by Ariana Aislinn

1-8-04: This story has been revised! Many thanks to my wonderful beta reader, rem saverem.

Disclaimer: The anime Brigadoon is the property of Bandai and Sunrise. All characters are used only for fun and not for profit.

Author's Note: I realize that in the timeline of the anime, Marin and Melan's circumstances were quite different when winter rolled around. This fic speculates what it might have been like if winter arrived at an earlier point in the story.

The girl pulled on her boots, barely able to contain her excitement. The snow was still falling—large, fluffy flakes that covered the world with a blanket of newness and purity. She leaped to her feet, red ponytail bouncing and green eyes sparkling behind her glasses.

The skinny, sprightly thirteen-year-old hesitated at the doorway for the briefest of moments, as if reluctant to mar the perfection before her. But the lure of joyfully clomping through the feathery snow in her old, worn, too-big boots overcame her, and, laughing, Marin Asagi leaped into a world transformed.

Crimson eyes watched her from the tenement porch of the tenement, contemplating the cottony flakes.

The snow was a pure, silvery white, so freshly fallen that it had not yet had time to be stained by the neighborhood's usual dirty, boring, dingy brown color. The tenement roof wore a crown of icicles, and each blade of grass and flower petal in the garden was adorned with a light dusting of white. Everything was cleaner and brighter and somehow-more than what it had been. The world was greater, newer, and full of fresh possibilities.

Strange thoughts. Melan Blue frowned slightly. Nearly seven feet tall when standing, the humanoid monomakia was still a large and rather forbidding figure even when seated. His cyan-skinned face betrayed none of his thoughts, and he was very still, his weapon-arms laid quietly across his lap, sword and gun forming a golden cross against the deep blue of his armored body.

I am intrigued by this meteorological phenomenon…but what does it have to do with my mission? I am a monomakia—a living weapon—and my purpose is to protect Marin, nothing more. Why do I suddenly find ice crystals so appealing? Such thoughts came unbidden, and it was a little unsettling. It was not like him to be so introspective. Yet as he watched her run, her feet dancing and her laughter chiming, he could not help but think in this way.

Grandma Moto had shown him a book of poetry once. Perhaps his thoughts were rather like that.

What a day this had been, watching this strange whiteness fall from the sky-he had never seen snow before, and its effect on Marin was fascinating. She was always quite cheerful, but there was even more joy than usual in her expression this afternoon.

Her emotions were infectious, and strange feelings stirred within him, as well. Melan began to feel restless, yet at peace. He was content and untroubled, but at the same time, a part of him wanted to join Marin in her senseless, playful dancing.

A snowflake fell on Melan's nose, and he looked cross-eyed at it. It was almost…amusing. What a rare mood he was in today…

Marin ran up to him, grinning, and spun around on one foot; almost falling, she laughed as she caught herself. "Oh Melan, isn't the snow beautiful? I just feel like I could give everyone in the world a big hug!"

"Crystallized frozen water does seem to be falling from the sky-" he began, but seeing the look on the girl's face, he caught himself. "The snow is quite lovely, Marin."

She giggled, turning around and spreading her arms wide. "Can you hear it?"

"I am sorry, Marin, but sound is muffled by the snow. I hear nothing."

She whirled to face him again, her eyes sparkling. "There's music! I can hear it!" When he only looked at her inquiringly, she put her hands on her hips and explained. "Sometimes at night when you look up at the stars, you can almost hear them singing. You can't really hear it with your ears, but there's a kind of music in life." She nodded.

"Is this what you call poetry?"

"Sort of. But it's real! Maybe you can't hear it, but the snow is chiming."


"Yes! Ringing, like silent, invisible bells! It's beautiful!"

Melan watched the snow quietly for a moment, pondering. "Who creates this music?"

Marin thought. "Well…" She shrugged. "I don't know. But I think they're making it for me!" Suddenly she grabbed his hand, laughing. "Come on! I'll show you how to make a snowman!"

Melan rose from his seat on the porch and let her lead him out into the pure, fresh whiteness. Silently he thought, The music is for me, as well.