(Princess Tutu, Fakir/Ahiru) Beginnings and Ends
Title: Beginnings and Ends
Author: crazylittleme @ vnilla
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Rating: PG?
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Author's Notes: For selphish, who requested Fakir/Ahiru. :D Well, they ARE the cutest duck and person pairing around! Warning: GIANT spoilers for the ENTIRE series.
--
And they lived happily ever after.
There were times (dark times) when he almost sympathized with Drosselmeyer, with the way stories fell so neatly from his pen upon the page, the way worlds unfolded and then folded back up again, neatly, with all the corners tucked in and everything in its right place. Fakir wrote stories and stories of ducks turning into girls only to trail off in the middle, unsure of how to end, real human beings too complex to put into prose, always with notes crammed messily in the margins. He threw out many papers, and Ahiru could only cock her head at him in confusion, or what he imagined to be so. Who knew how much of her human mind she retained?
There were whispers about the young man who no longer danced, who spent his days cooped up in his room scribbling out fairytales that sold very well, but nonetheless... Fakir only smiled and made no effort to curtail the rumors, as they rather helped his books sell. Little children were the only ones who did not fear him, and they learned that if they pleaded enough, he would read a tale or two to them, weaving images before them in the air as only a master storyteller can.
But along with a ready audience came inevitable questions.
"What happens next?"
Fakir closed the book. "The story is over."
Another voice piped up. "But there's always tomorrow."
"Did the prince and the princess go on any more adventures together?"
"Did they have any babies?"
"Did they ever get into fights?"
"What did they do with the magic ring?"
Fakir opened his mouth, about to give a laughing reply, when he felt a sharp pain at his wrist. "Ow!" Ahiru had snapped at him with her beak, eyes reproachful. "You want me to take them seriously?" he asked her. The children, used to such exchanges (unlike their elders), quieted and waited for answers. After a brief consultation, Fakir turned to them again, an odd sort of expression on his face. "They took the magic ring to the furthest corners of their kingdom and flung it into the sea, for no one should have such a power for long. Sometimes they fought, but they made up afterwards. There were children, and more adventures, but those are other stories. Satisfied?"
They scampered off, presumably for lunch. It was around the time, after all. Fakir remained by the lake, watching Ahiru wander out to swim, and picked up a pen. Held it for a moment with trembling fingers above the paper. Began the story, pulling it out of bones and soul. The children came back, but he did not notice them and they did not bother him, recognizing his mood. Not even Ahiru pestered him to go eat, and he remained there until late evening, whereupon he crossed the last t and pressed in the last period.
He cleared his throat, for he always liked to run everything by Ahiru first.
"Once upon a now, there was a writer who loved a duck. This was quite a strange thing to happen, but the duck was a very special one and the writer was very lucky to have her. They lived together in peace and some prosperity, but as with any pair from two different worlds, they had their difficulties.
"You see, the duck had once been able to take human shape. The writer longed for the conversations they used to have, and seeing her trip over everything, and watching her dance. The duck thought she was quite ordinary but the writer knew she was quite extraordinary, and missed being in the same world with her.
"But no matter what magic he tried, the duck remained a duck."
Ahiru sat quietly, giving no indication as to what she thought of the story thus far. Fakir swallowed. Continued.
"Then he remembered that just as every story never really ends, every story also demands a sacrifice of its hero. He could not ask the duck to sacrifice anything more. She had been through enough already, and it was his turn. He would use his magic to become a duck with her. For what good was the human world to him without her in it? As long as they could be together, their story would end happily ever after."
Nothing happened, except Ahiru nuzzling against his leg, generally a good indication that she had liked the new story. "It's true, you know," he murmured, patting her downy little head. Funny, he had thought the idea would work. It had taken shape so clearly inside his mind, a stunning realization that left him fumbling after the words to set it down. But how many times did he have to tell himself, fairytales didn't cross over into reality without the greatest of difficulty...
"I think love is just as much of a fairytale as anything else, really."
Fakir jerked his hand away and stared at it, then down at a beaming Ahiru, who certainly looked human enough.
"Could you give me your jacket?" she asked. "It's cold."
Face going brilliant red as he took in the nudity as well as the suddenly girl-shaped duck, Fakir handed over the jacket and stared fixedly at the stars until he was sure she had a decent amount of clothing on. Well, a decent amount covered. Well, that was debatable. Well...
"I love you, too," Ahiru said simply.
And Fakir remembered that when it comes to fairytales, true love warps any narrative around until it becomes a happy ending, like it or not.
Author: crazylittleme @ vnilla
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Pairing: Fakir/Ahiru
Rating: PG?
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Author's Notes: For selphish, who requested Fakir/Ahiru. :D Well, they ARE the cutest duck and person pairing around! Warning: GIANT spoilers for the ENTIRE series.
--
And they lived happily ever after.
There were times (dark times) when he almost sympathized with Drosselmeyer, with the way stories fell so neatly from his pen upon the page, the way worlds unfolded and then folded back up again, neatly, with all the corners tucked in and everything in its right place. Fakir wrote stories and stories of ducks turning into girls only to trail off in the middle, unsure of how to end, real human beings too complex to put into prose, always with notes crammed messily in the margins. He threw out many papers, and Ahiru could only cock her head at him in confusion, or what he imagined to be so. Who knew how much of her human mind she retained?
There were whispers about the young man who no longer danced, who spent his days cooped up in his room scribbling out fairytales that sold very well, but nonetheless... Fakir only smiled and made no effort to curtail the rumors, as they rather helped his books sell. Little children were the only ones who did not fear him, and they learned that if they pleaded enough, he would read a tale or two to them, weaving images before them in the air as only a master storyteller can.
But along with a ready audience came inevitable questions.
"What happens next?"
Fakir closed the book. "The story is over."
Another voice piped up. "But there's always tomorrow."
"Did the prince and the princess go on any more adventures together?"
"Did they have any babies?"
"Did they ever get into fights?"
"What did they do with the magic ring?"
Fakir opened his mouth, about to give a laughing reply, when he felt a sharp pain at his wrist. "Ow!" Ahiru had snapped at him with her beak, eyes reproachful. "You want me to take them seriously?" he asked her. The children, used to such exchanges (unlike their elders), quieted and waited for answers. After a brief consultation, Fakir turned to them again, an odd sort of expression on his face. "They took the magic ring to the furthest corners of their kingdom and flung it into the sea, for no one should have such a power for long. Sometimes they fought, but they made up afterwards. There were children, and more adventures, but those are other stories. Satisfied?"
They scampered off, presumably for lunch. It was around the time, after all. Fakir remained by the lake, watching Ahiru wander out to swim, and picked up a pen. Held it for a moment with trembling fingers above the paper. Began the story, pulling it out of bones and soul. The children came back, but he did not notice them and they did not bother him, recognizing his mood. Not even Ahiru pestered him to go eat, and he remained there until late evening, whereupon he crossed the last t and pressed in the last period.
He cleared his throat, for he always liked to run everything by Ahiru first.
"Once upon a now, there was a writer who loved a duck. This was quite a strange thing to happen, but the duck was a very special one and the writer was very lucky to have her. They lived together in peace and some prosperity, but as with any pair from two different worlds, they had their difficulties.
"You see, the duck had once been able to take human shape. The writer longed for the conversations they used to have, and seeing her trip over everything, and watching her dance. The duck thought she was quite ordinary but the writer knew she was quite extraordinary, and missed being in the same world with her.
"But no matter what magic he tried, the duck remained a duck."
Ahiru sat quietly, giving no indication as to what she thought of the story thus far. Fakir swallowed. Continued.
"Then he remembered that just as every story never really ends, every story also demands a sacrifice of its hero. He could not ask the duck to sacrifice anything more. She had been through enough already, and it was his turn. He would use his magic to become a duck with her. For what good was the human world to him without her in it? As long as they could be together, their story would end happily ever after."
Nothing happened, except Ahiru nuzzling against his leg, generally a good indication that she had liked the new story. "It's true, you know," he murmured, patting her downy little head. Funny, he had thought the idea would work. It had taken shape so clearly inside his mind, a stunning realization that left him fumbling after the words to set it down. But how many times did he have to tell himself, fairytales didn't cross over into reality without the greatest of difficulty...
"I think love is just as much of a fairytale as anything else, really."
Fakir jerked his hand away and stared at it, then down at a beaming Ahiru, who certainly looked human enough.
"Could you give me your jacket?" she asked. "It's cold."
Face going brilliant red as he took in the nudity as well as the suddenly girl-shaped duck, Fakir handed over the jacket and stared fixedly at the stars until he was sure she had a decent amount of clothing on. Well, a decent amount covered. Well, that was debatable. Well...
"I love you, too," Ahiru said simply.
And Fakir remembered that when it comes to fairytales, true love warps any narrative around until it becomes a happy ending, like it or not.