So, you might have expected this moment for a while and here it is. I'm quite happy about the way it turned out. I strongly recommend you check out Montserrat Caballé's performance of "Mio babbino caro" so you can get a feel of the scene. I was expecting something forceful … and was stunned by her skill. That lady is just awesome, and has the most angelic voice ever. Cheers!

Will adjusted his vest for the thousandth time, wondering if Alana would find him classy today. After all, he wasn't likely to make that effort again … unless he asked for her hand, which was quite far from his mind at the moment. The enormous Lecter mansion seemed to look down on him, judging his simple shirt and jacket from the top of its two stories' elegance. Will shrugged, climbing the few steps to the entrance porch. The weather was mild enough for January, and the wind rather tame. Good, Frances' wouldn't freeze to death on her way to the court house.

The sound of vocalisation reached his ears before he rang the doorbell, effectively stopping when the singsong device echoed in the grand house. The sound of skittering feet approached and the door was swung open, revealing a little woman in her forties. Will started, unused to finding strangers in the Lecter's house. His nervousness returned tenfold, his eyes darting everywhere but on the woman's face.

— "Ah, you must be Will, right?"

— "Uh, yes"

— "The bride is nearly ready, if you can wait…"

Frances' loud voice suddenly rose in the corridor.

— "Get your ass in the living room, Will!"

The empath smiled; trust Frances to step heartily upon traditions and boundaries. The little woman huffed, then let him in. Will took a few strides and passed the first opening on the left; the very lounge where she had told him about Galahad. Instead of being settled on the sofa, she sat, her back stiff like a rod, upon a chair. Her entire being glowed, from the dress that covered her legs and arms with fluid cloth to the very light make-up that enhanced her eyes. The bodice of the dress revealed her cleavage in an oldish fashion, the heart-shaped silk embroidered with a thread so bright that it echoed with the rest of the immaculate chiffon. Simple, with very little volume, but so classy that he nearly took his jaw off the floor.

— "Hey, Brother. I'm glad you're here," she smiled.

Will smiled back as he fidgeted by the chimney. The little woman skittered back and took her place right behind the bride, focusing on taming the wild strands they had left free. A braid shaped like a crown surrounded Frances' head, giving her a regal air that would make Hannibal squirm for sure. Damn, she was impressive. It was no wonder her maid tended to her as if she was a queen. Sober, yet incredibly classy. Those two were a thousand miles away from him, and Will found that he didn't care for they were both his friends.

— "Ready?" he asked.

Frances gave him a very thoughtful look.

— "I've been ready since the day I set eyes upon him."

Coming from anyone else, Will would have huffed in derision. But given Frances and Hannibal's story… There was nothing preposterous in her claim.

— "You wanted to be sure you could say 'yes' properly?" he teased.

The young woman opened her eyes wide, then winced as the hairdresser pulled at a strand too harshly.

— "Sorry, sorry, madam," she stuttered.

Frances mumbled an "it's all right" even if she hated the process altogether. Yet, she couldn't do such things herself. When she turned back to Will, she had lost the thread of conversation.

— "So, what were you saying again?"

— "You were preparing your voice. OH! You're going to sing."

Will felt strangely giddy; everytime Frances sung, it took him back to the past. Like a trance of sort, more powerful even than Hannibal's hypnosis. Her voice was powerful and controlled, but sometimes so ethereal… He was looking forward to hearing whatever she had up her sleeve, but it seemed that stress gnawed at her.

— "Yeah. I worked my ass off on it, so I hope I won't screw up."

Will's eyebrows rose.

— "It's always awesome when you sing."

The young woman tutted, squirming on her seat like a schoolgirl; such a contrast with her grand dress.

— "Hannibal is a difficult man to please. Nothing but perfect can possibly satisfy him."

— "True. But he loves you, and will be touched."

Frances scrunched her nose, choosing a weird word to answer.

— "Surely"

— "So what is it?"

A string of Italian words passed her lips at high speed, and Will definitely knew that he had no idea about the song. Seeing his fazed expression, she laughed.

— "Opera. Pucellini. I had to lower the key, and try a thousand different ways to pull it off but I think I can do it now."

A short silence ensued before the little woman eventually declared Frances' hair done. Will had no difficulty spotting how the bride pursed her – unpainted – rosy lips to prevent from shouting, "finally!", rising instead to thank the woman and ask for the bill to be sent to Lecter house. Sometimes, she reminded him of a housewife of noble descent. Startling at the thought, Will wondered what she had been in her past lives … if he had one, perhaps she, too, had several lives to relate to? This whole story of time travel was pretty messed up anyway, and he mulled over the thought as Frances drew her long midnight coat over the dress.

15 minutes later

Her heart beat a thousand miles a minute when Will pulled Alana's car – the civic was fancier than his dog smelling one – in front of the courthouse. She didn't let her eyes wander on the building much, not on the surroundings which were agreeable enough. No. In less than an hour, she would become Mrs Lecter. Married to Hannibal Lecter, the most wanted and famous cannibal of all history. Anxiety should have crushed giddiness … yet somehow, she felt like she was about to reunite two parts of her soul. An immense relief flooded her as Will offered his arm, his face solemn as they climbed the stairs.

— "I am grateful for your presence, Will"

For once, his intense blue eyes didn't pull away from her face. There were a thousand emotions bubbling in his gaze, fondness and excitation being one of them. He was proud that she had chosen him to give her away.

— "I am honoured, Frances."

The young woman nodded, feeling the odd weight of the crown braid upon her head. Her dressed swished elegantly around her legs, the fabric so light and ethereal. The result of three visits – on her own – to New York to find out exactly what she was looking for, the price being unknown to her in the end. If the designer had been surprised by the absence of lady friends, she had done her job well. Frances was grateful for her advice, and the effort put into that dress that fit her perfectly. The exact balance between elegance and sobriety; no extra volume, no fluff, no ribbons and Calais lace. Frances didn't need a friend to tell her what she already knew; this dress was exactly what she wanted.

Yes. Today, she felt more than a princess, for Hannibal was no Prince. He would be her King, and she the Queen. Protecting and cherishing her people, while always deferring to the majesty that had stolen her heart.

There would be no flourish, and music, and flowers and cheesy stuff today in the courthouse. Just a handful of Hannibal's friends – Mrs Komeda being part of that batch – Will and Alana, Bedelia and, surprisingly, Jack. They had a truce with the head of behavioural sciences, but she suspected Hannibal to have reasons to extend the invitation to him. An offer to see him as a man in love, or to imprint a domestic image upon the man. Perhaps a way to keep him close, or to inflate his ego. Whichever the reasons were, Frances didn't want to know. Not today.

For the gate of the City Hall now laid behind her, and the wedding room was but a few dozen feet away. The slight hushed voices told her they had not detected their approach yet. But Hannibal… Hannibal had. His hair was pulled back the way she loved it, unveiling his intense gaze … and he was looking straight into her eyes, even from the distance. There was no smile on his handsome face, no movement at all expect from the sparkle in his eyes. Frances' breath caught as he held her under his power, pinned at Will's arm, her feet walking on their own as they passed the French doors. A hush fell upon the guests. Alana, Jack and other people she'd met were here but she had only eyes for the groom.

Hannibal stood, regal, in a three-piece suit of silver and white. The perfect pendant to her dress of white and silver. A quick glance at his waistcoat brought a smile to Frances' lips; it was the one she had gifted him with for his birthday. She didn't know he valued the present so highly that he would wear it for his own wedding. Curiously, this little attention, this proof of trust towards her taste and handiwork brought unexpected tears to her eyes. Frances blinked them away furiously. She hated crying in front of people, so she wouldn't. Hannibal's intense presence made it difficult, though, for every breath she took was more ragged than the last. When this man's attention settled upon someone … well, better be strong, for if not, burning was the only other option. And she was burning inside, wondering if she would be sturdy enough to survive him. Her core shook, as did her resolve while they took the last remaining steps to the altar.

She felt Hannibal's presence by her side just as much as she saw him, as if her body hummed in anticipation. Like a pair of magnets, attuned to each other, that wreaked havoc in her sensations.

— "He's put on the great spread today," Will said by her side, trying to lighten the mood.

Frances squeaked an emotional yes. Dashing, magnificent, intense, magnetic … but most of all, alive. Not well, not, for his mind was messed up. But he was there, and ready to marry her. Not lying dead on a battlefield, and this was worth the world to her. So Frances took a deep breath and, leaving Hannibal's eyes for a split of a second, kissed Will's cheek.

— "Thank you for your care, Brother."

Will gave her a smile.

— "Be happy, Frances"

Then he took her hand, and transferred it into Hannibal's waiting grasp. Their fingers touched and wrapped around each other's, and the world started spinning again.

— "Take care of her'", the empath ordered the psychiatrist with a serious undertone.

The lamb, threatening the wolf. What a weird moment. And instead of lifting an eyebrow to belittle Will's concern, Hannibal answered truthfully.

— "You know I will"

His voice rolled over both bride and empath like a blanket of the finest wool, securing them in a web of his making. The cannibal's charm at its best. Then, as Will retreated, Hannibal's eyes returned to Frances and he took in her flustered face. For a moment, they just held each other's gaze, searching for answers. Did they really want to do this? Was it a masquerade? How much of it was true? Surprisingly, Hannibal's golden-flecked irises seemed unsettled; emotions simmering under the surface. And if his lips were not smiling, they only betrayed the trouble of his heart. Yes. Hannibal was moved by her gift, for she gave herself freely.

Did he admire the cut of her dress? The redness of her cheeks? The crowned braid that gave her enough poise to dare stand by his side? Perhaps, for in his eyes she saw admiration and surprise. Hannibal gave her fingers a squeeze and, at last, his lips quirked into a smile. Not his usual sassy smirks that only lifted the corner of his mouth. No. The joyous expression reached his eyes this time, a genuine smile that radiated from his very core. One of gratitude and happiness.

In front of them, a woman stood, clad in the official garb. After exchanging a surprised – she wasn't expecting such a young woman – but softened look with Bedelia Du Maurier who sat on Hannibal's other side, she stated:

— "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join this man and this woman in matrimony."

Frances' heart leapt into her chest. Those words, she had heard them on TV when watching US series of all sorts. Never, in her life, had she imagined being their recipient. The notary's voice was clear, her tone filled with meaning as she looked at them with her piercing blue eyes.

— "Today you enter as individuals, but you will leave here as husband and wife, blending your lives, expanding your family ties, and embarking upon the grandest adventure of human interaction."

Neither Frances nor Hannibal reacted to her words; family was dead, on both sides. And there would be no family of their own either. It weighed like a lead bar in her stomach, to deny Hannibal the right to have children. To deny herself such. Yet, there was no choice. Strangely, she wondered if they were two dead people already. Frances' grasp on Hannibal's hand caused him to squeeze back and she forced herself to listen to the rest.

Fortunately, the middle-aged woman who performed the ceremony did not seem to notice Frances' sudden paleness as she smiled.

— "The story of your life together is still yours to write. All those present have come to witness and celebrate your love and commitment this day – eager to a part of the story not yet told. Remember to treat yourselves and each other with respect, and remind yourselves often of what brought you together."

A fucking stone, Frances thought. The Keeper of Time's stone.

— "Take responsibility for making the other feel safe."

With a cannibal in the house, yeah. Super safe.

— "And give the highest priority to the tenderness, gentleness and kindness that your connection deserves."

Frances' sassy thoughts stopped at that, warmth flooding her chest. For all his misgivings, Hannibal was always tender and gentle with her, and she cherished their connection. Her eyes met Hannibal's, and his expression of fondness caused her to melt. He wasn't perfect, her man. Not even close. Broken to the core, and twisted. But she loved him like no other, and could not prevent it. And from the gentle expression of his molten gold irises, she knew he loved her as much as he could.

— "When frustration, difficulty and fear assail your relationship, as they threaten all relationships at some time or another, remember to focus on what is right between you, not just the part that seems wrong."

Frances realised that this piece of advice might very well save her marriage to Hannibal, for the wrong might be of top category. What has your man done today? Drunk? Forgotten to do the dishes? Gambled? Hit you? No, he just squared off and ate a man who'd been rude to him. And manipulated a friend into thinking he was crazy. Neat.

A bead of sweat descended upon Frances' spine, taking its merry time as she wondered if she would be up to the task. Would they survive their marriage, literally?

— " … just because you may lose sight of it for a moment, it does not mean the sun has gone away. And, if each of you takes responsibility for the quality of your life together, it will be marked by abundance and delight."

There was a short silence, as if everyone was holding their breath before the blond woman turned to Hannibal. Solemn, she questioned.

— "Do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to honour her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

Hannibal's usually smooth and soothing voice had never been clearer as he stated his intention.

— "I do."

Frances' knees trembled slightly and she was glad the dress covered them. There had been such purpose, such intention in Hannibal's words. A little of Tristan's will infused into the being of the very proper Dr Lecter, the reminder of a knight whose sacrifice had served the greater good, while breaking her heart. Now, the wrongness of it was being repaired. When the notary turned to her with a kind smile, Frances' breath itched. It was her turn, now, to decide whether she wanted to attach herself to this old soul, even though it had reborn twisted to the core.

— "Do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honour him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

Yes, a thousand times yes. She already loved him, honoured him, comforted him. And what better proof of her love than to accept the killer that stood by her side? Frances' voice was firm, and echoed loud and clear in the city hall.

— "I do."

The blond notary nodded.

— "We shall proceed to the exchange of rings.May these rings remind you always of the vows you have taken here today."

Bedelia stepped up then, bringing the cushion where their two rings awaited their left hand; their permanent and definitive resting place. And as Hannibal lifted her ring from the immaculate cloth, the notary remained silent, respecting the freedom they had asked for their vows. His eyes were so intense when he caressed her palm, causing her finger to extend. Just a glance to the jewel before his gaze returned to her face. And while his fingers coaxed the ring gently along her finger, sending a swirl of humming through her skin, Hannibal spoke.

— "With this ring, I thee wed, and pledge you my soul, now and forever. Let me be your knight, your Tristan, to protect and care for you, till death do us part."

Frances's throat closed at the mention of Tristan, and she could only watch him, mouth slightly agape, as he promised to care for her like he should have, fifteen hundred years ago. Such meaningful words left her bereft, and she blinked tears away once more. Her left hand now sported a brand-new ring, such a beautiful and sober piece. It was a weird feeling, to be constricted thus, and she wondered if Hannibal would be the sort of man to play with his wedding band.

It was now her turn to pick the golden ring from the cushion and she trembled slightly as she reached for Hannibal's hand. Fortunately, she had recited her wedding vows a thousand times, enough to be able to tell them in her sleep. Still, her heart was beating so loud that blood rushed into her ears. Frances took a calming breath while she slid the perfect golden band to his finger.

— "With this ring, I thee wed, and pledge you my soul, now and forever."

Then she intertwined her fingers with his, finding comfort in the familiar touch, and met his eyes.

— "I take you as a husband, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. Let me be your little fairy till death do us part and beyond."

Hannibal's lips quirked at the pun; death had parted them already, yet there they were. She was quite talented, his wife, when it came to overcoming impossible odds. Conventions being conventions, the psychiatrist turned to the notary once more, only to find a smile upon the woman's face.

— "I believe the bride wanted to add something."

Both of his hands were gathered into her smaller ones, and Frances closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Then her mouth opened, and the purest of sounds fell from her lips. From the very first line, Hannibal's chest swelled with emotion. They had written the vows together, but this … this he wasn't expecting as Frances performed for him one of the most beautiful arias of Pucellini.

"O mio babbino caro
Mi piace"

He couldn't believe it, and she opened her eyes to give her the most meaningful of glances. Drawing strength from him to manage the highest note without faltering. He braced himself; this was a most difficult moment. But she … she….

"E bello, bello"

She just sang it like a wave, like a droplet tossed around under the Ponte Vecchio until it drowned into the sea. And tears sprang to his eyes as her voice rode the wave so skilfully. How hard had she trained her voice to manage such a beautiful vibrato? And she smiled at him as she went on.

"Vo'andare in Porta Rossa
A comperar l'anello !"

Hannibal's tears fell over his cheeks as she sang again, her voice stronger now. She had chosen Italy, and Dante. She had chosen to remind him of his mother's origins, and the beauty of a country he loved above all.

« Sì, sì, ci voglio andare!
E se l'amassi indarno

Damn, the most difficult song in the opera – the i – fell from her rosy lips in a waterfall. Pure, and untainted. Her Italian was so beautiful. Her voice so enchanting, her beauty, today, unmatched. And she loved him… HIM!

"Andrei sul Ponte Vecchio

Ma per buttarmi in Arno!
Mi struggo e mi tormento!
O Dio, vorrei morir!"

By God, he knew he didn't deserve it. Nor her devotion, nor her attention, nor the beauty and love she brought to his life. But he would be damned if he didn't enjoy what she gave him willingly. The last notes were a difficult decrescendo, but she handled it with such strength of emotion that he vibrated from head to toe.

"Babbo, pietà, pietà!
Babbo, pietà, pietà!"

The stunned silence that followed her performance allowed Hannibal to gather Frances in his arms and squeeze the life out of her. Then, at loss for words, he kissed her soundly, incredulous still about the gift she had offered him. Forgotten where the schemes of the day, the reasons why he had invited some of the people, the dinner he's prepared for the evening, and the presence of the others. Gone the implications, the plans and frustrations of the future. Only the now and then counted.

From the corner of his eyes, he watched the notary wipe a tear upon her cheek before she went on.

— "By virtue of the authority vested in me under the laws of the State of Maryland, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

And after sharing a knowing look with both of them, she added.

— "You may kiss the bride … again."

Hannibal turned to Frances whose blush had only intensified, and he swore he had never seen her more beautiful than in this moment when he bent to capture her lips gently. She lifted on her toes to meet him shyly, but her little tongue teased his lower lip. A promise of more to come. Hannibal smirked into the kiss. Yes. Quite spirited, his little fairy.

Hey ! I've not had any reviews for the last chapters expect for Mairi. I gathered you didn't like it much. I hope this one was up to standard. Let me now by dropping a word! Thanks.