XI. Night unfurls its Splendour

It was the first truly warm night of the year, and only a few clouds stained the star-strewn night sky. Even the wind was more or less warm now, and it gently played with the Phantom's hair as he gazed down at the lights of the city, one hand resting on the balustrade, while the other thoughtlessly toyed with the hilt of his dagger. It had been Adhemar's once, but now it was his. Another trophy to add to his collection.

But even though the idea ought to fill him with triumph, it somehow didn't. Not with that memory of seeing that image of himself, or whoever it was supposed to be, still so clear and sharp in his head, with all those little trophies dangling from his belt.

No, not me. Not me.

Curse you, Aeternus. Why did you have to tell me?

He should have cracked the man's mind open and searched for the truth.

But could he have done that? Somehow he suspected that Aeternus was stronger than he had seemed, that he would have been able to fight back. And he had not done it.

I was tired, he told himself. Too tired for anything.

You damn coward, another voice hissed inside his head.

No! Not a coward! Never a coward! I fought, I fought them all, and I won.

And tonight I showed the whole world that I'm not afraid.

No, not afraid. Never afraid again. Not of humans, not of fate, not of memories.

Not of the picture on the wall of his home. The Pillars of Heaven.

Not of the face behind the mask.

There you are, you fool, he thought as he propped his bow against the balustrade beside him. Finally found out what you fear, haven't you?

What I used to fear. What I will not fear anymore.

Yes, because it's the one thing in the world I know best. The one thing only I truly know.

It's myself.

Snatching off his cap to allow the wind complete access to his hair – it had grown rather long during those last months, but somehow he was reluctant to cut it off – he threw back his head, gazing up at the stars defiantly. They were like luminous eyes staring down at him. Like the eyes of nameless gods dwelling beyond the skies. "Do you hear me?" he whispered. "It's just me, and I'm not afraid!"

Tonight was a night to remember. He might even keep the silly cap.

Oh, and it would be a dinner party tonight, the fop boy seemed to think. At a noble restaurant, though in a private room. Did the idiot not see the scandal coming if he accepted the invitation? Yes, certainly, the infamous Phantom of the Opera going out for dinner with the Vicomte de Chagny and his lot! Hell, the boy was stupid!

And he would be cursed if he did not go.

The Phantom grinned.

He felt her approaching long before he heard the door onto the roof open behind him, and he waited for her in silence, savouring the sensation of her coming closer – and enjoying the knowledge that she was searching for him by her feeling for him alone, for he had not told her where he had gone. But if she wanted to find him, he had known that she could.

The choice had been hers. And she had made it.

Suddenly there was a glorious warmth in his chest, very tender, but so much stronger than the fire his triumph had kindled.

And then he felt her hand briefly touch his arm, and for the moment his eyes slid shut as he allowed himself the luxury of drowning in her presence.

"They liked you," she said softly, now standing beside him, so close that her shoulder almost touched him, and letting her eyes wander over the ocean of lights beneath.

He smiled. "No. They liked you. And you were magnificent."

"You were magnificent." As she breathed out, it sounded like a little sigh. "So magnificent that you almost made me cry."

Yes, he had seen the tears in her eyes at the end, in the scene where Senta left her young fiancé to sacrifice herself for the Dutchman. So it had been his fault, after all. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." For a moment they both stood in silence, then her hand sought his on the balustrade. "You know, those lines in the end, about my father... Can you sing it again for me?"

He knew what she meant, and he wondered whether it had occurred to her the first time this evening... and whether that was what had made her cry. Taking her hand in his, he sang to her softly, very gently.

"Gedenkst du, wie auf steilem Felsenriffe
Vom Ufer wir den Vater scheiden sah'n?
Er zog dahin auf weiß beschwingtem Schiffe
Und meinem Schutz vertraute er dich an..."

He stopped before he came to the lines about love, for he knew it would only make her feel guilty, and he did not want to hurt her in any way. Besides, she had never sworn to love him. Swallowing down his feeling of bitterness, he pulled her into his arms instead, drawing in the sweet, flowery scent of her hair. "I will always be there to protect you," he whispered. "Whatever happens. Whenever you need me. Always."

"So will I, Erik." Reaching up, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "Don't think I'm going to leave you."

"But you are." It had burst out of him before he could have bitten his tongue, and now he could not made it unsaid. "You'll get married," he explained. "That means you won't live here anymore. And that..." He did not want to say it, because maybe if he did not say it, some small irrational part of his mind believed, then maybe it would not be true... But no, he was just being foolish. It did not matter what he said. "That you won't sing anymore."

"I'm afraid I'm really going to leave," she answered slowly, and a little sadly, too. She would miss her old surroundings, the place that had been her home for many years. "But you'll still see me. And I can still sing for you, if you want me to."

"I do," he muttered, nuzzling his face into her hair. Why did he always have to feel like a silly little boy when he was with her? And why, why in the name of Satan, did he have to appreciate that stupid feeling?

He sensed that somebody was approaching, but he would not let Christine go. Not now. Not even when somebody tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me," Raoul said, "but in real life, that's my fiancée. So would you please be so kind and take your greedy paws off her?"

Behind him, Meg giggled gently, and a cold, wet nose brushed against the back of his thigh impatiently.

Now that was a challenge he could not just ignore. Letting go of Christine, though with regrets, he first applied a brief pat to Senta's furry head, then snatched Raoul by the collar and tousled his hair. "Were you talking to me, slimeball?"

"Yes, jerk. And get out of my hair."

"Now, now, boys," Meg giggled. "Are you fighting over poor Christine again? Good grief, Erik, you ought to get changed, or do you intend to go out with us in that costume? Though those trousers allow a pleasant view of your legs," she added slyly.

"Want to get an even better look?" he grinned. Oh, girls could be so much fun! "I can roll them up a little, if you like."

"We're grateful as long as you don't take them off," Raoul put in. "And show off those shocking, ahem, unmentionables of yours."

Immediately the girls burst into giggles.

Now that was a topic they liked, wasn't it? And to think that they claimed they were decent girls... The Phantom smirked. "Maybe I should, because I'm wearing the emerald ones tonight. To match my costume."

"Heavens!" Christine exclaimed. "I'm glad you didn't mention that earlier on, or else I might have had a laughing fit on stage!"

"Emerald?" Meg asked, grinning widely and in a way her mother certainly would not appreciate. "I've never yet seen those..."

"I really think we ought to be going," Raoul interrupted, though grinning as well. "Erik, man, hold your wicked tongue, or else you'll spoil those young ladies completely! Oh, by the way," he added with a conspiratorial wink, "where do you get those ballet tights?"

The Phantom raised his eyebrows at him. "Are you planning to join the ballet or what?"

"Well..." Raoul shuffled his feet, clearly a bit embarrassed. "You know, my mother always wants me to wear those horrible woolly underthings, those long ones, and they itch something dreadfully."

"I see." The Phantom smirked. Raoul in woolly, scratching underpants... One day that boy would have to learn to stand up to his mother.

As he surveyed the assembled, all of them, including the dog, as cheerful as they could be, he once again felt the warmth rising in his chest. He might be a fallen angel, and very far indeed from Heaven, but what did he care? This was as close to Heaven as anyone could get.

While the girls put their heads together, still giggling, Raoul gave him a gentle nudge in the ribs. "Hey there, Erik, how about Il Muto tomorrow? You still don't think you're going to sing, do you?"

"Of course not." Don Attilio was a role for somebody like Piangi, not for him. "I'll prefer to watch."

"Yes indeed." Raoul beamed. "Christine as the countess, Xavier as the page boy... It couldn't possibly get any better, now could it?"

"You forget Meg as the serving maid. She never fails to amuse me."

"Right, she too. Say, can I sit in Box Five with you? I'll bring a huge box of chocolates, and when Leclair is playing wrong notes, we'll chuck the wrappers into the orchestra pit." Raoul snickered with boyish delight at the very idea, though the Phantom knew that he was too polite to do any such thing.

So he wanted to sit with him? That silly fop? In his private box with him? But a huge box of chocolates... Maybe the prospect was not so bad. Grinning, he returned Raoul's nudge from earlier on. "Bloody brilliant, kid!"