Shieldmaiden

John was a soldier huddled in the trenches facing No Man’s Land, feeling the most wretched he had ever been. He was cold and hungry, overwhelmed with the stench of unwashed bodies and infected wounds, the nearly endless rounds of gunfire and grenade explosions, the screams of the dying.

Sometimes he felt as if he would never again know the taste of bread and a proper cuppa tea, to breathe in air that was not foully tainted by the Enemy’s noxious poisons. Sometimes he felt that they were all under the pitiless gaze of some great Eye, naked in the Dark.

And then he heard an American voice say, “Don’t you understand? This is No Man’s Land. That means no man may cross it.”

And thus, John’s attention was captured by the hooded figure the American was speaking to. She dropped the cloak to reveal armor, that her hands carried a sword and a shield, and she ascended the ladder with steps swift and sure. John would always remember these words, though she herself had never said them aloud, but her actions spoke clear as day:

“I am no man.”

There she stood, a shining figure in the middle of No Man’s Land, facing the Enemy and drawing their fire, beautiful as the dawn, terrible as the sea, stronger than all the foundations of the Earth.

John Ronald Reuel Tolkien does not remember how he scrambled up the ladder to follow after her, only that he and his fellow soldiers followed in Her wake, to fight by her side and onwards to victory.

My Roman Empire will forever be Christine and Erik performing together, on stage.

Look, Christine has sung with her maestro before, okay? In practice, in their music lessons, in just the simple pleasure of singing and making music together.

But.

She wants Erik to be on stage with her. She wants everyone to see what she sees, past the mask and the mangled ruin of his face, gods, if she could, she would take his lasso and throttle the woman who had first made him hate himself so much. Her Erik deserves the world at his feet and so much more.

Even now, she treasures the tender look in his eyes when she calls him hers, and the swift press of his lips to the palm of her hand, sending that familiar and welcome thrill down her spine.

The stage of the Opera Populaire is empty save for the two of them, the seats below covered in cloth, awaiting the next performance.

"Sing with me, Erik, please?" She asks, letting mischief take hold of her.

"What, right here, right now?" There's amusement in his tone and Christine knows she has him. Just a little bit more...

"Yes! For what is La Daae without her leading man, her other half? She refuses to sing without him!" It's her best impression of La Carlotta which never fails to make Erik laugh, that adorable chortle that turns her Phantom back into the endearing little boy he should have been.

"As my diva commands, then."

Their voices soar in joyful harmony then, lost in each other, an enchanted little world of their own making.

It is a masterful performance they think is unwitnessed by anyone else.

Except for a couple of stagehands transfixed by the sight of Monsieur le Fantome and his lady, utterly enthralled by their song.

And one Raoul de Chagny, whose heart shatters into pieces.

Okay, hear me out.

What if, in this moment, in Don Juan Triumphant, instead of ripping away his mask and sending him right over the edge, Christine gently, tenderly, lifts it aside so she could kiss him?

It's the music, you see.

All the fog, the confusion, the fear.... it's lifted away.

She makes her choice clear.

I've always wondered how the story would work out if a young Christine Daae meets Erik as the Opera Ghost, NOT as the Angel of Music.

This is a kid who's grown up on fairy tales. She should know that the first rule is always to be kind. Kindness and courtesy and respect can be a surprisingly effective defense against the scariest creatures. Christine is all of these things by nature, except when curiousity gets the better of her.

But that's for a different story and in a different universe. Over here, Christine gets to meet the infamous Phantom of the Opera as a young girl, just beginning to leave her childhood behind, just still enough of a child to believe.

So maybe when she accidentally runs into a tall, dark, forbidding figure with his elegant gentleman's clothes and opera cloak and white mask, she doesn't scream or run or faint.

Maybe she drops him a cute little curtsy, wobbling a little because unlike her best friend Meg, she's not a born ballerina. Maybe she warbles a little greeting, "Good day to you, Monsieur Opera Ghost."

And maybe that's how it starts.

Erik makes friends with this adorable little girl who doesn't scream at the sight of him. He's utterly charmed by her and she's the first person, in a good long while, who gets to learrn that the Opera Ghost isn't really a ghost.

He gives her his name.

(Ironically, Le Fantôme forgets what the old tales speak of when it comes to the giving of names.)

Maybe the two of them end up making mischief together, the Phantom and his petite fantôme, pulling off ingenious pranks and silly, harmless tricks. Maybe Christine starts adding to the ever growing store of Opera Ghost tales, with all these gloriously lurid details that she manages to relay with an absolutely straight face.

Erik, in his usual hiding places in the Opera House, is hard set not to give the game away by helplessly chortling at his petite fantôme's imagination. At one point, one storytelling session is broken up by the little ballet and chorus girls screaming in delighted terror because Erik couldn't stop himself from laughing.

(He had to throw his voice for that, so he wouldn't give away where he was hiding.)

Christine grows up, of course, and Erik doesn't develop the weird crazed obssessiveness that grew out of a desperate love - this is not that universe. For him, she's his dear petite fantôme - a friend, who, against all odds, isn't going to be ripped away from him through some tragic twist of fate.

(He has so very few of them, you see. Sometimes, he's not even sure if THEY think of him as a friend. Opera ghosts can't be choosers, though.)

Things start changing, maybe, when Christine is nineteen and she's starting to dream about being more than just singing in the chorus. Erik is only too delighted to have nurtured the development of her original sweet childish treble to the glorious instrument that it was now. They've often sung together, the two of them - her high sweet ethereal voice chasing after his own resonant tones, blending in harmony.

(One of their favorite pranks was to sing haunting melodies in a near-empty theater, simultaneously scaring the life out of the skeleton crew working at night.)

Some things are meant to happen, no matter what the universe, and Christine Daae steps in as an unlikely substitute for the temperamental La Carlotta. She brings Paris to its feet with her rendition of Elissa in Hannibal.

Christine gets asked, of course, how on earth did she suddenly bring out That Voice,

She only smiles. "I was taught, of course, by my Angel of Music. Who else?" Mischief and mystery are dancing in those blue eyes.

There's a funny little lurch in Erik's heart at the way she says "my Angel of Music."

He hasn't a clue why.

So maybe when I saw the video that spawned this GIF, I may have just melted into a Feels Puddle.

"Sing, MY Angel of Music."

Hehehe 😂

Idk who needs to hear this in the year of our lord 2025 but

The point of writing Erik/Christine isn't to celebrate a toxic/abusive/insert whatever shit relationship and call it "twoo wuv."

(And not to invalidate all the ones who want to write their darkfics and dead dove not eats, like there's a bunch of y'all in every fandom so bless your black little hearts and kisses to all of you.)

The point of writing Erik/Christine is to figure out all the ways happily ever after might happen. All the second chances, the choices that could be made, the paths not taken, the alternate universes and the might have beens.

I want to see Erik make the choices that would take him from being that utterly broken tragic figure into that man that Leroux described had a "heart that could hold the empire of the world."

And Christine doesn't, no, shouldn't be the one to "fix" him but I want to see how she navigates that kind of relationship. I want to see HER develop her strength and spirit and be a woman who doesn't need to be sheltered and protected either by a shining prince or a Byronic antihero.

So yeah, here's my manifesto for Christine and her melodramatic sewer goblin.

If it isn't already obvious, I am back on a serious phantom of the opera kick.

Listening to Ramin Karimloo's version of the Phantom btw and this is basically the result of me lurking in my best OG fashion in the YT comment section.

Ramin is basically the Disney Prince Phantom. There, I said it and Imma die on this hill.

I was today years old when I learned that the Phantom of the Opera's nickname amongst his tumblr fans is #melodramatic sewer goblin and I just.

All I can think of is Christine yelling during some improbable climactic phanphic moment like: YES HE IS A MELODRAMATIC SEWER GOBLIN BUT HE IS MY MELODRAMATIC SEWER GOBLIN AND I AM KEEPING HIM GDIT!!!!

Cue the Epic First Kiss.

And said Sewer Goblin is all 🥹🥺🥹🥺🥹

Shit.

I just bunnied myself didn't I?

If it looks like a Nazi,

Talks like a Nazi,

Walks like a Nazi,

Salutes like a Nazi,

They're a Nazi

And therefore,

You punch the Nazi.