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Author's Chapter Notes:
Ahem. There are odd things afoot. Roll with it, please. Failing that, check in with the TLDR at the bottom.

REMINDER: JACK RUSSELL AND JACOB RUSSOF ARE THE SAME MAN. I JUST DIDN'T REALIZE HOW ANNOYING IT WOULD BE TO WRITE JACK AND JACKSON CONSTANTLY.
Kurt Darkholme returned to the church he operated in Berlin. It was a massive, old world cathedral, but only a portion of it was available to the public. The chapel where he and a sympathetic human preached, and the small, quite profitable café in the foyer, as well as the sprawling garden made for a beautiful haven.

But even havens hold secrets.

Here, at the cathedral where the Prime Feral of Germany sat on his throne of power, there were many secrets. Like the fact that the rectory housed nearly two dozen mutants, humans and Ferals. It wasn’t Xaviers, with every kind of education and security available, but they had good food, comfortable beds, competent medics and enough space to run around.

The man in Kurts’ study, minding the phone while filling out paperwork, was one of those secrets.

Graydon Creed was grumpily compiling the needed medical supply inventory when his younger brother came in. His first clue that something was wrong was that Kurt didn’t shut down his image inducer.

Instead, he grabbed a laptop and began firing off emails, barely looking up to say

“The North American Prime has called a tribunal. Transylvania’s already there, so they called me as their third.”

Tribunals weren’t unusual, the should-have-been-dead man knew. Kurt had been called to other tribunals before. This time, his younger brother announced

“Sabertooth- the clone- and two kids were originally scheduled for hearings. Logan came across Mother, and she said she’d do the same. Marie has finally consummated her mating, by the way.”

Graydon froze. Granted, he’d worked things out with Mystique after faking his death and accepting Kurts’ long ago offer of sanctuary, sitting his own tribunal in Europe only to have his mother meltdown all over his baby brother at his death. He was still MIA, but one of Kurts’ international contacts had cleared his official files after witnessing the tribunal, fibbing about his reasons to fake his death.

This was his only chance, with his track record, to meet his sister. His only baby sister. Heaving a breath, he asks

“When are we leaving?”

Kurt hesitates. Although it is fair it’s also frustrating to be doubted after all this time. The hesitation is also for a different reason

“Mother wants us to recuse ourselves.”
It hits Graydon like a punch. His parents are on trial, and his mother wants him to recuse himself?

Shaking his head, Graydon resolves
“Mother is a little twisted, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that as long as she’s known about us, she’s done everything for us, up to and including forswearing her mate. Like hell we’ll recuse ourselves, besides, you and Mother know Marie’s mate, but I don’t.”

Kurts agrees, and they trot off to the airport, touching down in Calgary within the next day and a half.

CHLSTDoW

Graydon’s first impression of Howlett House is that it is big and sturdy. From here, he can see stone walls, cut glass windows and a modern roofing style. The turrets are topped by metal things, something like a weather vane, though they remain silhouetted against the sky. One is the shape of a sabretooth tiger roaring, another a howling wolf. Over the door is the Howlett coat of arms, seen only after you maneuver the
long driveway with curlicue gates, an archway proclaiming ‘Howlett’ over top.

Kurt is staring while Graydon drives, the elegant fountain around which the driveway curls drawing both their attention. It is a woman, dancing in the finest of mists, her face looks like that of mate of Jack Russell. Once they’ve handed off the car to Jackson, who greets them from the door when they halt, he directs them to the study, where, much like Darkholme Cathedral, the estates’ affairs are conducted.

The house itself is obviously neatly renovated, the
floors a honey coloured wood that gleam with fresh wax, the sconces on the wall made to cleverly conceal lightbulbs, paintings and sculptures are scattered around the halls, the odd enlarged photograph hung on the wall in neat frames.

Graydon likes this house, knows instinctively that it might be Logan’s but that his sister had a hand in the decoration. It is an old house, modernized without ruining the glorious age of it. He could drink it in like a fine wine, the way this house feels so much like the Cathedral that he already feels at home, against his every wish.

They reach the study, which actually turns out to have a meeting table in the front room, and a study off it. It is a nice setup, an oak table to seat eight in the center of the room, chairs at the wall an unobtrusive archway to the actual study behind Logan’s chair. Logan is seated at the head of the table, and to his right is the Prima of Transylvania, to her right is the Prime of Transylvania, to his right is a man who is probably Aurelius, behind him sits a female that looks to be a bit older than Marie.

At the foot of the table is a woman with an alligator skin bag in her lap, seated at her back is a woman who is obviously her daughter. Gnash, then, the Madam Beaucherie, head of the alligator clan, and her daughter Antonia. A Mexican man, obviously Pard, the Reyes patriarch, sat to Gnash’s right, the Valkyrie behind him was probably his mate. An empty seat between Pard and Marie was probably for Kurt, a chair behind him likely for Graydon.

The men sit, Kurt apologizing for the delay. Logan waves it away, and Marie starts

“Before we start, Mystique made it clear she didn’t want her children to suffer. Also, the elder of the two cubs Sabertooth claimed, his name is Colossus, was forced into this because Magneto wanted his power. His family is being held hostage, including his four year old sister. His likely mate has confirmed what she can about his story, but neither is actually Feral, and he has yet to acknowledge the bond.”

Graydon frowns at that. He’s been around Ferals long enough to know that they hold mating as the most sacred bond. If someone denies it, there must be a reason. Simple malicious intent is the last thing considered.
Logan continues seriously

“Pyro, the younger one, has a mate-hopeful, but he’s a stupid kid that’s been led astray. Colossus, given back his family and the time to court his mate properly, will likely not enter such conflicts without cause. Mystique has refused to make attempts at reconciliation with her own mate to protect her cubs. If her mate knew all of this, undoubtedly he would welcome her home.”
Home. For a Feral, Graydon knows, home is not a place, no matter how pretty Darkholme and Howlett are, but people. Home is your mate and cubs, your hierarchy system, be it pack, pride, sneak or warren. Much as Graydon would like to have that kind of home, he’s accepted the closest he’ll get is being the Darkholme Horde’s Second. His sister may yet be an honorary Hordemate, but she’s already mated and leading a Sneak of her own.

He tunes back in to the conversation in time to realize that the Primes and Clan leaders have decided that Sabertooth and Mystique fear death, and that they shall let them stew in it. The younger ones too, are afraid, but they will take this chance to reach them. Marie has promised to contact the mate-hopefuls while Kurt has volunteered to sound out the young males’ intentions more thoroughly. Logan dismisses the Clan heads and their mates or seconds, and now turns to Kurt, speaking gruffly

“The Russof’s are family, so speak now, Germany.”
With a sigh, Kurt beckons his brother, who has remained cloaked in shadow up to this point. Slinking, Graydon seats himself at the foot of the table, nodding when Marie gasps

“You’re Graydon, my brother.”
He nods, forcing himself to speak.

“I am. I’m also the son of the cloned Sabertooth, once the founder of the FOH, and technically nobody.” Seeing the spark of curiosity from his sister, he explains

“I faked my death when I realized how badly I screwed up. I went to Kurt, asked him how to become the better man I wanted to be, and in the process, reunited with my mother.” He fell silent, nodding when Kurt added

“He sat tribunal in Germany. I had Russia, Lithuania and Italy come in so there was no question. Affidavits
were filed in Alexandria.”

Alexandria. The name makes them all relax, though Graydon knows once he leaves, both Logan and Russof will make a call to the underground organization. Since it is the repository of Feral knowledge, with a global network of caches, all on paper so none of it winds up on the internet, they must remain unbiased and a phone call away from all Ferals. So no one will fool with the documents.

The Prima of Transylvania speaks then.

“Then you are also my brother and Logan’s nephew. I was born to a woman of Arabian descent in 1900, when our father was about 18. Logan was born to the original Sabertooth in 1835, on the grounds of Howlett House, actually.”

It is uncomfortable, he thinks. This feeling. He feels full of emotion when his entire family except his parents look at him. Kurt is affectionate, Logan, Jacob and Jackson are cautious, but Marie and Victoria are lit with incandescent hope.

It hits him then. No matter the outcome of this tribunal, he has his mothers’ love, he has a brothers and sisters aplenty, an uncle and a nephew. Though, if things work as Marie hopes, he may yet have a stepfather and a school more relations. The prospect actually excites him. Home, a home of his own, he has it and more is in his grasp, and all because his sister mated a man of honour.
Chapter End Notes:
So, mating laws will be teased in a few chapters (I'm still learning it), and we learn a little more.

TLDR:
-Kurt comes from Germany with his 'dead' brother Graydon
-you see the other Feral leaders
-you get a look at how they're organized
-discussion of fates
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