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Notes and Disclaimers: The Violinst of Hameln (Haamerun no Baiorin Hiki) is the property of Watanabe Michiaki, Enix, and Pony Canyon. I'm just borrowing them for a little while... sorta like a library. I hope you like the fic, and are inspired to let me know about it!
Nine Times Winter's Chill
The innkeeper looked up as the door banged open. Ripping winter wind and a swirl of snow followed the noise like an echo. He blinked in surprise, turning his face into the brief blizzard. Framed in the door stood a man... carrying a bundle of blankets in his arms. The man swept into the room, even as the door slammed shut, and rushed to the fire with his burden. Belatedly the innkeeper realized the bundle must be a person. With that revelation, he leapt from his perch in the kitchen window and raced to the man's side, ready to offer his assistance, and calling for his wife.
The bundle revealed itself to be a girl, or at best a young woman, who bore the flush of a fever. The innkeeper turned to bellow instructions to his wife before he faced the young man.
"There's a room on this floor that's empty. I'll get the wife in to you with more blankets and water." He moved as he spoke, scooping up the girl and trotting down a dim hall.
The young man stood for a moment, swaying. He appeared as if in a daze. Hollow eyes followed the innkeeper as he disappeared into the dark. The removal of responsibility left him at a momentary loss. Then something in him snapped and he turned on his heels and made for the door. Pulling it open he reached out and brought a large, snow-veiled violin into the light. Swinging it onto his shoulder, he hurried down the hall after the innkeeper.
The bedroom was warmer than the common room, owing to a cheery fire dancing in the hearth. Hameln found the innkeeper and his wife there, fussing over Flute. They had placed her on a large bed and had removed the many blankets Hameln had wrapped her in. The innkeeper's wife was a slight woman, but even from his place by the door Hameln could see she was in complete control. Hameln remained out of the way as the older woman clucked, chided, insisted and blamed. They carried on in this manner for some time. Then, after a whispered exchange, the innkeeper rose and turned to face Hameln. The pained look on his face confused the young musician and when the man beckoned him to follow, Hameln went.
They reemerged into the dark hall and Hameln trailed the man back into the common room. The innkeeper didn't pause for a second, but poured some amber liquid into a small glass. He then pressed the drink into Hameln's limp hand and pushed him down onto a bench.
"Drink."
Hameln did. The liquid burned a path all the way to his stomach. The young musician leaned over, coughing and gripping his chest. The innkeeper kindly patted him on the back and waited for him to regain his composure.
"Your wife..." the man began slowly. Hameln wagged his head, but the man didn't see, so fixated was he on coming to the point. "She's in a bad way." Hameln, through sheer force of will, stopped coughing then as the color drain from his face. The man took a moment and then went on, slowly. "I'll fetch the doctor in a moment, but there is something you have to know first."
Hameln felt the liquors effects beginning to grip him as he waited for the man to continue.
"The fact is," he went on, with an obvious effort, "she's losing the baby... I'm so very sorry."
Hameln felt the room spin, and the innkeeper's strong hand supporting him. There were words within the swirling but Hameln didn't hear them. He felt himself staring into a quagmire that swam before his eyes. The words he had heard were meaningless to him and he fought to understand. Losing the baby?
"Flute?" he whispered, a sort of awed disbelief in his voice. The innkeeper remained holding him until it appeared he was in no danger of falling over, then the older man said he would return with the doctor. In the next moment Hameln was alone.
Hameln took a moment to collect his thoughts.
It didn’t work.
His head was filling with alcoholic warmth, but his limbs were numb and suddenly sensitive to the very air. In his mind, the returning echo of the innkeeper’s words bounced around. Losing the baby. That it was possible he knew only too well. That it was happening made no sense. It flashed through his mind to wonder if Flute knew.
Rising to shaky legs Hameln made his stumbling way back to the room where Flute lay. He stood before the door, a battle raging in his heart. He didn't know what to think, what to feel. Leaning a hand on the door it opened easily to his touch and the young musician practically fell into the room.
The innkeeper's wife was sitting beside Flute, a sorrowful expression on her face as she gazed at the sleeping Princess. It was obvious she was waiting for Hameln's return. There was a pile of linens off to one side, and Flute's dress as well. Hameln felt his eyes grow wide as he glazed at the pink costume. It was stained with blood. He frowned, turning back to face the woman who just waited, patiently, for all of this to penetrate his mind. Slowly Hameln made his way to the bed and stood, swaying, looking down at Flute. She looked tiny and fragile in the large bed. They had dressed her in a cream-colored nightdress and she appeared as comfortable as possible. Hameln stood mutely, fighting the desire to fall to his knees before her. His tortured mind was screaming at him, 'What did you do to her?!'
"She's young," the woman said softly, incorrectly guessing his thoughts, "there will be others. These things happen sometimes. Do you have children?"
When Hameln raised his eyes to hers, the woman understood everything. Instantly she rushed to his side, helping him to sit on the edge of the bed as his legs gave out.
"We just assumed you knew," she said holding him upright. Hameln managed to shake his head; speaking was not an option. The woman wrapped her arm around his shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. "I'm sure the doctor will give her something for the fever, and as for the loss, it has all passed. She'll be on the mend in no time."
Hameln nodded. His mouth felt full of dust but he forced himself to speak. His voice was a feeble rasp, "Don't tell her, please," was all he could manage.
The woman nodded sagely but whispered, "Are you sure you're strong enough to carry this alone?"
Hameln was spared having to answer by the arrival of the doctor. The musician, with a Herculean effort, got his emotions under control and rose to face the man who entered the room.
The doctor was tall, with a kindly face that looked gravely from Hameln to Flute and back. There were no recriminations, no accusations in that look and Hameln felt all the worse for it. The innkeeper left, and the innkeeper's wife took Flute's dress with her as she left.
****************
Hameln lay on his side, watching the sleeping girl beside him. The only light in the room came from the fire across from the bed. Hameln knew Flute would sleep for a long while, the doctor had seen to that. He had left Hameln with a bottle of medicine and strict instructions. He had offered Hameln something to help him sleep but Hameln assured him that sleeping was not going to be a problem. It was a lie, but if the older man knew it, he was polite enough to not say anything.
Slowly rising from the bed Hameln began removing his clothes. It was late and he was cold and damp. He knew he wasn't going to sleep, but he had to at least make it look like he had, for Flute's sake.
The last thing he removed was his hat. He imagined what he looked like in the fires glow... mad sex-crazed man with a horn. Frowning at the image, he lifted the blankets and climbed into bed. Flute sighed and shifted slightly as he settled himself. She lay facing him and there was the slightest hint of a smile on her lips. Hameln felt himself relax under the influence of that smile and closing his eyes he cast his mind back to the events that had brought them to this town.
It had been getting colder for weeks and still Pandora's trail lead them further and further north. Hameln flew them on the back of the black swan when he could, but for the most part they walked. Flute never seemed to mind. Every day was a day to smile at him. No matter what was going wrong, or how hard things got, Flute smiled at him. There were towns where he would wait outside the walls for her to buy provisions, and when money was getting low he would play the violin for the money the crowds would throw. Things were bad, for a Princess, there was no doubt in his mind and he didn't forget it for an instant. All he wanted was to find the key and send Flute home! Back to her mother, back to safety.
Reaching out Hameln traced the edge of Flute's nose, and then pressed his finger against her lips.
It was over a month ago. They had left a town, well supplied and with a full purse. Flute was very chatty about the things she had seen while buying food and her happy banter had kept him company as they headed towards the next town. Everyone had warned them of the river, told them of the boathouse, and the bridge, but a biting snow had been howling into their faces and when Flute broke through the ice Hameln had been as surprised as she.
In one fluid motion Hameln flung aside the violin, screaming her name. He threw himself down on the ice, sliding towards Flute as she thrashed in the freezing river. The violent current had a hold of her legs and she clawed at the ice, and then his arms, as she fought to remain above the wintry water. Even as he wrapped his arms around her the ice below him was groaning under his weight. Their labored breathing had an odd, hollow sound against the protesting ice. Hameln finally managed to extract her from the river’s grasp, but not before they were both soaked through. Flute had clung to him, shock robbing her of speech. They lay panting on the ice for several minutes before he shook himself into action. Their clothes had frozen to the surrounding snow, and Flute's hair was one mass of ice. Hameln knew there had to be the boathouse, somewhere near, but in which direction he had no way of knowing. Dragging the freezing girl, and the violin, he made a search. Then, just as he reached the limit of his strength, it appeared before his eyes as if by magic.
Kicking open the door, Hameln had fallen into the small hut face first. Heaving himself upright, he pulled Flute in and, finally, the violin. There was a fireplace on the far wall and he made a beeline for it. There was a note on the logs, explaining that this fire had been laid by the last person to use the place and that when they were done they should do the same for the next visitors. Hameln thanked them with all his heart as he lit the dried wood. Scooping Flute up he moved her as close to the fire as he could and began pulling her clothes off. She did nothing to help or hinder. Her bag was soaked so Hameln wrapped her shivering body in his own blankets. His next task was her hair. Almost immediately, it had begun to melt in rivers of freezing water. Using whatever dry clothes he could find, he began to dry her off. The princess stared at him, her eyes half closed and said nothing. When he was sure she was as dry as he could make her, he began placing her clothes around the room, hoping they would dry fast. Even as he worked Flute slowly slumped to her side. Hameln rushed to her and began chaffing her limbs. The Princess of Sforzend smiled at him in a dreamy way, as sleep began to overpower her. Hameln growled and lifted her to her feet.
"Walk!" he commanded, shoving her towards a wall.
Flute tried, she really did. As she corkscrewed towards the floor, Hameln was there to catch her. He carried her back to the fire and began rubbing her limbs again. He explained to her the dangers of falling asleep at this stage, hoping she was able to hear, but not really trusting that fact. He told her all that the innkeeper had told him about the area, and how it seemed likely that they would get lost. She had been out shopping when he was told this and he had kept it from her. Flute was now paying the price for his pride. He explained in detail that it was his own fault that this had happened and that he was sorry. This last was repeated many times, almost unconsciously. Flute moaned after several repetitions, complained she was cold and drew her feet under her. Hameln felt his heart return to his chest.
Her clothes did dry, with help, and after she was warmed and dressed Hameln thought the worst was over. Flute soon began to show signs of catching a cold but this surprised neither of them and Hameln did all he could to keep her warm and comfortable.
They had stayed in the boathouse as the storm continued to deepen all around them. Flute grew quiet over the passing days, seemingly lost in thought. Hameln let her be, knowing she would come around to her usual cheerful self in time.
Then, one night, as Hameln brought in some snow to melt for water, he opened the door to find Flute standing before the fire, her hair undone. It fell to the backs of her knees in a long, glowing, chestnut cascade. His next thought was her legs were bare and luminescent in the soft light. He opened his mouth to question her, and she had glanced over her shoulder at him. Hameln then saw she was naked. Confusion gripped him.
"Hameln," she whispered, turning back to the fire, her hair covering her once again. He stood rooted, his mind racing for possible explanations.
"Hameln, I’ve been thinking and I have something I need to say to you."
Mutely he nodded, waiting.
"We’ve been taught that when a person offers you a gift it is rude to not accept it, yes?" She waited for his answer, which was an affirmative. "We’ve also been taught that when someone is good to you, or does something special for you, you should acknowledge or reward them, yes?" Again he agreed. Flute dropped her eyes to the floor, "Several days ago you saved my life… again."
Suddenly Hameln saw where this was going and blushing, he reached out a hand to forestall her, "Flute…"
"Please let me finish," she said, firmly, but still in a whisper. She drew in a long breath, "I have thought about this since that day and while I know I have very little to offer you Hameln, but I believe I have come up with a fitting gift, which you cannot refuse."
"Yes, I can."
Flute gasped softly in surprise.
"I’m not going to sleep with you because you feel you owe me," he went on, ruthlessly, "Or out of pity, or anything." He set the bucket down with a bang. Flute next heard the rustle of his cape as he undid the clasp and draped it, cold and dripping, over her shoulders.
She turned streaming eyes on him, "Is that what you think?"
Hameln stopped, unsure.
"Do you know what is going to happen tomorrow Hameln?" she demanded, facing the fire once again. "Do you?!" He stared at her, shock robbing him of speech. It wasn’t often Flute was mad enough to yell and it was sufficient to silence him. "Well, neither do I." Her voice dropped back down to a whisper. "I don’t know, but I know what I want now. I want to make myself a gift to you. I’m selfishly asking for you to accept this meager offering…"
Hameln was suddenly before her, staring down at her with something akin to anger on his face. Flute smiled up at him, silencing the shout he was about to level at her. It was there… in her eyes. The love he had longed to see was there, shining in her eyes. Not the love of one friend for another, but of a woman for a man. Hameln’s heart clenched for a long second and his breath caught in this chest.
Flute raised her hands, dropping the cape off her shoulders, and lifted his hat off. Lacing her fingers into his hair she pulled his head towards her own. The taller man found he was watching her lips. The very mouth that had fascinated him for years suddenly was drawing closer to his own. It looked deep, rich and inviting. How often he had watched those lips, wondering if they tasted as wonderful as they looked. Flute rose onto her toes, supporting herself on his shoulders, pulling him ever closer. Hameln fought weakly for a second, then caught her in his arms and kissed her. Years of longing were present in that first kiss. Hameln lifted Flute off her feet as he crushed her against his chest, seeking to draw her life out through this kiss. He felt as if she should be made to pay for seeing through him so easily. But Flute wrapped her arms around his neck and surrendered herself to him, once again a tactile balm to his wounded soul.
Nine times the Demon King’s Successor came to her that night, and nine times the Princess of Sforzend willingly, happily, opened herself to him.
**************************
Hameln lay on his back beside the sleeping Flute and began reliving that night. He had done so, every night since then, though neither of them had mentioned it.
It had been a revelation to him, to see the depth of Flute’s feelings for him. It translated itself into every caress, every look, and every kiss.
Hameln could not remember ever being so pleasantly and thoroughly warm. Never before in his life had he felt beautiful, as he had that night. Not a place on his body escaped her notice and her joy at discovery filled his heart. It seemed her smooth skin was everywhere his hands were and his exploration of her body delighted them both. Flute giggled, sighed and moaned the longer he dwelt on his gift.
She explained that she was his, totally, until the sun rose. After that, she promised, she would wait for him. No matter how long it took. They both knew that this journey, and its outcome, could change the world, but for this one night there was only Flute and Hameln. And it was enough for her.
Flute drew away from his lips and taking his hands, pressed them against her hips. There was a glowing warmth in her skin that penetrated deep into his soul. Hameln took a step closer to her, dropping his mouth onto her shoulder. He kissed, bit and licked his way across her neck, coming to rest on her opposite shoulder. Flute softly panted with each kiss and this gentle acknowledgment of his passion exciting him more with each second. Hameln took a step back, admiring her in the fire’s glow. Her face shone up at him with a radiance he had never seen there before. Gently he stroked her cheek and she closed her eyes, leaning into his caress with a contented sigh. Hameln kept his eyes on her face, searching for the hesitation he felt must come and take this dream away, but Flute’s desires, and smile, never wavered.
With a practiced hand she quickly undressed him, and then stood a moment studying him. She had actually never done this before, really looked at Hameln. Now that she had the time, she found the experience thrilling. As her eyes rose to met his once again she saw he was watching her. There was no embarrassment on his face, his expression was that of wonder. Smiling up at him Flute moved against him, presenting him her face for another kiss, which he eagerly bestowed. His hands rose to encircle her, drawing her closer. The feeling of her silky skin against his made him momentarily light headed.
**************************
Hameln rolled onto his side with a groan. Flute stirred beside him, so he quickly buried his face in a pillow, trying to suppress his feelings, and his body’s reaction, to these memories.
Since that night he had marveled at Flute. She seemed totally able to control her emotions, whereas he was a tight wire, ready to snap. For a time he thought he must have been a terrible lover, as Flute was so able to act as if nothing had happened, but he finally had to conclude that she was keeping to her end of the promise. She was waiting. Hameln hadn’t been so sure he would be able to… until tonight.
His mind had stopped demanding to know what he had done to Flute, but it hadn’t stopped wondering if she knew. What to say to her? How to act? Would she think it had been worth it?
Hameln could feel tears burning his eyes and for the moment allowed himself the luxury of them.
***********************
Turning, Flute lowered herself onto the blankets she had spread out and reaching out her hand drew him down. With no hesitation, Flute laid flat on her back, her hair spilling across the floor like shining brown wings. She uttered not a sound, directing him silently, trusting her hands to communicate for her. Hameln was above her, on his hands and knees, when her smile faded and her whimsical eyes became alight with desire. He gasped to see the change, but his body reacted nonetheless and he lowered himself beside her and renewed his exploration of her body.
At first the musician contented himself with caressing her, but an overwhelming desire washed over him and he hungrily began licking, sucking and tasting her soft skin. Flute writhed under his attentions, her panting becoming louder with each passing moment. Hameln could hardly believe he was having such a reaction on his friend and began looking for other ways of exciting her. But Flute needed no such help. The man she longed for was unrestrainedly lavishing his love on her and it was enough to ignite a passionate fire in her that she knew would never, could never, be extinguished.
Hameln rose off Flute long enough to lock eyes with her, but he saw instantly she remained unchanged in her wish.
"What can I do?" he whispered, suddenly unsure of himself.
"You can allow me to help, but this is your gift, the first time has to be all you." Flute’s voice was as serious as he had ever heard, and he nodded his understanding.
Closing his eyes he exhaled one long breath. "I’m afraid."
The sentence could have finished with, ‘…of hurting you’ just as easily as, ‘… of being hurt by you’ and Flute knew it. Her happy smile returned for a brief moment, "I have that same fear," she whispered. "Let’s promise to never hurt one another." Hameln took her happy reassurances at face value and reached between them.
The moisture that quickly coated his erection reaffirmed her desire. Hameln moaned in unison with Flute as he rubbed himself against her. Flute tilted her hips up to accept him, an unspoken plea that drew a growl from her lover.
"Please Hameln," she gasped, drawing his mouth to her own. She clung to him, while pushing her hips against his. He waited another moment, until Flute’s longing caused her to whimper. Slowly, carefully, he moved his hips upwards.
Flute’s eyes flew open in alarm, but biting down on his shoulder she managed to mask her pain from him. Hameln’s breath was becoming faster with each moment, but he held still, allowing them both time to adjust to this new feeling. Flute strained towards him, and with his next thrust she screamed his name, once again trying to hide her pain.
Hameln stopped moving and looked down at her, panting hard to keep himself from continuing, "You always were a bad liar," he chided through a clenched jaw.
Flute willed herself to relax and smiled up at the man in her arms, "And you’ve always been a slow learner."
Her eyes met his and as her smile faded she inclined her head slightly. Hameln drew his hips up again, and again. Flute saw in her mind an image of them finally being One. A cherished dream had been realized. As discomfort gave way to ecstasy, Flute knew her gift had been the right choice.
***********************
Hameln dried his eyes and rolled back to face Flute. She was so beautiful. Just as beautiful as the first time he saw her, as the first time he had kissed her, as the first time he had made love to her. Nine times he had loved her that night. Each time was more perfect than the last, and for the first time in his life Hameln cursed the sun’s golden rays. He had wanted to plead, to beg, to make Flute understand she was more than food and shelter to him. The warmth she gave him was more than enough for him to live on, but he knew he had promised, just as she had. If she was going through the same thing however, she said nothing.
Flute did insist though, that she was ready to leave after they had rested and eaten. Hameln saw the logic in the statement and had begun preparing to leave. After returning from the snow-covered world into the hut with his arms full of firewood, the perfumed air from their night of love almost brought him to his knees. He had hastily gathered his things and removed himself to the bright light of day to await her.
Summoning the swan, Hameln had flown them north, as close as he dared to the next city. Flute’s cold grew worse as the days went by, but she was always sunny about it, insisting she was well enough to go on. When she began vomiting they had both been surprised. Hameln insisted she see a doctor. Flute had told the doctor that it was a simple cold that had driven her to seek him out. Without looking further the doctor had treated her for the cold... and nothing more.
Hameln groaned softly. Even after a doctor's care, the truth had remained hidden from them. Neither of them had suspected… Hameln paused mentally. That wasn't necessarily true. He hadn’t suspected, but Flute might have known. How ardently he prayed she hadn’t.
Then this evening, when she collapsed, it had been a shock to him. They had been an hour's walk from the town when it happened. Hameln planned to arrive in time for dinner, but a sudden snowstorm made progress hard and Flute was having trouble with each labored step. Her face bespoke the pain she was in though she denied it. Exasperated, Hameln finally decided to call upon the swan, as he was sure Flute was lying to him.
Hameln could, even now, recall her hand wrapped in his cape, and then, nothing. Whirling, he found her prone in the snow, too weak to even raise herself. Panic stretched a cold finger towards him, as he gathered her into his arms. Flute was livid with fever. Moving quickly Hameln bundled the Princess into every blanket they had. Cursing loudly at himself, he had flown the swan all the way to the first inn he could find, heedless of prying eyes.
******************************
"You always were a bad liar," he whispered, stroking her cheek. Flute sighed and smiled. Her eyes fluttered open, surprising Hameln.
"I did it for you," she whispered dreamily.
"You should be home," he insisted softly.
"I have no home but you, Hameln," she said, her smile growing. Her arms emerged from the blankets and she put them both out towards him. Hameln laid his head against her shoulder and let her pull him close.
They lay unmoving for a while, until Flute reached up and began feeling his face. It was something she had been doing since they had first met, she said she had been checking to see if he was sleeping, but he knew she did it to make him laugh, as he did now.
"Why aren’t you sleeping?" Flute asked, her voice groggy, her hand flopping back onto the bed.
"Why aren’t you!?" Hameln asked with a soft laugh, "The doctor gave you enough sleeping tea to knock out a horse."
Flute sighed, "There was his mistake," she giggled and paused between each word, "I’m actually a big… pink… elephant."
Hameln saw the image of the elephant on the traveling shows wagon and knew what she meant. He smirked at the image. A silence descended on them and after a moment Hameln imagined Flute had fallen asleep again.
"Why didn’t you say anything?" Flute suddenly whispered into the darkness. Her voice was soft, full of sadness, and went through Hameln like a knife. His eyes grew round as he fought to put another meaning on her words.
"Why didn’t you say anything after that night, Hameln? Did I displease you? Did I hurt you? If I did..."
Hameln disentangled himself from her arms in his haste to see her eyes. He was not surprised to see them full of tears and with a pained cry he gathered Flute into his arms. Pressing his head against her shoulder, Hameln smothered the apology he knew was coming.
"I said nothing because you said nothing," he groaned. Flute was surprised by this and weakly pulled him closer. She was sure that he had thought of her as nothing more than a child and that her gift had only served to confirm this somehow.
"I’ve relived it every night since then," he went on, gasping for composure, "and I will wait until I can be with you again." He clung to her tightly as his body slowly stopped shaking. "I'm sorry Flute," his voice was thick with emotion, "I'm sorry… I never thanked you for the beautiful, wonderful gift you gave me."
Slowly he drew back, to look at her face, and found her smiling at him as sleep reclaimed her. He saw her lips move and quickly bent to listen.
"Kiss me good night, so I can relive it with you," she sighed, and went limp in his arms. Hameln smiled sadly, pressed his lips to hers, and gently wrapped her in the bedclothes again. Placing his back against her, Hameln was suddenly sure he would sleep.
When the innkeeper came in the next afternoon with their breakfast, Flute's dress, clean and pressed, was on his arm. Cheerfully he set down steaming bowls of stew and fragrant bread. He stood guard while Hameln gave Flute her medicine, and then left them alone.
Flute smiled at everything, exclaimed over the food and wanted to know what she had slept through. She said the pains she had been feeling were much less than they had been and asked when they were going to continue the search. Hameln tried to look something he didn't feel, and said they would spend a few days here, until she was feeling well enough. As she started to protest, he insisted on staying at least until the storm passed. Flute was content with this returned to her stew.
Hameln watched her from behind a veil of hair. She was as bright as always and the signs of fever seemed to be missing from her cheeks. Her outlook was one free of concern and, while his own heart labored painfully in silence, the places within it that belonged to Flute smiled. He had to conclude that she hadn't known her condition for, as he had pointed out to her on more than one occasion, she was a terrible liar.
"Hameln?"
"Um?"
"Did I wake up last night?"
Blinking the musician locked eyes with the Princess. "Yes, why do you ask?"
Flute shyly smiled at him, "I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a dream."
Hameln blushed and dropped his eyes, but as she reached a hand across the table to him, he took it with no hesitation.
"I’m looking forward," he said in halting tones, "to the day I can give you a present that I want you to have. It’s not much, but I want you to have it."
Flute smiled, stooping to meet his eyes, "I’m sure I’ll love it, Hameln."