Page 115 of Angel's Fall
It had felt like madness when they made the plan. When they realized they had a body at their disposal who had pretended to the Phantom’s legacy. Through Antoine, the Opera Ghost could die, so that Erik could live. He had been afraid the moment they had decided on it; when he knew that his love would have to play one last role to free them all. So he had asked her – begged her – to grant him one promise in consolation: to marry him. And she had said yes.
Now, Erik was waiting in front of an altar, his back to the largest crowd he had been part of in nearly seven years. There were five people present, now that Adèle and Julianne had come to sit down, which Erik watched from the corner of his eye. Shaya made six, as he walked down the aisle. Was his face serious for some terrible reason? Had Christine changed her mind? She would be right to do so. Erik didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve her.
Shaya spoke quietly to Robert Rameau, who gave an amused smile and nodded before leaving his seat. Erik braced himself as the Daroga and the manager beside him both walked towards Erik, looking rightfully hesitant.
“She wanted Robert to walk her down the aisle,” Shaya said before Erik could ask. “He’s played her father enough times, she thought it was close enough to count.”
“I think it should.” Erik looked at the men who were staring at him uneasily. “And?”
“And she wanted to make sure someone would stand beside you,” Shaya answered. “If you needed it.”
“I believe it is up to you to choose,” Moncharmin added.
It had been an impulse to invite the manager. Erik had sought Moncharmin out the day before, in order to make his amends with the man who had saved Erik from taking more lives. The man had been relieved when Erik had told him the Ghost, or at least one ghost, intended to leave the Opera. He had asked if he meant to follow Christine. Erik had answered honestly, by saying yes, that he would go with her as a husband, and would Moncharmin like to be a witness? To Erik’s shock, the man had agreed.
“I appreciate your presence, Armand,” Erik began, still unsure of himself. “But I should like to have the Daroga here. If he is willing.”
“Of course,” Moncharmin smiled. “I think my memoirs would have already strained credulity. I hope it is not bad luck to say in advance that you have my congratulations and good wishes.”
“Not at all. I much appreciate the sentiment,” Erik muttered. “I need it.”
“She also told me to tell you to stop worrying – not that you would,” Shaya added. Erik gave him a gentle glare as Moncharmin returned to his seat.
“I confess, Daroga, I would never have imagined we would find ourselves here.” Erik looked around the opulent church that somehow was theirs for this quiet evening before the dawn of spring.
“At your wedding to a woman so far above you in virtue and kindness you might as well be a stone marrying the sun? Or in a church?” Shaya replied, and it took a moment for the spark of humor to ignite in his eyes.
“Both. Nonetheless, I am grateful to whatever powers brought us here.”
“He would be happy for you. I know that,” Shaya said softly. “Or wherever he is watching from, heishappy. I can feel it.”
“That is the greatest gift you could give me, Daroga,” Erik answered as moisture edged his eyes. “And you have given me many a gift in the past few days.”
“None so great as the one you will soon receive.” Shaya nodded towards the priest, who had emerged to take his place and eye Erik nervously. “Ready, Father?”
“We are,” the priest replied.
“And we have not been struck down yet on this holy ground, so I think we can proceed,” Erik joked and enjoyed both Shaya’s glare and seeing the young father go a bit paler. Then he turned to see Christine on Robert Rameau’s arm, and there was nothing in the world but her.
Erik had never witnessed anything more beautiful than her. The way her dark hair set off the white of her gown, the small bouquet of early spring blooms in her hand, the brightness of her smile behind her lace veil. Erik was so inadequate; so small and unworthy in this glittering holy place with such an angel looking upon him. But he would not run from her, not today. Not ever again.
Christine met him before the priest, and with shaking hands, Erik lifted her veil to reveal her beaming face and shining eyes. Christine handed her bouquet to Robert, and her hands shook too as she then lifted to Erik’s mask. It was only right that he should enter into this unveiled as well, was it not? Even if it terrified him. Erik nodded, and Christine removed the mask from his face then handed it to Shaya. No one screamed, no one gasped, and Christine smiled.
Father René began to speak in Latin, and Erik barely listened. The blessings and ritual did not matter as much as the simple miracle that Christine Daaé was here with him, ready to trade her name for his.
“In the presence of God and the witnesses here gathered, I ask that you state your intentions,” Father René said in French when the blessing was done. “Have you both come to enter into marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?”
“We have,” Erik and Christine answered as one, not looking away from each other.
“Since it is your intention to join in the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your hands and declare your vows.” Erik was quick to obey, and the feel of his love’s palm against his, of her holding him, real and alive, gave him strength.
“Do you, Erik Gilbride, take Christine Daaé to be your wife? To cherish always and be faithful to, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love and to honor, until death do you part?”
“And beyond it. I do.” Erik glanced to the poor priest, who seemed unprepared for such a deviation. The young man looked kindly back to Christine, who continued to grin even as tears trickled over her pink cheeks.
“Do you, Christine Daaé, take Erik Gilbride to be your husband? To cherish always and be faithful to, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love and to honor, until, well—”
“To the stars and beyond, I do,” Christine answered.
