Princess Tutu fic, Mytho/Rue, The Hearth
Title: The Hearth
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Pairing: Mytho/Rue
Rating: PG
Notes: Gift exchange gift for
kurozukin_a
They're in their room, sitting in high-backed chairs next to a fire that is neither roaring nor meager, but seems smaller than it is, dwarfed by the great size of the hearth. Outside, the snow is falling gently, prettily even. The winters here are much like everything else in this place, pleasant, picturesque, unreal. They aren't as cold as the winters in Goldkrone, as real winters, but Rue hates them all the same. She's never liked the winters, everything is too quiet, too dead. Too peaceful. The cold seeps into the room through the thin glass of the windows, and she pulls her robe tighter around her shoulders.
Is something wrong? He asks her, his voice quiet and gentle.
I'm cold, she says.
Come sit with me.
There's not enough room.
Yes there is, he says, with that laughing, beautiful face that could convince her of anything. She gets up and settles into his chair; she was right, there's not really enough room for both of them, but she likes the feel of Mytho's warm, soft body, fitting against hers so easily, like a puzzle piece. For several moments they stay like that, in silence, and she feels herself relax as she feels his heartbeat through her hand on his chest. He shifts slightly, leaning over to place a soft kiss on her cheek. She closes her eyes as he does, and speaks, breaking the silence with a voice that seems harsh and dark compared to the serene quietness before.
Tell me a story, she says.
What kind of story?
It doesn't matter, she says, leaning against his shoulder. Just a story. For a moment, he does not speak. Then the fire gives a loud, conspicuous crack, and he opens his mouth, his soft voice rising out of the silence as he begins.
Once, there was a princess of darkness.
What sort of story is this? Her voice is sharp and bitter compared to his, her eyes glittering with hints of accusation, of offense. She did not ask him for a fable of truth, she wants a lie, an escape.
Just a story, he says, his expression gentle and placating, as if she is an animal that needs to be soothed. Let me tell it. Please?
Tell it, she says.
Once, there was a princess of darkness, who was the daughter of the Queen of The Night. All her life she had lived in the land of the Night, never knowing what the sun looked like. In this way, she was happy. One day, a man from the Temple of The Sun came and took her from the darkness, and into the light.
How cruel of him.
You think so?
I do.
He gives her an opaque sort of smile, and continues.
Not long after, a young prince came into the land of the Night. He was handsome and brave, and the Queen of The Night knew as soon as she saw him that he would be able to rescue her daughter. So she showed him a vision of the beautiful princess of darkness, and at once, the prince fell in love with her, and vowed to save her from the Temple of The Sun.
How could he fall in love with her so easily, she asks. Did the Queen bewitch him?
No. She was captivating to him, as all dark things are.
Captivating?
Because they can never be fully understood.
She says nothing.
After much traveling, he says, the young prince came upon the temple, and sneaked in. From his hiding place he saw the princess struggling with a man who tried to hold her close, and take from her a kiss, or perhaps something else. When he saw this, the young prince felt something stirring within his heart, for he could not stand to see someone so weak being taken advantage of by someone stronger than her. So he leapt from his hiding place, to try and help the princess.
Hmph. Fool.
He smiles.
But the man had servants to help him, and the prince was quickly caught and pulled away from the princess before he could even touch her hand. Then suddenly, amidst great fanfare, the man who took the princess, the high priest of the Temple of The Sun arrived, on the backs of two majestic lions. Around the prince, all the servants dropped their weapons and bowed. To a strange silence, the high priest spoke, asking the prince what he was doing in his temple. The prince told him of the quest the Queen gave him. The high priest sighed, and told him that he had been lied to, that the Queen was an awful and wicked woman, and that he had kidnapped the princess to save her from becoming like her mother. He told the prince he wanted her to see the sunlight.
And what did the princess think?
She was torn. She loved her mother dearly, and did not want to be parted from her. But she had fallen in love with the prince as well, and knew she wanted to be with him always.
Who did she choose?
I haven't finished it yet.
The high priest knew that the prince and princess loved each other very deeply, but even so he told them they would have to complete a series of trial in order to be worthy of each other, and the Temple. So, without another word, the prince was taken away to another part of the temple to complete his trials, while the princess was taken to her room to await him. While she was waiting, her mother appeared from the shadows, and embraced the princess. As she pulled away from her, she revealed to her a small knife, and told her that if the high priest's blood had not stained it by sunrise, she would cease to be her daughter.
Why are you telling me this story? Her voice is quiet, but there is a slight edge to it.
Let me get to the end, he pleads, placing his hand on hers. She looks away.
The princess, left alone in her room with only a knife and her mother's orders, began to despair. She knew she couldn't kill the high priest, and now she knew she could not, or would not, become like her mother. She left her room in search of the prince, and found him, in a dark room in a far corner of the temple. But when she called out to him, he did not answer, but turned away from her, closing his eyes. She called to him again and again, even shouted at him, but still, he would not speak to her. Overwrought with despair, the princess left him, now convinced that he no longer loved her. She took her knife in her hand, and, for a moment, wondered if she should not end her life.
Did she?
No. This isn't that kind of story.
The high priest had been watching her, you see, and stopped her just before she brought the knife to her breast. He told her that she had not lost the prince's love, not at all, but that his test had been a test of silence, to refuse to speak to anyone who came his way, even his beloved. The princess did not ask what her test had been. He said that the both of them had passed their tests, and proven that they loved and deserved each other above all others. The prince and princess rejoiced, glad they could be together at last.
Rue?
Well, finish it, she murmurs.
The Queen of The Night knew her daughter had not killed the high priest, so she set out to sneak into the temple, and do it herself. But just as she and her servants were making their way into the temple, the great golden sun began to rise up over the horizon, its light falling on their pale faces and burning their skin. They had no choice after that but to flee into the shadows, or else be burned into dust. The prince and princess watched the sunrise together, hand in hand, and the princess marveled at how beautiful the sun was, and how warm and pleasant it felt on her face. In this way, she was happy.
Why didn't the sun burn her? Rue asks. Was she not a creature of the Night like her mother?
She was, but her heart was pure, and she was not afraid of the sun like her mother was.
Did that matter, though, if she still carried her mother's blood?
Blood doesn't matter, he says, voice oddly firm. All that matters is that deep down she was a good person.
Rue is quiet. The room, which had seemed so cold before, is warmer now, and she lets her robe fall from her shoulder as she shifts in her seat. Wordlessly, he places his hand on hers, lightly, as if he is trying not to scare her away.
Rue?
I'm tired, she says. He smiles.
Lets go to bed then.
The fire has dwindled to only a few glowing coals by now, their light dim and flickering. Rue turns away from it as soon as she looks. Its warmth burns her face.
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Pairing: Mytho/Rue
Rating: PG
Notes: Gift exchange gift for
kurozukin_a
They're in their room, sitting in high-backed chairs next to a fire that is neither roaring nor meager, but seems smaller than it is, dwarfed by the great size of the hearth. Outside, the snow is falling gently, prettily even. The winters here are much like everything else in this place, pleasant, picturesque, unreal. They aren't as cold as the winters in Goldkrone, as real winters, but Rue hates them all the same. She's never liked the winters, everything is too quiet, too dead. Too peaceful. The cold seeps into the room through the thin glass of the windows, and she pulls her robe tighter around her shoulders.
Is something wrong? He asks her, his voice quiet and gentle.
I'm cold, she says.
Come sit with me.
There's not enough room.
Yes there is, he says, with that laughing, beautiful face that could convince her of anything. She gets up and settles into his chair; she was right, there's not really enough room for both of them, but she likes the feel of Mytho's warm, soft body, fitting against hers so easily, like a puzzle piece. For several moments they stay like that, in silence, and she feels herself relax as she feels his heartbeat through her hand on his chest. He shifts slightly, leaning over to place a soft kiss on her cheek. She closes her eyes as he does, and speaks, breaking the silence with a voice that seems harsh and dark compared to the serene quietness before.
Tell me a story, she says.
What kind of story?
It doesn't matter, she says, leaning against his shoulder. Just a story. For a moment, he does not speak. Then the fire gives a loud, conspicuous crack, and he opens his mouth, his soft voice rising out of the silence as he begins.
Once, there was a princess of darkness.
What sort of story is this? Her voice is sharp and bitter compared to his, her eyes glittering with hints of accusation, of offense. She did not ask him for a fable of truth, she wants a lie, an escape.
Just a story, he says, his expression gentle and placating, as if she is an animal that needs to be soothed. Let me tell it. Please?
Tell it, she says.
Once, there was a princess of darkness, who was the daughter of the Queen of The Night. All her life she had lived in the land of the Night, never knowing what the sun looked like. In this way, she was happy. One day, a man from the Temple of The Sun came and took her from the darkness, and into the light.
How cruel of him.
You think so?
I do.
He gives her an opaque sort of smile, and continues.
Not long after, a young prince came into the land of the Night. He was handsome and brave, and the Queen of The Night knew as soon as she saw him that he would be able to rescue her daughter. So she showed him a vision of the beautiful princess of darkness, and at once, the prince fell in love with her, and vowed to save her from the Temple of The Sun.
How could he fall in love with her so easily, she asks. Did the Queen bewitch him?
No. She was captivating to him, as all dark things are.
Captivating?
Because they can never be fully understood.
She says nothing.
After much traveling, he says, the young prince came upon the temple, and sneaked in. From his hiding place he saw the princess struggling with a man who tried to hold her close, and take from her a kiss, or perhaps something else. When he saw this, the young prince felt something stirring within his heart, for he could not stand to see someone so weak being taken advantage of by someone stronger than her. So he leapt from his hiding place, to try and help the princess.
Hmph. Fool.
He smiles.
But the man had servants to help him, and the prince was quickly caught and pulled away from the princess before he could even touch her hand. Then suddenly, amidst great fanfare, the man who took the princess, the high priest of the Temple of The Sun arrived, on the backs of two majestic lions. Around the prince, all the servants dropped their weapons and bowed. To a strange silence, the high priest spoke, asking the prince what he was doing in his temple. The prince told him of the quest the Queen gave him. The high priest sighed, and told him that he had been lied to, that the Queen was an awful and wicked woman, and that he had kidnapped the princess to save her from becoming like her mother. He told the prince he wanted her to see the sunlight.
And what did the princess think?
She was torn. She loved her mother dearly, and did not want to be parted from her. But she had fallen in love with the prince as well, and knew she wanted to be with him always.
Who did she choose?
I haven't finished it yet.
The high priest knew that the prince and princess loved each other very deeply, but even so he told them they would have to complete a series of trial in order to be worthy of each other, and the Temple. So, without another word, the prince was taken away to another part of the temple to complete his trials, while the princess was taken to her room to await him. While she was waiting, her mother appeared from the shadows, and embraced the princess. As she pulled away from her, she revealed to her a small knife, and told her that if the high priest's blood had not stained it by sunrise, she would cease to be her daughter.
Why are you telling me this story? Her voice is quiet, but there is a slight edge to it.
Let me get to the end, he pleads, placing his hand on hers. She looks away.
The princess, left alone in her room with only a knife and her mother's orders, began to despair. She knew she couldn't kill the high priest, and now she knew she could not, or would not, become like her mother. She left her room in search of the prince, and found him, in a dark room in a far corner of the temple. But when she called out to him, he did not answer, but turned away from her, closing his eyes. She called to him again and again, even shouted at him, but still, he would not speak to her. Overwrought with despair, the princess left him, now convinced that he no longer loved her. She took her knife in her hand, and, for a moment, wondered if she should not end her life.
Did she?
No. This isn't that kind of story.
The high priest had been watching her, you see, and stopped her just before she brought the knife to her breast. He told her that she had not lost the prince's love, not at all, but that his test had been a test of silence, to refuse to speak to anyone who came his way, even his beloved. The princess did not ask what her test had been. He said that the both of them had passed their tests, and proven that they loved and deserved each other above all others. The prince and princess rejoiced, glad they could be together at last.
Rue?
Well, finish it, she murmurs.
The Queen of The Night knew her daughter had not killed the high priest, so she set out to sneak into the temple, and do it herself. But just as she and her servants were making their way into the temple, the great golden sun began to rise up over the horizon, its light falling on their pale faces and burning their skin. They had no choice after that but to flee into the shadows, or else be burned into dust. The prince and princess watched the sunrise together, hand in hand, and the princess marveled at how beautiful the sun was, and how warm and pleasant it felt on her face. In this way, she was happy.
Why didn't the sun burn her? Rue asks. Was she not a creature of the Night like her mother?
She was, but her heart was pure, and she was not afraid of the sun like her mother was.
Did that matter, though, if she still carried her mother's blood?
Blood doesn't matter, he says, voice oddly firm. All that matters is that deep down she was a good person.
Rue is quiet. The room, which had seemed so cold before, is warmer now, and she lets her robe fall from her shoulder as she shifts in her seat. Wordlessly, he places his hand on hers, lightly, as if he is trying not to scare her away.
Rue?
I'm tired, she says. He smiles.
Lets go to bed then.
The fire has dwindled to only a few glowing coals by now, their light dim and flickering. Rue turns away from it as soon as she looks. Its warmth burns her face.