This began as a promise of reparation of pure fluff to my darling friend, Nade-Nabarrie for trampling her poor heart with Liberte last year. Since then, it has morphed and grown into the final product below. Danielle, I appreciate your effervescent spirit and I am grateful for you and our friendship. I hope you will forgive me for any lingering trauma after this.

A few (lot) of historical liberties have been taken with this phic. For more information on that, head over to my tumblr (a-partofthenarrative) for a slight "behind the scenes".

Thoughts are warmly welcomed and deeply appreciated.

"Tulips were a tray of jewels." ― E.M. Forster, Howards End

Pointe de La Torche, France

April 1889

With honey on her lips and sand beneath her feet, Christine allowed her eyes to slide shut. Licking the final remnants of the sweet liquid away, she stretched her lower limbs beyond the blanket she sat on, bare toes curling into the grainy texture that shifted at her movements. The salty air stung her cheeks even as the tidal waves provided a crashing rhythm to accentuate her dreamy sigh. "I think I just may have died and am now in heaven."

A dark chuckle from her companion drew her attention back to the present. "I would be inclined to disagree. While paradise may yet be your eternal destination, I assure you, I am not welcome there."

With a weighted sigh, Christine allowed her gaze to shift from the crystal water before her to the living shadow beside her with a pointed frown. "Can you not simply enjoy the moment? After all, you were the one to choose the destination."

Erik shrugged as he met her scowl. "I thought you might enjoy some time away from Paris."

"Well, I never said it was a bad idea…"

"Then kindly refrain from any further complaints, if you please," With the barest hint of a smirk, he extended a wrapped package to her. "Care for another?"

Cheeky bastard. Even as she speared him with a playful glare, her traitorous fingers reached for another honey-coated pastry. "If you keep feeding these to me, I shall lose my figure and the dresser will come for your head." Shifting away from him, she took a bite, eyes falling closed once more as tiered flavors of hazelnut meringue exploded on her tongue. "Although, this dacquoise is just divine! Wherever did you get it?"

"I found the bakery by accident as I was passing through the area a number of years ago," Erik supplied, stretching his long legs out before him, mirroring her position. "I am happy that it pleases you."

"The food, the house, the private beach...everything is exquisite!" Christine breathed, surveying the view in every direction before turning her grin to his face. "I can't thank you enough for bringing me here."

"Provided in part by the Daroga's generosity, of course," he acknowledged with slight roll of his eyes. "He purchased the chateau as a summer home in his travels, but rarely utilizes it. He thought a fortnight by the sea would do us both some good. 'Bah! Go to La Torche, old friend. Take the girl!' Her lips twitched at the exaggerated impression of his oldest friend "'An escape to retain my sanity' were his exact words, I believe."

Christine leaned into him, her head finding a familiar place on his lanky shoulder. "Nadir is a smart man."

"Nadir is a fool," Erik countered, but his voice held a note of aloof affection. "He, of all people, should know better than to think that I would be able to retain any ounce of sanity at all."

Despite herself, Christine chuckled. "Whatever his reasons, I am grateful to him. And you," Lifting her head, she scooted slightly to face him, curling her fingers into his large palms. "I know it is difficult for you to leave the safety of the opera, but we needed this time, you and I. To relax and rejuvenate and discover how to be an 'us' in the world outside of the comforts of home.

Erik's swallowed hard, throat bobbing. "Is there an 'us', Christine?"

At this, Christine paused. His question was simple enough; the larger inquiry was anything but.

It was no secret to either of them that they loved one another, even if it had taken months for Erik to believe her words were not simply empty platitudes. They had settled into a comfortable routine over the last few weeks: easy words, lingering touches, a stolen kiss now and then, but the future of their relationship remained undefined.

She knew that it would only take a single word from her to cement their future, but after years of deceit, half-truths, and manipulation, something inside would not allow her to hand her heart completely into his hands.

Yet.

At her hesitation, Erik pulled away with a slight grunt as he stood. Christine let him go, not quite trusting her voice to say anything in that moment. Instead, she accepted his offered hand as he pulled her to her feet and slipped into her discarded shoes. Beside her, Erik gathered the remainder of their lunch while she shook the remaining sand out of the blanket before it was folded and placed into the picnic basket.

Slipping her hand through the crook of his arm, Christine traced her fingers along the fabric of his shirtsleeves, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric and hoping to convey through her touch what she could not express with her words.

Suddenly Erik halted beside her, causing her free hand to fly to his arm to stop her steps. Muttering an apology, he placed the basket on a nearby stone before asking, "Do you trust me, ange?"

She searched his face as best she could with the mask, but found only unusual trepidation there. "Of course, Erik. I would not be here with you otherwise."

He hesitated for a moment and then, "There is something I would like to show you, if you are amenable to the idea."

Her brow furrowed. "What is it?"

"Ah, now that is where the trust lays, I'm afraid," A shimmer of a grin pulled at the edge of his mouth. "But I think you will find it most pleasing."

"Then lead on, good sir."

His visible brow rose, but he remained silent as she reclaimed his arm and allowed herself to be led away from the chateau. With the sea breeze and sun at their backs, Erik led her away from the roar of the waves of the ocean and calls of the gulls in the direction of a series of shallow bluffs that separated the beach from terra firma.

Hand-in hand, they climbed the small row of hills and when Christine crested the top of the bluff, she gripped his fingers tighter as her breath was drawn back into her lungs by a awed gasp. "Oh...oh Erik! It's...It's.."

Exquisite could not even begin to describe the sight before her. At the foot of the bluff, a field of tulips emerged. Her eyes feasted on row after row of blooms, sampled in a variety of vibrant shades that seemed to never end. Winks of citrine, ruby, amethyst, rose gold and diamond. A literal sea of color and fragrance.

Bouncing on the soles of her feet, she turned eager eyes to Erik, who watched her with a bemused twitch to his mouth. "May we?"

"Of course," His affirmative response was rewarded with a brilliant smile as she seized his hand and all but dragged him down the hill. Once among the blossoms, she ventured ahead of him slightly, pretending not to notice his barely veiled amusement at her childish behavior.

As they moved through the rows, she remarked, "I've haven't seen naturally growing tulips since my stay in Holland with Papa when I was eight."

"So you are familiar with them then?"

Inclining her head Christine answered, "They would appear in bouquets of the principal performers from time to time, but I'm sure you already knew that." When he only smirked in response, she chuckled. "I always found them to be a bit ostentatious, to be perfectly honest. Seeing them out here, though, I don't know…" Her shoulders lifted in a half shrug. "I find myself quickly having a change of opinion."

Erik glanced down at her. "You are pleased, then?"

Brown eyes flicked up with a smile. "Exceptionally so. You are too good to me, Erik."

He scoffed. "There are many words to describe me, sweetling. I fear 'good' is not one of them that is often used."

She paused, taking his hand. "Erik...don't…"

His grip on her finger tightened, then relaxed. "Did you know that contrary to popular belief, tulips are not native to Holland and the Dutch?"

Christine suppressed a sigh, used to his divertive tactics by now. Knowing no progress would be made today, she forced interest to her face and answered, "Really? Then where?"

Something shifted in his expression, a strangle spark of life alighting his gemstone eyes. "Persia, actually. Nearly a millennia ago. They are considered to be a charm against evil"

Christine blinked. "How interesting."

Erik gave a hum of agreement as he crouched to examine a nearby bulb. "The flower's name is derived from its shape, interestingly enough. The word for tulip in Persian is the same as the word for turban, a type of royal headdress. Do you see how it appears to be wrapped around itself?" Extending a long finger, he traced a gentle outline around the delicate petals. "As the kings of Europe wear a crown, the Shah of Persia dons a head wrap that is nearly identical in shape to this particular type of flower."

"So unique," Christine remarked, stooping next to him for a closer look. "The colors are so bright! And so many varieties."

"Each holds its own meaning. The yellow ones here? They mean hope and cheer. And the purple a little further down; royalty. White symbolize forgiveness while pink stand for well wishes and confidence."

Christine's murmur of delight was faint, but her eyes darted from one hue to another, taking time to appreciate the unique beauty each presented. A smile bloomed on her lips as she moved ahead of Erik to stroke a blood-red blossom, glancing back at him. "And these?"

"Red are associated with passion and romance." He hesitated, before amending, "Perfect love, to be precise."

"Unsurprising," Christine answered, running her thumb along the seam of the flower. "Similar to a rose, then."

"I suppose," Erik conceded, rising to his feet. "Although, the legend of the red tulip's origin is quite extraordinary."

"More so than the rose in Greek mythology? After all, they seem to be your flower of choice."

Erik released a dry chuckle. "Touché, my dear. But perhaps that was only because I knew you preferred them. In truth, I find the legend of tulips much more fascinating, no doubt a consequence of my time spent in Persia. For all the horror I encountered there, there did exist a handful of incomparable beauty."

Rising to join him, Christine slipped her arm through his again as she stared at the rows of scarlet, a command coming just above a whisper. "Tell me the story,"

"You've read Romeo and Juliet, yes?" At her nod, he waved a careless hand. "The story mirrors that one rather closely. According to Persian folklore, the first tulip is said to have bloomed from the blood of star crossed lovers, Farhad and Shirin."

"A lowly stone cutter, Farhad, loved the Princess Shirin, and wanted to win her heart. When she heard of this, she would have none of it, and would not even see him, for what would she want with a lowly tradesman?"

"So Farhad took to the hills with his flute and made beautiful music in praise of Princess Shirin. He fasted as he pined for his love, and soon the villagers made him the talk of the town. They saw Farhad's plight and felt for him, so they conspired that the two should meet. Princess Shirin was led into the mountain's forest by her courtesan and when she saw Farhad and heard his music, she fell in love."

"A feeling I know well," she quipped, smirking up at him with sparkling eyes.

He paused, throat bobbing, but continued with his tale, voice smooth, beckoning her into a far away land. "When her father, the Shah heard that his only daughter had fallen for someone beneath her he was not pleased. He could see that she loved him, but was adamant that she should not. However, the Shah was a clever man, for he knew if he forbade the relationship, then he might lose her, so he devised a clever plan."

"He decreed that Farhad, being a commoner, must complete a task - a task that no man could complete. A task that heroes would run from, and only if he was able to do this could he have any hope of ever being with his beloved princess."

Christine's eyes grew wide. "What kind of task?"

"As I said, the shah was no fool. He had Shirin ask this of Farhad, as a task she wanted complete. At her father's prodding, Princess Shirin went to Farhad and asked him to dig a canal through the bedrock of the hills. Not just any canal mind you; but a massive one, required to be six lances wide and three lances deep, oh and forty miles long! Yet Farhad was not bothered in the least, for he loved her beyond all reason. So, he loaded up his spade and journeyed deep into the hills."

"He labored tirelessly for years, much like the biblical Jacob for his Rachel. From dawn to dark he worked his spade, building the canal, and he was making real progress. The princess would visit, in secret to watch him work, falling deeper and deeper in love."

"Bless them," she murmured.

"Word eventually reached the Shah that Farhad had almost completed his task. The clever trick was not going to plan, so the Shah sought counsel from his cunning Viziers. Together they plotted to send one of the princesses courtiers to tell Farhad that Shirin was dead, hoping that with a broken heart he would give up and go away."

"Dead from what cause?" Her irises flared with indignation. "Surely he would be able to see through the lies."

"Sadly, no," Erik revealed, voice dropping slightly. "The courtesan was sent to tell Farhad that the princess was dead. At first, he did not believe her, but the girl eventually managed to convince him of the lie as truth. Then, overcome by grief, Farhad used his spade to take his life, and his blood flowed into the canal."

He paused when he saw her face drop, but pressed on. "When news reached Princess Shirin, she ran to the mountains at once, needing to see the truth for herself. Eventually, she came upon his body and, upon seeing him, took her own life. Where they lay together, their scarlet blood pooled, and each drop formed a tulip, an assurance that their love would live on forever."

Hints of tears began to blur Christine's vision and she blinked them away, startled by her strong reaction to Erik's tale. She clutched his arm tighter, managing, in weak voice, "How tragic."

Erik managed a slight nod. "As most legends are. Star-crossed lovers have always proved to be a popular theme in classical literature as well as ancient mythology. Another version of the story does exist, although it is no less disastrous. The story goes that a prince named Farhad was love struck by a maiden named Shirin. When Farhad learned that Shirin had been killed while digging a well to supply her village with water, he was so overcome with grief that he killed himself - riding his horse over the edge of a cliff. It is said that a scarlet tulip sprang up from each droplet of his blood"

Christine considered the story for a moment. "I suppose it is often true that great pain yields exceptional beauty."

Erik's answer was a heavy sigh. "One can only hope, Christine. Then again, I have learned that it is often hope, no matter how fragile, that keeps a soul alive when it should have perished long ago"

Stepping closer, she leaned against him as his arm moved to encircle her shoulders, drawing her further into his body. They stood in companionable silence, gazing out over the never-ending fields of flowers for what seemed like hours. Finally, Erik spoke, voice deep and rough. "I am so deeply sorry, Christine. For all of the pain and sorrow that I've caused. To you, in particular." He turned his face away, leaving only the cold facade of the mask in her view. "I realize now little meaning those empty words might hold for you, but I could not allow our relationship to continue without saying them. So, I apologize for everything. Truly."

Christine turned sharp eyes to his face, before slipping out from under his arm and stepping around to face him. Mustering a pleasant smile with much more bravado than she felt, she gently turned his face back to her, forcing his eyes to her face. Hand lingering on his cheek, she pushed herself up on her toes to press a gentle kiss to his jawline. "I think I should like to return to the chateau, Erik. I'm suddenly feeling quite tired."

She didn't miss the flash of disappointment in his eyes before they slid shut and his head dipped in assent. "Of course. Come." Gripping her hand, he raised it to his lips for a brief kiss before winding their fingers together again and ascending the bluff, leaving the entire tray of gems in their wake.

Morning came all too soon for his liking. With a grumble at the invasive sunlight, Erik rolled slightly, reaching for Christine. When his hand only met empty sheets, he forced his eyes open to find the balcony doors ajar and the washroom ones closed, Christine's muffled soprano echoing from the other side.

Her voice brought a rare, real grin to his face as he forced himself out of bed and into his robe. Bare feet carried him to the balcony where a steaming carafe awaited him along with half of a scone. Pouring himself a cup of tea, Erik allowed his gaze to travel to the sea, sparkling like diamonds in the morning sunlight. How easy it was to forget who he was here. How easy to pretend to be someone else. He lifted a sardonic brow as he sipped the strong liquid. Anyone else.

Exhaling, he took another swallow of tea and seated himself at the small table in the corner of the balcony. Christine's chair was pushed to an odd angle, indicating her presence here while sleep still claimed him. Only when his eyes dropped to the table did he catch the tented paper with his name scrawled across the front.

As it usually did, curiosity won out and he set his tea aside as he picked up the paper with his free hand. Christine's elegant script greeted his eyes and he blinked a few times to dispel that sleep as the words came into focus.

I love every part of you, not in spite of who you are, but because of who you are- even when you don't believe I do.

I hope this quells any doubts you may have about that.

I choose you, Erik. I choose us.

Thank you for yesterday.

- C

Once again, his eyes dropped to the tabletop as his heart seized.

In front of him, a single tulip greeted him, its snow-white petals formed to a perfect turban, its message clear as day

Forgiveness.

On a long exhale, Erik felt his eyes slide shut, lifting the bloom from the table and turning it over in his fingers, fighting the burn of tears. He swallowed thickly, pocketing the flower just as he heard the washroom doors open.

Schooling his features, he managed to compose himself just as he felt Christine's arms wrap around him from behind. "Good morning!" she chirped, tilting his face to kiss him lightly. "Did you just awaken?"

His head bobbed in a terse nod. "Still nursing my first cup of tea, actually. Did you sleep well, my sweet?"

"Like a dream," she replied, taking a seat across from him. "No pun intended."

He managed a ghost a smile as she bit into another scone. Glancing up at him, she asked, "What time shall I be ready to leave? I know you wished to return home today."

Erik lifted fingertips to his lips, considering her words and then responded, "If you have no objection, I should like to extend our trip another day."

Christine blinked at him over her tea. "Of course. I will happily stay as long as you like. But may I ask why your sudden change of heart?"

The former Opera Ghost studied her for a long moment, face pensive, before rising from his seat and moving past her into the suite, pressing a kiss to her hair as he passed. "All in good time Christine. But please do dress quickly. I have a sudden desire to visit the tulip fields again."

"I confess, I don't believe I shall never tire of this place," Christine exclaimed as Erik led her through the rows of brilliant color. Her smile grew as he brought them to a stop among endless lines of scarlet. Bending, she inhaled the sweet fragrance. "These in particular remain my favorites." She rose, the corners of her mouth falling to a frown at his intense stare. "Erik?"

He stepped away, hands locked together at the base of his spine. "I received your note this morning," he began without preamble, pacing stiffly back and forth. "Your words. You truly mean them?"

Christine resisted the urge to lift her eyes to the sky. "I would not have written them if I did not mean them, you know that" Frowning, her arms formed a cross over her chest. "Erik, what has gotten into you today?"

By way of an answer, the former Phantom bent his long frame in half, leaning down to pluck one of the red buds from the earth.

She watched him with wide eyes. "Are you allowed to do that?"

He ignored her question, but finally looked at her. "You said yesterday that great pain often brings exceptional beauty in its wake, as per the tale of Farhad and Shirin. Do you believe that, Christine?"

She blinked in a feeble attempt to understand his reasoning. "I would like to think so. And do you?"

"No," he answered, bluntly. "At least I never have. However as of this morning, I find myself daring to hope that even my happiness might exist."

Before she could ask him to elaborate, he was before her again. "The legend of Farhad and Shirin does indeed end in tragedy, but I hope the ending of our story to be vastly different." His gaze dropped to the small bloom cradled in his hands and hers instinctively followed "As I mentioned, the red tulip is indicative of perfect love, but in Persia, there is also a deeper meaning."

Christine swallowed hard. "And that meaning is?"

He exhaled, breath coming in shaky puffs of air. He raised his head, meeting his gaze and her heart lurched at the raw vulnerability she saw there. "The red not only symbolizes perfect love, but eternal love. So much so that when one proposes marriage, a red tulip is given as a symbol of that love."

Wordlessly, he reached for her hand, pressing the flower into her palm as he sank to one knee. Her eyes flicked from the flower in their joined hands, down to his masked face and she struggled to catch her breath. "Erik..what are you.."

"You are my joy, Christine." He admitted softly. "Somehow, you have managed to turn a lifetime of pain into the most exquisite of poetry and I am forever indebted to you for that." With his free hand, Erik fished a small object out of his pocket and held it up for her inspection. A single ruby winked up at her, surrounded by a dozen tiny diamonds set in gold.

Her mouth fell open, but no words came. Tears began to blur her vision as Erik pressed on. "I would move the world for you, my dear, if you asked it of me. For now, I can only offer you what I am: a broken man whom you have forgiven when not deserved and who loves you beyond reason. So," he paused, joining their eyes again as he spoke words he had never dreamed possible. "Christine Daae, will you marry me?"

With trembling fingers pressed to her lips, she choked out a "Yes!" and then she was in his arms, clutching his broad shoulders as she sobbed into his neck. He held her tightly and after a few moments she registered a wetness against her temple as his own tears flowed. The tulips remained in clasped in her hand, crushed in a pool of crimson between their heartbeats.

Christine pulled away a moment later, just enough to allow Erik to slip the ring on her finger. Raising her hand, she grinned as the gems sparkled in the late morning sunlight. "It's exquisite," she breathed, glancing up at his tentative smile. "I love it." Winding her arms around his neck, she pushed up to her toes until her lips found his. "I love you."

His fingers tightened from their home at her waist. "Thank you," he breathed, between kisses, a sweet catch and release of her lips, always intoxicating. "For never giving up on me."

A slight hum was her answer as she broke the kiss and poked him in the chest. "While I certainly have no shame reaping the rewards, Nadir is the one to whom thanks are truly due."

"The Daroga?!"

Erik withdrew so fast and with such offense that Christine could not help the bright laugh that came. "Yes, the Daroga," she countered lightly, gripping his sleeves to prevent him from fully leaving the circle of her arms. "Something shifted between us yesterday, my love, irrevocably so. As deep as your love is, I never expected to hear such a sincere apology fall from your lips and I believe Nadir has played a large part in that. While I recognize that our relationship might have been your main motivation, that man has been your conscience far longer than I and I refuse to believe that his sage wisdom always fell on completely deaf ears."

"He would argue to the contrary," Erik grumbled, but pulled her closer. "However, I suppose a small show of gratitude wouldn't inflate his head too much. Perhaps a nice assortment of macaroons..." An evil grin pulled at his mouth. "Or he might enjoy a private dinner at Antoinette's."

"Erik, don't you dare." Christine warned, eyes darkening. "Let it come naturally. I will not have you meddling in-" The rest of her admonishment was stopped by his kiss, long and slow as his long fingers cupped her jaw, tilting her chin up to give him better access.

Despite herself, she gave a contented sigh against his lips, opening to him and enjoying the soft glide tongues, demanding and deepening the kiss until satisfied.

She knew they must leave this place behind them- it was not home after all. But deep inside, she knew that they would return here one day. The endless fields of flowers spoke to her soul in a way the majesty of Paris never had.

A way that it never would.

Their life would be built in the City of Lights and at the Opera.

But here, beside the endless Sea and among the Tray of Jewels, they had at last been granted peace.