The End
Summary- Nadir muses on his past, especially Erik. Kay-based. Nadir/Erik one-sided slash, though nothing at all explicit. MAJOR spoiler alert for Kay.
Dedicated to Virtual Unicorn for talking my ear off about how Erik and Nadir were meant to be together. (Joking, joking. Luvya Kat!)
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I thought I'd never love again after Rookheeya died.
Oh, I didn't make it a sacred vow or anything. But as I stood silently by when her body was committed to the earth I knew I could never love anyone as I had loved her.
But that was before Erik.
Others may remember him as the phantom that stalked the passages of the Opera Populaire, or the Khanum's relentless angel of doom, but not I. I will always remember him as the man.
Those other identities were masks, as real as the one that scarcely left his face. He hid from the world and always expected pain… and in the end, that was always what he got.
I would like to be able to say that I changed his life, that I helped him to become the great man he could have been, but I cannot. All I can say is that I tried.
Now I am old, and Erik is dead. His amazing story ended before its time, and mine is nearly done.
Sometimes I wonder if we will ever meet again, once I too have left this world, though I know it is blasphemous to think so. But I have heard eternal happiness awaits one after death.
I thought that in death I would at last rejoin Rookheeya, but now I wonder if that is what I want. I love her still, but it is as one loves a memory or a time that has past. How can I hold her close and kiss her hair now that I have loved another?
Now I wait for death and hope that somehow Allah has heard my prayers- I want to be with him forever, come what may.
He was not my only, but he was my one, the best friend I ever had and the most wonderful man I ever knew. And content as I was to love him in secret, I could not help but feel the stab of pain when I realized the depth of his love for the girl.
Ah, the girl- in many ways, Christine Daae was to blame for his death, but I cannot put her completely at fault, for she redeemed him on his deathbed- something I did not manage.
But she could have made him happy, and I would have blessed them without resentment. A part of me loathes her for going on to another life with the Vicomte- but I can never hate her long, for I remember the pain in her eyes and the gentle heartbreak in her voice when I told her that Erik was dying.
He wrote a letter to her that he never sent. I found it among his papers with a note attached that I must deliver it to her upon his death, in place of putting the advert in the paper.
When I arrived at her small flat the day after Erik's death I stayed only long enough to give her the letter, which she took with a trembling hand- though I did not think she trembled out of fear.
"What does it say?" she asked softly.
"I don't know." I said. "I haven't read it." I had wanted to, but in the end good manners had won out.
"Oh."
"If you'll excuse me, mademoiselle. My hansom is waiting." Hastily I left her.
"Monsieur?"
I turned.
She had tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"You have done me no wrong." I replied, though I knew her words were not truly intended for me, but for one who could no longer hear either of us.
She began to cry, and I did not know what to do, so I left her standing outside her door in tears.
As the hansom pulled away, I shed a few myself- for the friend I had lost.
If I had told him that I loved him- ah, but there is no word more perilous than 'if'. He is dead and gone, be it for better or for worse, and now my life as well draws to a close.
-
Years have passed since the sad day that Erik died. The Chagnys have an heir, I'm told- a boy named Charles. He is not unknown in Paris, though is more famous in London, where the family now resides. Apparently, he plays- the piano, the violin, the harp- anything you place in his hands, or so it's said.
I went to a recital of his in Paris. He was playing the organ, a sonata that he himself had written.
As I sat there in the audience, tears filled my eyes. It was as though Erik had been reborn. The piece was exactly as one he might have composed- and yet, it was different. Where Erik's music had been discordant and melancholy ("There is nothing like playing in a minor key to express all the sorrows of the soul, Daroga," he had once told me) this piece seemed to be infused with light and goodness.
When the boy (who could not have been more than ten) had finished playing, I was the first one on my feet, applauding.
Afterwards, I was lucky enough to come face to face with the Vicomtess. She looked more beautiful than ever- but it was a tragic sort of beauty. Nevertheless, her face lit up when she saw me.
"Ah! Monsieur! What a surprise to see you here!"
I inclined my head. "Indeed, it is a pleasure to see you again, Madame. I trust you have been well?"
"Very well, and yourself?"
"Yes, thank you. It was an honor to attend today."
She smiled. "Charles will be so happy to hear it."
"He looks much like you."
"Yes, doesn't he?"
I hesitated, knowing that what I was about to say was completely improper- but curiosity prompted me to ask. "Madame- please forgive me if I am mistaken, but… would I be correct if I were to say that he plays like his father used to?"
She smiled sadly, and I knew that my suspicions had been right. "Yes… you would be correct."
"The Vicomte… he does not know?"
"He does not let on, but yes… yes, I believe he knows."
I nodded. "Nonetheless… I shall tell no one."
"Thank you, Monsieur."
"I have often wondered… what could Erik have had, if not for his face? What could he have been? I mourned the fact that we would never know, but now…"
She nodded. "Now we shall."
-
When I return home, I nod off next to the fire and when I wake I am surrounded by light. Beautiful music is playing- and I know without a doubt that it is his music.
And then I look and Erik, my Erik, is there, standing alone.
"Welcome home, my friend."
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Yeah, okay, so it was sort of weird, huh? Oh well, just review, eh?
And I recommend that you read Virtual Unicorn's lovely fic entitled "Heaven"- it's quite good. Also, it tells you what the letter Nadir delivers to Christine in this fic says (me having done that on purpose). If you go over to my profile, you can find her on my favorite author list.