Violinist of Hameln: Owari no Symphony
From: "Aaron Shattuck" <dilandau2@hotmail.com>
Violinist of Hameln: Owari no Symphony
Third Movement
Episode 1: A Return to Sforzendo
Written by Aaron Shattuck
"Violinist of Hameln" is property of Watanabe Michiaki, Enix, and Pony Cannon. All characters, etc. (save for the ones I make up myself) are used entirely without permission. I don't think they'd mind too much, though. This fic takes place after the events of the TV series, by the way.
*****
He sat and tuned the harp. The harp didn't really need tuning, but it was an old habit and a comforting one. One of the few he had left, really.
The view of Sforzendo from his vantagepoint on the hill was phenomenal. Even from the distance between it and him, the walls of the great city-state were massive, and from his birds eye view, the shape of the hexagram they formed was in plain sight. Challenging the size of the walls, was the royal palace, whose towering spires seemed to reach out to the heavens themselves. It was a huge, elegantly bloated thing, which majestically dwarfed the web of streets, all of which seemed to connect to it in some way. Through them, the citizenry bustled like tiny blood cells through capillary. They were all quite busy that day, for it was but a short time before the Festival of a Thousand Stars; an event that took place only once in a decade.
Ah, a festival... That certainly brought back memories! He'd be right at home there, soon enough.
Well, there was no use dawdling; it was time to get back to business. Standing up without a hint of effort, he leaned his instrument against his shoulder and began an easy descent towards the city below. It was time for the show to begin.
*****
*Clippity-clop! Clippity-clop!* That was the only sound Raiel heard, as he steered the horses that pulled their little wagon. Birdie and Mifa weren't singing or talking any more, which meant they had probably gone to sleep. That was fine, they needed their rest. He did too, of course, but _someone_ had to steer the wagon. Hazarding the risk of misteering the horses, Raeil quickly glanced back and saw that his theory was correct. Both of them slept soundly, huddled up together on the floor of the wagon, their faces the picture of peace. He smiled slightly, they looked more angelic at that moment, then anything he had ever seen in his life. Including real angels.
_Especially_ real angels.
No, no, no, it wouldn't do to think along _those_ lines now. After all, that was all behind him. He had experienced his fair share of misery in life, he thought, and there was no need to experience any more by dwelling on it.
The path cut through a forest, and its scent was almost intoxicating. Though he could not hear the sounds of chirping, the shapes of birds were clearly visible, flitting about merrily at the tops of the trees. With the sun shining brightly through the branches, Raeil could not imagine a more perfect day.
And with his thoughts turned to warm, pleasant things, the piano player began to reflect on his two companions: Birdie and Mifa.
Mifa was such a shy and quiet girl, that at first it had been intimidating. Of course, once she got to know you a little, she opened up immediately, but she would still be rather quiet. Which was why her increasing skill in singing had come somewhat as a surprise to him. But whether it was Birdie's lessons or a natural talent, the fact was that she was approaching Birdie's level at a rapid rate. And his old friend couldn't be happier, really. She had filled the "mother" role with quite a bit of enthusiasm and was delighted at Mifa's interest in her profession. Yes, they seemed to be one big happy...
A sudden jolt and the loud whinny of the horses shocked Raiel out of his revelry. Pulling the reins and taking a quick look around, he was dismayed to find that he had allowed the front of the wagon to fall dangerously off the path. A few inches more and it would have tipped over for sure! Cursing himself for not paying attention, he got out and carefully coaxed the horses to pull the left wheel out of the ditch and back onto the dirt road. From the back of the wagon came a tiny yawn, and the familiar sight of Mifa's head soon appeared, peering over the coach seat at him.
"Raeil-niisan," she mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes, "are we there yet?"
"No, Mifa-chan," he whispered back gently, fearful of waking Birdie as well. "But we will be soon. It's only one more mile..."
One more mile... to Sforzendo.
*****
Percus lay in bed, struggling to get up. That's what every day was for him, he thought. Just one long struggle to get up. Finally, he was able to pull himself up to a sitting position, his back resting against the wall. Oh, how he longed for the days when this was not a major accomplishment! Well, not entirely. The world was in a rather sad state of affairs back then, after all. But, if allowed to choose his preference selfishly, he would certainly pick the past. Back when he was _useful_ to someone...
Shrugging, he pulled the rope that hung over his bedside, which rewarded him with the little "ting!" of a far-off bell. Soon after, a young woman dressed in the manner of the servants' attire entered the room, bearing with her a tray of easily digestible foods.
"Good afternoon, my lord," she curtsied, careful not to spill the tray's contents while doing so.
Afternoon... Damn, thought Percus. He knew that he had been getting up later lately, but this was a particularly stunning defeat for him.
"Mmm," he greeted the servant, who placed the tray on his lap and abruptly started to leave.
Might as well try to stay in touch.
"Ah," he said to catch the young lady's attention. She stopped and turned back towards him, politely waiting to for his further requests. She didn't really want to, of course. To tell the truth, the old man simultaneously depressed and frightened her a bit. But a job was a job, after all...
"I don't suppose you could tell me what the Queen is up to...?" he finally asked, ending the minor suspense.
"I do believe her majesty is preparing for her daily session, my lord," she answered.
Damn, again! Thought Percus. Attending to the queen during her sessions was one of the few things he could _actually_ do for her, and he took a small amount of pride in that. But there was no way he'd be able to make it on time now. Oh, well...
"Her mother, brother and Clari are with her of course, I take it?"
"Um...," the servant faltered for a moment. "Actually I... I do believe that Clari-sama is away on some sort of business to... ah... to some "Staccato" place, my lord.
Staccato?! So, it was that time already. That made his absence all the more worse! Well... actually, perhaps it _was_ best if he did not attend the queen this day...
"Yes, yes... you may go now," he waved, seeing the servant fidget nervously. She nodded and left the room with relief.
Gritting his teeth, Percus focused intensely on staying awake and perhaps getting out of bed at some point...
*****
Raeil sighed despondently. The streets of Sphorzend were jam-packed with people, both on foot and in wagons of their own. That alone wasn't the real problem, though. The _real_ problem was that those that wished to move at all seemed to do so in the exact opposite direction that he did. He practically groaned as an extremely fat woman dropped her purse right in front of the horses and ever... so... slowly... bent down to pick it up.
It looked like it would be a long, _long_ day.
Mifa, in the meanwhile, was being completely overwhelmed. All around her, it seemed, were the most amazing sights. A proliferation of huge buildings, that seemed to pierce the sky; stalls being set, with contents ranging from simple, but delicious smelling foods, to objects of the most bizarre nature; and people... oh, so many people! Most of them seemed perfectly normal to her, but many were dressed exotically and spoke in a manner she had never heard before. The air was filled with the hum of hundreds of voices speaking at once, and quite frankly, she didn't know whether to be frightened or delighted.
Suddenly, something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She quickly turned to focus on it, only for it to disappear in the sea of pedestrians. The image still burned in her mind, though. And she had no doubt as to its nature. Excitedly, she rushed to where Birdie sat, humming pleasantly as she combed her hair.
"Birdie-neesan! Birdie-neesan!" Mifa cried, tugging at the woman's skirt.
Birdie stopped her leisurely activity and smiled down at the young girl. It seemed to her, quite unusual for Mifa to act so eagerly. And she was a bit curious as to what could have caused it.
"What is it, Mifa-chan?" she asked warmly.
"I... I saw him!" the green haired girl explained, pointing in the direction of her discovery.
"Saw who, Mifa-chan?"
"Dance!"
Birdie froze. It was, of course, completely impossible that Mifa had seen her old friend... unless the dead could come back.
"It... it's not nice to lie, Mifa-chan," she scolded nervously.
"But... but..." Mifa stuttered, clearly upset. "I'm not lying... He looked just like you said..." she put her fingers on the sides of her head, to indicate "horns" of the floppy jester's hood.
Oh, _that_ explained it.
"That wasn't _really_ dance," Birdie explained gently. "Clowns dress very similarly, and there'll be a lot of them here for the festival."
"Oh," Mifa replied disappointedly. Birdie smiled again and bent over to hold the child in a light embrace.
"Why don't you let me comb your hair for you?" she suggested, running her hand over Mifa's somewhat matted locks.
"Mm," the girl agreed. Birdie was probably right, but secretly, she would continue to believe that it was Dance she saw.
Outside the wagon, the crowd began to thin somewhat, allowing Raeil to make extremely slow, but definite, progress forward.
*****
With great reverence, Flute applied rosin to the bow. It was all part of the daily ritual, of course. Designed both to keep the instrument in pristine condition and to prepare herself to drop the little facades that allowed her to conduct herself normally, and truly be in understanding of her own heart. What was there wasn't admirable, certainly. A queen should care unconditionally for her subjects and her country... it certainly wasn't a fitting role for such a selfish creature as herself. And so she chose to forget her desires, and forget her unhappiness, and act as she felt she was expected to. It was only during these few brief moments, she thought, that she was truly herself.
The bow by now thoroughly rosined, the queen of Sforzendo sat down to play. Hoping that, somehow, the sound would carry into the box sitting on the table before her, and would make her feelings known to him.
*Knock! Knock!* Flute sighed and put the bow down. Such interruptions were exceedingly aggravating but thankfully few in number. The majority of the palace staff knew of her playing sessions, and were instructed not to disturb her on such occasions.
"Yes? You may enter," she addressed the unknown visitor politely, all the while grappling with the urge to snap at the person instead.
The door creaked open and in stepped what appeared to be a boy of about fifteen, perhaps sixteen, years. He wore loose robes of white and blue, and short black hair framed a handsome face, with large, deep blue eyes. Though he looked rather young, he was in fact quite older than herself.
"Please forgive the intrusion, Queen Flute-sama," he implored, bowing deeply. "I was not aware that you had already begun."
"Oniisan," she smiled in reply. If anyone could be forgiven for the interruption, it was certainly him.
"What did I say about this 'oniisan' stuff?" the boy asked, dropping his formal tone immediately, and spreading his mouth into an easy smile. "As the Queen of Sforzendo, I'm sure it would be appropriate to just call me Lute."
"Very well,... Lute."
Lute... she had only known her brother for a short time, but it seemed that an instant bond had developed between them. This was due to no small part of his own, undoubtedly. From the moment they met, the prince had shown her remarkable kindness and understanding. When she was with him, it seemed that acting cheerfully was not such an unnatural thing.
"I'm sorry I'm late," he apologized, rubbing the back of his head. "Everybody's been kept busy with the preparations and all..."
"It's funny," mused the queen, "did you know that back in Staccato, we used to have a yearly festival, just a few days before this one? It was just yesterday, in fact." She couldn't help but smile at the irony.
His sister's mention of Staccato reminded the prince of a question he had meant to ask her that day.
"Flute...," he asked, abruptly turning serious, "did you want to go? To the ceremony, I mean..."
"To visit Ojiichan's grave?" Flute smiled up at her brother, though a trace of melancholy touched her eye. "Yes, but of course, I was advised against it. I have far too many responsibilities here it seems... And besides, I suppose I should let his real grandchildren have him to themselves, this time."
The Prince of Sforzendo faltered. Normally his sister was very honest with him, but he knew she was quite capable of hiding her real feelings.
"Well,... as long as you're sure..." was all he could come up with.
"Mm..." she replied succinctly.
"Uh... it's strange that Okaasan hasn't shown up yet," Lute mentioned, resuming his cheerful mode of speech in hopes of steering the conversation to safer ground. "She always looks forward to being with you when you play... Well, maybe even she's being kept busy now."
That would be funny, Flute thought, considering that her mother had studiously avoided any and all matters of state, wishing to transfer power to her daughter completely. But still, it was possible that the "festival fever" had caught her as well.
"Maybe... Onii- Lute..."
"Hm?"
The queen paused to steel herself. She didn't want to do this, but it was, she felt, important for her to.
"Would it be alright... if I played alone, today? Don't get me wrong, I really do enjoy your company, it's just..."
"I understand."
No, he didn't. Not completely. It was true that she did indeed wish to mourn for her dear departed grandfather (and no matter what they might say, he was indeed her grandfather), but his was not the only death that day. It was also the death of her happy, carefree life. When all the things she loved and cherished, but one, were utterly destroyed.
But she burdened her brother enough, as it was. He didn't need to hear all of that.
"I guess I'll be going, then...," Lute shrugged, still smiling. "If I see Okaasan, I'll tell her not to show up, but I have a feeling she will before I can catch her."
"Thank you, Lute."
"No problem, my Queen."
Her brother gave her one last smile, winked at her and disappeared out the door.
Well, she was alone at last. No, not completely alone, she reminded herself. Hamel was with her, though walls of thin wood separated them an unimaginable distance, she was sure that he could somehow feel her love, from wherever he was. Holding back a tear, she began to play a solemn requiem for all she had lost.
*Knock! Knock!* It seemed that there would be no peace for her today. She hoped at least that, contrary to Lute's prediction, that was not her mother at the door. She found it hard enough to kick her brother out, and to do the same for Horn would be even more difficult.
"Come in, please," she suggested, stubbornly refusing to cease in her playing.
"Flute..." It was indeed her mother that entered. Adorned in her usual attire, her face radiating content and pure, unconditional love for her offspring.
"Okaasan," the queen replied, melting at the sight of her.
"I'm sorry," Horn stammered, realizing the fact of her intrusion, "I didn't mean to..."
"It's alright," Flute smiled. She didn't have to ask her to leave right away, after all. She could stay for a little while. "Do you mind if I keep playing?"
"No, of course not."
The two remained silent for a time, as the young queen made the violin weep with music. Finally, it was Horn that broke the moment.
"Flute," she smiled, starting to approach her daughter, but then stopping abruptly, "your playing has become so beautiful."
The red haired woman simply nodded, still lost in her world of notes. Horn turned from her and walked towards the huge window that took up a good portion of the far wall. Looking down upon the city she once ruled, she resumed her speech.
"It's because you only play for him, I suppose," she mused. "For Hamel. That much is obvious, because you've always left your soul in plain sight... especially when you play. But..." the former queen paused, playing lightly with the fabric of the curtains in her hand, "is this really what you want? For all you know, you might be playing for a corpse."
Flute didn't respond, but her playing began to sound slightly strained.
"There's really no telling how long someone like him can survive in that box, you see," Horn continued. "He may already be dead. Is it really worth it? To sacrifice the one you love, to sacrifice your own happiness, for the rest of the world? Flute, you've always cared far too much... about _everyone_, despite what you think. But you can't keep everyone happy, it's just not possible."
The sound of the violin grew louder and harsher.
"Also, you assume the spirit that possessed his father has possessed him completely as well," her mother reasoned, "but how can you be sure? Is it possible he still retains his own personality? And if not, then just who are you playing for?"
The music stopped abruptly and for several seconds, the room became as still and quiet as a grave.
"You are not my mother," Flute asserted, her head remaining unraised.
"No," the woman by the window grinned and turned around to face her, "I guess I'm not."
*****
Commercial break! The image of Flute, head bowed, playing Hamel's violin "cello- style" is juxtaposed with a short violin piece.
A little cartoon character in a business suit walks on screen, whistling as he proceeds. Suddenly, from the ground bursts a huge, gaping maw, lined with jagged teeth. The monstrous thing swallows him, screaming, in one gulp. It then belches, and out of it fly drops of blood. The blood hits the screen and drips down, forming the words "My First Bloody Death Eater(tm)!"
Chorus of Children's Voices: o/~ What comes from the ground, with a fearsome sound? It's My First Bloody Death Eater! With just one gulp, you're enemies are ground to a pulp! It's My First Bloody Death Eater!o/~
Announcer: Hey, kids! Is the bully on the block bothering you? No need to fork over that lunch money! With My First Bloody Death Eater, you won't have to worry about _him_ anymore!
Bully: Hey, squirt! Gimme dat cash!
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Young Billy pushes a button on the remote in his hands and immediately, the monstrous mouth we saw earlier, this time only about the size of a small beagle, arises from the ground and swallows the little miscreant whole. Screams are heard from within, as blood squirts through the gaps in its teeth. The jaws of death slowly sinks back into the ground, leaving only a charred sidewalk surface in its wake.
Young Billy: Biff, are you okay? Biff?!
Announcer: Or how about that annoying neighbor's dog?
A small poodle stands in Sissy's family's front lawn, barking madly and piddling on their lawn gnome.
Poodle: Yap! Yap! Yap! Yap! Yap! Yap! Yap!
Sissy: My First Bloody Death Eater!
Sissy pushes the button on her remote, and Fido is soon reduced to scraps at a Korean restaurant.
Poodle's Owner: Oh, my God! My dog! Noooooooo!
Announcer: And remember, My First Bloody Death Eater can be the gateway to other great toys, as well!
Joey enters the kitchen, holding his My First Bloody Death Eater(tm) remote and begins to converse with his mother.
Joey: Mom, can I get the new Kung-Fu Death Squad Blue Action Figure?
Joey's Mother: Now, honey, I told you that...
Joey's Mother notices the My First Bloody Death Eater(tm) remote in his hands.
Joey's Mother (forcing a smile): Heh, heh... Of course, dear.
So get your first My Bloody Death Eater today... Before someone who doesn't like you does!
Chorus of Children's Voices: o/~ What comes from the ground, with a fearsome sound? It's My First Bloody Death Eater! With just one gulp, you're enemies are ground to a pulp! It's My First Bloody Death Eater! o/~
Announcer: My First Bloody Death Eater, from Playskool!
End of commercial break! The image of Raiel playing the piano, a single tear falling down his cheek, is juxtaposed with a short piano piece.
*****
Around and around the little rag doll whirled on the piano's surface, dancing like a skilled expert to the sound of "Swan Lake." Children and adults alike clustered around to see the amazing site, barely allowing Raeil the elbowroom necessary to perform such a feat.
The piano player sighed in content. After such a stressful day, he truly needed this. Despite Birdie's protests, he had abruptly stopped the wagon in the middle of the street, deciding to risk the reprimand of the authorities by performing without a license. He had to do it, he felt empty when he didn't play after a period of time. Closing his eyes, he let the sound of the music, his music, wash over him, combined with the feelings of joy it aroused in the crowd. Visions of water, splashing, rushing water, both free and majestic filled his head and his fingers seemed to move on their own, making beautiful music completely independent of his mind. But soon the water faded and it was dry earth he saw. And upon it, were many figures. They moved awkwardly, like poorly constructed marionettes. Slowly they jerked forward, forming a loose circle of sorts around an odd pair. One of the two was a monster, horrible to look upon, with skin the color of blood, and three fearsome horns sprouting from its hideous skull. The other, however, was a young girl. She held a sword in her hands and with a tear streaked face, she slowly raised it above her head. Raeil gasped and clutched his stomach, allowing his precious piano to fall to the ground. The doll, no longer given an illusion of life, lay limply on its surface, before sliding off and onto the dirt below with a pathetic "*plop*."
The crowd murmured in disappointment and dispersed, leaving the poor man to crumple to the ground, alone. Raiel raised his left hand and grasped for the instrument that sat but a few inches away, for it seemed that it was being taken from him. Fading away a little more with each passing second, until the whole world went black and he became nearly as still and silent as the doll which lay beside him.
*****
"Well, well," the person who was not Horn chuckled, her voice completely dropping the familiar, soothing tones it had held previously, and adopting mocking ones in their place, "it looks as if you found me out. I guess I really need to polish my acting skills a little more, eh?"
The woman began to move towards Flute, her pace slow and deliberate, like a cat's. The queen of Sforzendo clenched her fists. With each step the imposter took, she felt a ball of ice grow in the pit of her stomach. Fear. Why did she fear this woman? She knew nothing of her, and yet to look upon her, seemed to be akin to looking upon the endless void of night itself. Who was she? This leering parody of her beloved mother... Suddenly, the fear was gone, the ball of ice melted by the fires of anger. How dare she?! Of all the people in the world, to steal the skin of that person! Her mother... Flute rose, carefully putting the bow and violin aside. The woman stopped in her tracks.
"Don't you underestimate me," the queen stated flatly.
"I wouldn't dr-..." was all the imposter got out before the ball of light hit her head on.
A deafening explosion was heard throughout the castle. And within the room of its origin, all was covered in smoke. Flute coughed, as she waved her hands in an attempt to cut into the cloud of white that enveloped her. The spell was a powerful one, and would certainly have blown its target to pieces, but this was an effect she hadn't foreseen. In fact, by all means the smoke shouldn't have appeared at all. As she moved backwards, presumably towards the room's exit, the young queen began to hear the sound of laughter. It came from the direction of the imposter, but it wasn't her mother's voice. No, it was a masculine one, both young and merry. Like the tinkling of bells on a summer's day.
"My, Queen Flute-sama," it sang joyfully, "you certainly are your mother's daughter!"
The smoke began to dissipate, and a faint shadow could be discerned from the voice's origin. The shadow grew as the smoke continued to thin, until the last of it became a slow, miniature tornado, that spun lazily before flying out the now opened window.
With the smoke cleared, the shadowy figure was now revealed in full light. He appeared to be a jester, with the curved shoes, intricate patterns and assortment of bells and tassels that traditionally adorned the clothes of one in such a profession. However, the two horns of his jester's hood were absurdly long. And fixed at the ends of them were neither tassels nor bells, but rather, huge spheres, bigger than his head. They seemed to be made of the same fabric as the rest of the hood, and each bore a cartoonish symbol on its surface. On one, a heart and on the other, a skull. His face was hidden by a mask, and though it was made in the shape of a clown, with its large red nose, curved eyes and open, laughing mouth, it did not inspire humor in the least. Rather, it was the sort of clown's face that often elicits wailing sobs from children. A grotesque, leering thing. As if this were not outrageous enough, in his blue gloved hands he held a long staff and affixed to it was a large, beautiful harp, both ornate and silver.
"Allow me to introduce myself," the jester suggested, bowing reverently. "My name is Orgel. Please forgive my earlier deception."
Flute could but stare at this bizarre figure. Finally, through pure force of will she gathered her wits about her, grabbing at them as if they were tattered papers flying in the wind.
"Ma-...zoku?" She wondered aloud.
"What does it matter?" the one called Orgel asked, rising and giving an exaggerated shrug. "I played the part of your mother, because I thought you might be more inclined to listen to her than me, but are the same words of a great philosopher any less wise coming from a frog or a cockroach? I meant what I said before, you see. About him."
The clown pointed towards the box that lay on the table between them.
"The very idea... the idea of freeing him sends shivers down your spine, doesn't it? But are they really shivers of fear, I wonder?"
"Shut up!" Flute snapped. Mazoku or not, she would not stand for such words being spoken to her.
Orgel began to lightly pick at the strings of his harp. A simple melody, but as sweet and soothing as honey.
"King of evil, they would call him. But he's trapped now, and yet... I'd hardly say evil is vanquished from the world. They seem to be keeping it up," he motioned his head towards the window. "Those you would protect."
A strange sensation came over the young queen. It seemed to her, that she could not discern between the words of this jester and his music. The two were one, intertwined. The sweet honey mixed with bitter poison and she both hated and loved them completely.
"No, evil is very much alive in the world... But what 'evil' that one, the one you love, might bring about, wouldn't really be his fault, would it? Whereas for them..."
It made sense, didn't it? No! It didn't! But... it was beautiful all the same. The music... the words...
Barely audible... *tap tap tap* from below. But she heard it and somehow it woke her, woke her from whatever dream cloud she had been thrust upon. She could guess what that sound meant, and she knew what she had to do. "Is that so?" Flute asked, allowing a deliberate mix of reproach and curiosity into her voice.
"As I see it, anyway." The clown shrugged. "I'm just trying to tell you that you don't have to sacrifice your dream. It wouldn't be so horrible."
"My... dream?"
*Tap Tap Tap* Louder now.
"Of course, your dream. That wonderful, happy dream, that lights your soul like a penny candle."
The music grew louder, sweeter, she felt herself being immersed again. Focus. Focus on the tapping, the ever-louder tapping. And the sound, the sound of...
"flute..." An echo from far away, but it didn't escape the notice of her unwanted visitor.
"Isn't that...?" He wondered, ceasing to pick the strings.
"Flute!" It was the sound of her brother, accompanied by many, many feet rushing over the stone floor.
"Che," Orgel snorted, snapping his fingers. "It looks like I'm outgunned. Oh, well..."
Quickly, quicker than she could react to, the clown back flipped away. Within a heartbeat he was kneeling on the windowsill, the wind whipping at the absurdly large horns of his hood.
"I'll talk to you some other time, okay?" he waved, and then he was gone.
"FLUTE!" cried Lute, as he burst into the room. He didn't know what to expect, after hearing the roar of that explosion. A thousand horrors must have crossed his mind on his way here. But when he arrived, all he found was his sister, staring resolutely into space, and curtains blowing in the breeze of an open window.
*****
When Raeil awoke, the sky had changed to the brilliant red of evening. He lay on a bed now, rather than the hard ground. And it was the large window directly behind him that made the sky's color known to him. Groaning, he rubbed his head and found there a damp cloth lying upon his forehead.
"You're awake?" Asked a familiar, worried voice.
Raising his head, he saw Birdie standing in the doorway, a fresh, clean cloth in hand and a look of concern etched on her face. Hurriedly, she walked up to him.
"Raiel, are... are you all right?"
"Mm," he mumbled, rubbing his head some more, "I think so. What happened...?"
"I told you, you shouldn't have tried to perform. You were exhausted!" she scolded in reply, sniffing indignantly as she removing the rag from his brow. Silently, she dipped the fresh cloth into a bucket of cool water that lay at his bedside. As Birdie bent over to place it upon him, he looked up at her. And as he did, the rays of the setting sun touched her and made it seem to him as if she glowed with a golden light.
*****
In a serene valley, filled with tall green grass and bordered by a strong, ancient forest once lay a village known as Staccato. But Staccato was no more, for it had burned to the ground. Now, only the occasional husks of houses that once lay on the outskirts of town were left to remind the world it had once existed. That, and a graveyard, for all but three of its residents had died there, paying the price of the destiny they had carved for themselves.
The gravestones were widely spaced, and varied in size and shape immensely. The particulars of their construction had depended completely on the attentions of the relatives, if any existed, of the deceased. So while some were mere bumps of stone peaking from the ground like shy moles, others were large, elaborate pieces. Works of art in of themselves.
In front of one such stone knelt two figures. One was a man, with intense blue eyes, and blond hair spilling over his shoulders. He appeared young enough, but there was something about him, perhaps somewhere in those eyes, that spoke of years quite beyond his face. The other, a young woman, knelt beside him. Her resemblance to him was great, but her eyes were bright, without the stern gaze or hint of weariness set in her companion's. Together, they bowed their heads in prayer. Finally, it was the woman who ended the moment, rising silently. The other soon followed.
"This is the a nice place, isn't it?" Cornet asked her brother, enjoying the feel of the soft evening breeze against her skin.
"Hmm," Clari nodded, turning his gaze towards her.
"Strange," the young queen mused with a smile. "I think I really mourned a lot more when I found out he had left us, than when I found out he was dead."
"Cornet," her brother replied, putting his hand on her shoulder, "are you...?"
"Don't worry, Niisama," Cor asserted pleasantly. "I'm not bitter or anything. No, I have nothing to complain about now."
Without warning, Clari found his sister holding him in a tight embrace.
"It was really good to see you, Niisama."
"You too, Cornet," he replied with a loving smile, though he did not return the hug. "But... isn't it getting a bit late?"
"Mmm, you're right, of course. Just like always," Cornet sighed. "I guess I won't see you for awhile."
The queen of Dal Segno broke away from him and began walking forward, towards the carriage that awaited her at the near edge of the cemetery.
"Say 'hello' to your husband for me," Clari called after her.
"I will!" she waved back, as she climbed into the coach. "Good bye!"
Clari waited for the sounds of hooves upon soft earth before he left the grave. His own carriage lay at the other side of the cemetery, much farther than his sister's had been, yet he moved towards it at a leisured pace. His sister was quite correct about the aesthetic appeal of the place, and it gave him more time to think. Granted, he had more than enough of that, nowadays. When his beloved queen had retired he had, effectively, retired as well. The mighty Prince Lute was much more qualified to retake his old job, than Clari had been and besides, though he liked Flute well enough, his interest lay almost entirely in serving Horn. He was quite content to act merely as her bodyguard and provide the occasional odd job around the palace.
As he was almost upon his destination, Clari suddenly noticed something in the corner of his eye. Turning around, he was surprised to see a young man placing flowers at the foot of a grave. How he could've missed the boy before was a complete mystery to him.
The boy appeared to be in his early adolescence. His hair fell in short blue bangs, and his clothes were of a simple sort. By his side lay something large, longer than he was, covered completely by an old yellow blanket. The gravestone he knelt in front of was of the shy mole variety. In fact, it appeared to be completely unmarked. Tentatively, Clari approached the boy.
"Um...," he tried, embarrassed at interrupting the young man in his grief.
"Yes?" the boy smiled up at him, his eyes large and friendly.
"I'm sorry, but... are you a relative of someone who lived here?"
The boy chuckled a bit before answering. "No, not really. You see, I always leave flowers, when I come upon an unmarked grave." His smiled turned impish. "Just like to play pretend, I guess."
"I... uh... see," Clari faltered, then regained his composure. "Thank you, I'll be off then."
Turning away from the boy, Clari silently lectured himself about the relative merits of avoiding strangers. He had but walked a few feet away, when the mock-mourner called to him.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Clari turned back towards him, curious as to what the bizarre child could want from him.
"You work for the Royal Palace of Sforzendo, don't you?" the boy motioned his head to indicate Clari's robes.
"Yes," he replied coolly, "I do."
The stranger knelt down to pick up the covered object that lay beside him. Weighing it almost reverently in his hands.
"If you see the Queen, could you tell her that I'd really like to play for her, for the festival?" The boy grinned, as the yellow blanket fell, revealing the object to be a beautiful silver harp, attached to a long, metal staff.
TO BE CONTINUED...
A day of festivities and merriment, but a dark secret lays beneath the city. Can you hear it? The music that forces all to awaken and dance, like puppets in a play written ages ago.
Episode 2: Festival of a Thousand Stars
Raeil: What is... this place?
*****
Author's Note: I love "Violinist of Hameln", with a passion that is liable to scare small animals and children. That's why I risked the great unknown and decided to write a _serious_ fanfic for once in my life. Did it work? Well, you'll have to tell me, I'm a lousy judge of my own work. Anyhow, be on the lookout for "Violinist of Hameln: Owari no Symphony" episode 2! Um, don't be on the lookout _too_ soon, though. 'Cause I'm slow as hell and then some... Oh, well. E-mail me at dilandau2@hotmail.com if ya gots something ta say or visit my webpage (www2.crosswinds.net/boston/~floot/) if ya wanna see what else I've done (hint, remember the "My First Bloody Death Eater(tm)" commercial?) If you haven't ever heard of "Violinist of Hameln" (I'm assuming you checked out this fanfic out of pure curiosity if that's the case), I highly suggest you check it out. I mean REALLY. I don't care if your Grandmoher's dying of cancer, drop whatever you're doing and get what little of it has been fansubbed _right now_! Hurry, damn you! Oh, and you might wanna check out the Violinist of Hameln Webring (www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Shrine/2364/join.html) for some info, as well.
