Violinist of Hameln: Owari no Symphony

Third Movement

Episode 1: A Return to Sforzendo

Written by Aaron Shattuck

"Violinst of Hameln" is property of Watanabe Michiaki, Enix, and Pony 
Cannon. All characters, etc. (save for the ones I make up myself) are 
used entirely without permission. I don't think they'd mind too much, 
though. This fic takes place after the events of the TV series, by the 
way.

*****


	He sat and tuned the harp. The harp didn't really need tuning, but it 
was an old habit and a comforting one. One of the few he had left, 
really. 
	The view of Sforzendo from his vantagepoint on the hill was phenomenal. 
Even from the distance between it and him, the walls of the great 
city-state were massive, and from his birds eye view, the shape of the 
hexagram they formed was in plain sight. Challenging the size of the 
walls, was the royal palace, whose towering spires seemed to reach out 
to the heavens themselves. It was a huge, elegantly bloated thing, which 
majestically dwarfed the web of streets, 
all of which seemed to connect to it in some way. Through them, the 
citizenry bustled like tiny blood cells through capillary. They were all 
quite busy that day, for it was but a short time before the Festival of 
a Thousand Stars; an event that took place only once in a decade.
	Ah, a festival... That certainly brought back memories! He'd be right 
at home there, soon enough.
	Well, there was no use dawdling; it was time to get back to business. 
Standing up without a hint of effort, he leaned his instrument against 
his shoulder and began an easy descent towards the city below. 
	It was time for the show to begin.

*****

	*Clippity-clop! Clippity-clop!*
	That was the only sound Raiel heard, as he steered the horses that 
pulled their little wagon. Birdie and Mifa weren't singing or talking 
any more, which meant they had probably gone to sleep. That was fine, 
they needed their rest. He did too, of course, but _someone_ had to 
steer the wagon. Hazarding the risk of misteering the horses, Raeil 
quickly glanced back and saw that his theory was 
correct. Both of them slept soundly, huddled up together on the floor of 
the wagon, their faces the picture of peace. He smiled slightly, they 
looked more angelic at that moment, then anything he had ever seen in 
his life. Including real angels.
	_Especially_ real angels.
	No, no, no, it wouldn't do to think along _those_ lines now. After all, 
that was all behind him. He had experienced his fair share of misery in 
life, he thought, and there was no need to experience any more by 
dwelling on it. 
	The path cut through a forest, and its scent was almost intoxicating.  
Though he could not hear the sounds of chirping, the shapes of birds 
were clearly visible, flitting about merrily at the tops of the trees. 
With the sun shining brightly through the branches, Raeil could not 
imagine a more perfect day.
	And with his thoughts turned to warm, pleasant things, the piano player 
began to reflect on his two companions: Birdie and Mifa. 
	Mifa was such a shy and quiet girl, that at first it had been 
intimidating. Of course, once she got to know you a little, she opened 
up immediately, but she would still be rather quiet. Which was why her 
increasing skill in singing had come somewhat as a surprise to him. But 
whether it was Birdie's lessons or a natural talent, the fact was that 
she was approaching Birdie's level at a rapid rate. And his old friend 
couldn't be happier, really. She had filled the "mother" role with quite 
a bit of enthusiasm and was delighted at Mifa's interest in her 
profession. Yes, they seemed to be one big happy...
	A sudden jolt and the loud whinny of the horses shocked Raiel out of 
his revelry. Pulling the reins and taking a quick look around, he was 
dismayed to find that he had allowed the front of the wagon to fall 
dangerously off the path. A few inches more and it would have tipped 
over for sure! Cursing himself for not paying attention, he got out and 
carefully coaxed the horses to pull the left wheel out of the ditch and 
back onto the dirt road. 
	From the back of the wagon came a tiny yawn, and the familiar sight of 
Mifa's head soon appeared, peering over the coach seat at him.
	"Raeil-niisan," she mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes, "are we there 
yet?"
	"No, Mifa-chan," he whispered back gently, fearful of waking Birdie as 
well. "But we will be soon. It's only one more mile..."
	One more mile... to Sforzendo.

*****

	Percus lay in bed, struggling to get up. That's what every day was for 
him, he thought. Just one long struggle to get up. Finally, he was able 
to pull himself up to a sitting position, his back resting against the 
wall. Oh, how he longed for the days when this was not a major 
accomplishment! Well, not entirely. The world was in a rather sad state 
of affairs back then, after all. But, if allowed to choose his 
preference selfishly, he would certainly pick the past. Back when he was 
_useful_ to someone...
	Shrugging, he pulled the rope that hung over his bedside, which 
rewarded him with the little "ting!" of a far-off bell. Soon after, a 
young woman dressed in the manner of the servants' attire entered the 
room, bearing with her a tray of easily digestible foods.
	"Good afternoon, my lord," she curtsied, careful not to spill the 
tray's contents while doing so.
	Afternoon... Damn, thought Percus. He knew that he had been getting up 
later lately, but this was a particularly stunning defeat for him.
	"Mmm," he greeted the servant, who placed the tray on his lap and 
abruptly started to leave. 
	Might as well try to stay in touch.
	"Ah," he said to catch the young lady's attention. She stopped and 
turned back towards him, politely waiting to for his further requests. 
She didn't really want to, of course. To tell the truth, the old man 
simultaneously depressed and frightened her a bit. But a job was a job, 
after all... 
	"I don't suppose you could tell me what the Queen is up to...?" he 
finally asked, ending the minor suspense. 
	"I do believe her majesty is preparing for her daily session, my lord," 
she answered.
	Damn, again! Thought Percus. Attending to the queen during her sessions 
was one of the few things he could _actually_ do for her, and he took a 
small amount of pride in that. But there was no way he'd be able to make 
it on time now. Oh, well...
	"Clari and her mother and brother are with her of course, I take it?"
	"Um...," the servant faltered for a moment. "Actually I... I do believe 
that Clari-sama is away on some sort of business to... ah... to some 
"Staccato" place, my lord.
	Staccato?! So, it was that time already. That made his absence all the 
more worse! Well... actually, perhaps it _was_ best if he did not attend 
the queen this day...
	"Yes, yes... you may go now," he waved, seeing the servant fidget 
nervously. She nodded and left the room with relief.
	Gritting his teeth, Percus focused intensely on staying awake and 
perhaps getting out of bed at some point...

*****
 
	Raeil sighed despondently. The streets of Sphorzend were jam-packed 
with people, both on foot and in wagons of their own. That alone wasn't 
the real problem, though. The _real_ problem was that those that wished 
to move at all seemed to do so in the exact opposite direction that he 
did. He practically groaned as an extremely fat woman dropped her purse 
right in front of the horses and ever... so... slowly... bent down to 
pick it up.
	It looked like it would be a long, _long_ day.

	Mifa, in the meanwhile, was being completely overwhelmed. All around 
her, it seemed, were the most amazing sights. A proliferation of huge 
buildings, that seemed to pierce the sky; stalls being set, with 
contents ranging from simple, but delicious smelling foods, to objects 
of the most bizarre nature; and people... oh, so many people! Most of 
them seemed perfectly normal to her, but many were dressed exotically 
and spoke in a manner she had never heard before. 
The air was filled with the hum of hundreds of voices speaking at once, 
and quite frankly, she didn't know whether to be frightened or 
delighted.
	Suddenly, something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She 
quickly turned to focus on it, only for it to disappear in the sea of 
pedestrians. The image still burned in her mind, though. And she had no 
doubt as to its nature. Excitedly, she rushed to where Birdie sat, 
humming pleasantly as she combed her hair.
	"Birdie-neesan! Birdie-neesan!" Mifa cried, tugging at the woman's 
skirt.
	Birdie stopped her leisurely activity and smiled down at the young 
girl. It seemed to her, quite unusual for Mifa to act so eagerly. And 
she was a bit curious as to what could have caused it.
	"What is it, Mifa-chan?" she asked warmly.
	"I... I saw him!" the green haired girl explained, pointing in the 
direction of her discovery.
	"Saw who, Mifa-chan?"
	"Dance!"
	Birdie froze. It was, of course, completely impossible that Mifa had 
seen her old friend... unless the dead could come back.
	"It... it's not nice to lie, Mifa-chan," she scolded nervously.
	"But... but..." Mifa stuttered, clearly upset. "I'm not lying... He 
looked just like you said..." she put her fingers on the sides of her 
head, to indicate "horns" of the floppy jester's hood.
	Oh, _that_ explained it.
	"That wasn't _really_ dance," Birdie explained gently. "Clowns dress 
very similarly, and there'll be a lot of them here for the festival."
	"Oh," Mifa replied disappointedly.
	Birdie smiled again and bent over to hold the child in a light embrace.
	"Why don't you let me comb your hair for you?" she suggested, running 
her hand over Mifa's somewhat matted locks.
	"Mm," the girl agreed. Birdie was probably right, but secretly, she 
would continue to believe that it was Dance she saw.
	Outside the wagon, the crowd began to thin somewhat, allowing Raeil to 
make extremely slow, but definite, progress forward.

*****

	With great reverence, Flute applied rosin to the bow. It was all part 
of the daily ritual, of course. Designed both to keep the instrument in 
pristine condition and to prepare herself to drop the little facades 
that allowed her to conduct herself normally, and truly be in 
understanding of her own heart. What was there wasn't admirable, 
certainly. A queen should care unconditionally for 
her subjects and her country... it certainly wasn't a fitting role for 
such a selfish creature as herself. And so she chose to forget her 
desires, and forget her unhappiness, and act as she felt she was 
expected to. It was only during these few brief moments, she thought, 
that she was truly herself.
	The bow by now thoroughly rosined, the queen of Sforzendo sat down to 
play. Hoping that, somehow, the sound would carry into the box sitting 
on the table before her, and would make her feelings known to him.
	*Knock! Knock!*
	Flute sighed and put the bow down. Such interruptions were exceedingly 
aggravating but thankfully few in number. The majority of the palace 
staff knew of her playing sessions, and were instructed not to disturb 
her on such occasions.
	"Yes? You may enter," she addressed the unknown visitor politely, all 
the while grappling with the urge to snap at the person instead.
	The door creaked open and in stepped what appeared to be a boy of about 
fifteen, perhaps sixteen, years. He wore loose robes of white and blue, 
and short black hair framed a handsome face, with large, deep blue eyes. 
Though he looked rather young, he was in fact quite older than herself.
	"Please forgive the intrusion, Queen Flute-sama," he implored, bowing 
deeply. "I was not aware that you had already begun."	
	"Oniisan," she smiled in reply. If anyone could be forgiven for the 
interruption, it was certainly him.
	"What did I say about this 'oniisan' stuff?" the boy asked, dropping 
his formal tone immediately, and spreading his mouth into an easy smile. 
"As the Queen of Sforzendo, I'm sure it would be appropriate to just 
call me Lute."
	"Very well,... Lute."
	Lute... she had only known her brother for a short time, but it seemed 
that an instant bond had developed between them. This was due to no 
small part of his own, undoubtedly. From the moment they met, the prince 
had shown her remarkable kindness and understanding. When she was with 
him, it seemed that acting cheerfully was not such an unnatural thing.
	"I'm sorry I'm late," he apologized, rubbing the back of his head. 
"Everybody's been kept busy with the preparations and all..."
	"It's funny," mused the queen, "did you know that back in Staccato, we 
used to have a yearly festival, just a few days before this one? It was 
just yesterday, in fact." She couldn't help but smile at the irony.
	His sister's mention of Staccato reminded the prince of a question he 
had meant to ask her that day. 
	"Flute...," he asked, abruptly turning serious, "did you want to go? To 
the ceremony, I mean..."
	"To visit Ojiichan's grave?" Flute smiled up at her brother, though a 
trace of melancholy touched her eye. "Yes, but of course, I was advised 
against it. I have far too many responsibilities here it seems... And 
besides, I suppose I should let his real grandchildren have him to 
themselves, this time."
	The Prince of Sforzendo faltered. Normally his sister was very honest 
with him, but he knew she was quite capable of hiding her real feelings. 
	"Well,... as long as you're sure..." was all he could come up with.
	"Mm..." she replied succinctly.
	"Uh... it's strange that Okaasan hasn't shown up yet," Lute mentioned, 
resuming his cheerful mode of speech in hopes of steering the 
conversation to safer ground. "She always looks forward to being with 
you when you play... Well, maybe even she's being kept busy now."
	That would be funny, Flute thought, considering that her mother had 
studiously avoided any and all matters of state, wishing to transfer 
power to her daughter completely. But still, it was possible that the 
"festival fever" had caught her as well.
	"Maybe... Onii- Lute..."
	"Hm?"
	The queen paused to steel herself. She didn't want to do this, but it 
was, she felt, important for her to.
	"Would it be alright... if I played alone, today? Don't get me wrong, I 
really do enjoy your company, it's just..."
	"I understand."
	No, he didn't. Not completely. It was true that she did indeed wish to 
mourn for her dear departed grandfather (and no matter what they might 
say, he was indeed her grandfather), but his was not the only death that 
day. It was also the death of her happy, carefree life. When all the 
things she loved and cherished, but one, were utterly destroyed.
	But she burdened her brother enough, as it was. He didn't need to hear 
all of that.
	"I guess I'll be going, then...," Lute shrugged, still smiling. "If I 
see Okaasan, I'll tell her not to show up, but I have a feeling she will 
before I can catch her."
	"Thank you, Lute."
	"No problem, my Queen."
	Her brother gave her one last smile, winked at her and disappeared out 
the door.
	Well, she was alone at last. No, not completely alone, she reminded 
herself. Hamel was with her, though walls of thin wood separated them an 
unimaginable distance, she was sure that he could somehow feel her love, 
from wherever he was. Holding back a tear, she began to play a solemn 
requiem for all she had lost.
	*Knock! Knock!*
	It seemed that there would be no peace for her today. She hoped at 
least that, contrary to Lute's prediction, that was not her mother at 
the door. She found it hard enough to kick her brother out, and to do 
the same for Horn would be even more difficult.
	"Come in, please," she suggested, stubbornly refusing to cease in her 
playing.
	"Flute..." It was indeed her mother that entered. Adorned in her usual 
attire, her face radiating content and pure, unconditional love for her 
offspring.
	"Okaasan," the queen replied, melting at the sight of her.
	"I'm sorry," Horn stammered, realizing the fact of her intrusion, "I 
didn't mean to..."
	"It's alright," Flute smiled. She didn't have to ask her to leave right 
away, after all. She could stay for a little while. "Do you mind if I 
keep playing?"
	"No, of course not."
	The two remained silent for a time, as the young queen made the violin 
weep with music. Finally, it was Horn that broke the moment.
	"Flute," she smiled, starting to approach her daughter, but then 
stopping abruptly, "your playing has become so beautiful."
	The red haired woman simply nodded, still lost in her world of notes. 
Horn turned from her and walked towards the huge window that took up a 
good portion of the far wall. Looking down upon the city she once ruled, 
she resumed her speech.
	"It's because you only play for him, I suppose," she mused. "For Hamel. 
That much is obvious, because you've always left your soul in plain 
sight... especially when you play. But..." the former queen paused, 
playing lightly with the fabric of the curtains in her hand, "is this 
really what you want? For all you know, you might be playing for a 
corpse."
	Flute didn't respond, but her playing began to sound slightly strained.
	"There's really no telling how long someone like him can survive in 
that box, you see," Horn continued. "He may already be dead. Is it 
really worth it? To sacrifice the one you love, to sacrifice your own 
happiness, for the rest of the world? Flute, you've always cared far too 
much... about _everyone_, despite what you think. But you can't keep 
everyone happy, it's just not possible."
	The sound of the violin grew louder and harsher.
	"Also, you assume the spirit that possessed his father has possessed 
him completely as well," her mother reasoned, "but how can you be sure? 
Is it possible he still retains his own personality? And if not, then 
just who are you playing for?"
	The music stopped abruptly and for several seconds, the room became as 
still and quiet as a grave.
	"You are not my mother," Flute asserted, her head remaining unraised.
	"No," the woman by the window grinned and turned around to face her, "I 
guess I'm not."

*****

Commercial break! The image of Flute, head bowed, playing Hamel's violin 
"cello-style" is juxtaposed with a short violin piece.


A little cartoon character in a business suit walks on screen, whistling 
as he proceeds. Suddenly, from the ground bursts a huge, gaping maw, 
lined with jagged teeth. The monstrous thing swallows him, screaming, in 
one gulp. It then belches, and out of it fly drops of blood. The blood 
hits the screen and drips down, forming the words "My First Bloody Death 
Eater(tm)!"

Chorus of Children's Voices: o/~ What comes from the ground, with a 
fearsome sound? It's My First Bloody Death Eater! With just one gulp, 
you're enemies are ground to a pulp! It's My First Bloody Death 
Eater!o/~

Announcer: Hey, kids! Is the bully on the block bothering you? No need 
to fork over that lunch money! With My First Bloody Death Eater, you 
won't have to worry about _him_ anymore!

Bully: Hey, squirt! Gimme dat cash!

Young Billy: Not today, Biff! My First Bloody Death Eater!

Young Billy pushes a button on the remote in his hands and immediately, 
the monstrous mouth we saw earlier, this time only about the size of a 
small beagle, arises from the ground and swallows the little miscreant 
whole. Screams are heard from within, as blood squirts through the gaps 
in its teeth. The jaws of death slowly sinks back into the ground, 
leaving only a charred sidewalk surface in its wake.

Young Billy: Biff, are you okay? Biff?!

Announcer: Or how about that annoying neighbor's dog?

A small poodle stands in Sissy's family's front lawn, barking madly and 
piddling on their lawn gnome.

Poodle: Yap! Yap! Yap! Yap! Yap! Yap! Yap!

Sissy: My First Bloody Death Eater!

Sissy pushes the button on her remote, and Fido is soon reduced to 
scraps at a Korean restaurant.

Poodle's Owner: Oh, my God! My dog! Noooooooo!

Announcer: And remember, My First Bloody Death Eater can be the gateway 
to other great toys, as well!

Joey enters the kitchen, holding his My First Bloody Death Eater(tm) 
remote and begins to converse with his mother.

Joey: Mom, can I get the new Kung-Fu Death Squad Blue Action Figure?

Joey's Mother: Now, honey, I told you that...

Joey's Mother notices the My First Bloody Death Eater(tm) remote in his 
hands.

Joey's Mother (forcing a smile): Heh, heh... Of course, dear.

So get your first My Bloody Death Eater today... Before someone who 
doesn't like you does!

Chorus of Children's Voices: o/~ What comes from the ground, with a 
fearsome sound? It's My First Bloody Death Eater! With just one gulp, 
you're enemies are ground to a pulp! It's My First Bloody Death Eater! 
o/~

Announcer: My First Bloody Death Eater, from Playskool!


End of commercial break! The image of Raiel playing the piano, a single 
tear falling down his cheek, is juxtaposed with a short piano piece.

*****

	Around and around the little rag doll whirled on the piano's surface, 
dancing like a skilled expert to the sound of "Swan Lake." Children and 
adults alike clustered around to see the amazing site, barely allowing 
Raeil the elbowroom necessary to perform such a feat.
	The piano player sighed in content. After such a stressful day, he 
truly needed this. Despite Birdie's protests, he had abruptly stopped 
the wagon in the middle of the street, deciding to risk the reprimand of 
the authorities by performing without a license. He had to do it, he 
felt empty when he didn't play after a period of time. Closing his eyes, 
he let the sound of the music, his music, wash over him, combined with 
the feelings of joy it aroused in the crowd. Visions of water, 
splashing, rushing water, both free and majestic filled his head and his 
fingers seemed to move on their own, making beautiful music completely 
independent of his mind. But soon the water faded and it was dry earth 
he saw. And upon it, were many figures. They moved awkwardly, like 
poorly 
constructed marionettes. Slowly they jerked forward, forming a loose 
circle of sorts around an odd pair. One of the two was a monster, 
horrible to look upon, with skin the color of blood, and three fearsome 
horns sprouting from its hideous skull. The other, however, was a young 
girl. She held a sword in her hands and with a tear streaked face, she 
slowly raised it above her head.
	Raeil gasped and clutched his stomach, allowing his precious piano to 
fall to the ground. The doll, no longer given an illusion of life, lay 
limply on its surface, before sliding off and onto the dirt below with a 
pathetic "*plop*." 
	The crowd murmured in disappointment and dispersed, leaving the poor 
man to crumple to the ground, alone. Raiel raised his left hand and 
grasped for the instrument that sat but a few inches away, for it seemed 
that it was being taken from him. Fading away a little more with each 
passing second, until the whole world went black and he became nearly as 
still and silent as the doll which lay beside him.

*****

	"Well, well," the person who was not Horn chuckled, her voice 
completely dropping the familiar, soothing tones it had held previously, 
and adopting mocking ones in their place, "it looks as if you found me 
out. I guess I really need to polish my acting skills a little more, 
eh?"
	The woman began to move towards Flute, her pace slow and deliberate, 
like a cat's. The queen of Sforzendo clenched her fists. With each step 
the imposter took, she felt a ball of ice grow in the pit of her 
stomach. Fear. Why did she fear this woman? She knew nothing of her, and 
yet to look upon her, seemed to be akin to looking upon the endless void 
of night itself. Who was she? This leering parody of her beloved 
mother... Suddenly, the fear was gone, the ball of ice melted by the 
fires of anger. How dare she?! Of all the people in the world, to steal 
the skin of that person! Her mother... Flute rose, carefully putting the 
bow and violin aside. The woman stopped in her tracks.
	"Don't you underestimate me," the queen stated flatly.
	"I wouldn't dr-..." was all the imposter got out before the ball of 
light hit her head on.
	A deafening explosion was heard throughout the castle. And within the 
room of its origin, all was covered in smoke. Flute coughed, as she 
waved her hands in an attempt to cut into the cloud of white that 
enveloped her. The spell was a powerful one, and would certainly have 
blown its target to pieces, but this was an effect she hadn't foreseen. 
In fact, by all means the smoke shouldn't have 
appeared at all. As she moved backwards, presumably towards the room's 
exit, the young queen began to hear the sound of laughter. It came from 
the direction of the imposter, but it wasn't her mother's voice. No, it 
was a masculine one, both young and merry. Like the tinkling of bells on 
a summer's day.
	"My, Queen Flute-sama," it sang joyfully, "you certainly are your 
mother's daughter!"
	The smoke began to dissipate, and a faint shadow could be discerned 
from the voice's origin. The shadow grew as the smoke continued to thin, 
until the last of it became a slow, miniature tornado, that spun lazily 
before flying out the now opened window.
	With the smoke cleared, the shadowy figure was now revealed in full 
light. He appeared to be a jester, with the curved shoes, intricate 
patterns and assortment of bells and tassels that traditionally adorned 
the clothes of one in such a profession. However, the two horns of his 
jester's hood were absurdly long. And fixed at the ends of them were 
neither tassels nor bells, but rather, 
huge spheres, bigger than his head. They seemed to be made of the same 
fabric as the rest of the hood, and each bore a cartoonish symbol on its 
surface. On one, a heart and on the other, a skull. His face was hidden 
by a mask, and though it was made in the shape of a clown, with its 
large red nose, curved eyes and open, laughing mouth, it did not inspire 
humor in the least. Rather, it was the sort 
of clown's face that often elicits wailing sobs from children. A 
grotesque, leering thing. As if this were not outrageous enough, in his 
blue gloved hands he held a long staff and affixed to it was a large, 
beautiful harp, both ornate and silver.
	"Allow me to introduce myself," the jester suggested, bowing 
reverently. "My name is Orgel. Please forgive my earlier deception."
	Flute could but stare at this bizarre figure. Finally, through pure 
force of will she gathered her wits about her, grabbing at them as if 
they were tattered papers flying in the wind.
	"Ma-...zoku?" She wondered aloud.
	"What does it matter?" the one called Orgel asked, rising and giving an 
exaggerated shrug. "I played the part of your mother, because I thought 
you might be more inclined to listen to her than me, but are the same 
words of a great philosopher any less wise coming from a frog or a 
cockroach? I meant what I said before, you see. About him."
	The clown pointed towards the box that lay on the table between them.
	"The very idea... the idea of freeing him sends shivers down your 
spine, doesn't it? But are they really shivers of fear, I wonder?"
	"Shut up!" Flute snapped. Mazoku or not, she would not stand for such 
words being spoken to her.
	Orgel began to lightly pick at the strings of his harp. A simple 
melody, but as sweet and soothing as honey.
	"King of evil, they would call him. But he's trapped now, and yet... 
I'd hardly say evil is vanquished from the world. They seem to be 
keeping it up," he motioned his head towards the window. "Those you 
would protect."
	A strange sensation came over the young queen. It seemed to her, that 
she could not discern between the words of this jester and his music. 
The two were one, intertwined. The sweet honey mixed with bitter poison 
and she both hated and loved them completely.
	"No, evil is very much alive in the world... But what 'evil' that one, 
the one you love, might bring about, wouldn't really be his fault, would 
it? Whereas for them..."
	It made sense, didn't it? No! It didn't! But... it was beautiful all 
the same. The music... the words...
	Barely audible... *tap tap tap* from below. But she heard it and 
somehow it woke her, woke her from whatever dream cloud she had been 
thrust upon. She could guess what that sound meant, and she knew what 
she had to do. "Is that so?" Flute asked, allowing a deliberate mix of 
reproach and curiosity into her voice.
	"As I see it, anyway." The clown shrugged. "I'm just trying to tell you 
that you don't have to sacrifice your dream. It wouldn't be so 
horrible."
	"My... dream?"
	*Tap Tap Tap* Louder now.
	"Of course, your dream. That wonderful, happy dream, that lights your 
soul like a penny candle."
	The music grew louder, sweeter, she felt herself being immersed again. 
Focus. Focus on the tapping, the ever-louder tapping. And the sound, the 
sound of...
	"flute..." An echo from far away, but it didn't escape the notice of 
her unwanted visitor.
	"Isn't that...?" He wondered, ceasing to pick the strings.
	"Flute!" It was the sound of her brother, accompanied by many, many 
feet rushing over the stone floor.
	"Che," Orgel snorted, snapping his fingers. "It looks like I'm 
outgunned. Oh, well..."
	Quickly, quicker than she could react to, the clown back flipped away. 
Within a heartbeat he was kneeling on the windowsill, the wind whipping 
at the absurdly large horns of his hood.
	"I'll talk to you some other time, okay?" he waved, and then he was 
gone.
	"FLUTE!" cried Lute, as he burst into the room. He didn't know what to 
expect, after hearing the roar of that explosion. A thousand horrors 
must have crossed his mind on his way here. But when he arrived, all he 
found was his sister, staring resolutely into space, and curtains 
blowing in the breeze of an open window.

*****

	When Raeil awoke, the sky had changed to the brilliant red of evening. 
He lay on a bed now, rather than the hard ground. And it was the large 
window directly behind him that made the sky's color known to him. 
Groaning, he rubbed his head and found there a damp cloth lying upon his 
forehead.
	"You're awake?" Asked a familiar, worried voice. 
	Raising his head, he saw Birdie standing in the doorway, a fresh, clean 
cloth in hand and a look of concern etched on her face. Hurriedly, she 
walked up to him.
	"Raiel, are... are you all right?"
	"Mm," he mumbled, rubbing his head some more, "I think so. What 
happened...?"
	"I told you, you shouldn't have tried to perform. You were exhausted!" 
she scolded in reply, sniffing indignantly as she removing the rag from 
his brow. Silently, she dipped the fresh cloth into a bucket of cool 
water that lay at his bedside. As Birdie bent over to place it upon him, 
he looked up at her. And as he did, the rays of the setting sun touched 
her and made it seem to him as if 
she glowed with a golden light.

*****

	In a serene valley, filled with tall green grass and bordered by a 
strong, ancient forest once lay a village known as Staccato. But 
Staccato was no more, for it had burned to the ground. Now, only the 
occasional husks of houses that once lay on the outskirts of town were 
left to remind the world it had once existed. That, and a graveyard, for 
all but three of its residents had died there, paying the price of the 
destiny they had carved for themselves.
	The gravestones were widely spaced, and varied in size and shape 
immensely. The particulars of their construction had depended completely 
on the attentions of the relatives, if any existed, of the deceased. So 
while some were mere bumps of stone peaking from the ground like shy 
moles, others were large, elaborate pieces. Works of art in of 
themselves. 
	In front of one such stone knelt two figures. One was a man, with 
intense blue eyes, and blond hair spilling over his shoulders. He 
appeared young enough, but there was something about him, perhaps 
somewhere in those eyes, that spoke of years quite beyond his face. The 
other, a young woman, knelt beside him. Her resemblance to him was 
great, but her eyes were bright, without the stern gaze or hint of 
weariness set in her companion's. Together, they bowed their heads in 
prayer. Finally, it was the woman who ended the moment, rising silently. 
The other soon followed.
	"This is the a nice place, isn't it?" Cornet asked her brother, 
enjoying the feel of the soft evening breeze against her skin.
	"Hmm," Clari nodded, turning his gaze towards her.
	"Strange," the young queen mused with a smile. "I think I really 
mourned a lot more when I found out he had left us, than when I found 
out he was dead."
	"Cornet," her brother replied, putting his hand on her shoulder, "are 
you...?"
	"Don't worry, Niisama," Cor asserted pleasantly. "I'm not bitter or 
anything. No, I have nothing to complain about now."
	Without warning, Clari found his sister holding him in a tight embrace.
	"It was really good to see you, Niisama."
	"You too, Cornet," he replied with a loving smile, though he did not 
return the hug. "But... isn't it getting a bit late?"
	"Mmm, you're right, of course. Just like always," Cornet sighed. "I 
guess I won't see you for awhile." 
	The queen of Dal Segno broke away from him and began walking forward, 
towards the carriage that awaited her at the near edge of the cemetery.
	"Say 'hello' to your husband for me," Clari called after her.
	"I will!" she waved back, as she climbed into the coach. "Good bye!"
	 Clari waited for the sounds of hooves upon soft earth before he left 
the grave. His own carriage lay at the other side of the cemetery, much 
farther than his sister's had been, yet he moved towards it at a 
leisured pace. His sister was quite correct about the aesthetic appeal 
of the place, and it gave him more time to think. Granted, he had more 
than enough of that, nowadays. When his beloved queen had retired he 
had, effectively, retired as well. The mighty 
Prince Lute was much more qualified to retake his old job, than Clari 
had been and besides, though he liked Flute well enough, his interest 
lay almost entirely in serving Horn. He was quite content to act merely 
as her bodyguard and provide the occasional odd job around the palace.
	As he was almost upon his destination, Clari suddenly noticed something 
in the corner of his eye. Turning around, he was surprised to see a 
young man placing flowers at the foot of a grave. How he could've missed 
the boy before was a complete mystery to him. 
	The boy appeared to be in his early adolescence. His hair fell in short 
blue bangs, and his clothes were of a simple sort. By his side lay 
something large, longer than he was, covered completely by an old yellow 
blanket. The gravestone he knelt in front of was of the shy mole 
variety. In fact, it appeared to be completely unmarked. Tentatively, 
Clari approached the boy.
	"Um...," he tried, embarrassed at interrupting the young man in his 
grief.
	"Yes?" the boy smiled up at him, his eyes large and friendly.
	"I'm sorry, but... are you a relative of someone who lived here?"
	The boy chuckled a bit before answering. "No, not really. You see, I 
always leave flowers, when I come upon an unmarked grave." His smiled 
turned impish. "Just like to play pretend, I guess."
	"I... uh... see," Clari faltered, then regained his composure. "Thank 
you, I'll be off then."
	Turning away from the boy, Clari silently lectured himself about the 
relative merits of avoiding strangers. He had but walked a few feet 
away, when the mock-mourner called to him.
	"Excuse me, sir?"
	Clari turned back towards him, curious as to what the bizarre child 
could want from him.
	"You work for the Royal Palace of Sforzendo, don't you?" the boy 
motioned his head to indicate Clari's robes.
	"Yes," he replied coolly, "I do."
	The stranger knelt down to pick up the covered object that lay beside 
him. Weighing it almost reverently in his hands.
	"If you see the Queen, could you tell her that I'd really like to play 
for her, for the festival?" The boy grinned, as the yellow blanket fell, 
revealing the object to be a beautiful silver harp, attached to a long, 
metal staff.

TO BE CONTINUED...

A day of festivities and merriment, but a dark secret lays beneath the 
city. Can you hear it? The music that forces all to awaken and dance, 
like puppets in a play written ages ago.

Episode 2: Festival of a Thousand Stars

Raeil: What is... this place?

*****


Author's Note: I love "Violinist of Hameln", with a passion that is 
liable to scare small animals and children. That's why I risked the 
great unknown and decided to write a _serious_ fanfic for once in my 
life. Did it work? Well, you'll have to tell me, I'm a lousy judge of my 
own work. Anyhow, be on the lookout for "Violinist of Hameln: Owari no 
Symphony" episode 2! Um, don't be on the lookout _too_ soon, though. 
'Cause I'm slow as hell and then some... Oh, well. E-mail me at 
dilandau2@hotmail.com if ya gots something ta say or visit my 
webpage (www2.crosswinds.net/boston/~floot/) if ya wanna see what else 
I've done (hint, remember the "My First Bloody Death Eater(tm)" 
commercial?) If you haven't ever heard of "Violinst of Hameln" (I'm 
assuming you checked out this fanfic out of pure curiosity if that's the 
case), I highly suggest you check it out. I mean REALLY. I don't care if 
your Grandmoher's dying of cancer, drop whatever you're doing and get 
what little of it has been fansubbed _right now_! Hurry, damn you! Oh, 
and you might wanna check out the Violinst of Hameln 
Webring (www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Shrine/2364/join.html) for some info, 
as well.


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