A/N: Did I tell you guys I have tickets to see Michael Crawford in "Dance
of the Vampires"? I can't wait for January 18th, when I can wish him a
happy 61st birthday! (It's on Jan 19th)
BTW - I know I put just about every quote in French! I'll translate it at the bottom of the chapter!
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Chapter 21: Voeux
It was too early for a social visit. That was all Nadir was able to think as he nearly stumbled down the stairs of his Parisian apartment. Ten minutes beforehand he had been summoned by his servant, Darius, who claimed in a nervous temperament that he had a guest asking to see him. Nadir had little doubt as to his guests' identity, for Darius might have been the nervous type, but only one infidel could make him so nervous by his presence alone.
Dressing quickly, he wondered why Erik had to come in the pre-dawn hours of a weekend. Surely he could visit any time on a Saturday or Sunday! Yet Nadir wasn't disturbed very much by the early awakening. It had been months since he'd spoken to Erik. Ever since just after the accident, It had been impossible to get a hold of him either outside of the Opera or Hospital,, and Nadir was not wont to go into the hospital. They reminded him too much of his dying son.
Walking into the parlor, he wasn't all too surprised to see Erik had settled himself comfortably in a chair by the fireplace, which Darius had apparently just started a blaze inside. He stood, however, as though Nadir were the guest in his home, and stepped forward to shake his hand vigorously. Nadir had never seen the strange nervous expression on his face. It wasn't added with sorrow or rage, as it had always been before. Hell, he'd never known Erik to be nervous with any other emotion at all.
"To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?" Nadir asked with a tired chuckle. Erik looked at him calmly for a long moment, and then motioned towards the fireplace questioningly. "Oh, by all means. Please sit. I don't mean to be such a shameful host, but I am a bit out of practice."
"It's perfectly understandable, Nadir." Erik replied. For the first time in many months, Nadir had just heard him speak simple words. He'd seen and heard him performing at the Opera for the past five months. Yet without getting near him, he hadn't heard him speak more than a sentence. Together they sat by the fireplace, Erik in Nadir's preferred chair, and Nadir in a chair he had pulled up to sit opposite him. His few guests always sat in his own chair, especially Erik.
"Have you come to tell me something?" He asked carefully. "You are all right, aren't you, Erik?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Erik assured him quickly, seeming to come out of a daze. "It's just that . . . I wanted to tell you . . . Isabelle woke from her coma last night."
"Erik, that's wonderful." Nadir was quietly enthusiastic, smiling broadly. He knew how much his friend had suffered these past months. Moving from his home to the Opera and to the hospital. He had not gone anywhere else at all in the half year since the marriage of Christine and Raoul. Nadir had to admit that for a while he hadn't known about the accident. He thought Erik might have been absent so often from a depression of seeing Christine married. It was Madeline who had told him a week later what had happened. He hadn't, after all, been a guest at the de Chagney's wedding.
"I want to ask you something, Nadir." Erik continued, clearing his throat uncharacteristically. Nadir wondered what could be wrong with the man, and swiftly stood to fetch him a brandy. When he came back to hand it over, Erik uttered a thank you, and then swallowed the sifter whole. "I asked Isabelle to marry me last night when she woke up. We have her fathers' blessing."
Nadir sat back down slowly, watching his friend with growing concern. It was wonderful news that Erik was going to marry this young woman that he obviously loved very much. Yet what did that have to do with him coming to tell him so early in the morning? Was he in shock that it was finally going to work out for him?
"Nadir, I want to just come right out and say this." He finally sighed, the brandy apparently having finally kicked in, giving him the nerve he so desperately seemed to need. "I would find it a tremendous offer if you would stand by my side when I marry Isabelle. Will you please be my best man?"
He sat back with a heavy sigh, as though the wind had been knocked from him. Well, he certainly hadn't been expecting this. He never would have thought Erik might ask him such a thing. It startled him even more when he realized exactly how much being asked meant to him. He was a very old man, nearly seventy. He'd never had any friend like Erik before. Although friend wasn't usually the way he thought about Erik - it had usually been something more like fiend, even if he never was serious about the silent nickname.
"Erik . . ." He finally said a little bit shakily. "I . . . It would be an absolute honor to stand by you on your wedding day, my friend."
Erik looked up at him quietly, and then smiled, sighing and collapsing against his chair as though some great weight had just been lifted from his shoulders.
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It would be a few weeks before Isabelle was allowed to leave the hospital. Erik continued to visit her every day, and saw to it that she cooperated with the doctors and nurses through her physical therapy sessions, which helped her to slowly gain back the strength of her legs. Soon enough, they were taking walks together along the corridors of the hospital, and sharing lunch or dinner at the café across the street. The doctor only allowed this because he trusted Erik so much to bring her back, and because it was so close.
They spent the time together making plans for their wedding, and seeing to it that certain dressmaker and tailor shops were contacted so that they would be prepared for a hefty order which would need to be filled out very fast once it came in. Each time he looked at her, Erik had to wonder what such a stunningly beautiful young woman was doing with a man like him. Certainly the man he used to be was nothing compared to the Opera star he now was. The devoted father figure to three fatherless children, and constant companion of a wounded aristocrat made it seem so odd that he'd ever been that other man. The man who had killed, and hidden in the shadows, and tried not to grow close to any other human.
When she was allowed to finally leave the hospital, the doctor had been persistent in saying she probably shouldn't travel far away for a while. That meant she should have no long carriage rides out to her fathers' estate, even if it was just outside of Paris. So it was that she came to live with Erik in his home, sharing the master bedroom with Madeline. The bed, which had once belonged to Erik's mother, was certainly big enough for the two of them.
Isabelle would oftentimes, however, push the envelope and start pretending to seduce him again. It was hard to do more than smile and laugh at her very good attempts. Yet she understood that Erik was adamant, and even if she stripped stark naked and laid herself across his bed, he would not be with her until after they had married. It seemed to become just a great big game that helped them to pass the time . . . and help them look forward to what was now the very near future.
Erik often found himself amazed that nineteen months had passed since he had first lost Christine to Raoul. It was really such a short amount of time to get over such a terrible heartbreak and loss. Yet he had done it. He had done the one thing he'd never imagined possible, and Isabelle had made it all possible. Marguerite and Fleur had shared one birthday in his presence already, and within another couple of months, they would be sharing another with him, and they would be twelve. Gerard was already six, as his birthday had occurred very shortly after he'd met the family, and again recently. The girls' birthdays had been further away than that. It seemed to them that it took them longer to grow up.
"Erik! Erik you must see this dress!"
He looked up quietly from his piano. Isabelle had made an appointment for the dressmakers to come to the house that day, and fit her for her wedding dress, and show her different styles. Now, she stood in the doorway with a robe on over her underclothing, making him blush profusely.
"Isabelle! How very improper of you!" He scolded, mostly teasing her. "I do not want to see your dress now, Cherie. I will see it on you when you come towards me on our wedding day. Don't spoil the surprise!"
Her eyes lit up at him happily, and she came quickly across the room, putting her arms tightly around him. Erik found he had to close his eyes when he carefully held her in return for just a moment. Adamant or not about waiting to be with her, this was getting damnably hard for him to resist. She loved to tempt him like this, too, and it was a common torture she would tease him with. He was almost relieved when she finally pulled away to give him a brief kiss. Lightly, playfully, he squeezed her waist through the thin material of her clothing, then concentrated once more on his composition as she left the room.
"Oh, come help me pick out a dress, Madeline! I can't decide!" He heard. Chuckling, he shook his head, but did not look up from his music. The idea was far too tempting to give into. He wanted to see her dry on the wedding dresses that had been dragged to the house as example pieces. Yet he also wanted to carry out tradition - something he'd never cared for in the past. All he knew was that Isabelle was a proper woman of the times. She probably had dreams of her wedding day and how perfect it should all be, without even knowing she had them.
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The dress she had selected had been perfect. When Erik finally saw it, he could scarcely breathe. His heart clutched painfully in his chest, almost making him fear he was having a heart attack, like he had when he was still old and . . . ugly. Yet the moment passed, and he realized it was simply the raw emotions of love and awe that ran through him. She wore a beautiful gown that had the vague hint of an iridescent robin egg blue to the satiny folds. She wore a tiara with her veil, much as Christine had on her wedding day, only Isabelle's was a gold tone, and it was studded with cut glass made to look like the stone, aquamarine. Never had he seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. She carried a bouquet of silk roses that matched her dress, and also had a hint of purple to them, making the image of the most beautiful bride ever imagined to be complete.
To his left, Nadir stood in his best clothing, a strapping and tailored evening suit. Erik also wore the same, although his best was from his days as the Phantom. Instead of wearing the black vest under his overcoat, however, he traded it in for a dark crimson, so that he would not remind himself too much of the painful past. To his right, on the other side of the altar of the Notre Dame Cathedral, stood Marguerite, Fleur, Madeline, and Christine, all in stunning violet dresses of satin, with ribbons in lace in just the right places. Just in front of him was Gerard, who stood proudly holding the bright blue pillow that held the rings of the bride and the groom, carefully, watching his balance to keep the rings where they belonged - on the pillow and not lost on the floor. And of course, on the arm of his bride, was her father, Monsieur Develõngê.
"Mon Dieu . . ."
He hadn't even realized he'd spoken aloud until he heard Erik give a stifled chuckle beside him. Yet Erik certainly wasn't ashamed of being unable to control his adoration. He'd never been able to control his love before. He'd watched Christine and thought the same things in the past. This certainly wasn't something he was going to keep hidden. Not on a day like this, when how he felt was the most important part of the whole experience.
Isabelle reached his side, and her father placed her hand firmly within Erik's, holding their hands together between his own for a long moment. Isabelle smiled up at her father as he patted Erik on the back gently, and then moved away. Unable to help himself, Erik lifted his free hand to her cheek, and leaned down to gently press the most uncertain of kisses against the side of her mouth.
"Vous soyez beau." He whispered to her quietly. "Mon Dieu . . . vous êtes si beau."
"Je t'aime, Erik." She whispered in return, before they finally looked up to the priest patiently waiting for them to come back down to Earth and rejoin the ceremony. Smiling, Isabelle blushed, and Erik cleared his throat very softly, taking only half of a step back and away from her. Her hand was still clutched tightly in his, and he realized that at some point, Christine had taken Isabelle's bouquet of silk roses.
Even when they'd rejoined the rest of the guests and participants in the ceremony, Erik became totally lost. He just stared at the woman who was - amazingly enough - his bride.
"Jusqu'á la mort nous pièce." He suddenly found himself murmuring, repeating the monotone words of the priest. When he was finished, the priest said something more, and the entire Cathedral was filled with applause. Blinking, Erik glanced up, startled, then smiled as he looked down to Isabelle, and lifted her veil.
"J'taime." He breathed softly, leaning in to finally kiss the woman who was, of all things, his wife. "J'taime, Madame Genié."
"J'taime, Erik!"
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A/N --- Here they are! The translations!!!!!!
Voeux - Vows
J'taime - I love you
Jusqu'á la mort nous pièce - Until death us part.
Vous soyez beau - You are beautiful.
Mon Dieu . . . vous êtes si beau - My God . . . You are so beautiful
BTW - I know I put just about every quote in French! I'll translate it at the bottom of the chapter!
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Chapter 21: Voeux
It was too early for a social visit. That was all Nadir was able to think as he nearly stumbled down the stairs of his Parisian apartment. Ten minutes beforehand he had been summoned by his servant, Darius, who claimed in a nervous temperament that he had a guest asking to see him. Nadir had little doubt as to his guests' identity, for Darius might have been the nervous type, but only one infidel could make him so nervous by his presence alone.
Dressing quickly, he wondered why Erik had to come in the pre-dawn hours of a weekend. Surely he could visit any time on a Saturday or Sunday! Yet Nadir wasn't disturbed very much by the early awakening. It had been months since he'd spoken to Erik. Ever since just after the accident, It had been impossible to get a hold of him either outside of the Opera or Hospital,, and Nadir was not wont to go into the hospital. They reminded him too much of his dying son.
Walking into the parlor, he wasn't all too surprised to see Erik had settled himself comfortably in a chair by the fireplace, which Darius had apparently just started a blaze inside. He stood, however, as though Nadir were the guest in his home, and stepped forward to shake his hand vigorously. Nadir had never seen the strange nervous expression on his face. It wasn't added with sorrow or rage, as it had always been before. Hell, he'd never known Erik to be nervous with any other emotion at all.
"To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?" Nadir asked with a tired chuckle. Erik looked at him calmly for a long moment, and then motioned towards the fireplace questioningly. "Oh, by all means. Please sit. I don't mean to be such a shameful host, but I am a bit out of practice."
"It's perfectly understandable, Nadir." Erik replied. For the first time in many months, Nadir had just heard him speak simple words. He'd seen and heard him performing at the Opera for the past five months. Yet without getting near him, he hadn't heard him speak more than a sentence. Together they sat by the fireplace, Erik in Nadir's preferred chair, and Nadir in a chair he had pulled up to sit opposite him. His few guests always sat in his own chair, especially Erik.
"Have you come to tell me something?" He asked carefully. "You are all right, aren't you, Erik?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Erik assured him quickly, seeming to come out of a daze. "It's just that . . . I wanted to tell you . . . Isabelle woke from her coma last night."
"Erik, that's wonderful." Nadir was quietly enthusiastic, smiling broadly. He knew how much his friend had suffered these past months. Moving from his home to the Opera and to the hospital. He had not gone anywhere else at all in the half year since the marriage of Christine and Raoul. Nadir had to admit that for a while he hadn't known about the accident. He thought Erik might have been absent so often from a depression of seeing Christine married. It was Madeline who had told him a week later what had happened. He hadn't, after all, been a guest at the de Chagney's wedding.
"I want to ask you something, Nadir." Erik continued, clearing his throat uncharacteristically. Nadir wondered what could be wrong with the man, and swiftly stood to fetch him a brandy. When he came back to hand it over, Erik uttered a thank you, and then swallowed the sifter whole. "I asked Isabelle to marry me last night when she woke up. We have her fathers' blessing."
Nadir sat back down slowly, watching his friend with growing concern. It was wonderful news that Erik was going to marry this young woman that he obviously loved very much. Yet what did that have to do with him coming to tell him so early in the morning? Was he in shock that it was finally going to work out for him?
"Nadir, I want to just come right out and say this." He finally sighed, the brandy apparently having finally kicked in, giving him the nerve he so desperately seemed to need. "I would find it a tremendous offer if you would stand by my side when I marry Isabelle. Will you please be my best man?"
He sat back with a heavy sigh, as though the wind had been knocked from him. Well, he certainly hadn't been expecting this. He never would have thought Erik might ask him such a thing. It startled him even more when he realized exactly how much being asked meant to him. He was a very old man, nearly seventy. He'd never had any friend like Erik before. Although friend wasn't usually the way he thought about Erik - it had usually been something more like fiend, even if he never was serious about the silent nickname.
"Erik . . ." He finally said a little bit shakily. "I . . . It would be an absolute honor to stand by you on your wedding day, my friend."
Erik looked up at him quietly, and then smiled, sighing and collapsing against his chair as though some great weight had just been lifted from his shoulders.
/////////----------------//////////////////////////
It would be a few weeks before Isabelle was allowed to leave the hospital. Erik continued to visit her every day, and saw to it that she cooperated with the doctors and nurses through her physical therapy sessions, which helped her to slowly gain back the strength of her legs. Soon enough, they were taking walks together along the corridors of the hospital, and sharing lunch or dinner at the café across the street. The doctor only allowed this because he trusted Erik so much to bring her back, and because it was so close.
They spent the time together making plans for their wedding, and seeing to it that certain dressmaker and tailor shops were contacted so that they would be prepared for a hefty order which would need to be filled out very fast once it came in. Each time he looked at her, Erik had to wonder what such a stunningly beautiful young woman was doing with a man like him. Certainly the man he used to be was nothing compared to the Opera star he now was. The devoted father figure to three fatherless children, and constant companion of a wounded aristocrat made it seem so odd that he'd ever been that other man. The man who had killed, and hidden in the shadows, and tried not to grow close to any other human.
When she was allowed to finally leave the hospital, the doctor had been persistent in saying she probably shouldn't travel far away for a while. That meant she should have no long carriage rides out to her fathers' estate, even if it was just outside of Paris. So it was that she came to live with Erik in his home, sharing the master bedroom with Madeline. The bed, which had once belonged to Erik's mother, was certainly big enough for the two of them.
Isabelle would oftentimes, however, push the envelope and start pretending to seduce him again. It was hard to do more than smile and laugh at her very good attempts. Yet she understood that Erik was adamant, and even if she stripped stark naked and laid herself across his bed, he would not be with her until after they had married. It seemed to become just a great big game that helped them to pass the time . . . and help them look forward to what was now the very near future.
Erik often found himself amazed that nineteen months had passed since he had first lost Christine to Raoul. It was really such a short amount of time to get over such a terrible heartbreak and loss. Yet he had done it. He had done the one thing he'd never imagined possible, and Isabelle had made it all possible. Marguerite and Fleur had shared one birthday in his presence already, and within another couple of months, they would be sharing another with him, and they would be twelve. Gerard was already six, as his birthday had occurred very shortly after he'd met the family, and again recently. The girls' birthdays had been further away than that. It seemed to them that it took them longer to grow up.
"Erik! Erik you must see this dress!"
He looked up quietly from his piano. Isabelle had made an appointment for the dressmakers to come to the house that day, and fit her for her wedding dress, and show her different styles. Now, she stood in the doorway with a robe on over her underclothing, making him blush profusely.
"Isabelle! How very improper of you!" He scolded, mostly teasing her. "I do not want to see your dress now, Cherie. I will see it on you when you come towards me on our wedding day. Don't spoil the surprise!"
Her eyes lit up at him happily, and she came quickly across the room, putting her arms tightly around him. Erik found he had to close his eyes when he carefully held her in return for just a moment. Adamant or not about waiting to be with her, this was getting damnably hard for him to resist. She loved to tempt him like this, too, and it was a common torture she would tease him with. He was almost relieved when she finally pulled away to give him a brief kiss. Lightly, playfully, he squeezed her waist through the thin material of her clothing, then concentrated once more on his composition as she left the room.
"Oh, come help me pick out a dress, Madeline! I can't decide!" He heard. Chuckling, he shook his head, but did not look up from his music. The idea was far too tempting to give into. He wanted to see her dry on the wedding dresses that had been dragged to the house as example pieces. Yet he also wanted to carry out tradition - something he'd never cared for in the past. All he knew was that Isabelle was a proper woman of the times. She probably had dreams of her wedding day and how perfect it should all be, without even knowing she had them.
////////////////////--------------------////////////////////////////
The dress she had selected had been perfect. When Erik finally saw it, he could scarcely breathe. His heart clutched painfully in his chest, almost making him fear he was having a heart attack, like he had when he was still old and . . . ugly. Yet the moment passed, and he realized it was simply the raw emotions of love and awe that ran through him. She wore a beautiful gown that had the vague hint of an iridescent robin egg blue to the satiny folds. She wore a tiara with her veil, much as Christine had on her wedding day, only Isabelle's was a gold tone, and it was studded with cut glass made to look like the stone, aquamarine. Never had he seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. She carried a bouquet of silk roses that matched her dress, and also had a hint of purple to them, making the image of the most beautiful bride ever imagined to be complete.
To his left, Nadir stood in his best clothing, a strapping and tailored evening suit. Erik also wore the same, although his best was from his days as the Phantom. Instead of wearing the black vest under his overcoat, however, he traded it in for a dark crimson, so that he would not remind himself too much of the painful past. To his right, on the other side of the altar of the Notre Dame Cathedral, stood Marguerite, Fleur, Madeline, and Christine, all in stunning violet dresses of satin, with ribbons in lace in just the right places. Just in front of him was Gerard, who stood proudly holding the bright blue pillow that held the rings of the bride and the groom, carefully, watching his balance to keep the rings where they belonged - on the pillow and not lost on the floor. And of course, on the arm of his bride, was her father, Monsieur Develõngê.
"Mon Dieu . . ."
He hadn't even realized he'd spoken aloud until he heard Erik give a stifled chuckle beside him. Yet Erik certainly wasn't ashamed of being unable to control his adoration. He'd never been able to control his love before. He'd watched Christine and thought the same things in the past. This certainly wasn't something he was going to keep hidden. Not on a day like this, when how he felt was the most important part of the whole experience.
Isabelle reached his side, and her father placed her hand firmly within Erik's, holding their hands together between his own for a long moment. Isabelle smiled up at her father as he patted Erik on the back gently, and then moved away. Unable to help himself, Erik lifted his free hand to her cheek, and leaned down to gently press the most uncertain of kisses against the side of her mouth.
"Vous soyez beau." He whispered to her quietly. "Mon Dieu . . . vous êtes si beau."
"Je t'aime, Erik." She whispered in return, before they finally looked up to the priest patiently waiting for them to come back down to Earth and rejoin the ceremony. Smiling, Isabelle blushed, and Erik cleared his throat very softly, taking only half of a step back and away from her. Her hand was still clutched tightly in his, and he realized that at some point, Christine had taken Isabelle's bouquet of silk roses.
Even when they'd rejoined the rest of the guests and participants in the ceremony, Erik became totally lost. He just stared at the woman who was - amazingly enough - his bride.
"Jusqu'á la mort nous pièce." He suddenly found himself murmuring, repeating the monotone words of the priest. When he was finished, the priest said something more, and the entire Cathedral was filled with applause. Blinking, Erik glanced up, startled, then smiled as he looked down to Isabelle, and lifted her veil.
"J'taime." He breathed softly, leaning in to finally kiss the woman who was, of all things, his wife. "J'taime, Madame Genié."
"J'taime, Erik!"
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A/N --- Here they are! The translations!!!!!!
Voeux - Vows
J'taime - I love you
Jusqu'á la mort nous pièce - Until death us part.
Vous soyez beau - You are beautiful.
Mon Dieu . . . vous êtes si beau - My God . . . You are so beautiful
