeared. Ahiru is her alter-ego. Mytho is the Prince from the story and lost his heart years ago. She's been working on restoring it all this time, but…recently he became tainted by the Raven's power. That is the truth behind his uncharacteristic behavior of late. Ahiru and I have been trying to find some way to turn him back to normal for a while now. We thought my abilities as a Spinner might be the best way to go about it only my progress has not been as fast as I would have liked…and now we're out of time. Ahiru found the last heart shards recently and is going to try to retrieve them soon so she can return them to the Prince. When that time comes, the Raven will be freed from his imprisonment and the battle between the two of them will begin once again…with the lives of everyone in Goldkrone at stake."
Autor had gradually started to shake in excitement as the taller teen continued his explanation and, once he finally finished speaking, was staring ahead in wide-eyed amazement. "The prince of 'The Prince and the Raven' has become real," he breathed in awe before continuing eagerly, "I see. And then the Monster Raven became real as well, and is now about to be restored… This town really is being controlled by stories! My hypothesis was correct!" Somehow, Fakir was not surprised that it was the glasses-wearing teen, of all people, who would be the only bystander to notice something was off. He was clearly obsessed enough… "I am the knight cursed with the fate of dying in vain," the knight-turned-writer admitted grimly, "So I can't protect the prince with my sword." "And so you will write stories instead," the other young man inquired. "That's right," the dark-haired young man confirmed.
"Truthfully," the blue-haired teen stated as he lowered his teacup to rest in his lap, "It will be impossible to rewrite Drosselmeyer's story with your power at its current level." A frustrated noise escaped the young writer as the other set his cup aside, stood, and continued, "Since you are at the stage where the story writes itself through you, there is no way you could possibly turn your stories into reality." "I know that," the malachite-eyed young man snapped irately causing the music student to gasp in surprise. "That's why I want you to help me, Autor," the grim teen concluded. An irritated look crossed Autor's face as he complained, "Why should I have to do that for you?" "I need your knowledge," Fakir half-pleaded which made the glasses-wearing teen look up at him again. Yet he was still not convinced. "So why should I," he muttered indignantly. "If their battle breaks out and Mytho loses," the former knight growled, "We all die. And not just those of us intimately tied to the story like myself and Ahiru. Everyone in Goldkrone could die including you!" That was enough to convince the arrogant music student to cooperate…for the moment. He was still clearly very reluctant.
"Very well," the blue-haired young man huffed with a resigned scowl, "I suppose our best bet is to recreate the conditions under which Drosselmeyer wrote as best as possible. I assume you still have that quill you stole." Wordlessly, Fakir flicked the quill out of his pocket with two fingers and held it up. Autor scowled before sighing, "Well, I suppose the next step is ritual purification. I'll go get the water." The dark-haired teen flinched in recollection of that incident and grumbled, "Can't we just skip that part. I'd rather not be completely soaked again." "If you want to be sloppy about it," the glasses-wearing teen snapped, "And risk failure, then yes but I doubt you want to take that risk! Am I wrong?" The two glared at each other before the young writer finally sighed, "Fine. We'll do it your way…but at least grab me a towel so I can dry off this time!"
Autor scowled, but nodded before leaving to fetch the things he needed. The former knight glowered at the replica of Drosselmeyer's desk as he waited. Soon enough, the other teen returned with the necessary items in tow. He laid the towel on the couch before promptly splashing the taller teen full in the face with a pitcher of water. Fakir glared at the music student as he wiped the water from his eyes before grabbing the towel wordlessly being held out to him and drying off. "So I'm 'purified'," he bit out tensely, "Now what?" "Now you sit at the desk and focus on what it is you want to write," Autor retorted, "While I take care of the rest of the preparations. It might take me a while, so you should have plenty of time to think." The dark-haired young man scowled back, but obeyed as he slipped off his uniform jacked and draped it across the back of the chair. It wasn't as though he had any better ideas…
A/N: And that is where I am cutting things off for this chapter which means there will be a short time skip between the end of this one and the start of the next. We really don't need to go over Fakir agonizing over what to write again. Rest assured that it was just as torturous a process as in the last chapter only without the backlash. As much as I enjoy tormenting that boy, I feel like giving him a bit of a break and will leave it up to you all as to just how miserable he makes himself this time. Be sadists…and have fun. Next chapter is the start of the series finale! Sort of… Technically, the start was at the end of this episode, but…for Fakir it starts in the next episode. He…kind of gets neglected in favor of advancing Rue's character arc a bit more before it is finally resolved in the final episode. Which is perfectly fine because one of the things I freaking love about this series is how well-developed all the main characters are! Also, I am watching the episode as I write this and I just got to the part where the Raven is released! LOVE IT! Going to stop writing now so I can enjoy what little remains of the episode! See you all next chapter!