The Duck and the Knight

Disclaimer: I do not own Princess Tutu or any of the characters in it. I do, however, own this story, so . . . yeah.

A Note: In this story, the Prologue in this story is basically the story of Princess Tutu, and the little things at the beginning of each chapter that always end in questions or in open-ended statements are the voice of the Narrator (like in the T.V. show).

Major spoilers ahead!

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The Duck and the Knight

Special thanks to;

Sarah, for being my editor.

This story would be totally different (and a whole lot worse) without you!

In fact, it wouldn't even exist!

Ryan, for playing "would you rather (hug the duck or cry in the bathroom)?" and the criticism (read it anyway!).

Anna, for the input and helpful ideas.

Laura, for the name and personality of Miss Suki.

Samta, for input, and for wanting to read it and me to get it published!

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There once was a Duck who fell in love with a Prince who had lost his heart. The Prince had fallen out of his story because it had no end, but the story's writer, who had died, still wanted to end it. So he let the Duck become a girl named Duck and the graceful ballerina Princess Tutu to start the story in motion again. So the story was able to end, though perhaps not how its author wanted, and the Prince got a Princess, though it was not Princess Tutu. If the Duck told the Prince that she loved him, she would turn into a speck of light and vanish. But she refused to vanish, and so the Duck became just a Duck once again, and the Prince's loyal Knight laid down his sword for a pen: and so ended the tale of Princess Tutu.

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Chapter 1

There once was a Duck who loved to dance. One day, a Knight sat by the Duck's pond, wishing to write stories. He saw the Duck, and when he looked into her eyes, he saw how lonely they were. The Knight wanted nothing more than to make the Duck's loneliness disappear. But the Knight was lonely as well.

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Duck was sad. It was not for the reasons she thought it would be; it was not because of Mytho, or Prince Siegfried as she should call him now. Yes, she still loved him, but she did not mind so much that he was married to Rue – Princess Rue, now. She was happy for them: it felt like that was the way it was supposed to be.

It was not because she missed Rue, although Duck did wish that they had had a better chance to become good friends.

It was not even because Duck wanted to be Princess Tutu again. That was over now; Princess Tutu was from Mytho's – or, rather, the Prince's – story, and she had played her part. No, Duck was not sad because of those things.

She knew it was selfish, but Duck was sad because she wished that she could be a girl again.

Duck missed dancing, Pike and Lilie, seeing other people, being able to have a conversation with Fakir . . .

Being a girl had just felt so right, even though a duck was her true form.

She knew it was selfish, but that did not stop her from wishing it.

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Fakir looked around him. The duck pond was veiled in mist, stream rising from the water's surface. The mist was constantly moving, covering and uncovering the reeds surrounding the water's edge.

Somewhere, a clock struck midnight. Fakir looked around warily: was something moving, or was it just the mist? He gripped his sword tighter, waiting. He wasn't sure what for.

But then there it was: the mist in front of him began to solidify into a shadowy figure. Fakir moved into a ready stance. The figure moved, and something glinted in the starlight. There was no moon, but Fakir could see everything perfectly.

His quarry was a raven.

It was pure black, but clearly no normal raven; it was as tall as Fakir was. Its feathers, eyes, talons, and beak - they should have reflected the little light there was, but instead, it seemed to be part of the mist. The only thing that reflected the light was the raven's sword.

The raven struck; Fakir blocked. He wasn't sure how long the fight lasted, but Fakir always seemed to know where to move next. Suddenly, Fakir saw an opening, and he took it. The blade hit in a flurry of feathers. A blow straight through the heart; the raven never had a chance to block it. The mist shifted, obscuring the raven for a moment. And then everything was painfully clear.

It was not a raven on the other end of Fakir's sword.

It was Duck.

She was a girl again, and even more beautiful than Fakir remembered her being. Fakir felt his hands go numb. Her expression was frozen in one of shock.

Duck was dead, and Fakir had killed her.

Fakir fell to his knees. A scream stuck in his throat. He could not seem to let go of his sword. But no, it was not his sword. Fakir stared at his hands dumbly.

They were holding a pen. The pen made from her feather. The pen he had written her story with.

The raven's feathers floated around him, mocking him. But they weren't feathers. They were pieces of paper. Duck's story.

Duck was dead, and it was Fakir's fault.

Duck turned back into her true form, a duck. Fakir dropped the pen to catch her as she fell. Her eyes were open wide, staring. At him. Accusing him.

Fakir felt tears begin to stream down his face, dripping on the duck, the pieces of paper, his hands . . .

"Duck!" screamed Fakir.

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Fakir woke up gasping for air, his breath rasping in his throat. It felt as though he had been running, or screaming. And he was cold. Really cold. And was his face . . . wet? He reached a hand, numb with the cold, to his face, and realized that he had been crying in his sleep.

Fakir realized that he was shivering. Why was he so cold? I must have thrown off the blankets while I was dreaming, thought Fakir. He was so cold he ached all over, but he was too tired – and too sad – to have the energy to retrieve his blankets.

Slowly he realized that there was one spot on the middle of his chest that was warm. He looked up and saw a small shape with big blue eyes looking up at him. "Oh, Duck," said Fakir. It came out as a whisper. Duck tilted her head to one side and looked at him worriedly, her eyes sad.

"Quack?" she asked.

"I, uh, need to go to the bathroom," said Fakir suddenly. Duck got off his chest and watched as he stumbled across his room to the bathroom. He closed the door, but didn't even bother to turn on the light. The knight leaned against the counter, covered his face with his hands, and began to cry.

Duck waddled over to the bathroom door and sat outside. Fakir cried quietly, but she could still hear him. It's not fair! thought Duck. Why won't he let me comfort him? And why is he crying? I know he cried out my name in his sleep. Is it my fault? Am I the reason that he suffers? Duck felt her own tears begin to fall. She felt so helpless. If I were a girl, I could at least talk to him! He could tell me about his nightmare. I could tell him that I will be here for him. But I'm just a duck!

Duck remembered when she had been in a similar position with Mytho; filled with the feeling of helplessness, sure that there was nothing she could do.

The duck stood up. Fakir, I may not be able to do anything else, but I will be your friend and comfort you as best I can!

The bathroom door opened, and out walked Fakir. When he saw her, he gave her a surprised look, and than gave her a small, sad smile.

"Silly Duck. It is too cold for you to be wandering around like that."

He picked her up and brought her back to his room, where he set her on his pillow. He grabbed a second pillow from his closet and set it next to Duck. He lay down, pulled the sheets up to his chin, and closed his eyes.

Duck sat there for a moment, before she closed her eyes as well. She listened to his breathing, and even though he gave a good impression of being asleep, it seemed like a long, long time before his breathing finally evened out and Duck was able to fall asleep as well.

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The first thing Fakir saw when he woke up was a Duck on the pillow next to him. "Still asleep, huh?" he whispered at her.

Moving quietly so as not to wake her, he made his bed and took a shower. Even though Fakir had not slept well last night, it was fairly early, and he knew there was no hope of him falling asleep again until he had figured out the answer to what was bothering him.

He slipped out the front door after a quick glance into his bedroom to make sure Duck was still asleep. He headed out towards the library. As he had expected, the door was unlocked; Autor was, as usual, at the library organizing books before it was even open.

"The library is not yet open," said a familiar voice. "You will have to come back later."

"What, you won't even let your own cousin talk to you?" asked Fakir. Autor appeared from behind a shelf.

"Oh. You." He adjusted his glasses. "You couldn't have waited until the library opens?"

"I'm not here for a book," said Fakir, his eyes adjusting to the familiar gloom. "I need advice."

"Ah," was Autor's only comment. He returned to shelving books. Fakir followed him around a shelf.

"Well, you see . . ." Fakir sighed. "So, I am the reincarnation of the knight from Drosselmeyer's story, but both the stories that he was in are finished now. Does that mean I am no longer the knight? But that is still a part of me. And what is my true self? A writer of stories? Or someone else?"

Autor handed Fakir a pile of books.

"And what about Duck? She was originally a duck, and she was just borrowing Princess Tutu's form, so that isn't her, but what about a girl?"

By this time, Autor had climbed the ladder leading to the second row of shelves, and was taking books from the pile that Fakir was holding to shelve them. He paused and sighed. "What do you want, Fakir?"


"What are you getting at? Does this have a point?"

"I . . . I want to write a story for Duck. To make her a girl again." Fakir held the books against his chest, oblivious to Autor's frantic attempts to get them. "But . . . is it right? To do that? Or am I just being selfish?" Fakir looked off into space.

"Fakir!" said Autor, climbing back down the ladder. He stopped in front of Fakir and looked at him. "You have a gift; use it!" He grabbed the books from Fakir's hands. "Now, unless you can be of further use, get out of the library!"

Fakir walked out, slightly dazed.

I will write a story for her. Even though it is selfish – but she misses it too – or am I just making that up as an excuse? Fakir put his hands in his pockets and sighed.

I truly owe who I am to Duck. She has changed me into who I am. My life used to be what was most important to me, and that was why I was so afraid of what I thought was my fate. But now . . . I think that what I fear loosing most is Duck, so I guess that she is most precious to me. If I lost her, something . . . important . . . would be missing from my life. If she stays a duck, I feel like I will loose her, but in a different way. He suddenly found himself in front of his house.

Duck had been waiting for Fakir. He had put a small flap in the back door with a latch that she could easily work, but she had wanted to be there when he got home.

She had been entertaining herself by organizing his desk, although she couldn't get into the drawers. It was a bit difficult, but she had managed to get by without spilling any ink. So when Fakir walked in the door, she jumped down and ran to the door to greet him by quacking happily.

Honey, I'm home, thought Fakir wryly. He picked up Duck and carried her to his desk. When he saw it, he smiled. Duck tries to be so sweet, even when she is a duck. He looked at her. "Thank you."

"Quack!" she said.

Fakir set her down gently on a clear space on his desk's surface and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. In his mind's eye, Fakir had a sudden image of Duck, his pen piercing her heart, the pieces of her story falling around him. . .

Sweat broke out on his forehead. No. I will not let that happen! It does not matter if she is originally just a duck. Her life has already been messed with. It is unfair to keep what Duck wants away from her just because it is not often done! He felt a sudden burst of determination.

"Duck, uh . . ." Fakir met her eyes. "Would you like to be a girl again?"

Duck thought she was imagining things. "Quack?" What?

"Well, um . . ." said Fakir. "See, I think I – I would really like it if you were a girl again. So . . . I could write a story for you."

Duck took a step closer to him. It didn't get her very far, but now she could look straight into his eyes. "Quack." She nodded, and put her head on his shoulder. (She is on his desk, remember?)

"Okay," said Fakir. "Where to begin?"

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Author's Note: My first chapter! Yay! I hoped you liked it!

The title is imitating The Prince and the Raven (in case you didn't notice that), but obviously the storyline is a little different!

Sadly, I had the most fun writing Fakir's dream (although I definatly didn't enjoy hurting him! Fakir is my favorite character!). I like how it turned out, but obviously I'm a little biased . . .

Now, all the mistakes. First off; electricity. I can't really tell whether or not there's any electricity in Gold-Crown Town (or Kinkan Town, however you spell it). There are small motorized vehicles, but no real cars, and because of the whole "spirit of the lamp" thing, that really seems to be their main source of light. So, please forgive me for saying that Fakir "didn't even bother to turn on the light."

Also, names; my explanation is a little long, so it's at the end of Chapter 2.

Okay, next chapter!