By moving just slightly to the side to make room when the elder Dr. Lecter appeared, he invited the man to experience the composition with him. Erik knew every note and musical phrase intimately, knew exactly how he meant it to be played -- but the pleasure of listening to Hannibal play it was not in his perfect execution of Erik's vision, but in the way he took the music and made it his own. The young doctor gave himself into it, and that was the main reason that made Hannibal's playing truly gifted. More than ever, Erik was glad that he had given this composition its dual tribute - Christine first, as it always must be, but River as well. For Hannibal, this piece had become just as personal as it was for Erik himself. And Erik found it fitting that they two should share in this; they shared so many other things as well.
At the first impact of hammer upon string, Erik closed his eyes. He didn't have to brace for the onslaught; the fire of it still raged inside him. The force and damage carried through the music, for Erik, was only his own reality now. He was already deeply seated within the storm and could not be bowed any further by it than he already had been. The music, played aloud, only brought that storm to the senses of others now.
The composer took a breath and looked deeply into the darkness beyond the lip of the stage. He saw the glint of eyes shining dimly back at him, the ravaging clearly having already begun. Good. Let them all feel the loss of his Christine.... and of Hannibal's River. Let them bathe in it until their skin dissolved under it. This music had never been for them. Erik turned his attention back to the pianist on the stage.
There was pride in Erik for the young man. Through the sonic swelling of loss and violent pain, Hannibal was grimly bearing up. He carried the charge of the composition as solemnly as he would as a pallbearer. And perhaps, Erik thought wistfully, this was the funeral that neither of them had been able to attend. Perhaps this was their goodbye.