Erik had been to many funerals in his lifetime, too many if he were to be asked. From family to friends to soldiers and vassal lords, the event was rote in some ways by now. His father's funeral felt markedly different.
Walking out of Charles' bedroom that morning was like entering a new world. Within that room, he was swept up in a whirlwind of passion, longing and desire that made him ache with the emotion from head to toe. No fiber of his being was safe from the acute sensation of love Charles inspired in him. Once he left the room and Charles' floor altogether, the reality of what he was to face crashed down on him and all the joy he had felt was zapped right out of him.
The first funeral he could remember attending was for his grandmother, Queen Olivia. He had only been five years old and couldn't understand why he had to rip a part of his shirt or why he had to stay in one house for a whole week and not wear shoes or why everyone who visited him and his parents had to wash their hands before entering. He didn't understand that he wouldn't see his grandmother ever again until much later. He remembered crying for a long time once that sunk in.
His father's funeral was much like his grandmother's in that, due to their being ruling monarchs, there was more pomp and circumstance than in standard Judaic funerals. Everyone was out on the streets, just as they had been when Erik arrived back to Krakoa, but they were not jovial now. The crowd was a sea of black as they stood solemnly watching the processional walk past, the pine box in which his father's body had been encased held aloft for the levaya.
Erik walked forward, resisting the urge to fuss with his kippah even as Pietro did just that. Anya shook the boy's hand in rebuke as she held it in hers, her face as grave as everyone else's. Wanda, who held Erik's hand, was equally somber, but he couldn't say if she understood what was happening or was just feeding off the energy around her.
It had been a long walk from the palace to the Great Synagogue for the service, and now from the church to the cemetery. The entire time Erik felt… he wasn't sure what he felt. There was sadness, grief and lingering anger towards Shaw and the ones who had physically killed his father, but there was still resentment towards his father. He couldn't make it disappear even as he stared at the closed casket.
He had not viewed his father's body as the chevra kadisha prepared him. He avoided the chambers where he saw him last, where he could only assume his father died. He did not even attempt to enter the wing where his bedroom was, though eventually, he would have to brave it. Once he was crowned king, it would become his room whether he wanted it or not. He did not cry as the prayers, psalms and eulogy were said, didn't flinch as he watched the pallbearers pick up the casket once more for the final march towards the burial site, didn't so much as tear up even when Anya curled into his side to hide the dampness upon her face from the twins.
A part of him was angry with himself. At Edie, Ruth, and Magda's funerals, he was dry-faced, but that was through sheer force of will. The emotion had clogged up his throat, sat heavily on his chest, burned behind his eyes. He had to hold on to anger to keep the tears at bay. With Jakob, it was not a struggle. He felt numb, comfortably so. It wasn't the kind of anaesthetization that came from indifference but rather the kind that came from shock. That felt incongruous to this situation. He knew his father was dead, he had known for weeks, but it was a nebulous concept before now. It was a fact that existed in the back of his head without tangible proof of its existence and thus written off. He had buried himself in avenging Ruth, trying to repair his relationship with Anya and being with Charles so much so that while he did acknowledge his father's death, he couldn't feel it, didn't want to let it in. He still could not do so now. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. What was the point of falling apart at this very moment? He couldn't and there was so much work to do…
No, but he had a week where he would not be able to do any of it. A week of dwelling on the inescapable fact of his father's demise. Well, today was not the day he was letting the floodgates open. He pushed it down and clung to the lack of emotion. Time felt strange to him in this state, so he was a little bewildered when in what felt like a blink, he was standing in the cemetery watching the casket be lowered into the earth. Rabbi Elisha was saying something, praying most likely, but it went over his head. When the appropriate time came, he walked over to the mound of dirt waiting to cover his father's casket. He picked up a trowel and held it in his hand for a moment, motionless. He caught Rabbi Elisha's eye and the man nodded at him kindly and sympathetically. The prince proceeded to mechanically scoop up some dirt and drop it in the hole atop the casket. Anya came forward next and also used the spade to shovel a mound of soil and then the twins each took a handful and threw it in the hole. One by one, the mourners came forward to perform this mitzvah and slowly covered the casket completely.
He swam down again and barely registered walking through the two lines of mourners, barely acknowledged the various attendees offering him the traditional comforting words. Utterances of 'hamakom yinachem et chem bitoch shi ar aveilei tzion viyerushalayim' followed him and his children as they washed their hands and left the cemetery to make their way to the shiva house they would be residing in for the next seven days. He barely remembered the trip there.
"Are you alright, Father?" Anya asked him at one point.
He didn't grace her with an answer.
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Erik sat upon a stool staring out the window of Edenhall, one of his family's properties and the designated place of shiva for generations. It was a whitestone mansion rather than a castle built more recently than the royal palace was. It was located on a broad, verdant hill overlooking a stream that led directly to the bay. It was surrounded by vast greenery: hedges, trees, and multiple gardens and featured a briar maze to entertain guests during parties. The regal manor was decorated with statues, porticos, groves, fountains, and two small courtyards accented with walls of ivy, grapes, and climbing roses. In some areas, there were fields of blooms that stretched as far as the eye can see. There were even fruits growing nearby including melons, peaches, and plums.
The lush nature of the property was the reason it was the chosen space for the Lehnsherr family to sit shiva. The idea was to make sure the occupants were reminded that life still existed beyond death. It forced the mourners to confront the vitality of life around them even as they grieved the loss of a loved one. Erik wasn't sure if that was truly helpful or if it was mocking more than anything else. On the other hand, he didn't think he would fare in his grief any better if he was consigned to a dark, dank, dilapidated hovel for a week.
Not that he was dealing with anything for the moment. He knew, objectively, that the point of shiva was for him to work through all his feelings, acclimate to the reality that his father was dead. Two days he had been here and he hadn't done anything to face it. He watched people come and go, bring food and tidy up and make sure the family was comfortable. Erik acknowledged them but wasn't much for company.
He answered all of Pietro and Wanda's questions about why they were at Edenhall, why the mirrors were covered, why they weren't wearing shoes, why they had to sit on low stools or the floor. They took it in stride, but he didn't think they understood the gravity of the situation. They were only three years old, there was only so much he could expect them to comprehend. He thought Wanda might have a deeper understanding than her brother did. She had witnessed death during Shaw's siege. The permanence of it might've sunk in with her more than it had for Pietro.
Anya understood it all. She tried to appear strong, but he knew she was hurting. She did not often come to him with her pain, echoes of her reservations about him lingering still. The last time they had all observed shiva was when Ruth died. Erik had not stayed at Edenhall with the children, knowing that his father would be here. Instead, he went to a smaller third property they owned. It was out of the way of the city, so he received few visitors. Erik had taken the time not to grieve so much as to stew in his anger and grief, let it all fester and bubble up until he was a volcano bound to explode. The first thing he did when he left the shiva house was to challenge Shinobi Shaw to a duel. He did his best to erase memories of that time by seeking Anya out, making himself available to her for whatever she needed from him.
Lords, ladies, and common folk visited to offer condolences, prayers, food, and their company. His Brotherhood had dropped in, his council, Lord Helmut, among others. Sometimes they shared stories about his father, probably expecting Erik to reciprocate. He did not. He was not so out-of-touch that he didn't notice their wary looks when he was noncommunicative. He wasn't loquacious anyway, but he supposed they expected him to talk about his feelings now, open himself up. That was probably even a healthy thing to do. He did not want to and their concern quickly grew more annoying than it was touching.
Funnily enough, the only person not bothering him where his father was concerned was Lord Frost. He was a cold man but not unfeeling. He had offered words of condolences only once. Erik saw the genuine grief in his eyes and remorse about his father's death and his anger towards Shaw. He wished he could do more against the lord, but Erik brushed off any blame for that. Afterward, Frost was strictly business, discussing the upcoming coronation and plans for the council after his ascension. Burying himself in work and thoughts of the future did Erik good. He did not bring up Lord Frost's offer to Charles, partly because if Charles chose to take Lord Frost up on it, Erik did not want anything he said to the older man to affect Charles' future. He had already put his cards on the table. There was nothing else for him to do but wait.
Erik blinked back to himself, shaking his head to displace his wandering thoughts. Time had slipped away from him again as it had been doing lately. He looked up at the sun in the sky to find it in a different position than when he first sat by the window, apparently an hour or so ago. He shook his head again and stood up, running his fingers through his hair restlessly. Lord Frost had left some reports for him to go over about the damage Shaw had caused in the city. He wasn't supposed to be working according to the customs of shiva, but he would rather immerse himself in reports than drift pointlessly in his mind. Rabbi Elisha would just have to excuse him for the infraction. He turned to leave the room only to come face to face with Pietro. His son was shuffling restlessly on his feet, his fingers tugging on strands of silver hair. He did not look unsettled in the way he usually did, his fidgeting and movement born of hyperactivity more than anything else. He looked nervous and unsure now.
"Pietro, what's wrong?" Erik asked, approaching him.
The boy shuffled again, tugging on his hair hard enough to make the older man wince. He gently used the metal cuff on his son's wrist to guide his hand away from the wild strands.
"I heard Mrs. Pryde talking and I heard her say…" Pietro trailed off, agitation alighting his face.
Erik did not bother chastising him for eavesdropping, waiting for him to continue.
"When is Saba coming back?"
Erik heard his teeth click as he clenched his jaw at the question. Pietro continued speaking, his tone frenetic and panicked.
"Because it's been a long time and I thought when we came back home, we would see him, but he's not here. I wanna see him."
"You can't see him, Pietro."
"Why not?"
Erik sighed, rubbing his eye tiredly.
"I told you before, your grandfather is not coming back."
"But why not?"
"He's dead. That means he's with Ruth and Magda and your grandmother."
"I want him to come back," Pietro answered petulantly.
Erik bit back a humorless laugh.
"I'm sure you aren't the only one."
Pietro's face pinched in dissatisfaction.
"I know why he's gone."
Erik rose an inquisitive eyebrow at him.
"It's like when I dropped my paints on your bed. Saba's upset because you and him were fighting. You just have to say sorry. He'll come back. He's not gone. He's just hiding."
He watched the young boy bite his lip and fidget with his shirt. He did not want to have this conversation with him again, he wanted to be done with it. He wished there was some way he could just cram comprehension into his overactive little brain, but there was no use in hoping for the impossible.
He sighed and sank down to his knees, waving Pietro forward. The boy shuffled closer to him reluctantly. Erik ran his fingers through his silver hair as he gathered the words he wanted to say. At least with Anya, she remembered Magda dying and Ruth and… and his father had been around to help him with the children then. He had been the one to have the hard conversation with Anya about death. Erik tried to remember what his father had said to him when he was young. The memory was annoyingly elusive.
Pietro remained staring at him inquisitively. He let out another sigh. He wished Charles was here. He was sure he would know what to say.
"Death isn't like hiding. It's not something that people get to come back from."
"I heard Logan talking about coming back after he gets hurt real bad."
He inwardly cursed the older man.
"That's different."
"Saba could be different too then."
"It's not the same. Logan has a gift that—"
"You just need to say sorry, that's all."
"Pietro, listen—"
The young boy petulantly slapped his hands over his ears and started screaming. Erik flinched at the shrill sound.
"Cut it out right now," he demanded, but Pietro ignored him and shouted louder.
He reached out and grabbed the boy's hands to pull them away from his ears, even as he resisted. He grunted as his small limbs flailed and hit him in his stomach. Finally, he managed to wrestle his hands away from his head.
"You want to know why he can't come back? He's gone because someone shot a spike into his chest and he bled out. That means he's dead and he's never coming back. There isn't anything you or I can say or do to change that. He is gone and we're never going to see him again. That's how it works, that's how life is. So I can't say sorry to him and he can't apologize to me either. There's nothing else we can say to one another because he's gone. He's gone forever," Erik finished, breathing heavily.
He instantly regretted the words as Pietro stared at him with shock.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. I—"
"Forever?" The little boy inquired in a shaky voice, tears filling his eyes.
Erik's heart clenched as the word slammed into his chest. Forever. His father was gone forever, the last of his immediate family dead, excluding his children. He was the last one. There was no one else to share memories of his mother with, no one else who remembered pacing the corridors when she gave birth to Ruth, no one else who remembered praying day in and out as his mother laid on her deathbed. It was just him.
"Yeah. Forever."
He pulled Pietro into his arms as the boy broke down into tears. Finally, he felt tears welling up in his eyes too, but he stubbornly refused to let them fall.
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After that conversation with Pietro, the reality of his father's death became impossible to ignore. He couldn't bury himself in work anymore, couldn't ignore it with visits, couldn't focus on rage to repress it. There was no one living for him to be angry at. Sebastian Shaw was dead, the soldiers that killed his father were dead, and his father was dead. Charles wasn't here to focus on. There was only so much he could think of in terms of that situation. It really just came down to Charles' choice of whether he wanted to marry Erik or not. He could do nothing else but wait. Though his children were here, there was no joviality, no smiles, no mischief to correct, no inclination to play games or something else to keep them entertained. They were as withdrawn and gloomy as he had grown to be. Even Pietro was quiet. With that, he couldn't bury his head beneath distractions to circumvent the emotions attached to his father's passing. It felt like despair grabbed him by the throat and wouldn't release him from its icy grip, a torrid of feeling constantly pressing against his temple in a headache-inducing tempest.
Rabbi Elisha noticed the change and tried to counsel him through this stage of grief, but Erik just foisted him off onto the children, claiming they needed his guidance more than Erik did. He was perfectly aware of what was going on, what he was feeling and why. He wasn't going to get over this in a week. Rabbi Elisha knew as much and didn't push. Shiva was just the beginning of the formal mourning process anyway. He had a long way to go. Still, it was hard not to dwell on everything he had lost.
Any chance of reconciliation was gone. He wouldn't be able to ask him about his bond with Mama. He wouldn't be able to question him about his choices where Ruth was concerned. He wouldn't get to introduce him to Charles. He was no longer around to get advice on making decisions for the realm. He was no longer here for Erik to attempt to forgive him. That was probably the hardest part: he still did not forgive his father but still loved him. They got to say goodbye, but there was so much more he wanted to say and do. The thing he kept thinking on was his last words to him,
"And I, you."
His father had said he loved him. Why didn't he say it back? Why couldn't he have spoken the words? Why didn't he just give him absolution, knowing he would die, even if it wasn't true? But would it have mattered if he had said the words, 'I forgive you' if he didn't mean it? Did he not say he loved him because it wasn't true? No, he did love his father. It was merely that sometimes he hated him too and he couldn't reconcile that with the fact that he was dead. He was grieving him and yet still mad at him simultaneously. Was he going to be angry at him for the rest of his life? He didn't want to be. He had spent most of his life holding on to anger for one thing or another. He didn't know how to let it go yet.
He had taken to consigning himself to his bedroom as often as he could. Sometimes, visitors would come and all but force him to join them in the common room or study. Rabbi Elisha coaxed him out to join him and the minyan for service. He recited the mourner's kaddish but didn't speak to anyone otherwise about memories or how he was coping. He would retreat to his room as soon as possible, after Theresa had plied him with food anyway because she wouldn't allow him to miss meals.
His children joined him sometimes, spreading out in his bed or crawling over for a hug. At times they were silent, a herculean feat to have accomplished for them he was sure, other times they took the cues of their visitors and shared memories of their grandfather with him. He was more verbose with them, the importance of their grieving process not lost on him. He wanted them to be okay. He needed them to be okay.
He sat by the windowsill in his common area, staring up at the moon. A full moon. It served as a reminder of the time that had past him by. Was it truly only a month ago that Shaw sieged the city? A month since he left his father behind? A month since he first met Charles? He felt like he had aged years in the past month. So much had happened to throw his life into upheaval, some good and some bad. A lot of it remained unresolved even now.
"The moon is full," he heard a voice say, breaking him from his musings.
He turned to see Anya approaching him, her red hair reflecting the light of the ever-burning red candle that sat upon the mantle.
"I thought you were asleep," he commented as the eight-year-old moved to sit on the windowsill across from him.
"I wanted to see you."
Her blue eyes had a touch of red from her tears, but other than that, she seemed alright. Erik had never allowed his relationship with his father to affect his children's relationship with him. Anya, in particular, was close to him. He held out his uninjured arm to her and she approached him, allowing him to lift her up and settle her in front of him. He ran his fingers through her hair soothingly as they looked up at the night sky together. They were quiet for a long while, both lost in their thoughts.
"Saba used to say that on full moons like this, the spirits of our loved ones could see us clearest. The light from the moon gives them enough light to see. Do you think that is true?"
Erik glanced at his daughter, remembering offhand that she had asked him this same question a month ago as they sat by a window in Logan's inn. That felt like several lifetimes ago. He gave her the same answer now.
"I think our loved ones are always looking out for us, even on the other side."
"Is Saba one of them now?"
Erik stared at her for a moment before nodding.
"Yes. Yes, I think he is."
"So, he can hear us?"
"I'd like to think so."
Anya's lips twisted a little before she spoke.
"Saba, if you can hear us, I want to thank you for everything you did for me. For helping me ride horses and teaching me how to play cricket. I know you loved me a lot and I love you too. I'm sad that you're gone, but I'm happy that you get to see Savta again."
He watched the young girl sigh to herself and wipe at her eye, despite the lack of tears.
"Your turn."
He shook his head in reply.
"You have to."
"Anya—"
"Daddy," she said, stopping him up at the use of the word. She hadn't called him daddy in years.
"You have to. You can't forget him. Rabbi Elisha says it won't get better if we don't talk about it."
Erik stared down at her silently, his gaze heavy and sorrowful.
"Please, Daddy, try."
Erik closed his eyes, sending up a silent prayer for strength before taking a deep breath, looking up at the stars and speaking.
"Father, I want to tell you that I love you. I know it hasn't always seemed that way and, I'll be honest, I'm still angry at you for Ruth. But if this is the only time I get to say it, I… I forgive you. I don't understand why you did it, but I can't live in the past anymore, so I'm willing to let this go for the sake of our family and Genosha. I hope you find rest and peace."
He let out a shaky breath and looked down at Anya when she grabbed his hand.
"Do you feel better?"
Negligibly. He didn't say as much. He pressed a kiss to Anya's head and held her closer. They were quiet long enough that he was all too aware of Anya tensing a little in his arms before relaxing.
"Charles."
"Hmm?"
"Charles is here," she elaborated, pointing out the window.
Erik looked out and took in the lone cloaked figure making his way up the stone path towards the door. He could make out the younger man's brunette hair, pale skin and red lips gleaming in the full moonlight. It was late. All other visitors had left and the only ones still around were the servants who had accompanied the family.
In truth, Erik wasn't expecting Charles to come. He would've thought he would take the entire week to sort through his thoughts. It had only been five days. Now that he was here, the tugging in his chest that he had pushed to the back of his mind in favor of his grief returned full force, prompting him to stand up, placing Anya back on her feet to follow him towards the door. Charles startled a little when he opened it, apparently having been staring at the bowl of water by the door.
They stared silently for a few seconds before Charles shuffled on his feet nervously.
"Hi."
"Hi."
They were quiet again, neither sure what to say first before Anya broke the silence.
"You can come in. You just have to wash your hands in the bowl first and take off your shoes."
Charles nodded and followed the instructions. Once he stepped inside, Anya threw herself at his legs, hugging him tightly. A small smile alighted his face and he hugged her back, running a hand through her auburn tresses.
"How are you feeling, my dear?"
Anya shrugged, not letting him go.
"Sad."
"Yeah, I was too when my grandfather died. It gets better with time. You never forget, but it becomes easier to manage."
Anya nodded against his stomach and gave him one last squeeze before letting go.
"I was about to go to sleep. Goodnight Daddy, goodnight Charles."
They murmured goodnights to the young girl and watched as she walked off. Erik's gaze lingered on her before returning to Charles. He was looking him up and down, assessing. Erik probably looked a mess. He was unshaven, his hair a little wild from running his fingers through it, his skin colorless and his eyes red-rimmed with bags underneath.
"You look exhausted, love," the omega commented.
Erik's heart surged a little at the endearment, but he simply nodded in reply.
"I feel like I've aged fifty years instead of five days," he admitted. He ran a hand through his hair before shaking the lethargy off.
"It doesn't matter. Is something wrong? Do you need anything from me?"
Charles shook his head in reply.
"You're observing shiva. Moira and Hank explained everything about it. This week is about you and your children and your father, not me."
Hank? He thought as Charles approached him.
He ran a hand down Erik's arm before clasping their fingers together. He lifted Erik's hand to press a kiss to his palm, giving him full view of his mother's ring still encasing his finger.
"I came to ask you what you need from me."
He stared into Charles' earnest blue eyes. He opened his mouth to tell him he didn't need anything, that he was fine, but to his horror all that escaped was a choked sob. His eyes quickly welled up with tears. He shook his head, trying to push it all back down again. Through his blurry vision, he could just make out Charles' compassionate expression before he moved forward and enveloped Erik in a hug.
"It's alright. You're safe with me. You can let it out," the telepath whispered in his ear.
Erik really had no option from there. He couldn't close the floodgates again, no matter how he tried. He dropped his head to Charles' shoulder, tears streaming down his face and half-aborted sobs leaving him. He wrapped his arm around Charles' waist and the other man held him tighter in response, murmuring words of reassurance in his ear as he led him over to one of the low couches in the common room.
Erik wasn't sure how long they stayed wrapped in each other's embrace, Charles comforting him unflinchingly and Erik allowing himself to fall apart. He trusted this part of himself with Charles the way he didn't with anyone else. After an indeterminate amount of time, Erik pulled away from the wet spot he had left on Charles' cloak.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough and cracking.
Charles shook his head in reply.
"You don't have to apologize to me. Not for this."
He took the edge of his cloak and wiped Erik's face clean gently before running his fingers through his locks to place them in something approaching order and then pressing a kiss to his forehead. Erik let out a shaky breath at the quiet intimacy of the gesture and let his head fall to Charles' chest, his ear pressed against his heart.
"Where's your bedroom? You need to rest."
Erik wanted to protest, but a wave of somnolence overtook any desire to adopt an air of imperviousness.
He mumbled directions and then was slightly surprised by Charles pulling him to stand with a strength he didn't know the man possessed. He dragged him to the room Erik was calling his own and made him lay down on his right side. Charles rustled around a bit before slipping into bed, wrapping an arm around Erik's waist, careful of his injured arm. He rested his head against Charles' chest and felt the other man drop his cheek against his hair.
"Can you stay?" Erik managed to ask through sleep slurred speech.
"I can. Don't worry. I'll be here when you wake up. Just rest now, love."
He inhaled the comforting aroma of Charles' scent and let himself be lulled to sleep by the consistent thudding of his heartbeat.
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Erik felt awful when he woke up. His eyes were mildly swollen, his mouth was full of cotton, his chest ached, his throat was rubbed raw and his shoulder hurt. He had had a pleasant dream that Charles came to see him. He had held him close, wiped his tears, kissed his face, and did not seem uncomfortable with Erik not appearing as the strong, unbreakable alpha he portrayed himself to be. It must've been a dream. Charles was at the royal palace, deciding whether he wanted to share his life with Erik, not here, no matter how much he wanted it.
He shifted, trying to find comfort, and received it almost immediately as fingers brushed through his hair and a familiar voice shushed him and bid him go back to sleep.
So, Charles really was here. It wasn't a dream.
He looked up and met the other man's electric blue eyes in the semi-darkness of the room. It was still night, the moon still high in the sky streaming lunar light across the mattress.
"I'm here," Charles confirmed.
He sighed and sat up but didn't leave Charles' side.
"You should go back to sleep. You've only had a few hours tonight. I can bet you haven't had much more the past few days."
"I'm alright."
Charles gave him a skeptical look at the statement. Erik ignored it.
"You didn't have to come," he said in a withdrawn manner.
Charles gave him another look, reaching out to grab his right hand.
"Of course I did. I wanted to see how you were doing."
Erik let out a self-effacing chuckle.
"Well, you saw."
Charles stared at him with an assessing gaze before speaking.
"What is it? What aren't you saying? What's bothering you beyond the obvious?"
Erik held his gaze before looking away with a deep exhale. Charles knew him too well. They had only known each other a little over a month and still, he knew him too well.
"It's just that more and more I'm realizing that as much as I liked to criticize my father, I'm a lot like him. I've made so many mistakes with the kids. I all but abandoned them to service my own feelings the same way he did with Ruth and me. I had the benefit of having someone else around to knock some sense into my head, but if you hadn't been there, who knows what I would've done. Maybe I would've gotten myself killed and Anya would be stuck feeling the same things I'm feeling now."
"You don't know that. You made the choice to fight Shaw properly, to make sure you survived for your children."
"After talking to you. I only leveled with Anya because you convinced me to. I can act holier-than-thou, but I've made my mistakes and I am not a perfect father by any stretch of the imagination. Pietro came to me, needing me, and I messed that up just days ago."
"No one is a perfect parent. We all make mistakes. Some are forgivable, some aren't, but none of us are always right all the time."
"I can't forgive him, not really. I said the words for Anya's sake, but I'm still angry. I've heard all the regular rationales. How forgiveness is for myself, not the other person, and how I can't truly move on without letting this go, but I can't. Even though he's dead and I miss and love him, I'm still so angry at him. None of this would have happened if he had just listened to me about the Shaws. But…"
Charles squeezed his hand, encouraging him to keep speaking.
"But if all of this didn't happen, I wouldn't have met you. I would never wish for this. I wish Ruth were here to meet you and I wish my father could meet you too, but if they were here, you and David wouldn't be. I wish there were a way I could have all of you. I wish I didn't feel like I was trading one family for another."
"Erik, that's not true. You have to know that."
"I know it's irrational. I just can't shake it. Does that make me a bad person?"
"You're not a bad person. I've seen into your mind. If you could bring back your family, you'd do it in a heartbeat. I know that. You know that. This isn't about choice. You didn't choose for your sister or your father to die. The only person blaming you for any of that is you. Moving forward is not a crime."
"I know, objectively, I know. It's hard to keep remembering that."
"You have me here to remind you when you forget."
He glanced over at Charles, cautious and hopeful at once.
"Do I?"
Charles reached out and caressed his cheek.
"I've been thinking a lot the past few days about choice, and lack thereof. Choices I've made, choices other people have made for me and how they have led me here. I think part of me is still stuck sitting in front of that window, angry at Kurt and Cain for taking away my family, my daughter, my free will. I can't help but rebel a bit against all of this, against you. Sometimes you feel like a dream that I made up in my head to escape, nothing more than a fantasy. Other times I'm terrified because this is the first time that I have had a real choice in five years. It's been a long time since I've been me. Now that I am, I'm afraid of making the wrong decision. And this bond Lady Proudstar and your rabbi was telling me about scared me too because I thought it took my choice away from me again. I was kept for so long against my will, I didn't want to belong to someone else again like chattel and nothing more. I thought of you compared to Cain and even other lovers I've entertained and there is no comparison. I thought I knew what every person in the world was like before I met you. With my telepathy, I thought I had the world pegged. I was more jaded than I let on. I didn't have any faith in love. And you just..."
Erik reached up and rubbed his thumb into the back of Charles' hand.
"It's easier to blame societal barriers for keeping us apart rather than something inside of myself. It's scary to think that even while I'm orienting myself in this world again, there's you becoming so inextricably intertwined with the fabric of who I am, how I see myself and how the world sees me. But I finally realized that I can be someone else's and still be my own. I make decisions for myself. I've been making decisions. I chose to do everything I did with you because it was what I wanted to do. The only thing that can determine what happens between us next is us, not Lord Frost, not Lady Proudstar or Rabbi Elisha, not this bond. I love you. I've never felt this way about anyone else in my life. This is more real than anything I've felt in a long time. I don't want to just be comfortable. I want to be happy. I want a life with you and the children."
Erik's heart thudded hard in his chest.
"Does that mean…?"
"I don't have anything to give you, you know? All I have to offer you is me."
"That's enough. Charles, that— you are everything I want."
Charles leaned in and pressed a soft, sweet kiss to his lips, lingering in his space.
"Yes. Yes, I will marry you."
A smile broke out on Erik's face in response as a ball of warmth settled in his chest, like the sun breaking through storm clouds. He drew Charles in for another kiss before pulling him in for a hug, breathing in his comforting scent as relief flooded his veins.
"I have a few conditions."
Erik pulled back and looked at him curiously.
"We can't just jump into things. I want to settle into the city as your fiancé and get to know your people better. I've gone into the marketplace, talked to people there and some of the nobles in the castle, taken the temperature of the general public. It's better if things aren't a shock. It would hardly due to spring a surprise wedding on them so soon after a siege, the king's passing and your coronation. Plus, that'll give you time to settle into your kingship, rebuild the city and mourn your father. Moira explained how it works in your religion. Shneim asar chodesh, right?"
Erik snorted a little.
"Your pronunciation is still atrocious, but twelve months to mourn a parent, yes. Large, festive celebrations are to be avoided during that time. Though allowances will be made for me given my position, such as the coronation."
"A year-long engagement? I think that would be a good idea. You'll have established yourself as king. I'll have established myself at court. It'll give us time to figure out how to address the Markos and adhere to your customs. I don't want my being here to upend your traditions, whether I know them well or not. We'll have to talk to Lady Proudstar and Rabbi Elisha about completing the bond versus the actual marriage and the mourning period and when the appropriate time is for everything."
Erik's lip twisted a little, impatience stabbing him in his chest. He would rather marry Charles as soon as possible, but he pushed it away and nodded.
"Whatever you want."
Charles smiled a little.
"It isn't just about me."
Erik shrugged noncommittally.
"Anything else?"
"I want to open my father's school here. I don't want to just be an ornament. I want to be your partner, as much as I can. I don't want to be idle. The school has been a dream long deferred for my family. Getting to watch it actually come into being… I want to build it."
"Of course. We can talk to Lady Grey about it. She oversees education in the country."
"Lady Elaine? I've become acquainted with her. I'd be happy to work with her and I think she'd be amenable to the idea. Lord Janos and Lord Helmut would be wonderful to have on hand as well. We've talked quite a bit, and they seem like they would be valuable partners to have in such an endeavor."
Erik quirked a smile.
"Hank, Elaine, Janos, Helmut. You've been busy."
A blush lit Charles' face.
"I didn't want to waste my time here. I want this to work. I want to make a home here. I know things won't be perfect. People will judge me for one thing or another. Maybe Lord Frost will tell everyone the truth about me. Maybe Cain and Kurt will find me. Even if they don't, I don't know if I'll ever be able to give you children or what the future may hold for us. I have to tell you, I'm not going into this unafraid. I'm absolutely terrified. I want to do this with you anyway. I want to pledge you my honor, my love, my fidelity, until death does us part."
Erik looked over Charles' face, looking to detect any reservation or doubt but found none. He pulled Charles into another kiss, this one more passionate than before. He broke it after a moment, gathering himself enough to not break the sexual restrictions of shiva.
"I hope you know I don't plan to let you go now that I have you."
"It's a good thing then that I don't want you to let me go."