Author's notes: Since you're being oh-so-very-helpful (yeah, I know you're doing it on purpose :-p), I've decided to write it as I wanted to from the beginning and make it more dramatic. This will be a unique plotline, I can assure you of that. Oh, and the first part of this chapter is based completely on Kay, I hope it's good.
starnat – I've thought of that, actually. Well, I never said Luciana was very bright.
Sandra –thanks for the encouragement.
Moonjava – (bows)
h. sibelius – (innocently) Evil? Me?
longblacksatinlace– Hmm…. No, no spoilers! Here it is!
Enrinye – Dead Luciana means good Luciana
X X X
Chapter IXX X X X
He was dreaming again.
Or remembering, if you could call picking happy memories, scarce as they were or adding happy endings to the sadder ones that. There were pleasant dreams of music, laughter, and a smiling angel.
In his nightmares, she turned into her cousin all of a sudden, just as he was almost able to reach her, screaming and backing away in fear. Then the ground would open and swallow her. In worse cases, he would see her broken corpse, now with the face fully retransformed to Christine's. Sometimes he had to remind himself that she was alive and probably happy, far away in Europe, presumably in Paris.
Five years. Seasons and months fleeing, repeating themselves constantly. And he wandered around the whole continent, once again a magician, a ventriloquist, a singer… but he was also forced to break the promise he had made to himself and show his face on occasion to the eager crowds. His songs soothed them, however, so at least they no longer screamed in terror at the mere sight of him. Not that it mattered much anymore. He learned, slowly but surely, to detach himself from it, thinking of Christine when it came to the worst.
She would be 18 now, he mused, and would soon finish her studies at the conservatoire. Paris had no grand opera house, however, so he assumed that so talented a singer would move to a more artistic city later on – perhaps London, which wasn't that far away. And Christine was a quick learner, English wouldn't be a problem for her. Unless, of course, one of the suitors that were bound to be circling her by now had already claimed her hand in marriage.
The very thought made him clench his fists in rage. The image of Christine married, giving up the stage and expecting a child or already with children that would belong to some pompous foppish fool who was completely unworthy of her was more than enough to awake the desire to kill said fool within him.
For the sake of his own sanity, he decided to think of something else at last, otherwise the next person that would walk in (which was highly improbable, since there was no one within miles that would dare disturb him) or the next person he would meet would end up with a broken neck.
He decided to consider the proposition of the Persian… "messenger" he had received just minutes ago. "Messenger". He chuckled at that. No one sends the chief of police merely to deliver a message, certainly not when it's supposed to be a polite invitation. Then again, if the shah the daroga mentioned was at least half as pompous as Erik imagined him to be, he could have been at least a bit grateful for the courtesy the Persian had shown. Could. That was the keyword.
But, he returned his thoughts to the proposal itself. After all the miles he had crossed during the last years, Persia really didn't seem that far away, since Nijni-Novgorod was quite close to the Caspian Sea and from there, it wasn't a long journey. If you traveled by boat, that is. And that was out of the question – he refused that adamantly before even acknowledging that he chose to accept.
He recalled the offer – wealth, money, power… and then his own words, which he instantly repeated to himself.
"No man can give me what I want… not even the shah of Persia." He whispered. No one could bring his angel back to him or change his face.
The following evening proceeded entirely as the one before… and the one before… Crowds awed and amazed by his talents, tricks both old and new, but they didn't seem to care the least if they had seen what he had shown before – they were like Luciana when it came to this. The enchantment was too strong for them to resist and the fascination too great. Seeing the laws of the physical world challenged and defeated, defied, they truly believed that his skills weren't natural and that he was gifted these things by some supernatural entity, be it God or Satan.
The performance was over all-too-soon in the opinion of the hungry crowds, who, covering the floor with coins, demanded, called and begged for more entertainment, more illusions, more magic.
Already expecting this, Erik couldn't help sounding tired of the never-ending greed as he turned away and proclaimed: "You have seen all I was prepared to show today."
His words had little effect, predictably. The crowds were too excited and passionate now, too demanding. They refused to go. Moreover, realizing that he was probably telling the truth and there were no other tricks and illusions they could see tonight, they demanded the one thing that drew most of them there.
"Show us your face!" they shouted, "Show us your face, Erik, and let us hear the Devil sing!"
The tale of the wonders he created was already seemingly far-fetched… but now that they saw that it was all too true, they wanted to confirm the whispered rumor they heard from whoever had already seen the haunting performance that was unlike anything they have witnessed before. They wanted to see.
Almost subconsciously, his hands clenched into fists and he stiffened a bit, struggling to control his rage. Of course he knew they would want to see. Everyone did. Everyone demanded to see. The reason he was enraged was that he couldn't possibly refuse, as much as he would want to. Oh, he could murder whole the crowd one by one without problems – weakness, be it physical or mental, peered at him from every corner. Numbers weren't an issue. For the sake of his own survival, however, he couldn't.
Survival without struggle meant money. Money meant power. Power meant… everything. And if he was to end this performance without causing even more of a commotion than his face would, he had to oblige.
It took only one fluid yet forceful moment before he held the mask in his hands, his face bare for everyone to see. The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife, but he refused to acknowledge it. Weariness overcame him and his shoulders fell, quite the opposite of the straightened king-like stance. Age seemed to run past him and the years he didn't even have a chance to live fell on him. It was a way of recognizing defeat.
Christine… what would she say now? Would she still think of him as her Angel, if she would see this. The agony he was experiencing was the one thing he refused to show the crowds tonight. Memories of Christine gave him some strength. If defeat, then with grace.
And he began to sing, imagining that the tent was empty, that he was no longer there, but somewhere else – it didn't matter where – and Christine was once again sitting nearby, listening to his music. Each word consisted of nothing other than what he knew he lacked the strength to say otherwise back then and there was no power in the world capable of turning back time to help him correct the mistake.
But, as the song slowly neared its end, his acute awareness returned and sight reminded him that he was still in a Russian town, singing not for a little angel, but for a crowd, which he loathed and despised. They were undeserving of any more "amusement".
There was nothing but silence when he stopped singing. Weeping people seemed to remember where they were and what was happening. They were remembering to breathe and think. In a sense, he was content. Perhaps there had been too much sadness in the song. If he had pushed them any further, quite a few could have had an emotional breakdown. Yes, his pride had been avenged, in a way. Underestimating the power of his voice was most unwise.
Then, when the crowd finally left, he returned the mask to his face, oblivious to the face that his hands were shaking or the presence of the Persian daroga, who lingered to wait for his answer, if there would be an answer tonight. He barely even noticed that he closed his eyes as he replaced the mask, a pained whisper of Christine's name escaping his lips, so faint that it barely caught Nadir's attention. The Persian frowned slightly at the sound of the name, but the physical change that transpired right before his eyes pushed any pondering on it away.
Weariness faded away from the man before him, as did decades of mental age. Once again, he was young.
Almost frowning, he glanced at the daroga and was quickly assured that the Persian was indeed expecting an answer to his query. He didn't desert the answer he had prepared.
X X X
Applause was roaring wherever she looked.
Bowing, she relaxed slightly. It was the end of the performance, finally. Her last performance here, at the conservatoire, it seemed. She was graduating soon, a very successful student, and would be taking a few days off before attending the celebration of the other students. Then it would be time to consider what she would do now.
The crinoline she wore was long and heavy. Fortunately operatic singing didn't require running around the stage. Thus, she had gotten used to it… mostly. It wasn't very good for avoiding would-be-suitors and admirers, however, so she had to run off almost immediately after taking her bows, straight to her dressing room and lock the door. Really, ever since she sung at that premiere three years ago, they were like wasps. They never left her alone.
Most of the others were already used to this, so they were glad to help her out whenever necessary. It became a custom for her to escape the dressing room through the window (not impossible, since it was the ground floor), most often in a boy's clothes. She was hardly recognized in a barrette, with her hair hidden underneath it and dressed up as a young street urchin, anyway.
Today, it was different. She knew she wouldn't be able to escape that easily, since it was probably the last time she was at the conservatoire… at least, as a student. But, along the way, she was pulled to the side by someone vaguely familiar to her. In the semi-dark, it was hard to determine who it was, but her protests were silenced as she heard a tune clearly easy for her to recall.
"Little Lotte let her mind wonder. Little Lotte thought, am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes?"
"Or of riddles or frocks?" she continued, a smile appearing on her face. If her guess was correct…
"Or of chocolates?" The man finished, clearly smiling as well.
"No, what I love best, Lotte said, is when I'm asleep in my bed." She almost stopped for a moment, because she knew the following line all-too-well. "And the Angel of Music sings songs in my head."
Five years. Yes, it had been that much time since Erik had vanished from her life for good and she had to return to harsh reality. The Angel of Music was gone for good – after so long, she doubted they would be reunited. Then again, miracles could happen… after all, she had been so close to losing faith in her father's stories when, all of a sudden, they became true.
"I hope you haven't lost your scarf again, Mlle. Daaé. It would be hard to find it now."
Christine, returning her mind to the present, found herself laughing. Oh, she remembered the boy who rescued her favorite red scarf from the sea. A childhood friend and sweetheart, you could say, even though it had been so very long since they had met for the last time.
"Raoul, it's so lovely to see you again!" she embraced him without a second thought, just as she did back when they were children.
The Vicomte de Chagny smiled and stroked her hair lightly, equally happy to see her. Frankly, he wouldn't have recognized the beautiful singer as his Little Lotte, if he wouldn't have read the list of the cast for tonight's performance. And he was glad he did.
"You've grown so much, Little Lotte." He noted, still smiling as he released her, "Look at you now – a fresh prima donna, with all that goes with it! I was almost afraid you wouldn't recognize me, with all the suitors chasing you."
She waved that off. "Nonsense!" Though, she had to admit that he had changed as well, grown more handsome, but still kept the boyish look about him. The truth was, she probably wouldn't have noticed him, but it wasn't polite to say that. "I'm glad to see you after all this time. We have much catching up to do!"
"Indeed. How bout we start with a dinner?" he asked, smiling mischievously. Now that he had Christine back, he wasn't just about to let her slip away again. Besides, while he didn't know if it still remained mutual, he still viewed her with the same affection as he did as a child.
If only to avoid the rest of the mobs shouting "Daaé! Daaé!", Christine agreed.
Naturally, only the most expensive restaurant in town was suitable for such a grand reunion and the pair soon found themselves laughing at funny stories, remembering things and telling each other of what they had been doing during the time of their separation.
Raoul spoke mostly of his formal priorities as a nobleman, but, knowing that it could bore the young girl, he often stopped to talk about his siblings, his parents, or anything more interesting than simply business affairs. Christine talked about her life as a student, her family – or rather, what remained of it now – skipping only one summer. She didn't view it as something she needed to tell Raoul, partially due to the fact that his reaction was predictable, since he obviously grew beyond viewing her just as a little girl, partially due to the sadness of the memory.
She didn't cry anymore at the thought of what had transpired, but still felt grief ever so often. It might seem natural that a young girl would want to forget the events as soon as possible and put them behind her, but Christine remained true to what she had promised. She had devoted herself to music… and its Angel. This devotion made her refuse all potential candidates for an affair. She was confident in her solitude, even though she wished, not without feeling a pang of jealousy at the thought, that Erik had found love and happiness wherever he had disappeared to. God knew well he deserved it more than anyone else.
"Christine?" Raoul´s voice brought her back to reality. "Have you made any plans for the future, now that you've finished your studies at the conservatoire?"
She began fiddling a bit with her fork, but continued to eat nonetheless, keeping her eyes on her food. This was taking a direction she didn't like. "Well, not any definite plans. I mean, I wanted to continue singing, naturally, but there's no real opera house here, so I would probably have to move to another city. I don't know if I'm quite ready to leave France, but London sounded nice…"
"Nothing definite, then?"
"No…" she frowned, "Why?"
"Well, you said yourself that we had a lot of catching up to do. I think you will agree that one night isn't quite enough time to make up for all that we've missed." A nod. "I know this might be a little forward, so don't take it the wrong way, but I was wondering if you have any plans because I would like to invite you on a little holiday. With me, of course."
"What is this about, Raoul?" Christine asked, lowering her fork.
He looked around and leaned forward a bit, almost conspiratively. "My brother and I have been approached by the government concerning a favor they would like from us. It concerns a diplomatic journey – nothing dangerous, there's no need to worry." He added when he saw her stiffen. "A diplomatic mission, but it would be for more than one holiday, perhaps, because the journey there is long and the journey back isn't really planned for a definite date…"
She laughed a bit, interrupting him. "Raoul, let me hear it, it can't be that bad – you don't have to keep avoiding the subject. I may be a girl, but I promise I'll not faint or swoon."
Raoul smiled. "Very well. I would like to take you with me, if you would be interested in seeing some exotic places, that is. I would deal with everything, you would just have to brace yourself for a long journey and possibly a long stay."
"And the destination? Do you know the concrete place? You didn't mention that yet."
He nodded. "Indeed, I wanted to surprise you." Judging by the look on her face when he named it, he supposed he did.
X X X
A/N: Alas, Z. convinced me that doing the Fop would be a challenge, and I love challenges, so yes, he is here!