N/A: Ingenious? Now you've really gone to far Desolator!!! Thank you! Thank you everybody!

The song I found here: www.wsu.edu:8080/~brians/love-in-the- arts/medieval.html Don't worry, the translations sucks just a wee-bit. The French version is on the website, and I'm sure the grammar is better when sung in French!

//////////////------------//////////////////////

Chapter 19: Ceremony

The wedding had been nothing short of breath taking when May arrived, and Christine became the Vicomtess de Chagney. Her gown looked as though it belonged to a princess, as the bodice was clustered with almost miniscule diamonds, and she wore a tiara of rhinestones and diamond accents. The veils accentuated the tiara and dress just that much more. Erik doubted he'd ever seen Christine looking so beautiful.

He even had slight reason to admire the Vicomte that day. Raoul looked quite strapping in his tuxedo with navy blue overcoat and white rose in the breast pocket. His hair had been neatly trimmed, and his face smoothly shaved. The excited nervousness in his eyes, Erik had to agree with all of the other guests, was actually quite touching. Everyone could see that Raoul truly did love Christine, and that in itself had to be admired.

The day was not without its' sadness for Erik. After all, he was giving away the first woman he had ever truly loved, with all of his heart and soul, to another man. Also, almost all of the aristocracy attended the ceremony, along with most of the Opera House staff. This meant that Erik had the chance to spend the entire day and evening with all of his favorite ladies: Isabelle, Christine, Marguerite, Fleur, and Madeline. The three latter ladies of his household had accompanied him as his companion guests, and Isabelle had accompanied her mother, father, and the man who was apparently still her fiancée.

Erik and Isabelle had yet to speak to her parents about their secret courtship. For two months now, they had been meeting one another for long walks before and after vocal lessons, and she would come visit whenever she could get away from the estate without a chaperone. Yet, she was quite honestly terrified of her fathers' reaction should she tell him her true feelings for her voice instructor. If he disapproved, as she feared he would, then she would no longer be allowed to even have lessons with him, and would be taken from him entirely. Erik did not try too hard to make her speak to either of her parents because he, too, was afraid of losing her.

While Erik was playing the church organ and then giving the bride away, he kept glancing over the crowd to find Isabelle next to quite a distinguished looking gentleman with salt and pepper like hair, who was obviously a good deal older than she was. Erik knew that he was, of course, about the man's same age. Yet he thought it would be terrible if she had to suffer being married to the man she didn't love. Besides, he had a whole new life ahead of him. He might have knowledge of his true age, but he certainly didn't appear it. He wasn't likely to die within a decade of his marriage to Isabelle, leaving her widowed and alone.

"Erik . . .? Erik; are you quite all right?"

He looked quietly over to Christine after the wedding ceremony, as the bride and groom met with their guests outside as they filtered out of the church. He gave her a tender smile, and lightly touched her cheek, kissing her forehead through her veil. He said nothing, which certainly couldn't have been very reassuring to her, yet she allowed him to continue by as a crowd of girls from the Opera House swarmed over to her, almost pushing Erik right out of their way.

He later looked through the crowds of guests on the de Chagney estate as the reception took place. It was a fine warm day for the month, and everyone was outside for the banquet that had been set under canopied tarps. There were a great many of these tarps, which had plenty of large tables beneath them. One very large circus sized tent in particular held a small orchestra which played constantly, taking only breaks that were short and far between so that the guests might dance. He kept seeing one of the twins or Madeline, or the bride and groom as they continued to play host and hostess. Yet there seemed to be no Isabelle.

Giving up with a heavy sigh, Erik went into one of the banquet tents and picked himself a plate of some delicacies that only the aristocracy like Raoul could possibly have hoped to afford. He knew that Isabelle and her family had to be there. Isabelle had told him several days before that they planned on attending the reception. In so many hundreds of wedding guests, he must have overlooked them. He was quite certain that she would find him eventually, if he continued to be blind to her presence.

"Monsieur?"

Looking up from his plate as he sat alone at one of the tables, he saw a waiter with a tray of full champagne glasses balanced on one hand. That wasn't what took Erik's surprise, though. It was the envelope that he held in his free hand. Envelopes had been haunting him recently, much like he'd often haunted the managers' office with the letters from the Opera Ghost. He simply found them everywhere, and always addressed to him. Whether or not they were good or bad didn't matter to Erik. The fact was that he was known now. He couldn't escape them.

"What is it?" He asked politely, managing to keep the melancholy from his voice. How strange that he could feel so depressed, as though he were dependant on the presence of one woman!

"Are you Monsieur Genié?" The waiter asked cautiously. Erik sighed.

"You know very well that I am." He replied shortly. "I've been a guest here often enough, haven't I?"

The man bristled, but said nothing in retort.

"This is for you." He handed over the letter, and Erik snatched it, making the man startle and turn to hurry off without waiting for any possible replies. His duty was complete. He wasn't about to deal with a cross man who had the aura of danger about him when he was angry.

Erik tore the envelope open, not liking how this felt. To have a letter sent him, when he was already surrounded by almost everyone he knew - save Nadir - was unnerving. Who could possibly be writing to him?



'Monsieur,

I am afraid to tell you that there has been a severe accident. The Develõngê's carriage and all occupants therein have been overturned on the road. The reason for this is yet unknown. It is suspected that the driver lost control of the carriage, or the horse bolted and it toppled over.

Mlle Develõngê was seriously injured, as was her mother. Monsieur Farcèur died in the accident, and her father has received a serious concussion and a broken wrist. Although as I write this message to you, Mlle is unconscious, she expressed wishes to see you through a delirium by calling out your name several times. Monsieur Develõngê assumes that you are the 'Erik' she calls for.

Please come to L'Hôspital immediately. Although uncertain as to whether or not Mlle will awaken, I am quite sure she would wish you to be there when she awoke.

Reguards,

Dr. Marius Lefeur'



Erik leapt to his feet immediately, dropping the note as he moved. He pushed his way almost rudely through the crowds he thought were blocking his passage to his carriage. Yet then he had to stop and think about what it was he was doing. If he didn't calm down immediately he was going to get himself nowhere. Turning, he was lucky enough to find Madeline immediately, surrounded by fine gentlemanly looking men who were undoubtedly aristocratic guests of the Vicomte. He moved over to her quickly, interrupting their conversation without a word by taking her arm and pulling her insistently to the side.

"Madeline, Isabelle and her family are hurt." He said in a rush of words. "I want you to have Christine or Raoul call a cab when you are ready to go home." Fishing into his pockets, he pulled out a wad of notes, and handed them to her. She glanced around nervously, and then pushed them into the drawstring bag at her side. "I don't know when I will be home. Tell Marguerite I'm sorry if I'm not there to tuck her into bed."

Madeline didn't even have time to get a word in, although she tried desperately. Erik was off and running towards the front of the property, making a few heads turn in curiosity and disgust at such a show of 'unnecessary' hurrying. Yet he was far beyond caring. No man in such a state would care what others thought of him. No man would care about being either rude or polite. He wouldn't even go tell Christine he was leaving. He couldn't. He didn't have the time. Summoning a coach, he quickly paid them very well to take him into town, not caring who the carriage belonged to or whether or not they might need it in short time. When he was at the hospital, the carriage could return to the estate and all would be well for the owners of it.

He didn't care about anything or anyone at that moment, except for Isabelle. All he cared about was getting to her.

//////////------------///////////////////

"Thank you for coming so promptly." Dr. Lefeur greeted Erik just outside of a room filled with beds all occupied by the injured. Standing beside him was Isabelle's father, Monsieur Develõngê, his arm in a cast, and his head wrapped in a bandage. Apparently, his concussion was healing well; although the doctor seemed annoyed the man was up and about already. "We didn't know what else to do about the situation. We simply thought it was best that if indeed she wanted you that you came to her. It could help."

"I certainly hope so." Erik agreed. "Tell me what happened to her."

"Just tell me one thing." Isabelle's father demanded. "Exactly why would se call for you? Her fiancé just died in the same accident. Why wouldn't she be calling for him?"

Erik couldn't help but smirk.

"Because she doesn't love him, nor did she want to marry him." He said simply. "She's confided a great deal in me, Monsieur."

"Have you dared to make advances on my daughter?" Monsieur challenged. Erik looked at him, insulted.

"Only of the most respectful kind." He confessed. "She's returned them. Now, please. That isn't half so important now as your daughters' well being." He turned to Dr. Lefeur once more. "Will you please tell me her injuries?"

"Her wrists are broken. Isabelle seemed to have some skull damage as well. The skin was split in the very least. She's needed stitches all over her body because of where the stones of the road cut into her." The doctor was mercifully frank with him. "Some of the cuts were very deep. That is what concerned me the most. She'd lost so much blood. When I sent for you, her fate was far more uncertain than it is right now. At least now she has a chance."

"I'd like to see her, please." Erik continued, being just as politely frank. Isabelle's father bristled indignantly.

"Now see here -"

"Monsieur!" Erik interrupted angrily, his rage almost at the boiling point instantly. "We are talking about the young woman I happen to be in love with! Either we can sit here arguing, or you can let me in to sit by her side when she needs me!"

Her father was struck silent by his outburst. He watched Erik quietly, carefully.

The doctor watched the exchange for several long moments, and then nodded, motioning for Erik to follow him into the crowded corridor of occupied beds. Only of few people in the ward seemed seriously injured or comatose. As irony would have it, Isabelle's bed was the last on the left, a few feet away from the window that took up the entire upper half of the far wall.

Erik pulled up the chair that was kept at the foot of her bed, and moved to sit very near to her, covering her hands, which were bound in the cast meant to heal her wrists. She looked a mess, the exposed skin of her arms, shoulders, throat, and face all stitched up in places. Luckily for her future, her face did not seem to have many stitches at all, and Erik assumed that the scars would probably be almost totally unnoticeable once she had healed. A great deal of the rest of her was bruised, and probably would have been sore if she were conscious.

"Isabelle . . ." He whispered softly, leaning down so that his mouth was only a few inches away from her ear. "My dearest . . . You're going to be all right. Do you hear me? You must try and get well. Try and wake up."

There was no reply from her motionless form. He hadn't expected there to be. Yet at one time he had pulled Nadir from the very brink of death using nothing more than the sound of his voice. Some time after that, Nadir's own son had brought Erik back from the brink while he was in a coma, merely by speaking to his unconscious form. It had taken days in both cases for their bodies to heal. Yet just the power of the subconscious mind was something he still had yet to totally grasp. Isabelle was a strong young woman, and he had no doubt speaking these words to her would be help in itself.

He prayed that his voice could do what it had for Nadir. He needed desperately to draw Isabelle back from wherever she was being held prisoner by her unconsciousness. He would make his voice have that power. Kissing a patch of unharmed skin by her temple, just beneath the bandage that covered the whole of her scalp, he let out a long, trembling breath, and then began to sing.

"I want to stay faithful, guard your honor. Seek peace, obey, fear, serve and honor you, until death, peerless lady. For I love you so much, truly, that one could sooner dry up the sea and hold back its' waves, thank I could constrain myself from loving you. Without falsehood; for my thoughts, my memories, my pleasures, and desires are perpetually of you, who I cannot leave or even briefly forget. There is no joy or pleasure, or any other gold that could feel, or imagine which does not seem to me whenever your sweetness wants to sweeten.

Therefore I want to praise and adore and fear you. Suffer everything, experience everything, endure everything, more than I desire any reward. I want to stay faithful.

You are the true sapphire that can heal and end all my sufferings. The ruby that brings rejoicing: the ruby to brighten and comfort the heart. Your speech, your looks, your bearing, make one flee, and hate, and detest all vice, and cherish and desire all that is good. I want to stay faithful."

It was a medieval song, and it somehow described to her a bit of how he felt. Yet that wasn't entirely how he felt. There were no longer words to describe the relationship that had formed between them. He was staring down at her battered face mournfully, wishing she'd open her eyes so he could see the amethyst that God had placed in her irises.

The entire corridor had gone quiet. Those who had been moaning and in pain for days, had calmed down at the sound of Erik's soft voice. Those who were dying seemed to have found some peace around them. His voice had such an effect that even the doctors and nurses wandering the ward, checking up on their patients, had come to the end of the corridor to look inwards at him. Yet when he grew silent they walked off as though in a total daze. Only Isabelle's father remained staring at him. He'd followed him to the bed from the very beginning.

"Monsieur Genié . . . " Monsieur Develõngê looked utterly stunned, and even humbled. The words to the song Erik had sung did not seem like rubbish to him. He seemed to understand utterly what the song had been meant to say. " . . . Forgive me for being so harsh on you."

Erik turned to look up at him slowly.

"It's very obvious that you love my daughter. I didn't mean any offense when you admitted to caring for her. I just want what is best for her."

"I know." Erik whispered. "I would wish the same thing for my friends little girls. They are my daughters. Not literally, of course, but in my heart they are my daughters. Yet I will always want them to marry out of love. Even if they fall in love with a poor man, I will not keep them away from their loved one. If it is what they truly wish, then they shall have it."

"Nor will I . . . if she wakes up, Monsieur." Her father replied quietly, making Erik's eyes widen a little. "If she wants you."

"She didn't know how to tell you about us." Erik told him quietly. "We thought you'd take her away from me."

"I might have." He admitted. "Were it not for a time like this, I wouldn't have given you a chance. I wonder if you can forgive me for that. I normally do not think myself the better of those who are not so well-off."

"I understand."

Erik leaned down, kissing Isabelle's temple again gently, repeatedly.

"Come back, my sweet." He breathed. "Please? Come back and be my wife."