Chapter 11: The Last Refrain

Notes: Wow, so thank you for all the comments and suggestions and thanks especially for the support! I don't always write things that people want to read, but I do like writing, so it's even better that others like to read what I offer. I'm not always the fastest writer either, and sometimes it takes years for me to finish a story, but if I love the characters enough to write about them, then I will finish…eventually…. Fanfics really are just shrines to ship your favorite characters. (I make no claim of ownership to the characters in Ni no Kuni, and all copyrights belong to their respective registered copyright holders.)

Sadly, my process doesn't include beta readers. (Although it would make my life easier!) I think it's a total type A thing…. Sigh….

I'm having a horrible time with Mr. Drippy. It's a work in progress. I was aiming for Tahitian, but I've never been. Between his "youer" and "mun" I can't quite place it no matter how I revise him. So he sounds like a Jamaican pirate now! (Aaargh.)

So…on that note, I haven't played this game in a while and I don't really remember all the nuances of their world or how the characters conducted themselves or interacted with each other, so I had to go back and research! Also, I find it really difficult to get into anyone else's head who isn't the main character, and my characters are usually heroines. But getting into someone else's head for a different perspective is a good idea and from time to time I can pull it off, so let's try something different.

-Kero

The morning meeting had not gone particularly well. All the nagging, cajoling, and veiled threats were tiresome. It all came to a head when the emperor actually lost his composure and slapped an open palm against the meeting table to silence the squabbling ministers. Quite a few eyebrows raised at that point, he ended the meeting shortly after. Usually Marcassin was able to keep himself aloft of their petty arguments, ego posturing and their power vying but he felt particularly weary this morning. His mood was bad enough that even his brother, usually out and about getting himself in and out of trouble, felt compelled to stay in the palace and keep an eye on him.

Inside his rather unkempt room, for his servants knew better than to try to tidy up, potions and elixirs continued to bubble in their beakers and vials over their slow gas burners. His research into fertilizing the soil outside of Hamelin was still a work in progress, and the almanacs, topographical maps and books on farming were still strew everywhere, just as he had left them before his journey. Before he had been able to bury himself in his work but he sat listlessly on the window seat in his room. Nestled in the crook of the arched alcove he felt a little lost and alone, as if he had reverted back to his childhood self.

"Why are you sitting here alone, Your Highness?" she had asked that day, long ago, when he was still a boy. At the time, he remembered doing his best not to cry.

"You are all leaving now, are you not?" he asked. "Gascon… has already said his goodbyes."

Esther looked at him thoughtfully. "I suppose your brother has his own journey to make. Just as we all do. Under different circumstances…."

"Yes," Marcassin replied. "If I was the one who had no power, I would be equally troubled at what I might do in the palace to help my brother."

"I believe that you will become a great Sage one day, and a brilliant ruler," she affirmed. "So does your brother." He blushed at her words. "You mustn't forget yourself, and you must keep believing in yourself. No matter how dark it gets, you must continue." He looked up at the serious expression in her eyes. There was some concern mixed in her shy smile and Marcassin knew she was holding something back about what would become of him in the future.

"I will continue," he nodded resolutely. "I promise I will. For my father, and my brother as well. I will make them proud."

"That's the spirit, Your Highness," she smiled. His heart was touched with a feeling that grew warmer as he continued to observe her smile, etching it into his memory.

"M-Miss Esther," he hesitated. "Will we meet again?"

"Of course, Your Highness. That I can guarantee. We will all meet again. But at that time, you might not even remember me," she laughed.

How could I forget you, the girl with the golden hair? he thought to himself and smiled sheepishly.

"I will have to call you Your Majesty then," Esther affirmed.

"I would rather you just call me Marcassin," he grinned.

She shook her head. "Absolutely not." Esther reached her hand over his head but stopped herself. "May I?" He gave a nod and to his surprise she tousled his hair affectionately. No one had ever done that to him and she peered curiously into his shocked expression.

"I'm an only child, so I never had siblings to worry about, or any who could worry about me. You're lucky in that respect. But whenever I was troubled, my father would do this and somehow it made me feel better. Did it work?"

"Y-yes," he stammered. How he had wished she would do it again, or that she could stay and keep him company a little longer, but she left the room shortly thereafter, taking her warmth with her.

When Marcassin saw her for the first time after their battle with the White Witch in the field near the Tombstone Trail, he was rather surprised. She was certainly taller than when they parted last but she looked thinner as well and a little gaunt from her own travails. Her warmth had visibly diminished. Marcassin had wanted to ask her to stay, if only to re-energize her for the remainder of her long journey. But what he realized he wanted was to spend more time with her and sort out his own conflicted feelings that hovered in between sibling affection and friendship, acquaintance and also something deeper.

When he was a child, she seemed sisterly and kind. When he caught her in his arms after she confronted the Darkwing he was taken aback by the delicate lightness of her body and felt the sudden desire to protect her. After, as he watched her sleeping in her guest chamber in the palace for days on end he felt something different still- an affection he could not quite name. It urged him to ask her to dinner, to give her pretty things and to help her in her quest as much as he could. He realized soon after that his gifts to her were not only because he wanted to repay her for her kindness years ago or because she had just saved his life.

Perhaps he had really been lonely all along, and when he was with Esther, he forgot that loneliness. Maracassin wanted to ask her to stay by him for a while longer this time. It certainly was not helping that his ministers had been continuously trying to get him to accept someone else's marriage proposal. Day after day letters from courtesans and noblemen who had fathered a daughter to marry off were delivered to his table. Each of them miraculously had the most beautiful daughter in the world with all the charms and attributes of a goddess.

Marcassin ignored them all as he preferred the company of a girl of the desert, naturally graceful and yet socially unrefined. Her openness and her unchecked way of speech was a welcome change from the ministers and courtly ladies in his palace. When he tasted the sweet dessert she had made him as a parting gift he knew his affections were strong enough to make him want to follow her.

But to his dismay she had kept guarded against him, no matter how hard he tried. His need to protect her was persistent, and his brother admonished him more than once on their journey to be more mindful that he was still the Emperor of Hamelin. And though it was his first time really attempting to woo a lady, and not merely flirt with one, he found himself at a loss as to what to do to win her heart.

"In the end, like a fool, I simply confessed," he sighed out loud to the empty room. "And she rejected me." So ended his one attempt to be happy in addition to being the wise sage and brilliant ruler she predicted he would become.

The letters of marriage continued their barrage after he returned, moreso than ever, and this time, his ministers started picking candidates for him and answering the letters to invite prospective partners to come dine with their emperor. He had a few such social engagements today, just as he had every day for the past two weeks. Each lady was a lovely prospect in her own right, some more comely than others, and most of them all rich if not well connected to noble families in Hamelin, Al-Mamoon or far away Ding Dong Dell who would contribute not only to Hamelin's coffers but its industry as well. He need only to choose one, and if all else failed and they were all the same, Marcassin decided he would just drop all their names into a basket and choose by lottery.

It was in this state that his brother found him, and Swaine let out a harumph of dissatisfaction after he closed the door behind him. He stepped gingerly over the manuscripts and books on the floor and stood stoically by the window, arms crossed. For all his manners and impeccable dress as well as his reputation as a Great Sage, his brother was surprisingly messy at times.

"Are you just gonna sulk until they marry you off? Or are you going to continue sulking after that as well?" he grumbled.

"Gascon, if you have come to criticize me, you may go," he waved dismissively without even looking in his brother's direction.

"I wouldn't dream of criticizing, Your Eminence," his brother uttered sarcastically.

"Oh really?" he retorted in equal measure. "It never stopped you before."

His brother chuckled.

"In the end I will simply choose a suitable mate and that will be the end of that," said Marcassin observing the emptiness in his eyes reflected in the glass window.

"I don't know what's wrong with that girl," muttered Swaine as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Or maybe you should ask what is wrong with me that I could not make her stay?" Marcassin sighed. Swaine went over to his brother and smacked the side of his head.

"Ouch!" his brother exclaimed angrily. "What was that for?!" If it was comfort Marcassin wanted he knew better than to ask for it from Gascon.

"It's not always about you, you know?" Swaine argued. "Esther has to figure out her own battles herself. Great Sage or no, I think this is something we can't help her with." He added that last sentence before looking over to his younger brother, knowing Marcassin's proclivities to leap in and save this particular damsel in distress as many times as necessary.

"Is she in trouble?" he asked.

"I'm not sure how to describe it," Swaine answered truthfully. "Maybe 'cursed' is a better description."

Marcassin tried to get more details but soon realized his brother was not going to venture forth any more information no matter how much he pressed, and if Esther herself did not explain it to him, he knew that the answers would not be soon forthcoming. He had bigger problems today starting with his luncheon meal time, fast approaching.

The servants knocked politely, and his brother took that as his queue to leave. In a parade of washcloth, basin, toiletries, garments and regalia they came in single file and went about their duties without his even having to give a single order. Before he knew it he was clean, shaved and dressed for his first meeting of the day with a fine noble lady.

Marcassin approached the dining table with a mask of indifference and strode across the room to his seat. With a polite bow to the lady he sat down to eat and make small talk if he was inclined. The lady was finely dressed, with pale skin like many who stayed in the covered city, and dressed in all the finery of today's fashion her family could afford. Her dark, lustrous hair was common among residents of Hamelin, and she curled it with ribbons and pins to make it stand out. He concluded that she had taste in fashion and finery, at least.

Their conversation was polite. In fact, everything about her was polite and reserved. She answered the questions he posed as placidly as the untouched surface of a lake and her pretty blue eyes were serene at all times. Each quip and joke was carefully timed and there was something pleasant about how she covered her mouth when she laughed. Lady Marybelle was the daughter of a Hamelin nobleman with deep pockets from what he remembered his ministers say. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her, or any of the other candidates for that matter, for she danced and played the pianoforte just as well as any. Marcassin had the pleasure of observing this for himself at another noble lady's salon the other day.

As she continued to speak animately about the piece she was still learning, Marcassin's mind drifted to the song of another girl with golden hair. It was something he had heard long ago when he had met her for the second time, before confronting the White Witch. Their party had been resting along the Tombstone Trail, and Esther had volunteered for the first watch. Though she did look tired, he had guessed correctly that she was afraid of the monsters here for some reason. When he expressed his concern their teammates described her as a very capable warrior who tamed powerful monsters to fight on her behalf so she could not possibly be afraid of the monsters in Autumnia.

It was on that cold night he stirred from his sleep and had followed the soft, gentle strumming of a harp to the cliffside. Huddled in her thick cloak with only a wisp of golden hair peeking out from her hood, she was tuning the strings. To test her progress, she would play a few bars of a song, he guessed a folk song from her childhood, and then went back to tuning. Marcassin could feel the presence of her familiars hovering protectively about her, lulled and mesmerized by the sound of her harp, ready to come when she called.

When she was finished, the full melody played from her graceful fingers. The song was simple and if executed quickly it could possibly be a reel or jig, but the way she played it was with a solemn timbre. He thought it was the most beautiful song he had ever tempo increased slightly each time as she added more embellishments to the simple tune, repeated with more depth and more accents until it became a complicated refrain. When she was finished, he almost broke into applause, but realized perhaps he should not have been spying on a lady to begin with, and had started back. His pace slowed to a halt then when another melody began. Slow and wistful notes were plucked before she opened her mouth to sing.

From where he stood he could see the round oval of her mouth forming a long, airy note. He did not blame the monsters for falling under her spell. Her voice was light, like silver bells, and sweet, like candy though the melody was slightly sad. It was a gentle melody about love and loss, or that was what Marcassin had imagined it to be since she sang in an older dialect of the Al-Mamooni nomads that was unfamiliar to him. Into the middle of the song, the melody took over and she strummed it flawlessly. The notes bounced off her harp and off the stone boulders surrounding them, drifting off into the night. The air around her even seemed tamed by her melody and the darkness seemed a little less imposing.

When she finished the last lyric Esther placed her harp quietly in her lap and looked up towards the starless sky. There would be no more solos that night. Patches of cloud hovered and threatened rain, but the half moon still shone boldly through. When her hood fell back Marcassin saw the soft glow of moonlight against her hair that seemed to form a small halo around her head. In that moment he felt something unique, something he later realized was only reserved for times she was in his presence - something that would relentlessly grow stronger every time he saw her again.

He had silently watched her solemn face deep in thoughts that did not make her smile. At that time he really wanted to see her smile again and wanted to comfort her as she once did for him, though he did not know how. He walked back to the campfire without saying a single word.

Marcassin felt a twinge of something unpleasant in his chest as his attention was pulled back towards his guest sitting across from him. The thought of never hearing Esther play again made him increasingly forlorn. Holding his emotion in check as usual, his expression remained unchanged as the butler declared it was time for the emperor to attend the hearings in the audience hall. He exchanged quaint words of parting with his guest and as she curtsied he gave further assurances they would meet again soon. Marcassin smiled politely, though the mirth did not reach his eyes, and felt utterly exhausted when Lady Marybelle left the room.

He stepped over to the windows of the dining room and observed his own grim expression and let out a slow, steady breath. His hands clenched into fists by his side. "No matter how dark it gets…." he said softly to himself. "I must continue." With that, he pulled his shoulders back to stand a little taller and strode purposefully out of the room to his next engagement.