A/N: Oh, dear. Against my will, it seems that each chapter is becoming longer than the last. I hope it's not too tedious; at least I included some dialogue. This chapter is basically my take on how Erik would meet Christine's father, and how they would get along.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything original to Phantom of the Opera. My humble possessions merely consist of the book, film, soundtrack, and Susan Kay's Phantom.

HISTORICAL/LANGUAGE NOTE: Sweden and most other Scandinavian countries never really established feudalism, so there were no serfs and private ownership of land was not uncommon. Marstrand is a little town by the sea that's been around since c. 1200. About the instruments: the nyckelharpa is a traditional Swedish instrument looking like a hybrid of a violin and hurdy-gurdy; vielle is the French name for fiddle; and the hurdy-gurdy is like a mechanical violin. All instruments mentioned were in use during the Middle Ages. Herr and Fru are the Swedish equivalents of Mr. and Mrs. And I am perfectly aware that in the book, Christine's father's name is spelled Gustave, not Gustav, but the former is the French variation. Last but not least, "every man's right to roam," which Erik mentions near the end, is actually a Swedish customary law referred to as Allemansrätten.

IV. Baptism

In which a Christian sacrament is performed in an unorthodox fashion

1343 – Marstrand, Sweden

Gustav Daaé was a fatherly man.

Though only in his late thirties, his dreamy blue eyes had the look of one older than his years. The crow's-feet that framed those eyes from years of laughter and the platinum blonde hair—so pale it was almost white—combed neatly to hide signs of thinning only added to the effect. He projected an aura of innate wisdom that made others look to him as a village elder, even if he did not perform the duties of an alderman in an official capacity. The townspeople of Marstrand sought him for advice in daily concerns, depended on his judgment to resolve petty disputes, and relied on him to provide aid in times of need. Children loved gathering around his feet to hear ancient Scandinavian legends as he strummed a beautiful golden harp.

He was "fatherly" in another sense of the word as well. A pious man, he took a kind interest in the town children's biblical studies, throwing in the occasional lecture. While devout, however, he had a liberal interpretation of the Bible, making his opinionated homilies far more interesting to listen to than those of the prudish nuns at Sunday school. When asked why he had never taken up priesthood as a vocation, he replied jovially, "Abstinence never suited me," and winked at his wife.

Although his ancestors were from Norway, Gustav's loyalty was reserved solely for Sweden. Gustav privately owned a quaint parcel of land near the coast, slightly set apart from the other inhabitants of the seaside town. An educated man, he had heard of how serfdom was practiced in many other European countries, and shuddered at the thought of working on anyone's land but his own. He primarily worked as a craftsman, but for practical purposes he also did a bit of farming. With a substantial income (higher than that of most peasants), Gustav lived here in Marstrand with his beloved wife, Hanna, in relative comfort. But despite his general contentment, his active role in the town's affairs, and the company of his gentle wife, he could not help feeling as if something was missing.

Gustav was a fatherly man, but after over a decade since his union with Hanna, he still had not fathered a child.

God knows we've tried, he once thought dryly. In his heart of hearts, Gustav desired a son, a strapping young boy who would romp around the beach, sulkily attend the village school, work as his apprentice in the craft of instrument-making… But Gustav would not fuss over gender if the Lord were willing to bless him with a child.

Years later, in retrospect, Gustav Daaé would hold this secret longing responsible for his actions on and after that fateful day…

…the day that he met Erik.

--

It was a slow day at the shop, and Gustav had spent most of it absently rearranging things. The nyckelharpa should be moved to the left, and the hurdy-gurdy transferred to a lower shelf. The beautiful collection of fiddles he displayed in a row at the front of the shop, arranged by the color gradient of the wood composition.

Had business not been nonexistent and the town children not too busy with chores to clamber into his shop for story telling that day, Gustav never would have noticed the shadow that nearly stole his prize fiddle right under his nose.

Even as he reached out to seize the gloved hand, a thousand thoughts and observations clicked in Gustav's quick mind. A thief in Marstrand? The seaside village was usually devoid of criminals, save for an occasional pickpocket caught with a hand in someone's purse. A more bizarre question then presented itself: A thief in a shop selling musical instruments? The scene made no sense. The intruder was undoubtedly a thief; he possessed a tall build, and his slim body was dressed entirely in black, complete with black gloves and cloak. A leather mask of the same sinister color covered his face, which was framed by wispy locks of dark hair. Gustav's trembling hand finally closed around the thief's, though the shop owner might have been holding the glove alone, so thin was the hand it protected. His grip on the skeletal hand loosened lest he should unknowingly break such delicate bones.

An exceedingly imprudent thing to do. Before Gustav could even cry out in alarm, unexpectedly strong fingers tightened like an iron vice around his throat. Over the subsequent sounds of choking and gasping, a cold yet magnificent tenor spoke in a sibilant whisper, "If I release you, you must not utter a single sound. Is that clear? You do not want to know the consequences if you disobey." Gustav nodded, then staggered at the sudden removal of the steely hold on his neck. Once his breathing rate returned to normal, Gustav looked up into a pair of blazing golden orbs.

The masked man was irate, and much of his anger was directed at himself. What had possessed him to enter the bloody shop in broad daylight? Granted, it was nearly sundown, but he had never been careless enough to venture into a public area without adequate protection from the shadows.

It was that bloody vielle's fault. He would not have risked being caught if the fiddle had not caught his eye. At the sight of the exquisite instrument, the young man could not resist reaching out to discover what divine sounds it could create. If he was in control of at least half his wits, he would have at least chosen an instrument closer to the entrance to allow for an easy escape. But that particular vielle had called to him with phantasmal melodies, had dared him to bring its voice to life…

Unbeknownst to the fuming criminal, his victim was running along a similar train of thought. Perchance a different man would have been marveling over how close he had just been to losing his life at the hands of a complete stranger, or formulating a way to contact the nearest guard. Gustav, however, was not an ordinary man. His artist's soul had questions that drowned out warnings from his more sensible side. For instance, why had the thief chosen that particular fiddle? It was not near the entrance, nor was it displayed as a centerpiece (a guilty possessiveness had compelled him to place it somewhere more inconspicuous). Nevertheless, the instrument was potentially the magnum opus of his craft, and after countless hours painstakingly working with his finest materials, Gustav had been prepared (if dreading) to part with his masterpiece in return for a considerable sum. And here, right in his shop, a thief had attempted to snatch it away without a single imbursement. Surely a common thief could not be a music connoisseur?

The masked man was pulled from the mire of his angry thoughts at the shop owner's voice, and was surprised to see only puzzled curiosity reflected on the older man's face. What, thought the young man bemusedly, no thunderous anger, no dumb confusion, no wild terror upon encountering a felon in his shop? His surprise did not diminish at the shop owner's inquiry.

"Why did you choose that fiddle?" Well, that was certainly unexpected. No one had ever asked him why he stole the things he did—probably because they were knocked unconscious before they could even open their mouth.

"Excuse me?" The criminal was waiting for the accosted man to have a nervous breakdown at any moment. The moment did not come, and the latter repeated the query.

The interrogatee honestly had no answer. "I—I don't know," he said slowly. Oh, to hell with it, he then thought. For once, telling the truth can't be any harm! "There was just something about the vielle that told me it had the most beautiful voice!" he finally admitted. "I wanted to know how it would sound for real, instead of just hearing songs in my head!"

"Do you know how to play?" A pause.

"No," came the reply. How idiotic he sounded! The young man was seriously starting to regret ever setting foot in the shop. Then, he never would have gotten into such a humiliating predicament.

Meanwhile, Gustav's mind was alive with excitement. Extraordinary! he thought. To think out of all the people in Marstrand, it is a thief that can hear the true voice of the vielle! At the intruder's last few words, Gustav recalled a snippet of one of his favorite Scandinavian tales:

"The Angel of Music sings songs in your head…"

An ethereal voice cut through his thoughts. "It appears I must be going," said the unusual thief, having regained his composure. "I don't want to impose."

"Ah, then I suggest that you don't steal too many fiddles. That can be dreadfully imposing, you know."

"I'll remember that," said the thief, golden eyes tinged with amusement. As he moved to egress, however, a sudden movement behind him made him whirl around.

"Wait!" It was the shopkeeper, hastily gathering some items into a satchel. "I'll go with you; it's time that I closed shop anyways." The thief raised an eyebrow under the mask. The man actually wanted to go with him?

"I assure you that I won't steal any more fiddles," said the younger man uncertainly. The shopkeeper seemed to have finished tidying up the shop, going out the door to the empty street. The masked man hesitated before following him, wondering if this was a trap. Somehow, he sensed that it was not.

"My name's Gustav Daaé," said the shopkeeper by way of introduction. "You are…?"

The masked thief made him a formal mock bow. "The most notorious thief in Europe at your service, Herr Daaé."

This time it was Gustav that cocked his brow. "I would think that you would be experienced enough to not get caught by a shortsighted old man in broad daylight."

"Yes, well, that was a rare aberration," was the embarrassed reply. Gustav and the "notorious thief" enjoyed another round of light banter, much to the surprise of both. Before long, Gustav found himself at the entrance to his cottage.

Turning to his new acquaintance, Gustav asked, "Do you live nearby?"

He was answered by a laugh, followed by "Do you really think an experienced thief would answer that?"

"Haven't I proved that I can keep silent?" the older man protested.

After a brief pause, the masked boy—for Gustav now realized that he was merely a boy (albeit a very tall one)—said, "I don't live anywhere, Herr Daaé. No need to look so concerned; I always find some place to spend the night."

"Would you like to stay here? There is some space in the shed that we can convert into a bed." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. The expression in the boy's golden eyes mirrored Gustav's thoughts: What the deuce compelled you to make such a ridiculous offer?

The thief was the first to break the silence following that strange proposal. "As I said before, I do not want to impose," he coolly declined. "It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Herr Daaé. Perhaps we will meet again in the future."

--

The future was closer than either of them thought. The next day, as Gustav opened the door to the shed were he kept most of his supplies, he found a shadow huddled underneath his working table. Raising a gloved finger to the lips of his mask, the shadow hissed, "Shhh! He's coming!"

Ignoring the warning, Gustav whispered, "What did you do this time?" In the dark, fiery eyes glowered at him.

"This time I was actually innocent. Don't blame me if they were foolish enough to try and see what was behind the mask."

"And just what is behind it?" Before he could hear an answer, Gustav was greeted by Marstrand's portly constable running up the path to the wooden shed.

"Herr Daaé!" shouted the constable, panting at the exertion. "Have you seen anything suspicious around here?"

Nothing but a masked thief hiding in my working shed, thought Gustav wryly. Out loud, he responded, "No, nothing. Is something wrong?" The corpulent constable nodded furiously.

"There's a monster roaming about the town, so you better beware. The beast has the body of a man, but he wears a black mask to hide his monstrous face. Keep your wits about you." With that sagely bit of advice, the constable huffed and puffed back to the town to continue his search. At his departure, a tense silence borne from Gustav's newly gained knowledge loomed over the shed's occupants.

At last, the thief spoke out from his hiding place. "What an incompetent excuse for a law enforcement officer. Is there not a law in this country that gives every man a right to roam?" Gustav chuckled at such miffed censure. The younger man crawled out from the sheltering darkness, and the craftsman was shocked to find that his glowing orbs dimmed to black in the light.

"What? Leaving so soon?" said Gustav, alarmed when the masked man strode to the shed's wooden threshold.

"Forgive me. I must seem terribly rude to deny your offer of shelter one day, take advantage of it the next, and then take leave without a farewell. Rest assured that it will not happen again. I am not in the habit of bothering members of the human race in such a petty manner."

Gustav grasped a black-gloved hand before the young man could go out the door, failing to prevent an inexplicable note of desperation from slipping into his voice. "Policemen are still looking for you. It's not safe. You should stay here until the panic has died down a little." A strange look of wonderment appeared in the boy's eyes, along with questions Gustav knew he could not answer coherently. The most obvious question was, Why do you care?

They both knew Gustav's excuse was invalid. It was no challenge for the masked boy to evade the police. Gustave was no fool, so he could barely suppress a gasp of astonishment when the boy consented to stay for a few days.

Perhaps they were both remembering the connection they had shared on their first encounter. Or perhaps both men felt they had endured the pangs of loneliness for long enough.

Nonetheless, for the time being, neither of them could bear to say goodbye.

--

It was only the first day, and the masked boy was already a trial to live with.

Gustav kneeled beside the bed. "You never told me your real name, O notorious thief of Europe," he teased, pronouncing the epithet in dramatic mockery. Said thief, propped up on the pile of straw, looked scornfully down at his benefactor.

"I don't have one." Gustav shook his head incredulously.

"Of course you have one; even criminals are christened a name. What do people call you?" The boy's countenance suddenly twisted into a sort of sour smile.

"Well, if you put it that way, I've been called a number of things: monster, freak, Little Shadow, Devil's Child —will any of those suffice?" At this embittered reply, Gustav stared at the boy with a mixture of pity and indignation. What could have spurred such hostility from his fellow humans? Finally, the older man spoke.

"Of course not. Baptism is a very important ritual, and should not be taken lightly."

A sullen response: "I don't need a name."

"Baptism is not just about naming; it also involves purification from past sins."

The boy retorted mockingly, "And you're hoping that I will suddenly reform my criminal ways?"

Gustav ignored him, continuing, "Besides, a growing boy like you needs a proper name, and it might as well be a Scandinavian one. I'll call you...Erik. It was my grandfather's name, and I would have passed it down to my own son. It means 'ruler of all.' How does that suit you?"

To Gustav's surprise, "Erik" was glaring at him with fury and...confusion? "'How does that suit me?'" the boy repeated furiously. "Are you mocking me? 'Ruler of all—'" he spat, "—as if anyone could look upon me with respect!"

This time it was Erik's turn to look surprised as Gustav regarded him with a calm, knowing gaze. Sighing, the older man stood up to leave, saying, "No, Erik. I am not referring to your circumstances. You have a commanding aura about you, and I have no doubt that, if you pleased, you could rule the empire of the world." With that, Gustav stepped out through the door.

But not before he heard the boy murmur behind him,

"Erik," in a hesitant, hopeful whisper, as if testing out the sound. "I...I have a name. I have a name."

And, for one glorious moment of his wretched existence, Erik felt pure.

--