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fairytaleknightScene, a lake in an underground cavern, separated from the gap by a narrow shore. In the center of the lake, there is something like a white branch, or a great ivory tusk, or the silhouette of a swan's neck. On it stands Princess Kraehe, in black tulle and satin.
Beside the branch, or tusk, or neck, lies a sort of bier or bed, white marble covered over with red roses, and on top of the roses lies Mytho, his eyes closed, as still as death.
On the near shore of the lake, Princess Tutu stands, all in pink and white, and the Knight of the story, dressed in black, a half-step behind her.
You might think, watching these four, that the stage has been carefully set. If you thought so, you would be right.
Fakir, being a character in the tableau rather than a neutral observer, isn't thinking about it. He stands in second position, hand on his swordhilt, waiting. (If it occurs to him that this is a ballet stance, not a swordsman's stance... well, it doesn't occur to him.)
Beside the branch, or tusk, or neck, lies a sort of bier or bed, white marble covered over with red roses, and on top of the roses lies Mytho, his eyes closed, as still as death.
On the near shore of the lake, Princess Tutu stands, all in pink and white, and the Knight of the story, dressed in black, a half-step behind her.
You might think, watching these four, that the stage has been carefully set. If you thought so, you would be right.
Fakir, being a character in the tableau rather than a neutral observer, isn't thinking about it. He stands in second position, hand on his swordhilt, waiting. (If it occurs to him that this is a ballet stance, not a swordsman's stance... well, it doesn't occur to him.)
no subject
Date: 2010-06-04 05:22 am (UTC)Should there be an observer in an armchair, somewhere behind the set, the observer might ask, "Why are those ravens en pointe? Why are they wearing tutus? Why do the raven armies even have human legs, anyhow?" The question doesn't interest Fakir, who is raising his sword in the first move of the Marozzi sequence--
No, Fakir isn't. He's spinning and pirouetting and swinging his sword in the old, familiar patterns of stage combat, and every time he slices at a raven, the raven vanishes in a spray of purple glitter.
Spoon would say, "You're dancing, son. Start over."
I can't start over.
Spin, turn, swing. Two ravens down, three.
I'm doing it all wrong, but it's working. Why can't I remember the moves?
Fakir reaches backwards over his head, killing a fourth raven soldier with a single stroke.
I didn't even see him there. How did I do that?
Now there are two staggered rows of raven dancers set before Fakir, and two more behind him. From somewhere, Tutu calls Fakir's name, but Fakir doesn't hear her. He jumps into a high backflip and lands in a neat second-position plié. Without pausing for a moment, Fakir runs forward, swinging his sword in a mighty two-handed strike and smiting another raven with a fresh spray of purple glitter. Grunting with the effort, he hits one, two, three more. Five. Six. Seven. The troops before and behind him move away, temporarily quelled.
I can fight. I can. Whatever's happening, it doesn't matter.
Fakir raises his voice. "I will no longer be afraid."
In the lull, he paces forward, waving his sword emphatically. "Give Mytho back, you crow."
Kraehe does not seem to be impressed. She only says, "I won't," and something in her voice inspires Fakir to look down.
Fakir was standing on solid ground a moment ago. Now it's water. SPLASH.
no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 05:19 am (UTC)(The princess doesn't rescue the knight, silly duck.
The princess doesn't even rescue the prince.
The princess is not an agent; she's a tragedy.)
no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 05:20 am (UTC)I will not fail at all.
A circle of ravens surrounds Fakir, slashing at him until the water is red with his blood. He strikes back, stepping forward with every strike, until at last Fakir reaches the island where Kraehe waits.
Fakir's bent over and can barely stand. His shirt's so torn that it hardly covers him. But he says, breathless, "Well..then. It looks like my body's still in one piece, huh?"
Fakir raises Lohengrin's sword for the last time.
Kraehe is saying something scornful, about how Fakir's too weak to be able to hurt her. Fakir only smiles, exhausted and triumphant. Oh, I have a better plan than that.
"Mytho," he gasps, "forgive me."
As the two princesses watch him in horror, Fakir swings Lohengrin's sword to meet the Prince's sword, and shears off the other blade halfway down. Mytho's hand loosens on the hilt, and the sword is only two swans, flying away into the roof of the cavern and vanishing in glowing light.
Fakir doesn't watch them go. He only sees Mytho, who is standing, his head bowed, his golden eyes empty of thought. Fakir whispers, the love bare in his voice at last, "Now you won't be able to go and senselessly shatter that heartshard."
That's it. Fakir's spent his last energy. All the pain he was ignoring hits him at once, and he can do nothing but let himself fall backward.
No, wait, Fakir has just a little more breath. "Princess...Tutu," he manages. "You must...see to Mytho's future."
It's enough. Fakir falls, and the water of the lake swallows him.