Author's Note:

Thank you so much to all of my reviewers! I love you all, but have probably lost everyone, due to my incredibly busy life leading to my inability to type fanfics. I know I promised to update a long time ago, but it was either sleep and keep my sanity or this. (oh wait, it was just sleep, I don't really have my sanity any more….)

Maître, you are crazier than I, begging your pardon, but in my opinion (and yours I think) that is a compliment. How in the world have you written 85 pages? You seriously need, and I mean need, to get an account somehow. Talk to your mother, something…. Love you anyway, and absolutely love the fic, especially fluff!

Disclaimer:

I own most things here, except Erik. See this chapter is purely original. (At least I think so.)

Chapter 7: En Route to a Surprise

Erik stumbled out of the bushes, hurriedly wiping the tears from his eyes. He ran towards the voice of Brother Timothy, who was down the hall searching in a side corridor.

"Ah, there you are! I've been searching for you since morning mass!"

Erik forced a smile onto his face. He didn't want to have to answer the inevitable question of "what was wrong" if he didn't. He didn't feel like reliving the past few moments, especially to Timothy, and it would lead to odd questions about why he had concealed himself behind a statue.

Erik was infamous at the monastery for his uncanny ability to hide anywhere. The monks could never conceive why he did it, and, at first, would barrage him with questions when he was found. Erik had never answered them, and never would. The monks finally desisted and let it remain a mystery. Erik could keep his secrets, and he wanted to.

Erik felt as if he had been hiding his entire life. He found this solitude a mixed blessing and curse. Alone, Erik found sanctuary from the stares; he did not truly need the mask then, but it would remain just the same, as if welded to his scarred flesh. There was a degree of comfort that he could derive from solitude and his mask alone.

Erik looked up at Timothy, who was still a few feet taller than him. "So—what is it?"

"It's a surprise! You wouldn't want to ruin it." He paused, a slight grin showing. "Knowing you, you would. Because you decided to run off, you get to stay in suspense for a little while because we have to go back across the entire monastery to the library."

"A book?" Erik prompted, now fully interested, and thankfully distracted from the earlier events.

"I won't tell, so stop guessing. Oh little Erik, even though I'm only six years older than you I'm not as naïve as you hope me to be." Erik shook his head, a real smile on his face this time. He had known it wouldn't work, but it was always worth a try, and, as the monks reiterated many times, he was too curious for his own good.

They began to plod along in silence. Erik was practicing walking as quietly as possible, when a thought struck him. He broke the silence. "Umm… Brother Timothy?"

"Yes Erik?"

"I've been wondering… Who are my parents?" Timothy stopped and stood stock-still. He looked down at Erik, trying to hide a frown.

"I was told by some of the older monks that this would happen eventually, and they preferred me to spin the tale of finding you orphaned on our doorstep. I can't do that to you, but you must swear that you will not tell that I told you. I think you're old enough, but no one else does. Do you swear?"

Erik stared at Timothy solemnly, unblinking. "I swear."

"Very well. But we'll have to take a longer route to the library, in order to avoid any interruptions." Erik nodded, body tense with anticipation. One of the mysteries of his life would finally be solved.

Brother Timothy glanced around quickly turned a side passage. He took a deep breath and began in a quiet voice.

"About nine or so years ago is when you first came to us. You were an infant and in the arms of a young, but bedraggled woman, your mother. Only she and the Lord know the identification of your father.

"Your mother had long, flowing dark hair, and dark eyes. I especially remember the eyes. They were vacant and soulless, as if some dark tragedy had taken away everything and left her a living corpse. She was sullen and gaunt; a perpetual frown was the only thing that lived on her face. She had the mien of a beaten puppy. Her hair was unkempt and dirt was streaked across her entirety. Any beauty she had hitherto possessed had vanished, stolen by the world. Only a spectre of the human she had been remained.

"The babe she cradled to her breast was wrapped in a thin cloth, and to our incredulity was masked. She clutched him, not with a loving mother's care, but as if it was her duty to hide it hide it from the world.

"Though I was younger than you are now, I remember that day very clearly. I was running an errand for one of the monks, and was passing by the main gate, when I realized that it was open, and that the gatekeeper was speaking to the very woman I just described. I overheard her muted pleas.

" 'I beg you sir, I beg you for sanctuary for this child and I.' "

" 'Of course, one moment.' The Gatekeeper turned, and seeing me passing by, called me over.

" 'Timothy, could you go and gather the elder and tell to meet in the welcoming room.' I nodded, and ran quickly through the halls, looking in all of the obvious places for the eldest monks.

"It took the better part of an hour due to the immensity of the monastery, and the many intricate passages, created to induce solitude. I finally found the last monk, and collapsed at the back of the welcoming room,

"The elders gathered around and took their seats, staring at the young woman. She had curled up (as much as she could in the straight-backed chair) a figure of timidity, seemingly disconnecting herself with the child she still held. She glanced up fearfully at the imposing row of monks, who more resembled a panel of judges than a welcoming committee. Such was the tradition of the monastery. The only payment for refuge was your story.

"The eldest monk stood. 'My child, what is it that that has brought you here?'

" 'Well, the child…my child…' She stopped, seemingly at a loss as to how to explain herself.

" 'Just start from the very beginning please.' "