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fictionaluntruthsTitle: Possible Miracles.
Fandom: Princess Tutu.
Warnings: None.
Characters/couples: Fakir, Mytho.
Summary: Fakir is not a child anymore to believe in good spirits and random generosity.
Rating: G.
Notes: In some countries it's believed that during Christmas, Saint Nicholas gifts the animals the right to speak like humans do, just for a day.
Possible Miracles.
“No snow again,” Charon mutters, but he smiles at Fakir. Fakir kind of wishes he would stop treating him like a kid: he's fifteen already, finally taller than Mytho now, finally able to protect him as he should. “Be safe.”
He nods, picking up both his cape and Mytho's even though it's barely cold. He can't remember the last time it snowed in Kinkan. He still makes sure to put Mytho's cape before he climbs up on Feder's back, helping Mytho settle behind him. Feder knows him well and he barely has to say a thing for she to follow his orders, running towards the woods, giving Charon the time to set things up for them.
Sometimes, Fakir wants to tell him not to bother. He's not a child anymore and it's been a long time since he believed in something so stupid as good ghosts that give gifts to children. He'd be readier to believe in evil spirits or battles than to random generosity, because he's well aware it doesn't work like that. With Mytho's arms around his waist and the prince a slight weight behind his back, Fakir can't help but remember that generosity only causes harm.
When they arrive to the clear, he ties Feder's reins to a low branch, feeding her half a carrot, palming her neck.
“You're a good girl,” he tells the horse, leaning his head against her neck as she munches the carrot from his hand.
“Does she talk?”
Fakir doesn't quite sigh, long used to the fact that most of the time Mytho only speaks when he's prompted, with the one exception being when it's about animals.
“No. Horses aren't animals that speak,” Fakir looks at Mytho, and for a moment he ponders about telling him about the legends, how animals would be able to speak just once during the year, but that's a lie as well, and he has tried hard never to lie to Mytho when he asks something, if it's something that won't harm him knowing.
Besides, only those with a pure heart would be able to hear them, and his heart will never be pure enough anyway. Mytho's might have been, perhaps, but he doubts that a prince without his heart is considered pure.
“Let's go, Mytho.”
He starts walking, with nothing to do but perhaps find some berries or nuts, or perhaps read until Charon has everything ready. But when there isn't another set of footsteps besides his he turn, glancing behind him. Mytho is caressing Feder's neck like he was doing a few moments ago, the horse's head near to his shoulder. From where Fakir is standing, it almost seems as if she was whispering something to the prince.
“Mytho, come on,” he calls, and Mytho pets the horse one more time to walk by his side instead. Fakir hesitates a moment as looks at the heartless prince, he who should have the purest heart of them all, wondering if that would be enough, a supposition.
“Did she tell you anything, Mytho?”
Mytho's eyes are golden and empty and he blinks at him just once. “Say?”
“Nevermind,” Fakir answers with a sigh, and he starts walking again.
“Ducks,” Mytho says as they walk, looking up, hearing the way the wild birds call to each other up in the sky, but Fakir says nothing at all about that because there's nothing important enough about ducks for him to notice anyway.
Fandom: Princess Tutu.
Warnings: None.
Characters/couples: Fakir, Mytho.
Summary: Fakir is not a child anymore to believe in good spirits and random generosity.
Rating: G.
Notes: In some countries it's believed that during Christmas, Saint Nicholas gifts the animals the right to speak like humans do, just for a day.
Possible Miracles.
“No snow again,” Charon mutters, but he smiles at Fakir. Fakir kind of wishes he would stop treating him like a kid: he's fifteen already, finally taller than Mytho now, finally able to protect him as he should. “Be safe.”
He nods, picking up both his cape and Mytho's even though it's barely cold. He can't remember the last time it snowed in Kinkan. He still makes sure to put Mytho's cape before he climbs up on Feder's back, helping Mytho settle behind him. Feder knows him well and he barely has to say a thing for she to follow his orders, running towards the woods, giving Charon the time to set things up for them.
Sometimes, Fakir wants to tell him not to bother. He's not a child anymore and it's been a long time since he believed in something so stupid as good ghosts that give gifts to children. He'd be readier to believe in evil spirits or battles than to random generosity, because he's well aware it doesn't work like that. With Mytho's arms around his waist and the prince a slight weight behind his back, Fakir can't help but remember that generosity only causes harm.
When they arrive to the clear, he ties Feder's reins to a low branch, feeding her half a carrot, palming her neck.
“You're a good girl,” he tells the horse, leaning his head against her neck as she munches the carrot from his hand.
“Does she talk?”
Fakir doesn't quite sigh, long used to the fact that most of the time Mytho only speaks when he's prompted, with the one exception being when it's about animals.
“No. Horses aren't animals that speak,” Fakir looks at Mytho, and for a moment he ponders about telling him about the legends, how animals would be able to speak just once during the year, but that's a lie as well, and he has tried hard never to lie to Mytho when he asks something, if it's something that won't harm him knowing.
Besides, only those with a pure heart would be able to hear them, and his heart will never be pure enough anyway. Mytho's might have been, perhaps, but he doubts that a prince without his heart is considered pure.
“Let's go, Mytho.”
He starts walking, with nothing to do but perhaps find some berries or nuts, or perhaps read until Charon has everything ready. But when there isn't another set of footsteps besides his he turn, glancing behind him. Mytho is caressing Feder's neck like he was doing a few moments ago, the horse's head near to his shoulder. From where Fakir is standing, it almost seems as if she was whispering something to the prince.
“Mytho, come on,” he calls, and Mytho pets the horse one more time to walk by his side instead. Fakir hesitates a moment as looks at the heartless prince, he who should have the purest heart of them all, wondering if that would be enough, a supposition.
“Did she tell you anything, Mytho?”
Mytho's eyes are golden and empty and he blinks at him just once. “Say?”
“Nevermind,” Fakir answers with a sigh, and he starts walking again.
“Ducks,” Mytho says as they walk, looking up, hearing the way the wild birds call to each other up in the sky, but Fakir says nothing at all about that because there's nothing important enough about ducks for him to notice anyway.
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