May 1887

Months passed following Nadir Khan's arrival. Christine offered, or rather, begged him to stay in the house. The man was her only link to her husband, although limited. Besides, Khan had given up everything for Erik. It was the least she could do. Regardless, he had nowhere to go, frankly, and although fairly proficient at the language, it would be difficult for an immigrant such as himself to find permanent residences that were comfortable. He would need to be keeping a low profile, anyway. Political assassinations of world leaders were not taken lightly. Although most westerners did not concern themselves with such 'trivial' affairs, he would not chance a possible recognition. He had, after all, assisted a wanted criminal in the murder of the ruler he had sworn to protect. The iota of honor he had left would be best used alive. It could lead to his capture- or worse.

In France, Persian affairs were viewed as far away and irrelevant, so most newspapers and periodicals did not write of it. This lack of access to information worried worried him. He prayed for his friend's return.

It was the former Shah's friends that worried him, the ones that were chasing after Erik, seeking retribution for their leader's murder. The political situation in Persia had become intense. The Shah was bound to get overthrown, though the question was by whom. Enemies among the court were everywhere, even among his top advisers. Although he had yet to hear news, Nadir believed the Shah's chief financial aide assumed power. The new royal most likely glad that Erik completed the task he was planning on executing all along.

Christine felt stupid, a feeling which had not plagued her in a long time. Even avoiding Paris, she could have kept an ear on the goings of international politics. Surely Raoul, although not having contacted him since her marriage, would have diplomats in his social circle. But than again, maybe it was better not to have known. If she had been made aware of the Shah's assassination by a certain masked man, what would she have done? Uprooted the children and taken them halfway across the globe, endangering both them and herself? How would she even know where he was? Nadir had remarked he was somewhere in Russia! She felt utterly and completely inadequate in helping her husband, and in truth, she was. It was something he must do himself to come back to her. She struggled to hope he would.

In spite of her saddened state, Christine was grateful for the man's presence, giving genuine kindness to the children, and welcome company to herself. Muslim morals concerning the value of hard work instilled in him, Nadir insisted upon helping Christine with the upkeep of the farm. He would not take free meals and a room were he not offering something else in return, despite Christine's continued assurances that it was unnecessary. Over the few months he lived with them, he learned to enjoy the quiet labors of country life, and the rewarding presence of another person, after being alone for so many years. Nadir has grown comfortable there over the months, learning to cherish his friend's wife and children. Alexandre, reminding him so much of Reza, came up to him one morning, following breakfast, his expression halted with nervousness.

"Uncle Nadir?" 'Uncle' became an ordinary occurrence, the endearment flowing out of Alexandre's lips one day. Christine had smiled, and Josephine has echoed the sentiment. He didn't mind it, rather, he believed that it sounded so much better than "monsieur". He wondered how Erik would react.

Alexandre was sheepish. Unusual for his boyish playfulness. What was going on?

"Yes, my dear boy?" He was hoping to assuage any hesitations the boy had. It was obviously something weighing upon his mind.

"I was wondering… if you could-"

Brow furrowed, his interest was piqued. "If I could.."

It came out in a quick mumble. Although he was fluent in the language, it was difficult to understand.

"teachmehowtoride."

Once registered, the look of seriousness on Nadir's featured developed into one of relaxed humor. His laugh was shortened, however, by the boy's reaction, obviously mortified by his own.

"But of course! I'd be happy to! After all, we cannot have the incident when I first arrived here occur once again, can we?" Nadir placed a firm hand upon the boy's shoulder

Alexandre smiled, bashfully, yet hopeful.

The following day Nadir took the young Alexandre outside, showing him the various steps to tack up the horse. Traveler had not been saddled in a very long time, so he thought it best to use his own mount. She was extremely talkative, neighing in glee at the exercise. Giving the boy a leg up, he was firmly seated in the saddle when Nadir noticed the impish grin that had supplanted itself upon his face.

"What is her name, Uncle?" Alexandre mentioned as he patted the horse, walking it around pasture.

Nadir smiled, turning his head in surprise, stroking his beard in thought. "Well, I suppose she doesn't have one. I acquired the mare rather hastily, and such a detail was not told to me."

Alexandre's flashy smirk looked like he was hoping for something.

The former Daroga chuckled. "Very well, my boy. What would you like to name her?"

"Rhapsody. She is very loud. Is she not?"

"Yes, Yes she is." His words were flooded with mirth.

The two adults would often sit after the evening meal on the front porch, though it depended upon the weather. Tonight was a cooler night, for late June, and the evening breeze washed in from the sea. Christine had developed a loving friendship with the man, however unexpected it may have been. She was fascinated with his time as Police Chief, telling her stories of his various assignments and duties. Sometimes they would just sit, enjoying the air. It was beginning to turn into one of those instances when Christine broke the comfortable silence with a directness that was uncommon, despite knowing him for a while.

She turned her body, taking a deep breath, so as to warn of the seriousness of the topic which she was about to address.

"Why did you remain loyal to Erik? You lost everything."

It was blunt; it was true. Nadir inhaled deeply, heels sinking into the floor panels. How was he to put this? Half of his life, him and Erik had been inextricably linked. Some would call it divine intervention, others, a curse. After several long, stilled moments, he responded.

"I suppose we have survived as long as we have because we are loyal to each other, although Erik would be loathe to admit it." He said, chuckling quietly.

She wanted more, he could tell.

"He risked his own life to save mine in coming back. It was I who brought him there all those years ago, it was I who started it all."

"You were following orders."

"A mere excuse. My actions are my own. I carry their weight with me always."

Christine admired the older man's candor, as well as his sense of honor. Surely he must have been an imposing influence on her husband as a young man. Still, she would understand the reasoning for his actions. Khan had given up everything: his home, his position, all that he knew. The question was not whether she was glad of it, but rather, why?

"Why disobey now? What brought this on?"

"Things were getting worse. With all the construction setbacks, political tension, financial strain, I knew. I knew when the Shah pulled that photograph out, when it was discovered that Erik had lied to him, well-" He wasn't sure of how to continue.

"Please." She said meekly, as if a beggar was asking for a scrap of bread.

"They would have sought you out. And after he was done with the palace, they would have killed him."

She sat there, shocked. Sought you out. Did that mean what she thought? She knew this could have happened, right? The danger of his journey was apparent, but she had never expected this. Why, oh God why, did he take that photograph? Somewhere buried deep she knew that answer, after months of thought. Who could ever know what pain a small portrait, a trinket really, would cause.

"But still, you could have let him die" Her voice was gravelly, eyes dark. "It would have saved you years of anguish."

Nadir shook his head, dismissing the very idea with the wave of the hand.

"Surely, Christine, you know of the things your husband has done for me?"

The woman looked at him in surprise, quirking an eyebrow in curiosity. Erik had never told her.

Nadir began, unlocking the part of his memory that remained hidden and sheltered. It was too painful.

"I had a wife and son." Unshed moisture made his eyes shine. "My wife, may she rest in peace, had died in childbirth. My son, Reza, then about seven, became very ill.

Christine could only imagine. If Alexandre- no, God forbid it. She didn't want to think of it.

"Erik nursed him. Day in and day out. He possessed knowledge which amazed me in the art of healing. He mentioned it briefly that he learned it when he was among the gypsies. Do you know of this?"

She knew, albeit vaguely.

"He rarely spoke of it, but yes."

"To this day, I do not know why he did it. Perhaps my son reminded Erik of himself."

"Perhaps you may ask him." It was a test, a plea. But it was also a hidden question. Will he come back? Eyes flickered to him, her heartbeat accelerating, thudding like a drum in her chest.

"Perhaps." I am sorry. It was all he could offer her.

Tactfully changing the directions on the conversation, Christine spoke. "He is a kind man, though most do not see."

Nadir was noticeably thankful. "I am convinced his concern, no- his love for Reza kept him alive for much longer than was destined. I was granted more time with my child. For this I will always be indebted to Erik."

They sat for a long moment, unsure of what to say next. It turned into a relaxed silence, though. At last, the older man began to speak.

"And now, Madame, I feel as though it is time to ask you for something."

"Anything, Monsieur." She could feel the tone shift. It was entirely uncertain.

"Your forgiveness." His voice was grave, eyes direct and mouth pursed.

"Nadir, I do not understand." It was quite honest.

"In being the dutiful daroga, I nearly led your husband to his death."

Christine did not know what to think. This man probably the only living friend of Erik's, claiming his failure by him. And now he was asking her forgiveness? It seemed inappropriate. Out of place. Not right. How could she blame him for calling him back to Persia, under deadly threat? In her eyes, all this man had done was his duty, and had acted upon his conscience when the time was proper.

Forgiveness was not needed. He had done nothing to warrant this guilt he carried towards her. Wrapping the hand nearest to her in both of her own, her eyes communicated sheer compassion.

"Monsieur, you are wrong. For you have saved him. I thank you."