Frost
The thick plumes of smoke unfurled in the hazy air of the lounge, and dissipated on their ascent to the ceiling. Charles let the pipe sink from his lips to his lap and watched the smoke dance. He was not a smoker, but this was a night for smoking, after all.
The floorboards creaked as the silhouette of a young woman appeared on the threshold. Raven, in her nightgown, snug in a dress robe, settled in the armchair beside Charles. She reached a hand out and smiled. Charles handed over the pipe.
Well-acquainted with the customs of smoking, Raven knocked back the hot tobacco into the unlit fireplace and plucked some fresh leaves from the box at Charles' feet. She struck a match at the side of the box - illuminating the room briefly - and lit the pipe.
"Come on then: out with it! What keeps you this late?"
Charles leaned back his head and let his eyes close. Regret broiled in his gut and when he tried to speak he found that he could not. He tried again, with a small voice: "At times I fear for the future, Raven. I fear that - that it holds nothing but solitude for me."
Raven did not laugh. At most her face crumpled with sympathy for her brother. "Whatever makes you say that?"
Charles rubbed his fingers against his temples, the skin tender and tense. His mouth twisted of its own accord, as he struggled to admit: "You must know, my dear sister, must have your suspicions... that something is amiss with me. I am not speaking of the mutation, but of something else..."
Raven gently balanced the pipe of the arm of her chair and came over to hold Charles' hands in her own, as she crouched down before him.
"Charles Francis Xavier, you must listen to me very carefully. I am your sister so I know you very well. I know you fall asleep over your books sometimes. I know you hide toffees behind the figurine on the mantel shelf. I know that you are, in spite, or perhaps, in favor of your power, kind, and that your kindness will prevail. So when you ask if I know what the matter is with you, I will answer that it is not you that is amiss, but the world.”
The inner noise of Charles’ mind grew and blossomed. Raven reached up to wipe the wet from his eyes.
“The world does not share your benevolence, unfortunately. I am ever grateful of your words, Raven, yet I cannot ever act upon any notion that would cross my mind. In the eyes of lawful men, I am afflicted by a perversion of spirit- “
Raven hastily rose, a wild expression on her face. Her eyes were narrowed and her mind unreachable. “Do not speak that word! Not in this house, not while we know what we know and while we are who we are. You cannot let their poison intoxicate you!”
Charles let his fingers rest on the bridge of his nose. “I see your concern, Raven, but I digress: stigmas aside I cannot follow my fancies. I would put so much at risk, for such a selfish cause.”
In the indistinct light of the moon, her hair braided and skin cleared of powder, Raven looked much her younger self as she stood there forlornly before the fireplace. “You would be surprised to hear that I think I know more than any other of your plight. But what? - shall we all stay hidden until the fools learn of their foolery? Rather, perhaps we should not hide at all?
Charles turned to the westward wall and watched the darkness seep in from the windows. There was a storm going on outside, the wind blowing snow against the glass. He thought of a particular someone in the bed of the valley and wondered if he was alright.
"Perhaps we should not. However, to all there must be a balance."
Raven huffed and threw her arms up, but her demeanor was not argumentative. "It is far too late for me to decipher your cryptic remarks. Though you should heed what I say. Good night, Charles."
"Good night to you, dear sister. And I will."
Raven left behind an eerie silence with her departure. Charles realized his tensions had been only momentarily relieved when he felt them creep back from the shadows. It was the image of Mr. Lehnsherr – Erik - that plagued him the most.
Not that he could do anything about it.
Could he?
Previously so lethargic, Charles became wildly animated as the dawn of a decision broke in his mind. He hurried to the hallway to dress in the same attire as during the night of first encounter, huddled in layer upon layer of fur and wool, and ventured outside.
A blizzard awaited him.
Without a moment of respite, the storm swept him away in a flurry of snow and wind. Charles lost orientation of where the land ended and the sky began, all marks of recognition brushed out by the glare and the inky darkness. He took a couple of steps experimentally, and was no wiser as to his whereabouts.
Then he heard a neigh, ever so soft against the howl of the weather. He was close to the stables, and thus close to the path down to the riverbed. If only the prints of his boots were not instantly filled in seconds after. There were no sentient beings he could reach out to, either.
The dead rush of winter loomed before him, threatening. By now, the snow was up to his thighs and wading through it was a farce, sluggish steps haltering his advance. His boots, oiled leather no less, were frozen solid, mercilessly rigid to his numbing feet, and a thick mantle had settled over his coat. Still, he delved deeper into the valley, relentless in the face of conviction.
It surprised him when the cold was at once much more biting. Intense pain shot up his legs and he realized he had walked right into the river without intention. He tried to retrace his steps and fell into the mixture of snow and water, his breath leaving his lungs in a misty puff. Agony seized him and he convulsed.
Darkness fell like a sheet over the snowfall. Intense cold became intense warmth, then intense cold again.
The next event he was cognizant of was a hand on his cheek in what appeared to be a large, cavernous hall. A blurry fire threw shadows over the hay which, each time he stirred, scratched his exposed skin.
The hand from before brought a cup to his lips.
Too exhausted to return the touch, Charles reached out telepathically and his mind connected with steel, the thrum of metal filling his head, reverberating. He probed further and broke through an iron wall to reach the inner core of molten silver. He heard his name in there, like a heartbeat, and the implications of it washed over his own heart.
The last energy he was capable of mustering he used to spread joy inside the core of his tinman.
When he woke it was night-time once again. As before, a fire was lit, and now, without the obstruction to his vision, he could see that the large, cavernous room was in fact a barn.
He was cozy and comfortable in several layers of blanket, the thought of cold a distant memory, if even that.
Better yet, next to him, lying partly embedded in the hay, was Erik Lehnsherr whittling away at a piece of wood. Only he was not holding the knife – it was moving as if it were attached to strings. The hands of Mr. Lehnsherr were folded neatly over his stomach.
Bright eyes moved to meet those of Charles. They stared at each other in silence for a while.
Charles coughed, finally. “That was awfully kind of you. To save my life I mean.”
Mr. Lehnsherr smiled, inclining his head. “Of course.”
Charles realized his coat and boots were stretched out over the hay to dry, and beneath the blankets he was only dressed in night-robes. Embarrassed, he rubbed the side of his neck.
“Do you mind me asking how you found me? And where we are?”
“I saw you. A figure, wandering around in the snow, drifting. Who else could it be but you?”
Charles turned red.
“We are sheltered in the closest farm. The blizzard will not pass until the morrow. It was far too great a distance to get you back to my abode, and you were in a delicate state.”
If possible, Charles turned even redder.
Mr. Lehnsherr sat up and inched closer to Charles. His hair gleamed in the firelight, but his eyes were even more alight. He brought a hand up and touched his temple.
“I felt you. Inside.”
Charles still felt the connection running strong, thin like a copper wire, but there.
“What for did you brave the blizzard?” asked Mr. Lehnsherr.
For this, thought Charles and closed the distance between them.