A/N: Thanks very much to the reviewers. I appreciate your comments.I would
like to clear things up for the one who has been confused (*wink*) I have
often thought that the age of Erik is either irrelevant or meant to be
ambiguous. Therefore, I really didn't think that it was necessary to
provide the age. But, now that you mention it, I think that in this
chapter, I'll present a deeper description of Erik. Why the heck not?
(Giggle) He's a handsome fella' (giggle again) Thank you for your
thoughtful comments.
The Baron slowly unlocked the door, careful not to disturb his guest. He heard not a sound from the dark room. It was past ten o' clock, and he was sure Erik would be up, but the heavy curtains were drawn, the bed's curtains as well. He crept into the room, and noticed that the bed hadn't been slept in at all. But, there in the corner, was Erik, huddled up to the wall. The Baron sighed.
"Erik? Please, wake up," he gently prodded the jumbled form. Erik awoke, startled, and inched away, a hand covering his masked face. Realizing where he was, the hand retreated to its resting place on his lap. "Did you sleep well? From the looks of it, I'd say not."
"You. . .locked the door," Erik said simply.
"For your safety. There are thieves everywhere, and I wouldn't want them to alarm you."
He nodded, and stood up. The Baron took note of his appearance. He was not too tall, but he had strong shoulders, and a fine, aristocratic stance. He looked young, his exposed face not touched by the lines of age, his eyes youthful. Of course, there was the other half of his face. . .
"Would you care to join us for the mid-morning meal? There is plenty of clothing in the bureau; you may take whatever you like. But, I'd like my tailor to make some things for you, if you don't mind," the Baron chattered easily. He pushed back a length of blonde hair with a daintily white-gloved hand. "I shall expect you?"
Erik narrowed his eyes before answering. He still wasn't sure. Something inside of him, an instinct, told him that the Baron wasn't what he seemed. But, another part of him wanted to trust, wanted to accept his gifts and hospitality.
"Yes, you can expect me to join you."
**
The ladies and the gentlemen of the court gathered for the mid-morning meal. It was a tradition to wake up after the sun was up, to dress in the latest fashions, and flirt with a prominent visitor. These were the daily goings-on at the place. All in all, the Baron was very bored.
He sat at the head of the table, looked down his nose at the expanse of food. There seemed to be a great bit of gossip going on between the ladies. They sipped coffee and tea, some sipped brandy, as they waited for Von Ulrichstein to commence the meal. But he, in turn, was also waiting. And he was becoming greatly impatient.
"Baron," Edwin smiled haughtily. Edwin Firthim was a close friend. He had been an advisor to his parents while they had been living, and remained an advisor to him. "When will your guest be coming down to breakfast?"
"How many times have I told you, Edwin, call me by my first name. You are like family to me!" He flashed a charming smile. "And, as for my guest, he is set to be arriving any. . ." As if on cue, Erik appeared at the doorway. There was a torrent of gasps, a flood of whispers. He seemed to ignore them, and instead sat at the end of the table. The Baron nodded to him, grateful at his arrival. His company twittered in excitement.
Edwin was the first to speak up, "Welcome! Please, my interesting friend, tell us your name."
Erik held back a sardonic reply, and offered his name willingly. Several waited for a last name, but he didn't supply it. It was Edwin who asked him other questions. He answered as best he could, leaving out bits and pieces of his life, until he had fashioned something that resembled the life he'd lived before his capture.
"You've had a charmed existence, Erik," the Baron smiled, knowing better than to reveal the truth. "And, you are welcome here always. You may eat, now."
They filled their plates with pastries, fruits, pies, and thick breads. Erik watched as they slathered on mountains of butter and syrup. His stomach turned. He swallowed a bit of tea, and took a bite of a piece of bread. Edwin watched him carefully, wiping away a blotch of cherry sauce that decorated his cheek.
"Aren't you hungry? I'm sure your journey was long."
Erik turned to him, biting back his eagerness to lash out at him with an acerbic comment. "Surely, but I'm afraid that the voyage has left my appetite a bit uneasy." Many watched him carefully as he spoke, bewildered, perhaps, that he could speak. He was dressed admirably, and he was freshly groomed. He knew that they were interested in him because he looked to have money.
"Tonight," the Baron began jauntily," there will be a wonderful performance. My friend Erik is a brilliant composer, and he will be the entertainment for this evening."
Erik's head snapped up. Entertainment? So, he was to play his music for a group of prattling twits.
"Baron? I'm afraid that I cannot play for you tonight. I haven't brought my violin."
"Oh, I think you are mistaken, friend. I have a lovely one for you. And you will play," there was a menacing look in the young man's eyes. He truly meant it, and Erik was hopeless against his wishes in front of such powerful people. He drank some more tea, and tried to finish his bread, but his appetite just wasn't there.
**
He went back to his room, and crawled into the bed. It was unusually comfortable, and he wasn't used to it. So, he decided to go back to his space on the hard, wooden floor. Still, he sank into the coldness of it, welcomed the dark nothingness that consumed him once more. There had been nothing but manipulation since he'd arrived, and yet he didn't think he could leave. That same instinct that had warned him before was rising again. This time, he knew that it was dangerous to try to leave.
The Baron slowly unlocked the door, careful not to disturb his guest. He heard not a sound from the dark room. It was past ten o' clock, and he was sure Erik would be up, but the heavy curtains were drawn, the bed's curtains as well. He crept into the room, and noticed that the bed hadn't been slept in at all. But, there in the corner, was Erik, huddled up to the wall. The Baron sighed.
"Erik? Please, wake up," he gently prodded the jumbled form. Erik awoke, startled, and inched away, a hand covering his masked face. Realizing where he was, the hand retreated to its resting place on his lap. "Did you sleep well? From the looks of it, I'd say not."
"You. . .locked the door," Erik said simply.
"For your safety. There are thieves everywhere, and I wouldn't want them to alarm you."
He nodded, and stood up. The Baron took note of his appearance. He was not too tall, but he had strong shoulders, and a fine, aristocratic stance. He looked young, his exposed face not touched by the lines of age, his eyes youthful. Of course, there was the other half of his face. . .
"Would you care to join us for the mid-morning meal? There is plenty of clothing in the bureau; you may take whatever you like. But, I'd like my tailor to make some things for you, if you don't mind," the Baron chattered easily. He pushed back a length of blonde hair with a daintily white-gloved hand. "I shall expect you?"
Erik narrowed his eyes before answering. He still wasn't sure. Something inside of him, an instinct, told him that the Baron wasn't what he seemed. But, another part of him wanted to trust, wanted to accept his gifts and hospitality.
"Yes, you can expect me to join you."
**
The ladies and the gentlemen of the court gathered for the mid-morning meal. It was a tradition to wake up after the sun was up, to dress in the latest fashions, and flirt with a prominent visitor. These were the daily goings-on at the place. All in all, the Baron was very bored.
He sat at the head of the table, looked down his nose at the expanse of food. There seemed to be a great bit of gossip going on between the ladies. They sipped coffee and tea, some sipped brandy, as they waited for Von Ulrichstein to commence the meal. But he, in turn, was also waiting. And he was becoming greatly impatient.
"Baron," Edwin smiled haughtily. Edwin Firthim was a close friend. He had been an advisor to his parents while they had been living, and remained an advisor to him. "When will your guest be coming down to breakfast?"
"How many times have I told you, Edwin, call me by my first name. You are like family to me!" He flashed a charming smile. "And, as for my guest, he is set to be arriving any. . ." As if on cue, Erik appeared at the doorway. There was a torrent of gasps, a flood of whispers. He seemed to ignore them, and instead sat at the end of the table. The Baron nodded to him, grateful at his arrival. His company twittered in excitement.
Edwin was the first to speak up, "Welcome! Please, my interesting friend, tell us your name."
Erik held back a sardonic reply, and offered his name willingly. Several waited for a last name, but he didn't supply it. It was Edwin who asked him other questions. He answered as best he could, leaving out bits and pieces of his life, until he had fashioned something that resembled the life he'd lived before his capture.
"You've had a charmed existence, Erik," the Baron smiled, knowing better than to reveal the truth. "And, you are welcome here always. You may eat, now."
They filled their plates with pastries, fruits, pies, and thick breads. Erik watched as they slathered on mountains of butter and syrup. His stomach turned. He swallowed a bit of tea, and took a bite of a piece of bread. Edwin watched him carefully, wiping away a blotch of cherry sauce that decorated his cheek.
"Aren't you hungry? I'm sure your journey was long."
Erik turned to him, biting back his eagerness to lash out at him with an acerbic comment. "Surely, but I'm afraid that the voyage has left my appetite a bit uneasy." Many watched him carefully as he spoke, bewildered, perhaps, that he could speak. He was dressed admirably, and he was freshly groomed. He knew that they were interested in him because he looked to have money.
"Tonight," the Baron began jauntily," there will be a wonderful performance. My friend Erik is a brilliant composer, and he will be the entertainment for this evening."
Erik's head snapped up. Entertainment? So, he was to play his music for a group of prattling twits.
"Baron? I'm afraid that I cannot play for you tonight. I haven't brought my violin."
"Oh, I think you are mistaken, friend. I have a lovely one for you. And you will play," there was a menacing look in the young man's eyes. He truly meant it, and Erik was hopeless against his wishes in front of such powerful people. He drank some more tea, and tried to finish his bread, but his appetite just wasn't there.
**
He went back to his room, and crawled into the bed. It was unusually comfortable, and he wasn't used to it. So, he decided to go back to his space on the hard, wooden floor. Still, he sank into the coldness of it, welcomed the dark nothingness that consumed him once more. There had been nothing but manipulation since he'd arrived, and yet he didn't think he could leave. That same instinct that had warned him before was rising again. This time, he knew that it was dangerous to try to leave.