[FFML] [fic][Princess Tutu/Revolutionary Girl Utena] Two Archetypes in Search of a Story 3/3

[Aishuu Shadowweaver]

Title: Two Archetypes in Search of a Story
Series: A Revolutionary Girl Utena/Princess Tutu
crossover
Authors: By aishuu and ekaterinn
Notes: Concrit is welcome on this. For a formally
/formatted copy, visit
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3628116/1/
Disclaimer: Princess Tutu was created by Ikuko Itoh,
while BePapas is responsible for Utena. 

Part 3:


Utena was perched neatly beside the accompanist, her
legs crossed at her slender ankles as Ahiru sat in her
lap. Both were quiet, watching with interest as Fakir
stretched in preparation.

It hadn't taken too much convincing to get
Bruhn-sensei to agree to let Utena watch. Fakir had
made some claim about the girl being a distant
relative, and then she had apologized for intruding.
His mentor, usually a tyrant about how practices
weren't meant to be observed by spectators, had nearly
tripped over himself making sure Utena was
comfortable. Utena had accepted his respect
graciously, although Fakir gathered the impression
that she had been slightly amused. Fakir was starting
to wonder about how things just fell into place for
her.

He didn't have a chance to wonder for long. From the
look on Bruhn-sensei's face, Fakir figured it was
going to be one of /those/ rehearsals.

He wasn't disappointed. Halfway through, he was
dripping with sweat and very glad that Ahiru knew
better than try to speak to him during practice. Fakir
couldn't stop from turning and looking at her, though,
every time Bruhn-sensei yelled at some other poor
student. He found himself glancing at Utena, too. That
pink hair was distracting.

Utena watched him with a curious expression. He could
tell from her body language that she was more
interested in the dance than his body, which was
unusual. Most of the girls who watched fancied
themselves in love with him, and completely missed the
meaning of the dance.

This wasn't one of his favorites, but the Christmas
season was approaching quickly and almost all ballet
troupes put on a performance of /The Nutcracker./ This
year he had the starring role, one that Mytho had
filled in the past. Fakir was an entirely different
kind of dancer, which required vast changes in the
choreography of the performance.

He missed Mytho, missed the years they had spent
together. Though Fakir knew that any personality that
Mytho had seemed to have then had been projected onto
him by Fakir himself, he still enjoyed the peace he
found with the other boy and the flush of pleasure
that came of successfully protecting him.

Mytho had been a technically brilliant dancer, and
Fakir had learned a lot simply by watching him. He
couldn’t bring the same distant beauty to his own
dancing and didn’t try. Instead, he worked on being
more athletic, jumping higher and spinning faster than
anyone else.

Bruhn-sensei must have been satisfied with his
efforts, for eventually he called a break. Fakir went
to retrieve his water bottle, which Utena graciously
held out for him. "You're very good," she said in an
admiring voice. "You must work hard constantly."

"Less hard than you'd think, Tenjou-kun," an unwelcome
voice said from behind Fakir. "There's times when
Fakir-kun is less than devoted to his work. He hasn't
committed himself completely to ballet, and it shows."

Fakir's back went rigid when he realized that
Bruhn-sensei must have followed him. This was an
argument they'd had many times. His teacher wanted him
to give up writing, but he couldn't. He had the blood
of Drosselmeyer in his veins. "I try to keep my
interests balanced," he said stiffly.

Bruhn-sensei, though, wasn't paying attention to him.
Instead he was looking at Utena with an evaluating
eye. "Do you dance?" he asked.

Utena shook her head. "I don't think so," she said,
holding her hands in front of her check in a
protective gesture.

"Everyone dances!" Bruhn-sensei announced. "Dance is
in everything we do!"

Utena smiled. "I can't dance like Fakir, though," she
said.

"No one dances like anyone else," Bruhn-sensei said
with a smile. Fakir was getting a sinking feeling in
his stomach, but was unable to think of anything to
say to derail the imminent disaster. "How about you
try?"

Utena bit her lip, before shutting her eyes. When she
opened them again, they were a steady and calm.
"Sure," she agreed. "Fakir, can I borrow your sword?"

Fakir hesitated, but a glance over at Bruhn-sensei
told him that refusing Utena's request wouldn't do any
good. "Of course," he said instead and handed over the
light foil, hilt-first, to her. The room seemed to go
still for a second, as in a pivotal moment in a
ballet. Even Ahiru was quiet in his head.

“Thank you,” Utena said, accepting the foil with an
ease that would have surprised him a few minutes ago.
Now, he merely noted that her grip on the sword was
perfect, as far from the too-tight handling of an
amateur as was possible to get. It seemed to Fakir
that the shadows in the room grew longer, though it
was still afternoon.

Utena turned and faced the windows, raising the sword.
“This is how I dance,” she said and began to fence.

She was good, he recognized immediately. After a
moment, he corrected himself. No, she was exceptional.

Utena moved with a direct grace that was unafraid to
face confrontation. There was no music, but she didn't
need any. There wasn't a particular pattern in the
series of feints and lunges she was making, but Fakir
could almost see her imaginary opponent. Her long pink
hair flew around her body as she spun, leaped and
parried, and the people in the room fell silent to
watch her.

/She's beautiful,/ he heard the Ahiru-voice inside of
his head say. /She's as pretty as Mytho when he
dances./

That feeling of uneasiness he'd felt since meeting her
suddenly crystallized, and he had a name for it.
"She's like a prince," he whispered aloud, too low for
anyone except himself to hear it.

It was a ridiculous idea, that Utena was a prince. She
was the wrong gender for one thing, but Fakir knew he
was right. Utena had the beautiful heart and noble
courage that marked a prince, that had defined Mytho.
She was a natural leader, but it was her kindness that
balanced it.

Now he knew why he'd been so drawn to her. /A knight
needs a prince to serve,/ he thought.

It wasn't as chilling a thought as it should be,
considering what had happened the last time he had
gotten involved with a prince. Instead, it was sort
of... comforting, as if the pieces that made up his
life were quietly slotted back into place, moved by
some invisible hand.

Fakir was unsettled to think that he should be feeling
a lot more disturbed about this. Instinctively, he
moved closer to Ahiru, though whether to protect her
or himself, he couldn't have said.

/If she's a prince, what am I supposed to do?/ he
thought.

/Can a girl be a prince?/ he heard Ahiru say,
supplying another question instead of an answer.

Before meeting Utena, he would have said no. Even if a
girl could be a heroine - /Ahiru in white, dancing
beautifully with everything in her soul/ - she was
still a princess. A princess could be brave, but their
main purpose was to love a prince.

But Utena was here, and there was no way she was a
princess. That left only the other option, ridiculous
as the truth was.

/Yes. Yes,/ he replied.

Ahiru was uncharacteristically quiet for several
moments. /What do you want to do?/ she asked finally.

He wanted to protect Utena. He wanted to serve her. He
wanted to offer her his sword and his life. But he
also wanted her out, away from here, away from
everybody he had learned to care about.

/I'm...not sure,/ Fakir told Ahiru, reaching down to
scratch her head, comforting both her and himself.

Even though there was no music, he could tell that
Utena's dance was about to climax. She tossed her
sword from her right hand to her left, spinning
sharply as she changed directions. He stared,
enraptured, by the intensity of her spirit as she
struck a final blow; not a killing one, since princes
never killed if they didn't have to, but one which
vanquished her imaginary opponent.

She stood in the center of the salle, poised and
confident. For a long moment, no one reacted, but then
the applause began to rise from onlookers.

Utena didn't move, but poised regally as the applause
built and built, until it seemed to Fakir like the
beat of ravens' wings. He was conscious of the air
around him - it was strangely anticipatory, like the
sky before a thunderstorm.

But just when it seemed that something had to happen,
Utena dropped the foil. It clanged on the hardwood
floor. Then she fell to the ground herself, and the
spell was broken.

He went to her side quickly - /the way a knight was
always ready to aid his liege/ - kneeling down to
check on her. To his relief, she was breathing evenly,
but her eyes were shut. "Utena?" he said, shaking her
shoulder gently.

She didn't respond, and he realized she was well and
truly asleep. The dance had taken a lot out of her.

"What's wrong with her?" Bruhn-sensei asked, his deep
voice filled with worry. "Should we get the school
nurse?"

"No," Fakir said, shaking his head firmly. His hands
reached down to lift Utena, and he was surprised how
very light she was. "She was sick recently, and she
just overdid it a little," he told his teacher,
stretching the truth. "I'm going to take her home so
she can get some rest."

Bruhn-sensei nodded in agreement. "That's a good idea.
If I'd known...." he trailed off, shaking his head. "I
would have asked her anyway," he said, a trace of
chagrin on his face.

Fakir shifted Utena in his arms so she was lying more
comfortably. "It'll be okay," he told Bruhn-sensei.
"It was her choice to do this."

"Go on and take her home then," Bruhn-sensei said,
"and when she wakes up, tell her that - that I enjoyed
her dance greatly."

Fakir tilted his head slightly. "I will, sir."

/Utena will be all right,/ Ahiru piped up, looking
anxious. /She will, won't she?/

/She'll be fine,/ he told her, /She's just asleep./

At least he hoped so. He had to crush the smidgen of
doubt into the back of his mind so Ahiru wouldn't find
it.

He bent enough so Ahiru could find his shoulder more
easily. She still wasn't that good at long-distance
flights, although her flying had improved from when
they'd first met. He didn't bother to change out of
his practice clothes, deciding it would be better to
just leave.

Fakir ignored the stares of the few stray students on
campus, realizing with reluctance that they made a
strange tableau. He moved through the town quickly as
he dared, not fond of all the attention they were
attracting.

Finally he arrived home, and carried Utena upstairs to
his room. Setting her down on the bed, he spread a
spare quilt over her. "It'd be best if she just
rests," he said to Ahiru.

Ahiru made a suggestion, and he shook his head. "No,
no... she'll be fine," he said hastily, knowing his
face was flushed with embarrassment. He was still too
shy to loosen Utena's clothing, even though Ahiru
assured her it would help her breathe easier.

/Probably,/ Ahiru said slyly, tilting her head
playfully.

Fakir let it pass, knowing it was an argument he
couldn't win. "Can you watch her, let me know if
something is wrong?" he asked the duck. He needed to
clean up and change into something that wasn't soaked
with sweat, but was reluctant to leave Utena alone.

Ahiru nodded, looking serious again. Fakir took some
clean clothes from his closet and slipped away to the
bathroom with one last backward glance at Utena.

In the shower, the water soothed his body. It did
nothing for his mind though, and he kept remembering
how Utena moved with the sword, like one accustomed to
fighting, and how the clapping sounded like the
beating of wings.

/We're running out of time,/ he thought grimly,
suddenly sure of at least that fact. /Letting any part
of this mystery remain unsolved will be unpleasant for
everyone involved./

After he toweled himself dry and put on clean clothes,
he went back to his room. "Any change?" he asked Ahiru
quietly.

/She rolled over twice,/ Ahiru said with precision,
/but she didn't wake up./

"Maybe we should get a doctor," he said to himself. It
wasn't natural for a healthy girl to collapse after a
bit of exercise. Maybe he'd been overly hasty to
maintain Utena's privacy; her secrets shouldn't
outweigh her well-being, he thought. There was a
mumble from the covers, and he jerked out of his
thoughts. Utena hadn't moved, but he was certain he
heard her say something. "Utena? You awake?" he asked.

"...no doctor," she said, shifting her head against
the pillow although her eyes remained closed.

He hesitated, but said, "Okay."

She sighed a bit, in relief or gratitude.

"But do you know what's wrong? Is there anything else
I can do to help?" It was frustrating, just standing
here and watching her. Fakir would have given a great
deal to be able to beat some answers out of some bad
guy right then. /And since when has my life been
neatly divided into good guys and bad guys, anyway?/

Utena stirred on the bed again. "No, you can't.
Just...I think my body remembers. Maybe I just need
time."

"Would you like something to eat? Maybe some water?"
he asked after a mental prod from Ahiru. "You used up
a lot of energy with your dance."

"I wasn't dancing," Utena murmured. "I was fighting."

"Fighting what?" he asked.

She was quiet, but then her eyes opened and she met
his own gaze with a look that froze him on the inside.
"Myself."

Before Fakir could respond to that, there was a loud
knock on the front door. "Anybody home?" called the
clear voice of Aotoa. "It's important!"

Fakir sighed. "I'll go let him in." Utena nodded, and
he made his way out of the bedroom and to the door.

Opening it, he discovered Aotoa on the other side, his
face flushed like he had been running. "What's so
important?"

Aotoa pushed his way in past Fakir. "Is she still
here?" he demanded.

Fakir folded his arm crossed his chest, annoyance with
his cousin's rudeness mixed with a sense of dread.
"She's been ill, she's resting upstairs."

"I know she was ill," Aotoa said testily. "The whole
campus was buzzing about the scene you two - three -
made walking across the campus. Haven't you ever heard
of the concept of keeping a low profile?"

Fakir tried not to shudder. He'd realized that they'd
been a spectacle, but hadn't considered that carrying
the unconscious girl would raise awareness of Utena.
Mentally he cursed himself for being a fool.

/It's not your fault,/ the Ahiru voice in the back of
his mind said soothingly. /I didn't think of it,
either./

"Is it going to be a problem?" Fakir asked coolly.

Aotoa grimaced. "It might be," he said.

The dread grew. "How so?"

"I think I should tell Utena herself first."

"She's barely awake. Besides, we're all involved in
this now."

Aotoa looked exasperated, but gave in. "All right, all
right. I ran a search on that ring. I didn't come up
with anything particularly useful, but I did find out
something else..."

Fakir made an impatient gesture. "Get on with it."

Aotoa drew a deep breath. "There was someone else
looking for her. Somebody is looking for Utena, and
I'm not sure that they have the best intentions."

He felt the urge to hurt someone, the one he'd thought
he'd lost after Mytho had left. A knight knew
violence, and his first reaction was to take up the
sword in defense of his prince. The blood surged in
his veins, and he could feel the adrenaline rush that
preceded battle surging through his body.

"Fakir!" Aotoa yelled, and suddenly Fakir noticed how
his cousin had backed away, and the frightened
expression on his face. Looking down, he was
astonished to see he'd somehow grabbed the sword he
had hung on the mantelpiece. "Snap out of it!"

He forced himself to take a deep breath, to deny the
urge to offer his loyalty to the prince. It was hard.
It would be so easy to swear fealty to Utena, to fall
into the role she needed him to fulfill. Playing a
role was easier and less lonely than living as an
ordinary man.

At the top of the stairs, Ahiru appeared. She hopped
down several until she was standing on the one that
kept her level with his eyes. Her beautiful blue eyes
stared at him, and he felt some of his urgency drain
away as he felt her love for him - and her fear.

/Even if she is a prince,/ Ahiru said quietly, /are
you sure you want to be her knight? You already serve
Mytho./

"Not anymore," he said allowed, ignoring Aotoa's
shaken look. "Mytho gave up my service when he left."

Aotoa looked confused and still a bit scared. "Fakir?"
he asked, glancing between him and Ahiru.

But Fakir continued to ignore him, watching Ahiru. Her
head tilted to one side, making her look both
quizzical and sad. /Then is that you miss being a
knight so much,/ she said, somehow more softly than in
her normal 'voice', /or is it that you miss Mytho?/

"I don't know," he said slowly. He shut his eyes and
leaned back against the wall, hugging his arms around
his torso. He hadn't thought much about Mytho once he
left; it was like losing part of his arm.

He had spent ten years of his life serving his prince,
only to let him go. They had both decided to live
outside the story, but it was hard. The story had
defined both of them, and learning who he really was
wasn't easy. Now he had a chance to reclaim the role
of knight in another story. He knew instinctively that
Utena could use a knight.

And he could do that for her. The temptation was
almost physical, thrumming in his head, /take the
sword and go to her./ But could he really give up all
he had painfully learned about himself? He opened his
eyes and looked the Ahiru, still standing on the
stairs, looking as worried as it was possible for a
duck to look. And his actions didn't affect just
himself anymore. He had to think about Ahiru, too.

"Not to interrupt your angst or anything," Aotoa's
voice broke in, "but I think I'm missing something.
Who exactly were you talking to?"

Fakir stiffened as he realized that Aotoa couldn't
hear Ahiru. He had been foolish to forget that; he
could only blame himself for getting so caught up in
the drama.

Admitting it, though, might be a mistake. Sane people
didn't hold conversations with ducks. But Aotoa would
probably believe him, especially in light of what was
happening. "Ahiru is talking to me," he said after
deciding that honesty was the best policy.

Aotoa blinked. Fakir could read his reactions flitting
across his face: surprise, doubt, and a finally a wary
curiosity. "How?" he demanded, "And for how long? Is
it something new or has this been going for a while?"
He glanced back and forth between Fakir and Ahiru.
"You're not just pulling my leg, are you?" He asked
suspiciously, looking, oddly enough, at Ahiru for an
answer, who shook her head.

"No, of course not," Fakir replied as well, irritated.
"Would I joke about something like that?"

Aotoa pursed his lips. "It's true that you don't have
much of a sense of humor."

"It seems to be hereditary," Fakir replied instead of
taking offense.

"Fakir," Aotoa said sharply, irritated that answers
weren't forthcoming.

Looking at Ahiru, he motioned for her to come down the
stairs. The tiny duck hopped down each stair
carefully, until she was in arm's reach of Fakir. /At
least he believes you,/ she said in a consoling voice,
/but I think he's upset./

Fakir noticed the tension in Aotoa's face, and decided
he would humor the other man. "Only since Utena
arrived," he confessed.

"The story's starting again," Aotoa said, nodding his
head like he'd been expecting it. "The question is
who's writing it. Drosselmeyer is dead."

"That didn't stop him last time," Fakir replied.

Aotoa looked uncertain, but said, "No, this doesn't
feel like him. And Utena doesn't fit. This shouldn't
be her story."

"But it's becoming so," Fakir said. Ahiru watched them
both intently.

Aotoa nodded again, unhappily. "Which leads us back to
the question of who."

"If this concerns me, then I have a right to know
about it," Utena's clear voice came from above. All
three of them turned towards the top of the staircase,
where she was standing, pale and unsteady.

Fakir weighed what to tell her, and decided the truth
would be best. To most outsiders, it would sound like
an insane tale, but he had the feeling Utena wouldn't
laugh. She needed to know exactly what she was getting
into.

"We should sit," Fakir said, nodding toward the table.
Utena gave him a suspicious look, but made her way
down the stairs carefully. Fakir's knightly instincts
called out for him to offer aid, but he knew Utena
wouldn't like it.

Aotoa moved without comment, but Fakir waited for
Utena to sit before claiming his own chair. Without
even thinking about it, he bent down to offer Ahiru a
hand up onto the table to ensure her inclusion. As
soon as they were comfortable, Fakir spoke.

"Once upon a time, this town existed as part of
someone else's story," Fakir said carefully. It was
dangerous to speak tales aloud, because stories gained
power when they were shared orally as well. "The
people in the town changed to carry out the will of
the storyteller, and few people realized that their
fates were being woven by someone else."

Utena listened without comment, her intense eyes
fixated on his face.

He told her about the /Prince and the Raven,/ and how
the characters had left the unfinished tale. He told
her about Drosselmeyer, and how the story had come to
life within the village. He talked about Ahiru,
relieved that his voice didn't break as he spoke about
Princess Tutu and Princess Kraehe. He told his own
story, about being a knight too weak to actually do
anything useful, and then how he'd struggled to find a
different way to fight.

He told about the bittersweet victory, of how Mytho
had defeated the monster raven and chosen Rue as his
princess. He spoke of Ahiru sacrificing her human
shape, and how they'd been left behind as the story
had finished.

"And Mytho and Rue lived happily ever after, and we
just lived," Fakir concluded, hoping he didn't sound
bitter. He didn't hate Mytho for leaving; he just
thought that the story had been entirely unfair to its
heroine.

/Why are you upset when I'm not?/ Ahiru wanted to
know, but Fakir didn't – couldn't – reply. Aotoa,
thankfully, didn't say anything, instead removing his
glasses and polishing them.

Utena nibbled on a strand of her pink hair, her eyes
distant. She didn't speak immediately, but when she
did, she asked an obvious question. "Why are you
telling me this?" Utena wanted to know.

Fakir looked at his cousin, and Aotoa nodded. "The
story is moving again," Aotoa said. "Your presence has
restarted the wheels which had stopped."

"You're a prince," Fakir said. Glancing over at Ahiru,
he made his decision. "And I'm a knight. I would swear
fealty to you," he said. "It is the natural order of
things."

Utena waved her hands to forestall him. "I'm not much
of a person to believe in roles," she said. "Even
without my memory, I know better than to do what is
expected of me."

/What is she talking about?/ Ahiru wondered.

Fakir just shook his head, unable to think of a
coherent response. The sting of Utena's implied
rejection hurt. "So you have no use for a powerless
knight," he said, and wished he'd never offered. Now
he was stuck with her, because he couldn't throw her
out.

"No. I don't." She rose to her feet and wobbled over
to kneel beside him. "But I could use a friend."

Fakir looked down into her eyes, and almost drowned in
their blue sincerity. Once upon a time, there had been
a youth that had only believed stories to be
entertainment. There had been no archetypal role to
follow, no foreordained destiny to strive against, and
then eventually accept. Now here was another prince
before him, telling him that all she wanted was his
friendship.

His hands shook as he traced the line of her cheek
with a reverent finger. "Are you trying to save me?"
he asked.

She shook her head. "A prince isn't supposed to save
those who have the power to rescue themselves," she
told him, smiling a bit lopsidedly.

/She's a very wise prince,/ Ahiru said. She fluttered
her wings, and Fakir smiled at her. Then his hand fell
to Utena's, and squeezed it gently. "Then as your
friend, I would like to help you," he said. He could
still feel the siren call of her presence, but it was
no longer so overwhelming. He had been rejected, but
in doing so, Utena had freed him of her spell. It felt
like he could breathe again.

"I can always use friends," Utena replied. She rose
back to her feet and retook her chair, still slightly
unsteady. "So, my friend, do you happen to know where
I came from?"

Fakir looked over at Aotoa, and his cousin took the
hint. "We don't know where you came from, but someone
is looking for you."

Utena's expression brightened. "Really?" she asked,
leaning forward on her elbows in her eagerness. "Who?
Where?"

Aotoa shook his head. "It's online, so I don't know
where the person is. They could be across the world,
for all it matters."

"Isn't there a way you can trace where their signal
comes from? Like using a call number or something?"
Utena asked. "I thought computers had some kind of
identification."

Aotoa adjusted his glasses. "Maybe, maybe not." He
slid a look at Fakir, before returning his attention
to Utena. "I don't know if the person who is looking
for you is someone you want to meet."

"Why?"

Aotoa reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece
of paper and handed it over wordlessly. Utena unfolded
it carefully, her eyes quickly absorbing the words
written within.

"Oh," she said softly, before handing it over to Fakir
for his perusal.

The price tag attached to the missing person notice
was impressive, Fakir thought. The picture was
definitely of Utena, obviously a candid. She wasn't
looking at the lens; in fact, she appeared unaware
that the image was being taken. While there wasn't any
outward signs that the note was meant in anything but
concern, something about the harshness of the words
demanding information on Tenjou Utena's location
raised Fakir's internal alarms.

/That person doesn't seem like someone Utena would be
friends with,/ Ahiru agreed.

"Did you trace the person who sent it?" Fakir asked
his cousin.

"It was routed through several servers, and I couldn't
hone in," Aotoa admitted reluctantly. "I'm not that
good with computers."

"It's okay," Utena said, and she reached out to touch
Aotoa's fingers with her left hand gently in
reassurance. "This is more than I had before. This
person might know who I am." Her right hand clenched
in her lap. "I'm going to go find them, and maybe I
can find out who I am."

"Utena, this person may not mean well," Fakir said.
"Maybe it would be better-" but she held up a hand to
forestall him.

"I think it will be okay – the writing just seems
desperate, not mean. Even if the person does want to
do something nefarious, I can't back away from this
opportunity. A prince never runs from danger," Utena
said, winking. "I'll be okay – I promise."

And since she was a prince, Fakir had to believe her.
Princes couldn't break their word. "Be careful," he
said. He hoped she was better at protecting herself
than Mytho had been.

"Of course," she said. She rose to her feet. "I think
I'll start on my way – I just need to change."

"But it's night! At least stay until the next
morning," Fakir said.

She shook her head. "No. I need to go; from what you
told me about this town, if I stay I'll just get
sucked in. And I do know that this isn't a story I
want to participate in. Mine's still out there,
somewhere," she said. Then she looked at Ahiru and
smiled again. "It's been nice getting to know you. If
I ever get where I'm going, I'll give you a call."

Fakir knew that princes rarely reached the end of
their tales, but wasn't about to point it out. "Let me
get you some extra food and clothes," he said, rising
to his feet.

Fifteen minutes later, Utena was dressed in her
original outfit, which had been laundered. Fakir
wordlessly handed her a pack filled with a few changes
of clothing, along with enough food to keep her for a
couple of days. To his surprise, Aotoa pulled out an
envelope, and pushed into into Utena's hands.

"You'll need funds," Aotoa said. "If you need
anything, I wrote my phone number on the back. I'll do
what I can to help."

Fakir couldn't help but think she looked a bit like a
fish as her mouth gapped for a second, before a
grateful smile spread across her lips. "Thank you,"
she said, wisely not declining due to pride.

Then there was nothing else to do but say goodbye.
Many girls would have offered Fakir a hug in thanks
for all he had done, but Utena was not ordinary. She
gave him a bow, inclining her body with respect. He
found himself responding, lowering himself more
deeply.

She grinned as she straightened, turning her attention
to the duck. "Good luck, Ahiru-chan," Utena said,
holding out her index finger to stroke Ahiru's downy
head farewell.

Fakir hated long goodbyes, a feeling Utena apparently
shared. She stepped out the door, and didn't look back
as she vanished back into the forest.

Aotoa turned to his cousin. "That was interesting," he
said blandly.

There were times when Fakir wanted to murder Aotoa,
but his gesture of concern for Utena mitigated that
impulse at the moment. "It was," he said, looking at
Ahiru thoughtfully.

/Fakir?/ she said, and he was pleased that he could
still hear her. Perhaps the magic Utena had
inadvertently brought with her hadn't expired. Or
maybe there was something else afoot.

"How do you feel about a journey of our own?" he asked
the duck. "We could go on a quest," he replied. "To
save the beautiful, enchanted princess."

Aotoa's breath hitched, but it was the tiny duck that
had Fakir's full attention. She had resigned herself
to this life, as an animal, but he knew a part of her
longed to become a girl again.

/Sounds like fun!/ she said perkily, but there was a
shakiness in her tone that her flippant words couldn't
hide. The tips of her wings shivered in excitement,
and Fakir knew that this was the right choice for
them.

In many stories, a knight was also a prince. While
Fakir didn't see himself as the heroic type, he wanted
to be the man Ahiru needed, and maybe that was enough.
There would be trials ahead, but he would prevail. He
found their current life one of contentment, but not a
true happily-ever-after. And Ahiru deserved better.

Utena's arrival had reminded him that there were still
options out there, still powers that Fakir hadn't even
dreamed existed. Surely the old storyteller wasn't the
only one with the power to turn a duck into a girl.

Drosselmeyer's story was finished; it was time to
write their own story.

______________________

Help, I'm fallen into a weird fandom and can't get out!

Fanfiction: http://www.midnightrevolution.org/quicksilver/
Fic Journal: http://www.livejournal.com/~quillofferings


       
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