Symptoms

A Princess Tutu fanfic by Klondike Aura

Mytho couldn't ignore it anymore.

It started small. One day he found Rue restlessly searching the castle before resolving to fetch her purse and go out for the day.

"And where are you off to?" he asked, curious mirth shining in his eyes from her pecking about here and there.

"I-" Rue had begun. "This is going to sound silly, but I want... I want to make something."

"Make something? Like what?"

"I'm not even sure. It's like I'll know it when I see it."

It was a strange whim, but Mytho had been accustom to some of Rue's strange whims for a while. So he didn't think much of it at the time, even when she returned with a skein of yarn and a pair of needles. She wasted no time setting to work, though he never got to see what she was making. It didn't take long for it to begin frustrating her, however. While Mytho never saw Rue work, he could hear her occasionally muttering that things weren't going the way she had hoped.

After that, Rue began attracting attention.

Mytho frowned, unsettled by the people who would draw close to his Princess in such a familiar manner. A hunched over crone spoke secrets in delighted cackles to her ear. A strange man was eager to offer gold gifts with the promise that they were magically crafted out of straw.

He briefly wondered if this is how Rue and Fakir felt when he was heartless. Though he knew it would be wrong, he wanted to keep her safe in their chambers, away from those people should they wish her harm. The Prince knew he had no right to trap her in such a way.

Oh, but the nights he spent fretting. He risked wearing a path in the carpet of his study as he paced, thoughtful under the pale moon while Rue peacefully slept.

And then came the moment he knew something was wrong.

One day, after a morning of meetings, he came upon Rue sitting at the window. Mytho was struck by how wistful she appeared looking out in the garden. It didn't take long for him to figure it out. At that very instant, the tanned, handsome gardener was tending to the vegetables. He heard her sigh, practically swoon, as the man went to his work carefully harvesting the carrots and radishes.

"I think I'm going to go to the garden," she said after a moment.

Rue then blissfully strode past, eyes closed to her Prince's wounded expression. Mytho practically flew to the window, watching when his Princess arrived and chatted with the gardener. A knot formed in his insides as they laughed. He offered Rue her choice of the greens in his basket, which she took gladly.

So now Mytho has to do something.

The Prince takes a seat at his desk, clasping his hands in front of him with a concerned exhale of breath. He could feel those first, familiar shards of his pieced-together heart wavering with loneliness and the fear of losing Rue.

Eventually, he takes out a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill. Mytho hadn't written to Fakir in a while, but he needs his friend's advice now more than ever.

Even he was surprised by the feelings pouring out on the page, his frustrations at his wife's curious and worrying actions. The sudden and constant knitting, the crone and the unusual man with the gold gifts, and her clear interest in the garden and its gardener. That act alone was a comfort and worth doing even if Fakir doesn't end up being any help.

Mytho leans out his window and whistles, summoning a homing pigeon. With murmured instructions and a gentle hand tying the letter to the leg, the Prince let the bird fly to deliver the missive.

The reply that comes back is quicker and briefer than Mytho expected. Only three words, three words that practically glare at him from the parchment with Fakir's narrowed eyes. But (aside from calling Mytho an idiot) the words shock him into temporary speechlessness:

"Idiot. She's pregnant."

Mytho opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, as if arguing with the parchment. How in the world could Fakir come up with such an outlandish notion? He sits at the desk again, quill flying across parchment as he pens a new response. But his rebuttal is interrupted when Rue returns with her lunch and her latest project.

And Mytho opens his mouth once more when she does, pink spreading across his nose and cheeks.

"It's just no use," Rue complains, holding up her knitting. "No matter what I try to do, I always end up making baby booties. I've made at least a dozen pairs now."

Mytho puts his quill down, faint pleasure seeping in.

"You would think the baby would need a hat or something," he softly jokes when he can find his voice.

The Prince gets up and embraces his Princess. Any concern she voices is washed away with his relieved kisses, giddy excitement bubbling just under the surface. She tries to explain that she figured it out a little while ago when the crone hinted at it and didn't know how to tell him and would he like some of these vegetables that she's just been craving like mad lately, but he doesn't mind.

Everything is too right for him to mind.

fin

Author's Notes: My basic idea behind this story was the symptoms of pregnancy in a story as opposed to the symptoms of pregnancy in real life. Fakir, growing more familiar with story conventions as he writes and being an outsider to the story now, could spot the signs of a fairy tale pregnancy easier than the actual characters still in the story.