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Chapter XXXVIII

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Despite how their journey had ended, despite not being able to set his first home on fire, Erik felt a kind of peace, knowing that the worse was over. He had finished an era of his life and could now start a new one. However, he didn't intend to go back on the demand he had made before they had even left Paris – Christine was to say her goodbyes as well, to her father at the Perros cemetery. However unwillingly, she had to admit that it was only fair of him to ask as much, after what she had put him through, thus Perros had been their next destination.

The artist's grave was simple, but the letters spelling out his name carved with care into the cross that marked the place of his rest. There Christine, ashamed that she wasn't properly dressed for the occasion, made the sign of the cross and knelt at the grave, for a moment only thinking. She had never thought that she might be saying goodbye to her father for long, because he had been a most crucial part of her life. Now it was time to ask his forgiveness for not having come for so long and explaining everything. Erik stood a behind her at a respectable distance, almost like a statue.

"Hello, Papa." Christine whispered with a shaky smile. "I…I haven't been here for so long… but you know that, don't you? You see me, you are with the angels. And yet you took the time to send the Angel of Music to me. I didn't think you would." She confessed. "But I'm here to say… goodbye. I am leaving Paris again, if only temporarily… to get married. But I won't be neglecting my stage career. Would you believe it? Marriage won't mean the end of my singing – a miracle. I know it's your doing and I thank you for that more than you can imagine. Thank you… for all."

She stood up, crossed herself once more and turned away from the grave. Erik followed her silently like an obedient shadow. They didn't speak until they reentered the city and even afterwards, Christine immediately went into her room in the Parisian apartment and gathered what belongings she believed she needed for the journey. She needed only to enter, however, to spot a change in her bedroom – a full-sized mannequin wearing a spectacular mass of silk, chiffon and satin that formed a grand wedding dress, complete with a crown-like veil with floral motives.

She didn't need to ask herself how it had gotten there.

Erik was waiting for her in the main hall with the treasures he had managed to salvage from Persia and the musical scores he had managed to write in his hands. When she closed the door behind her and he spotted her, the papers slipped from his fingers with uncharacteristic clumsiness. Christine quickly lowered her suitcase on the nearest chair to go and help him, but Erik quickly stepped between her and the mess.

"No, leave the papers, leave them!" he hastily said, stopping for a moment to look at her with a delighted and transfixed stare. At once, like a cat, he was on the floor collecting the papers with quick fluid movements. He was back on his feet almost before Christine had a chance to object. He looked at her again, with some disbelief, in the good sense of the word. Christine looked down with a slight blush.

"They say it brings bad luck if you see the bride before the wedding." She said, now regretting the decision to wear the dress right away.

"Nonsense, my dear. There is nothing I consider bad luck right now unless if the dress doesn't fit you. Are you feeling comfortable? Aren't the laces too tight? I had little to work with and little time… hopefully, you're satisfied with it." He seemed like a student trying to please his teacher.

Christine smiled kindly as she looked up. It would be very pleasant to hear that new tone of delight she heard in his voice more often… hopefully, every day from now on. They wasted little more time, but Erik insisted that he would carry the entire luggage downstairs to the carriage. Christine, who wore a cloak she had found over her dress, only had to seat herself back into the carriage and make herself comfortable.

Within ten minutes, they were in front of the Giry household. Fortunately, Christine knew where the ballet mistress and her daughter lived, as many ballet dancers went there to have their twisted ankles looked at by Madame Giry, who probably knew all there is to know about ballet. Erik himself suggested that this was a visit Christine might want to make herself. She approached the door and knocked, softly at first, then with increasing noise. She persisted until there was a light visible in the window and, finally, Madame Giry opened the door.

"Mademoiselle Daaé!" the elderly woman exclaimed, but then hushed herself. She was still in her nightclothes, with a robe over them. "What are you doing out here at this hour? Has something happened? Tell me, child!" She looked the girl up and down and suddenly noticed the white of her dress that was gleaming in the paling moonlight. She almost felt the urge to cross herself, but waited for an explanation.

"Madame, I apologize, but my need is great." Christine said urgently, "The night is almost over and by morning, I no longer wished to be addressed as mademoiselle. But I need two people to be our witnesses."

Another pair of footsteps came into the room and a yawning Meg appeared in the doorway. She woke up almost instantly at the sight of Christine. "Christine! What are you doing here? What's going on…?" she, too, spotted the white of the dress and gasped audibly, her hands flying to her mouth. "You are married?"

"No, Meg, go and dress yourself." Madame Giry quickly commanded. She turned her gaze back to Christine. As a very smart woman, Giry was quite certain that if the petite mademoiselle's chosen had been the Vicomte de Chagny, she certainly wouldn't have asked her and her daughter to witness a wedding in the middle of the night. "Notre Dame never sleeps, with luck, we will wake a priest there." Meg understood and vanished in her room.

Madame Giry frowned briefly. "I shall ask no questions, dear, but am I to understand that you wish to keep this private?"

Christine nodded. "If possible, for now, Madame."

"Say no more. Wait a moment." Giry closed the door and went to get some clothes herself. As she vanished, Erik leapt to the ground from the carriage, almost soundlessly. He frowned at the door, but, seeing Christine's delight, he pushed away any kind of doubts. If these women were good enough for Christine, they would be good enough for him.

"You trust them?" he couldn't resist asking. "Trust them not to talk about what they will witness? As I understand it, Little Meg Giry is the storyteller among the corps de ballet."

Christine looked at him quizzically. "How do you know?"

"I simply do, that is enough. But I suppose perhaps we could trust them. After all, will anyone believe that their star agreed to marry a masked man, a phantom?" he said, with slight irony in his voice, "Perhaps I should start haunting the opera house to add authenticity to the tale."

Christine was saved the need to reply by the opening of the door. Meg emerged, fully dressed in her best, and her eyes immediately rested on Christine's companion. Her eyes lingered on the mask briefly, but Christine was alarmed to see in her eyes the same fascination which had cost Luciana her life. Erik's eyes, however, still held a tinge of distrust, which seemed, along with the arrival of Madame Giry, to remind Meg of her manners. Madame Giry locked the door, spared Erik a curious glance and allowed him to help her and Meg into the carriage. Christine climbed in after them.

In a manner of seconds, the carriage began moving once more. Neither Meg nor Madame Giry asked any questions, as they were both surprised and curious at the same time, but couldn't find the correct words and Christine's calm behavior assured them both that she was fully aware of the presence of the mask, but didn't make the slightest remark to either of them, as if such a thing was natural, therefore no questions could be asked – Giry understood that it was a sensitive matter and Meg was enthralled by the mystery of the whole midnight encounter that she didn't want to spoil any surprises.

It was Giry´s brisk manner and the way she had gotten some of the priests at the church to awaken that had awarded her quite a lot of plus points on Erik's peoplemeter. Once they entered, she wasted no time and immediately went to search for the nearest priest. She managed to drag out an elderly man, still in his nightclothes, and their arguing echoed throughout the magnificent dome.

"…at dawn, why in the world would you want a wedding in the middle of the night? Madame, it is against the rules…"

"The house of God isn't an office which has its business hours, father. The couple wishes to marry now, without prying eyes."

"Oh, very well, very well. But do they have witnesses, are they dressed for the occasion? If not…"

"Everything is prepared."

They had finally arrived, Giry clutching the arm of the sixty-something year old priest who straightened his crucifix as he stopped in front of Erik, Christine and Meg. He first looked at the tall dark man, who seemed most foreboding, though almost least of all because of the mask he wore, then at the pale but clearly joyful bride at his side. He raised his eyebrows and straightened his glasses. Perhaps he would wake up in the morning and this would all be just a very strange dream. Yes, that would be it. Well, if the dream demanded that he marry the couple, who was he to object? Dreams were heaven-sent… if only the man's eyes didn't gleam like one would expect the Devil's to shine… but this was a dream, clearly a dream…

And God had never stated that the Devil had no right to have a bride.

The priest moved in front of the altar and the other four followed as he began positioning them quickly. Once he would be back in his bed, the dream would be over, yes…

"Dearly beloved," he began, quickly picking up a leftover Bible he spotted somewhere. "We have gathered here today – or rather, tonight – to witness the union of these two children of God…" he stopped for a moment, unaware of the names of either of the couple.

"Erik Destler and Christine Daaé." Erik interjected at once, unwilling to waste time. His own name, the full name, sounded truly strange to his own ears. He had never used his mother's surname – there was never any need. After all, in the good and bad meaning of the word, he was truly one of a kind. The priest would have nodded a thank you, but he looked up instead. Had God himself just told him the names? He felt the urge to cross himself. But then again, in dreams, all was possible.

"Erik Destler and Christine Daaé in the bonds of holy matrimony. If anyone has objections as to why these two shouldn't be united, let him speak now, or be silent forever." But there was no one else in the church, no one to object, so the pause he made was slightly embarrassing.

Personally, Madame Giry thought that even asking whether the two wanted to marry was a waste of time, because she saw a full blind and unlimited devotion spread across Christine's face as she said her yes and saw a similar feeling flash in the eyes of Erik, which seemed completely different when looking at the girl at his side. More… human.

"You may kiss the bride." Proclaimed the priest at last, and wearily, sleepy-eyed, pronounced them man and wife before anything happened, wearily slouching towards his quarters at once. This certainly had been a strange dream.

Christine herself took off the mask Erik wore, but he subtly managed to turn his back towards Meg and Madame Giry, and the ballet mistress restrained her daughter, just in case her curiosity won over. Later, when Christine was thanking them at the door of their home, Madame Giry only smiled. She told her chattering daughter a quickly invented tale of how Christine wanted to keep her career safe from the press and, by not allowing anyone to see the face of her groom, she secured that.

It had earned her a thanks from Erik, though he kept his distance from her, and an embrace from Christine, who promised that in time, they would return to Paris.

Madame Giry was a very rational woman. She knew well when it was wiser not to ask.

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The next day, the Vicomte de Chagny almost barged into Christine's apartment, but found a message for him at the door. It was written by Christine, there was no question of that, but he remained wary.

Dearest Raoul,

I am sorry that you had to go through so much on my behalf. I am no captive, as you have believed – and if love is my jailer, then I am glad. I am very happy with Erik, don't fear for me. I will return to Paris in time, to the opera house, to continue singing. I will never forget how you saved my scarf or how you wanted to save me. You will always have a place in my heart, as my beloved friend.

I will write as soon as I can.

Your little Christine

Raoul was perplexed. His memories of the previous night were a bit cloudy, but he remembered that Christine had cared for him, Christine had stopped that… that man from ending his life. She had some measure of power over him, some control. Perhaps she was right and she was free. But she left no address, nothing­… except the note of goodbye. She said she would return. He could and would wait, he was certain of that.

He left the building and returned to the opera house to go over the newest schedules with the managers. Apparently, Christine had requested a temporary leave of absence, so while Carlotta had her tantrums, they would perform ballet and operas where a contralto had the lead role.

Never had the arts interested him less than that day. His thoughts returned to Christine, where she might be. One thing he knew – she was alive and maybe, just maybe, happy. He would simply have to wait.

May the angels in heaven watch over you, Christine.

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The journey by carriage took slightly longer, but it was also more comfortable and more private than the journey by train would take. Christine took up the habit of sitting in the front, next to Erik, rather than inside the carriage, where they now placed their luggage. Most of the time, she now wore a traveling dress or the more casual outfit of a street urchin she still had with her from her days of being the runaway prima donna. Erik found it amusing that she dressed as a boy at times, but also refreshing that she was allowed to breathe easily, free of a corset.

They didn't attract any attention on the roads, traveled mostly by night, resting during the day, but the carriage was almost always moving. Christine expressed her concern that Erik didn't seem to sleep at all, but he dismissed it immediately. Ghosts needed no sleep, he had joked, and Christine, though smiling, understood that she had been overruled.

It had been her choice of destination that they go back to Rome, for several reasons. She had persuaded Erik thanks to the reason that Rome was the Mecca of architecture – a fact he couldn't deny. He, however, suspected what she wanted to ask of him, and he knew that had she not already dragged him to heal one wound of the past, he would have resented her deeply for the request. However, it seemed impossible for Christine to sever a connection with a living member of her family, one of the last, and it would be wicked deceit if they would allow a lie to overcome them.

Therefore, the day they arrived to Rome was the day they arrived at a familiar old street, stopped at a familiar house. When Christine jumped out of the carriage and ran into the house, Erik looked down and considered running away again. But Christine wouldn't follow him and his life was meaningless without Christine, the one member of the human race who was different from all of the other cruel creatures.

Christine ran up the stairs straight to the rooftop garden. She knew she would find him there, because his letters suggested vaguely that he had never quite gotten over the incident, not even as much as Christine had managed.

The plants for which Erik had cared so many years ago while Luciana neglected them were still there, blooming. The sun was not yet setting, but it was still late in the afternoon. And on the hand-carved stone bench, which was still in its place, as it had been many years ago, sat an elderly figure which Christine recognized immediately.

"Who is there?" Giovanni asked, slightly shakily. His arthritis had gotten much worse and his hair was now completely grey. His eyesight and hearing were failing slightly, but he didn't care any longer. Except the brief moments of summer when Christine occasionally visited, there was nothing to fill the empty days except remembering…

"Uncle Giovanni, it's me, Christine." She said, quickly bypassing the bench and crouching in front of him with a sincere smile. The old man looked at her, his eyes focusing greatly, and wanted to make a move to embrace her. She was quicker, however, and leapt up to embrace him, to spare him any pain the movement might cause him.

"My little Principessa, I wasn't expecting you this early." He said quietly when she withdrew. "You have caught me unprepared, but your room is as it always has been, prepared."

Christine drew a breath. "Uncle, please, come with me. Someone is waiting for me downstairs that you must meet… and I doubt he will be willing to come up here."

"You have brought someone?"

"Someone you have been expecting." Christine nodded.

A frown crossed Giovanni's old face, but he stood up as quickly as his muscles allowed him, a little faster when Christine moved to support him. They moved towards the stairs and then descended. Giovanni did his best not to burden her too much with his weight – he could walk, but far slower and less secure than he used to. They stepped off the last step and Giovanni could finally look up, no longer needing to pay close attention to where he stepped. Christine had been the first to sense a pair of eyes watching them and she inwardly hoped that this encounter wouldn't require that lasso Erik carried around.

Erik stood in the middle of the room, his hands grasping and twisting the hem of his cloak slowly, the only thing that revealed his anxiety. In that moment, he had a great urge to run, to forget this had ever happened­… it was worse than going to his mother's house, because there, he hadn't known anyone would be waiting…

Giovanni truly believed his eyesight had given out and his mind had succumbed to memories. Christine let go of his hand once she was certain of his balance. The two men simply looked at each other, but Erik lowered his gaze with visible shame. Christine now stood at his side and gently nudged him closer. He didn't move.

"Uncle… I… I think you know my husband." Christine said, her voice losing strength with each syllable. Giovanni looked at her slowly, disbelieving, almost convinced that this was purely a dream or hallucination. There was only one way to convince himself of the opposite.

Slowly but surely, he moved towards Erik, who remained as still as a statue, but showed every sign of wishing that he could run. The few agonizing seconds passed and Giovanni raised his twisted fingers towards Erik's mask. Only the grasp of Christine's hand prevented instinct from taking over. However, Giovanni simply placed his hand on the side of Erik's head. And what he felt was real, because his hands could still feel! Eyes could be deceived… perhaps ears wouldn't…

"Erik?" the old master mason asked, choked, barely audibly. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes now that Erik managed to briefly look up before once more glancing at the ground in shame, as if prepared to be punished.

"Sir." he said very quietly, unmoving.

Giovanni needed no more confirmation. Even with his weakened limbs, he was able to draw Erik closer and catch him in a shaky, teary embrace. And Erik, seeing the forgiveness of the gesture, wept as well, though he didn't dare cling to his former guardian. But whatever walls he had build for himself to protect his pride from the blame that would be surely bestowed upon him at their encounter vanished when he heard the sobbing whispers.

"My son… my son…"

Christine stood beside them both, silent, watching as they eventually withdrew and Giovanni turned his tearful gaze at her. He didn't say anything – he didn't need to. Quickly, he embraced her as well, as if willing to show all the gratitude in the world in the simple gesture. Once he let go, he took one hand of each of them in his own and brought them together with his own.

Together they wept of joy – their dream had been allowed to descend.

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Fin

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I hope you enjoyed the wedding scene and the fact that the Girys were there – I really wanted them as witnesses. As for Raoul, I thought he had to be included, if only slightly.

I would like to thank all of those who read and reviewed this story – I greatly appreciate it. This is truly the end, but never fear, there are more phics I shall write. One of them, Keep it a Mystery, is already being written, I shall start the second soon. Thank you for your support, your reviews, your love. To think that this story sprang from the smallest of ideas I had while lying in my bed and doing nothing… it turned out to be better than I expected.

Thank you.

Zerbinetta