A/N: Hey hey hey everyone! I'm so sorry it's been so long! Goodness, here I was thinking that I would a writing machine this summer and I only ended up getting out one chapter- wow :/ Fortunately for you all, though, it's a really long chapter! Some how longer than all the other ones, even though it's sorta boring, at least in comparison with some of the stuff that's been happening. But this way, you'll have a lot to make up for the time I was away- these 10,000 words are my gift to you. (Although for real I'm sorry because I feel like this is probably going to be a nightmare for those of you reading on your phones!)
Anyway, hope you enjoy this unnecessary giant...
Brothers
When Christine awoke the next morning, it was not to the feeling of warm, morning light upon her face, gradually and naturally awaking her from her slumber, but to the feeling of someone shaking her shoulder slightly. She groaned, all her muscles aching and a dull throbbing inside her head bursting back to life the moment she was drawn back to consciousness. Wanting nothing more than to continue sleeping, she turned away from whoever it was who had interrupted her sleep so cruelly.
"Christine, wake up."
She knew that voice. Slowly, she opened her bleary eyes to see the slightly blurred outline of Erik against the dark blue of early morning night, before the sun quite has a chance to rise. How early was it? With another groan, she sat up, closing her eyes again as they readjusted to seeing.
"Erik?"
"Christine, my dear, there is someone here. Someone is outside." For the first time, she noted the barely disguised desperation and insistence in his voice, which stirred more life into her. If he was worried enough to wake her, there must be something very out of the ordinary happening.
"Where?" She managed as she climbed out of bad, stretching her stiff muscles as she did so. Without hardly waiting for her to finish exiting, Erik took her by the elbow and pulled her from the bed, rushing her down a dark hallway to a window that overlooked the forest that surrounded his house. In the distance, she could make out the faint outline of two men and, judging by the odd shapes that protruded from their backs, they were armed. That must have been why Erik was so terribly worried, but there was no cause for that.
"Do you recognize them?" Erik demanded from beside her, his voice breathless. "Do you know who these people are?"
She nodded and pressed her hand over her eyes as she turned away from the window. "Yes, yes. Those are my brothers-in-law. The ones I told you about earlier. Felipe and Lysander."
When she removed the hand from her eyes, Erik's attention was directed at her instead of the window, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "Are you sure?"
She nodded, frustration building in her, mostly due to the early hour. "Yes, Erik. I am positive."
He groaned low in his throat as he turned back to the window, leaning on the sill as he gazed out into the trees. "What are we to do? They have weapons, Christine."
"I know. I can see that." She leaned against the window sill next to him, watching the two men as they made their slow progress across the grass. "I will talk to them, I suppose. They will listen to me—they are my brothers, after all. There is nothing to worry about. I'll go out and meet them."
She started from the window sill, her mind still hazy to think on what the many outcomes of meeting her brothers outside could be. At least they would not hurt her, and they would not be as blinded by jealousy as Rhal had been, so they would hopefully listen to her, as well. Her legs moved automatically towards the door as she thought, her exhausted mind hardly working. A hand on her elbow, however, stopped her slow progress and she turned to face Erik, the pallor of his skin framed against the dark sky.
"I do not want you to go," he told her, gazing at her with large frightened eyes that reminded her, not for the first time, of the eyes of a child.
She sighed and took a step nearer to him, her fingers coming up to rest atop his hand. A swell of gentleness spread through her at his concern for her, at his desire to be near her. "I have to go, Erik," she told him gently, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. "I want to be able to explain everything that has happened to them before they see all this. I think they will listen better that way."
"I know." He dropped his gaze. "But what if they were to drag you away with them, and I could not get you back. What if we never see each other again. I could not live, Christine. I would not want to live without you. Please, stay here."
He was such an unsure man, her Erik. Her heart constricted at the thought that he was hers, that if all went well, they would soon be man and wife. Her Erik. "I will come right back," she promised, reaching up with her free hand to brush a stray curl away from his brow. "I promise. You mustn't worry so much. I will just be right outside."
He nodded, still not meeting her eyes, the hand on her arm tightening just ever so slightly before letting go and setting her free into the darkened landscape. As she walked across the grass to meet the men, who had stopped their movement since the moment she exited the house, she realized that if she had wanted to kiss Erik, her timing could not have been more opportune, if she would have pressed a quick goodbye kiss to the corner of his mask. Oh, well. She sighed as the space separating her and her brothers quickly closed. Perhaps some other time in their future, because it was true that now, she and Erik had many, many years to kiss and to do other things that married couples do. One missed opportunity was not the worst thing, even if it did leave her longing.
As her thoughts trailed off into blankness, she reached her brothers, who, she was relieved to find, had not even bothered to take their weapons out to greet her. Their brows, however, were etched together in obvious confusion and concern, that Christine realized whatever she was planning to say would likely only worsen. There were few ways she could explain the new revelations for her future without causing at the very least some surprise.
"Hello," she greeted them, offering them a smile that only Felipe slowly returned. Neither of them reached out to hug her, but simply stood where they were, hands at their sides like true soldiers, Felipe's eyes trained on her while Lysander's carefully searched the house stationed further up the hill.
"Chris." Felipe adjusted his armor, frowning. "What happened yesterday? Why did you—"
"Where is Rhal?" Lysander interjected with some force. His fingers twitched upward slightly, as if he was considering grabbing his sword, although for what purpose, Christine did not want to consider. Surely, her brothers would never cause her any harm.
She turned to Lysander, her fingers busying themselves with tightening the knot on her dress. "He is inside the house up there." She jerked her head towards Erik's house before continuing. "I can take you there in a moment, if you would like. You are more than welcome to see him."
Lysander nodded, the hard look in his eyes not lessening in the slightest. Felipe, however, let out a breath of relief. "So, Rhal is alive then, I take it?"
"Oh, yes—he is alive. Although, unfortunately, he did take a bit of beating yesterday… But he is not in danger anymore and will make a full recovery soon enough."
Before Felipe could say more, Lysander grabbed her arm. "What is this place?"
Now, she sensed the answers she was going to have to give would become difficult. Before she could explain to them that the house sitting atop the hill just paces in front of them belonged to none other than the Phantom himself, she had to explain that the Phantom was not the man they thought he was. After all, it would not do at all for her to lead them to Erik's house, only to have them kill Erik on sight. And although she knew that was what she needed to prevent by all means necessary, she had no idea which means to use and how she could possibly convince even her brothers that Erik could not be their prey.
"Well," she began at length, testing her words out slowly and carefully. "I think… I think I must explain something to you before I do anything else."
"And what is that?" Felipe asked.
"I… Well, I am engaged."
Lysander made a sound through clenched teeth. "Yes, Chris, we know you are engaged. You have been for several weeks now. I do not understand how that figures into what is happening right now. Where is Rhal?"
"No, no." She closed her eyes. "You do not understand. I was engaged to Rhal." When she opened her eyes again, both men were staring at her with a mix between disbelief and, once more, confusion. She supposed there really was no better way for her to tell them than to simply do it—she could not hide such an obvious truth from them for much longer. And besides, she did want them to know in a way, partly to keep Erik safe from their swords, but partly because, out of all the members of her family, her brothers, she guessed would be the least likely to do anything to talk her out of or hinder her marriage to Erik. Neither of her brothers had ever been very involved in her previous love-life, nor, she thought, did either one view themselves as having the authority to tell her what she could and could not do—although it was not outside of their power to do so. But, out of everyone, she thought her brothers would be the easiest to convince, and the least likely to take action against her betrothed.
"I was engaged to Rhal, but I am not anymore. You see, I am engaged to someone else now—the man who owns this house. His name is Erik, and I love him dearly, and I expect you not to harm him in any way whatsoever because of that."
Silence.
Lysander was the first one to speak, after several long moments of Christine's heart pounding wildly in her chest and her mind trying to convince itself over and over that everything was fine, despite the circumstances. "You…" He cleared his throat, and shifted his gaze once more to the house. "You are not going to marry Rhal?"
"No," she affirmed softly.
"Christine." Felipe shook his head, as if he was trying to dispel her words from his mind. "Surely, this Erik is not the same man that we were all looking to kill yesterday."
"He is. One and the same." She smiled slightly, more to herself than to them, at how much the situation had changed in the past twelve hours. She felt like an entirely new person, and all those plans that Rhal and the boys had spent so many hours meticulously calculating, seemed little more than some elaborate play to her now.
Felipe sucked in a breath. "Surely you are joking, Chris."
She shook her head as she began to wring her hands. "I am not—I promise you." And yet, despite the apprehension that rose within her finally telling others of her infidelity to Rhal and of her change in plans, there was some excitement too and some happiness. This was the first time she had ever been able to share with anyone the news of her love for Erik, and moreover their engagement. True, it had been made official last night, but speaking it aloud to someone other than herself, Erik, or Rhal, who had, of course, been there when the proposal was offered, made it seem so much more legitimate than it had before. She swallowed her smile.
"How could you?" It was Lysander, now, who shot her a look so full of betrayal and disappointment that all Christine's former excitement vanished. She looked away from him, unable to meet the heat of his stare. "How could you do this to Rhal after everything he has done for you and for your family? I cannot believe you, Christine. You cannot possible go through with this, you know. To end your engagement to Rhal you would need permission from—"
"From who?" Christine rounded on her brother, her face burning. "Who is there left to ask, Lysander? Not my father—he is dead. My mother is dead. Who would you have me ask? You? Felipe? Or, gods forbid, my sisters?"
Lysander only scowled at her as he adjusted his sword. "Yes! I would have you ask me. Or Felipe. But you cannot do this without permission. And frankly, I think I am speaking for everyone when I say that you will not get that permission if you want to marry a madman! A monster!"
"I don't care," Christine was saying before she hardly had time to consider her words or the consequences. "I don't care about your permission—I do not need or want it. If you will not let me marry Erik—fine. I will run off with him anyway, no matter what you say. You cannot stop me, and you would be stupid to try, if Erik is half as powerful as you seem to think he is." She took a deep breath but even that was not enough to stop the words that spilled from her lips. "And, Lysander? I feel like it is very brave of you to come here and tell me that I need your permission to marry Erik, when you and Psyche eloped, too."
The frown on Lysander's face deepened, and there was true anger in his eyes, but he said nothing more. Christine crossed her arms, her chest heaving. Finally, Felipe spoke up, cutting the tension between Christine and her other brother.
"Alright, Chris. Permission aside, why on earth do you even want to marry this man? What does he have that Rhal does not?"
"Me," she answered, her voice softening. "He has me. I love him, but I do not love Rhal. And that makes all the difference—do you not think so too, Felipe? I cannot marry a man I do not love."
"But you do love Rhal," Felipe pressed. "You have always loved Rhal."
Christine shook her head. "No. I mean, he has always been my closest friend, but I do not love him now the way a wife ought to love her husband, and I do not think I ever would have been able to. I think that a marriage between us only would have brought both of us unhappiness, because I never would have been able to give him the love he deserves. I am setting him free of that."
Felipe looked to Lysander and sighed. "Even if that were true, Chris, everyone thinks that this man that you love is a criminal. Perhaps he is not, as you have claimed, but there is something about him that is not right—I am sure of it."
"He is not a criminal, though, Felipe. He is the kindest, most thoughtful, most considerate man I have ever met. There is nothing bad in him. Trust me—I know him far better than either of you." Both of the men's faces, however, remained unmoved. Christine sighed, and turned her attention back to the small palace on the hill, the place she soon would be able to call home.
"And if you do not believe me, I will show you myself. Would you like to meet Erik? I swear he will not hurt you, but you must not hurt him either. He is a good man."
Both men agreed somewhat grudgingly and then, the three were on their way up to the house, Christine leading the way with an undeniable spring in her step, and the men trudging along after. The path to the house ahead of them was short, however, and the three of them reached the door before Christine could hardly begin to plan what she wanted to say to Erik, to Rhal, to her brothers. There was simply so much she needed to fix between the five of them—so much tension, unrest, and unhappiness—and she had not the slightest idea of how exactly to go about making things right. But it needed to be her—no one else could play her role in all of this. It was unfortunate, she thought to herself as she opened the door to Erik's house, that she was the only one who could go about fixing things when she was so utterly horrible at doing so. At least, she could try.
She half-expected Erik to greet her and her brothers in the entryway, like a host ought to, but when he did not, she was not particularly surprised either. Judging from his actions before she had left, he was very nervous about having strangers in his house, especially if those strangers were the distrustful brothers of his betrothed. And Christine did not blame him for feeling such a way, either. She was certain she would have felt the exact same way, had she been in his shoes, and even in her own situation, she was terrified of how things would end up playing out between herself and her family. More than anything, she wished that they would accept her and Erik with open arms, despite their preconceived judgements of Erik, despite her broken promises to Rhal, and yet she knew, somehow, that her wishes would never be a reality. Even in the best scenario she could imagine realistically, there were serious complications between herself and her family, although within all of these better scenarios, these complications were easily solved.
It took several minutes of searching to find Erik, who was pacing one of the many sitting rooms he possessed, one that he and Christine had frequented less than the others previously. Perhaps he had thought that she would not find him there. When she entered the room, her heart pounding in her chest and her brothers following close behind, his head shot up and his hands began to tug anxiously at each other, as his eyes searched the room desperately for something—anything—to look at, it seemed, other than Christine and her brothers. Even before words were exchanged, there was a tension in the air that was almost suffocating to Christine. It was as if two worlds that were never meant to intermingle had crashed into each other and had left their different characters standing together in a room that the universe had never intended for them to share. Everything just felt so wrong.
Christine crossed the room to stand next to her betrothed before he, or her brothers, spoke, more to offer him some comfort than anything else. His posture was so stiff that he appeared to her like some stone carving of a man, which would have been funny to her, had it been a different time and situation. Even so, she felt a laugh rising up in her, which she immediately swallowed down, because had she started laughing, she knew she would have been unable to stop.
"Erik," she said, her eyes locking with his. There was so much fear there, and so much unsurety that she felt a sudden need to drop all that needed to be done and simply hold him, and whisper words of reassurance into his ears. But she could not, so she offered him what she hoped look like a smile instead, wondering if that would be enough for the time being. He did not return the look as she slipped next to him to stand by his side.
"Erik, these are my brothers: Felipe and Lysander." At their names, the respective man took a slight step forward. Erik gave them both a slight nod. Christine began to chew the inside of her cheek. "And Felipe, Lysander—this is Erik. My betrothed."
The three regarded each other coldly for a long minute. And then, Lysander spoke, a knife in his voice. "Tell me, Erik, why is it that you wear a mask?"
Oh, gods, no. Not this. Christine felt her throat constrict at those words. Out of all the things Lysander could have said, why did it have to be that? Why did he have to bring up the one subject that not even she dared yet to broach? The one subject that Erik refused to discuss even with her? Why?
She linked her arm with Erik, hoping against hope that perhaps the feeling of her skin on his would calm and center him somewhat. The arm she felt beneath her own, however, felt undeniably tense and coiled, as if her fiancé was a snake waiting to bite.
"Lysander, is it? Will you please do me the kindness of telling me why, out of everything you could have chosen to remark upon after making my acquaintance, you chose my mask? It is very rude to ask why someone wears a mask, I am sure you know." There was poison in Erik's voice that he did not bother to hide, and with it, a tremor so slight Christine felt sure that neither of her brothers could have picked up on it. She curled her fingers tighter around his arm.
"I am sorry then, if I am being rude. I just want to make sure that my sister is engaged to a good, honest man, because, so far as I have seen, no good, honest man ever wears a mask," Lysander shot back. Christine bit her lip and glanced to Felipe, hoping for some resistance from the older man, but Felipe simply stood, his arms crossed over his chest and his face a dark frown. There would be no help from him, then.
Erik, however, remained almost completely impassive, his masked face devoid of all tell-tale emotion, his spine straight and poised. Had she not known him well enough to feel the tremor under his skin, the tension coiled in every muscle, Christine might have thought him unaffected, as she was sure her brothers did. But he was not, and Christine had no desire to see what Erik would do when pressed a little too closely about his mask, after what he had done to her when she tried to do the same.
"Come on, Erik," Lysander prodded, his eyes narrowed, the grip around his sword far too tight to be casual. "Tell us. What are you hiding?"
A short, sharp breath rocked Erik and his fingers curled into fists before Christine's eyes. Something was certainly about to happen, but she could not have a repeat of last night's events with Rhal—she simply could not. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw Erik open his mouth, about to say something that would likely do little to lessen the tight atmosphere in the room, but before he could do any more damage, she spoke instead.
"He wounded his face terribly during war and wears the mask only to conceal it." Erik shot her a look, but she continued nonetheless, the knowledge of the fact that she was lying only making the words come faster. "I have seen it, but he does not like strangers to, for obvious reasons. The scarring left his face deformed."
Her eyes met with Erik's gold ones briefly, and although she could not read his glance in such a short time, she could see no anger in his stare and that was enough. Turning, she faced her brothers again, whose stances had softened slightly at the sympathetic lie she had just fed them. Of course, being soldiers themselves, the two would feel at least more understanding of Erik's apparent plight than previously. Perhaps it would be enough.
"You have seen it?" Felipe eyed her suspicious, and for a moment, she was afraid that he had seen right through her lie. Was she truly so terribly at twisting her words? She supposed she had never really had much practice before, but still…
Erik answered the question for her. "Yes, she has, I can assure you. But my face is now a gruesome sight, which I do not delight in sharing with the outside world. She, however, is more caring than most."
Of course, it was not true, but coming from Erik, it sounded true. The way he spoke, the way his voice carried such emotion, made the lie sound like the most natural, most true thing in all the world. If she herself had not made up the story, Christine might have doubted that it was not exactly what had happened. She offered a quick nod to her brothers.
"A war, you said?" Lysander's grip on his sword had not lessened, even if his outright aggression had. "Which war did you fight in?"
"Siege of Samos," Erik replied, his voice not faltering a second. Christine wondered how on earth he did it—lie so effortlessly.
"Siege of Samos." Lysander frowned. His blade drooped slightly as he thought. "Corinth and Sparta, right? So, which side were you, if not Athenian?"
Christine turned back to Erik, expecting to see him in a panic that the battle he had named did not involve his home town and that he had mis-stepped somewhere along the way. But he appeared completely cool, as he replied with ease, "Spartan. I am Spartan-born."
He was a quick thinker, it appeared. Whether or not he had chosen a battle to have supposedly fought in poorly, or whether this was what he had meant all along, Christine did not know but either way, he spun the story effortlessly. "My father was a Spartan," he continued, the tension slowly leaking out of his muscles under Christine's fingertips. "And I was raised in Sparta. It was not until after Samos that I left it, in favor of joining a friend to travel. And, many years later, I ended up here in Athens."
"Hm." Lysander spun his sword but there was a carelessness to the motion, which told Christine that he trusted Erik now enough to drop his guard at least somewhat. It was funny how easily war brought men together. "I should have guessed from that accent, I suppose. Well, Erik, that is quite interesting, and you will have to tell us all about it one day. And I'm sorry about your face."
And just like that, the gap between the three men had closed up enough to be bridged. There was no longer an air of hostility in the room, nor a possibility that one might stab another. Things had drifted slowly back into peacefulness, and it was all from a well-placed lie. Yes, she knew it was wrong (of course), but recently, Christine had been finding the right lie at the right time to be very, very useful. She gave her brothers a tight smile.
Erik inclined his head. "As am I, but I appreciate the sentiment." The smile that followed his words looked slightly out of place on his face, Christine thought, but he was trying to be sociable and that was enough for her.
The small talk had been brought to a halt with that, and before it could be picked up by someone again, Felipe asked the question that Christine knew must inevitably come. "So, where is Rhal? You said he was here, didn't you, Chris?"
"Oh! Yes. Yes, he is." When she glanced to Erik for help, she saw that he was still completely poised and serene. She would have to handle this on her own, it seemed, and perhaps that was for the best, because she did not want Erik to have much of a voice in what he had done to Rhal. "He is still asleep, though, I think. I can take you to him."
Her brothers nodded, and her heartbeat quickened at the realization she was going to have to show her brothers how terribly her new betrothed had injured Rhal. Once they saw Rhal, his ruined image might just be enough to destroy the fragile acceptance that Felipe and Lysander seemed to have gained for Erik, and Christine could not have that. She supposed she would just have to explain it away as best she could. Besides, Erik had taken a beating too, so it was not as if Rhal had been mercilessly tortured or anything like that. The two had simply taken to settling a problem by combat, a thing which men did all the time, so there was no reason for unnecessary hatred. Right?
She wondered this as she padded, barefoot, navigating the labyrinth of hallways and empty rooms that she had come to know. Before she was entirely ready to deal with the mess she, Erik, and Rhal had made, she was suddenly crossing through the doorway of a room which held a makeshift bed and the body of a sleeping soldier. She took a deep breath and turned.
"Before you see him, you should know that there was… an incident yesterday, involving Erik and Rhal."
Lysander raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Her brothers' eyes slipped past her and to the couch where Rhal was resting and Christine, who would have rather told the two men what had happened than have them see Rhal and draw their own conclusions, added to her previous statement quickly. "There was a fight between Rhal and Erik. A sword fight. That is why Erik has stitches on his hand and shoulder, if either of you happened to notice." Both of them offered her only blank stares at that. She continued.
"See, Rhal got a bit… upset when he heard that I was going to marry Erik instead of himself, and neither of them were seeing eye-to-eye to begin with. So, when Rhal found out, he started attacking Erik, and Erik attacked him back, and things got ugly rather fast, as I am sure you can imagine. But Rhal and Erik are both alive, so the outcome was mostly good, I suppose. You should know, though, that Rhal got pretty beat up, and had to get a fair amount of stitches last night to keep him from bleeding out. I think he will recover with time, but he does look rather rough now. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that before you saw him."
"Thank you for telling us, Chris," Felipe said, his eyes still searching somewhere past her shoulders. "Can we see him now, please?"
She sighed. "Be my guest." And with that, she stepped aside and allowed them entrance into the room and to Rhal. They rushed in as she watched from the door, deciding she would rather not see Rhal again so soon, not after their meeting the night before had been so sour. From behind her, she heard soft footsteps that told her Erik had finally decided to follow them to Rhal's room. When she turned, he said nothing to her, not that she expected him to, but simply stared at her, wordless. The air of easy confidence had left him, and she could tell, now, that he was just as anxious as she was about the whole situation with her brothers.
"Do you think they will be angry?" He asked at length, now watching her brothers speak in hushed tones to Rhal.
"Probably," she replied. "But I think they will understand that it was harm done by combat, and I do not think they will come after you for it. I mean, the fight was honorable and all, was it not?"
He nodded slowly. "Yes, it was. Everything about it was fair."
"Then, they have no right to be angry." She tipped her chin forward, trying to catch some of what her brothers and Rhal were saying. She hoped that it was not anything too horrible. "I will vouch for you."
"Hm. Thank you, my dear." He pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck, as he watched. And then, "And I believe I owe you another thank you for saving me earlier today, dearest. Had it not been for your quick thinking, I do not doubt that the situation with your brothers would have gone much worse than it did."
She looked at him as he spoke, but he only had eyes for the room in front of him. Perhaps she ought to reach down and press her hand into his. Then, he would look at her. But no. With her brothers here, she had to be the very image of perfect, innocent bride-to-be, and much of that image involved not drawing unwanted attention to herself or, more importantly, Erik. She twisted her own hands together instead, satisfying herself with the thought that later, they would be alone with no one nearby to control their actions.
"My quick thinking?" She shook her head and smiled slightly to herself. "I just said one thing. You were the one who kept the lie going. You made it sound so believable that I nearly forgot none of it was true. I should be thanking you."
He turned towards her, a bemused expression playing about his lips, one she had scarcely ever seen on his face before. She decided it fit him well. "What?" she asked, her own smile spreading.
He turned away again, but the look on his face remained. "I should hope it was believable, because it was, in fact, true, you know."
Her smile dropped. "What?"
"Oh, yes." He shrugged. "Not all of it, of course, as I am sure you know. The bit about the injury… you seeing my face… But the rest. You chose a good lie, my little dear."
She took a step backward, her mind racing. "All the rest? The battle? You being Spartan? All of that was actually true?" How had she never known any of that before? And to think that she was about to marry this man!
By now, his smile had faded, and he turned to her, frowning. "Yes, that was all true. They say the best lies all have a grain of truth, after all, and this lie happened to have many." He rubbed his jaw. "You did know about all that, did you not? I have mentioned it before?"
"No!" She cried, forgetting to keep her tone at a whisper. Lysander glanced at her briefly before turning his attention back to Rhal. With a slight groan, she dropped her voice back to an appropriate level. "No, you did not mention that before, Erik. I had no idea. You are really Spartan?"
His frown deepened, as he affirmed her question. "Truly." His hands began to twist together. "I am sorry. I thought I had mentioned that to you before sometime in conversation. I thought I had mentioned all of it. I thought that was where you got the idea for your lie from, but I suppose I am mistaken. My apologies, and I sincerely hope you are not too upset with me. I did not mean to hide the truth from you."
She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I know, I know. It's alright. I am not upset with you, just surprised, is all." She looked over him then, searching for the signs that must have escaped her before. "A Spartan…"
His brow furrowed beneath his mask. "Yes, a Spartan. Are you disappointed, my love?"
The use of 'my love' still made her heart beat a little too fast and her stomach turn over when it came from his lips, so beautiful and sincere. "No, not disappointed…" She trailed off, thinking. She certainly was not disappointed in the slightest—more surprised than anything else and upset at herself for not realizing it sooner. She supposed she should have, from the slight accent, the clearly not Athenian coloring of his person, the odd vases and things that were scattered around his house, but she had not. No, it was not the fact that he was Spartan, it was just the fact that she had not known, and now there was yet another chunk of his mysterious past she had learned, destroying half the knowledge of him that she had thought she had. "…Not disappointed, just a little startled."
Before he could say anything more on the subject, however, Felipe slipped from Rhal's bedside and over to where they were standing, framed in the doorway, silencing their conversation. Her breath stopping in her throat, Christine turned to face her brother, her mind offering possible conversations that had taken place between her former fiancé and brothers nearly as fast as she pushed them from her thoughts, each one proving to be worse than the one before it. Surely, Rhal had not told them anything too terrible. Surely, they were not going to attempt to kill Erik and drag her back home again. Surely, everything was going to be absolutely fine. She began to pick at her fingers without hardly realizing it.
"How is Rhal?" Was all she was able to manage with her throat feeling as if it was squeezing shut with every breath she took.
Felipe, apparently oblivious to the fact that Christine felt as if she might faint, simply shrugged. "He says he has been better, but I think he is doing alright, compared to how he could be doing if you had not fixed him up with all those stitches. I did not know you were a nurse, Chris."
"Trust me, Felipe, I am not." The hold around her neck loosened slightly at the casual tone in his voice. The fact that he had not immediately tried to take a swing at Erik with a sword showed that reality was already proving itself to be better than most her imagined scenarios.
"Still, you did quite a good job." He glanced back over his shoulder at the back of Rhal's head, and Christine followed his gaze, wondering if her childhood friend felt any of the same pressure she did, knowing that he had almost complete control over her future. Felipe continued, "You know, Rhal was just saying how well you and Erik both took care of him after this sword fight, which, he agreed, was fair. He accepts defeat, but he is appreciative of all you have done for him. He wanted me to tell you that."
What? How, in all the world, could it be that Rhal not only was not actively opposing her marriage to Erik, but was not fighting it at all? In all her wildest imaginings, nothing this unbelievably good had ever happened, and it shocked her to think that Rhal would let the whole situation go so easily. Perhaps, of course, he had not actually and was still quite unhappy with her, as Christine thought was the case, but he was not fighting her! She could not believe it! 'Appreciative of all she had done?'
The smile spread over her face before she could stop it, before she could reason with herself that grinning like a fool would not make her appear half as poised as she wished, but she was powerless to stop it. Rhal was so good to her. Perhaps he deserved more credit than she had given him—she ought to have known that her friend, her best friend who had never done her any harm in her life, would not destroy the one thing she had made it very clear to him that she wanted. How could he? And how could she, after all the good Rhal had shown her year after year, expect anything less of him? Still, however, she was dumbfounded at his goodness, at his love and loyalty to her, when he could have easily torn her marriage to shreds. He was so good.
"I… I was happy to," she heard herself saying, her voice giddy. "I could never let him die. Did he… did he say anything else?" She wondered aloud, her mind still reeling at the idea that Rhal could possibly be so forgiving about the whole situation. Perhaps, there was more to it than she knew.
"Oh, he said a lot of things," Felipe replied dismissively, and Christine felt a flash of annoyance at his vague answer. "He said he knew of your new engagement, and he said he was upset about it, as I figured he might be. But I am sure you know that already. He did not talk much of you, though, truly."
"Oh. Well." Her smile had faded somewhat when Felipe mentioned Rhal's unhappiness, which she did, of course, know but to have to acknowledge it again, when she herself was so happy, was not an especially good feeling. She still held true to what she had said earlier, that she could not marry Rhal if it meant she would be unhappy all her life, but she also could not pretend as if his own sorrow had not affected her. She liked to see him happy, she truly did, and the press of guilt weighed upon her heavily when she thought about how she had sacrificed all his happiness for her own. But that guilt was not nearly enough to make her reconsider her actions. He would move on in time, she was sure of it.
"He is still very weak, and he was saying that he was feeling tired again right before I left. I am sure by now, he is probably asleep again. He lost a lot of blood, after all, and he needs sleep to heal."
"Of course." Christine nodded. "Do you think…" She chewed on her lip for a moment before continuing. "Do you think he will want to see me again when he wakes up?"
Erik shot her a look at her question, which, with the mask covering the majority of his face, she could not tell whether it was meant to be sympathetic or accusatory. Regardless, she turned back to Felipe, hoping that in spite of everything that had happened, in spite of the poisoned words they had shared last night, he friend would want to see her again as she did him, and want to attempt to reconcile the near ruined relationship between them.
"I do not know. Maybe. Maybe not. I cannot tell." Felipe leaned against the doorframe. "You should ask him. Personally, I would understand completely no matter which option he ends up deciding on."
"Me too," Christine murmured, glancing back at the couch, which now concealed the back of Rhal's head from her view. Perhaps he was asleep again—Lysander did not seem to be talking to anyone. She knew she needed to speak to him again eventually, but what she did not know was when would be the right time, what to say, how to apologize to him so that he would believe it, or how, even, to make things right again. Perhaps, there was no way at all, after what she had done to him, but she also did not want to lose her friend. Later, she decided. She would think upon it all later when her head was clear, and when Rhal was more able to function than he was presently. But for now, it was enough to know that somehow, he had decided not to oppose her marriage.
The rest of the day passed faster than it ought to have. Christine, still riding on the high of knowing her marriage was safe for the time being, hardly realized it when Lysander announced it was noon already, and that she had, as of yet, eaten no food at all. Lunch, then, flew past, as did a fair portion of time afterwards that she spent in the kitchen, doing servant's work, clearing and scrubbing all the used plates and cups. But she did not care. Then, they were back in the room with Rhal, her and Erik both for the first time since last night, and they were talking with Felipe and Lysander, exchanging petty small talk as Rhal listened silently. And suddenly, they were on the subject of war, and Erik was telling them about his time in Samos, telling them about the battle he fought, about his experiences there. Lysander and Felipe exchanged similar stories, their eyes alight when talking about the closest they had ever come to a real adventure. Christine barely caught a word of it. Her mind was everywhere and nowhere all at once, buzzing with constant emotion that clouded all that was being said in the real world, with no real, comprehensive train of thought for her to latch onto. Besides, she had no interest in hearing, not for the first time, how many heads her brothers had severed in some far-off town, nor did Erik, if she judged his odd fiddling and comments correctly. But words were shared nonetheless, as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, signaling first mid-afternoon, then dinner, then night.
Where had the day gone? She could hardly even think of what she had done, of what had happened in the many hours she had been awake. And Erik—there were so, so many things she needed to talk about with him, so many things they needed to decide upon, and yet, she could hardly think of one time she had been able to sit down and have a private conversation with him. And now, he had gone off to bed before she had been able to kiss him goodnight, and she was in her own room, sitting upon her own bed, without having had a word from him. She sighed.
Confident that it had been long enough since her brothers had gone off to their own rooms, and that with them on the other side of the house, they would not hear what she was about to do anyway, Christine snuck out of her own room, leaving behind the awful solitude of it in exchange for the warmth and welcome of a room farther down the hallway. She made her presence known with a soft knock upon the door, framed by a golden glow, letting her know that the man inside was most certainly not already asleep. It took a moment before she heard the soft rustle of someone standing and walking to the door before it creaked open, the noise painful in the silence.
"Christine!" Erik's hissed whisper was hardly better than outright speaking. His voice carried like a song. "What are you doing here?"
His eyes travelled briefly up and down the hallway before settling, somewhat begrudgingly, on her, but Christine did not care. Just the sight of her Erik and the thought that they would finally get some more of the privacy they had previously taken for granted warmed her heart tremendously. "I wanted to see you," she replied lightly, trying, and failing, to hide a smile.
He stared at her for a moment, his lips pursed, before opening the door enough for her to gain access into his room. The moment she entered his room, however, he shut the door again, his hands twisting absentmindedly at the door latch as he looked at her.
"Christine… You cannot be doing this anymore! What if someone saw you come in here? We are no longer alone, and if someone saw you come in here, with me, alone, in the middle of the night, they might not look upon it kindly. We cannot take that risk with your brothers. I do not want to get myself, or you, into more trouble than we already are."
"What is there to worry about?" she asked him, knowing that she ought to, perhaps, take the situation more seriously than she was, because every word he spoke was true. "My brothers are off on the other side of the house, probably already asleep, and I was quiet. How would they know I was here?"
"I do not know," he replied, his tone clipped. "But if they did, it would only spell more problems for us, my dear, that I have no desire to try and inflict by being careless." He sighed, his fingers flying up to adjust his mask.
"Would you rather me go?" She knew before he replied that his immediate answer would be an emphatic no, but she still wanted to hear it from his lips.
"No, no. Of course not, my dear. Besides, you are already here." She smiled as his hand left the doorknob and fell once more to his side as he looked at her, his eyes softening somewhat. "Forgive me, I do not mean to be rude. I just do not want to endanger what we have here, Christine."
"I know." She understood his fear when so much was at stake, when they had so much to lose if anything were to go wrong, and she knew the stress he must be under with everything that was happening—her brothers', Rhal, their own marriage… She felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought. "In fact, that is what I came here to talk to you about."
Erik took a slow step forward, distancing himself from the door. He was not even an arm's length away from her now. "What do you mean?"
"What I mean, Erik, is that we are going to be married, but we have hardly talked about it at all! We have no date, no plans, no guests invited… No venue… Nothing! And now, I suppose, we must take into account whether we want this wedding to be a Spartan wedding or an Athenian one, because apparently you are Spartan, and we do not even have that decided upon yet." The more she spoke, the more things she realized they had yet to decide upon and yet to plan, and the whole of it, the more she thought of it, was beginning to grow more and more overwhelming.
"There is just so much, Erik, and I do not know where to start. And more importantly…" She trailed off, looking at him carefully. "…I have hardly had any time to spend with my new fiancé. Really, I just wanted to see you. And talk, at least some."
"I am honored, my love." Erik's lips quirked up in a slight smile, one that, had she not come to recognize it, she would likely have not picked up on at all. Now, however, she found it beautifully endearing. "And you are right, I suppose," he continued as he turned from her to sit, instead, on his bed. "There is far more to this wedding than I had originally envisioned. I suppose I thought that once we were engaged, everything would fall into place on its own—a childish fantasy, I see now. Yes, we must talk. Come, Christine—sit here with me."
She joined him on his bed. The last time she had been here, other than last night of course, had been all those weeks ago when she had found him, crying and cringing, from a nightmare, while she watched him helpless, having no idea how to help, how to heal. How far they had come since them, even if, when she joined him on the covers, he shifted away from her to leave a sliver of space between their bodies. They had made so much progress.
"So." She slipped her hands under her thighs are she sat, warming them from the chill of night. "I suppose the first order of business is to decide whether we want a Spartan wedding or an Athenian one. There are different traditions for Spartan weddings, right?"
Erik did not look at her as he spoke, but instead remained focused on his bare feet, resting on the stone floor. "Oh, I am sure there are, but I am afraid that I do not know them off the top of my head. But that does not matter—I am perfectly fine with having an Athenian wedding myself. I have never felt any real ties to Sparta anyway, and I am sure you would be more comfortable with having an Athenian wedding, if I am correct in my thinking?"
She nodded and added, in case he had not seen her affirmation, "Athenian wedding it is, then. Now, we have one thing decided upon. So, next, I guess we have—"
"Christine." She stopped her chatter the moment she heard Erik's voice, his tones gentle and calming and infinitely better than her own. He began to bend his toes under his feet. "I respect your need to discuss this wedding and I certainly agree that it needs to be done sooner rather than later, but may we just take a moment and simply talk?"
He turned to her, for the first time since they had sat down, his eyes shining, and her heart thrummed within her chest. "Yes! Yes, absolutely. Personally, I would much rather just talk than deal with all of this anyway. I just want to have something concrete to tell my sisters when they get here. But yes—we can talk." She cleared her throat. "Is there anything you would like to talk about?"
"Not particularly, no." His gaze was so beautiful in candlelight that Christine found it hard to look away from the way the gold moved and glowed in the flickering light, how it seemed like a never-ending pool of molten fire and sunshine.
She shifted back to the headboard of the bed, which she leaned on comfortably, drawing her knees up to her chest so her feet would not poke Erik where he sat. A topic of conversation popped into her head, and she smiled to herself. "How do you feel about being married, Erik?"
He smiled as well, a slow-spreading, hesitant thing, although it was directed at the floor, not her. Still, she could not help the way happiness flooded through her veins at the sight, so much that she felt she might be glowing. "Married," he repeated slightly breathlessly, as if turning the idea over in his mind. Then, "I feel very happy to be married."
Christine laughed at him, at the way he flushed pink in the flickering light, at how abashed he seemed at the idea of married, like a little boy. "I thought you might have a little more to say. Usually, I can barely get you to stop talking."
This only made him blush harder, although a twinkle of merriment lingered in his eyes. "That's just it, my dearest—I have so much to say that I cannot even put it all into words. It is just… I just… There is so, so much that I can feel inside of me, every time I think about you, of marriage, and it feels me to the brim. I am so, so happy—please, do not think I am not—I can hardly breathe or think or even eat for happiness. I did not know it was even possible for a human being to feel this happy, Christine, and yet, here I am, feeling more happiness in the space of this singular minute than I have in the entirety of my life." Here, he shot her a lopsided grin that she had never seen before on his usually stoic face, which caused her to laugh at him once again. "But there is so much more than just happiness, too. I can hardly explain it." The smile faded. "But to answer your question, yes—I am happy."
"Me too," she replied, understanding, odd though his words were, what he meant when he said them. She, too, felt happiness beyond belief and compare at the thought of being married, so much so that she nearly drunk at the intoxication of it. But to say she was simply happy would be a grievous understatement, considering all she felt. Happy—yes—but saddened too at the thought that she had burned her bridge to Rhal in order to reach this, that she was going to leave an entire part of her life behind the moment she said, 'I do'. Confident—yes—in Erik, in their future marriage, in the love they shared for one another, but anxious too at the prospect of being a wife, at the uncertainty of the future they were about to share, wonderful as it might be. There seemed to be bit of every emotion swirling about in her head, so much so that she felt as if she were burst at the seams with them, as if she might fall apart from them. And perhaps, that was not a bad thing.
Carefully, so as not to shatter any of the boundaries he had created too suddenly, she extended her legs until her feet rested in his lap, cushioned in the fabric of his toga. He stiffened slightly at her presence, but it was just a momentary thing, and after it, his hands were meeting her own flesh, his fingers skimmed her soles in a gentle massage. She smiled. "Thank you."
They were silent for a moment, Erik seemingly putting all his concentration into rubbing Christine's feet and Christine too tired and too overrun by emotion to say anything else. She was nearly falling asleep when he startled her with a sudden declaration of, "A week."
"What?"
"We can set the wedding from a week from today, if you would like. Does that sound acceptable to you, my love? Do you think that is enough time to prepare everything you have in mind?"
"I think so." She nodded and opened her eyes, only to find him staring at her. She found that now, she did not mind it half as much as she had when they had first met. "Yes, I think that should be just fine. Although," she began to play aimlessly with the pillow sitting by her side, "I do wish that it were tomorrow instead."
She felt Erik shiver at her words, and he turned away from her. Perhaps he was cold. His hands did feel a little chilled against her feet. Perhaps she ought to warm him.
Her hands moved to draw her betrothed closer to her, until his face was poised just opposite hers, the space between their lips marred only by their breathing, their life force. Her fingers found his chin a minute before she moved, holding his eyes up to meet hers, and she saw the surprise, the bashful love, and even an emotion she thought to identify as desire before her lips moved to touch his. It was their third kiss. Soft, slow, and sweet, still every bit as innocent as those first two. His breaths caught in her mouth, and the feeling of the unnatural leather of his mask pressed upon her mind even in that moment, when euphoria had taken over.
It was such a pure thing, his love, and so unsure of itself—Christine could tell from his every movement, from the way he parted from her, only to come back for more a moment later. Even when he did finally pull away, her name on his lips and wonder in his eyes, she could see it from the way he was still so careful with her, even in the dark of the night with no one else around. It made her heart thrum with an energy she had never experienced before, an emotion that both shot through her veins like bottled lightning and that moved like honey through her mind, stilling her thoughts and her fears. And it was so beautiful.
"Can I stay here tonight?" she asked, the words coming before her mind had even thought about them. His hands, which had not moved from their position in the sheets, even during their kiss, tightened, and she could see the white stretch of skin over bones. Her request suddenly hit her, and warmth rushed to her cheeks, dispelling all the languid calm from her mind.
"Your bed is so much more lived in than mine, and I would much rather sleep here than in my room. And I just want to be with you for a while. We do not have to talk or anything—just lay here, if you like. And I... I did not mean to suggest we do anything other than sleep, of course, too."
She closed her eyes, inwardly chiding herself for ever speaking such a request when she was still not married, especially when, moments earlier, she had been marveling at the purity and innocence of Erik's affection for her. Stupid, stupid.
"Oh, Christine…" She had expected to hear mortification in Erik's voice, but now she heard only a slight laughter. A sudden presence of velvet fingertips trailed alongside her jaw for just a fraction of a moment, and by the time she opened her eyes, they were gone anyway. Erik's eyes, however, softened by an amusement that she felt none of, remained. She flushed.
"What would your brothers say if they found you in my bed come morning?" He shook his head. "No, tantalizing of an idea as that is, I think you ought to remain in your own bed tonight. You will sleep better there than you will with me anyway, I should think. But," his thumb stroked once across her knuckles, light as air, before disappearing once more in the dim light, "I thank you for the enchanting time you have given me here nonetheless, even if it was short. Perhaps we can talk more about the wedding tomorrow, yes?"
She nodded. Then, she rose to go. It was only when she was standing at his door, one foot already in the hallway, that he offered her those three words she had already heard so many times from his lips: "I love you."
This time, however, she finally had the chance to say it back, with no hesitations, no doubt, and no fear of later consequences. "I love you too." If this was the joy that she had nearly gotten herself killed for, she thought it was worth it, foolish though it may have been to think it.
Another A/N: So, what do you think? Was this worth the wait? (You can be honest, it's cool.) And are things going the way you thought they would?
Also, just be warned, I'm going to college in a week or two, and I really don't know how writing is going to fit in my schedule there. It may be that it helps me get into a routine, or it may be that I never have time anymore... We'll see, I guess! But I'll be back, even if updates are a tad inconsistent! Thanks for bearing with me, you guys! You're the best out there :')