I do not own any of the characters from Phantom of the Opera.

Thou Art Slave To Fate, Chance, Kings, and Desperate Men

Javed knew it was only a matter of time; the Khanum always lost interest in her toys, so why should he be so different? Eventually, he would have come to some gruesome fate; the fabled torture chamber, constructed by The Angel of Doom, was as good as any. At least he would not have had to face off against the actual creator; Erik, the Khanum's great magician, would have been a fearsome adversary indeed.

Although, upon reflection, he would have liked a quick beheading far better.

After his audience with the she-devil, the guards dragged Javed to the infamous chamber. He, in a resigned state, wondered if he would see Aara and Farzana again. Perhaps not, as his two wives led good lives; they would ascend to Paradise. He would surely rot forever in Jahannam for his misdeeds; his dealings with the Khanum sullied him beyond salvation.

The guards tossed Javed in and left, all the while laughing at his grave misfortune. Javed rose, and looked around the room. It was circular, and covered with tall mirrors. There seemed to be some sort of metallic tree in the room, with a noose hanging from it.

How macabre, Javed wondered. It fits the Khanum to a tee.

As the temperature swiftly rose, Javed saw memories flash before his eyes.

He heard his wives yell in unison, and wondered what was transpiring near the front door. He ran downstairs, only to find Nadir Khan, an old friend; Nadir ordered men bearing a masked man upon a litter to place him inside his house.

"Nadir, what is this? Who is this?" Javed inquired, while his wives were fetching refreshments for the visitors.

"I apologize for the lateness, my friend," Nadir solemnly intoned, "But I am in need for some assistance. You see, my friend there, Erik, has been poisoned. He is in a delirium, and I had hoped we could stay here for the night."

"Certainly, of course you can," Javed replied warmly, not without nervously glancing at the prone body of Erik. "Come, let me get you and your friend some sherbet."

He remembered the conversation he had with Erik that same night.

Javed made his nightly rounds across his small estate; he finally came upon the room which housed Erik, when he heard the man moan. He swiftly ran to Erik, and found that the man was staring right up at him.

"Who are you?" Erik croaked, apparently lucid for the moment.

"You may call me Javed; you are in my home."

"Why am I here?"

"Nadir Khan asked me to board you and him for tonight. You are on your way to Nadir's house, remember?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I need to finish the palace, and I need to see to Reza …" Erik gasped, and coughed, straining to reach the nightstand.

"Here, allow me," Javed said while handing Erik the goblet.

"Thank you," Erik whispered, "I must ask though; aren't you frightened? How can you tolerate my presence? Why are you so damned civil?"

"It is my custom to serve the friend of my friend. As Nadir trusts you, so shall I," Javed answered.

Erik stared at Javed, and broke the silence, "This will not be forgotten; I will repay you one day."

It was getting hotter; his tongue swelled to the point where he was gasping for air. He thought he could see palm trees, and was that an oasis?

It must be Paradise, he thought. My time has come.

Then, a curious shade seemed to break through the delusion of Javed; this shadow had a white mask that covered his entire face. The shade moved with cat-like grace to where Javed lay, and whispered in Farsi, "Stay calm. I will aid you."

The shadow carried Javed down some sort of hole, and Javed finally succumbed to exhaustion.

Javed heard voices, and opened his eyes to find he was home. His servants flocked around him, questioning him as to his health, before they cleaned his wounds.

Javed, at this point, was thoroughly confused, until a servant brought him a slip of paper. Upon it was written,

It is my custom, as well, to serve the friend of my friend. As Nadir has trusted you, so shall I.