"We can get to the other side through the water," Duck explains as she tows him along - apparently oblivious to the fact that sound doesn't usually carry underwater.
(But the rules are different, in Gold Crown Town.)
"I smelled a different kind of water . . . so there must be a lake up this way!"
Her eyes are fixed ahead. She can feel Fakir's hanging on, right? And it's most important for her to get them where they need to go!
(She's a lot more graceful in the water than she is on land.)
Duck reaches the edge first and squirms her way up out of the water, pausing to make sure Fakir's got something to hold onto before she lets go of his hand.
Once she's out, she turns around and grins back at him, irritation, for the moment, forgotten. They made it!
"See? It seems like we can go further in, doesn't it? I'm sure Mytho will be there . . ."
Fakir's being weirdly quiet. (It would be less weird if he looked sulkier, but . . . he actually doesn't.) He's not getting out of the water, either. Duck squints down at him, wet skirt draping the ground around her and soggy bangs drooping around her face. "Were you okay, Fakir?"
Fakir pushes himself up with both hands and clambers onto the shore. He's soaked and filthy; his black shirt and knee-length breeches, already torn in yesterday's battle, have been ripped further by Fakir's fall from the ledge and by rocks underwater.
He doesn't care.
There's Duck, who swims better than she walks, who can hardly take three steps without falling down, who is a small yellow duck transformed into a girl, who -- yes -- is Princess Tutu.
Fakir wants, for some reason he can't even fathom, to give her something.
"Now, I have something you'll want to hear," Fakir says as he stands.
He turns away from Duck and leans against the side of the cave, right hand raised. His left hand rests against the scabbard of his sword.
"Back when I was still a brat, when I was reading The Prince and the Raven to Mytho, the thing that he showed the strongest interest in was neither what happened to himself nor the Raven, but what happened to
( ... )
Duck turns her gaze to follow him as e moves onto the shore, her eyes enormous.
She thinks it may be the most she's ever heard him say at once . . . . well, to her, at least. (He talks a lot more to her when she's a duck. But even then . . .)
Fakir looks thoughtfully into nowhere, the water dripping down his hair.
Duck deserves to hear this story. It's her story, after all. And-- and Mytho will need her love, soon.
"He wanted to hear over and over again the part where Tutu turns into a speck of light and then vanishes."
Fakir doesn't pause, but he does bend his head and close his eyes. The pain this costs him shows in his face, which Duck can't see, but not in his voice.
"His sudden desire to regain his heart most likely stems from Tutu's role in returning it."
Fakir is formally withdrawing from the lists. He never had a chance of winning Mytho for himself.
Fakir leans against the wall, head bowed, right arm crossed over his chest.
Even turned away from Duck, as he is, he looks vulnerable, unguarded.
"That's the kind of guy he is."
I've never really thought about what I liked about Mytho or anything, Duck said.
Fakir knows what he loves about Mytho. He can tell Duck. She can remember it for him. (Well, besides the fact that Mytho walks around Fakir's bedroom with no pants on.) "Well, you see, protecting the small and the weak, that is Mytho's single greatest desire, and to fulfill that he'll cast off any regard for himself. Even the loss of his heart couldn't tear that out of him."
Fakir raises his head again. He can see the memory: Mytho, climbing into the burning building. Fakir was ten at the time, and furious, but Mytho... Mytho looked just the same as he does now.
Mytho protected the small and the weak. Fakir protected Mytho. It was the only way Fakir could be like him.
Fakir doesn't swim very often.
That's why he's grimly holding on to Duck's hand as she drags him along underwater.
Any moment now, he may run out of breath.
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(But the rules are different, in Gold Crown Town.)
"I smelled a different kind of water . . . so there must be a lake up this way!"
Her eyes are fixed ahead. She can feel Fakir's hanging on, right? And it's most important for her to get them where they need to go!
(She's a lot more graceful in the water than she is on land.)
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In the water, her hand feels surprisingly soft through Fakir's glove.
Huh.
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Once she's out, she turns around and grins back at him, irritation, for the moment, forgotten. They made it!
"See? It seems like we can go further in, doesn't it? I'm sure Mytho will be there . . ."
Fakir's being weirdly quiet. (It would be less weird if he looked sulkier, but . . . he actually doesn't.) He's not getting out of the water, either. Duck squints down at him, wet skirt draping the ground around her and soggy bangs drooping around her face. "Were you okay, Fakir?"
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Also, his mouth is twitching.
That's a lie, actually. Fakir is smiling.
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Fakir's making a weird face . . .
Duck resists the urge to tug at her hair.
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"A duck is Princess Tutu, huh?"
It really is funny, he thinks.
Fakir pushes himself up with both hands and clambers onto the shore. He's soaked and filthy; his black shirt and knee-length breeches, already torn in yesterday's battle, have been ripped further by Fakir's fall from the ledge and by rocks underwater.
He doesn't care.
There's Duck, who swims better than she walks, who can hardly take three steps without falling down, who is a small yellow duck transformed into a girl, who -- yes -- is Princess Tutu.
Fakir wants, for some reason he can't even fathom, to give her something.
"Now, I have something you'll want to hear," Fakir says as he stands.
He turns away from Duck and leans against the side of the cave, right hand raised. His left hand rests against the scabbard of his sword.
"Back when I was still a brat, when I was reading The Prince and the Raven to Mytho, the thing that he showed the strongest interest in was neither what happened to himself nor the Raven, but what happened to ( ... )
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She thinks it may be the most she's ever heard him say at once . . . . well, to her, at least. (He talks a lot more to her when she's a duck. But even then . . .)
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Duck deserves to hear this story. It's her story, after all. And-- and Mytho will need her love, soon.
"He wanted to hear over and over again the part where Tutu turns into a speck of light and then vanishes."
Fakir doesn't pause, but he does bend his head and close his eyes. The pain this costs him shows in his face, which Duck can't see, but not in his voice.
"His sudden desire to regain his heart most likely stems from Tutu's role in returning it."
Fakir is formally withdrawing from the lists. He never had a chance of winning Mytho for himself.
Besides, it's too late now.
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She looks at Fakir, wondering: why is he telling her this now?
She's never heard how the Prince feels about Tutu, in the story. Hers is a tragic love . . . but what does he think?
"But . . . Mytho took out his own heart," she says, suddenly remembering that bit of the story as well.
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Even turned away from Duck, as he is, he looks vulnerable, unguarded.
"That's the kind of guy he is."
I've never really thought about what I liked about Mytho or anything, Duck said.
Fakir knows what he loves about Mytho. He can tell Duck. She can remember it for him.
(Well, besides the fact that Mytho walks around Fakir's bedroom with no pants on.)
"Well, you see, protecting the small and the weak, that is Mytho's single greatest desire, and to fulfill that he'll cast off any regard for himself. Even the loss of his heart couldn't tear that out of him."
Fakir raises his head again. He can see the memory: Mytho, climbing into the burning building. Fakir was ten at the time, and furious, but Mytho... Mytho looked just the same as he does now.
Mytho protected the small and the weak. Fakir protected Mytho. It was the only way Fakir could be like him.
"That's Mytho."
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Yeah. Yeah, Fakir's right. It's not just that Mytho's eyes are sad . . . it's also that they're kind.
(Fakir thinks it's important, too.
There's a small warmth that she feels, knowing she was right about the real Fakir.)
"Mm," she says, with a tiny nod.
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"Let's go," says Fakir, leading Duck down one last cavernous hallway.
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