Notes and Disclaimers: The Violinist of Hameln (Haamerun no Baiorin Hiki) is the property of Watanabe Michiaki, Enix, and Pony Canyon. I hope you like the fic, and are inspired to let me know about it!
Lies, promises... compromises
Flute’s eyes welled with tears. "Don’t, Hameln."
Her voice was choked with unspoken emotions. Hameln looked at her, puzzled by the statement. Her large brown eyes swam with unshed tears as she gazed at him from across the fire. The young man frowned at her, his confusion deepening. He could see she was at the limit of her strength, fighting to contain whatever it was that had prompted the declaration. Her hands were balled into fists, tightly held against her heaving chest.
"Please, please don’t send me away," she pleaded softly as tears finally spilled down her cheeks. Her gaze fell to the fire, no longer able to maintain contact with his. "I’ve come so far, just to be with you." She allowed the statement to hang between them for several long minutes before she once again managed to raise her streaming eyes to meet his. Gathering a rasping breath, her voice dropped to a mere whisper, "You’re my best friend, Hameln...my only friend." The tears began in earnest as she stared at him longingly. "Please don’t send me away."
Hameln tore his eyes away from Flute’s exposed emotions. She was right. He had been drifting from her. And yes, it was on purpose. He could feel her eyes on him yet, still beseeching. He tried to smile; turning to meet her gaze, but found he didn’t have the strength.
"Flute..."
She gasped in shock upon seeing him. Startled, Hameln hastily raised a hand to his face and his fingers encountered moisture. He also gasped, beholding the salty drops on his fingertips. In the next instance, she was on him, sobbing, begging for forgiveness as she clung to him. He could hear her, pressed against his chest, apologizing, over and over. Flute assumed she was the cause of his tears, that she had in some way upset him, but Hameln knew she was wrong.
He was crying for himself. He had been, in fact, crying silently for months. The cause being the knowledge, the realization, that he was not...human. Even here, miles from anyone but Flute, his mind balked; yet it was a fact. Ever since he came to know of his destiny he had been crying.
And Flute?
He was the one who had dragged her out here, selfishly allowing the Princess of Sforzend to dog his every step these past four months. Because he needed her. When she had caught up to him, after not having taken the crown, he should have sent her home, then and there. Back to the castle, back to her new found mother. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Flute was his lifeline and he needed to see her, to know he was human, even if it was only part human. She saw it in him when he didn’t. He wanted... needed her, as a reminder.
Yet even as these thoughts formed in his brain he knew it was only half-true. The feelings he had for her, the feelings he wouldn’t admit to even himself, were stronger than his common sense and had the ability to crush his will. The pain that had come from the dissolution of the shield barrier, that had returned the horn to his head, was nothing compared to the thought of being separated from Flute.
Hameln raised a hand to gently stroke the back of the girl sobbing in his arms. But as the hand came into his view he saw it for the demon claw it could be and hastily dropped it. His movement caused her to relax though. Flute sniffed, raising herself up a little to meet his eyes. He smiled at her, drawing her back down.
Leaning back he whispered softly to her. "Sleep, Flute. I won’t send you anywhere. You can stay with me for as long as you want."
"Promise?"
He smiled and settled himself more comfortably against a tree, draping his cape around them and lied yet again, "I promise."
Flute smiled angelically and never thought to distrust him. Dropping her head onto his chest she drifted off to sleep, a warm human blanket. Hameln took a moment to collect his thoughts before he cast his mind back to the reason for this journey.
The Key to Pandora’s Box.
If only he had been faster, Guitar might not have escaped with it. Once again he cursed himself and his inability to see beyond his own immediate needs. It was Flute who saw to everything, it was she who worked like a slave for him.
Images of Flute, from the very beginning of their life together, danced in his mind. Every mental picture of her included the key… the key he had failed to protect.
He glanced down at the sleeping girl in his arms. No, his mind paused, no longer a girl. Flute had matured while he had been selfishly staring at his own reflection. The events of the past several months had made him examine himself in ways he had never dreamt of, and while he had been on his journey Flute had become a woman. A sharp pain cut his heart as he gazed at her face, softly wrapped in a veil of sleep. Somehow he had missed the blossoming of his friend and it wounded him to his soul. Hameln knew he should have been there for her, no matter what. Flute would have been there in his time of need, if he had allowed her to be. The musician closed his eyes tightly, fighting the embarrassment he suffered each time he thought of his recent actions. But Flute seemed unperturbed by the series of events. His eyes were once again drawn to the young woman in his arms and he smiled in spite of himself. Her lashes, powder soft, lay on her cheeks, giving her the look of a sleeping angel. Seeing her like this, he reflected upon his choice yet again.
Two paths were before him, but not as one would expect to envision them. There wasn’t a ‘V’ radiating out from his feet. No, Hameln stood in the center of the road he had been on all his life. To continue forward would be continuing in the human world. A world he had known for the past 13 years; more than half his life. A world that included Flute and Raiel. To turn back, to return to the demon world, would be denying those 13 years, but would put him among his own kind. Where men with horns wasn’t an uncommon thing. It would make him a king with subjects, like Guitar, ready and willing to follow him.
Flute snuggled against him drawing his attention for a moment. Glancing down at her, he felt himself smiling. She had that effect on him, more than he would ever admit. He took a moment and studied her features. Flute wasn’t beautiful, in the classical sense, but she was to him. He thought of Queen Horn and he tried to see her features in the face before him. No one had ever mentioned who Flute’s father was, but he couldn’t image Flute being allowed to be Queen of Sforzend and keeping a demon lover. He chuckled at the thought, causing Flute to shift and sigh. Hameln wrapped his arms around her and dropped his lips onto the top of her warm head.
They had been sleeping together like this on cold nights for years. Back in Staccato they had been unabashedly intimate, but it never occurred to him to think anything of it. It wasn’t until the threat of losing Flute had reared its head that he began to see his feelings for what they were. Most of them he didn’t dare probe, but others came naturally and he welcomed them. He thought of the day that she joined him, the day they had lost the key, and how he had known, miles from her side, that she was in danger. Now there was a feeling he could relish! Hameln kissed her again, smiling at the thought.
As he pressed his lips into her hair, he thought of all the kisses he had stolen over the years. The top of Flute’s head and he were old friends. From early on they had shared many things; kindhearted Flute freely giving of herself with an open willingness that made people naturally gravitate to her. Hameln was no exception.
Those first days in Staccato were shadowed in his mind, but stories of Flute coming to him in the dark of night as he screamed from the terror in his soul were common. She would climb into his bed, snuggle against him and magically take the pain away. At first he had been confused. Comfort, to him, was not bestowed by a warm wiggling baby. But as time rolled on he had come to welcome the chubby girl as she pressed against him. Once he had even feigned the terror just to have her company. The exercise had embarrassed him exceedingly so it was never willingly repeated, but the desired end had been reached. He could still see her, her face bathed in tears of sympathy as she raced to embrace him… arms wide, hair wild, nightgown sailing out behind her. The memory made him blush and screw his eyes shut even now, a decade later.
Most nights, she would hold him tightly and not move. Flute seemed to have the power to draw fears out of him through her body. She would press against him, warming him to his frightened soul. There was music to these encounters. The strains of haunting melodies followed her limbs as they touched his. Other times she would sit with her feet tucked under her, his head in her lap, her hand gently stoking his cheek. And sometimes she would kiss him, again and again, until he would laughingly push her away. Flute always seemed to know just what to do to pacify him.
He had had no means of repaying her, so his gratitude had become manifest in secret kisses. She would gather herself in his bed and soothe him with her steady breathing, her warm pulse, and her whispered reassurances. And when she fell asleep he would kiss her head, longing for the grateful swelling of his heart to somehow transfer itself to her through his lips.
Flute smiled in her heart as Hameln kissed her again. She knew he had no idea she was awake, that she remembered, and could recount, every kiss he had ever imparted to her. It was her own happy secret. Sometimes she would press against him after he kissed her, but he had never taken this subtle acknowledgement as anything but a disturbed sleep. As she felt him settling into a more comfortable position, experience told her he would fall asleep soon. She placed her ear over his heart and let its gentle tempo lull her to sleep.
"You had a troubled night," Flute said, folding her blankets away. It was a statement, and Hameln took it as such. She joined him beside the fire pit and accepted the bread and cheese he passed to her.
"Have you eaten?"
He looked sourly at the cold fire, poking it with a stick. Flute sighed and gave up. She knew there would be nothing gained by talking to him this morning. Giving her attention to the lump of golden cheese she smiled happily and began inspecting their surroundings in the daylight. It had been dark enough when they chosen the spot that she was curious about it now.
"When we get to the next town we’ll buy you a heavier blanket…" he said with no emotion. She glanced at him, knowing what he longed to hear, and made a noncommittal noise. He didn’t look up, "…so you’ll be warmer."
"I was very warm last night," she purred picking up her mug of water. He could hear the smile in her voice and flinched.
"Did I crowd you?" she went on cheerfully, placing herself before him. "Did I bother you? Did I steal the blankets?"
Hameln didn’t meet her eyes. He didn’t have to. The smile in her tone told him what to expect. For a long moment, neither one moved, until he rose abruptly and strode away.
"Hameln!"
He stopped, but didn’t turn to face her.
Flute looked hard at his back and measured each word as she spoke, "I don’t want another...blanket."
The young man stiffened, then nodded. Lifting the violin onto his shoulder Hameln moved into the forest. Flute watched him go and with a sigh turned back to the cold fire pit. In another few bites her breakfast was over and packing her few things away she jogged into the forest in pursuit of the young musician.
Not far along she found him leaning against a tree, obviously waiting for her. She cocked her head, smiling up at him. His features softened at the gesture and he turned away, walking in the measured stride Flute had come to know meant everything was all right again.
The next town, they had been told, was two days walking. The road was very clearly cut through the forest, but that whole first day they hadn’t seen a soul. Flute thought this was odd, and said as much. Hameln made a noise that was to convey his disinterest, but Flute never heard it. A sudden motion off to the roadside drew her attention and with a cry she fell backward. Hameln turned in time to see a demon clamp a hand over Flute’s mouth. Dropping the violin and rounding on the demon, Hameln yelled in fury. He made a rush at it, only to trip as several other demons jumped him, bearing him to the ground. When Hameln was able to raise his head again, Flute was nowhere to be seen.
Howling in rage, Hameln permitted his demon side full reign. Whatever magic, or curse, it was what allowed him to become what he most hated came to the forefront. His limbs swelled with power and he rose in one swift motion, throwing demons in every direction. They were on him again in the next second, and the fight lasted for several long moments until Hameln was forced to begin killing them. The survivors fled screaming into the woods. The young man stood a moment, panting, before he snatched up his violin and began playing. Swirling black mist encircled him, then spread it’s wings and carried him in pursuit.
The aftermath of the brief battle left its scars on the road in the form of bloody pools and crushed demon bodies. Gradually, silence returned as the strains of Swan Lake faded in the distance. Cautiously peering from it’s position behind a tree the demon that held an unconscious Flute looked out. Once assure of its privacy the demon threw the girl over its shoulder and began running away… in the opposite direction from Hameln.
"Am I human?"
"How can you ask?" Her voice was bright and teasing. "You lived 13 years with the barrier passing through you several times a day, and at night, and were never turned to stone."
"Is that a measure of humanity?"
She became serious, gravely folding her hands onto her lap and studying them with an interest they seldom deserved. The silence between them drew out until she finally looked up at him, a shy smile on her face, "Of course not. Deeds speak louder than words and your kind spirit has proven, time and again, that you are as human as the rest of us."
The mental image shifted to a cell within the castle of Sforzend. He could see her, dressed as the princess she was, standing with her back pressed the door. She had come to him as the battle raged outside the city walls. He had moved closer to her until he was less than a hand’s breadth away. There was a hunger in his manner that wanted to devour her whole, and yet she met his gaze frankly. She had known him too long to be afraid of him, even if there was an inexplicable horn on his head. He knew the depths of his present selfish mood but it had too great a grip on him to squelch it now. He raised a hand and stroked her jaw. The sorrow he felt, for himself, was surely plain on his face.
"Would you fight for me?"
Flute met his eyes; she didn’t hesitate, "To my dying breath."
"FLUTE!"
The black swan had touched down over an hour ago and still he could find no trace of the Princess. The demons had proved useless, had died horribly, and Hameln was practically hoarse from calling her name. He didn’t know what to do. He feared going back, but couldn’t go forward without a clue. With a defeated groan he recalled the swan and flew back to the road where he had last seen Flute. Dropping down from the sky, he began searching.
Flute moaned and rolled to her side. She felt battered and bruised, but mostly fine. Her stomach reminded her of the cheese and bread she had last eaten. Sitting up, she wondered where she was and what was happening. That someone had grabbed her she could recall, but that meant that Hameln would be searching for her. This thought gave her the strength to climb to shaky legs.
She seemed to be in the bowl of a tree. Huge roots swelled around her, making a circular chamber that had one entrance. Flute could make out a dim, flickering light coming from this opening so she cautiously began to make her way towards it.
Without, she found the remains of a fierce battle. The light, she discovered, came from a dying campfire, and it cast deep shadows on the many bodies that littered the glen. But for Flute there was only one body of any interest.
Hameln.
Hameln lay on his back amid the dead demons.
Heedlessly, Flute gave a little scream as she rushed to her fallen friend. She moved as if all her pains and fears were forgotten. Dropping to her knees beside him she frantically ran her hands over his body, looking for the reason behind his present state. Her anxious search, however, told her nothing. Gathering her thoughts, the princess closed her eyes and pressed her hands to his chest, allowing the healing power that was sleeping within her to come to the surface.
Almost immediately Flute was aware of just how wounded Hameln was. The amount of energy he was drawing from her made her head slump onto his chest. He stirred then, but was still to weak to move.
"Flute?"
She pressed her forehead against his chest, unable to do much more.
"I thought I had lost you," he whispered. The tone of his voice bore the weight of great sadness. Flute felt tears welling in her eyes, her mind racing back to the conversation of the night before.
"Hameln..." she whispered, trying desperately to be heard, "Hameln, remember, I promised you."
"I thought I had lost you."
The silence that filled the clearing spread like rings in a pond. Flute felt herself slipping into unconsciousness as tears overran her cheeks.
Sitting up Hameln managed to catch Flute as she slumped against him, her energy spent. She was far beyond speech and hung limply in his arms. For himself, the musician was weak, but ready to do what he had too.
Hameln carefully gathered the small girl into his arms. Rising slowly he carried her to the violin, and gently setting her down beside it lifted the instrument onto his shoulder. Then the Demon King's Successor began to play magic music. The hauntingly sweet strains of Mozart filled the forest and after a few seconds Flute's eyes fluttered open. She feebly glanced around, seemingly unsure of herself, her eyes fighting to focus.
"Hameln?"
Trusting that the black and white swirling pattern before her was the musician she smiled. Hameln hadn’t played for her since the night of the harvest festival. A life time ago.
Mid-phrase the music stopped. Flute suddenly felt herself surrounded by the welcome warmth of her best friend. He clutched her to his chest, silently begging her forgiveness. Smiling weakly Flute acquiesced, the unspoken argument coming to a happy conclusion.