Disclaimer: Marvel owns the X-Men, I owe nothing, don't bother suing me.
I always thought he'd be the last to go. How many times has he come back from the brink of death? How many times has he saved one of us or another?
And now he lies in earth, sleeping. A great warrior laid to rest. I stare at the grave, unfeeling. Someone is crying – probably Jubilation. She's being crying for three days now.
I don't doubt that Scott feels my guilt through the link, or that the Professor has picked up on it from time to time. Perhaps Scott thinks it is because it was in rescuing me that he died; the Professor's guess would be closer to the truth.
I remember when he first came to us; I remember the Professors fear – that he would leave. Nothing held him to us; nothing, that is, but me.
We needed this man. We were few, battling insurmountable odds. And there is nothing I would not do for my cause.
My telepathy, when compared to the Professors, does not seem much – at least in terms of brute strength, or the reach of my mind. But when one is in contact with someone every day; that is different. My art is a subtle one, the art of a woman. Balance, balance – I couldn't do anything that would make Scott suspicious. But all I needed was to give him a little hope. A little light at the end of the tunnel, and his love did the rest.
Was it worth it? Do not ask me now. Try again, in five years, ten. Ask me when the battle is won. Ask me on my deathbed, if we fail; How much time was bought with his blood? How many lives exchanged for his life? What price, a good man's soul?
How strange. I've realized the one that is crying is me.
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
-Dulce et Decorum est, by Wilfred Owen.
(translation: It is sweet and proper to die for one's country)