I spent well over half an hour listening to Frog's Theme, and this is what I came up with.  I'm not expecting laud and merit for this.  It isn't exactly what happened in the game, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Disclaimer: I do not own Chrono Trigger.  It's from Squaresoft, not me.

Kaeru's Song

By: Dreamwraith

            "My Queen, I shall not fail thee," the gallant young warrior said as he knelt before her and kissed her hand.  In the torchlight, his armor gleamed brightly, telling of much polishing and care.  At his side hung a broadsword, a weapon typical of the Guardian knight.

            "Glenn, thou hath my blessings and my prayers," Leene said as she smiled at the young man, barely out of adolescence.  "Now go."  The queen of Guardia graciously inclined her head, her golden hair cascading down her shoulders over her silky gown.  The blue-eyed woman winked as the boy glanced up at her.  She knew how nervous he was; his mentor had been the same way on his first real mission.

            "My Lady."  Glenn rose from his kneel and bowed before turning and leaving the throne room.  Various courtiers and diplomats followed his exit with their eyes, no doubt wondering what had passed between the queen and her knight.  The green-haired man ignored them all.  He was the queen's friend, nothing more.

            Cyrus was waiting for him on the other side of the door, already mounted and holding Glenn's horse.  "Art thou ready to depart this noon, my brave young companion?" he asked teasingly.  He knew well that his young prodigy was itching for battle, even though it would only be against a few Mystics.  The queen's own Champion and the Hero of Guardia, the man hoped Glenn would succeed him in the Elite Force.  The boy had it in him to do so…all he needed was to prove his worth.  And hopefully this would be a day that ended with his knighthood.

            "Thou knowest already, Sir Cyrus.  I hath waited many a long night for this day to come, and I shall not disappoint thee," the young man said, smiling mischievously.  "I shall become a true Knight ere this evening falls, Captain."  He winked up at the taller man, taking in his appearance as he did.  Cyrus was tall and broad-shouldered, with heavily-muscled arms and legs that bespoke hours of hard training.  His hair was kept short, as was Glenn's own, to fit under his helm.  He bore the insignia of the Guardian army on his shield.  Glenn leapt into the saddle easily and wheeled his horse around next to Cyrus' own stallion.

            Most striking about this military legend was his eyes, so dark they seemed to bore into one's soul.  They glimmered with more than just life, it was said amongst the villagers.  Cyrus was an angel, sent from the heavens to save the people.  Glenn shook his head and smiled again.  His mentor and trainer was no supernatural being or god, but a man of flesh and blood, a man who could hold his own against a horde of Mystics.  He was the Hero for a reason.  Glenn's own eyes darkened as he thought of the foul creatures.

            The Mystics were creatures of violence.  Much of their time was spent in squabbling or killing humans.  With those two tasks occupying much of their time, they had no chance to do any major damage.  They were too irrational, too predictable.  Until the Magus came.  This being had single-handedly united the various Mystics: the Roly Bombers and the Naga-ettes, the Grimalkin and the Henches, the Outlaws and the Decedents.  The foul beings had formed what could loosely be called an army, with this Magus at its head.  Little was known about the being, save that he was a master of Shadow Magic, the dark forces that all save Sir Cyrus feared.  The Magus looked human enough; Glenn had seen him only once, but that once was more than enough for him to remember his face, the pale skin, the light hair, the burning red eyes.  In his own mind he was sure the Magus was not one of the Mystics, and that brought up yet another question about the man: where did he come from?

            The young man was jounced out of his thoughts and nearly out of his saddle when Cyrus grabbed the reins of his horse and stopped the both of them.  The older man glanced down at his friend and pupil and sighed.  "Art thou positive thou wish to do this, Glenn?" he asked, fingering the Hero's medal with his right hand.  He squinted his eyes against the glaring sun as he awaited the boy's response.

            It was as he feared.  "I shall go forth and make a name for myself, the likes of which hath not been seen for ages past!" Glenn boasted, full of youthful pride.  "Ages hence, Cyrus, I shall be remembered for deeds both brave and valorous!"

            The older man grumbled a bit at this.  "Glenn, thou hath much to learn.  There is more to being a knight than just brave deeds.  Thou needst courage, and a kind heart, for thy knighthood to be won.  Thou art young and impetuous; this day shall temper thy steel and thy soul."

            Glenn looked at his mentor quizzically.  "What means thee, Sir Knight?" he pondered.  "Surely thou art joking, Cyrus?"

            "Thou may wish I joke, youth," the older man replied bitterly.  "Thy first real battle shall open thine eyes to reality.  Glenn, thou shall understand upon thy arrival."  As he finished his statement, Cyrus spurred his steed forward abruptly, nearly knocking his face against the horse's neck as his torso was whipped forward.  He took off at a gallop, leaving Glenn in the dust before the boy knew what to think of it.

            Glenn caught up with Cyrus at the edge of the forest, where the man had dismounted and led his steed to a nearby stream to drink.  The boy nearly leapt off his horse to do the same.  Under the cool green trees he sat down beside his horse, sure that his mentor wanted nothing more to do with him.

            Cyrus glanced sideways at the young man, who made a valiant attempt to hold back his tears.  He knew it wasn't easy for the youth, blast it, he knew, but Glenn wasn't quite ready to make a name for himself yet.  This day would not be easy for him, contrary to what he had been told back in the castle.  After a long moment of silence thick enough to cut with a sword, the older man spoke up.  "What ails thee, Glenn?"

            The boy lifted his head slightly and looked at his mentor through his blurry eyes.  "Thou shall speak with me still, Cyrus?  Thou art not offended by my actions or words?"

            The Hero allowed himself a fleeting smile, at which Glenn perked up.  "No, boy, I am not," he said.  "Thou art annoying and troublesome thyself, but 'tis not thy words or thy actions that upset me.  But come now, the noon is ripe, and wander some Mystics that needst slaying."  He chuckled despite himself, and the laughter was catching.  Soon both men were laughing and pounding their fists on the ground, tears rolling from their eyes.

            Cyrus regained his composure first with a grunt.  He cleared his throat and stood up, ignoring the ache in his legs from sitting in one position for too long.  Glenn seemed fine, which was just as well.  Fighting was meant for the younger men, these days.  "Glenn, 'tis time we left.  The Mystics shall not wait all day for death to come a-calling."

            The young man nodded wordlessly, still struggling to contain his mirth, and leapt into the saddle.  Cyrus mounted his horse as well and wheeled it about, heading back for the path.  Glenn fell easily into stride beside him, rocking with the uneven rhythm of the horse's trot.  His smile faded, though, after five steps, as he realized what he was to do in a matter of hours.  They were already well within the perimeter of the forest, and riding on a disused path which wound up the side of the foothills.  The area they were entering was a favorite haunt of the Mystics, and Glenn could tell even had he not known beforehand simply because there was no birdsong.  In his nervousness, his anxiousness to break the foreboding silence, he began to whistle.

            Cyrus would have stopped the young man were it any other tune.  This song, this tune Glenn whistled, it had the sound of a marching cadence, but it was more than that.  The older man shifted his weight back in the saddle and listened carefully, becoming more aware of the nature of the song as they trotted on.  Though Glenn was quiet – he knew not to make any noise loud enough to disturb the larger Mystics – it seemed as though the song was louder than the cheering at the King's coronation ceremony.  The notes wove their way through the shaded trees, through the bushes and rivers, through the very air itself, in a pattern that seemed to both comfort and strengthen the youth.

            The tune was simple enough; it began slowly, giving the impression that one was awaiting their orders and then received them, before setting off with their company.  It was a strict bit of music, but it changed to a brighter, more upbeat mood as the images divulged turned to marching onward, to battle, and winning.  The song spoke of valor and the bravery and honor of the knights of Guardia, of hope and dreams come true, of emerging victorious from mortal combat.

            Cyrus felt a sigh escape his lips as he brushed a slender branch out of his way.  It was nearly time to dismount again, only this time it would be not to water their steeds but to engage in battle.  Glenn's whistled song was stuck in his mind, and it didn't bring him harm now, but if it were to distract him in battle…He couldn't finish his own thought.  Impatiently he waved his gloved hand for silence, and Glenn obeyed instantly, all muscles in his young body tightening in anticipation of what would be his first solo battle.  He would fight alone, unless Cyrus deemed that he needed the aid.

            As one the men slid off their horses and tied them in a small grove not far from the top of the cliff they needed to climb.  Cyrus gave the silent signal to draw their swords, and Glenn again obeyed immediately.  The metal slipped from its sheath as though it was water, soundless and reflectionless.  The younger man could hear the faint laughter of the foul creatures known as the Mystics, and he pulled his lips back from his teeth in disgust.  His song also ran through his thoughts, soothing his nerves and calming his mind.

            The small group of Mystics never knew what hit them.

            Glenn charged up the slope, brandishing his sword before him.  There were three of the creatures before him, two Outlaws and a Roly Bomber.  He had run his sword through one of the bird-like Outlaws and slashed the front of the Roly Bomber to ribbons before the second Outlaw could screech out an alarm.  He dispatched it as well, watching as it collapsed on top of its two companions.  With a dazed smile, Glenn turned around and faced Cyrus, who stood impassively at the top of the path.  He had not known he was even capable of killing something living, even though the beings he had just disposed of were responsible for the deaths of many, many innocents.  He wiped the blood from his blade onto the grass before starting back over to his mentor.

            The older man watched as his student began the walk back over, and just behind Glenn a shape emerged from the shadows, one that dwarfed the young man by a head.  And he was afraid, for he knew beyond all knowing who had just come out of hiding for them.

            "Glenn, get thee back!" he growled as he charged forth, coming to a halt in front of the boy.  "This is beyond thy skills!  Leave!"  For the man who had shown himself was the Magus, the very leader of the Mystics and the most powerful sorcerer alive.

            The Magus smirked at the two men, one of whom seemed to be in disbelief and the other in the grip of anger.  He held his scythe before him, pulling it from the soft folds of his red cloak.  "Let him stay, Sir Knight," he said mockingly.  "Perhaps he shall learn not to prey upon the helpless, as do you.  Or perhaps he may even join them, which would suit me all the better."  The sorcerer raised one brown-gloved hand to Glenn and began the ritual gestures of a spell.

            "Get thee gone, foul Mystic!" Cyrus snarled as he moved in front of Glenn.  "The boy hath no qualms with the likes of thee.  Leave him be!"  He charged forth just as the spell went off.

            The wild magic was unlike anything Glenn had ever seen before.  The Knights could perform physical feats that seemed to be magical in nature, and he had seen some of the army's mages cast smaller spells of healing and fire, but all paled in comparison before the mighty rush of power that was the Magus.  The pale face of the Mystic leader loomed before him in a mass of dark something, which could only be the notorious Shadow magic.  The boy was thrown back on his behind as the sheer force of the magic rippled through the ground.  "Cyrus!" he shouted as the spell lanced toward his mentor and friend.

            The Hero of Guardia leapt nimbly to one side as the spell charred the patch of earth he had just stood upon.  He was not quick enough, though, for as he stood he winced; the left side of his body was scorched.  He glanced about wildly for the Magus, but he was nowhere to be seen.  As such, Cyrus held his sword out in front of him, ready to attack upon a moment's notice.

            He did not have that moment's notice.

            Glenn screamed out a warning as the Magus reappeared in front of the knight, seemingly out of thin air, and slashed his wicked scythe down upon Cyrus.  He did not need to see his friend to know he was dead.  The way he had crumpled, the expression of shock across his normally-stern features…and the fact that the Hero's medal went flying from around his neck over the side of the cliff and plummeted into the river below, hooked on the murderer's weapon.  Cyrus would never have allowed that medal to leave him while there was still life within his body.

            The young man was on the ground beside him in an instant.  "Cyrus, friend," he whispered, brushing his left hand over the man's eyes to close them.  "I will avenge thee.  I will avenge thee!"  The song he whistled not twenty minutes before pounded through his mind and sang in his blood.  It was tainted with vengeance, and its target was the being who had murdered his oldest friend.

            "How very touching," the Magus said coldly.  "A pity that wasn't you, boy.  I'll have to use the one I was saving for him on you instead."

            Glenn rose from the earth with his broadsword in hand.  "Thou shall pay for thy sin, Magus," he growled.  "Thou art responsible for the death of a great man."  Had anyone been close enough to the boy to see his eyes, they would have said they contained twin fires, burning inside, unquenchable until the death of the Mystic leader.

            "A man who was in my way," the sorcerer growled back.  "Begone, toad, for that is what you shall be until death sees fit to take you."  He began running through a different series of hand gestures, accompanied by low chanting.  Glenn began to run forward, but he was halted in his path not five steps in.

            Words cannot describe what happened to him.  The spell was one of transformation, meant to change one's form into that of an animal.  Glenn screamed in pain as his body began to shift and change, his face elongating into that of a frog.  His fingers and toes grew webbing, his bones shortened, and his skin colored a mottled green.  He would never forget the burning in his joints, his very soul, as he lost his human form – and his song took on a tragic tone.  He fell heavily to the ground a moment later, panting and gasping and fumbling for his sword with hands that were not used to wielding weapons.

            To his dying day he would remember the chilling laugh of the man known as the Magus as flew away, though he would not recall how he managed to get both himself and Cyrus back onto their horses and back to the castle.  It was all so foggy, he remembered thinking.  He also vaguely remembered stumbling into the castle, and the expressions of horror on the faces of the people he once knew were what drove him to leave the castle, returning only when Leene beckoned.  He was a monster, no better than the Mystics he was to fight, and with tears welling up in his great yellow eyes he ran away from the home he no longer had.

            The humanoid frog sat at the edge of the river below a large cliff, staring down at his reflection and holding a broken chain.  "Glenn, I am no longer," he whispered.  "For I am no man.  I am Kaeru, Frog."  And he slowly whistled a tune, reminiscent of days long past and a battle lost, as he stood, letting the chain slip into the rushing water.  "And I shall remember."  With those words the ex-knight turned from the river, his ashen cloak fanning out behind him, and he hopped away.  The tune hung silently in the air, his silent tribute to a friend deceased.


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A bit depressing, I know.  I also know that Glenn is Leene's protector until she disappears (he renounces his position himself), but there had to be more behind him living in a swamp than just that.  So, as always, let me have your opinion on this.  I greatly appreciate your time.