[Princess Tutu] The Sound of Waves
Title: The Sound of Waves
Series: Princess Tutu
Spoilers/ratings: G. Pre-series Fakir and Mytho.
Wordcount: 1,425
Summary: Before the fire, Fakir began to understand that Mytho lost more than his heart. He just never wanted to admit it.
No one in the town of Gold Crown had ever seen the sea. Not because it was too far away, although nobody could say how many leagues one would have to travel to reach its shore. Townsfolk would gesture and say that you would know when your feet hit the water and could go no farther. A vexing answer, except there was never a great desire to speak of the question so it didn’t matter. The residents of Gold Crown were oddly incurious about whatever lay beyond their gates.
This did not stop children from dreaming of mountains and seas, of course, or pretending to be things that they weren’t in places they could only imagine. After all, Gold Crown did not have many travelers but it did have an abundance of stories. Stories that could make even the smallest of villages seem limitless with potential when a listener was ignorant of their boundaries.
As a child, Fakir loved to hear such tales. Each night Fakir asked his parents for stories about far off kingdoms, listening enraptured to tales of brave princes and beautiful princesses. They all sounded so much more interesting than his life, and he would fall asleep dreaming of one day going out and meeting such people, creating his own adventure.
But he had not accounted for the fact that most stories begin with loss. And when Fakir’s parents died he stopped dreaming of far away lands to nurse the pain nearest to him. The stories he knew by heart became mere words echoing in his memory. And it was only until Fakir stumbled on a prince, half-alive and lying in the street, did a long-forgotten stirring find its way back to him.
One day, in the time when their relationship was new and Fakir still had not traveled to the stone wall surrounding the town, he came home with a gift. A ballet troupe had just arrived from a tour of the seaside villas, and although their recollections were vague and told more like daydreams than real stories, Fakir listened to each one. The dancers were so impressed with his skill and inquisitive nature that they gave him a token as proof of their journeys. Along with an offer to join them in ten years’ time if he practiced hard enough.
Racing home, Fakir’s chest pounded as he clutched the fragile gift tighter. The shops and neighborhoods became a blur to him with his focus only on his destination. When he was too exhausted to run anymore he would put the seashell up to his face and breathe on the smooth surface before pressing it against his ear. The sound of waves lapping against distant shores filled his senses, and he could almost imagine a passageway to the sea hidden within the tiny shell’s labyrinth-like spiral.
Like magic, he thought. But it was only natural that something of the sea would carry some memory of its old home within itself. The same way Mytho, who had forgotten even his own name, could still be as graceful and gentle as a prince was meant to be. It was the first thing he thought of when they gave it to him.
He found Mytho in the usual place beside the window, the afternoon sun illuminating the whiteness of his hair and shirt. Fakir, on the other hand, was dirty from the soot of Charon’s forge. But it didn’t matter to him as he stood breathless and full of anticipation.
The prince greeted Fakir with a quiet nod. He did not ask about the state of Fakir’s cleanliness, or where he had been in the early hours of morning. Almost completely unresponsive except when Fakir took his hand and Mytho’s stood at attention, waiting to see what would be asked of him.
“Here!” Fakir demanded, eagerly upturning the other boy’s palms to place the shell in them. “I have a present for you. Put it to your ear.”
The bleached outside ridges of the shell were almost as pale as Mytho’s fingers, and with Fakir’s guidance he lifted it to listen. Not once did he glance at the shell, but his eyes stayed trained on Fakir in silent observation.
“Well...?” Fakir shifted from one foot to the other expectantly. “Do you know what that sound is? It’s the sea, Mytho.”
“I don’t hear anything...”
Whether more hurt that his precious gift was not working, or Mytho’s complete indifference, Fakir pulled the seashell sharply out of his hands. Normally he would check to make sure Mytho hadn’t scratched his hands on the spines but Fakir was too upset. Determined to see what the matter was, he lifted the conch to listen again. As soon as his ear touched it the familiar thrum of waves rose again in a steady, endless rhythm.
“No, you must have been holding it wrong,” Fakir stated imperiously and held it out, demanding he try a second time. “Make sure you press it really close.”
He took up the shell again without protest, turning it over in his hands with great care before listening. Fakir sucked in a breath, a wild and irrational wish that Mytho would react to show him it worked. But it would never happen because Mytho didn’t smile, so he asked again, “Tell me, do you hear it?”
“No,” the prince said quietly.
Raetzel spied Fakir from the kitchen, he heading out to the garden with something tucked under his arm. It had become her habit to show up in times when Charon was too busy with work to take care of his other duties. And with Fakir’s darkened expression, she knew this was a time where she might be needed.
“Fakir? What’s wrong?” Raetzel asked, kneeling down to take his shoulders in her hands and steady him.
“This stupid shell is broken,” Fakir said bitterly, preferring to glare at the floorboards than her concerned face. “It’s supposed to hold the sound of the ocean but it won’t work for Mytho.”
He expected Raetzel to scold him for being childish. And a small part of him hoped she would do so but also explain a hidden trick he had overlooked in his excitement, a way that meant Mytho would be able to listen to it at last. But all she did was sigh softly before pulling him close to her.
“It’s not broken. He can’t hear the waves because it’s not the ocean you’re listening to, Fakir. It just sounds like it,” she whispered softly into his hair. “What you really hear is the sound of your own blood echoing in the shell. Because he has no heartbeat, Mytho can’t hear an echo.”
Fakir tensed, pushing against the insistency of her embrace, but he still buried his face against her shoulder before finally pulling away. If the cuff of her blouse was suddenly wet with tears at least she wouldn’t see them on his face.
“It doesn’t matter. Knights don’t need to see the ocean anyway! They have horses and castles and princes to protect. Who cares about some stupid shell?”
Raetzel brought a hand up to his face. “It’s all right to care.”
Fakir spun on his heel before her palm reached his cheek, retreating back into the room where Mytho still remained. He glared at the boy defiantly, before remembering that Mytho wasn’t trying to disappoint him. Like Raetzel said, he simply couldn’t hear it...
He didn’t feel better though. All she had done was prove to him how foolish he would be if he destroyed the shell for being what it was, as useless as getting mad at Mytho. But he was still so angry.
“Tomorrow,” Fakir announced, “I will take you to the lake. It’s better than any sea.”
Mytho nodded. “Yes, Fakir.”
But he knew Mytho would have just as easily stayed in the room looking out the window if Fakir chose not to keep his promise. Even now, it really made no difference to the heartless prince, whether or not Fakir would somehow take him back to his kingdom, make him come along with the ballet troupe, or simply leave him to stay in the soot of a blacksmith’s house.
And in that moment Fakir realized even if Mytho was standing right in front of him, there was a part of him that would always be as far away as the ocean. In a place he could not find and could not reach no matter how hard he tried.
Fakir kept the shell, but he never listened to it again.
Series: Princess Tutu
Spoilers/ratings: G. Pre-series Fakir and Mytho.
Wordcount: 1,425
Summary: Before the fire, Fakir began to understand that Mytho lost more than his heart. He just never wanted to admit it.
No one in the town of Gold Crown had ever seen the sea. Not because it was too far away, although nobody could say how many leagues one would have to travel to reach its shore. Townsfolk would gesture and say that you would know when your feet hit the water and could go no farther. A vexing answer, except there was never a great desire to speak of the question so it didn’t matter. The residents of Gold Crown were oddly incurious about whatever lay beyond their gates.
This did not stop children from dreaming of mountains and seas, of course, or pretending to be things that they weren’t in places they could only imagine. After all, Gold Crown did not have many travelers but it did have an abundance of stories. Stories that could make even the smallest of villages seem limitless with potential when a listener was ignorant of their boundaries.
As a child, Fakir loved to hear such tales. Each night Fakir asked his parents for stories about far off kingdoms, listening enraptured to tales of brave princes and beautiful princesses. They all sounded so much more interesting than his life, and he would fall asleep dreaming of one day going out and meeting such people, creating his own adventure.
But he had not accounted for the fact that most stories begin with loss. And when Fakir’s parents died he stopped dreaming of far away lands to nurse the pain nearest to him. The stories he knew by heart became mere words echoing in his memory. And it was only until Fakir stumbled on a prince, half-alive and lying in the street, did a long-forgotten stirring find its way back to him.
One day, in the time when their relationship was new and Fakir still had not traveled to the stone wall surrounding the town, he came home with a gift. A ballet troupe had just arrived from a tour of the seaside villas, and although their recollections were vague and told more like daydreams than real stories, Fakir listened to each one. The dancers were so impressed with his skill and inquisitive nature that they gave him a token as proof of their journeys. Along with an offer to join them in ten years’ time if he practiced hard enough.
Racing home, Fakir’s chest pounded as he clutched the fragile gift tighter. The shops and neighborhoods became a blur to him with his focus only on his destination. When he was too exhausted to run anymore he would put the seashell up to his face and breathe on the smooth surface before pressing it against his ear. The sound of waves lapping against distant shores filled his senses, and he could almost imagine a passageway to the sea hidden within the tiny shell’s labyrinth-like spiral.
Like magic, he thought. But it was only natural that something of the sea would carry some memory of its old home within itself. The same way Mytho, who had forgotten even his own name, could still be as graceful and gentle as a prince was meant to be. It was the first thing he thought of when they gave it to him.
He found Mytho in the usual place beside the window, the afternoon sun illuminating the whiteness of his hair and shirt. Fakir, on the other hand, was dirty from the soot of Charon’s forge. But it didn’t matter to him as he stood breathless and full of anticipation.
The prince greeted Fakir with a quiet nod. He did not ask about the state of Fakir’s cleanliness, or where he had been in the early hours of morning. Almost completely unresponsive except when Fakir took his hand and Mytho’s stood at attention, waiting to see what would be asked of him.
“Here!” Fakir demanded, eagerly upturning the other boy’s palms to place the shell in them. “I have a present for you. Put it to your ear.”
The bleached outside ridges of the shell were almost as pale as Mytho’s fingers, and with Fakir’s guidance he lifted it to listen. Not once did he glance at the shell, but his eyes stayed trained on Fakir in silent observation.
“Well...?” Fakir shifted from one foot to the other expectantly. “Do you know what that sound is? It’s the sea, Mytho.”
“I don’t hear anything...”
Whether more hurt that his precious gift was not working, or Mytho’s complete indifference, Fakir pulled the seashell sharply out of his hands. Normally he would check to make sure Mytho hadn’t scratched his hands on the spines but Fakir was too upset. Determined to see what the matter was, he lifted the conch to listen again. As soon as his ear touched it the familiar thrum of waves rose again in a steady, endless rhythm.
“No, you must have been holding it wrong,” Fakir stated imperiously and held it out, demanding he try a second time. “Make sure you press it really close.”
He took up the shell again without protest, turning it over in his hands with great care before listening. Fakir sucked in a breath, a wild and irrational wish that Mytho would react to show him it worked. But it would never happen because Mytho didn’t smile, so he asked again, “Tell me, do you hear it?”
“No,” the prince said quietly.
Raetzel spied Fakir from the kitchen, he heading out to the garden with something tucked under his arm. It had become her habit to show up in times when Charon was too busy with work to take care of his other duties. And with Fakir’s darkened expression, she knew this was a time where she might be needed.
“Fakir? What’s wrong?” Raetzel asked, kneeling down to take his shoulders in her hands and steady him.
“This stupid shell is broken,” Fakir said bitterly, preferring to glare at the floorboards than her concerned face. “It’s supposed to hold the sound of the ocean but it won’t work for Mytho.”
He expected Raetzel to scold him for being childish. And a small part of him hoped she would do so but also explain a hidden trick he had overlooked in his excitement, a way that meant Mytho would be able to listen to it at last. But all she did was sigh softly before pulling him close to her.
“It’s not broken. He can’t hear the waves because it’s not the ocean you’re listening to, Fakir. It just sounds like it,” she whispered softly into his hair. “What you really hear is the sound of your own blood echoing in the shell. Because he has no heartbeat, Mytho can’t hear an echo.”
Fakir tensed, pushing against the insistency of her embrace, but he still buried his face against her shoulder before finally pulling away. If the cuff of her blouse was suddenly wet with tears at least she wouldn’t see them on his face.
“It doesn’t matter. Knights don’t need to see the ocean anyway! They have horses and castles and princes to protect. Who cares about some stupid shell?”
Raetzel brought a hand up to his face. “It’s all right to care.”
Fakir spun on his heel before her palm reached his cheek, retreating back into the room where Mytho still remained. He glared at the boy defiantly, before remembering that Mytho wasn’t trying to disappoint him. Like Raetzel said, he simply couldn’t hear it...
He didn’t feel better though. All she had done was prove to him how foolish he would be if he destroyed the shell for being what it was, as useless as getting mad at Mytho. But he was still so angry.
“Tomorrow,” Fakir announced, “I will take you to the lake. It’s better than any sea.”
Mytho nodded. “Yes, Fakir.”
But he knew Mytho would have just as easily stayed in the room looking out the window if Fakir chose not to keep his promise. Even now, it really made no difference to the heartless prince, whether or not Fakir would somehow take him back to his kingdom, make him come along with the ballet troupe, or simply leave him to stay in the soot of a blacksmith’s house.
And in that moment Fakir realized even if Mytho was standing right in front of him, there was a part of him that would always be as far away as the ocean. In a place he could not find and could not reach no matter how hard he tried.
Fakir kept the shell, but he never listened to it again.