Hooray, Phantom! This one is a Christine/Raoul childhood fic, based on information from Chapter 6 of the novel. It's a little random. Enjoy.

There is a startling beauty in the branches of a tree at dusk. The isolated maple afforded a smooth broad perch, where the half-sized viscount lay sprawled on his belly, peering through the outer branches, and Christine Daaé sat with her back to the trunk. Evening gave the air a whispering breeze, the first fireflies, golden shadows, and the faint whiff of the sea. Raoul had climbed the tree for its vantage point in the high branches. He had not expected Christine to follow, which she had for the sheer joy of the climb, and he was not a little embarrassed when she navigated the branches more deftly than he had, but he found she gave excellent suggestions to his commanding of the maple, which he longed to make a ship and steer far into the East Indies.

"I think Scheherazade ought to poison the King." He edged forward, the bark scratching his ribs. "And commandeer one of his vessels to another Empire.

"Don't be horrible," Christine admonished. "Besides, the King has food tasters. She would be caught and killed at once, and then – "

"But when does it say that he has tasters?"

"I expect he does." She seemed confident.

Raoul struggled with this information, which he felt he ought to have been told, and Christine crept forward to distract him.

"Couldn't we sail north for a while? The sky looks rough that way."

Raoul did a quick guess as to where north was and swung himself in that direction. She seemed comforted.

"If you could go anywhere – "

"Little Vicomte!" An airy lilting voice appeared from the ground near them. "You are wanted at home. The family will send out a thousand ships if you don't return soon."

Raoul could not suppress a groan and protested to the gray-haired man below. "It's been less than an hour since they last saw me. It must be!"

And Christine, leaning over her branch, "Are they very worried?"

Daaé nodded. "Your governess looks as though she's opened the seventh seal," he added to Raoul. "Come down."

Raoul stubbornly clamped his knees against the branch. "Couldn't I just stay until dark?"

"You could," Daaé nodded. "In that case, we will leave you. Though you can expect trouble later."

Seeing Christine rise to go, Raoul straightened and leaned into Daaé's extended arms, strong hands lifting him from the tree. Daaé chuckled, the small boy perched lightly on his shoulder, then turned and, with the grace of a sprite, Christine leapt onto his back.

"Did King Sharyar keep servants to test his food?" she asked, kissing the graying hair.

"Naturally."

She smiled slyly at Raoul.

The violinist carried both of them until he was obliged to set Raoul down, crossing from meadow into emptying streets. The first stars twinkled, and Daaé drifted into a low hum, while Christine nodded to sleep on his back, Daaé supporting her weight as easily as if she were an extension of this own body. Halos of fireflies parted in their wake and Raoul trotted in step beside them, as the three neared brighter and grander homes.

"Will you stay here much longer?" he asked eventually.

"If it pleases the Comte," Daaé answered.

Raoul frowned. "And you'll play again tomorrow, by the wharf?"

"All day by the wharf, until the sun sets."

"I wish I could go too then."

"You will be busy with many other things and would probably get quite restless."

"But you will come back to teach me again the next day, won't you?"

"If it pleases the Comte."

"And what if it pleases me?"

Daaé regarded the slight, serious boy. They rounded a final corner and approached the large gilt house.

"Christine will go and see you if she likes." Christine's head lolled on his shoulder.

"Don't you want her with you?"

"She can go where she likes," the man replied. "A young voice should not strain itself."

"How can I persuade you to come to the house more often?"

"You must show you brother how well you have learned to play."

The boy stopped at the gate, flattered into sincerity. "I wish I were much better," he confided matter-of-factly. "But I can't play like you do. I don't have genius."

Daaé laughed again, shaking his head. "Not genius. Only love and a little practice. You, little Monsieur, will have open to you all of the greatest music in the world: every symphony, every theatre. Soon enough, you will recognize my poor fiddling for what it is."

Raoul meant to disagree somehow, but was puzzled by a curious furrow in the man's brow. Daaé sighed.

"It is no matter," he added, his smile tired. "I have this one. That is enough. She – " Christine's eyes snapped open like a cat's.

"Yes?"

"We should go, child."

The door was flung open from within the house and Philippe emerged at a run.

"There you are, you little savage!" He caught Raoul and began to beat the grass and mud from his clothing, relief and adoration evident in his face. Raoul squirmed and swatted. The Comte nodded to Daaé.

"I am obliged to you for finding him, Monsieur." His eyes moved toward Christine and became serious. "Your daughter?"

"What do you think?" Raoul snapped from his brother's vice-grip.

As they turned to go, Christine hesitated, then ran to Raoul and kissed him on the cheek.

"I will see you tomorrow, won't I?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Little scoundrel!" Philippe gave Raoul another delighted cuff to the back. Sweeping the boy under his arm, he again thanked Daaé and departed into the lamplight of the hall, where Raoul was received by his governess. Daaé, King Sharyar, fireflies, and the stardust of twilight faded away from him, as he was scrubbed, starched, warmed, and sent to say his prayers before bed.

A mile away, the Swedish peasant carried his child along deserted roads, passed ramshackle homes, and climbed narrow attic stairs. Christine was set clothed in her bed, with the wind in her breath, grass, bark, and the sparkle of sunset still clinging to her form, while Daaé sang snatches of lullaby in a language she did not fully remember. And Daaé sat awake, for he had given the warmest blankets to Christine and his lungs felt the first signs of discomfort. But it was much later before they seriously began to trouble him, and later still before his song would fade from the world.

I am aware that Christine and Raoul's ages are vague here. I originally wanted them to be about nine, but I think they're actually twelve, because I imagine Raoul's father as being recently dead in this story. Thoughts?

The A Thousand and One Nights references are just for fun, because it seemed to fit nicely with the characters and time period. (Also, yay parallels.)

And finally, there are parts of this oneshot that work well for me and parts that don't, so any and all reviews are welcome.

And no, I do not ship E/C and you can't make me . . .