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It takes Erik three months to reach their destination, to a farmstead perched on the borders of the Wild Lands, at the farthest edges of the empire. Seven years it’s been since he last saw Charles, and five since Erik’s successful coup, killing the despot Shaw and ascending the Genoshan throne. And five years since Erik started his desperate search – sending scouts to every corner of his far-flung empire – before finally catching news of the young Duke Xavier, who had disappeared on the eve of his wedding to Shaw’s heir.
His wedding to Erik, who has never forgiven, nor forgotten him.
There are a dozen children of all ages playing in the fields, alongside a contingent of workers tilling the grain. He can tell as soon as he’s spotted, as all of them freeze in place, startled – perhaps even terrified – of the riders flying the flag of the emperor. One of the teenaged boys immediately takes command and gathers the children close, speaking to them reassuringly before sending the younger children back towards the house. Then he gathers the remaining teens and head towards the road, intercepting Erik and his men on their approach.
All of them bow – one girl with fiery red hair and four boys, all teens – showing exquisite courtly manners for simple country folk. Erik is more certain than ever that he’s found Charles at last, knowing his lover’s – ex lover’s – penchant for bringing both admirers and students to his side.
“Greetings, my Lord,” the girl says, smile conveying innocence as her eyes sweep over the new arrivals, shrewdly taking in their numbers and the fine quality of their weapons and armor. (Though he is well equipped and obviously noble, he bears no outward sign of being the emperor himself.) The boys all form a protective semi-circle around her, and level wary gazes at his group. “Are you looking for Vinmark? I’m afraid you have missed it. The closest town in five miles east of here.”
Erik dismounts from his stallion, and hands the reins to his groom. “Thank you, but I am not looking for Vinmark. I am here to see your master, Duke Xavier.”
The girl’s composure is remarkable, her face remaining perfectly placid and unaffected, though the same cannot be said of her companions. One of them hisses and another curses under his breath, while the face of a third goes white as a sheet. Only the last boy remains outwardly calm, staring at Erik through his red quartz glasses, looking for all the world like a warrior readying for battle.
“There’s no Duke here,” the boy declares, his voice steady even as his fists clench and unclench at this side. “Just some orphans making a meagre living off this land.”
Erik can appreciate the boy’s courage, to state such a blatant lie, but he has waited too long and traveled too far to waste time bantering with children. He stalks past the group and starts heading towards the farmhouse, ignoring their sputtering denials that there’s no ‘Duke Xavier’ here.
“Stop! You can’t just barge in there—”
“You’re trespassing—”
“Please I’m telling you, there’s no Duke—”
“Enough!” Fast running out of patience, Erik levitates a shield off one of his soldiers, using his gift to reform it into thin metal bands. He wraps them around each of the teens to hold them in place and ignores the stunned expressions on their faces. Beckoning for his men to dismount from their horses, he barks, “Keep them here. Hold them down if you must but do not harm them.”
He means only to stop them from getting in his way, but the teens all start shouting and struggling in their bonds, prompting his men to draw their swords. Only the girl remains calm through the chaos and simply closes her eyes, and something about the look on her face reminds him of Charles and his mind gift. But his attention is quickly drawn by a low and menacing growl, and he turns to find one of the older teens sprouting blue hair all over his body. Another teen shoves in front of the others with an angry shout, as the armor plating on his chest starts glowing red.
The startled soldiers advance, brandishing their swords, and though he trusts his personal guard to follow his orders, he still uses his gift to take control of their weapons. Erik did not come all this way to slaughter a bunch of untested teens, and he curses himself inwardly for his own ungentlemanly haste. Perhaps he could have been more polite in his approach instead of antagonizing the children; certainly, the Charles he knew would have reprimanded him for such rude and reckless behaviour.
It's certainly unbecoming of the Emperor of Genosha, a familiar voice says, with all the warmth of a winter’s eve. I see you haven’t changed at all.
Oh, how he’s missed that arrogant, imperious tone, and how often their arguments would lead to sparring in the bedroom. No one lights the fire in his blood or gets under his skin quite like Charles Xavier, and he doubts that will ever change, no matter the time or distance that stands between them.
He feels a fond annoyance in Charles’ answering thoughts, and then the impulse to use his gift and remove the metal bands from the teens to reform the shield. It’s done before he even realizes what’s happening; that Charles is directing Erik’s movements without his awareness or consent, meaning that his powers have grown exponentially since he fled the Capital on the eve of their wedding day.
That realization only makes Erik want him more.
Order your men to wait for you elsewhere, Erik. Or I shall take this place from your minds and scatter them to the furthest corners of Genosha.
It’s been a long time since anyone has dared to speak to him this way, from fear of his gift and the bloody rebellion he led to overthrow his foster father. But Charles has ever been the exception to every rule in his life, and he’s determined not to let his ego or his pride get in the way of bringing his mate home.
As you wish, he replies, and then to his men, “Make camp and wait for me at the edge of these farmlands. I will meet with the duke alone.”
“But Your Ma—”
“Go,” he orders, glaring until they all bow and mount their horses, retreating the way they came. Unlike General Frost, or Azazel, his Chief Council, none of his men know the extent of Charles’ power. Certainly, if he plans to harm Erik, there’s nothing anyone can do to stop him. Charles has had years and ample opportunity to manipulate his thoughts or change his views, and yet he’s never done so, no matter the strength of their warring convictions.
The teens at least seem mollified as they leave, though they are still – rightly – wary of Erik’s continued presence. At least they no longer seem so very eager to fight, and the girl – “I’m Jean”, she shares with a smile – offers to lead him to their teacher.
“Please leave your weapons outside,” the boy with the glasses says, once they arrive at the farmhouse door, still looking rather tightly wound and ready to fight. Erik isn’t terribly inclined to take orders from him or any of Charles’ pack, though his irritation lessens a little when Jean offers an explanation.
“It’s a rule that applies to us all,” she says with an enigmatic smile. “Many children live within these walls, my Lord, and we are always mindful not to leave weapons lying around to tempt curious minds and mischievous hands.”
It’s enough to dull his annoyance, and he proceeds to do as he’s asked, unbuckling his sword and dagger with his powers and setting them into the large wooden box next to the front door. There’s plenty of metal around him, in and outside of the farmhouse; Erik hardly needs his weapons to remain suitably armed. “How many live here on the farm? You said the children, but there were also men and women tending the fields outside.”
Only Jean and the boy with glasses enter the farmhouse with him, and he follows them down various hallways until they reach a comfortable sitting room. The furnishings – and in fact the entire house - are rustic but clearly well made, and more well-appointed than one might expect to find so far from the Capital. But Erik knows well how clever and resourceful Charles can be, and how wholly unprepared he is – as the son of nobility, from the richest of the Genoshan families – to live in true hardship or poverty.
(Erik, before Shaw had taken him in was nothing more than a blacksmith’s son, and as such is still unused to the stilted manners and the frivolous excesses of courtly life.)
Surprisingly, it is the angry boy who deigns to reply. “Most of them live in their own cottages with their families. And not all the children live here in the farmhouse – just the ones without parents, or who have been taken into Charles’ care.”
“So just Charles and a bunch of children and teens?”
Jean frowns, and shakes her head subtly – in warning, he thinks – at the boy, though it doesn’t stop him from answering, “And Logan, his mate.”
He’s always known that Logan left with Charles – was likely the one to help him run off on the eve of their wedding night – but to have it thrown in his face by some insolent boy is enough to make his blood boil. It would be too easy to lash out with violence; grab him by his tunic and shake him or use the metal in his belt to throw him across the room. Yet his mission here is more important than plain jealously and he refuses to let himself be so easily affected.
Still, he does not think it inappropriate to make his displeasure known.
Closing the distance, until he’s all but towering over him, Erik says with a snarl, “How interesting to hear, since Charles is my mate.”
“Scott!”
“What? He thinks he can just walk in here and—”
“That’s enough.”
They turn as one towards the door, their arguments cut off abruptly by Charles’ timely arrival. Hair tousled and dressed in coarse, simple wools, he looks entirely different from the last time Erik saw him in person. And yet Erik could never mistake him for anyone but Charles Xavier, the soft lilt of his voice and his piercing blue eyes nigh impossible to forget.
He does not know what expression he wears, but it’s enough to soften the set of Charles’ shoulders and the sharpness of his gaze. They have missed each other, of that Erik is certain; he does not miss the flush of Charles’ skin as he draws closer, nor the spike in his scent as he reaches to cup his cheek. Instinctively, Erik leans into his omega’s touch, and places a whispered kiss to the soft skin at his wrist.
“My love,” Charles says, his voice rough with emotion, eyes bright with unshed tears. “So handsome, but I can see how these last few years have left their mark on you.”
Swallowing the reproach in his throat, Erik wraps his arms around Charles and pulls him close. “I have not had you by my side.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” When Erik started his journey, he had no idea what he would find at the end of it – if Charles would be happy to see him or hold still to the recriminations that had driven them apart. In his heart, he does not truly blame Charles for deserting him, as much as it hurt; Charles asked him to choose, and he made the only choice he could at the time. “Then why have you stayed away for so long? You must know that I’ve been searching for you.”
Charles shakes his head and pulls away, leaving Erik feeling bereft after only a few minutes in his presence. But it’s enough to bring him out of his memories and back to the present, and the realization that Jean and Scott have cleared out of the room, leaving them alone.
“I did know, but I could not return until I was ready—”
“Then you’re ready now?”
“—and then only if you still wanted me to come back.”
Erik scoffs. “I am not the one to abandon you, Charles. My feelings have never changed.”
“No,” Charles answers, much less warmly than before, and Erik knows what’s coming before he even finishes his sentence. “I’m sure it was not your lack of regard for me that made you bed my sister. Or sire twins with the Lady Magda. Even now, you are here because your Council deemed it necessary to have an Xavier solidify your claim to the throne. Because I have more royal blood in my pinky finger than any of the other nobles in your Court.”
Outwardly, Erik does not react, though of course Charles knows both his misdeeds and his regrets. His tryst with Raven may have started as mutual solace from the pain of Charles’ disappearance, but he should have stopped it once he realized that she sought a deeper, more romantic connection. And the twins were an accident borne from loneliness and too much wine - though he doesn’t regret Wanda and Pietro’s birth, he acknowledges that he’s largely failed them as their sire.
Like making them legitimate by marrying their bearer, which Erik cannot – will not – do, so long as his beloved might one day return to his side.
“Whatever you think of me and what I’ve done, know that I’ve never stopped loving you, Charles. The Council may want you back because of your birthright, but that’s not why I’m here,” he says, with a raw sincerity he rarely shows to even the closest around him. “Marry me, as we’ve always planned and let us forgive our trespasses against each other and start anew. Shaw is dead; he can’t hurt us anymore.”
When he closes the distance again, Charles goes willingly into his arms, resting his head on Erik’s chest and sighs. “Do you really love me still? Want me?”
“Yes,” he replies. “Always.”
“And if I have conditions?” Charles asks, pulling back to look up at him with those sky-blue eyes. He does not think he can say no to anything his mate might demand of him, now that Shaw – and Erik’s relentless crusade to kill him - is no longer a point of contention. “If I need assurances from you, as the Emperor of Genosha, to guarantee my future?”
“Anything,” Erik says, feeling more and more hopeful by the minute. He’ll happily bring all of Charles’ motley crew to Hammer Bay, and even build a new farmstead to house them if he so wishes. “Tell me what you want, and I will see it done.”
Charles lets out a wry laugh, though he is clearly pleased by the easy acquiescence. He leans in to brush their lips together, a ghost of past affections, though a tiny taste of it is enough for Erik to drag him into a deep and bruising kiss. The urge to take him right here - audience be damned – is sorely tempting, though by the expression on Charles’ face, he’s not likely to go along with the impulse.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, until you’ve heard my requests,” Charles teases, crossing the room to pull a bottle of wine from the bookshelf, pouring two glasses and handing one to Erik with a smile. “You may not be quite so agreeable or find me quite so desirable after all.”
He takes a slow a sip of the wine – it’s a nice blend, suited to more refined palates than Erik who drinks simply to get inebriated – and returns the smile. “Try me.”
“Hmm.” Charles guides him to the armchair by the fireplace, and takes his own seat as Erik watches him, taking him in. His mate has always been beautiful to behold, but age seems to have added a layer of steel to his demeanor, along with a rounder figure and softer curves. Charles is brilliant and capable and opinionated to a fault; all qualities that Erik finds most endearing even – especially – when they disagree. He knows Charles well enough to know that this will not be easy, their negotiation, but they have been apart for much too long already, and he intends to see this through.
“If I return,” Charles begins, taking a fortifying sip from his glass as he stares into the fire, “I intend to take my rightful place as Duke of Westchester. I shall reclaim all of it – my land, my troops and the duchy’s coffers – and they will be directed by my command and no other.”
“Of course! That is the whole point of bringing you back—”
“And since I will rule as Duke and as your Consort, there is no need for my sister to remain as Steward of Westchester. I would have you give Raven and those loyal to her an alternate posting, preferably away from my lands until I have re-established control over my holdings.”
Erik frowns. “You do not want Raven to stay? You will still need someone to run the duchy’s day to day affairs.”
Charles shakes his head. “I love my sister, but I do not trust her. How can I, when she has allowed her feelings for you to cloud her judgement so completely? For the last seven years, she has been your willing soldier, never questioning your demands for ever more funds and more troops from Westchester.” He snorts, adding, “I’m afraid you’ll have to learn to use your words to convince me of your need for resources, darling, and not rely so much on your prowess in the bedroom.”
Scrubbing his face with both hands, Erik sighs. “Do you truly think so little of my character? Of Raven’s?”
“I think I have been away for seven years, and that it is a long time to be away from the machinations of Court life. I do not know who my allies are, or my enemies…and I need time to restore my faith in you, and my sister.”
“Fine,” Erik concedes, “what else?”
Charles takes another drink and offers him a slight smile. “You will like this one better, I think. I know you have some guilt over the children you’ve sired with the Lady Magda—”
“Charles, I assure you, I intend to be faithful—”
Reaching over to take a hold of Erik’s hand, Charles says, “Give the children your name, and if you wish, you may also take the Lady Magda as a concubine. In return, I ask only that they remain out of the line of succession. Your heirs will have Xavier blood, which suits both your Council’s goals and my own.”
The choice is an easy one, with a compromise that will please Magda and allow him to claim his children fully as his own.
“Yes,” he agrees without hesitation, though he does feel the need to add a warning. “Though the Council will insist that we produce an heir as quickly as possible.”
Charles grins, the most genuine one he’s given Erik since their reunion and answers, “I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”
“Then let’s have the rest of your conditions so we can begin planning our journey home.”
The grin quickly fades from Charles’ face, to be replaced by a much more subdued and serious expression. “Logan. He's here.”
He barely manages to contain his displeasure and says with gritted teeth. “So your boy said.”
Charles rolls his eyes. “I know what he said, and Logan is not my mate. There is and has never been anything between us but friendship and respect. And I will not point out how hypocritical it is of you to judge whether or not I have taken a lover, when you have taken your fair share.”
“He stole you away,” Erik snarls. “He was my best friend, and he helped you run away! He has been by your side all this time, while you have denied me for years! Do you expect me to be happy about it?”
“No, but I want you to trust me when I tell you this; I did not leave you lightly, or without good reason. Logan came along to protect me, and he has done so faithfully for these past seven years. I want you to forgive him and allow him to come back to Hammer Bay with us, so he can continue to protect me and mine.”
“I can protect you!”
“It is not me, that I worry for upon our return. There is something most precious to me, that I would trust only you and Logan to protect with your lives.”
Erik shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”
“I know. I’m sorry, my love,” Charles says, closing his eyes briefly for a moment, before turning his attention back to Erik again. “I think it’s time for you to meet.”
“Meet who?” he asks, just as Jean enters the room with two young children holding her hands; a girl with bright green hair and a mischievous smile, and a boy with dark hair and different coloured eyes – one blue, like Charles and the other steel grey, like Erik’s…
All the air rushes out of his lungs, as he stares at the children – clearly twins, and beautiful, so like his Charles, and suddenly everything makes sense; why Charles refused to get involved with Erik’s war against Shaw, why he took himself out of the equation so he couldn’t be used by the enemy…
“This is Lorna and David,” Charles says, smiling fondly at the children who are watching Erik with bright, curious eyes. “Children, this is you sire, Erik Lehnsherr, Emperor of Genosha.”
David stays firmly lodged at Charles’ side, but Lorna gives him a wide, gap-toothed smile, and declares, “Pleased to meet you Emperor sir.”
Erik swallows the lump in his throat, and kneels down before the children – his children, with his beloved mate – and answers, “The pleasure is all mine.”