A/N: Major Apology/Confession – I AM SO SORRY! I posted this chapter this morning, but erikfan was kind enough to point out that I had hopelessly botched the Italian phrases. (Erik's Italian may be flawless, but mine unfortunately is not.) Thus, I was compelled to quickly remove the chapter until I could fix the problem. I think this is right now, but if there is someone out there willing to be my consultant for any further Italian phrases I might need to add later on, I would be much obliged.
On a happier note, in this chapter, Fate takes a kinder turn and Nadir comes to the rescue! EC fluff is now in sight! BTW – I have been to Florence. I can not nearly do it justice in my description. If you ever have the chance, do NOT hesitate. It is the most beautiful, romantic, magical place on earth. PS – See if you can catch some of my Erik "phantasies" creeping into the first few paragraphs.
sunfire-moondesire: Good point about the "dirty ham" thing. Sorry to disappoint you by not allowing Erik to commit another murder. To make it up to you, in this chapter you will get a hint of the loads of EC fluff on the horizon. It won't be long now!
ilustgerik: Well said.
phantomann: Sorry! Although I wrote a good deal of this chapter last night, I wasn't feeling well, so I didn't get it posted. But you will be happy to know that Fate is also capable of good surprises, such as where our dear Erik unknowingly chooses to reside. (You will understand after reading this chapter.) And as for Jacques, he was fortunate. Ever since Christine's kiss in the lair, Erik has been gradually pulling from the darkness and emerging into the light that she has shown him. I think now, the only way he would kill again would be to protect Christine. That part of his life is thankfully behind him.
draegon-fire: Yes, Fate has been a cruel mistress to the two, hasn't she? Erik indeed should have questioned Raoul's motives more closely. But Raoul found his two areas of vulnerability: Christine and Erik's insecurities. It is easy for Erik to believe that Christine would fear him, because everyone else does and even he, in some sense, fears his own darkness. Besides, he is not willing to take even the slightest risk of hurting Christine. So, he does the only thing he thinks he can do, which is give her up once more.
Hearts Aflame: Thanks! I am glad you "luff" it!
darklady5289: Erik is always very original. Glad you are enjoying the fic!
lafemme540: "Gifted One" – that is quite a title. I will endeavor to live up to it. Glad you liked the "comedic tint". Erik does have a wicked sense of humor. (Think of his notes to Andre and Firmin.) I try to let it show occasionally. And Nadir is allowed a freedom to tease Erik just a tiny bit because he has earned Erik's trust over the years. But notice that even he does so safely from another country! And you answered your own question: Why do the two not notice the page of the letter on the stable floor? Because the title of the story is "When Fate is Denied", that's why!
xxphantomphanessxx: Nadir will save the day: that is what will happen! Read on for the answers you seek. PS – Don't pull your hair out yet. Thanks! I try to update once a day whenever possible to keep the drama alive.
Captain Oblivious: Careful with that sword! You wouldn't want to accidentally decapitate your friendly author, now would you? I love too that Erik chose to punish and humiliate rather than to simply kill him as you said. And in reference to my comment last chapter, it does seem as if our Erik has reached a turning point where he can no longer kill "without a thought," even when it might be justified. (See my further comments above to phantomann.)
TheQueenSarah: Yes, I know how much you love this guy, because I myself have been head-over-heels for him since I first saw the movie. I fall a little deeper every time I write about him. Could there be a more hopeless plight than being in love with a fictional character? I share your pain. (Sniff) I think he does understand that it was not only his face that keeps him from her. He speaks of being afraid to taint her with his evil and darkness as well.
Pertie: Remember though, Erik is missing out on some vital information. He still believes Christine is married to Raoul and living in France. Nadir to the rescue!
Twinkle22: Fate is indeed fickle, and now at last She is about to take a more favorable turn. Read on. PS – No need to thank me. It is my job to clear up any misunderstandings that I unwittingly create.
Jema Moda: Thank you, dear. Sorry to make you nervous, though that was my intention with the title. You are right. Our Erik has moved beyond the point where he can "kill without a thought". It is beneath him. But you have to admit, Jacques got what he deserved. And as I explained to our mutual friend phantomann earlier, I think I am able to find Erik's mind so easily because I am thoroughly and hopelessly in love with him. Though he is such a complex character, he is by far the easiest for me to write, isn't that strange? Someday, I may write a fic entirely from his perspective. I bet you would have no trouble, once you got started. Your comment that I make him the Erik you all imagine him to be is the highest praise you could have given me, so thank you!
Kagome1514: Yes, "stupid Jacques" truly got what he deserved for messing with our lovers, didn't he? I found his punishment quite amusing as well. George got off fairly easy, but he wasn't as involved in the treachery. Erik was fair, in that respect.
xo-little-lotte-xo: I am pleased that you saw the humor I attempted to create. EC fluff heading our way!
Sabrina Fair: Ooooh, I know. That is my favorite of Erik's personas too. Glad you will be hanging out with us for a while!
Ch. 13 – Fate Receives a Nudge
Erik wiped the sweat from his brow, looking with satisfaction at his work. The garden was coming along nicely. With the combination of gentle spring rain and fair Italian sun, he would have a wide variety of fresh vegetables available to him by midsummer.
Though he had never kept a garden before, he found he rather enjoyed the work. It provided occupation for both mind and hands, and he found that his body, which had always been lean and strong, had now taken on an even more defined, muscular appearance. Because his villa was located in a secluded area high upon one of the many rolling hills surrounding Florence, there were no prying eyes to see him as he worked without shirt or mask through the heat of the afternoon. The Mediterranean sun had turned the skin of his upper body a rich golden-brown and seemed to ease the burdens on his mind and heart.
Erik felt safe here, as he had never dared to feel anywhere else. Perhaps it had been advancing age, or simply a weary soul that had convinced him to settle permanently far sooner than he had originally planned. He had been uprooted so many times throughout the first forty years of his life. For the remainder of it, he wished to have one single place to call his own. Starting out fresh in a new city, with his past sins long behind him, he felt a sudden desire to know something of a normal life before his years upon earth were ended. The first time he had set eyes on this place, something about it had called to him, whispering that here he might find a true home at last.
He remembered clearly his first view of Porto Dell'Angelo. It had been early morning and the dew still clung to the greenery of the grounds. The bright fall sunshine set off the tiny spheres of water like a thousand sparkling diamonds against the velvety green of its luxurious foliage. The house itself stood tall and aristocratic, wrapped in a rambling portico, with the rusty color of its tiled roof sharp against the soft cornflower of the morning sky. In front of the villa sprawled a lush front lawn which sloped gently toward the edge of the hill. It was surrounded on three sides by the tall, slender cypress trees that characterized the muted Tuscan landscape. By far the most striking feature of Porto Dell'Angelo, however, was on the southwest side, where the line of the trees abruptly ended, and the soft curve of the hill sloped sharply downward to reveal a striking view of the magnificent city below.
Just beyond it, Florence stood like an elegant bejeweled lady with the lofty dome of Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore as her crowning glory. Its glorious rounded peak shone golden, lit by the sun above the gentle veil of purple mist blanketing the valley.
Erik had stood entranced for many moments that first day, drinking in the peace and beauty of the site. In the distance, he had heard the sound of church bells tolling softly the morning hour and something profound had swelled inside his chest. He had always been drawn to Florence. The city was beauty and music incarnate, and Porto Dell'Angelo was a front seat to her daily performance. Erik had purchased it immediately without a second thought.
A great deal of renovation had been required in order to restore the villa to its current pristine condition, but he had relished the challenge and the opportunity to put his various architectural and construction skills to use. Now, after six months of painstaking work, the villa and grounds had surpassed even their own original glory. The outer facade of the house had been freshly painted a soft shade of creamy white and the shutters around its many windows, a brilliant blue. He had filled the flower boxes below each window sill with a riot of carefully tended magenta flowers, and had added a beautiful cedar bench to the front portico. Immaculate hedges and large clay urns full of bright flowers in exotic colors and fragrances decorated the lawn.
Erik could not help a trace of a smile as he slipped on his mask and reached for his shirt. Just as he moved to slide the gauzy white fabric over his shoulders, however, he thought he caught a faint movement out of the corner of his eye.
She was back again - the little dark-eyed girl from the vineyard down the road. It was odd. Although he had little experience with children, this one seemed strangely drawn to him, often peeking out at him from behind the bushes.
Not wishing to scare her off, he finished buttoning his shirt, pretending that he had not seen her there. Casually reaching over to where he had left his half-finished lunch, he produced two oranges. Seating himself on one end of the cedar bench, he placed the first orange on the bench beside him, and began to peel the other for himself. With a smile, he watched out of the corner of his eye as she hesitantly approached, eyeing the fruit hungrily, and then his face.
At last, she stood shyly in front of him. The girl was an undoubtedly pretty child, with large dark eyes and thick brown hair that fell in waves down her back. She appeared to be somewhere between four and five years of age and had the mocha-skinned beauty that was so typical of the Italian people. Today, she wore a red cotton sun dress covered with tiny white flowers and little white sandals on her feet.
Erik smiled warmly and motioned to the seat beside him. Her face immediately lit up in a wide grin and she picked up the orange, hopping easily into the space next to him. They sat in silence for several moments, enjoying their treat. Finally, Erik could hear her sucking happily at her sticky fingers and knew she had finished. He laid out a napkin on his lap and showed her how he wrapped his orange peelings inside it. She carefully copied his movements, doing the same with her own. Then she hopped down to leave.
Studying him for a moment, she asked suddenly, "Come ti chiami?" Erik smiled and pointed to his chest, "Mi chiamo Erik". She nodded, flashing him a brilliant smile. "Rosa," she chirped, pointing to herself. She turned and began to disappear over the lawn, calling back over her shoulder, "Grazie, Erik!"
"Prego!" He called back. "You are welcome."
Erik felt strangely elated that he had at last earned her trust. He had little patience for adults, with their selfish motives and unfair prejudices. But this sweet child was somehow able to see beyond his face and sense the lonely man within. That fact had touched an unexplored frontier in his heart. He imagined he would never have a child of his own, but if he did, he hoped for a little girl much like Rosa, who would look up at him with wide trusting eyes as if he held the keys to all that was magical in the world. Erik continued to smile as his blue-gray eyes followed her down the dusty road and around the corner out of sight.
"You never told me you had such a way with children, my friend." Erik broke from his reverie at the sound of a familiar voice. Turning toward the opposite end of the road, he saw the care-worn, copper face of his trusted friend. "Nor that you could speak Italian as easily as French."
"Daroga! You managed to find the place, I see." Erik smiled widely and walked over to him, extending his hand.
Nadir grasped his hand firmly in both of his own, shaking it fondly. "Yes, though you might have warned me of the climb. At my age, such a thing could have killed me." He studied Erik for a moment. "You, however, certainly look fit enough to chance it." His smile broadened as he took in the health and well being that radiated from his friend. He had never seen Erik looking so relaxed and content. Certainly the combination of Florence and Christine had done wonders for him.
Erik and Nadir walked back to the house, chatting amicably. Once inside, Nadir observed curiously the white washed walls and high ceilings with their exposed rafters of rich, dark wood. The furnishings were simple, but elegant in an array of exotic woods and the familiar jewel tones that Erik had always been particularly fond of added to the room's warmth and richness. Most surprising of all, Nadir found that every window was open wide, allowing the gentle Mediterranean breeze and warm spring sunshine to flood the house.
Nadir lowered his pack and shrugged out of his long traveling robe, seating himself at a small table as Erik busied himself in the kitchen. "All is well in Paris, I trust?" Erik asked, as he began to slice the various brightly colored vegetables that he had obtained earlier from the small farmer's market at the base of the hill.
Nadir nodded. "It seemed to be so when I left. What is it that you are doing?" he asked curiously.
Erik gave him an impatient look, "Cooking. What does it look like?"
Nadir chuckled. "Another one of your many talents that you have never felt it necessary to share with me, I gather."
Erik shrugged. "I never felt much urge to try it up until now."
Nadir gave him a searching look. "I sense many changes in you, my friend. You seem...content. I assume Christine is the reason?" As he said the words, he glanced around the room for some sign of her presence, but seeing none he quickly began to doubt his own words.
Erik paused for a moment. His face was turned slightly away from his friend, but Nadir could see a flash of pain move across it. "Why would you say that?" he asked slowly.
Nadir was perplexed by his obvious error. "After my letter, I naturally assumed you went to find her. When you wrote me of the home you purchased in Florence, I was certain that you and Christine would be living here together." He had not meant to cause Erik further pain, but he felt his assumption had been a logical one, given what he knew.
Erik turned away and resumed slicing, albeit it with a bit more force than was necessary. "Obviously, your assumption was inaccurate," he said quietly. His knife continued with its rhythmic beat against the cutting board.
Nadir stared at his back in stunned silence as Erik finished his preparations and lit a fire in the stove, setting a large pot of water to boil on its surface. On the other side, he placed a flat saucepan and dropped the sliced vegetables into it, listening to the satisfying sizzle.
Nadir was incredulous. He had been so sure when Erik had mentioned Florence that he and Christine had found each other at last, but it now appeared that something had gone horribly amiss.
"Erik, have you spoken with Christine since my last letter?" he asked carefully.
Erik stopped his movements and braced himself against the counter, staring out the window. "No."
Nadir was astonished. "Why ever not? Did I not make it clear that she wished to speak with you?"
Erik whirled around, his patience failing. "Yes, you made it most clear, Daroga," he hissed. "However it seems that you had conveniently forgotten a number of relevant details. For example, the fact that Christine is married and living with her beloved husband in France, a country that I have forever banished myself from because my hideous countenance nearly drove the woman I love to end her life."
Nadir remained unfazed by his sarcasm. "Erik, did you read my entire letter?"
Erik sighed, his momentary anger giving way to weariness. "No. I had the unfortunate experience of quite nearly being robbed by the men I hired to deliver it. Part of the letter appeared to have been lost in the process."
Nadir nodded in sudden understanding. "Ah, now I see the reason for our mutual confusion," he said softly.
Erik turned back to the cupboards and began to withdraw two glasses and the necessary silverware. Setting them on the countertop, he reached up for the plates.
After a moment's thought, the Persian decided that Fate had had her way with these two people long enough. It was time to give Her a little nudge.
"Christine has not been married for quite some time now, Erik," he said gently, "and she has been living here in Florence these past two years." Nadir watched as the hands of his friend that had been removing a variety of dishes from a high cupboard paused in midair. "She writes to me quite often, and always she asks of you."
Erik's heart seemed to stop beating for nearly a full minute upon hearing the Daroga's words. He lowered his hands and turned to search Nadir's face. He could see the truth of the Persian's words twinkling in his dark eyes.
When he finally found his voice, he whispered, "She is here?"
Nadir smiled. "Yes, my friend. Your Christine is the lead soprano of the Teatro Comunale, though I understand she is known by her stage name, rather than her given name here in Florence."
Erik felt his legs would give out beneath him. He left the plates on the countertop and sunk wearily into the second chair opposite his friend across the table.
"All this time, she has been here and neither of us knew the other was but moments away," he whispered. He wasn't entirely certain whether to rail at Fate for playing such a cruel joke or to thank his lucky stars. He remained quiet for many moments. Finally, he lifted his eyes to those of his trusted friend. "Nadir, what do you think I should do?"
The Persian was touched by his question. Erik had never before sought his opinion on any matter, and the fact that he would do so now concerning something as dear to his heart as Christine, honored Nadir greatly.
He leaned across the table to lay a wide, calloused hand on Erik's shoulder. "I think you should purchase a ticket to tonight's Opera, my friend," he said with a grin. "I hear the new Prima Donna is particularly enchanting."
