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First one I ever wrote. It's been sitting there for a while, and it's time I put it up :-p ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
my_daroga was kind enough to do a check for me, so many thanks!
This is a Christine/Raoul fic, and is more of an epilogue than anything else. Having read both Kay and Forsyth's version of Raoul and Christine's future, I was disappointed by how unrealistic and just plain mean those endings were. So, here it is!
Also posted tonimthiriel
Epilogue
Chapter I - The Flight:
Raoul and Christine ran. They fled as fast as their young legs could carry them, wanting only to escape the nightmare behind them. They stopped only briefly to purchase matching rings and, with a bag of gold thrust hastily into the hands of a reluctant priest, marry in a small village church, just North of Paris. Though he knew better, Raoul had hoped that Christine would discard the small, plain gold ring that already adorned her hand. She did not, but she was an honourable, dutiful girl and placed it on the fourth finger of her right hand instead.
Their first night together was awkward, and full of tears. Raoul had wanted to soothe and calm his young wife, and for their first experience of the marital bed to be one of joy. Much to his dismay, Christine was still too disturbed and broke down, sobbing in his arms when he got too close. He held and comforted her, and promised that all would be well. Unlike the man they had both left behind, Raoul would not be one to coerce her into a course of action she did not truly desire. It turned out to be a restless night with Christine often waking up in fits of shouting or tears. Through trembling teeth she refused to tell what she had been dreaming, but Raoul could easily guess. She still felt the weight of responsibility for many lives, even though she had saved them all; all but one. Neither of them slept well.
The next day their driver pushed the horses hard, and they stopped for one night in the city of Lille. They had originally planned to take the train from Paris to Calais direct, but had arrived just in time to watch the last carriage pull out of the station (this reminded Raoul of a similar incident, some months earlier; he neglected to tell Christine of his thoughts, fearing for her nerves should she be reminded). So, they hired a carriage and a disgruntled driver, and drove. The following day, Raoul insisted that they stay the morning to look around. He was concerned for Christine's health, and she agreed quickly enough to reassure him that she didn't overly mind delaying.
They wandered the city all morning, and stopped for their morning coffee in a charming little shop. It felt strange, finally doing “normal” things. Every so often one of them would look around nervously, then smile at the other before taking a sip. Surrounded by the beautiful buildings that lined the streets of this historic town, their mood soon improved and they set off for the coast. They took a boat to Brighton, and then carriage to their destination: London. Christine spoke little English, but learned the basic phrases quickly. Raoul's skills were passable, and he smiled whenever the locals complimented his wife's charming accent, her lovely hair and sweet smile. Finally, they felt safe.
That night at the hotel, they consummated their marriage. This final gesture of their nightmare being over overwhelmed Raoul, bringing him to tears. Christine cried with him, and he finally understood how something as simple as a kiss could redeem a man like Erik, and change him forever. For he felt that now that he, too, had “tasted all the happiness the world had to offer”. In the arms of his little fairy from the North, he slept without dreaming.
Chapter II - The Return:
Their honeymoon was spent exploring London, taking picnics in the fabled English countryside and laughing together when it started to drizzle. They did little shopping, for what did England have that Paris couldn’t offer? Every morning for a week they had a fried English breakfast, and scones with cream and jam for tea in the afternoon. They would sit in the courtyard of the hotel they were staying in, and enjoy the sunshine when it came. They learned to laugh over English cuisine, and joke the way a young couple should. They often walked across the Thames, and Christine could spend an hour just staring at the water. Once or twice she insisted that she'd seen fairies, but that they were nothing like the goblins at Perros. Seeing her lark and smile and speak of legends warmed Raoul’s heart with the hope that soon his love would recover and be the carefree girl she once was.
It wasn't long before Christine became restless. Raoul had hoped that she would forget “the monster” of the Paris underground, but she had made a promise to go back. In the past, if she hadn’t honoured her word to the man under the ground, she would be threatened with the “terrible things” that he would cause to happen. Her words on the rooftop in Paris had never left Raoul and he feared that her soul would forever be damaged, but Raoul knew that it was more than just fear of Erik and the desire to fulfil her final promise (and with it finally end that chapter of their lives) that made her itch to return. She had a powerful sense of duty, but this was more than that; she would always see Erik as more than just a monster, or a teacher. There was a brief time when, in the back of her mind she thought of him as “father”.
In the middle of their second week in London, Raoul gave in and agreed that they would return to Paris soon. Christine could be wilful, even forceful ,when the mood took her. The next day they packed, checked out checked out of their hotel, and were on their way back to the continent. The trip this time was much shorter, as they didn't miss their train. Upon their return Raoul was shocked to learn of his brother's death on the banks of the lake. He was distraught when told of the funeral, and to think that, as he and Christine were enjoying the bliss of a new marriage, his brother had been laid to rest in the ground after drowning. He and Christine had left by the Rue Scribe, and so bypassed the lake altogether as they left. They were completely unaware of the body that was lying just a few strokes of the oar away.
Christine consoled Raoul as he wept, and went with him to place flowers on the grave of the late Count. She went with Raoul to visit his sisters, who greeted her with a warmth she hadn't expected from “society ladies”. Raoul was now the Comt de Chagny, and Christine had expected at least coldness, if not outright hostility because of her class. The two women, sensing Christine's discomfort, only reassured her that they trusted their younger brother to choose a wife for himself, as he'd spent so much time with women as a child, he ought to know enough about them. This show of humour put Christine at ease, and she felt at last like she had a real family again.
Chapter III - The Funeral:
Shortly after their return, Christine went into a sort of frenzy. She spent hours in the library, meticulously going through the personals columns of every newspaper she could find from the past month. She feared greatly that she had missed the announcement, and even though Raoul assured her that she need only look through the Epoque, she would not be swayed.
“What if we misheard him? I would hate to think of him, lying all alone, with no one to put him to rest at last...” Her voice would trail off as a tear ran down her cheek. She scrubbed her face, and went back to her work.
A week after she began, a copy of the Epoque was delivered to the house that she now shared with Raoul. Straight away, she began her search. It wasn't long before she calmly put the paper down and looked blankly at Raoul across the table.
“It's time.” Her tone was resolute. Raoul knew that there would be no stopping her as she went upstairs to change. He picked up the paper, and found the short advertisement that said, quite simply: “Erik is dead.” There was nothing more; this was his sole obituary. No mention of his genius, his pain, or his madness. No word on the life he led, or the death that he wrought. No mention of his music.
Before Raoul could get too bogged down with such morbid thoughts, Christine appeared. She was wearing a gardening gown, and had fetched a shovel. Her face was set, and Raoul couldn't help thinking that she'd make a good poker player. Had the circumstances not been so sombre, he would have laughed at the thought of this tiny, blond woman, dressed as she was, staring down a group of Parisian gentlemen as they tried to best her at cards.
All the way to the Opera, Christine seemed to be in a trance. Raoul tried to speak to her, but she would just look at him blankly and go back to staring out of the window. Once at the opera, they went through the Rue Scribe entrance, down to the house. They found the body quickly. Shortly before dying, Erik had managed to lay down in his bed, the bed that was shaped like a coffin, and breathed his final breaths while clutching his most prized possession: the score to his Don Juan Triumphant. Christine let out one agonised sob and dropped to her knees. Raoul quickly moved to put his arms around her shoulders as she cried. She had never seen a corpse before, although with Erik there was little difference. He was as ugly as he had ever been, but now the breath of life had been pulled from his body and, while motionless, he did not look peaceful. Raoul guessed that his last hours had been spent in pain and grief.
Raoul helped Christine up, and with her direction he took her to the little room in which she'd slept as Erik's prisoner. It was the most comfortable room in the house, and he sat by her until she calmed herself. Leaving her there to rest, Raoul went back to Erik's room. He scowled down at the body of the man who had caused so much damage to so many lives. Did he deserve a proper burial? Did he deserve a burial at all? Raoul was a practicing Catholic, and he knew that the cellars of the opera house weren't sacred ground. Unless God was feeling particularly generous, there would no rest for this tormented soul. But then, if anyone deserved pity and forgiveness, was it not Erik? Raoul shook himself. Such thoughts were ill advised and disturbing. He bent down, and picked up the now-dead corpse. Erik had once referred to himself as the “living corpse”. In everything he did and said, the man had seemed to welcome death. Once again, Raoul tired to push his thoughts elsewhere. Though a tall man, Erik had been thin in life. He was surprisingly light, so Raoul had little difficulty carrying him to the boat, and rowing him to the other side.
Knowing that Christine would wish to be present, Raoul left the body on the bank of the lake, and went back to the house. He found Christine to be asleep, and sat by her side for a while. Though she was on a bed that was large enough for two, Raoul felt that it would be somehow wrong to lie next to her in this place, however innocent his intentions may be. Christine soon stirred and looked at him with sad, bleary eyes. Taking her hand, Raoul led her to the boat, then to where Erik lay. She turned her head briefly, but soon mustered enough strength to walk with Raoul as they carried him to the place where he wished to be buried.
The Persian had already been there. He had left a note, and some dried flowers to be buried alongside the man. Raoul set to digging. Being an aristocrat, he was not used to particularly hard labour. He'd done his fair share or exercise in the military, but his hands were still relatively soft and began to burn from the rough wood of the shovel. None the less, he did not stop or complain, and after a few hours a sizable hole had been dug. Taking a moment to strech his back, Raoul looked over to Christine. She had carried over a lantern, and her large eyes were brimmed with tears. She walked over to Erik's body, and slipped the little gold ring from the fourth finger of her right hand to the fourth finger of his left. Raoul felt a pang of jealousy, but said nothing. He watched as is beloved kissed the monster on the forehead one last time, and together they placed him into the hole. They placed the musical score over his chest, the note and flowers from the Persian on top of that, and crossed Erik's arms over the lot. Raoul then set back to digging.
Chapter IV – Life After Death
They stood for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, and left silently. At home that night they lay quietly, shivering in each other's arms, neither daring to say a word. The ordeal was over; Erik was dead, and would never trouble them again. Raoul tried to remind himself of this, but somehow he knew that it wasn't true. Though the man was now long gone, the memory of who he was and what he had done would never die and would take a long time to fade. Those events were still fresh and vivid in both their minds, and try though they might the images could not be drowned out.
The next day, they ordered the clothes that they had worn the previous night to be burned, and set about getting their house in order. Christine took a keen interest in the particulars of running a household and performed her duties as the lady of the house admirably. It wasn't long before she was loved and respected in equal parts by the servants, and all of the high society types that, a few years earlier, would not have given her the time of day. She still sang occasionally, but the memories that it brought back were too painful for her poor, bruised heart. It was a long time before she could even go visit the opera house, let alone stay and watch a full performance. Over the next year she gradually recovered her spirits, and Raoul along with her. Before their first anniversary, the young couple discovered that they were expecting their first child. It was a beautiful, healthy baby girl, and they named her after Christine's mother.
Outwardly, Christine and Raoul seemed happier than any other couple. They had many friends, and rejoiced in their children and grandchildren. Their marriage was successful, despite it not being strictly orthodox. Despite the trauma and the scars that were left with them, they had managed to rebuild their lives with such strong foundations that nothing could shake them. Then one day, they were gone. They left a note, saying that they had left for Sweden, where they wished to live out the remained of their lives. This was sudden and unexpected, but their families knew their story, and as such they respected this decision. Then one day, they too died. They were old and happy, and very loved. They are dead, but they will never be forgotten.
my_daroga was kind enough to do a check for me, so many thanks!This is a Christine/Raoul fic, and is more of an epilogue than anything else. Having read both Kay and Forsyth's version of Raoul and Christine's future, I was disappointed by how unrealistic and just plain mean those endings were. So, here it is!
Also posted to
nimthiriel Epilogue
Chapter I - The Flight:
Raoul and Christine ran. They fled as fast as their young legs could carry them, wanting only to escape the nightmare behind them. They stopped only briefly to purchase matching rings and, with a bag of gold thrust hastily into the hands of a reluctant priest, marry in a small village church, just North of Paris. Though he knew better, Raoul had hoped that Christine would discard the small, plain gold ring that already adorned her hand. She did not, but she was an honourable, dutiful girl and placed it on the fourth finger of her right hand instead.
Their first night together was awkward, and full of tears. Raoul had wanted to soothe and calm his young wife, and for their first experience of the marital bed to be one of joy. Much to his dismay, Christine was still too disturbed and broke down, sobbing in his arms when he got too close. He held and comforted her, and promised that all would be well. Unlike the man they had both left behind, Raoul would not be one to coerce her into a course of action she did not truly desire. It turned out to be a restless night with Christine often waking up in fits of shouting or tears. Through trembling teeth she refused to tell what she had been dreaming, but Raoul could easily guess. She still felt the weight of responsibility for many lives, even though she had saved them all; all but one. Neither of them slept well.
The next day their driver pushed the horses hard, and they stopped for one night in the city of Lille. They had originally planned to take the train from Paris to Calais direct, but had arrived just in time to watch the last carriage pull out of the station (this reminded Raoul of a similar incident, some months earlier; he neglected to tell Christine of his thoughts, fearing for her nerves should she be reminded). So, they hired a carriage and a disgruntled driver, and drove. The following day, Raoul insisted that they stay the morning to look around. He was concerned for Christine's health, and she agreed quickly enough to reassure him that she didn't overly mind delaying.
They wandered the city all morning, and stopped for their morning coffee in a charming little shop. It felt strange, finally doing “normal” things. Every so often one of them would look around nervously, then smile at the other before taking a sip. Surrounded by the beautiful buildings that lined the streets of this historic town, their mood soon improved and they set off for the coast. They took a boat to Brighton, and then carriage to their destination: London. Christine spoke little English, but learned the basic phrases quickly. Raoul's skills were passable, and he smiled whenever the locals complimented his wife's charming accent, her lovely hair and sweet smile. Finally, they felt safe.
That night at the hotel, they consummated their marriage. This final gesture of their nightmare being over overwhelmed Raoul, bringing him to tears. Christine cried with him, and he finally understood how something as simple as a kiss could redeem a man like Erik, and change him forever. For he felt that now that he, too, had “tasted all the happiness the world had to offer”. In the arms of his little fairy from the North, he slept without dreaming.
Chapter II - The Return:
Their honeymoon was spent exploring London, taking picnics in the fabled English countryside and laughing together when it started to drizzle. They did little shopping, for what did England have that Paris couldn’t offer? Every morning for a week they had a fried English breakfast, and scones with cream and jam for tea in the afternoon. They would sit in the courtyard of the hotel they were staying in, and enjoy the sunshine when it came. They learned to laugh over English cuisine, and joke the way a young couple should. They often walked across the Thames, and Christine could spend an hour just staring at the water. Once or twice she insisted that she'd seen fairies, but that they were nothing like the goblins at Perros. Seeing her lark and smile and speak of legends warmed Raoul’s heart with the hope that soon his love would recover and be the carefree girl she once was.
It wasn't long before Christine became restless. Raoul had hoped that she would forget “the monster” of the Paris underground, but she had made a promise to go back. In the past, if she hadn’t honoured her word to the man under the ground, she would be threatened with the “terrible things” that he would cause to happen. Her words on the rooftop in Paris had never left Raoul and he feared that her soul would forever be damaged, but Raoul knew that it was more than just fear of Erik and the desire to fulfil her final promise (and with it finally end that chapter of their lives) that made her itch to return. She had a powerful sense of duty, but this was more than that; she would always see Erik as more than just a monster, or a teacher. There was a brief time when, in the back of her mind she thought of him as “father”.
In the middle of their second week in London, Raoul gave in and agreed that they would return to Paris soon. Christine could be wilful, even forceful ,when the mood took her. The next day they packed, checked out checked out of their hotel, and were on their way back to the continent. The trip this time was much shorter, as they didn't miss their train. Upon their return Raoul was shocked to learn of his brother's death on the banks of the lake. He was distraught when told of the funeral, and to think that, as he and Christine were enjoying the bliss of a new marriage, his brother had been laid to rest in the ground after drowning. He and Christine had left by the Rue Scribe, and so bypassed the lake altogether as they left. They were completely unaware of the body that was lying just a few strokes of the oar away.
Christine consoled Raoul as he wept, and went with him to place flowers on the grave of the late Count. She went with Raoul to visit his sisters, who greeted her with a warmth she hadn't expected from “society ladies”. Raoul was now the Comt de Chagny, and Christine had expected at least coldness, if not outright hostility because of her class. The two women, sensing Christine's discomfort, only reassured her that they trusted their younger brother to choose a wife for himself, as he'd spent so much time with women as a child, he ought to know enough about them. This show of humour put Christine at ease, and she felt at last like she had a real family again.
Chapter III - The Funeral:
Shortly after their return, Christine went into a sort of frenzy. She spent hours in the library, meticulously going through the personals columns of every newspaper she could find from the past month. She feared greatly that she had missed the announcement, and even though Raoul assured her that she need only look through the Epoque, she would not be swayed.
“What if we misheard him? I would hate to think of him, lying all alone, with no one to put him to rest at last...” Her voice would trail off as a tear ran down her cheek. She scrubbed her face, and went back to her work.
A week after she began, a copy of the Epoque was delivered to the house that she now shared with Raoul. Straight away, she began her search. It wasn't long before she calmly put the paper down and looked blankly at Raoul across the table.
“It's time.” Her tone was resolute. Raoul knew that there would be no stopping her as she went upstairs to change. He picked up the paper, and found the short advertisement that said, quite simply: “Erik is dead.” There was nothing more; this was his sole obituary. No mention of his genius, his pain, or his madness. No word on the life he led, or the death that he wrought. No mention of his music.
Before Raoul could get too bogged down with such morbid thoughts, Christine appeared. She was wearing a gardening gown, and had fetched a shovel. Her face was set, and Raoul couldn't help thinking that she'd make a good poker player. Had the circumstances not been so sombre, he would have laughed at the thought of this tiny, blond woman, dressed as she was, staring down a group of Parisian gentlemen as they tried to best her at cards.
All the way to the Opera, Christine seemed to be in a trance. Raoul tried to speak to her, but she would just look at him blankly and go back to staring out of the window. Once at the opera, they went through the Rue Scribe entrance, down to the house. They found the body quickly. Shortly before dying, Erik had managed to lay down in his bed, the bed that was shaped like a coffin, and breathed his final breaths while clutching his most prized possession: the score to his Don Juan Triumphant. Christine let out one agonised sob and dropped to her knees. Raoul quickly moved to put his arms around her shoulders as she cried. She had never seen a corpse before, although with Erik there was little difference. He was as ugly as he had ever been, but now the breath of life had been pulled from his body and, while motionless, he did not look peaceful. Raoul guessed that his last hours had been spent in pain and grief.
Raoul helped Christine up, and with her direction he took her to the little room in which she'd slept as Erik's prisoner. It was the most comfortable room in the house, and he sat by her until she calmed herself. Leaving her there to rest, Raoul went back to Erik's room. He scowled down at the body of the man who had caused so much damage to so many lives. Did he deserve a proper burial? Did he deserve a burial at all? Raoul was a practicing Catholic, and he knew that the cellars of the opera house weren't sacred ground. Unless God was feeling particularly generous, there would no rest for this tormented soul. But then, if anyone deserved pity and forgiveness, was it not Erik? Raoul shook himself. Such thoughts were ill advised and disturbing. He bent down, and picked up the now-dead corpse. Erik had once referred to himself as the “living corpse”. In everything he did and said, the man had seemed to welcome death. Once again, Raoul tired to push his thoughts elsewhere. Though a tall man, Erik had been thin in life. He was surprisingly light, so Raoul had little difficulty carrying him to the boat, and rowing him to the other side.
Knowing that Christine would wish to be present, Raoul left the body on the bank of the lake, and went back to the house. He found Christine to be asleep, and sat by her side for a while. Though she was on a bed that was large enough for two, Raoul felt that it would be somehow wrong to lie next to her in this place, however innocent his intentions may be. Christine soon stirred and looked at him with sad, bleary eyes. Taking her hand, Raoul led her to the boat, then to where Erik lay. She turned her head briefly, but soon mustered enough strength to walk with Raoul as they carried him to the place where he wished to be buried.
The Persian had already been there. He had left a note, and some dried flowers to be buried alongside the man. Raoul set to digging. Being an aristocrat, he was not used to particularly hard labour. He'd done his fair share or exercise in the military, but his hands were still relatively soft and began to burn from the rough wood of the shovel. None the less, he did not stop or complain, and after a few hours a sizable hole had been dug. Taking a moment to strech his back, Raoul looked over to Christine. She had carried over a lantern, and her large eyes were brimmed with tears. She walked over to Erik's body, and slipped the little gold ring from the fourth finger of her right hand to the fourth finger of his left. Raoul felt a pang of jealousy, but said nothing. He watched as is beloved kissed the monster on the forehead one last time, and together they placed him into the hole. They placed the musical score over his chest, the note and flowers from the Persian on top of that, and crossed Erik's arms over the lot. Raoul then set back to digging.
Chapter IV – Life After Death
They stood for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, and left silently. At home that night they lay quietly, shivering in each other's arms, neither daring to say a word. The ordeal was over; Erik was dead, and would never trouble them again. Raoul tried to remind himself of this, but somehow he knew that it wasn't true. Though the man was now long gone, the memory of who he was and what he had done would never die and would take a long time to fade. Those events were still fresh and vivid in both their minds, and try though they might the images could not be drowned out.
The next day, they ordered the clothes that they had worn the previous night to be burned, and set about getting their house in order. Christine took a keen interest in the particulars of running a household and performed her duties as the lady of the house admirably. It wasn't long before she was loved and respected in equal parts by the servants, and all of the high society types that, a few years earlier, would not have given her the time of day. She still sang occasionally, but the memories that it brought back were too painful for her poor, bruised heart. It was a long time before she could even go visit the opera house, let alone stay and watch a full performance. Over the next year she gradually recovered her spirits, and Raoul along with her. Before their first anniversary, the young couple discovered that they were expecting their first child. It was a beautiful, healthy baby girl, and they named her after Christine's mother.
Outwardly, Christine and Raoul seemed happier than any other couple. They had many friends, and rejoiced in their children and grandchildren. Their marriage was successful, despite it not being strictly orthodox. Despite the trauma and the scars that were left with them, they had managed to rebuild their lives with such strong foundations that nothing could shake them. Then one day, they were gone. They left a note, saying that they had left for Sweden, where they wished to live out the remained of their lives. This was sudden and unexpected, but their families knew their story, and as such they respected this decision. Then one day, they too died. They were old and happy, and very loved. They are dead, but they will never be forgotten.