"The Order announced that despite Angel's cowardly murder they will honour the old ways and let us into the City for the Feast of the Victorious Dead." Azazel told the assembled Pagans. He was standing on a tree with the ritualistic blue war paint forming complicated patterns on his skin.
"We will go there and take them in the early morning. We will slit their throats like they did to Angel!" The crowd howled in approval. It was infectious. "Every Brother you find you can consider a sacrifice. After tomorrow they will no longer celebrate the Feast of the Victorious Dead. After tomorrow they will mark it as the last day of the Order!"
John cheered with the rest of them. He caught Erik's eyes and saw him smile dangerously, wild and savage like a vengeful god.
"For Death!" Azazel threw his arm into the air.
"Death!" Everyone yelled.
"And Blood!"
"Blood!"
"And Revenge."
"Revenge!" John screamed with the others as loud as he could.
/
Charles didn't like boats since he couldn't use his exoskeleton on them. The movement of the ship in the ocean was too unpredictable, but the sea was the only neutral ground all parties had been able to agree on. Armando didn't do any better than him but he had insisted on coming along.
He hadn't thought that things would progress so quickly but it seemed the balance yearned to be repaired and spun things faster to achieve this. On the other hand he shouldn't have been surprised. Like Armando had said it couldn't have been a coincidence that Erik, Pyro and Remy had returned to the City at the same time, then the murder of that Pagan woman in broad daylight...
"Fate doesn't knock, it runs into you and leaves you spinning and breathless," Erik had once told him but this morning fate had knocked and told him that Keeper Drake would like to speak with him.
Robert Drake was a good and loyal soldier; Charles had no doubt in that. After all he had brought the letter Pyro had written him to the Keep himself. But Charles had been young once, too and new that emotions could muddle the clean line between loyalty and betrayal, especially when they were conflicting.
Oh Charles had been young once, young and foolish and in love with a man so disillusioned with the world that rejected his radical ideas that instead of choosing Charles and the peace he had offered he had placed all his hopes and dreams in a boy angry and violent enough to want to watch the world burn. The same boy who had become the man that Drake had seemed to have fallen for as well.
/
"What do you know about John Allerdyce?"
"He's a writer. He travels a lot, all over the world. He's my friend."
"Just your friend." Bobby looked scandalised and just a little bit guilty.
"Yes."
"Did you know that he used to be in the New Order?"
"He told me."
"When did you last saw him?"
"Two days ago."
"What did he do?"
"He left. I mean he came back first and then he left again, leaving me this letter."
"You did well. Thank you Keeper Drake."
"He will be...I mean he will be fine, right? It is just a letter."
"Don't worry Keeper Drake."
/
They had all come: Jean Grey, Emma Frost, James Logan, Remy LeBeau and Warren Worthington, the first council of a new dawn as the Keepers called it in over a hundred years and in the first one on this continent.
"A clandestine meeting in the middle of the night out in the ocean?" Emma asked, "What is wrong, Keeper?"
"We're on the brink of civil war, but you know that." Charles said to which Emma shrugged ineffectually.
"You're here because the balance needs to be restored."
"It's a bit late for words," Logan reminded him gruffly.
"I wasn't talking about diplomacy." Charles made a small pause to make sure he had everyone's full attention. "I was talking about the complete eradication of the leading figures in all involved factions."
For a moment no one said a word. Then, slowly, Remy clapped his hands sarcastically.
"Très bien," he said from where he was leaning casually against the wall. "So we do the Pagan's work for them, fine by me as long as I get paid."
Charles ignored him in favour of looking at Warren. "Azazel has to die, too. And Janos, just to be sure. He's the most loyal to Azazel. Can you step in once they're dead?"
"There's no one else, not since Angel's murder. And while there's little love between me and my father we're not out to hurt each other."
"I will inform him." Jean assured them. "Bishop Worthington knows better than to meddle in the affairs of the Keepers."
"How do we deal with the Order?" Warren asked.
"Which one?" Remy wanted to know.
"The New Order has only two members left," Logan rolled his eyes, "that shouldn't be a problem. The Order of Watt is one."
"Who is there?" Warren asked, "Shaw's pretty much all that holds them together."
"And Alex." Armando spoke for the first time tonight and looked as if each single word hurt him. "He's too dangerous and has too much support to be left alive."
"The City Watch will be a problem too." Logan said, "Stryker and Shaw are close allies."
"Aren't you Stryker's successor?" Emma asked, "He speaks highly of you."
"He hasn't named one yet but it's either me or Victor." He looked at Charles," And Victor is not the man you want in charge if you look for peace."
"And you cannot be seen near either of them when they're killed." Jean finished for him.
"Clever girl," Logan smirked at her.
Remy sighed, "That is a lot of work for one night: Azazel, Janos, Stryker, Shaw, Victor, Magneto, Pyro, this Alex, bon dieu that will take ages"
"I will take care of Erik," Charles said quietly. The silence that followed was broken only by splash outside. A dolphin, probably, trying to get the attention of the sailors.
"And I of Alex." Armando added determinedly. His mechanical eyes didn't give away the slightest bit of emotion.
"If Janos vanished some time after Azazel's death no one will ask questions." Warren replied as well.
"Only five then," Remy sighed again, "C'est pour le mieux."
"One last thing," Emma asked in a bored voice. "Who will succeed Shaw?"
"You."
"Me? What makes you think the Order will accept a woman as their leader?"
"I don't think they will accept you but I know that you will make them." He smirked. "It's a new idea. And what better way to enforce it?"
"I guess if you also get rid of the hardliners then there won't be enough Brothers to protest much against my nomination."
"The Keepers will expect that you and Logan will keep the Order and the City Watch away from each other. No more crossed jurisdiction between your factions."
"I'm sure there is enough work in the City for the Order to concentrate on something else than to harass pagans and fight with the Watch." Emma smiled confidently.
It was done. Charles felt surprisingly relieved how easily the meeting had gone but then he suspected that Jean had prepared at least some of them. And it was common knowledge that guileless people didn't stay in a position of power. They either learned to be guile or were removed from power.
"You don't have to do what you offered to do." Charles said to Armando.
"No, I do. For him." Charles hadn't been there three months ago but according to the witnesses Armando had stretched out his hand towards Alex and Alex had failed to reach him in time, failed to pull him away from the explosion. It destroyed Armando's body, leaving him more clockwork doll than human but also destroyed Alex soul, making it a black, rotting ground of hatred.
"Alex isn't there anymore." Armando's hands tighten on the railing so much his knuckles turn white. "It will be a mercy."
Charles thought to himself that he was most likely right and then hated himself a bit for that.
/
On the night of the Feast of the Victorious Dead fires and torches replaced the gas lamps and the whole City was decorated in vermillion and gold, the colours of the Order of Watt. People were dancing, chatting, laughing on the street, enjoying the food and drink that the Order provided tonight. Also most people wore traditional clothes and for once no one could have told Pagans and city-dwellers apart.
The temperatures had dropped just the night before but the wind was silent for once and instead snow fell. Azazel had sent them into the city with the order to enjoy themselves, lure everyone into a false sense of security and then kill them in the morning when they would be too drunk and exhausted to defend themselves.
There was music and people and laughter, food and drink and more people. John hadn't seen so many people in one spot since he had been in Samarkand for the Navroʻz new year festival and enjoyed it thoroughly.
Erik on the other hand was frowning each time he didn't notice John was looking at him. They had broken away from the other Pagans earlier when John had pulled Erik into a crowd of dancers, mostly because the rest of them had been going in the direction of the pub and that was the last place John wanted to be on this night.
Or ever again.
He pulled Erik into the shadows of an alley when he saw that Erik tried to sneak away.
"Where are you going?" He asked, feeling drunk on anticipation and cheap beer.
"I'll visit an old friend," Erik kissed him, his hand messing up John's hair, pressing him against the wall. Reckless and drunk John tried to wrap his legs around Erik's waist, tried to get away with what could get them hanged. Here, now, one last time defiling the old world's rules just for the sake of breaking them but John laughed against his skin and pushed him away.
"Tomorrow," John whispered, his eyes burning with life.
"Tomorrow, we will stand in a new world," Erik promised him, kissing him again.
/
Charles waited for him in the library.
"How are you, my friend?" He asked when Erik sat down on opposite of him.
"I'm looking forward to the future." Erik replied.
"So do I." Their eyes, each of them thinking they knew something the other one didn't but only Erik didn't manage to hold back the triumph from his eyes.
"You always knew." Charles acknowledged that fact by tilting his head slightly.
"Why? Why let all of this happen when you had the possibility to stop it?"
"We don't question, we observe." Charles reminded him but stopping him before Erik could interrupt, "but to answer your question: We saw that the world wasn't ready for you and your inventions. You are too fast and too radical. It would have ended in chaos and blood."
"More than it already did?"
"Much more," Charles replied with certainty. "You simply had the misfortune to be born too early but your ideas will survive. We saved them last time for...a more suitable time if you want to say so."
"What about the others? The Pagans? The Order of Watt?"
"We're at war. I did what I had to do." Erik swallowed at Charles' finalising sincerity.
"How does this go together with your creed?"
"Our creed, "Charles laughed, delighted that even Erik had bought the common myth. "We observe is not our creed," he smiled pleasantly at Erik, "Our creed is: Keep the balance at every cost." He emphasised the last two words and watched Erik's face change when he began to understand.
Every truth could destroy just as easily as it could heal. And then there were some truths that should never be said. And some truths were so cruel that they destroyed every trust. Even if he let him go today, which Charles wouldn't do, but if he would Erik was still lost to him.
"What you were about to do would have pushed this country into a civil war. As the capital it would have sent waves of hatred through the whole continent."
"How many?" Erik asked quietly.
"We don't expect many casualties. Most people won't even notice what is happening until tomorrow or the day after. You chose the night of your action well, my friend."
"How…how will make sure that the people don't rise against the Keepers when the truth comes out. Or will you kill the witnesses too?"
"I told you we won't kill more than strictly necessary. Your friend…Remy finds no pleasure in killing those he likes but he makes it as quick and painless as possible."
"John-" Erik started, rage boiling under his skin.
"-chose your side, again." Charles interrupted him coolly. "If you had wanted him to be safe you shouldn't have dragged him into this. We spared his life last time because I knew how much he meant to you but you should have known better."
"It's not his fault." Erik insisted.
"Maybe not, but that hardly matters anymore."
"Is that what you told yourself when they burned Raven at the stake?"
"She choose her own path and I chose mine." But he didn't quite meet Erik's eyes. "I respected all of her choices, even that my nephew would grow up among the Pagans when he could have-"
"-become a Keeper. I wonder why she chose against that." Erik replied sarcastically. He stood up and walked to the window, aware that Charles was watching every movement.
"Do you really think that if everyone gave up passion for responsibility the world would be a better place?"
"You think it will be a worse one." Charles said instead of an answer.
It was everyone against everyone; a war without mercy and he should have understood sooner what that meant. Here, in Charles' room everything seemed so civilised and Erik felt tired. Tired of war, tired of bloodshed. He had lost once and while he could fight, he was feeling tired of that, too. John was dead and the seemed poorer for it, bleaker. Maybe Charles was right, maybe the world would be a better place without him and his ideas in it. Duller, yes, but maybe better. He leaned down to take the knife from his boot.
"I don't want credit for the things I have done," Erik said tiredly, holding the knife out to Charles. "Better to blame my sins on God than anyone else."
"Why God?"
"Because you won't claim responsibility for this night. You're the unsung saviour of this world. There's no one left but God then."
"I don't expect anyone to thank me for damning them." Charles said quietly.
"The damned never do." Erik sat down again. He was taller than Charles and while he would have liked to die standing it would make things more complicated and would probably result in a messy and unnecessary slow and painful death. And, really, who would ever know?
"I'm sorry my friend," Charles said, resting the edge of the knife against Erik's throat. "But I'm afraid this will hurt."
John
Just a word and a face echoing through Erik's head, reminding him of all the things that he should have said.
I think I love you
/
Charles stood there for a few moments. From above it looked as if Erik had only fallen asleep in his chair , at least if one ignored the considerable amount of blood on his clothes. He closed Erik's eyes and wiped the tears from his own cheeks, noticing too late that his hands were bloody.
He pulled out his handkerchief, wiping his face and hands on it before letting it fall to the ground next to Erik's chair. It would be burned to tomorrow with the rest.
His reflection in the window showed Charles a respectable face, maybe a bit red around the eyes but nothing that might lead someone to question if the truth the Keepers were going to tell the world at dawn was perhaps bent and things still dearer were broken, so that none but the very nearest might know how certain victories could taste of nothing but ashes.
/
John was still looking for Erik when someone pulled him roughly away from the crowd. John was about to hit his attacker but stopped in the last moment when he saw that it was Bobby.
"What are you doing?" He asked when Bobby pulled him further away.
"We need to leave," Bobby told him urgently. "You need to come with me."
"I'm not going anywhere." John yanked his arm free.
"You don't understand. They're going to kill you."
"Who? Because if you're talking about the Order-"
"I'm not. I'm talking about the Keepers. About Remy."
"You're not making any sense." John tried to go back the festival but Bobby stopped him.
"The High Keeper has ordered the execution of everyone involved in the civil war between the Pagans and the City including you."
"Why would they do that?"
"To keep the balance, to maintain the peace."
"By murdering people?"
"We're peacekeepers with everything that entails." Bobby looked at him so desperately as if he could make John understand by holding his eyes. "And I wasn't supposed to tell you that."
"How do you know this?"
"I followed them. I'm a good swimmer. Remy will kill you tonight."
"Since when is Remy one of you?"
"He's not. He's getting paid for this. I guess he's an assassin from the guild in New Orleans."
"That sounds like one of these absurd conspiracies."
"Would it help to make you believe me if I told you that Erik Lehnsherr is dead? So are Colonel Stryker by the way and Sebastian Shaw. We need to get out of the city before Remy catches up with you. Piotr is waiting for us at the northern gate."
"You're lying."
"I'm not, I'm sorry John."
"He isn't dead."
"I saw it, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to believe it either, that's why I stayed at the keep tonight. The High keeper killed him."
One hand buried in John' hair, holding on as he told him everything and it was impossible, even years afterwards to decide whether it had been an act of trust or revenge.
But then the Keepers had an old proverb: whoever looks for the truth deserves punishment for finding it.
Finally, finally Bobby was able to convince John to come with him, to follow him stumbling to the northern gate, to the horses and then north, north, north until the sky turned from dark blue to violet and green.
"Where are we?" John asked when they finally stopped. He felt numb, hollow. Part of him wanted to lie down and die. Not a new feeling but the last time he had felt like this was eight years ago and it had been summer then. If he lay down here he would freeze to death. Someone told him once that freezing was a pleasant death but he couldn't remember who had said that.
"Right at the border." Piotr told him. He took one of the bags from his saddle and gave it to John.
"That is yours."
"How did you…?"
"Kitty got it from a nice Pagan boy. He seemed very keen to help us save you. Said you knew his mother." Piotr smiled and gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder.
"Your passport is in there, too." Bobby added, "It's not the same but a blank one. You can choose whoever you want to be."
"And this?" John held up his arm, rolling up his sleeve.
"I can help you with that." He took a fine knife out of his pocket and took John's wrist in his free hand.
"I'm sorry, but this will hurt." Bobby said before nodding to Piotr to keep John still as he carved into his forearm. John screamed like he hadn't screamed since they branded him as a sinner and heretic. As soon as Bobby withdrew the knife he looked down and saw that the P on his arm was now an R – redemption, shimmering in the blue-green ink only the Church knew how to make.
"You're free." Bobby told him. The sun was rising in the east, colouring the sky in the most beautiful colours John had ever seen. "You can do whatever you want now. Write down all the stories you told me."
"Why?"
"I think..."Bobby hesitated, "I think I was the reason you kept coming to Boston, right?" John nodded dimly. "So I'm partially responsible for all of this. Just promise me one thing."
"Anything."
"I want you to live your life as if you have never met me," John's throat clenched tighter, tighter, tighter as Bobby told him this, as he doomed John to a life without him. "Take whatever path you want and walk it in your way. Don't think about me, don't think about…Erik. Don't regret anything." Bobby hugged him and John, God, John wanted to get closer, wanted to melt into Bobby's skin and be a part of him. Then they never would have to return to the world, this would never have to end... John had to hold him still and beg for a second, fighting not to grab Bobby's shoulders and kiss him until he promised him everything.
Come with me, we have to leave now, both of us, before I lose you
But John let go of him because there was nothing else to say, nothing that would change Bobby's mind. It was as if they had so much to say and nothing to say to one another anymore.
Instead he said his goodbyes to Piotr and then walked determinedly over the border without looking back once.
He was free.
The word felt bitter on his tongue and burned on his arm. Freedom's price was never too high, he had learned that. But the price he'd paid may kill him anyway, in the end.
Better to die a free man.
Better to die.