AN: If you haven't read Brent Week's Night Angel Trilogy, I highly recommend it - it is possibly my favourite series of books ever. I actually came up with this idea when I was trying to get to sleep, and managed to remember it next morning - so this is my attempt to actually turn the idea into something 'tangible'. If you've already read my other multi-chapter pieces, you might have some idea at how awful I am at updating work, but I'm really gonna try with this piece! (Comments and Favourites actually go a long way, so please drop one or the other if you like this!)

You'll be forgiven if you get a little confused during the story - I'm still working out some of the details, but hopefully it'll develop as I go along... :S Anyway - enjoy! xx

When Winter Strikes

1. Your Past for Your Future

The first thing that James was aware of was that he was lying down on some sort of makeshift bed: a lot of blankets on a smooth stone floor, and the next thing he was aware of was that he wasn't alone. A young, dark-haired man in brown robes was tending to a pot of something brewing by what appeared to be the entrance to the cave they were in, his back to James, and something about the man set him on edge. He couldn't remember how he got here – wherever 'here' was – nor where he'd come across this man, and that, in James' eyes, made him a threat.

Before he could act, however, the stranger turned and saw him attempting to sit up. "Ah," he said, "you're awake. Good." He stood up and made his way over, his movements calm and careful.

James pushed himself the rest of the way up, eyeing the man warily. "Where am I?"

"You don't remember?" He shook his head, and the young man sighed. "I see. You're in the southern side of the mountains that split Khalidor and Cenaria. The Plith River isn't too far away."

"Why am I here?"

"I found you wandering aimlessly at the bottom of the range. You collapsed, and I brought you here so that you could recover."

"And you are?"

His rescuer smiled. "My name is Charles Xavier. Might I return the question?"

James opened his mouth to answer but found himself faltering. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

Xavier frowned. "You don't remember?"

"No, no, it's not that… It's just that I've… had a few names lately."

"Well, which one would you like me to call you?" It was a gentle, understanding tone, and James began to suspect he had nothing to fear from this man.

"James."

He nodded. "How are you feeling, James?"

"Confused," he said as his stomach rumbled. "And hungry."

"I thought you might be," Xavier said with a chuckle, returning to the pot at the cave's entrance. "I began preparing this for when you woke up. Perfect timing, really." A stew of some sort was ladled into a wooden bowl and offered his way. "Would you like some?" He eyed it suspiciously, making Xavier laugh. "It's just rabbit stew. I caught one this morning."

James decided to risk it, and found that actually, he was hungrier than he thought. Xavier let him have another bowl, asking him questions while he ate: was he from Cenaria? Did he have family there? How long had he been away? Where had he been going and why? Sensing genuine curiosity, James answered as honestly as he dared – he'd been told he was from Cenaria, though he had no memories of living there, and all he knew was that he had to get over the border, but he couldn't think why. "The last thing I remember is completing the job I was on, and then I knew I had to return."

"Where do you think you're returning to?"

Frowning, he shifted through his memories, trying to retrace his steps. "Khalidor."

"Khalidor?" Xavier's eyebrows rose. "What on earth are you going there for?"

He shrugged, swallowing another spoonful of stew. "That's where I always go after completing a job."

"And what is your profession, exactly?" James hesitated. There were lots of things he could say: carpenter, tailor, artist, architect… But for some reason, he didn't want to lie any more than he wanted to tell the truth. As it was, his silence seemed to speak for him. Xavier nodded. "I see." His eyes flicked to James' left side, and he asked, "Is that how you lost your arm? In a fight?"

"Yeah." An unusual fight, and one he'd rather not remember, but Xavier didn't need to know all the gruesome details. Memory loss or no, James would never forget that fight, nor the process that produced his replacement limb: a metal one, a mirrored duplicate of his right arm. Though it behaved just like a real arm would, he often wondered if it would turn on him at some point in the future – or perhaps even now.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," Xavier said, softly cutting off his train of thought, "but might I take a closer look at it? I've never seen anything of the sort in my life." Wordlessly, James set his bowl down and held it out, allowing the man to run his hands just above it and inspect the join at his shoulder. "Fascinating," he murmured; "The weaves that are holding it together are quite complex."

"Weaves?" James echoed. "You're a mage?"

Xavier gave him a small smile, and up close, James could see that he had unusually coloured eyes – a warm gold, it seemed. "Yes, I was trained in the ways of magic," he admitted. "My fellow magi believed I could go on to do great things, but we disagreed on what defined 'great things'. At present, people think I'm dead – I think it would be best to keep things that way for a while."

"Why would they think that?"

He chuckled bitterly. "One of those friends decided to prove that she was stronger than me. It didn't end well."

"For her?"

"For both of us." James tried not to dwell on what that meant as Xavier went back to examining his arm. "How long have you had this?"

He shrugged. "For as long as I can remember."

"Since childhood?"

James shook his head. "I don't remember my childhood."

"Really?" Xavier studied him, a deep frown ruining his otherwise youthful features. "There's a lot you don't seem to remember; I wonder if…" He trailed off, eyes widening as they travelled to James' head.

He swallowed. "What?"

"I don't want to alarm you, James," the mage began, "but whoever gave you your arm replacement added more than just protective weaves to you."

"Like what?"

"Like memory blocks." Xavier moved closer to his head, eyes burning with disbelief and… disgust? "I don't know what to say," he breathed.

"Why?" James was getting anxious. He suddenly felt like he needed to keep absolutely stock still, in case he dislodged something and damaged his brain. "What's it look like?"

Xavier's fingertips brushed his hair. "Someone has edited your memory," he explained, "only they've done it hundreds of times. There are so many layers to this weave, and the bottom layers look much, much more complex than the top ones." He sat back on his heels. "James, whoever's been doing this to you has been doing it for years."

The news didn't shock him. It was a surprise, but part of him sort of… already knew. His memory was patchy at the very least – the earliest moment of his life that he could recall was losing his arm, but he'd be damned if he could tell you how old he was when that happened. Hell, he wasn't even sure how old he was now! He guessed he was close to twenty, maybe a little over, which would mean that the first twenty years of his life had been stolen from him, stripped from his mind. Not to mention all the blanks he encountered between getting a new arm and now; how much of his life had been made a mystery to him?

"There are four people besides myself who have the ability to do this," Xavier was saying darkly. "Two of them don't have the heart to be so cruel; one of them is dead; and the other went missing a long time ago, although…" He trailed off, then refocused his attention back on James' face. "Can you remember who created the weaves for your arm?" he asked. "I need a name, or something significant."

"I never knew his name," James said, "but I think he wore a cape."

"A cape?"

"Yeah. With a fancy collar."

Xavier let out a noise of despair, eyes closing. "Stephen," he whispered. When he opened his eyes again, he looked sad. "You work for the Khalidorans, don't you?"

To confirm his suspicions would be to lose this mage's aid, yet after all he had done for him, James didn't want to deceive him anymore. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about this man made him… hopeful. So he nodded; "But your friend, he was forced to make these weaves. The Meisters supervised him, but I'm pretty sure they had something over his head."

"I know," Xavier said, a small and weary smile on his face. "I always warned him they would try and take him, but he never listened. A man like Stephen Strange forgets that he can still be manipulated."

Silence settled between them, one that made James uncomfortable. "So, can you fix it? My memory?" To his dismay, Xavier shook his head. "But you said you had the ability to do this kind of thing – surely that means you can undo it too?"

"I could," he agreed. "If I did, however, then I risk the possibility of others recognising my work on you, and thus realising that I'm still alive."

"I wouldn't tell anyone," he insisted, and Xavier laughed.

"Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't, James – not of your own volition, anyway." His smile wasn't as sad as it had been a few minutes ago, but it still wasn't one hundred per-cent happy either. "Listen, I know a man who can help you just as well as I could. He lives a little way from Cenaria City, and is a doctor of sorts. Find him, and he can help you." Some directions were scribbled down and passed over, and after a firm handshake, Xavier wished him well.

"Can I ask you something?" James said before stepping out of the cave's mouth.

"Of course."

"Why live all the way out here? You said you're letting people think you're dead, but there are loads of better places to be than a cave on a mountain. You could go to Ymmur, Alitaera, Gandu, Ladesh – why so far from civilisation?"

There was a twinkle in Xavier's eyes. "The further I am from civilisation the fewer people know about me, and therefore the safer all those places are." At James' look of confusion, he elaborated. "I am under no disillusions – Khalidor would use someone like me the same way they have used Stephen Strange, if not for worse. If they cannot find me, then they cannot use me to harm others."

"But it's dangerous up here, even for magi!"

"Your concern is touching, James, but I can take care of myself, and have done for many, many years," he assured him with a chuckle. "Besides," he added, "I've heard the whispers of the winds, and they say a great change is going to befall the southern lands. Better to be out of civilisation until this unrest is all blown over." James was desperate to ask him what he meant, and it must have shown; "Understand your past before you try to understand the future, James."

James looked him over once more, this clearly powerful mage who'd isolated himself for the safety of millions of clueless people, then stepped away from the shadows of the cave and went looking for more answers.