AN: Yay, another update! I'm sure you guys are glad to see it. But yeah, the usual: thanks to xXxMusexXx, my beta, for making sure I didn't screw anything up.

Disclaimer: Don't own. Duh.

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They only paused to spare their mounts, riding through the night. Christine dozed from time to time, depending on Erik to keep her in the saddle. The other ladies, though less worn than Christine herself, began to grow weary as well. Still Erik remained firm; they had to continue.

They finally paused for a rest during the still darkness before the sun began to rise. Christine remained mounted while Meg and Madame Giry paced the tiny clearing that bordered the creek they had stopped by. Raoul and Erik tended to the horses.

"Is there any place we can reach that is closer than the city?" Erik asked softly. "I'm afraid I still have not ascertained our exact position."

"My family's estate is on this side of the city," the Vicomte answered. "We would be safe there."

"When might we reach it?"

Raoul turned to survey the sky. "I would think by dawn, at the pace we have been keeping. It cannot be more than another hour from here."

Erik glanced at Christine, who had finally slipped from the horse and splashing some water on her face. "It has already been a difficult ride. My instincts tell me still that there is more trouble approaching."

"The men pursuing you?"

"Perhaps so. It would be best if we moved on now. The horses have rested enough."

"Christine could ride with me for a time," Raoul offered.

"No," Erik said firmly. "I need to be with her. If what I suspect is true, and we are discovered, I might not be able to find her again if she was captured. I can only protect her if I am there."

"Very well," he acquiesced, disappointed. "I'll tell the Girys that we are ready to leave."

Erik nodded before striding once more to the gelding he had been riding. "Christine?"

She looked up at him from her position on the bank. "Yes?"

"It is time for us to continue, Angel. Are you ready?"

She sighed, but nodded. "I suppose so. When will we be able to stop running, Erik? Surely we cannot continue like this forever."

"The boy says the de Chagny estate is near. It will prove a safe haven. We should reach it within the hour."

Christine reluctantly allowed him to lift her to the saddle. "You're sure? We'll be safe soon?"

"You know I cannot guarantee anything," Erik reminded. "There are still men on our trail. We must reach the estate before they reach us."

So they rode again. Erik would occasionally pause and eliminate portions of their tracks. The first seams of light began to pierce the eastern horizon, and Christine began to wonder if she would ever want to ride a horse again.

Erik abruptly reined in their mount, eyes narrowed as he examined their surroundings. "Trouble."

"Where?" Raoul demanded, drawing his sword.

"To the south and west. At least five horses."

Madame Giry opened a saddle bag and tossed him a coiled rope. "I had thought that if we found you, you might like to have this, since you do not seem to have one already."

Uncoiling it, Erik discovered a Punjab lasso. "Indeed so. Thank you. Madame, kindly take your horse behind the Vicomte and myself." He deftly lifted Christine and placed her behind him. "There is a possibility that they will aim to kill. I would prefer to have you behind me, out of direct danger."

Raoul urged his mount forward, taking a position a few meters from Erik. "Surely they would still wish to capture you and Christine."

"Perhaps, but they must have realized by now how dangerous I can be. There can be no certainty. They are still attempting to sneak up on us."

"My estate is less than a kilometer away. Can we not try to outrun them?"

"Doing so makes us targets. It is best to take a stand now rather than reveal precisely where we are going."

"Very well," the Vicomte agreed.

Meg unsheathed a sword that neither man had known she carried. "I can fight as well."

"My dear," Madame Giry censored a touch desperately, "surely it is best to leave such things to those who know how."

"I do know how, Maman," Meg replied. "I can help them." She jumped from their horse to stand between Erik and Raoul.

Madame began to protest, but Erik spoke before she could. "Enough, Antoinette. Your daughter is old enough to decide for herself, and she fights well." He turned to the young blonde. "Surely you must realize that being on foot gives you a disadvantage."

"Perhaps," she responded, "but I am quick. I think I will manage."

"Meg, no," Christine whispered.

Meg glanced at her friend. "I want to protect you too. I don't want you to be taken away again."

"Quiet," Erik commanded before Christine could answer. "They are drawing nearer, hoping to catch us unawares. We must react swiftly. Angel, hold on as tightly as you can. Do not allow yourself to be taken."

She nodded, wrapping her arms firmly around his waist. He took the reins with one hand, Punjab dangling from the other.

One second, there was nothing. The next, seven horsemen spurred into view, weapons in hand. Erik's lasso flew in a heartbeat, taking one from his horse and applying precisely the right amount of pressure to render him unconscious. Raoul disarmed another a moment later before striking him in the face, dropping him beside his comrade. Meg danced between the horses, neatly unseating the riders.

Unknown to the combatants, there was still another foe, approaching from behind, eyes intent on the vulnerable Christine. Even as he reached for her, she turned and screamed, drawing a dagger from a hidden pocket on instinct and plunging it into her hooded assailant's gut. He fell to the ground and the Punjab lasso snapped out, knocking him out as well.

The Vicomte disabled the final enemy and turned, surveying the battlefield. All still lived, friend and foe. Erik dismounted and knelt by one's side, checking their pulse. One by one, he made his way through the unconscious men before he stopped by the one that had tried to snatch Christine away.

"A stomach wound," he murmured. "A painful way to end one's life."

The man, whom he recognized as Emil as he brushed back the hood, blinked slowly as he woke before moaning in agony. "End it. Please."

"Why should I show compassion?" Erik asked coldly. "You have done many terrible things, to myself and Miss Daaé. No doubt there are countless others."

Emil coughed harshly. "People do terrible things. You are no different. Can you not show mercy to one that has no other request?"

Erik sighed, closing his eyes. Why do you curse mercy? "I have done many things I regret. I suppose it will not matter if I add one more death." He drew a dagger from his boot and with surgical precision embedded it in his heart. "May whatever lays beyond teach you the kindness you did not have in life."

Raoul, who had watched silently, now spoke. "We should bind the others. I have rope that we might use."

"Angel?" Erik said, ignoring the Vicomte. "Angel, are you all right?"

Christine, trembling violently, shook her head. "What have I done?"

He closed his eyes once more. "Tie them up," he ordered before stepping closer to their horse. He reached into his vest and withdrew yet another vial, removing the cork with a quick twist. "Drink it."

She shook her head mutely, still shaking until Erik feared she would fall from the saddle.

"Maman, what happened?" Meg asked quietly. Her mother didn't respond.

"Drink it, Christine," Erik snapped. "You have said that you trust me. Will you not follow a simple command? Drink it."

She took the tiny bottle with unsteady hands and swallowed the concoction. A moment later, she sagged against the horse's neck.

"What did you give her?" Raoul demanded.

Erik swung to the saddle. "It is merely a sleeping draught, though a potent one. It will not harm her."

"It took effect very quickly," Madame observed softly as Meg leapt up behind her.

"Christine has eaten little and is not as large as most. We should get her to a bed. I only pray that she will not remember this when she awakens."

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Erik doubted he had ever seen a more welcoming sight than that of the manor in the center of the de Chagny estate. Christine remained limp in his arms and doubtless would remain asleep for some hours yet.

Raoul peremptorily summoned stable boys to care for the horses while guiding the others to the spacious manor. Erik carried Christine. "Is there an available room for her?"

"Yes, of course," the Vicomte responded. "We have several guest rooms on this level."

"So I recall. Might one be prepared?"

He called for the butler, who led both men to a quiet room painted to look like a sunrise. Erik dismissed him as soon as they opened the door and strode to the bed, settling Christine under the quilt.

"How is she?"

"As well as might be expected. She will sleep for some hours yet." Erik pulled a chair close to the edge of the bed and sank down.

"Perhaps… we might be able to talk?"

"Certainly, once she has woken, though she may be distraught and disoriented," he replied coolly.

"No, not Christine and I," Raoul sighed. "There are a few things I wish to discuss with you."

"I?"

"Yes. I suppose one could say there is unfinished business."

"I had thought whatever business we had was concluded by now."

"What about the Populaire? You cannot hope to finance the theater's running costs solely with your funds."

"I assure you, I have ample money to do as I please. The Populaire will be grander than ever before."

The Vicomte stifled an aggravated sigh. "We need to talk. Do you find me so abhorrent that you cannot?"

"I was rather under the impression that I was the one you found abhorrent, but as you insist, I suppose I shall oblige. I suggest, however, that we do so in a different room."

"It might be wise to make sure none of Moreau's men make an appearance."

"Indeed so. There are, I believe, thirty-eight points of access to this manor. Are there sufficient men here to cover each?"

"Yes. I employed a number of guards after you and Christine were taken, with the intent that they would assist when we discovered your location. All are currently on the property."

"Then I suggest you set one at each minor point and two at the major entrances. However, I do not think Moreau will make an attempt so soon. We should be safe for the time being."

"I'll see it taken care of immediately. You will not mind waiting?"

Erik frowned. "I had intended to get some sleep, yet you insist we speak. What do you suggest I do in the interim?"

"You might like me to care for your wounds, Erik," Madame Giry said from the door. "They must be paining you."

The Vicomte looked at him, shocked. "Wounds? You were hurt in the fight?"

"No, I was not. I was wounded several days ago, by Moreau's hand. Christine and I escaped two days later. I will gladly accept your assistance, Antoinette, if you are willing. Surely, though, you must wish to rest as well."

She smiled slightly. "You must know by now that I cannot rest until I am assured my children are well. You are my brother, though not in blood, but you seem my son at times as well, and right now you need a mother's aid. Come along. We shall see to them."

"Very well," said Erik.

"Where precisely were you injured?" she questioned.

"My back, my hands, and my face."

She glanced to his hands, seeing the bandages for the first time. "I am sorry I did not see it sooner. Are they healing well?"

"I believe so, though I have not had the time to tend them since we escaped." The three stepped from Christine's chamber. Raoul turned in one direction while Madame Giry led her adoptive brother in the other. "Christine was so kind as to clean them after I was injured."

"What happened?" She saw his hesitation, but pressed the question. "Surely you know you can trust me."

"Do you still doubt my trust in you? I simply fear you will not like the tale," Erik explained as she led them to a quiet sitting room. Meg appeared for a moment with a medicine case and a bowl of hot water, but her mother ordered her to rest.

"There is no doubt that I shall not," Madame replied, "for it involves harm to those I hold dear, but still I think I should know. Why were you beaten?"

Erik softly related the events since they had last seen each other as she cared for his hands, from the instant he awoke in the small cell to the time when they had crossed paths in the wood. "Of course, you know what occurred since Christine and I rejoined you and the others."

"I do." Antoinette's lips were pressed in a thin line. "It was a foolish risk to take, Erik. You could have been killed."

It took but a moment for him to realize what she referred to. "I was under the most suspicion of the two of us. Creating a false attempt assured the success of the true one by hiding Christine's part."

"You could very well have succeeded the first time, without involving her."

He shook his head. "Suspicion weakens the influence I can wield, and so too was I inhibited by other things. As a rule, the men were more susceptible to a woman, Christine. She could temper their natural inclinations for a longer time than I. Perhaps it might have worked for me, but we would have had much less time in which to reach cover. I do not think we would have successfully evaded them, and I would not risk her in an ill-favored escape."

"Perhaps you may be right, as I do not understand these things, but you put yourself in terrible danger." Once she completed wrapping the fine bandages across his hands, she turned her attention to his other wounds. "Your shirt, please. No doubt hearing your torture frightened Christine a great deal."

"I was not as badly affected as it would have seemed, and she did very well caring for me when I was returned to our cell. I told her the truth of the incident. By creating the false attempt, I also uncovered an ally within Moreau's ranks. Overall, I would have to say that I made the correct choice." He quickly stripped off jacket and vest.

Madame Giry drew a hissing breath. "You have bled through your bandages, it seems. I do not think this shirt can be cleaned."

"It is of no consequence," he said calmly as he removed that as well. "You know as well as I that I have a number more."

"In your homes, perhaps, but we are not there, Erik, and we should not leave this place for a few days yet."

"Then I will simply request a replacement from the boy."

She sighed and carefully cut away the blood soaked wraps with a small knife. "Your hands may be healing well, but these will require careful attention. Some are quite deep."

"Yes, I am aware," Erik replied. "Do any require stitching?"

"I could not hope to say until some of the blood has been washed away. This must have been very painful."

"I was only vaguely aware of their occurrence, and I have blocked the pain from my mind since. I could not have freed Christine and myself if I had not."

Madame let out another sigh. "I appreciate what you've done for her, of course, but Erik, you could be setting yourself up for heartbreak."

He smiled tiredly. "I know. Every moment I spent with her reminded me again of how much I loved her. I can be content, though, with her friendship. I want her happiness above all else, and I made the mistake of jeopardizing that before. I will not do so a second time."

"The sentiment is admirable," the Vicomte said as he entered the room. "I hope I am strong enough for the same."

Erik's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

He looked away. "It is one of things I had wanted to discuss with you. I will wait until we might have some privacy first."

Madame glanced up from the wounds she had been washing. "Erik, relax. You must remain still or I may hurt you further."

He slowly forced his muscles to leave their tensed positions. "I apologize, Antoinette."

"There is no need," she assured him. "None need stitched, but you will have more scars."

"I doubt it will matter, given the number already there."

She quickly dabbed a healing salve on the worst of the cuts before wrapping his torso in thicker bandages than his hands. "You are lucky that you heal well and quickly. If you did not, these might have become infected. The rough conditions you suffered certainly were not to your aid."

"I have suffered far worse. You worry too much."

"How did you get the other scars?" Raoul asked tentatively.

Erik lifted one brow, though the movement was obscured by the black mask. "I am surprised you would ask, Monsieur le Vicomte."

The younger man sighed. "I have misjudged you in the past. I suppose in a way I am curious as to how you might have suffered for things beyond your control."

Erik chose to answer the question, albeit reluctantly. "I spent approximately four years in a cage to serve as a gypsies' side show attraction, Monsieur. Madame Giry told you already of this. Did you think that the beating she spoke of had been the only one? There were worse earlier, before I learned to offer less resistance."

"That's enough," Madame cut in. "Erik, I need to see your face. Your mask?"

He glanced warily at Raoul. "Surely I might care for it on my own."

"My dear, you mustn't be so hesitant," she censored. "The wounds must be cared for, and I shall not allow Monsieur le Vicomte see." She seated herself before him and carefully lifted away the protective covering.

Erik remained very still as his sister began to wash the cuts, not wishing to inflict further pain upon himself. Of all his wounds, it was those on his face that gave him the most trouble, due to the tenderness in his cheek. He wondered as he had many times what it must have been like to live without the pain he constantly suffered for the weight that pulled at his eye.

"What happened since you were kidnapped?" Raoul asked after a moment's silence.

To spare Erik, Madame Giry ran through the tale as he had told it to her, holding his head steady while she worked. The Vicomte listened quietly, asking questions only a few times. When the story was done, Madame Giry soaked a thin pad of gauze in a diluted salve and placed it against Erik's cheek, securing it with the black mask. "You shan't be able to wear your white mask for a few days yet," she told him. "Will it be well enough as it is?"

He nodded. "I have gone longer without it, though I imagine it will pain me before I might wear it again."

"I'll allow you to speak with each other," she murmured, brushing out of the room.

Erik paced to the window, aware of the Vicomte's presence yet unwilling to initiate the conversation. He could sense the other man's observation, but preferred to stare out. Finally, his patience wore thin, and he stalked to a chair, dropping into it as his exhaustion bore down upon him as well. "You wanted to speak with me. Speak."

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AN: Who's curious? My beta's already annoyed with the cliffhanger. Don't worry, I plan on writing more tonight, but I still can't say for sure how long it'll be till I update again, as I have other stories to work on as well. Still, please review! Questions, comments, concerns, suggestions, etc, you know the drill. Till next time!