Author's notes: Phew! I overcame my writer's block quite quickly. Well, not a writer's block, really, I just didn't know if I should go straight to a certain scene or write another thing…­ anyway, this turned up pretty quickly – it took just an hour to write. Enter Nadir, folks! I hope he's IC.

Mademoiselle Phantom – thanks a lot, read on.

longblacksatinlace– Dun dun dun! Fop is there, yes! No spoilers, though!

Enrinye– hey, don't get sarcastic on me, missy, you wouldn't have guessed what was gonna happen if I hadn't asked you if that was a good plotline. ;-) Anyhow, how would you have written the reunion? Aw, come on, Z.! Don't be shy! Post a phic! ;-p

hsibelius – (nods) Yes… but I´ll have him meet Christine again, don´t worry!

Mina – Well, some readers at another site have suggested that I pursue writing as a career… but I'm not sure. Happy ending? Hmm… we'll see. Heh, you and about a zillion other phangirls like to think that. Poor Erik – dead for 150 years and still has a tight schedule. :-)

The Organic Sith – (cheers and celebrates) One of the best reviews I've received – thank you, praise is appreciated. Well, I try to make Raoul more believable as a potential love interest for Christine. I mean, in Kay, he's a brat, but in Leroux, he's a sap. I mean, come on!

Moonjava – thanks, read on!

X X X

Chapter X

X X X X

Sitting in her compartment on the train to the unknown wasn't as entertaining as one might have thought it would be. She lost track of the cities that zoomed past her, the lakes, the roads, the rivers, the forests…

Christine sighed. Perhaps she shouldn't have agreed to this escapade. Traveling to a strange new land could seem exciting and while she was enthusiastic about spending time with Raoul and his older brother, Philippe, who would, if nothing else, at least keep him in check at times, she was also nervous. But that was only natural, right?

After all, she had also agreed to certain compromises that were created for the sake of not this trip seem the least strange. Deep down inside, however, something told her that it was a bad idea to go through with this, despite all the planning.

Hearing a sound from the side, she returned her mind to the present and to reality, looking to see who had just opened the door. Predictably, it was Raoul who entered, smiling when he saw her.

"All right, Lotte?" he asked, frowning slightly when he noticed her weary face. "I hope you're not too bothered by the length of the journey – I'm afraid that's the one thing I can't do anything about. Technology still isn't able to transport us this far in a few hours. But if you would like to get something to eat or drink, the staff will be more than happy to assist you. Or you can sleep, if you like."

Christine's weary smile widened for a moment. He was being far too overprotective after less than a day of traveling. If anyone else would behave that way, she would probably dismiss them with a word of thanks, but she didn't have the heart to do the same to Raoul, who seemed to think it was his duty to protect her. She was unused to the attention, flattering as it was and didn't know how to properly react, so she chose not to react at all… otherwise she would have to roll her eyes – a gesture most unladylike.

Raoul sat down nearby, still concerned. "I know the journey isn't exactly thrilling, but I promise you, you will like it there. I haven't been there myself yet, but the tales I've heard made it seem almost dreamlike, you know."

The response he got was a laugh. "Raoul, if I remember correctly, the North Pole also seemed dreamlike and worth seeing to you."

Feigning a scowl, Raoul retorted: "Well, I suppose I like extremes. Besides, visiting a country with a warm climate for a change will be wonderful. But you have it better than me, Christine – you can go do and see whatever you want to during the stay. I'll be stuck with official paperwork at times." He sighed. "This isn't my favorite pastime, but Philippe is dealing with most of it, so I will get to spend time with you. But I'm certain the locals will be happy to give you a tour or two or entertain you. While we're separated, that is. There is still so much we have to talk about."

"And we wouldn't want to ruin the plan, would we now?"

The frown didn't go unnoticed by Raoul. "If you're uncomfortable with it, Christine­…"

"No! No, Raoul, I realize that it was made to help the situation and I think it's generally a good idea, but…" she laughed a bit, "it simply seems strange."

"I guess it will take some time to get used to it. But it might actually be fun."

"You seem to think of it as a game."

"A role-playing game, I guess, but from a certain point of view, I think that it could be viewed as a game, yes. Why?" he smiled mischievously, "Any rules that I should follow?"

"Just make sure it doesn't get out of hand."

"That sounds like you don't trust me, Little Lotte." He said, mock upset.

Christine laughed. "At games? Never, dear Raoul! Remember that you always kept looking when we played hide and seek. Until I caught you and then always had to double-check."

"Don't worry, Lotte – I will play nice. After all, we are on the same team this time." Raoul noted with a smile.

"And who wins this game?"

"Everyone. And that's the beauty of it."

With a smile, Christine nodded and began searching one of her bags for a book. Her search was rather quick, fortunately – even at the conservatoire, she was known for neat organization of her things and packing was no exception. When not singing or studying, her favorite thing to do was reading. Not that she was a bookworm, but novels allowed her some degree of freedom in time and space.

Contrary to her peers – the giggling girls of the corps de ballet or the shy lasses of the chorus, Christine, always, different, preferred realism to romantism, novels with the possibilities of a real story instead of a happy ending, real people in day-to-day situations rather than the perfect heroes, titans, who were against the society and fought for their dreams.

Currently, Balzac was her favorite author and she eagerly read one book after another from The Human Comedy. Even now, she pulled out Le Pére Goriot, quickly finding her last page. She lost track of time again and barely noticed that Raoul was still in the compartment with her, watching her intensely at times, then shyly turning away, in case she would notice. She didn't, not once, and it was doubtful that it would matter to her if she did. Stares were something she was used to.

Eventually, a tap on the glass of the compartment door and a sigh informed her that Raoul was being called again, presumably by his brother – she couldn't tell, since she didn't wake up. The Vicomte politely excused himself and said that he would check upon her as soon as he was free again, then disappeared.

Christine practically lost track of the journey and the world around her. She couldn't help it, really. This tended to happen to her when she was entranced by something – she just couldn't part with it. Strange, since just a few years ago, she wasn't so determined to read every book in her reach. Another habit gained for the sake of saving her own sanity. She had to keep herself occupied somehow and books were good company when humans had no time to be with her, occupied with their own affairs.

"He went a few paces further, to the highest point of the cemetery, and looked out over Paris and the windings of the Seine; the lamps were beginning to shine on either side of the river. His eyes turned almost eagerly to the space between the column of the Place Vendôme and the cupola of the Invalides; there lay the shining world that he had wished to reach. He glanced over that humming hive, seeming to draw a foretaste of its honey, and said magniloquently:

"Henceforth there is war between us."

And by way of throwing down the glove to Society, Rastignac went to dine with Mme. de Nucingen."

Another book finished, she noticed. There were no more pages left, but it didn't really bother her. The story had satisfying ending… or beginning? But she liked that it was left to the reader's imagination to see how the story continued.

In a sense, it reminded her of her own situation as well. She would probably make a fortune, if she would trust herself to write down the events of the long-past summer and publish them. There weren't prominent female writers in France, but she had heard of the Brontë sisters in England and was looking forward to reading some of their works once she would get the chance. Still, she didn't have the heart to write about the summer in Italy. It would mean remembering too much. And she didn't want to delve into that part of the past, not that deeply.

Perhaps she should switch authors soon, she thought – Eugéne Rastignac had similarities with her. The main major difference between them was that she didn't have the courage to proclaim war on the society. Now it was too late to fight for something she never had… but could have had. Maybe.

Carefully closing the book – one would think that it was made of silk and would tear if she would touch it too roughly, judging by the affection of the gesture – she returned it to her bag, storing it among the rest of the books. She had more than a grand supply of books with her, so she didn't think that there would be moments of boredom during the trip. Besides, if it wouldn't last, she could start over – some things were too complex to understand after a single read.

Almost abruptly, the train stopped and Christine found herself gripping the seat to stop herself from falling forward. She didn't guess they were traveling that fast. Apparently, she had much to learn about the physics of speed.

Philippe de Chagny arrived soon after that, smiling politely when she greeted him. The Count was happy that his brother seemed so overjoyed by Christine's presence, but considered their little plan a bit too… realistic? He wasn't sure what the right word was, but he would have to be keeping a close eye on the boy. As if he didn't have enough to take care of already! He would only have to hope that Raoul still had some rationality left. Judging by the dreamlike gleam in his eyes at the mention of a certain Swedish girl, it was doubtful, however.

"Mademoiselle Daaé," he began.

"Christine, please, Monsieur – remember Raoul´s plan." She corrected him.

A nod. "Very well then, Christine – you should call me Philippe, then – my brother is dealing with the transportation for the rest of the journey. Ready to continue the journey by boat?"

"I have little choice."

"Indeed, if we wish to arrive this week." the Count noted with a smile, "But if you need more time to gather your things, we can wait."

"No – I'm ready." She was already standing up.

X X X

When your presence was constantly required at several places at once, you really had little time to spare. Erik knew that more than most people – as the court magician, an advisor of the shah, the chief constructor of the new palace and God knows what else, boredom was an unknown word to him.

Still, he refused to please every whim of the two leading figures of the country, even if some degree of his freedom depended on them. As long as they would allow him to do what he wanted, he was content, but if it would go too far… recently, he wasn't sure what exactly he would do – he had no time to think about it. But when the moment would come, it would certainly be creative. Crude methods were out of the question.

The only thing he regretted was that he was forced to neglect his music for so long… too long. Then again, music brought back memories. He hadn't sung for weeks now, but thought of it as of somewhat of a fortune. If the khanum would learn of his music, there would be no end to it. That is, if the woman was interested in such things. It seemed that if something was to interest her, it had to be morbid and cruel.

Sensing a presence before any sound was heard, he didn't even bother looking up from the papers on his desk. His apartment in the palace was truly royal, so it was to be expected that the visitor could only be someone the guards were certain he would let in. Thus, it could be only one person.

"I thought you have already left, daroga." Erik remarked, writing down several notes to the designs. He wasn't satisfied with one of the sketches, however, so the paper quickly ended up torn to shreds. "You know, I can bear to exist a day without you on my tail."

"The shah has requested that I stay for a while longer." Nadir noted, as if that explained everything. And it did, really – whatever the shah commanded, he had to do, lest he desired to lose his favor.

"And why, might I ask, are you forced to spend time in the company of a funeral figure such as myself?" he had never quite forgotten the first encounter with the Grand Vizier.

"Actually, I'm not forced to stay in your delightful company." The sarcasm on the "delightful" almost made Erik smile. "I just thought you might want to know that the shah is having an audience with another of the missions tonight."

"Say no more. Only one question – am I supposed to be entertaining the political buffoons or not come out of my quarters for the night?"

"The later would be preferable, I suppose – the shah doesn't request your presence."

"Thankfully." Erik muttered absentmindedly. Not that he didn't have tricks he could show them, but, being caught up in an artistic fury, he really wasn't in the mood to amuse pompous foreigners.

Nadir smiled. "The only other thing is that the shah will probably be discussing the political situation with them and too busy trying to show himself in the best possible light. I don't know how long they are staying, but I suppose…"

"That I won't be required during that time?" Erik finished, "One would think you are trying to get rid of me, daroga."

"Is that even possible?"

Erik chuckled slightly, putting the papers down for the moment and finally looking up at his friend. "I wouldn't count on it. You aren't efficient enough to get rid of me. One of the things I respect about you." He sighed and stood up, pacing for a moment. "I should be done within the hour… if you would be willing to wait until then, could I come with you? I did promise to visit once in a while. I hate going back on my promises."

"I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing." Nadir confessed, watching Erik shake his head in moderate amusement. "But of course I will wait. Reza will be happy to see you again… Allah knows how many times I've heard that doll playing from his room." With that mutter he left the apartment.

Even if he would have turned, he probably wouldn't have seen the small smile the remark managed to create on Erik's face.

The masked man then returned his attention to the designs on his desk, searching through them once again. He wasn't looking for anything in particular this time, just some kind of inspiration. Lately, he had been trying to bring all the ideas together to create one solid concept for the palace, but some designs clashed with each other, some motives weren't suitable… he would probably have to lock himself in his chambers for at least a week to go through them all and sort them.

Finally throwing away another ruined sketch in frustration, he settled on one of the couches in the main chamber, motionless. He wanted to create something beautiful­… something that wouldn't be matched by any palace in the world… the hidden corridors and trap-doors were sure to make it unique, but the outside had to match the ingenuity of the inside. And there was little to inspire him in the poorly constructed city he saw each time he looked through the window.

Abruptly standing up, he decided that the surroundings were completely useless when it came to inspiration. A stay at Nadir's estate could perhaps provide some ideas – he had become close friends with the daroga of Mazenderan, but he still chuckled on occasion when he remembered their long journey from Russia to Persia, which was clearly not to his guide's liking.

The look of shock and outrage on his face was always amusing.

He intended on repaying him somehow, if only for the civility the Persian had shown him during the whole trip, despite seeing his face the first night in Nijni. And helping his son, Reza, whose eyesight and muscles were failing due to a progressing illness was the best way he currently saw.

Gathering what he wanted or needed to take with him, Erik swept through the room like a hurricane and left to search the palace for the daroga – he was ready to get out of the golden cage for a while.