The music blares over the crowd, an epic ballad of emotion. Drowning the audience in the sweet imagining of a darling angel, so tender as to love without remorse. Marianna's voice gripping their hearts in a soft tune that resounds inside the deepest corners of their souls. Such a loving touch of of her vocal range.
She basks in the delicate blue beams of the stage lights, her presence powerful. Diamonds lace around her neck, drip from the piercings in her ears, and crown her hair in sparkling purity. A Glittering, silken, gown as innocent as the dress of a bride at the altar, draped over her thin frame. A starry sky and clouded moon against an indigo sky in the backdrop. Heaven. And the appeal has everyone speechless.
"We never said, our love was evergreen. Or as unchanging as the sea! But, if you can still remember, stop and think of me."
A longing smile adorns her lips in her melody, her mind pulling to days spent beside a boy she fondly remembers. A boy who is now a man and watches her as attentively as a sailor would a mermaid.
"Think of all the things we've shared and seen! Don't think about the way things might have been."
She is nearly begging his heart with her rhythm.
"Think of me. Think of me waking, silent and resigned. Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind. Recall those days. Look back on all those times. Think of the things we'll never do! There will never be a day when I won't think of you!"
Viscount Chagny is not the only one listening to every word that flows through her mouth in such a delightful serenade. Far below the dazzled patrons, beneath their feet and notice, a shadow lurks. Bathing in the soothing lullaby, and dreaming of the lady he knows from afar. She is his light in the darkness that cloaks him. Doves flutter in his stomach a broad smile dressing his face.
There is a pause for another musical solo, the orchestra taking its turn to voice the scene. Fenris is entirely caught, enchanted by the sight before him. Disbelief howling amidst the trumpets and violins in his ears. Could it be?
The audience cannot keep from applause, even if it is too early and the piece is not yet done. And, all at once, Chagny cannot bear to sit for another moment longer, his heart racing. He stands from his place in his box, and shouts a praise to her. But her eyes never break from ahead, from the audience, and he swiftly leaves the perch. Unable to be still, he walks about in the foyer, pacing. Thinking on her and all that has been.
"She may not remember me, but I remember her..." he murmurs, smitten.
"Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade. They have their seasons! So do we," the song follows after his back like a ghost to haunt him.
"But, please promise me that, sometimes, you will think," Her voice toys with the scales as she voices the last two lyrics. Climbing and plumeting as they dance in her throat, "Of me!"
A standing ovation is in order. And she accepts it graciously as a stage hand sneaks off to a carriage waiting outside. Isabela is sprawled alluringly within. Her brow quirks in wonder and surprise at the news brought to her, a competitive spark glowing in her cocoa irises.
The whole of the Theatre breaks into celebration in the wake of a disaster averted. Bottles of wine are shared, the cast all abuzz with socializing and placing their opinions. Varric and Donnic mingle in their company, rather pleased with their clever solution. Costumes are still on display, make up still vibrant on all the faces. A mass of people to part and struggle through as Merrill goes in search of Hawke.
Marianna kneels in a room above all the noise and the partying actors, lively for her sake. With a careful wave of her hand, she lights the candles in the room with her magic. A well kept secret since her very birth. Humbly, she leaves them to flicker, bowing her head and clasping her hands to pray over a beloved portrait of her father. An angel comprised of pastel stained glass her vigilant protector.
Merrill comes to sense the place her friend has run off to. Knowing it is a favorite retreat for her. A place of refuge and shelter from the dangerous world and future. Merrill wanders up the steps, calling her by name.
Hawke lifts her face at the ominous chanting that quietly echoes through the room. Not the voice of Merrill, but a familiar voice who's owner she has never seen, but that she dreams of when she sleeps. A spirit of the Fade, perhaps. But she believes it to be more than that, more than just another whisper brought by her abilities.
"Brava, brava, bravissima..."
Her name then washes over the ceiling, a whisp of sound. Only to vanish as Merrill comes upon her.
"I thought you would be hiding here, Marianna," she smiles bright, "Really, you were perfect."
She brushes a hand to Hawke's shoulder, warm and kind.
"I wish I knew your secret. Who is your great tutor?"
Marianna meets her eyes, voice lowering into a hushed reverence.
"Merrill, when you're mother, Lady Elthina, brought me here to live... I would come here alone often to light a candle for my father. A voice would come down from above, and sing throughout my dreams."
She takes a deep breath, quivering at the thought.
"My father told me as he was dying, that he would send a winged angel of music to watch over me."
"Marianna, do you truly believe that? Do you think the spirit of your father is guiding you?"
"Who else could it be? If it were a demon, it would have tried to conquer me long ago." Hawke assures her.
She wants to believe in a greater good, and not the warning of temptation.
"It must be."
Merrill offers an empathetic embrace, "Maybe it is, Hawke. Maybe you're right."
With a pull at her arm, Merrill tows her away back downstairs. Snuffing the candles with a flick of her own wrist as they exit.
"Come, they're celebrating for you, you know. Besides, you should change out of that costume."
Faithfully, she walks with Marianna to the diva's former dressing room. Finding them on the way, Elthina takes to their sides, beating back the tide of enthusiastic fans with stern refusals to let them dote. She presses Hawke into the chamber, slipping in behind and swiftly closes the door for her privacy. Leaving Merrill to keep guard until the mass leaves for their coaches.
All about the quarters, roses of appreciation are on display. Possible suitors hoping to win her affections for their interest. A mirror casts her reflection across the way. And the wallpaper whimsically dons pink with floral patterns. A royal welcome to a new princess of the opera house.
"You did very well," Elthina praises, placing a rose in her hands, "He is pleased with you."
Hawke knows she speaks of the Phantom, inspecting the rose that is red like blood and bound in black ribbon.
Madame Elthina leaves her to change, aiding her daughter in keeping intruders at bay. The fuss dies down quickly enough as she drops the rose down at a table, and begins to work free from the heavy finery clothing her. Misplacing the jewelry and accessories, and relieving her waist of the corset she is entrapped within.
With the halls now emptied of adoring admirers, Fenris summons the courage to pay her a visit. In silence he stalks away towards the dressing room, getting stumbled upon by both Varric and Donnic who greet him with vigor and offer to present Miss Hawke to him. Should he like to meet their new talent.
He dismisses their offer, "Forgive me. Gentlemen, if you would not mind, this is one visit I should like to make unaccompanied."
He flashes a forlorn upturn of his lips, nostalgia written across his features. Then, turns, thanking them, and disappears into her room.
"It seems they've met before," Varric muses swinging Bianca to rest against his shoulder.
"Yes." Agrees Donnic.
Inside her presence resides, rather unaware of his. Oblivious to her surroundings and keen on thoughts plying to the inner hollow of her skull. Mind chasing dust motes and removing cobwebs spun to trap the years long since behind her. Keeping them from aching her heart with their lures.
He shares with her this ritual of recollecting. And for a moment the present falls away to another time and another place. A fairy tail darker in undertones than any would have guessed.
Fenris had another name once. Leto. His mother had named him Leto and his father must have approved. He would not know. The man died before he was old enough to bear a memory of him. Not that it would have mattered if he had lived long enough to build a history together with his son. Fenris would not be able to call up those times, even if he wished it.
His mother had fallen ill, and his sister, Varania, had spent most of her time beside her. They had stayed with an aunt who looked after their mother's ailing health and raised Varania to become a proper young lady. Meanwhile, he had remained in a house empty of his family. Under the care and tutelage of a man who was meant to shape him into a valliant young master, worthy of his inheritance when he became of age. This man, Danarius, defiled their namesake, nothing more than a treacherous usurper.
He beat and abused Fenris, day after day. A mage, he had used his power to instigate fear within the household, so that no one would tell. His reign went unquestioned. His violent outbursts would leave terrible injury. And, often times, Fenris would think he was dying.
The first incident was an attempt to kill the boy, and therefore take charge of the wealth and land. His father, hopefully misguided, had trusted him to be a caretaker of his family. And, should the worst come to pass, appointed him the final heir should his son fall. His plot failed, but left Fenris without memory, devoid of a past at the age of seven.
'Fenris', the very name was first given to him by that horrid man. And, Viscount Chagny would be more than pleased to discard it, if not for special circumstance.
A maid who pitied him stowed away with him to a safe haven. A place the helpless would go to seek aid. A manor in the country side, overlooking a stretch of beach not far from his own home. And, there, was a man who secretly ran a clinic in his cellar. Using his magic to heal the sick and mend the broken. Fenris was brought into his care after the 'accident' and revived from the brink of death.
As he was brought there many times to recover from his beatings by the maid after, his treatments were administered by the man's daughter. Who sought to follow in his footsteps as a healer. Fenris was the only name he could come to call himself by at first, forgetful of who he really was. A wound that could not be remedied and that is what she called him.
In light of his foul torture, he did not trust magic at first. Even beneath the tender hands of his healer. But, it was a war he could not win, waged against her charm and patience. That sweet and loving little girl never faltered, and never swayed from caring for him. She breathed hope and life into his body, stifling the hurt and helping him to build a will to fight. Which kept him alive throughout the many years under Danarius' hold.
Eventually, Fenris gained the strength to rise up and destroy the monster who threatened his family. Unfortunately, by then, his mother had passed and his sister was now estranged. Opting to stay with their aunt rather than coming to live with him. And that beacon of love that was the little girl he had created his entire world around, had been lost. Her father had left this life, leaving her with no one. And she was taken far away not long after he had come to feel for her so dearly. Forcing him to face the assaults without his healer for a long time, but the effects of her nurturing keeping him onward. Morphing into the valor that won him his freedom from such oppression.
Throughout life, after he had taken up the title that was rightfully his, everyone else still called him by a name that should have meaning, but did not. And his acceptance of the name that he prefers, was brought upon by her interpretation of the sound alone.
"Little Mari once asked, am I a collector of wayward souls or lost children of the Maker?" He speaks softly.
She perks straight in her chair, like a flower saved from wilting.
"Fenris," she breathes in shock, familiar and wonderous.
"Perhaps Little Mari has a purpose that goes unseen."
She turns to him like a bloom to sunlight, hailing his approach with warm reception.
"The walks by the tide as you began feeling better. Or the times father would play his violin to lift the spirits of his patients."
"The stories you helped me to read. Tales of fairies and mysterious beasts in the wilds." He adds, drawing close.
He crouches beside her, burning in her amber eyes which are never cold.
"What I love most, Little Mari once said, are all the tales of the angels, gathering to sing to me while I sleep in my bed."
He reaches out to hold her, cradle his rediscovered treasure.
"You sang with a virtue to match any angel."
He releases her with reluctance, catching her eyes on his once more, a decisive smirk at his mouth.
"And now we go to supper."
"I... Can't..." She frowns.
"I shall not keep you out late," he stands, moving to the door, "I shall order for my carriage. Change quickly Little Mari."
"Fenris, no."
He darts through the door none the less. Set on taking her with him to cherish their reunion.
"Fenris, wait!" She calls after.
But, he is already gone.
Hawke did not tell him of her convictions concerning the angel of music. Or how she has been visited, and that he is a strict teacher who will not allow such roaming. It would be a sensitive topic that would make him fearful of demons and her safety. She did not want him hurt in an escapade to rescue her from a benevolent spirit in his misconceptions.
Marianna hurries to change as she was asked. Not wanting to part and lose touch with him again. Perhaps, one night would not offend. But, as she ties her shawl about her shoulders, the candles die out and she is chided in melodious pursuit.
"Ignorant boy, this slave of fashion. Basking in your glory! Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor. Sharing in my triumph!"
Hawke quakes in fear and awe, uncertain if, truly, this angel is as it appears. She desires to see a luminous shepard, but fears finding a dark damnation instead.
"Angel, I hear you, speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me," she chimes back in tune, as has been their way since she came to live here, "Angel, my soul was weak. Forgive me. Enter at last, angel."
If she sees him, her fears can be laid to rest. She can be certain and no doubt can take her. She knows it.
"Flattering child, you shall know me. See why in shadow I hide. Look at your face in the mirror. I am there inside!"
She turns to her reflection to see another overlap hers.
His appearance does not look so frightening, even as he is clothed in a black coat, accented with arcane feathers. His red gold hair secure within a pony tail and a mask over his eyes. White and not foreboding. There are no horns, nor is there the rift of dark magic in his presence. Her fears begin to lose their hold and she steps close to the glass.
Fenris returns, trying the handle to the door and finding it mysteriously locked. He calls to Marianna, but no answer calls back. His concern vastly grows. He can hear movement beyond the door, but no reply echoes to him no matter his cries. And he cascades into panic.
Hawke is so enraptured in the image, she neglects to answer. Taking the hand that reaches through the mirror frame, and letting it coax her into the silvered glass, crossing through as though it were a portal. She leaves the world behind to follow the creature that has been with her for so long.
He leads her through a maze, through vaults and dusted dungeons. Marianna begins to piece together an idea of unfathomable power, something that shatters reality beneath her footfalls. Her angel and the Phantom that inspires terror at the opera are one and the same. She does not flee from this curious situation, but commits to the desire to investigate. Just who was this masked man? And was he truly angelic or demonic? Someone needed to find the truths everyone else balked at. Marianna tries to be brave.
He brings her to his retreat, his keep, clearly. And promptly attempts to bedazzl her with fantastical wonders in the form of trinkets and works of art. She is indeed fascinated by the strange objects found at every turn. He softly lulls her with a far more peaceful rhythm as they explore. One gentle to her nerves and soundly affectionate.
"I have brought you. The seat of sweet music's throne. To this kingdom where all must pay homage to music. Music."
He stirs the fade in his movements, she can feel it with his every step. It may not be twisted, but, magic is within him.
"You have come here. For one purpose and one alone. Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me to serve. And to sing. For my music. My music."
There is more meaning behind the words sing and music than physical sound. She senses the depth as they slip from his tongue. An awareness of her prowess, a sense of the Fade flowing within her like a rushing river. The other realm that gifts magic, and to mages does sing. A pitch ever heard whether awake or asleep that never is silent. Reverberating in their minds forever.
The melody changes, more sultry in tone. A strange entertainment to her fancies.
"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs, and wakes imagination. Silently the senses, abandon their defenses. Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it, sense it. Tremulous and tender. Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling, light. And listen to the music of the night."
She is swept into dancing with him, intruiged by this strange new universe that has swallowed her up.
"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams. Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before! Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar. And you'll live as you've never lived before."
So much has happened in one day, and she leans her weight into him feeling exhaustion start to mount. The pressure buckling her at the knees.
"Softly, deftly, music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it. Secretly poses you. Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind. In this darkness that you know you cannot fight. The darkness of the music of the night."
He supports her, bracing her up unfailing.
"Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be! Only then can you belong to me."
She collapses at last, overwhelmed by all the change that has been brought to her door. By unsurity and the complexity of so many events unfolding at her feet.
Anders, as his long lost name used to be, does not let her hit the floor. He lifts her in his arms and carries her to a bed cushioned with velvet. Letting her rest without reserve. Sympathetic to her state of mind, so lost and confused. He too, was once a healer, and would not tax her health with strain.
With care he presses a kiss to her brow, loving her with the same depth Fenris does. Here in this underworld, he has been naught but a prisoner. So alone and lost himself, and often supressed by a secret that marrs him still. And, in his solitude, only one voice has ever answered his call. And it was the cry of yet another mage too. Then, for the first time in his existence, he was not all by himself. A shadow incapable of touching the reality, of touching others. She is his window to the world, his archway to paradise. And he is happy to have her here with him now, even as she sleeps.
He leaves her in peace to dream as she wills. Hoping in the corners of his mind, it is of him she is dreaming.