This is GW, AU, I don't own it.-- I think those are really the only necessary warnings.
Duo dropped his pack silently, and moved into the brush at the edge of the clearing. Tasuki followed him at a distance, as he closed in on the telltale rustle, his sure movements leaving not a swaying branch to broadcast his passing. He waited, and a brown side wandered into view. He sighed, and unnocked his arrow-- it was a doe. Sure enough, a wide-eyed fawn stumbled into her moments later. He waited for them to pass by, and then went back to his midday meal with somewhat less stealth.
Apparently he was still stealthy enough, for the rustling in the clearing as he approached didn't so much as pause. It didn't sound like a raccoon. He nocked another arrow, touched the top of Tasuki's head in a familiar "stay" gesture, and stepped into the clearing. His lunch was spread over the grass, and a large swan was delicately nibbling at his loaf of bread. He took aim, and let fly, but a slender branch whipped back and struck the bow at the last minute, and he winced guiltily as hit with a solid thump, but the swan remained standing. It looked at him, perfectly still. He nocked another arrow, and it fluttered its wings, trying to back away, then just watched him. His foot hit some lunch, and he frowned down. The jerky was unwrapped, the paper intact, the jerky placed neatly in the middle. Same with the cheese. His flask had been pulled out, and set between them. His cap and dry stockings, wrapped around the food, had been unwrapped and placed back in the bag, and his satchel was neatly rebuckled.
"What the hell!" He watched the swan over his arrow. It watched the arrow. It had no glow, it left footprints. . It had been hurt. Could magical swans get hurt by arrows?
It was frightened. Very slowly, he slid the arrow back into his quiver, and lowered his bow. Breaking off a piece of the bread, he edged forward. Tasuki growled softly, and the swan staggered back a step. He waited. "S'alright, swan, I'm sorry I hurt you. I guess you were just inviting yourself to lunch, huh? At least I've still got some beer, huh?" He kept his voice soothing, and somewhat inane. "I'm not going to hurt you. Ssh . . . here, you want this? It's okay, I can spare some bread . . . come on . ." He moved closer gradually, until the bread was within reach. The swan made a snatch at it, and he caught it by the neck, behind the head. It jerked frantically a couple of times, then subsided into trembling as he stroked the head and smooth neck. "Ssh . . ssh . . you're gonna be alright. That's not too bad . ." he hoped--Holding on to the swan with one hand, he unbuckled the satchel and stuffed his lunch back in. He swung it up on his shoulder, and grabbed his bow and arrows. The swan caught at his sleeve. He frowned down at it, and waggled his arm. The swan hung on. He sighed, set them down, and gently ran his thumb over the feathers. "I'm not going to hurt you with it. I just need to take it home. It's okay . ." After a while of coaxing, it let go, and watched him sling them over his back. He gathered the bird into his arms, and stood up. "OOF. Maybe you you didn't need that bread after all, hmm?"
It rode back to his house peaceably enough, until he had it to the door. It hissed, and knocked against him with the huge wings, but it had lost a lot of blood, and he just held it tighter and took it inside. To his surprise, it took most of its panic out on the door.
The arrow had pierced what would have been the muscle under the shoulder in a human. He wasn't sure how serious that was for a swan. He wrapped it in one of his older blankets, soothing it carefully before trying to remove the arrow. The swan had been very still ever since it came inside. It was still alive, but it hardly moved as he jerked out the arrow. He bandaged it carefully, leaving the wing free, then just stroked the feathers. "It's okay, swan. My name's Duo. You need a name. That way, when I talk about you in the village, they won't think I'm nuts. If I say 'I have to leave, swan might be lonely,' They might think I'm weird."
The swan watched him. He tickled it with the end of his braid, and it cocked its head at him.
"There's some more bread. I don't know what swans eat. . hey, leggo my hair, you!"
It tugged gently at the end of the braid.
"Cute. That's not bread, you know. I hope you don't take a dump in the blanket, or I might have to eat you after all." He grabbed the braid, and tug-of-warred a little while he talked. Pulling his satchel over, he pulled out the bread.
It waggled it's head, making the braid bounce, and he grabbed his hair, pushing the black bill away with a grin. "Good little swans eat their millet loaf." He stood up to get water, frowned at the swan, and poured it into a shallow dish. He set that down, and got himself a bowl of the rather pathetic stew he'd left over the fire. He glowered at the swan. "This would taste a lot better with you in it."
It was tugging delicately at the heavy crust on the bread. He sighed. He cut himself a piece from another loaf, and used butter because he was feeling sorry for himself. He slathered it with honey, and sat down in front of the fire. The flicker was hypnotic in the darkness, after the long day, and it took a sharp yank at his bread to snap him out of it. "Hey! You've got a good third of a loaf right over there!" It looked up at him, bill securely fastened on his crust.
Duo wiggled his foot. The swan didn't budge, nestled into the crook of his leg. He sighed, and leaned back into Tasuki, who let out a whirring snore.
He kept twitching his foot-- it was feeling tingly-- and shivered. His sweater poked out of the top of the satchel, and he reached over to the buckle, then thought, and tried to pull out the sweater without unbuckling the bag. It wouldn't come. He yanked, hard, and the swan and Tasuki both jerked awake. Tasuki twitched and fell back asleep, but the swan lifted its head from under its wing, and looked at him as he unbuckled the bag, and pulled out his sweater. He looked back, frowning.
He checked the bandages again before he went to bed. There wasn't very much blood . . . . and it appeared to be feeling okay. "G'night, Featherface," he said softly. We'll have to name you tomorrow. Tubgut sounds good. Maybe Freeloader . . what do you think, you gnat-brained little bread thief, huh? How the hell'd you get my pack open, huh?" It tucked its head under its wing, and fluffed its feathers slightly as he skritched its back.
He didn't know how it ended up Heero-- Better than yelling Tubgut at night, he supposed. It was a good name-- you could say it with a sort of lilt that made Heero fluff up his feathers and hiss, and Tasuki thump his tail. Tasuki was a good name too-- the angrier you were, the shorter it got, until it became an incoherent "TSKI!" and the poor animal tried to fit under a chair.
Tasuki and Heero had an informal feud the first few weeks-- the rug in front of the fire did not belong to wildfowl, as far as Duo's pet was concerned, particularly once that bird was well enough to move around. So every evening. Tasuki ran to the rug first, leaving Heero to pretend he preferred the wooden floor, at least until Duo got his dinner and shoved Tasuki aside to sit down. Heero spent the first few nights trying to set Tasuki's ears on fire by concentration alone, but eventually he climbed clumsily into Duo's lap. Duo was startled, but as long as Heero left his dinner (mostly) alone, he didn't mind. As Heero got better, and although it was getting colder, he spent more nights outside, swimming in the small pond by the path into the clearing, and splashing in the noisy stream keeping the water clear, and freezing cold. Occasionally, in the morning, Duo would find small arrangements of coloured rocks and leaves. He asked Heero about them, but the swan only blinked, or cocked his head.
By then, most of the problems living with Heero had been worked out. Duo kept attention to Heero and Tasuki about equal. Heero was allowed to tug on Duo's braid if Duo was sitting with him by the fire, not if Duo was trying to get dressed. Duo's occasional disturbances of Heero's little treasure-piles on the stones around the pond had been repaid with a few brightly coloured pieces of glass and feathers Duo had picked up in town. They usually shared bread.
Heero dove into the pool, and frogkicked along the bottom. It was a full moon. He watched the bottom of the pool for all the filtered light, then rolled to look at the moon through the water. He came up for air, and placed another rock on the largest boulder. "Beh-rue. Behrue rock. Brue, du, Duo--" SPLOOSH! The words burbled underwater, and he surfaced again. Ce-ru-ri. Duo has no ce-ru-ri . . brue Duo Tasuki ce-ru-ri . . ." He shivered. It was cold without his coat on, but he loved the feeling of the water on his skin. He floated, and watched leaves fall and get blown across the moon. "brue . . reaves.. . ." he whispered softly.
"Hey! Heero, it's freezing out here, don't you want to come in?"
Heero slid down, his eyes just above the water, his hair floating around his ears. Duo waited, then shut the door.
She stormed into the clearing, bundling the ragged blanket around her, then stared as a huge splash came from the pond, and a naked boy half climbed, half leapt to the edge, and shook the water out of his hair violently. He was beautiful. She blushed. He was also murmuring softly, but she couldn't quite catch it. He seemed oblivious to her presence, so she edged closer. "Tasuki. Dog. Orange. Orange dog, Duo brue. Beh-rue, brown, white. Cottage-brown. Bread, butter, bed . . ."
It wasn't Duo.
Her mouth fell open. There was a naked boy, swimming in Duo's pond, muttering nonsense syllables, in November, in the middle of the night.
She took a deep breath. "Who . . who are you?"
He cut off sharply. He looked at her. "Gir . . giru." He shook his head, then frowned at the ground. He picked up a small rock, rinsed it off, then placed it on a small pile off to his left.
"What are you doing?"
"Cor-- getting rocks."
"Why?"
"It is red."
"Oh." She scuffed her feet. He looked at them. "Aren't you cold, though?"
"Yes."
"You . . like red?" She pulled off her necklace, and showed him the red bead hanging from the thong.
"No," but he examined it curiously, and then thumbed though another pile, and handed her a shard of clear glass.
"It is no colour." he said. He touched her matching earring, then flicked it, and it bounced back. He tugged on a piece of her hair, frowning at it, then touched his own. He shivered violently. "I . . will go now."
"Do you come here a lot?"
He looked at her.
"Could I come and see you?"
"See me?"
"Tomorrow night. Will you be here?"
He thought, then shrugged.
Duo muttered at the tapping on the door, then swung his legs over the side of the loft and jumped down. He opened the door. "Hey, ya, featherbutt. Get in here." He stuck another log on the fire, and crawled back into bed.
Relena stumbled back through the door, smacking her shoulder on the frame.
"Where is the flame?" her stepmother asked raucously.
She looked at her hands dazedly. I forgot . . "He wasn't there."
"Took you long enough. We're half frozen."
The sweet girl shuddered away from her evil stepmother, hiding behind her blonde curls. "Father . ." she sniffled.
"Relena, I am not your real father!"
"Father! Nooo!"
It was too late for Heero to migrate. Duo scratch the white head, frowning. "You weren't ready soon enough, huh? You'd spent too long without flying?" Heero cocked his head, listening. "You're gonna be stuck all winter long with me and Tasuki, you realize."
He was lucky he'd stocked well for winter. Fall had come early, and most mornings the door was frozen shut. He'd be powerful sick of jerky and withered potatoes by spring, but he had enough wood piled to heat three shacks the same size, and he'd even dried some grass for Heero. It was worth a try.
A first, he reread the few books he owned, then, as usual, he turned to revising them out of desperation, then to stories entirely of his own creation. He was glad of Heero's company-- Tasuki always fell asleep, right in the most exciting parts. Heero would sit watching him, or quietly preening, but when he got to the good parts, he always paid attention, and when it got late he'd nestle his neck around Duo, resting his face under the soft braid, while Duo stroked his feathers, and the fire flickered.
Duo's two books were fairy tales.
Relena tiptoed from the fireplace, brushing the ashes off as much of her as she could. Perhaps she hoped the cloud would obscure her passing. Wrapping the blanket around her tightly, she stepped carefully over the creaking floorboards to the door. She could hear the splashing as she approached the pond. He watched her from under the water, floating just beneath the surface, until his lungs hurt, and he surged to the surface, roared for air, then dove. When he came up again, she leaned over and grabbed his hand.
"If you come out-- . . . . you can practice talking some more."
"I can talk." he said.
"Do you know what . . do you know what dances are?"
He looked at her.
"Horses? Tournaments? Ferryboats."
He jumped up across from her. "Talk."
And so he waited for her every night, until it got so cold they could have at most an hour, and then for a few nights he wasn't there at all. For sometimes, the magic of Duo's stories was stronger. One night, just before going inside, he'd turned, and asked "Are you a princess?"
She hadn't answered, just blushed, and lowered her eyes, and he'd gone inside. The next night the coat was on the rock next to her as he swam, and she ran her fingers through the feathers for the first time. "Heero, are you a prince?"
He'd looked at her. "I'm a swan." and he dove, holding his breath. When he came up, she'd pulled the coat into her lap, and he watched her run her fingers through it. She shook her hair loose.
"Do you think I'm beautiful?"
"You have golden hair." He thought. "What colour is cobalt?"
"Wha-? D-dark blue."
"Then your eyes are wrong."
She swallowed. "From--from a story?" Her lungs felt tight. "You want me to be a princess in a story?"
"Are you a princess?"
"I-I . ."
"And when he saw her," he said softly, "he cared not for her peasant's garb, but for the nightingale's voice that lilted through the trees, and the funny little steps as she crossed the stream, trying not to get wet, and the laughing cobalt eyes as she tried to keep herself, her golden hair, and said garb from harm."
"Did you . . see someone like that?"
"You do not have cobalt eyes."
She held the coat tightly. "What . . happened to them?"
"He held her basket while she crossed the stream, and gave her his jesses to tie her hair."
"Did they get married?"
"She didn't want to leave the woods."
"And him?"
"He loved the feeling of the wind through his hair as he rode in the hunt, and the fantastical balls, and he couldn't leave the books.
"So almost every day, or every night, or sometimes in the morning, he would come with his horse, and his jesses to tie her hair, and his eyes started to laugh, and she learned stories she had never heard from her woods."
"Were they . . happy?"
"Not always."
"But then . . but then they . ."
"It's just a story."
She leaned in towards him, and he watched her. She kissed him, then stood up, clutching the coat. He started to climb out, but she saw the movement, and ran to the path at the edge of the clearing. He stepped on the frosty ground gingerly.
He so rarely walked without his coat.
It was almost morning. He crouched awkwardly, trying to make his long awkward legs fit, huddling in the shelter of the overhang. Eventually, he heard a loud thud from inside-- the sound of Duo jumping out of the loft-- then the kettle being hung over the fire, and the wanderings involved in finding clothes. Tasuki yawned hugely, and thudded as he sat against the door. Duo opened it, half-clad, and Heero looked up at him.
"She has stolen my coat."
Duo had yanked the strange naked boy inside, wrapped a blanket around him, and shoved him down in front of the fire.
"Now, what?"
"My white coat. She's stolen it," he said carefully.
"You didn't have any pants? Here, drink this." He handed over a steaming, sharp smelling cup, and Heero sniffed at it. "Hungry?" He held out a slice of bread, and sat down involuntarily when his visitor cocked his head, and took a bite of the crust without removing it from his hand. "What th--!" He grabbed Heero's hand, slapped the bread into it, and sliced some for himself. "Drink your tea," he said firmly. Spooning out two mugs of the soup, he handed one over, with a spoon.
Duo automatically held the mug gingerly, blowing across his spoonfuls, and dipping his bread. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention-- frowning doubtfully, the guy was mimicking his every move like a mirror image. He quickly set down his bread. "Where are you from? Were you lost? Who stole your coat?"
"I was talking to her." he sipped clumsily. He picked an onion off the spoon, and bit it carefully, held it in his mouth, then slowly chewed, while Duo waited.
"What's your name?"
"My real name?"
"Uh . ."
"It's hard to say without my coat on." He took another bite of bread.
"Because . . you're shivering? Are you warmer now?" he was frowning.
"I'm warm now."
"Oh, good. Sorry about the stew, I'm going sparing on my dried meat while I can still get fresh, and I didn't want to start eating pets . ."
Heero glanced at Tasuki. "Mm."
Once they'd finished eating, and he'd found Heero his old sweater and summer clothes, Duo sat, thinking, and watched the fire, nursing his mug of cold tea. Heero squirmed slightly, then fell sideways, muttering quietly and trying to make his face comfortable against Duo's pant leg.
"Could you tell the end of the one about the mermaid?"
Duo shook his head, eyebrows raised. "What—" he frowned down, cocking his head, then bit his lip. "No . . . I don't like the end of that one," he said, watching his guest carefully.
"You could change it?"
Duo shut his eyes for a minute, asked quietly, "What about the Sleeping Beauty? You like that one."
"I bit you when you told that one. I want to know what happened to the mermaid."
Duo shook his head slightly. Bit me when I told that . . , then nodded disbelievingly. "Where did we leave her?"
"She's in love with the prince, and the witch stole her voice."
Duo thought. "She watched the prince from the balcony above, as he watched the witch below. As they listened to her stolen voice."
"What's her name?"
"Does she need one?"
"Yes."
"Her name was . . . Miranda.
"She watched the prince below, knowing that he would do anything to win the witch, and that she need only sing. And that once the witch had won, she would go back to the sea.
"The prince watched the witch, wondering what was wrong. She reminded him of the musicians at court-- skilled, enthralling, but . . something lacking in both.
"He turned, and went inside, pulling his viola out of his case.
"He had always been considered skillful-- the best teachers had brought speed, dexterity, expert phrasing, and sweeping dynamics, but his music at the end was a cold analyzation of what would be the most pleasing to the human ear. So for all his skill, aside from the politeness accorded his station, he was often passed over to play. He had watched the others, trying to see what it was that made the listeners close their eyes, or how tears could come from notes on a page.
"That morning on the beach, he had finally heard. He started playing again, trying to mimic the tones of the voice he remembered. He'd asked her once, "Sing like you did on the beach," and she had sung the same song. It was beautiful, like it was played on a fine instrument, but not the same.
"She had held some of the notes longer than usual, and sung very softly . . Miranda listened from above, frowning, as the prince played the same phrases that floated up from the garden, and they mingled discordantly. She slowly went downstairs, and leaned in the door of the room. He played the same phrase several times, softly, then louder, slowly, then blisteringly fast, staccato, then legato, then swore. He saw her.
"'Miranda. How long have you been there?'
"She smiled."
Duo felt an arm slide around his waist, and he blew on his cold tea, frowning absently at the corner of the fire place. Heero shivered, and Duo looked down at his tea, startled. "Yuck."
He looked down. Heero's eyelids were flickering, but opened at the pause. "What did she do?"
"She came up and ran her fingers over the viola."
"She hadn't seen one before."
"Right. She put her hands over his as he played, and he relaxed a little and let her guide the bow."
"Was it beautiful?"
"No, it was awful. But she loved the way the notes sounded, just the single notes, vibrating through the polished wood. He started playing again, and she left her hands, shutting her eyes. He relaxed, and watched her as he played, then realized he was playing the same song.
"He was playing it like he was on a beach in the morning.
"And when she saw the look on his face, she grinned." Heero was smiling, his eyes closed. Duo wondered how much he'd heard. But now he knew the ending-- and he'd like telling that one again.
Heero shivered again, slipping a hand around the braid, and Duo put an arm under him and carefully slid out. He slowly unbent his tingling legs, and grabbed another blanket for Heero, tucking it around him tightly, then ruffling the messy hair. "I guess all that preening doesn't carry over," he said softly, and climbed up to his loft. Heero woke to Duo dropping the kettle on his foot. He watched the braid fly in the ensuing antics, and frowned, rubbing his neck.
Duo flopped down next to him, and poked the fire, stirring up the embers from the night before, putting on scraps of wood and dried leaves . . . rubbing his foot . . . "So." He grinned. "How do we get your coat back?"
Heero smiled slightly at his voice, but didn't stir.
Heero held the kettle very high, pouring the bath, making the suds rise in an improbable cliff over the sides of the tub.
Duo shook his head, stitching at his boot.
Heero climbed in very slowly, making small hissing noises, then switching supporting feet.
"Want some cooler water?"
"No."
Duo grinned, watching the steam rise.
Heero abruptly bent his knees, and sank under the layer of foam, then came up with a snowfall of suds on his face. He blew them at Duo, who glared. Tasuki stared at the white stuff on his behind, and whined softly, then courageously sniffed it, then pawed frantically at his nose.
Duo snorted, reached over, placed his hand on Heero's chest, and shoved him under.
Heero squirmed on the floor, then readjusted his blankets. He rolled over a couple of times, and tried to breathe with the blanket over his face. It slid up, and the cold air just about bit a chunk out of his toes. He yanked his foot back in. He looked contemplatively at the ladder. Duo had said he should wait until his balance improved.
He went up carefully, and gently pushed at the sleeping pile at the top.
"Fmrutt . . ?"
"C-cold." He pushed again, and pulled at the edges, which lifted to reveal blinking purple eyes.
"Uh . ."
Heero lifted them some more, enough to slide in, and Duo shoved him back.
"NO no no. Here, take blankets. Take some more. But NO, you are not sleeping up here." He dropped more blankets down.He was still muttering as Heero fell asleep.
Relena stared at her father, remembering that although he was considered very intelligent and sensible usually, he was not renowned for keeping his counsel around authority figures.
The prince's rather ugly bodyguard picked him up and shoved him into the wall of their hovel.
"Father!" she squeaked.
"Put him down, Septem!" The prince commanded.
Septem lowered him to the ground.
The prince nodded graciously. "Sir, please explain yourself."
"It is as I said. You are looking for a virtuous maiden. My daughter is so virtuous God has granted her magical powers. She can change swans into men."
The prince looked at her. He was blond, seated on a white stallion, dressed in silks. Clean shaven, clean washed, smelling of fine oriental oils instead of the animal he rode or days-old sweat. And for the first time since the leaves began to fall, the face with messy brown hair and blue eyes, which never smiled, vanished from her mind.
"You- your Highness," she stuttered, curtsying dizzily. Her curtsy made her look to her muddy feet, her ragged skirts, her red hands . . and it took a great effort of will to lift her eyes up again to meet the royal regard.
"Is this true?"
She stared back, tonguetied.
"And each day, the blue bird would bring her a trinket, and talk with her at her windowsill, for the witch had left him his human voice." Duo read softly, his eyes straying to the fire, needing the feel of the book more than the text after so many nights. Heero ran his fingers through the long locks, breathing gently on places, then running the flat of his fingers over to leave it smooth.
"It won't stay, Heero. They aren't feathers." Heero stilled, then quickly finished the braid. He tugged gently at the end, and Duo pulled him forward, under the blanket. "Here. What's this one?"
"'B.' Buh-i-reh-duh. Bi-bird?"
"Hey, all that alphabet reciting in the middle of the night must be doing some good."
"Feh-ll. Duh-oh-wuh-n . . theh? To-wah-er . . ."
"You can spell out words, now. The letters were a welcome change from "rime ripping revitation rutefisk," but I could do with another right about now . ."
"He . . la? Lan-duh-eh-duh i-en the ro-ross-sses th-thay-tuh . .
"You'll be able to read all these to yourself."
He went quiet, then slowly leaned over and bit the hem on the shoulder of Duo's vest.
"Hey." He ruffled the messy hair gently, sliding an arm around him. "I thought you'd stopped doing that."
He let go.
"Of course it's true." said her father stoutly, and for the first time Relena wished he was less truthful.
The prince looked at her.
"It-it happened once, sir-- your majes-highness--"
"Pity God did not grant you a supple tongue, as well. I wish to see this miracle."
"I-uh-- it--"
"You--your highness--"
The prince smiled slightly. "Prove this is true, and I will marry you. If you cannot, I shall wait-- as shall you, though in less comfortable surroundings."
And the beautiful, golden-haired girl cried softly, as her prince locked her away.
"Don't you want to read them? Now that you can? Isn't that why you wanted to learn to read?"
Heero kept washing the dishes.
Duo blinked at him.
He finished, dried his hands, and walked over to the shelf. "We never finished 'The Blue Bird,'" he said softly.
"I thought you were reading that one."
"I started to. Here."
"But--" he sighed. "All right. How far did you get?"
"We were right here."
Duo frowned at him, then read. "He fell down the side of the tower, landing in the rosebushes that had grown from her tears."
Heero undid the tie off the long braid, playing with the ends, and ran his fingers through the thick bangs, over the pink ears, up the slender neck.
"He was-- he was not injured by the fall, because th-- because the roses cushioned him, but he was badly wounded . . ."
Duo rolled over again, and looked at the ceiling. The knots above him looked like a swan, with its wings spread. Next to it was a sleeping-swan knot, a soft, rounded shape with a line for the neck tucked under the wing. Then a swan's head, with one huge eye. Then a swimming . . swan.
He sighed, watching the illusion of movement in the flicker from the dying fire. He leaned his chin on his arms, looking down over the edge.
Heero was curled up under the blankets, just a tuft of hair poking out one side and a bit of knee at the corner to show it wasn't a pile of woolens. The blankets trembled slightly.
He frowned. He climbed down quietly, and tucked the edges of the blankets down in carefully. He wondered fleetingly how much of it transferred-- were the cold, clumsy black things nice legs, for a swan?
He put a couple more logs on the fire, and pushed Heero closer, then sat and watched him sleep. He got cold, and scooted closer. And closer, eventually up against Heero, sliding an arm around him. Heero stirred, then looked up at him, slowly smiling. "Tell me a story . . ." Duo laughed softly, then thought, and began a long one he'd had in his mind for some time. Towards the end, it had warmed in the tiny cabin.
"And they made him his own wings, for a butterfly had died, and the faery magically grew them to bear his weight. They strapped them to his shoulders, and he moved them gently at first, then harder, until the wind from them made the flowers dance."
Heero bumped his head against Duo's hand, then ran his neck down the soft skin on his forearm.
"And as-as he lifted off the ground, the light shone through his butterfly wings, and made patterns of stained glass out if the field of white tulips be-below."
Heero was biting gently at the ties to his shirt.
"He rose gracefully, straining his shoulders, then sweeping low, and the faeries rose around him--"
Heero slid the shirt off over one shoulder. Duo slid an arm around him, and shut his eyes, whispering the story.
"Some had wings of dragonflies, some of silvery moths, some . . some . . ."
"D . . Duo?"
He dropped the book, pushing Heero back towards the fire.
"Some had wings of butterflies, but the finest fliers were those with the wings of birds . . ."
Relena sat in the tower, running her fingers through the coat. She thought about her prince-- his harsh laughter, his golden hair. You do not have cobalt eyes. She wondered about the swan.
"You are beautiful, my lady, but not honest," came the familiar voice from outside.
"You flatter and insult me, my lord, for I believe I am honest, but not beautiful."
"I speak the truth." And he went away.
And so it went.
And she stroked the cloak, and wondered about the swan.
Perhaps he was a prince.
He must be a prince, for who would enchant a shepherd?
Perhaps a young king. A sorceress wished for his kingdom, or perhaps his love.
I am a swan.
He did not have golden hair.
She fed some of her meal to the tower mouse, which did not turn into a grateful fairy to do her bidding, or so much as steal the key.
She wished she had not been so generous. And began to wonder about the taste of mouse.
And the next time her prince accused her of dishonest beauty, said "Take me to the forest."
Duo opened the door the the royal footman, and stared at the carriages outside.
"Heero. Come out. I have your coat."
He came in his bare feet, frowning down at the snow on the steps. She dropped the coat over his shoulders, and for a few moments he was a boy with wings. Then he drew the hood up, and kicked off the ground as she reached to hold him to earth. He circled overhead once, then disappeared in the fog.
The wedding of the Crown Prince was celebrated on the day the first, stubborn, snow-coated wild ash bloomed.
Unfortunately, both the Prince and his father died soon after, leaving Relena Queen of the World, and no time to be beautiful whatsoever.
"So that's the end."
"I hate that story. He's never even seen her awake, and all of a sudden he's marrying her."
"She was smiling in her sleep."
"Probably thinking about biting cats."
"He'd heard she was kind, and loved to laugh."
"And after all, she had golden hair."
"Heero. It's just a fairy tale."