A/N: God, I love Rue's confession so freaking much and Mytho finally starting to snap out of damsel-in-distress mode! He is a male damsel-in-distress for most of the series and you can't freaking deny it. He is there to look pretty and drive everyone else's motivations up until the series finale! That's it! He is freaking boring! Which really drives me up a wall because said finale showed that he's actually pretty damned cool and it frustrates me to no end that we don't get to spend more time with KICKASS Mytho and have to put up with either damsel-in-distress Mytho or cliché villain Mytho! Not. Fair. At all. Why did you make such an interesting character boring writers? Why?! I actually really like all of the main characters for all that I harp on how boring Mytho is. It's actually because I like his character that I am so frustrated by his boring-ness. At least I have the other three who are not boring at all to comfort me. Particularly Fakir and Rue; easily the best character arcs belong to those two in my honest opinion. And yes, in case you are wondering, I did start writing this author's note the second the last episode ended and am currently waiting for the next one to load. Because I kind of like the online translation I am working off of more in some ways than I do the official translation. Parts of it just read better… Well, let's jump right in to the start of our climactic finale and what is probably the most romantic moment shared by Fakir and Ahiru in the entire series. Which only made the way the series actually ended hurt even more. Ow… I mean the ending was sweet and all but still…ow… Eh, here we go!
Disclaimer: If I owned Princess Tutu we would have gotten WAY more of Mytho being amazing! Instead we only get two episodes…and only one of them contains a full episode's worth of him kicking ass. So not fair… Moping now…
Chapter 26: The Sacrifices We Make…
It took Autor several hours to finish the rest of his preparations not that the young writer was aware of the passage of time. He knew he needed to write Mytho's story, but try as he might the words just wouldn't come! 'Why,' Fakir fretted as he stared down at the sheets of paper spread out on the desk before him, 'Why can't I write Mytho's story?!' He'd tried feeling for the thread that would allow him to tap into his best friend's story yet, try as he might, he could not reach it. It was there. He could feel it, but no matter how many times he reached out…it twisted away. 'Ahiru's story didn't give me nearly this much trouble,' he complained to himself before stiffening as a sudden thought occurred to him.
'Could it be…,' Fakir wondered uneasily, 'Because of how strong my feelings for her are? I care for her…no…I love her more than words can say… Mytho is my best friend and the prince I swore an oath to protect at any cost…and yet… Ahiru means more to me than even that. She's… I don't think I could ever love anyone as much as I do her… Could my desire to save Ahiru…to bring her back to my side… have been strong enough to over-ride my own limitations? Could those same limitations be what are hindering me now? No, I have to write! It isn't just Mytho who is counting on me… Ahiru…and Rue…and everyone in town… I want to protect them! All of them! But if I can't write…then I won't be able to protect anyone… Damn it, am I just doomed to be a failure forever?! No!' Fakir grunted in frustration as he tightened his grip on the pen in his right hand before bringing his other hand up to his forehead. He then leaned heavily on it as he pleaded quietly, "Please…I have to write… I don't want to be a useless failure anymore… Please…"
"What are you mumbling about," the glasses-wearing teen demanded as he finally returned to the replica study with a cup of tea in his hand. He'd left to grab what he claimed was the final component to recreating Drosselmeyer's method close to an hour ago. Fakir didn't bother answering and remained focused on trying to grab hold of the elusive thread of Mytho's story. Autor sighed in annoyance before walking over and setting the cup of tea on the desk beside the struggling young writer. "This tea is the blend that Drosselmeyer liked to drink while he was writing," the music student explained, "Darjeeling mixed with Assam." The stressed teen only let out a shaky grunt as he met with yet another failure to tap into the thread he was seeking. The blue-haired young man rolled his eyes before heading over to the bookcase against the far wall and leaning against it with a sulky scowl.
"Why do I have to do this," Autor muttered for what was easily the fiftieth time since he reluctantly agreed to give his aid. Before he could continue his complaint, however, a raucous cawing sound reached his ears and he glanced over towards the front door in confusion. "It sure is noisy," he observed as he headed over to check. Fakir didn't really fully register any of it, though. It was taking every last scrap of concentration he had to keep track of the elusive thread he was after. Again and again he reached out with his mind to grasp hold of it and every time it danced away just barely out of his reach. It was infuriating! His focus slipped once more, however, as he heard Autor start to cry out. "This is terrible, Fa-,"the other teen started before suddenly cutting off. "Autor," the young writer growled tersely as he started to look up and turn to glare at the music student, "I'm begging you, please be quie…" He cut himself off as he scooted backwards in shock with a sharp gasp at the bizarre sight that met his eyes.
Autor was frozen in mid-air half-way through the act of tripping as he ran back through the door to the room. Yet that was not what he was focused on. No, what drew the dark-haired young man's attention was the bulky grandfather clock that had appeared just next to the doorway and stood wide open…to reveal a flamboyantly dressed old man with a crazed grin stretched across his face. "Well, well. This person sitting and writing a story," the old man mused aloud, "Could that be me? No, if it was me, he wouldn't be so uncertain about writing." He then laughed and took a step out of the massive clock. Fakir remembered that voice! He'd heard it last night at Drosselmeyer's grave when Ahiru had been abducted! There was absolutely no doubt in his mind. This was him… The man controlling the story from beyond the grave… The man responsible for everyone's suffering… The man who wanted them all to die because he thought it was amusing…
"Drosselmeyer," the young writer murmured in disbelief. How could he even be here?! He was long dead! Then again, Ahiru had mentioned that he had appeared before her before and that time froze every time this happened. Clearly, that was what was happening now, but why?! Why would the long dead Spinner appear now of all times? "Hmm," Drosselmeyer hummed thoughtfully as he looked around the room before suddenly vanishing and reappearing again next to the replica of his old desk, "These look a lot like the things I used, but they're mostly fakes, huh?" Fakir twisted around in his seat to keep an eye on the crazy Spinner. He refused to let his guard down considering what he already knew about the sadistic old man. The old ghost suddenly turned around and pointed at his great-great-great grandson accusingly, "You're trying to be responsible about writing, aren't you?"
Fakir's eyes widened in surprise as a soft gasp escaped him from the sudden accusation. Of course, he was trying to be responsible! Being irresponsible with a power like Story Spinning was just asking for something terrible to happen! Then again, the dead Spinner seemed to like it when terrible things happened…to other people. "That's why you can't write," the old man continued gleefully, "Stories come when you write freely and irresponsibly, just following your own feelings!" "I don't want to be like you," the young writer growled with a sharp glare, "Playing around with people's fates just for kicks!" "Good grief," the sadistic ghost shrugged with a mock disappointed look, "That won't get us anywhere." A large gear suddenly dropped down in front of the teen from out of nowhere and started to spin as an image materialized within.
"Mytho," the knight-turned-writer gasped in shocked horror. It was his best friend trapped with a black, egg-shaped barrier of some kind! Just what was going on?! "The Monster Raven has been revived," The old Spinner explained smugly, "All of the prince's heart has been returned to him save for but the shard in Princess Tutu's pendant." "What," Fakir breathed incredulously. Ahiru's pendant…was the final heart shard?! "And Princess Tutu is suffering right now because she can't return the pendant," Drosselmeyer continued gleefully as the image in the gear shifted to show Mytho's calm expression as he waited patiently for the aid he believed would come. The dead man then snapped his gloved fingers and, to the young man's rising horror, the hand which had been grasping the duck-feather quill all this time suddenly moved over the paper on the desk all on its own. "What," the dark-haired teen gasped in disbelief, "My hand just…"
The old Spinner laughed again as his descendant's hand started to write free of the young man's control and a new scene bled into being in front of them, "My blood is running through you, after all." Fakir grunted as he struggled to regain control of his renegade limb, but to no avail. "This is the Lake of Despair," Drosselmeyer narrated proudly with a deranged smile, "It was as dark and deep as that in Ahiru's eyes." The young writer's eyes widened in fear at the mention of Ahiru's name; he turned to stare at the dead man and demanded, "What are you planning to make me write?!" "The sad and beautiful tale of little Ahiru," the sadistic old man grinned chillingly as he met his great-great-great grandson's horrified gaze. Praying desperately that he heard wrong, the dark-haired teen asked hoarsely, "What did you say?"
However, the elderly man did not respond and instead returned to narrating the scene unfolding before their eyes…the scene he was forcing the young man to write. "At that moment, Ahiru could hear a voice," the old ghost related with a satisfied grin, "It was the voice of Drosselmeyer, the man who controlled the story!" Fakir whipped his head back around and tensed as he saw the girl he loved walking towards the edge of the lake in a daze. "Ahiru," he exclaimed breathlessly. Just what was that man planning to make him do to her?! "The reason that you can't return the final heart shard," Drosselmeyer continued cruelly, "Is because you're scared of no longer being Princess Tutu." "That's not true," Ahiru protested and the young writer's eyes widened as her voice sounded out clearly in his ears. He could see and hear everything as though he were really present even though he knew he was still in Autor's apartment. Story Spinning was capable of even this level of immersion?!
"Are you scared of being separated from the prince," Drosselmeyer asked mockingly as his smile darkened. "I…," Ahiru protested weakly. "By sacrificing herself to the Raven, Rue will be carved into the prince's heart for all eternity," the dead man pointed out causing his descendant's eyes to widen. Rue had done what?! "Ahiru, by continuing to carry that heart shard," the old Spinner continued, "You will live on in the prince's heart not as an ugly little duck, but as Princess Tutu." Fakir desperately clutched at his right arm as he tried to pull it away from the paper and break his twisted ancestor's hold on them both. However, no matter how much he struggled, his hand would not budge. It would not stop writing those terrible words. 'It's not true,' he cried out internally, 'Don't listen to him, Ahiru!' "I…Is it my fault," the diminutive ballerina asked tearfully. "That's right," the sadistic ghost nodded with a cruel smile and a darkness spread across the misty lake she stood beside, "And in order to get the pendant off, you have no choice but to sacrifice your life! Ahiru began to sink into the Lake of Despair, walking further and further in…"
"Stop it," the young writer cried out desperately, "Don't do it, Ahiru!" He couldn't let this happen! He couldn't let Drosselmeyer use him to kill Ahiru! However, his words couldn't reach her. The old Spinner's control was blocking his voice even though it was his power that was being used. There had to be something he could do! He refused to let her die! "Bravo," the dead man cheered softly as the despondent red-head started to walk into the lake, "Bravo!" "Stop it," Fakir pleaded once more, yet to no effect. Words alone were not enough…they never had been… "Damn it," swore tightly before he desperately looked around for something, anything, he could use to break the old man's control! His gaze settled upon a paper knife lying nearby and the former knight didn't even hesitate before reaching out with his free hand to grab it. 'If this is what it takes to save you,' he snarled internally as he raised the knife over his hand, 'Then so be it!'
Fakir stabbed downwards with all of his strength and drove the knife clear through his dominant hand pinning it to the desk. He gritted his teeth as he choked back a cry of pain and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't notice the shocked look Drosselmeyer turned on him before abruptly vanishing as his control over the teen was broken. He didn't notice the scene suddenly fading away leaving only the wall of the study as reality reasserted itself. For the next few moments, all he knew was the agony radiating from his impaled hand. Yet his desperate gamble had paid off partially. He was fully in control of his body once more and the thread the old Spinner was trying to create had cut off short. He could still save Ahiru…if he acted in time.
"Ahiru," the young writer cried out desperately as his eyes finally snapped back open only to find that everything had gone back to normal. He panted harshly from the agonizing pain radiating through his hand before glancing over slightly at the sound of a soft thump. Time had also restarted and Autor had completed his fall to the ground. He was also trying to finish his interrupted alarm, "-kir, the whole town has turned into ravens." Fakir didn't pay attention as he yanked the paper knife free with yet another pained grimace and threw it off to the side. He had something far more concerning on his mind as he clutched at his bleeding hand and straightened as he stared towards the door. "Ahiru," he breathed anxiously. He had to find her! He had no way of knowing if he'd acted in time to save her from drowning or if he'd been too late. The uncertainty was killing him! He had to know if she was safe!
"Ahiru," he repeated shakily as he staggered towards the door yet he was stopped by Autor's firm grip on his shoulders before he could go too far. "Don't go out," the glasses-wearing teen snapped, "It's dangerous!" "What," Fakir breathed as he stumbled backwards slightly from the shock of the sudden stop. The other young man's eyes narrowed in concern as he suddenly noticed the blood streaming down the taller teen's fingers. "More importantly, what happened to your hand," he inquired uneasily before glancing over at the desk and narrowing his eyes in confusion at the bloodstained papers scattered across it before continuing bemusedly, "And when did you write that story? What happened?" "It was Drosselmeyer," the young writer admitted haltingly. "What," the blue-haired young man demanded in disbelief. "That bastard made me write it," the dark-haired young man continued hoarsely. "Could it be," the music student exclaimed in disbelief, "Drosselmeyer was here?!" "Yeah," the former knight confirmed quietly.
Fakir was not going to be getting over the horror of having the control of part of his own body stolen from him any time soon that was for sure. Autor's eyes widened in awe and excitement as he breathed blissfully, "That's wonderful!" Of course, the other teen was completely unaware of the trauma his guest had just endured which made his natural reaction to that revelation about the worst thing he could have done. The young writer's temper snapped. He roughly grabbed the blue-haired student's uniform collar and yanked him forward with a furious glare as he clenched his injured hand. How the hell could that idiot be so blind as to admire that monster?! Didn't he have any idea what he'd tried to make the former knight do?! He could have killed Ahiru! That thought made him freeze before following through with his original intent to slug the other teen. He'd almost forgotten in his sudden fury that she could still be in danger!
"Wh-what is it," Autor stammered with a nervous grin. The young writer abruptly stepped back as he decided there was no point in wasting his time correcting the other teen's misguided admiration. Ahiru was more important than anything else right now. "Nothing," he growled as he shoved the blue-haired young man to the side and resumed his original path for the front door. As he relaxed his injured hand, it reminded him that clenching an appendage with a bleeding hole running clean through the middle was not the brightest idea with a particularly intense pulse of agony. The young writer grimaced in response, but didn't falter. The pain would be worth it if he had managed to act in time to save the girl he loved. He had to know! "Hey," the glasses-wearing teen demanded, "Where are you going?" The knight-turned-writer ignored the other teen as he finally reached the front door and reached out with his good hand to open it. "Hey, wait," the music student called as he ran up behind the taller young man. Fakir's eyes widened as the door swung open at the sight waiting beyond.
Everyone in town…had turned into humanoid ravens. They were still wearing their normal clothes and going about their business…but they were all covered in feathers and had wings and raven heads. "What is this," he wondered incredulously. "It's like what was written in 'The Prince and the Raven'," Autor stated grimly from where he stood next to the stunned young man, "An entire town full of ravens." The former knight looked up at the darkened sky as he recalled Drosselmeyer's words about the Raven's resurrection. "The Monster Raven's curse," Fakir muttered quietly. Part of him was relieved that they were still alive, and that the Raven hadn't simply ordered his minions to gorge themselves. Yet the fact that it hadn't done that was somehow even more worrying. It must be planning to use them somehow, and he just knew it wouldn't be for anything good. "Damn it," the dark-haired young man swore before running off. The sooner he found Ahiru the sooner they could find some way to fix this! "Hey," the glasses-wearing teen cried out after him, but was fully ignored.
The dark-haired young man's hand was still bleeding, but he couldn't stop to treat it. Instead, he pulled out the roll of bandages from his pocket, unrolled part of it, tore it free, and started roughly tying it around his wound as he continued to run. 'The Lake of Despair,' he wondered as he pulled the bandage tight with his teeth, 'Where is that?!' He honestly had no idea where to even start looking as there were only a few ponds scattered about the parks around town. He didn't stop running, though. He'd just have to check all of them! He had no idea that he was about to start looking in entirely the wrong places, so it was fortunate that he would soon encounter a willing guide.
Uzura suddenly stepped out from behind the corner of a building and ran forward a few steps before crying out his name, "Fakir!" "Uzura," He replied in surprise as he slowed to a stop before the child-like puppet. Fakir didn't want to run her over, and he had been worrying about her odd behavior. However, she cut him off before he could even start asking her where she'd been all day. "Ahiru disappeared-zura," she stated with a worried look. The young writer's eyes widened slightly as he inquired, "Were you with her?" The little puppet nodded and he swore he had never been more grateful for her tendency to follow the red-head everywhere. "Where is she," he demanded. "This way-zura," the little girl answered as she turned to run, and the anxious young man promptly ran after her. The raven-shaped townsfolk ignored the odd duo as they ran through the town, even after the green-haired puppet started beating on her drum.
Soon they came to the edge of town where one of the gates had once stood. It had crumbled into rubble with the breaking of the seal holding the Raven prisoner. Fakir was puzzled as to why she'd let him here and started to speed up with the intent to ask her where she was even going. However, Uzura did not stop but ran right up to the rubble pile with a chipper, "This way-zura!" "What," he wondered in surprise as he started to slow down, "Outside the gates?" The young man walked up to the crumbled pile of rock even as the little puppet continued onwards. "I never even considered going outside of town," he admitted quietly with a puzzled frown. For that matter, he had never considered leaving Goldkrone for any reason at any point in his life. He knew there had to be more to the world outside of the town's walls yet he had never been curious about any of it. Now that he thought about it that was unusual. He was curious about all sorts of things he read about in books and he had definitely read about the rest of the world in the past. Why was he never curious about that? Suddenly, it clicked. He knew why.
"That's right," Fakir realized, "That's because I'm being controlled by Drosselmeyer's story." Since the story was only controlling the events within the walls of Goldkrone, it made sense that those controlled by it would be confined within the area of its effect. It did so by stifling any interest in the world beyond the gates. People could enter…but they could never leave once they became ensnared. The young writer's eyes narrowed grimly as he gazed through the gap in the walls to what lay beyond. "It looks like the story's started to spread beyond the city walls," he murmured uneasily. That was…troubling. Uzura ran back, having noticed her surrogate older brother had stopped following and clambered back onto the rubble pile. She pouted at her brother figure and demanded, "What are you doing-zura?" "Ah," the young man blinked as he snapped out of his thoughts, "Sorry!" He then made his own way across the rubble pile as the little puppet jumped back down, "Hurry-zura!"
Uzura started leading him down a forested path that ran along the walls. The forest felt vaguely familiar as he ran through it. 'I've dreamed of this place,' the young man realized, 'These are the woods from those dreams I kept having with Mytho, Ahiru…and myself in a mist shrouded forest. The woods from those dreams that lead to my dream-self dancing with Ahiru before we started doing…other things.' He blushed faintly as he reflected on the most recent of those dreams. They'd escalated to kissing and it was not making his resolution to keep his feelings for the red-head a secret any easier because now he was curious about what kissing her would actually feel like. The young writer abruptly snapped out of his contemplations when the trees finally opened up to reveal a large lake that he recognized from Drosselmeyer's story. It looked far less sinister in real life, but he knew it was the same lake! Uzura's word's confirmed it as she stated, "This is it-zura." The dark-haired young man didn't hesitate to run forward into the water at that. "Ahiru," he whispered uneasily as the water splashed around his legs. Soon he was up to his waist in the chilly spring waters of the lake and he promptly dove under the surface to search for the red-haired girl.
Fakir was expecting to hit the bottom of the lake soon considering the water had only come up to his waist, yet that was not the case. It dropped out from under him into a dark abyss of gloomy water which had prompted an involuntary gasp of surprise. He'd started to wince thinking that he was about to start choking before his eyes widened in amazement. The water was acting like air! "What is with this lake," he murmured as he continued swimming downwards, "I can breathe! Is this a stage that Drosselmeyer set for us?" If that was the case he wasn't going to complain all that much. If he could breathe that meant Ahiru could as well. If she was somewhere down here it would be impossible for her to physically drown. Dying of a broken heart on the other hand… The young writer grunted in agitation as he swam faster. There was no way he was going to let that happen!
Deeper and deeper he swam into the dimming depths of the lake before finally he caught sight of a small figure curled up on what seemed to be the bottom of the lake. "Ahiru," he gasped as he sped up once more. As he drew closer he called out her name hoping to catch her attention, "Ahiru!" She didn't stir and he felt a thrill of fear that he might have come too late. "Ahiru," he cried out once more and this time was rewarded by a hint of movement. She was still alive! As he drew near to the surface she was resting on Fakir gracefully flipped around and allowed himself to sink the rest of the way. "Fakir," she called out in amazement as she watched him descend before her pendant lit up brilliantly. Her face crumpled in despair shortly after he touched town as she reached back up to fight with the chain. "Ahiru," the young writer murmured in concern.
"Fakir," Ahiru cried desperately as she continued to struggle with the chain, "My pendant won't come off! It's the last of Mytho's heart shards…and Mytho asked me to return it to him, but…" Fakir gazed down at her sadly as he saw how upset she was, but didn't interrupt. "Mytho said he wanted to make Rue-chan his princess," the despairing red-head continued as her taller friend cringed internally at her words knowing just how heart-breaking they must have been for her to hear, "and I know he wants to save her from the Monster Raven, but it won't come off!" The young writer felt an ache start to bloom in his chest at the naked desperation on her face as she finally looked up at him and started to sob brokenly, "It's my fault… Because I would rather not have the story end… Pique and Lilie and Mr. Katze and everyone turned into ravens… And still…!"
The young man felt torn for a few moments. On the one hand, he wanted to tell her how wrong she was to blame herself and give her the reassurance she needed. Yet on the other, he knew that this was also likely to be his last and only chance to tell her the truth about how he felt. 'Yet…if I tell her how I feel…she'll never find the strength she needs to do what she must,' he realized sadly, 'She already blames herself… Telling her…would only cause her pain… So I won't do it. I wish I could tell you how much I love you, Ahiru, but that's not what you need…' Fakir took a deep breath before kneeling down in front of her and reaching out to grasp her shoulders as he murmured gently, "Moron! It's not just you." The distraught ballerina looked up at him in surprise before the young writer continued as he gazed deeply into her eyes, "It's not just you. I don't… No, everyone would rather not see the story end. Everyone besides Mytho… I still can't write Mytho's story, either."
Fakir slid his hand down her arm before grasping her wrist gently and pulling her up to her feet. He would give her the support she needed, tell her the truth she was missing, and be the friend she deserved…even though it meant he was giving up his one chance at possibly winning her heart. He wanted to be so much more…but he was so very used to sacrificing his wants and needs for the sake of others… "Don't blame only yourself," the former knight told her firmly. "But," Ahiru started to protest before he cut her off. "Everyone's scared," he murmured as he pulled her into a gentle embrace, "Of returning to their true selves… They've become accustomed to their roles in the story." He then pulled her into the starting moves of a pas de deux. He'd danced with her so many times in his dreams, yet their one dance in real life…had been so tense. He wanted to have at least one dance with her in reality that was not marred by distrust, frustration, or anything. One dance that he could hold in his memory and cherish for the rest of his days. One dance so he could let her go without regret. Just one more dance was all he wanted…and he would ask for nothing else.
"The real you is a duck," he told her gently before quietly admitting, "The real me… In the end, the real me has done nothing other than to be protected by others ever since I was a kid." The diminutive ballerina looked up at him in surprise as he bitterly confessed, "I can't protect anyone." She let out a quiet gasp as he suddenly led her through the next several moves before lifting her into a spin as he gazed deeply into her eyes once more. "But even if that is what I'm really like," he continued honestly, "I want to make the story end! I want to protect you and Mytho because of my own feelings, not because it's a role that was given to me! Even if I have to use up all my power!" Ahiru gasped slightly before a sorrowful look crossed her face, "I'll turn back into a regular old duck then, won't I? I won't be able to study ballet with everyone ever again…" Fakir guided her into the next move as he asked softly, "Isn't that all right? That's the real you." Ahiru made a soft uncertain noise and the knight-turned-writer took his chance.
"Even after that time comes," he vowed gently, "I'll always stay by your side." This would be the closest he would allow himself to come to confessing how he truly felt out loud, but he meant every word. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. "Fakir," the red-head replied tearfully. Perhaps she divined the intent behind his words if not their meaning. He didn't know, and it didn't really matter. 'My heart shall always belong to you,' Fakir confessed internally as they continued to dance, 'I know now I will never see anyone the way I see you. You are my light, my life, my love, and my hope. Everything that makes my life worth living. I will always love you and only you, my Ahiru… Forever…' The young man gazed tenderly at the girl he loved as they reached the end of their pas de deux. He truly loved her with all his heart and always would. Even when she returned permanently to being a duck his feelings would not change…for she would always be Ahiru to him.
"Let's go back to being our true selves," the young writer murmured as he lowered her to the ground in the final move. Their faces were so close that it was taking every last scrap of self-control he could muster to keep from kissing her. "Okay," she replied quietly with a faint nod. "Let's do it, not just for Mytho's sake," he continued as he gazed into her eyes, "but for our own sake as well. Let's end this story." "Okay," she repeated with a hint of enthusiasm. Her pendant flashed once more before falling as the chain finally released. The diminutive ballerina gasped in surprise as she cupped her hands to catch the falling heart shard before murmuring, "It came off!" She then looked up at her older friend in amazement, "Hey, it came off, Fakir!" Fakir smiled back tenderly, "Let's give it back to Mytho." "Right," the red head agreed enthusiastically as she practically leapt up to her feet.
However, before either of them could make a move to return to the surface, the ground beneath them began to shake and tilt alarmingly. Fakir lunged forward to wrap his arm around the diminutive ballerina as she stumbled and screamed. Then the ground tilted further and a startled cry escaped him as they started to fall. Drosselmeyer's laugh started to echo around them as they fell and he mocked them, "The despair still stretches deeper than that!" The young writer looker around in surprise as he realized the water was filled with over-sized gears. They hadn't been on the lake bottom at all, but one of those massive gears! As they sank through the gloomy water, they noticed another gear below them that started to show an image. It was Rue dancing sorrowfully across a dark plain! "Rue-chan," Ahiru cried out desperately, but the raven-haired ballerina couldn't hear. The young writer recognized this trick. The gear was a one way window into events happening elsewhere. Most likely a last ditch effort to prevent them from interfering with the old Spinner's intended ending. The red-head started to squirm as she watched her friend continue dancing and cried out once more, "Rue-chan, I'll come help you now!"
"Wait," Fakir told her as he started to look around for something to stop their descent. "Huh, Ahiru murmured curiously as he glanced back up at him as he reached out with his free hand to grab onto a massive gear. Once they stopped sinking, he looked down at her and continued, "Let's go back." "But," the blue-eyed started to protest before cutting herself off upon noticing the calm look on his face. "I'm sure that Mytho will save Rue," the young writer assured her with a soft smile, "So let's hurry and go save Mytho!" Ahiru looked back down at where Rue was dancing again before agreeing, "Right!" Of course, the tricky part was getting back in the first place. The gears had drifted together above them to form a maze. However, aid would soon come to guide them out.
A familiar sound reached their ears: drumming. 'Uzura,' Fakir realized gratefully. "Uzura is showing us the way back," he informed the girl in his arms before pulling himself up and starting to swim back for the surface. Every time he started to swim the wrong way, the sound of drums would fade and indicated when he needed to correct his path. Ahiru clung lightly to him as they made their way upwards and – he noticed when he glanced down – had a thoughtful look on her face. It took less time than he expected for them to finally reach the lake's surface and – when their heads broke through – the young writer was somewhat surprised to find they had emerged close to shore. They were only a few steps away from dry land. "Oooh," Uzura cooed curiously as the young writer helped the girl he loved onto the shore, "Are you okay-zura?" "Thank you, Uzura-chan," the red-head smiled at the little puppet. "Thank you," the knight-turned-writer echoed softly.
"Ahiru," Uzura looked up at her favorite person aside from her big brother figure, "Did you take your pendant off-zura?" The diminutive ballerina lowered her gaze as she stammered, "Y-yeah." A hint of unease colored her tone, yet it was short lived. Only resolve shone in her eyes as she turned her gaze eagerly upon her older friend. "We have to hurry and return it to Mytho," she exclaimed before asking him seriously, "Fakir, will you write about me one more time?" Fakir's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden request, "What?" "We'll combine our 'we want to protect Mytho' powers," she explained eagerly. "Combine our power," he repeated hesitantly. "Yeah," Ahiru nodded firmly.
There was a certain logic to it he supposed. The only time he'd ever successfully written something was when it had been about her… Yet he wasn't sure how much use he'd be. "All right," Fakir agreed with only the faintest hint of doubt coloring his words, "We can try that…" The blue-eyed girl beamed back at him happily, "Thank you!" The trio headed back into town in silence. They'd had a brief conversation over where the young writer would set up before agreeing that the music student's apartment was their best bet. He was the only person in town they knew for sure had not been turned into a raven. There was a chance that Drosselmeyer might try something to stop the dark-haired teen from writing and having someone they could trust as a look out seemed like a good idea. Admittedly, the blue-haired young man was not his first choice, but he was all they had.
Fakir was quietly enjoying every last moment he spent in her presence because he knew this was the last chance he would ever have to spend time with her as a human. At least he wouldn't be losing her entirely, though. He could live with her being a duck, but that didn't mean there weren't things about her human self that he would miss. The sound of her voice, seeing her face light up when she laughed, her adorable freckles, her soft red hair – he really enjoyed ruffling it a little too much – under his fingers, the warmth her small hand in his, and her flustered reactions when he teased her… He'd miss all of these things. 'I once read a poem,' he mused thoughtfully as he helped her over the rubble pile at the town gates, 'Which had a line about how binding oneself to a joy destroys it, yet he who lets it remain free shall never lose that joy. Ahiru…I've never been happier than when I've been around her these past few months. Letting her do this…as much as it may hurt… It's what's best for all of us. For do try to keep her from it would be to destroy not only everyone's future, but Ahiru herself. I could never… So as much as I may miss her human self… I made the right choice. And perhaps…I'll find my happiness in her contentment… I can hope…'
The walk back to Autor's was over far sooner than he liked, but in that time he'd already started to grow a new set of doubts about their current course of action. His control over his Story Spinning powers still wasn't the best. What if he made a mistake and Ahiru ended up hurt…or worse killed?! "Is it really okay for me to write a story about you," he asked uncertainly. "Yeah," she assured him with a comforting smile. She really did believe in him… He still could not help feeling surprised by her faith in his ability when he felt so little for himself. "I'll be going then," the red-head chirped cheerfully. "Okay," the young writer replied quietly. He really didn't want her to go, but he also wasn't going to stop her. This was something that she needed to do for everyone's sakes; including her own. The diminutive ballerina then bent over to say her farewells to little puppet, "Uzura-chan, goodbye." Uzura didn't respond, but only looked up despondently.
"Well," Ahiru started to say as she turned to leave, but was stopped short when Uzura's hand suddenly shot out and latched onto her skirt. "Huh," the red-head wondered as she looked back, "Uzura-chan!" Fakir sighed quietly as he realized that the little puppet was fond of the idea of letting Ahiru return to being a duck for the rest of her life as he was. However, she was still very much a child. Her natural inclination was to be selfish about what she wanted and not think about what was at stake. 'Yet giving up the final heart shard is still something Ahiru must do,' the dark-haired young man thought as he reached out and placed a comforting hand on her head, 'No matter how much we may want her to stay as she is. Yet regardless of her shape…Ahiru is still Ahiru. So it's okay, Uzura. You can let her go.' Reluctantly, the little girl released her grip and the blue-eyed ballerina started to run down the street; somehow, she'd understood what her older brother figure wished to convey through his comforting gesture.
"Princess Tutu, huh," Autor mused as he watched her leave. The child-like puppet didn't stay put, though, and ran after her human friend a short ways before loudly banging on her drum. The sudden noise made the barely visible girl stop and look back. "Ahiru," Uzura called, "Do your best-zura!" Fakir could just make out Ahiru waving back before she turned and resumed her trek. He stared after her a few moments longer before turning to head inside, yet he hesitated and looked back once more. She was long vanished in the mist enveloping the dark streets, but that didn't matter. "I'll do my best not to let you down," he murmured quietly, "Ahiru…" Then he turned and headed straight for the desk he'd used in the replica study. He then took a deep breath as he picked up his quill once more…and started to write as he tapped once more into her story. It was waiting for him, patiently, and reached out to draw him in just as eagerly as it had the night before.
Fakir repeated the words he was writing in his head, 'Princess Tutu ran to return the final heart shard to the prince. It wasn't solely for the prince, but for everyone. When she thought about it that way, there were no longer had any doubts. One last time, she donned her pendant and called forth its power to give her strength. The pendant responded with a will and assumed its true form as it changed her into the elegant ballerina princess once again. The bell marking the arrival of dawn had not yet rung. The prince waited in silence for Tutu to return. Calling upon the power the pendant gave her; Princess Tutu summoned a platform of flowering vines to carry her up to the top of the pillar the prince was imprisoned upon. Once she was standing across from him she spoke, "I'm sorry to have made you wait, Prince." The prince shook his head and smiled kindly as he replied, "I had faith that you would come for me without fail. The feelings that you returned to me, the feelings of love, affection, sadness, loneliness, all of my feelings told me that you would not fail to return."'
The young writer had to stifle a gasp as he started to actually see what he was describing in his mind playing back in his mind's eye. Yet he did not stop his internal narration, 'Moved by the prince's faith in her, Princess Tutu reached out and laid her hand on the barrier keeping the prince confined. At her touch, the barrier dissolved as though it had never been and the prince took the hand of the maiden who had aided him for so long. She led him onto her platform of vines and knew the time had come to return the final heart shard. It was the pendant that granted her power…and allowed her to remain human. Gazing into the prince's eyes, Tutu silently removed her pendant. The final heart shard resembled a pair of extended wings. Wings for the people who had lived comfortably inside the story to leave the nest with.' Fakir repeated the next words out loud and could distantly hear Ahiru's voice echoing them, "Wings for the prince return to his true self with."
The young writer then resumed his internal narration, 'The shard returned to where it belonged as easily as all the others had as the platform of vines slowly lowered them both back to the ground. The prince smiled in gratitude at the maiden who had fought for so long to give him his heart back, yet he knew not the price she paid to do so. Princess Tutu smiled at him one last time as her body started to glow brightly and cheerfully bid him farewell before she was enveloped in a flash of light.' Fakir paused and smiled sadly to himself for a moment before continuing to spin the thread of Ahiru's tale, 'When it faded she had returned to her true form. A little, yellow duck with a heart so infinitely compassionate and forgiving that she gave up even the humanity she had come to cherish so that others might find happiness. The prince was stunned to behold the maiden's true form and humbled by the revelation.'
Fakir was mildly amused as he felt an echo of what his best friend was feeling, but did not stop writing. 'This weak little creature had been the one to return his heart to him and support him alongside his faithful knight? "You're," he murmured in amazement. The little duck quacked at him sadly and his eyes softened. "Such a small and fragile existence," he breathed before executing a formal bow. He could never truly repay her for what she had done for him, but he could at least show her the depths of his gratitude and respect. "Thank you, Princess Tutu," he thanked her formally and the duck was awed that the prince she had admired for so long was now returning that admiration,' he narrated silently with a faint smile, 'The prince then stood and raised his arms as – in flash of power – he assumed his true form as the prince from the story. "This is," the duck thought in amazement, "The real prince!"'
The young writer tensed slightly as he felt a new thread weave its way into his narrative and narrowed his eyes slightly as his mind's eye revealed the form of the creature whose return he'd dreaded for years. The tone of his internal narration turned grimly defiant, 'The Monster Raven laughed maliciously to see his enemy restored. "You've finally been restored, Prince," it asked mockingly as the dawn bell started to chime. The prince only responded by raising his hand high into the air and calling his sword back to him. The two swans it had formed when it shattered flew down from above and, in yet another flash of power, reformed his holy blade! The prince then pointed his sword challengingly at his foe. He would now allow the Raven to win! He would rescue his princess and destroy the Monster Raven once and for all!'
A/N: One chapter left! One chapter left! One chapter left! Sweet mother of God, I have one chapter left! And Mytho is finally doing things! Writing the interactions between Fakir and Ahiru at the bottom of the lake of despair…kind of hurt me a bit. I mean I love how it turned out, but it was really painful for me to write knowing how their story ends in canon. Poor Fakir! Poor Ahiru! They really do sacrifice so much to save everyone! Ow… My heart hurts… And it's going to hurt even more after the next chapter. Also, the poem Fakir referenced really does exist. I've read it. Thing is I don't remember who freaking wrote the blasted thing! I am really bad with names… Once I find it again I'll credit the author in a future edit. Just know that it is NOT MINE and that it is definitely a real poem. No point in delaying the inevitable any further, I guess… I'll see you all next chapter! Present day edit: FOUND THE POEM! It is Eternity by William Blake! Congratulations to the guest reviewer who guessed it before I found my copy of the bloody thing. You were right! And have a much better memory for names than I do!