A/N: I wanted to give you guys something to get through the holidays. The story is coming to me slower and slower. I can't figure out if I'm just having trouble working out the logistics of each upcoming scene, or if I dread bringing this story to a close. At least I'm happy with the final result – so far. Happiness to boost all your spirits for Christmas! (Happiness is not something I write particularly well, in case you haven't figured that out yet.)
Congratulations again to Sissie131, for sending in the winning (and only options) for an engagement ring that Erik might give Arabella. Unfortunately, given the limited choices, I had to scour for one I personally felt better fit this story. I will definitely keep it in mind, though, for any future writings!
The last time he'd sung her to sleep, Erik had barely known Arabella. On that night, she'd been little more to him than an uncommonly kind girl that arranged for him to be more comfortable in otherwise horrendous surroundings. He'd wanted to repay her kindness, and found himself quietly relishing the weight of her body within the circle of his arms. At the time, he'd felt nothing personal involving the situation; just a detached sort of sadness that anyone so kind might suffer so terribly… and a bittersweet pleasure that he'd at least experienced a woman willingly placing herself in his care and enduring his touch; if only that once.
Now; after all the traumas she had suffered, while irrationally afraid of hurting her wounded body further, he felt so much more. He didn't have to be physically holding Arabella to feel the exact same level of bittersweet pleasure and happiness. As he hummed a melody - one he thought came more from distant and ghostlike memory rather than his own imaginings – and stroked back her hair, he watched the tiny twitches of her closed eyelids and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. In spite of the damage done to her body he knew she was probably in much less pain than she had been the first time (at least while she was still).
The door opened behind him, and Erik glanced over his shoulder to see the doctors' wife.
"My husband says that your wife needs a bedside nurse." She told him in quiet Spanish. Although she kept her voice carefully neutral, he could sense the tension in her body. During his endless lullaby, he'd heard snippets of argument from down the hall and the floor below. No one in the family was particularly happy to have gypsy and freakish strangers in the house – including the Doctor himself. But all either agreed that it would be unchristian to simply throw them out, or had been cowed into subservience by the more dominant family members. "You have an errand to run?"
"I do." Erik acknowledged, slowly rising from the edge of Arabella's mattress and facing the woman without daring to meet her gaze. His unusual height brought the stout and average heighted woman only to the center of his chest; but he'd learned deference at a young age. He also recognized that if he were one of her sons, she would probably be a terrifying figure; and didn't see the point in disillusioning her of her matronly intimidation. "Please, I ask that you do not leave her alone with any of the men of the house. She would be frightened around strange men."
The woman nodded simply and walked over to a desk situated beside Arabella's bed. She was matter-of-fact as she pulled out the chair and seated herself as though prepared to wait with unblinking eyes until doomsday - if that was what was necessary.
Reluctantly, Erik left Arabella in the woman's no doubt capable hands.
He needed to return to camp and reassure Tsifia that her granddaughter was alive and reasonably well. He needed to tell her of Arabella's acceptance of his proposal so that she would tell him the proper steps he must take next to marry her. Then; after he'd claimed the money that would pay the doctor for his professional assistance, he had one last thing to procure.
It was the one thing he knew Arabella might not understand – since he already knew it was something most gypsies did not include in their traditions – but he felt his engagement simply couldn't be considered complete without it.
In spite of the remaining concern for Arabella's questionable health, he felt very light as he made his way through town. He could almost ignore the disgusted and wary looks from strangers who passed him by. He was most of the way to camp before realizing he wasn't merely passing many of these people anymore; but that they were all coming and going to the same place he was. They were probably looking to spend a day procuring entertainment from the gypsies… but he was not going to be one of their oddities. Not today.
Tsifia was slumped in front of her tent, looking utterly defeated and exhausted when he reached camp and told her the at least somewhat good news about Arabella's physical status. She immediately seemed to lose several years of age, knowing her granddaughter was going to recover… and gave him a tired but genuine grin when he admitted that she had accepted an official proposal. Erik left her for a few minutes with the news and went into his tent to retrieve as much money as he dared carry with him back into town.
"Madam…" He hesitated outside Tsifia's tent, looking at the old woman as she sipped at what looked and smelled like burned coffee with the consistency of mud. He realized by the smell alone just how exhausted he was and sunk to the ground at her side while in hopes she'd take mercy and pour him a mug of the sludge. "Would it be offensive if I offered Arabella an engagement token from the traditions of my society?"
"Of course it wouldn't be offensive." Tsifia chuckled bitterly. "You aren't Romani, Erik. I don't expect you to be able to conform utterly."
Erik shook his head derisively.
"If the mask didn't make me stand out, I could master being a gypsy so well that you'd never know the difference." He stated; perhaps a little haughtily.
She waved a dismissive and unbelieving hand at his arrogance.
"Go on." She scolded. "No matter what clothes you wear, or what language you speak, you are not a gypsy. Everything about you screams 'outsider'. Go on and do what you need to. We'll arrange the Romani side of things when you've brought my girl home to me."
Having carried out his errand back at camp, Erik wasted no time whatsoever returning to town. The first thing he managed to hunt down was a peddler on the street selling what would easily pass as dicklos. He didn't know when he and Arabella would officially marry, but he wanted his wife to stand out at least slightly… wanted her to be able to feel proud of being married to him. He wanted her to feel luxurious, even if it was only due to the material of what she wore on her head.
He knew she would suffer for being with him. No matter his joy in the moment, he hadn't become blind to the prejudices that would surround them for life. They would be ridiculed, ostracized, and perhaps even treated violently if they crossed the path of the wrong people. No one in the camp would be happy about their union, and his face alone would make people think the worst kind of things when they saw "the Beauty and beast" together.
Once he'd procured the head scarfs, he began browsing jewelers; ignoring the best he could how instantaneously aggressive and rude the shopkeepers became. He simply gave anyone who tried to harass and run him out a swift glance of the heavy purse hanging off his belt, and they managed to gnash their teeth together as they battled their disgust with their greed.
"There." He told the sixth merchant he visited, having become quite disgusted with the official high end jewelers. He reached out toward a ring settled on a brown piece of velvet, smiling broadly at the very thought of it on Arabella's finger. "Name your price."
He didn't even bother to haggle at the merchants' obnoxious pricing; although he worried the doctor might be displeased with his final payment. It was probably more than he'd have deliberately charged a member of his own community, but Erik was fully aware that he and Arabella would have been considered special circumstances. Those always cost more.
Being an outsider always cost more.
Arabella opened her eyes slowly, aware of dim light to her right and a strange raspy kind of sound even before she opened her eyes. She didn't have enough experience with books to recognize the turning of pages until she saw it happening… but in the moment she simply recognized it as an unobtrusive and comforting sound. Stifling a moan of pain as she shifted in the bed and began cracking her eyes open, she recognized the glow of a lantern… although she supposed in houses they were called lamps.
Whatever movement had been occurring before her body shifted stopped instantly. There was a mild anticipatory tension surrounding her at once, and her eyes shifted to one side warily. Her eyes instantly popped open, and she tried to bolt upright in spite of the stitches in her stomach that screamed in protest.
Erik was sitting in a simple straight back chair, one foot lying idly on top of his opposite knee in a gesture of casualness he rarely possessed. A book lay open across his propped knee, one hand holding it open and the other propping up his chin and cheek as his elbow rested on the edge of a night stand. What startled her the most, however, was the fact that his mask wasn't on his face at all. Instead, he'd placed it on the night stand where his elbow rested, leaning against the flickering lamp which produced most of the dim but adequate light in the room.
He'd never simply stood or sat unmasked before her before… not since he'd been given the option of wearing a mask. Usually when she saw him unmasked, it was in front of a crowd of strangers that all but made him squirm with discomfort and disgust. She usually averted her gaze as much as possible during those moments, not wanting to be grouped in with the people who humiliated him so much every day. Although repulsive in appearance, even to her, Erik's face had always drawn her eye… and now that she loved him it was hard to keep from wanting to devour every single inch of his skin with her gaze. She was constantly hungry for the sight of the man who said he loved her, as though seeing his naked face was the only real proof she had that he was real… and not a figment of her imaginings.
"Easy…" Erik jerked so violently at her attempt to sit up at the book fell off his knee and hit the floor with a thud. He reached for her with a comforting but restraining hand, pressing her by one shoulder back onto her pillow. With his free hand he instinctively reached for his mask, as though sensing her shock had something to do with its' absence. "I'm sorry. Did I frighten you? Settle down, Bella. You'll be all right."
She grunted in continued pain, but reached out to take his wrist as he almost pulled the mask up to his face.
"Don't." she protested simply, whimpering not only because of the pain but because her view of him had been much too short. "You didn't frighten me! I just… I hadn't expected… you've never…"
Erik blinked at her botched attempt at explaining herself, and then reluctantly released his hold on the mask. Slowly, he settled back into his chair but pulled it closer to the edge of her bed. His wrist slid easily out of her grasp so that they instead held hands, and his fingers squeezed her gently.
"What is it?" he pressed, after giving her a moment to gather her thoughts.
Arabella took a deep, relieved breath.
"You never let me see your face." She admitted softly. "It … usually just happens."
"Well…" Erik fidgeted slightly in his seat, apparently having been sitting in that chair for quite a while. There was stiffness to his back as he leaned toward her. "I remember you said something about that last night. I wasn't really sure if it was just a distraction so that you could hurt yourself without my interference… or if you meant it."
"I meant it." She assured him. "I wasn't trying to trick you… I just… needed to take the opportunity with the knife when I saw it; and was distracted… I didn't see any other way."
Her eyes narrowed slightly in realization.
"But it wasn't very nice of you to test me by just sitting there unmasked without even a clearing of the throat to warn me."
She could tell he was chagrined. His head tilted forward and to the side in a way that implied a not-quite ashamed and certainly unrepentant little smirk. There was slight embarrassment, but no actual regret.
"Well… I decided to consider what you said seriously." He stated unnecessarily. "Because I didn't realize you wanted me unmasked for yourself. All this time… I thought it was just…. you being you; trying to make me feel comfortable when it had nothing to do with your own comfort."
She watched him a long time as Erik thought how best to word his emotions. She could always tell when he was fishing for the right words. Slowly, he touched his mask with fingers that seemed to tremble slightly.
"This was never meant to keep you out, ma belle." He whispered. "Out of everyone I hide my face from… it was never meant for you. You've looked at me without flinching so many times that I didn't stop to realize it wasn't just because you'd grown accustomed to it."
He gave the hand he held another squeeze.
"The mask was not made for you, mira kom." He persisted. "If it makes you happy… I don't need it when we're alone. You're the only one that can make me forget that I need it at all."
He lifted her hand towards his lips as though to kiss it again, but Arabella's arm stiffened as the movement of her hand made her suddenly aware of a pressure on one finger, pressing into the tender and puffy tissue just beneath its' base. For the first second or two, she thought perhaps she'd cut herself on the knife the night before without realizing it, and the pressure of her hand moving a certain way brought it to her attention. Then, just as she was prepared to overlook the sensation, something glinted in the lamp light and she realized she wasn't injured…
Erik had placed something on her hand while she was sleeping.
He froze at the tension in her arm, although the way his eyes glinted at her proved he knew exactly what her revelation had been.
It was a ring... Erik had given her a ring.
Slowly, Arabella pulled her hand out of Erik's grasp and turned it so that the lamp light glittered off the jewels. The ring itself was of some dark rose gold… fashioned to look like peacock feathers…
No… she realized suddenly, one corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk of appreciative humor at the apt symbolism. They weren't from a peacock. By the slight variation in the shape, she realized they were phoenix feathers; the head of each which were embedded with tiny glimmering jewels that shone like flame. She didn't know her jewels very well, but surely the ten red ones must be rubies. The other eleven… she didn't know.
"What are the orange stones called?" she asked curiously.
Twenty one jewels! She felt dizzy at the thought of what such a trinket must have cost Erik. Even if they were made of nothing but cut glass, and she was only imagining the worth of the ring… it was a spectacular piece of art. She doubted there were many others like it in the world. It was unique… just like Erik.
"It is called Citrine." Erik murmured quietly, very slowly leaning back in his chair and resuming his casual position – this time without the book on his lap. "Do you like it? I know it's a bit heavy for a ladies hand-"
"It's beautiful." She interrupted quickly. "Don't you know that all traveler women have a penchant for large jewelry?"
He snickered; a sound that wasn't altogether new for him; but it still startled her because there was absolutely no sarcastic derision or bitterness in it. There was nothing but amusement.
"You are not all traveler women." He pointed out. "You rarely wear jewelry of any kind."
"I wear it when I perform." She reminded him. "But I never had much to wear on a regular basis. My performance bracelets and earrings get in the way of normal activities."
"Will this be in your way?" he demanded, eyeing how the fiery ring took up a majority of that segment of finger.
"No… I don't think so." She mused; flexing her hand experimentally. Slowly, her eyes rose to meet his. She'd all but forgotten the gift of seeing him unmasked before her; she was so dazzled by his more expensive one. "Why did you do this?"
"It is custom for gaje men to offer their women an engagement ring." He stated, leaning forward over his knees. "You may not be full gaje, Bella… but my blood always will be. I have this annoying desire to place a recognizable claim on you that outsiders will clearly understand – just as your dicklo will be a recognizable symbol to your people once we're married."
"Oh…"
She'd all but forgotten their conversation before her long restful sleep. She'd had so much medicine in her system that everything from those minutes seemed to have a dreamlike and foggy quality. But apparently she hadn't dreamed their rather abrupt engagement. At once, she smiled and felt warmth sinking into her every pore. It felt as though no horror could ever make her grow cold in terror again.
"I've paid the doctor." He said abruptly. "He's arranging for me to take you home in a cart, so that you won't have to walk or sit up for too long. I'll pull you to your grandmother, and then return the cart in the morning."
Arabella nodded distractedly, amazed at how giddy staring at her ring made her feel. She heard every syllable he spoke, but arrangements for her return to camp seemed utterly unimportant.
She belonged to Erik now…
For once… the idea of belonging to or with someone didn't feel at all dreadful.
It made her feel safe… treasured…
Loved…
She closed her eyes as Erik replaced his mask, both of them recognizing the sound of approaching footsteps.
I am loved!
She'd known for a while now that Erik loved her… but it had never really sunk in. She'd been too afraid to accept it as simple fact; even though she'd been determined to embrace it. Now that he had sat by her side after what she'd done to hurt not only herself, but him as well, she didn't think she'd ever need proof again.
She wondered just how lenient her grandmother would be about the marriage arrangements. In spite of what would undoubtedly turn into an awkward wedding night, Arabella was thrilled at the concept of being Erik's beloved wife. She wanted to live where he lived so that she could hear and see him when he slept… to soothe his nightmares when they occurred and be soothed when she suffered them. Any discomfort was worth grabbing onto the love that she had almost let slip right through her fingers in an hour of desperate and unthinking action. And this time, she wouldn't let new fear drive away her confidence in Erik's feelings.
I am loved!
Dicklo: Headscarf that all married woman wore.
Here is the inspiration for Arabella's ring – lots and lots of spaces installed to make the URL visible.
www . Bing images / search ? q = phoenix + rings & view = detail 2&&id = 2A6CBDDBD6B47CC2F9128AE616FFE3554A8E5D6F & selectedIndex = 156&ccid = fOvABQj2&simid = 608010066760633344&thid = OIP . M7 cebc00508f6c19aff8ca03a3a029baco0&ajaxhist = 0
If you are having trouble with the link, do a yahoo image search for "18K White Gold Plated Red Rhinestones Phoenix Ring For Women" It will be the first image.