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A month into their courtship, the esteemed Duke Lehnsherr sneaks into the segregated dorms that have been given to the Bene Gesserit and steals Charles away, impatiently tapping his foot as Charles hastily shrugs on the veil and robes customary of one of his kin. It becomes quite the scandal later when Duke Lehnsherr returns to the castle with him and it’s been discovered that they had been off and alone for hours on end- discussions between the Truthsayer and the Duke nearly fall through and the Reverend Mother herself tells Charles that Duke Lehnsherr is a rogue and a rascal, not fit to lick the dirt off the bottom of his sandals.
In that moment, though, Charles hadn’t been able to bring himself to think of the repercussions or the consequences. All he had been able to think of is the way the Duke had pulled at his hand and run along with him, feet pattering against the rocks of the pavement as they eventually reached the outcropping of a cliff, the expanse of Caladan’s oceans laid out in front of them like a beautiful painting.
“This is my favourite place in all of Caladan,” Duke Lehnsherr confesses to Charles when they reach, sitting down and smiling idly when Charles hovers awkwardly nearby, unsure whether he should fold himself onto the slightly dewy grass or continue to stand like he’s uncertain of the importance of the Duke’s station- both equally terrible choices. “It’s so quiet here, so peaceful. My parents died when I was so little and being brought up by Caladan’s court- it doesn’t leave me room to breathe.”
Charles can’t really relate, seeing as all he’s known his whole life is the Bene Gesserit and the sole purpose of his own existence. He doesn’t know how to respond to this show of trust Duke Lehnsherr is showing in him so he just continues to stand silently.
“You don’t speak much, do you?” The Duke adds, looking up and sounding amused. He’s a truly handsome man, Charles realises- eyes the colour of bright viridian, offset by the blue of the ocean, skin a glorious brown and beautiful like the most ornate of statues. It’s almost roguish, how handsome he is. The first time Charles had seen him, he’d stopped in his tracks and stared for a good few seconds before the Reverend Mother Sharon Xavier had shoved him from behind to make him keep walking. “It’s alright. You’re far too pretty for me to notice.”
Charles blushes, then realises he’s blushing, and quickly refocuses his gaze on the horizon.
“I really don’t bite,” the Duke continues, now sounding dangerously close to laughter at Charles’ expense. “Sit down beside me.”
Charles folds himself onto his knees, keeping his gaze straight ahead. Duke Lehnsherr is impossibly charming and charming men are the most dangerous kind. “It would do us well to remember,” he says carefully, “the roles we play for the other.” Love does not fit into that equation, especially between a Duke of Caladan and his concubine, he wants to say, but the words die in his throat when he looks up and meets Duke Lehnsherr’s carefully intense gaze.
“Life does not have to be boiled down to our roles and the goals we strive to achieve,” The Duke says softly. Even his voice feels magnetic, alluring- he’s the most charismatic duke Charles has ever come into contact with. Charles thinks of the duke’s wife, and his heart clenches. “It seems awfully reductive.”
Charles stays silent, returning his gaze to his lap and folding his hands neatly. He still remembers Sharon’s words from that very first morning, a month ago- make him yours, and then give us a daughter. Xavier- do not forget your role in all of this.
How self-centred of the esteemed Duke Lehnsherr to talk about transcending roles, when with all the power that Charles has, his entire life has been nothing but roles- preparing for this role, to be exact. And yet, Charles can’t find it in himself to blame Duke Lehnsherr for it. Not when the man in question looks at him like he’s something worth having. The first man to ever do so, in fact.
“You may not expect us to be lovers,” the duke continues, his expression slightly shuttered at Charles’ reticence. “But let us be friends, at the very least.”
The simple nature of the entreaty makes Charles finally smile in spite of himself. “How presumptuous of you, my Duke,” Charles says, looking up and sending Duke Lehnsherr a small smile. “To expect anyone to know you, and want to remain as just friends.”
The Duke stares at him wordlessly, clearly taken aback, and then smiles even wider. He’s ever more gorgeous when he does so- it’s as if Charles is staring right into the sun. “Erik,” he says. “Call me Erik.”
“Erik,” Charles echoes, and suddenly knows in his heart that anything Erik asks for, Charles will endeavour to give him with all his soul, and then some more.
*
Looking back, Charles thinks he should have seen it all coming.
Love was, after all, never supposed to be in the equation. Charles was raised to be a broodmare and Erik Lehnsherr was supposed to be the sire of his daughter, the saviour of Arrakis. Charles was supposed to do what he’d been born to do, and nothing less or nothing more. He was never supposed to fall in love with the careful depth of Erik’s eyes, the strength of his convictions and beliefs, the purity of his heart. He was never supposed to give in when Erik had cuddled him close and laid his head against his stomach, murmuring about wanting a son more than anything else. He was never supposed to let Erik become his sun and stars, and he was never supposed to let himself jeopardise everything the Bene Gesserit had fought for.
They had warned him about this, and he didn’t listen. And here he stands, the entire world in ruins at his son’s feet, all for his love. Erik’s love.
*
The second David falls back to sleep under Charles’ watchful eye, a frown still furrowing his brow, Charles gently closes the door behind him and strides down the hallway to Erik’s office.
The candlelight burns low now, almost to the last dregs of the wax as Erik hunches over the desk and works on the last bit of paperwork finalising the Arrakis deal. He’s gained quite a few more wrinkles and grey hairs since that scandalous meeting on the outcropping of the cliff all those years ago but he’s just as beautiful as he had been back then, eyes just as iridescently bright and hands just as strong, black and grey waves artfully framing his face. He’s always been a vision, the kind to make Charles fall to his knees, and for a second Charles stands at the doorway and drinks it in.
The second doesn’t last for very long- Erik looks up and a sense of profound happiness steals over his face, lightening his features and taking Charles’ breath away. “Charles,” he says, holding out his hand, and Charles scurries over, sitting on one of the arms of the chair and leaning his weight against Erik. “You should be asleep.”
“David,” Charles says in response, and Erik winces, nodding. Neither of them have been much help to David ever since the nightmares had started up- all they can do is rush to his room when they hear his screams and in recent days, only hear of it when David bothers to broach the topic with them. David is a sweet child, but some days it’s all Charles can do to prevent him from slipping from his grasp.
“Is he alright?” Erik asks, covering Charles’ hand with his own. With his other hand he continues to sift through the papers, checking over each one before marking his stamp with the signet ring. In the low light of the room it shines like a beacon, blinding with a royal glow- the House of Lehnsherr, one of the most powerful in the known universe.
When Charles continues to be silent, Erik looks up, frowning. “Love?”
With one hand, Charles covers Erik’s hand that’s shuffling through the paperwork, drawing it away. “Don’t,” he says softly. “Don’t go through with it. Caladan is enough for us.”
Erik’s reaction is exactly as he’d expected. He jumps up and spins around to glare at Charles, the soft mood of the room having completely disappeared by now. “Charles, I thought we were over with this,” he snaps, folding his arms and drawing away from Charles’ outstretched hands. “You know what Arrakis means-”
“We’ll get by,” Charles snaps back, standing up as well and frowning. “Erik, listen to me-”
“The Emperor asked me to come,” Erik retorts as he stands, tall and imposing. He’s so damn obstinate, Charles thinks furiously, just like his son. “And if I turn him down, House Lehnsherr will be shamed. The other Houses will turn against us, to say nothing of what Baron Essex might do back in Arrakis then. What do you propose I do then?”
“I don’t know!” Charles exclaims, and against his will a single tear slips out. Every single hour of the day, every second spent reigning in his emotions- and it’s all for naught when he loses his tight grip of control either way the second he lets himself think of what might happen if it all happens to go wrong. Erik’s eyes widen at the sight and then the expression on his face inevitably softens back from the expression of irritation it had been at before. He runs a hand through his hair, heaving a deep sigh before stepping forward and pulling Charles into his arms. Charles resists for a second before relenting, tucking his nose down into the crook of Erik’s neck and breathing in. Erik’s arms are strong around him, secure in a tight hold.
“I know what you’re afraid of, my love,” Erik whispers, running a hand up and down Charles’ back. Ridiculous- Charles is the one supposed to comfort him. He has seen the tension form in his Duke’s shoulders, the anxiety and terror taking over when he thinks no one is looking, the clipped tones with which he speaks to his fellow men. “Do you think I have failed to notice the way you look at me?”
“And how,” Charles snaps, more tears escaping and his hands shaking where they clasp the back of Erik’s tunic, “do I look at you?”
“Like I’m a dead man walking,” Erik whispers. His words land uncomfortably in the space between them, the truth of it sinking into the air. “Like you’re about to lose me. But you will not lose me, Charles Xavier. Not ever.”
There’s a long, slow pause, and the only sound is the flickering of the candle as it burns through the last of its wax. “We are about to walk headfirst into a war,” Charles says, his voice low and sharp. “You will excuse me if I don’t believe you.”
Erik draws away then, and palms his face while looking him in the eye. Erik’s gaze has always been powerful and intense- cutting down entire armies in one fell swoop, searing through Charles’ soul with its heat and slaying him where he stands. “If you won’t believe your lover,” Erik says quietly, confidently, not a trace of weakness in his eyes, “then at least, have faith in your Duke.”
It’s the conviction that Charles had fallen in love with, during those slow as molasses, breezy days in Caladan, during those walks by the river and stolen heated meetings under the covers of trees and pavilions. Charles reaches up to place a kiss on Erik’s forehead and tries not to think about how this time round, his conviction might not be enough.
*
David had been a gorgeous little baby, bright blue eyes and skin the exact beautiful colour of Erik’s. Everyone had fallen in love with him, from the toughened Warmaster Emma Frost to the benign Doctor Azazel. Erik especially had been particularly besotted, cuddling David close and rocking him while singing a lullaby to him in Hebrew when it became nightfall, soft lilting tones echoed in his gruff voice and painting a touching scene that would make Charles, tired as he had been, fall in love with Erik even more every single time he saw it. David had everyone wrapped around his pinky finger- everyone, that is, except for the Reverend Mother Sharon Xavier.
“You were supposed to give us a daughter,” she’d snarled, venomous and sharp, and Charles had felt his very fragile countenance snap.
“He wanted a son to be the heir to the House of Lehnsherr,” Charles had snapped, fire sparking in his veins and giving him the sort of resilience for the first time in his life that allowed him to snap back at Sharon like this, “and I wanted to give him everything. You will never understand that- the love we feel for each other, the love we continue to feel. I wanted us- my family- to be more than just a prequel to someone else’s legacy. Can’t you begin to process that?”
Sharon stares at him in the wake of his outburst, and Charles suddenly feels very foolish, holding a dozing David in his arms, clad in nothing but a robe that he’d clearly stolen off Erik’s chair. He hugs David closer and says, eyes on his own feet and tone of his voice back to the reverence it usually holds, “You will get your Kwisatz Haderach.”
Sharon folds her arms and doesn’t speak for a long time, letting Charles feel every inch of her disapproving stare. And then she says, “Be very careful, Lord Charles. You would do well to remember that it’s not just the life of your son on the balance, here.”
Charles is left standing there in the dark for a long time, long after Sharon disappears.
*
Charles’ hatred of Arrakis takes fruit when he steps foot on the ground just to have the heat smack him flat in the face, and he looks up to see David clench his jaw and walk on amidst shouts of Kwisatz Haderach! It grows as the unrest between House Lehnsherr and House Essex burgeons and swells into a strange sort of anticipation, it grows as he sees the wrinkles around Erik’s eyes deepen with each passing day, it grows as the shadows in David’s eyes swirl and increase with terrifying rapidity. He goes to bed and wakes up with terror and hate for the desert stricken planet stirring in his heart, the anxiety making him stare out of the window for hours on end.
“I can tell, you know,” Erik murmurs one slow night, with his head pillowed on Charles’ lap. He’s dressed in nothing but a pair of trousers that may have belonged to Charles at one point, a mark made by Charles’ mouth sitting high on his neck. “I can tell how much you hate this planet.”
“Good, I was afraid you were losing your touch,” Charles says archly. “Will you lock me up for detesting your precious Arrakis, then?”
Erik hums, with his eyes still closed as he reaches up and runs the back of his knuckles down the side of Charles’ face, tracing his jaw down to his chin. “I could never bear to lock you up,” he says softly, almost reverently. “My lovely, lovely Charles.” Charles leans into the touch, breathing out softly and not daring to ruin the soft mood that has settled over them. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Erik was trying to memorise the details of his face, trying to commit it all to memory.
It’s not as if Charles isn’t doing the same to Erik too. He runs his fingers down Erik’s features, tracing the slight bump in the middle of Erik’s nose, smoothing the pad of his thumb over Erik’s plush bottom lip, down the scar at the corner of his lip and the individual hairs of his beard. Erik’s eyelashes are long, casting shadows over the brown of his skin, and Charles traces them too, scraping lightly with his fingernail.
There’s a sadness tinting the air, filling the space between them. The foreboding in Charles’ heart makes it seize up tight, the lump in his throat growing strong enough to choke his airways. Both of them know they’re spending one of their last days together, but neither of them are strong enough to say it out loud into the air between them, cement it as the truth.
Erik has always seen him as someone strong, someone powerful. He doesn’t know how to tell Erik that it’s always been nothing but a facade.
“I should have married you,” Erik murmurs, his voice full of longing and melancholy. “My lovely, lovely Charles.”
Charles freezes for a split second. And then he continues with his ministrations, closing his own eyes and trying not to let a single tear spill.
*
“When I’m gone,” Erik says the day before they set for Arrakis, “you have to promise me something.”
Charles had been lying down on his stomach, idly watching Erik at work. At his words, though, all thoughts of sleep flee his mind and he shoots up straight, sending Erik a fierce glare. “No,” Charles bursts out, sharp and panicked. “No, what are you saying-”
“Hey, darling- darling,” Erik breathes out, eyes wide with alarm as he reaches for Charles. Charles slides back out of his reach, shaking his head repeatedly and muttering under his breath, distress strangling him from the inside out. “Darling. Hear me out-”
“I will not!” Charles hisses, his eyes already clouding with tears. He spends every day terrified out of his wits for Erik and for David, every day cooking up the most terrifying scenarios that could possibly happen to them both. “You won’t leave me, Erik Lehnsherr! You can’t leave me!”
“And I will do my best not to,” Erik says softly, ever patient in the face of Charles’ alarm and panic. He yanks Charles into his arms with one sharp pull and they kneel there amongst the twisted up blankets, entwined in an embrace tight enough to meld them into one entity. “But if I do- if I do, Charles, my lovely Charles, promise me something.”
Charles doesn’t speak. He’s afraid that if he does, he will say something he might regret later.
“Promise me that you’ll take care of our son,” Erik says, and this time his voice is full of an urgency Charles has never heard before. His eyes are severe, not a trace of mirth in them. “Put his needs above your own. Above the Bene Gesserit, if you have to.”
Charles leans back and places his hands on either side of Erik’s face. In the low light of the room, Erik looks untouchable- godly and omniscient. Like this, he looks as if he can never be touched. It’s how Charles wants to remember him, forevermore. “I can’t do this without you.”
“You won’t,” Erik says, and waits.
“I promise,” Charles finally breathes out, and closes his eyes, feeling Erik kiss the top of each eyelid.
*
Charles never sees the attack coming. Everything is a blur, from waking up tied with David’s terrified gaze on him to finally escaping. The only time he’s truly cognizant of what’s going on is when they climb up to the top of the sand dunes and watch the palace complex of the House of Lehnsherr go up in flames.
“Father,” David whispers, his hand outstretched. The flames soar up into the sky, large plumes of smoke billowing and making intricate shapes. The sight is absurdly beautiful in all its violence but Charles can’t bring himself to feel anything other than a profound sense of shock and loss, realising the implications of what might have happened to Erik.
Screams echo from the burning complex and he can’t bear to look at it any longer, closing his eyes and remembering how he’d traced each of Erik’s features last night- first with his fingers, then with his tongue. Remembers how he’d foolishly expected it to not be for the last time, remembers how he’d dared to close his eyes and dream of a future with a prosperous and respected House Lehnsherr, Erik and David at the helm.
You said I wouldn’t have to do this alone, Charles thinks, and opens his eyes, clinging onto the last bit of hope he has even if his mind is telling him what he already knows to be true. He clings onto it right until they set up the tent and the signet ring appears in David’s hand.
David exhales out, shuddery and light, and the solid truth of what had happened to Erik is enough to break the dam. Charles finally feels his heart crack in two, feels anguish greater than anything he’s ever known consume him whole. He looks at the ring in David’s hand and knows the truth, as surreal and awful as it seems to be- Erik is dead. Erik, his lover, is dead. Erik Lehnsherr, the head of House Lehnsherr, is dead.
He will never hear Erik’s laughter again, will never hear Erik call him my lovely, lovely Charles, will never feel Erik pepper soft kisses down his throat or whisper sweet nothings into his ear or admonish him for being too quiet and secretive. He will never see Erik walk the great halls of the grounds belonging to the House of Lehnsherr, mighty and magnificent in power, and he will never see Erik pamper their daughter and raise her alongside him. He’s alone, more alone than before he’d ever met Erik, because-
Charles raises his eyes, and meets David’s tearful gaze. The signet ring is already stained with tears.
Because Baron Essex had killed him. Baron Essex had killed his lover, had killed his Erik. Had killed the man he’d pledged his life and heart to, had attached his very soul to. There’s immeasurable grief in his heart, too great to fathom, but it has now become company to something else- rage, a manic sort of rage.
“They will pay,” he breathes, and places his hand palm down on the ground, feeling the individual grains of sand bite into his skin- the sand of the planet that took his lover from him. A lesser man than him would give up, walk out into the desert and let the sandworms take him. Not Charles- Charles feels the bite of vengeance tug at his soul and set him aflame, the last words of his lover echoing in his ears.
I should have married you. My lovely, lovely Charles.
“They will pay,” he says again, and clenches his fist until he feels blood well up on his skin. “They will all pay.”