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Erik was bent over the drenched tiny piece of paper he had managed to scavenge from one of the other soldiers, desperately trying to ignore the whistle of bullets zipping over his head, the loud detonation of bombs going off around him or the yells coming from his brothers in arms. He had to write this letter. It had been well over a week since he had gotten Charles’ last letter and by the time his letter would reach him, almost two weeks would have gone by. He cowered as a bomb went off in a nearby trench and closed his eyes at the horrid smell of blood that spread over the field. Spared again. Maybe he would live through this war and come home to Charles. So far, Erik had barely been hurt, thanks to a strange ability he possessed that allowed him to sense metallic objects around him.
*****
When he had first discovered his power, at the age of sixteen, he had ignored it because he had just gotten a job at the McMarey’s estate as their son’s caretaker and did not want to lose it. Charles was barely fourteen at the time and due to a nasty fall from his horse, had lost the use of his legs and been forced to use a wheelchair. As a result, his father had decided to hire someone to help him move around, which was how Erik had found his job. The two boys had quickly become friends, much to Erik’s surprise. Charles was not the petty, irritating rich heir he had expected to meet. Instead, he was kind, funny, smart… and a bit of a devil every now and then. Charles kept on hiding when he did not want to dress for the day, he loved rolling down the hill in his brand new clothes and had once tried climbing a tree despite not having control of his legs (Erik was still happy he had arrived just in time to catch him). All was well, but with the two boys spending all their time together, the inevitable had eventually happened. Charles had discovered Erik’s ability.
Erik was making him hot chocolate when he had clumsily knocked over the heated pan full of milk. Instinctively, he had stopped its fall with his ability, making it fly right back on the stove. A stupid mistake. Charles, now fifteen and always following Erik everywhere, had stared at him in awe and immediately asked to see more “tricks”, giving Erik his adorable puppy eyes. Relieved by his positive reaction and unable to deny him anything, Erik had complied and made a coin fly around him, much to the younger boy’s delight. Then, a few months later, Charles had discovered his own amazing ability. Not only could he read minds (which proved to be a problem for Erik who was starting to develop unsuitable feelings for him) but he could also speak to someone in their head.
Together, they had explored their powers, among a few other things, until the war had come, set off by the death of the archduke of Austria-Hungary. The day Erik had turned 18, a year after the beginning of the war, he had been forced to join the army, leaving Charles to fend off for himself with only one handmaiden to help in the big house that was not fit for a wheelchair. On his first week in the trenches, Erik had quickly realised what a valuable asset his power was, as it allowed him to avoid the bombs falling on him or the bullets aiming at him. With time and practice, he had even slowly learnt to control the bullets so that they would not hit him or his friends.
*****
A bomb went off in the distance. Erik shook his head, reopening his eyes to finish his letter. He had to stay focused, the rain of bombs would stop soon enough and he would be allowed to lose himself in memories. The enemy had to rest as well and the sky was already darkening. And for now, Erik had a lover to answer to. He knew Charles worried when he went two weeks without answer for him. Thank God the British Empire had deemed it crucial for letters to be reach the front as quickly as possible for the troops’ morale.
Erik read his letter one last time, making sure he had not written anything that might alert his officers or some unwanted eyes that he was writing to his very masculine lover. He had also been careful to write as little as he could about his life in the trenches, knowing they would confiscate his letter if he did. And there was no need to worry Charles furthermore. His heart clenched painfully as he pictured his lover waiting for his answer by the fire of his large mansion. Erik had to come home. He had this amazing ability, he had better use it to come back alive. He gave his letter to the mailman, then followed one of his brother in arms, Logan Howlett, back to their position, sending a quick thought to Charles even though he knew the man would never be able to hear him.
A l’heure où la nuit passe au milieu des tranchés, (As the night goes through trenches)
Ma très chère Augustine, je t’écris sans tarder. (My dearest Augustine, I write to you without delay)
Le froid pique et me glace, et j’ai peur de tomber. (The cold stings and freezes me, I’m afraid of falling)
Je ne pense qu’à toi. (I only think of you)
Mais je suis un soldat. (But I’m a soldier)
Mais surtout ne t’en fais pas. (But please don’t worry)
Je serai bientôt là. (I’ll soon be home)
Et tu seras fière de moi. (And you’ll be proud of me)
Charles’ reply came in two weeks later. By that time, the war was raging again. Some diplomatic exchange must have failed because the two armies were now fighting even more ruthlessly than before. As a result, Erik had barely gotten time to sleep, too busy trying to keep his brothers in arms alive, or at least as unharmed as he could. So when Logan finally brought him the much awaited letter, Erik allowed himself to take shelter and wept at the soft, loving words coming from Charles. After almost a year at the front, surrounded by death, gore, and violence, Charles’ letters were the only thing that reminded him that he had once led a happy life. That he was fighting to go back to this life, to his lover and their home. He read the letter again, touching the delicate inked words with trembling fingers. A laughter escaped him. Erik had once made fun of Charles’ feminine writing, slightly jealous as his own writing was so tight it was a wonder Charles could read him at all. Now though, he was thankful for it allowed the letters to reach him unnoticed by his officers and whoever read his mail.
A sharp command tore Erik out of his thoughts and he was on his feet, hastily hiding the letter in the pocket over his heart. The enemy had broken their first line of defence. Erik and his comrades were to stop them at all costs. With a silent prayer, Erik got into position and started firing at the enemies, ignoring the feeling of horror that was overcoming him as he noticed that the men he was killing were barely older than him. They were nineteen at most, terrified and crying as their German officers ordered them to attack, undoubtedly threatening them of the death penalty if they dared turning their back on Erik and his men. Erik did not speak German, but he had heard his own officers yell at him to attack at the cost of their lives too many time to not recognise the look on the soldiers’ faces. Still. He had to kill them. He could not go soft now and risk dying. Not when he had a reply to send.
After what felt like an eternity, silence finally fell over the trenches, even more deafening that the detonation of bombs. Erik’s eyes travelled over the bodies lying all around him, some in grotesque positions, others missing a limb or two. A year ago, his stomach would have lurched, but Erik was used to this sight now, it had become part of his everyday life. He walked around the corpses, checking for a pulse, and felt his heart grow heavy at the news that two of his friends had been killed. As usual after a fight, he rebuilt the trenches then helped burying the dead. Once done, he grabbed a bowl of soup from the so-called canteen and joined Logan in one of the shelters. It consisted of nothing more than a large hole dug inside one of the trenches’ walls, only standing thanks to the old boards propped against the walls, but it was better than eating under the cold rain. The place was filthy, covered with blood, bill and mud, and rats were crawling over their feet, but it still provided them with a false yet much needed sense of safety. The soup was a light meal considering the battle he had just survived, but after what he had seen, it was still almost too much for his stomach. Erik forced himself to gulp it down then headed for his bed, grabbing a sheet of paper to write back to Charles.
For a moment, Erik was tempted to tell him about the atrocities he saw every day in the trenches, about the men, teenagers really, he killed on a daily basis because of a meaningless war between overly proud rulers. After much hesitation, he decided to save this darker part of his life for the end of his letter. He started his letter by reminding Charles he loved him, telling him of all the things they would do once he would come back, of the delicious meals he would cook for him, of how he longed for him and his warm bed. If he closed his eyes and cut himself away from the war, he could almost remember the soft feeling of Charles’ lips over his. As usual, the memory brought him back to their first kiss. To this day, and probably until the end of the war, it was his most cherished memory. Erik would forever be thankful for Charles’ amazing ability to read minds and project his thoughts and feelings. Had Charles not let slip how hungry he was for Erik, he would have never found the courage to tell him how he felt.
*****
It had been a rather dull day at the Xavier’s house. Erik was helping Charles get dressed and ready for his day as usual when a surge of desire had hit him. At first, he had dismissed it as his feelings for Charles but then he had realised the feelings weren't his and distinctively felt like Charles when he spoke to him in his mind. He had stared at the younger man (only by two years, Erik!), taken aback, then he had knelt next to his wheelchair and kissed him. It had been tentative, neither boys properly knowing what to do, and there had been nervous laughter involved but they had both felt the spark in their chest, telling them this is it. It had felt like the Earth had stopped spinning, the Universe suddenly consisting in nothing than the two of them, just like in those old stories of soulmates finding their missing half. Charles had lit up when he had heard Erik’s thought and pulled him in for another messy kiss until they had finally managed to find what worked for them. They had kept their relationship a secret, obviously, but with Charles living in a nearly empty mansion away from town, they had managed.
*****
Loud laughter coming from soldiers in the shelter brought Erik back to his letter. One again, he pondered writing about life at the front, fully aware that his letter would be kept from Charles if he talked about it, then a thought hit him. He could write in their town’s dialect. Charles barely understood it, except for the few words Erik had taught him, but the young man was smart. He could figure it out. And Erik was pretty sure his letter would avoid censorship as no one would bother to translate it. And to ensure that it would, Erik even wrote a few loving words at the beginning. If someone understood them, they would dismiss the rest of the sentence as more proofs of undying love. Confident his letter would get to Charles, Erik wrote an entire paragraph on the monstrosities he saw here every day. He was careful not to write too much, his letters were supposed to comfort Charles, but it was nice to be able to tell him about the deaths weighing on his heart.
A l'heure où la guerre chasse des garçons par milliers, (At a time when war chases boys by thousand)
Si loin de la maison et la fleur au canon. (So far away from home, and without a care in the world)
Ces autres que l'on tue sont les mêmes que moi. (Those they kill are the same as me)
Mais je ne pleure pas... (But I’m not crying)
Car je suis un soldat. (Because I’m a soldier)
Mais surtout ne t’en fais pas, (But please don’t worry)
Je serai bientôt là. (I’ll soon be home)
Et tu seras fière de moi. (And you’ll be proud of me)
The letter given to the postman, Erik went to bed, knowing he would only get a handful hours of rest before the never ending string of firearms and bombs would start again. For once however, his heart was not as heavy. One day this war would be over. One day, he would create new memories with Charles to cherish. Because what world would it be if the sun never came back after a storm?
The impact of the bullet sent Erik crashing to the ground. He felt as if the air had been knocked out of him and he gasped as pain suddenly exploded in his chest, blinding him for a moment. When he resurfaced, he could feel blood pouring from his chest and someone carrying him away from the field. No, no, no. Erik had to go back. He had to finish this war to come back to Charles. He moaned painfully as he tried to move but a deep, frustrated voice warned him against moving. Logan. Erik tried to talk to him, wanting to make him understand why he had to help him up, but instead a cry escaped his lips as Logan tripped on the unstable ground beneath him.
A l'heure où la mort passe dans le fleuve à mes pieds (At a time where death crosses the river by my feet)
De la boue qui s'en va, des godasses et des rats. (Mud that goes off shoes and rats)
Je revoie tes yeux clairs, j'essaie d'imaginer (I see your blue eyes once again, I try to imagine)
L'hiver auprès de toi (Winter by your side)
Mais je suis un soldat (But I’m a soldier)
Je ne sens plus mes bras (I can’t feel my arms anymore)
Tout tourne autour de moi (Everything is spinning around me)
Mon Dieu sors moi de là (God, save me from this)
“Hold on, buddy. Just a few more metres. Don’t give up on me now.” Logan grunted as he walked back to the trenches, straining under the heavy body he carried. He needed to find a doctor before Erik bled out on his shoulders. The guy had risked his life to save a younger recruit and he had protected Logan more times that he would have liked. He could not let him die. When they finally reached the trenches, Logan propped Erik against a wall and called for a medic before looking back at him, slapping his cheek to keep him awake. “Come on, Lehnsherr. You've got a wife to go back to, remember? Your sweet Charlotte, she’s waiting, don’t let her down.”
With effort, Erik managed to open his eyes. The world was spinning around him, each deflagration feeling like a violent stab in his head. “No... Charles. Charles. He’s going to worry.” He choked on his words, each breath obviously hurting him more than the previous one.
Logan paused for a second then tore a piece of fabric from his shirt. Using it as a compress, he tried to stop Erik’s bleeding and corrected himself. “Then better come back, mate. Can’t leave him alone now. I know he loves you very much, you never shut up about him.” He said with a hint of a smile as he looked around them, glaring at the emptiness of the trenches. Most of their men had been ordered to attack, their officers fooling themselves in believing they could win this by taking the enemy by surprise. It had been a suicide attack. Corpses ripped to shreds were hanging from the wires. Some men had even been projected on top of the many dead trees that had somehow managed to stand through the war. And it seemed that those who had stayed behind in the trenches had suffered the German’s new kind of attack. Poisonous gas. The air was thick with a heavy smoke that had Logan coughing his lungs out but he figured the worst was over since he was still very much alive and the smoke was lifting.
Logan looked back at Erik. The young man was babbling on about his Charles, blood now dripping from his lips, scarlet crimson on his ashen face. Logan knew there was little hope he could survive his wound. The bullet had torn through his side, right under his heart, and from the wheezing sound coming from Erik, Logan could tell his lungs were collapsing. Something tugged at his dog tag, beckoning him closer, and he leant forward until his ear was against Erik's lips.
“Letter, my letter… top pocket, please…” The words were choked out, barely above a whisper. Logan hurried to fish the last letter he had received from Charlotte – Charles – from his pocket and gave it to him, carefully placing it in his bloody but valid hand. Erik clung to it, a vacant look on his face, and quieted down. Logan turned around, once again calling for a medic even though he knew it was pointless now. Even if there was one around, they would not hear him over the sound of gunfire and bombs going off and they would be too late. The wheezing sound stopped. Logan turned back to Erik. The man was staring ahead of him with glassy eyes, a faint and sad smile on his face. Logan cursed loudly then extended a hand to close his eyes. He took the letter, alongside with Erik’s dog tag and the beginning of a letter he had started for Charles. When he would get out of here, he would find this Charles and tell him what had happened. Until then, he would keep those safe and help end this war and try not to imagine what it would be like to face Erik’s lover and tell him he would never come back.
Ma très chère Augustine, j’aimerai te confier (My dearest Augustine, I would like to entrust you with)
Nos plus beaux souvenirs, et nos enfants rêvés (Our best memories, and our dreamt children)
Je crois pouvoir le dire nous nous sommes aimés. (I think it’s safe to say we loved each other)
Je t’aime une dernière fois. (I love you one last time)
Je ne suis qu’un soldat. (I’m only a soldier)
Non, je ne reviendrai pas. (No, I’m not coming back)
Je n’étais qu’un soldat. (I was nothing but a soldier)
Prends soin de toi. (Take care of yourself)