The Duck and her Knight
Ahiru waited in anticipation as the day ended and the shadows of night grew long, excited to have the chance to be a girl once more. Fakir sat watching her, amused as she fluffed her feathers and fidgeted around the room.
They hadn't returned to the pond that day, instead spending the hours reading quietly together in his room, until the sun had set and she'd begun to twitch and squirm. Her restlessness was endearing to him, for he could recall her childish enthusiasm during the story.
The night drew on, the hands on the clock moving progressively towards midnight; her nerves were winding her tighter and tighter. When the town clock struck twelve, she let out an undignified squawk and flew at him, landing in his lap.
He caught her, falling backwards on the bed. His cheeks red from embarrassment from what he expected to find when he looked up. Instead of her excited face, he saw a beak. She stared at him in confusion and he could see the tears threatening to overflow.
"No!" Disappointment tore through him as he voiced his denial of reality, "No! This isn't the end."
Hugging her to his chest, he stood and rushed from the room, from the house; the doors swinging behind him in his haste.
He raced down the street, through the trees to the pond. Without a second thought, he waded out into the depths and lowered her to the water, praying fervently that this would trigger her transformation, unsure what he would do if it failed.
She shivered and dipped beneath the surface and squawked once more as that familiar feeling rippled through her. Fakir watched in fascination as her small feathery form elongated into the girl he loved.
Dragging her out of the water and into his arms, he held her to him. Her lack of clothing made no difference after the uncertainty they'd both experienced.
"This can't go on." He whispered, his face buried in her hair, "I won't let it."
"Fakir?" She murmured, grasping his shirt. He shed it quickly, wrapping it around her shivering form. He leaned into her hand as she reached up to caress his face.
"Fakir, dance with me?"
And they danced.
They shed their sorrows, their worries, their disappointments, and danced, rejoicing in their love and their happiness in being together. It was a flawless celebration of their hopes and dreams and it was over far too soon.
Once more wrapped in his shirt, he cradled her close as he made the cold, weary trek back to their home, determination thrumming through him that this be the last time this happened.
Ahiru woke as a duck, her head tucked beneath her wing, in the centre of Fakir's bed with the morning sun shining down upon her. Fakir was not in his room and she left to locate him, ruffling her feathers to ward off her concern.
He sat at the table poring over a book, his morning repast remaining untouched; pushed out of the way. She gathered herself and hopped onto the seat beside him and he glanced down, her very own secretive smile gracing his lips while he smoothed down the feathers on her neck. She would much rather have felt the caress as a girl.
"I think I've found a way, Ahiru." He murmured, "It won't be long."
He fed her his toast and drank his cold tea, before clearing the dishes away and gathering her up. She noticed then, that he'd dressed in one of his finest shirts, the dark blue material soft against her feathered body. It seemed whatever errand he was intent on required a good presentation. She shivered with the thought as they left their house and ventured into the town.
He shied away from the main streets and she wondered why until one lady caught sight of him. Their conversation was stilted as Fakir tried to escape without being unjustly harsh. The woman's curiosity of her presence was what sent Fakir running, pleading an urgent meeting to escape her interest.
It seemed they'd crossed the entire town before he slowed, still checking the cross roads furtively. He finally stopped outside a small chapel, hidden behind a row of trees and a wrought iron fence. It was set back, away from the road and the neighbouring houses, seemingly overcome by the shadow of the town wall.
He walked up the path to the door, even as Ahiru stared in curiosity at the aged tombstones that jutted out of the unkempt lawn. He stopped on the doorstep, gathered his courage and drew himself upright. Then he rapped, commandingly, on the door, three times.
"Come in, come in." A weak voice called from within and Fakir pushed the door open to reveal a tired looking old man in priestly garb, approaching them along the centre aisle.
"Ah, young man. What brings you here today?" The priest asked, his voice thready as if the weight of history was laid on his shoulders. "Come to study the windows, perhaps? Or take a rubbing of the tomb?"
"No." Fakir replied quietly, though the priest continued without noticing the interruption.
"Or maybe you wish to learn the history of this little chapel? No, young people never want to learn." The priest shook his head and turned away, shoulders hunched against rejection, "No one seems to mind that we have decayed here. Here, where so much has been done."
"Wait! This is the church, isn't it? The one where Drosselmeyer was buried?"
The priest stopped his muttering and slowly turned to face his visitor, "So you know? Have you come to deface his tomb as well? Little remains of him in this town, yet the tomb is always a vandal's target."
"No, I came for a different reason." Fakir answered, stepping forward.
"Do I know you, boy?" The priest peered up at him as he approached.
"I want a new end to the story." Fakir stated quietly, "I want you to perform a ceremony."
"So, you're one of them. It is fitting you came here." The priest replied, scratching his cheek below his watery blue eyes, "What ceremony do you wish performed?"
"A wedding."
"For whom?"
Ahiru tensed, emotions heightened. The next few moments marked either their new beginning or a crushing end. Fakir's arm tightened around her as he took a deep breath, "Myself and Ahiru."
"Ahiru? You wish to marry a duck?" The priest stepped back in shock before drawing himself upright, cloaking his frail, old body in the dignity of his station, "Young man, there are laws against bestiality. I do not take kindly to this… this affront to the church!"
"There is more at work here than you know." Fakir said heatedly, his face stern as he stood over the priest, "I have come here for a particular purpose: to finish what he began."
"Drosselmeyer's sins were paid for with his own blood. He is beyond reach and influence, his or ours." The priest answered confidently.
"And yet he toyed with us, leaving unseen scars that pull everyday." Fakir argued, pulling out the book he'd been so intent on that morning. "This was not finished."
The priest's eyes widened at the sight of the cover. The Prince and the Raven was emblazoned in gold across the leather, the pages were yellow with age. "That was sealed."
"They escaped." Fakir shrugged, tossing the book to the priest and bringing his hand up to smooth over Ahiru's back. "And in so doing, wreaked havoc with the lives of this town."
Flipping to the end of the story, the priest stood quietly and read the last pages. The story had changed, but had become so much more, so poignantly beautiful. "So tragic."
He raised his rheumy eyes to the young man before him, cradling the duck with care, as if he held his entire life in that one precious bundle. "Very well. I will do this for you."
Ahiru relaxed, relieved that the tension had drained from the air but Fakir still stood stiffly.
"How soon can it be done?"
"Three days." The priest replied. "It will take three days, and the proper procedure must be followed."
Fakir turned to leave, "Do what you must."