Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera does not belong to me, only my own characters do.

Author's Note:

To Nonnihil Scelestus: Here's the next chapter you've been waiting for.

To phantommistress: This has got that other side of S'ray you've been waiting for.

Sorry this chapter took longer, but it was a bit more emotional to write and I wanted to get it right.

Thanks to all who have read; the more you read, the more I write. I plan to post a chapter every week, depending on how busy I am at work. I work at a call center and do my plotting when we're slow. Anyway, on with the next chapter.

Phantom of the Glen

Chapter 3 - An Intertwined Past

Erik was amazed when he entered the study. It was a large room and well lit from bank of windows that almost covered one wall. To his immediate left were two armor forms; one with an arming coat and cap and the other with the most unusual scale mail he had ever seen. Two other walls were covered in bookcases and the fourth had a large hearth in it. Hanging on the walls between the shelves and on them in some cases was a wide array of weaponry, from the ancient to the modern. He recognized many of the weapons, but some were completely unknown to him. In front of the windows were clay pots of soil which he assumed contained plants for a garden of some sort.

There was a desk to the right of the fireplace. It was covered with books and small tools. He could also discern the glint of precious metals and jewels mixed in the chaos of the desk. Directly across from the desk was a baby grand piano that looked as if it had been gathering dust for several decades.

"Please, sit down," S'ray said sitting behind the cluttered desk.

Erik settled himself in a leather covered chair on the other side of the immense desk. He did a few quick mental calculations and suddenly realized that something wasn't adding up about this house. If his figures were correct, the inside of this house was bigger than the outside and he knew he hadn't seen all the rooms yet. This wasn't possible; he had to be wrong on his guess about the outside dimensions; however it would have to wait for later.

"So you're the now infamous Phantom of the Opera?" she asked leaning back in her chair.

"I am," he nodded. "So you know who I am, S'ray. Now, may I ask who you are?"

"Right to the point, I like that," she smiled. "Who am I? I am the guardian of this forest, but I told you that last night.

"I am one of the Alve or Faye as we're called here in France. I am S'ray Dragonfriend. I am a smith, a warrior and guardian of this forest," she explained.

He was momentarily dumbstruck; this woman had just declared herself to be a creature of mythology and children's fairy stories. Erick wasn't sure if she was simply mad or making fun of him because he called himself the Opera Ghost and signed letters O.G. He narrowed his amber eyes, granted her being an Alve would explain a few things like the house. But, and this was a major but, there were no such creatures as the Alve; at least he was pretty sure they only existed in the imagination.

"You look like you don't believe me," she said steepling her fingers in front of herself. "Well, Alve have pointed ears right?"

Erik nodded in agreement.

"So come and see for yourself," she said pulling back her hair to reveal an ear with a pointed tip.

He got up from his seat and walked around the desk to where she was sitting. He leaned down to examine her ears and could find no trick that his eyes could find. Erik ran one of his fingers over the outside of her ear, feeling for anything that would prove the ears were a result of very clever makeup.

"Hey that tickles," S'ray laughed with a small shake of her head.

"My apologies," he said pulling his hand back.

"My other ear is the same if you want to see that one as well," she offered turning her head.

He moved to the other side of her chair and examined that ear as well and found that it was also real. "This could be just a very unusual family trait," he said gazing down at her.

"What other sign would you like? Most humans are satisfied by the ears," she said looking up at him.

"How about your wings?" he asked.

"I don't have wings, I'm an elf not a fairy or a sprite," she frowned. "Besides even if I did, I'd be too big to fly anyway."

"Again, I apologize," he said leaning against the desk.

"What about my eyes then?" she asked.

He leaned down again to look into her eyes; they were an unusual shade of violet.

"An unusual color indeed, but then again so are mine," he said, "What about magic then?"

"Okay," she smiled, then holding out her hands, "Come down here."

Erik did as she asked and knelt down in front of her. S'ray put a hand on each side of his face and whispered something in a tongue he didn't understand. Then she leaned in and gently kissed his masked cheek.

"Now go find a mirror and look in it without your mask on," she instructed. "I've placed glamour on you so the change is only temporary and not real."

He did as she asked and went back to the room that held the tub. There he removed his mask and picked up the mirror he'd used to shave earlier. He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly before bringing up the mirror to look at his reflection. Erik stared at the mirror in amazement, his face was whole. He brought his hand up to what had been his scarred cheek; the skin was smooth and whole. He knew the art of the illusionist and so-called magicians and this was no trick of theirs.

This brought up a whole new set up questions in his life. He placed his mask back on and went back to the study. S'ray was there in her chair, only now she was softly humming and strumming a guitar. "And another surprise," he said stopping in the open door, "even though it should not be. All Faye have an affinity for music if I'm remembering correctly."

"Correct Monsieur Phantom," she said setting the guitar back in its stand. "So you're convinced of what I've told you now?"

"I'm convinced there's no other way to explain what I saw in that mirror," he said coming over to stand beside the desk. "When I was a boy, I was sold to Gypsies and displayed in a carnival as the Devil's Child. I heard them telling stories of the Alve and how they were the guardians of forests and wild places. They would camp in this very forest and I. . . I . . . would pray that the Alve would rescue me," he said his voice breaking. "But the Guardian never came."

"Oh Erik," she said softly sitting forward and reaching her hand toward him. "I'm so sorry your cries were never answered."

He went down on his knees before her and cried, "I was a child, they were torturing and beating me! Why didn't you hear me crying? Why didn't you come for me then?"

"I was not the guardian then," she said placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Why? Why?" he cried, the tears flowing freely and his chest heaving.

Tears began to fall as she spoke again, "The forest was without a Guardian, he had passed beyond veil many years before and we were at war."

"What war!" he demanded.

"It wasn't a human war, we were at war with the Drow again and choosing a new Guardian for a forest was not as important as winning the war," she explained gently wiping the tears from the unmasked side of his face. "It was a bad war; none could be spared to guard a forest. I know for I was there. A Drow arrow almost killed me, that's why I'm the Guardian here now. I came here to heal."

"The Gypsies heard me praying for the Alve to come and beat me for it. They laughed that the Devil's Child would ask for the fair ones to come and rescue him. I was told that if anyone came for me, it would be the Goblins," he cried dropping his head and shoulders. "I almost wished they would come for me, it couldn't have been any worse than what the Gypsies were doing to me."

"No, don't say that," she said taking his tear-streaked face in her hands. "Never say I wish and goblins in the same sentence. You'll call him and he'll take you to his Labyrinth and you'll never escape."

Erik's shoulder shook with the remembered horrors of his childhood. S'ray pulled him into her arms and he clung to her like a downing man will cling to anything that floats. She gently stroked his hair as he wept against her breast. A lull-a-bye came softly from her lips as she held him. His great wracking sobs began to slow and became softer hitches as he cried out his sorrow and calmed.

Suddenly he realized the position he was in and pulled back from her embrace. "I am sorry," he said smoothing his hair back. "I did not mean to trouble you with my own sorrows."

"Don't be," she said softly. "It wasn't your fault. Sometimes my people become so wrapped up on our own affairs we forget our larger obligations to the world. I neglected my duty and I am the one who is sorry."

"I don't understand," he said now sitting cross legged on the floor and pulling out a handkerchief to dry his face.

"It was my duty to take over for the Guardian, I was picked by him. But being a warrior was more important to me, so I decided to roam the world. I thought that if no one could find me, then they couldn't trap me into being the Guardian. I'm sorry Erik, if I'd taken my post when I should have I'd have heard your plea and taken you away. Please forgive me," she asked slipping off her chair and kneeling before him.

Erik was stunned, never in all his life had he been treated like this. No one else except for Antoinette had ever apologized to him. Certainly there had been whispered and shouted apologies to the Opera Ghost or the Phantom, and Christine had of course apologized to her Angel; but never to him and not like this. "I forgive you," he whispered, "there's no way you could have known. And as much as I'd like to go back and correct the mistakes in my own past, I know that can't be done either."

"Very wise for one so young," S'ray said opening a drawer in the desk.

He was about to protest that he wasn't a youth anymore, but then remembered how long the Alve were supposed to live. He watched her dig through the drawer and pull out a bottle of amber liquid.

"Here, I think we could both use some of this," she said sitting down with the bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other.

"What is it?" he asked taking the offered glass.

"Kentucky whiskey," she answered pouring three fingers into his glass. "Single batch, not the blended stuff you get on this side of the ocean."

Erik took a sip, the liquor burned all the way down his throat to pool warmly in his stomach. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the desk. "So how does an Alve acquire American whiskey in France?" he asked.

"I'm not an European Alve, my family is from America. Actually we were there before any Europeans ever set foot there, but close enough," she explained taking a drink from her own glass. "One of my brothers brought it along when they brought me here."

"Were you hurt badly?" he asked unfolding his legs.

"About as badly as an Alve can be hurt and still survive," S'ray answered pouring more whiskey into her glass and setting the bottle between them.

Coming up in Chapter 4 – S'ray's story and more whiskey!