Windrider of Imladris

Author’s Note: I wasn’t actually sure about writing this, but X-Men/LOTR crossovers are scarce, and since no one else is going to write this…why not? It’s an AU fic centering on Storm/Ororo Munroe, who will find herself in a very strange place with a very unique problem. I won’t reveal too much, but hopefully someone will like it.

Thanks!

~ Cookie



Prologue: The Desperate Escape, Part 1


“This is more than I can bear!”

The woman fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Before her were the bodies of her people, those who she loved and had sworn to protect. Sworn…and failed. Rotting corpses lay as far the eye could see; beneath them the earth was gray and barren, stripped of all life.

Only she remained: Ororo Munroe.

She had come too late. This nameless one, a powerful being determined to rid her of all she knew and loved had ravaged her homeland.

All she could hear was peals of demonic laughter. It mocked her sorrow, and yet it seemed so familiar.

But then, before she could scream for the villain to show himself, she awoke.

++ ++

She was leaving, and there was no one in the mansion that could stop her.

“Storm, be reasonable,” Kitty Pride pleaded as the white-haired mutant packed her bags frantically. “It was only a dream! It doesn’t mean anything!”

“No!” countered Storm, her accent thick from her recent trip to her homeland. “I must go. My people need me, I know it…I should not have left so soon!”

Bewildered, Kitty had turned to see Wolverine standing in the doorway, puzzled but not nearly as alarmed as the younger mutant. He was holding an apple in his hand, and as Ororo finished her packing, he motioned towards her bags.

“Do you intend to do this every time you have a bad dream?”

Storm glared. “I do not care if you mock me, Logan. I am going.”

Releasing one claw, Wolverine lazily cut out a chunk of fruit, saying, “Well...do you need to pack everything?”

“If…If something has happened, I may not return immediately.”

“And if it’s nothing?”

“I will be immensely relieved and grateful.”

Ororo held herself, running nimble fingers down her silky brown skin. The vision that had come to her in the night had been terrifying. She saw her village transformed into a barren wasteland, with more skeletons half buried in the dry earth than she could count. There was not a sign of life. No birds to sing, or even trees for them to make nests. Everything was gone. The only things that remained was herself and a sinister laughter that she couldn’t place, but could hear in her head long after she had awakened.

She thought for a long moment. What if it was merely a dream? Should she get herself worked up over what could be nothing at all?

She glanced to her right at the rugged mutant standing in her doorway.

“It…didn’t feel like…it was so real.” The weather witch shook her head. The more she thought about it, the more ridiculous she felt.

Kitty, who hadn’t moved from the side of her bed, now approached her, gently taking Ororo’s arm.

“Some dreams are like that,” She said with a shrug, “Nightmares especially. Oh, and the one’s wear you win the lottery. I never get to spend my money!”

The young brunette grinned sheepishly as Ororo gave her a look.

“It’s true! I either realize I must be dreaming and wake up or it all turns into fake money and I cry my eyes out…but anyway, about your dream. It probably felt real, but come on, who’d do that?”

There was no immediate response, but not because the possible perpetrators were scarce. Ororo was still silently struggling between her feelings and her common sense.

“Besides,” Kitty continued, “If something that awful happened, wouldn’t we hear about it on TV? Or the internet?”

“Certainly,” sighed Ororo, “Ten years after the fact, when the suffering of my people is suddenly relevant to the American media.”

“Ouch,” whispered Kitty, letting go of Ororo’s arm. She didn’t notice. Slowly (albeit, reluctantly), she began to unpack. The perky teenager flashed Wolverine a triumphant grin as she passed him.

He didn’t leave the doorway right away, seemingly content to watch the beautiful mutant mutter angrily to herself in her native tongue.

After so many minutes he approached her.

“Hey.” He touched her shoulder. “Are you gonna be alright?”

She paused. She was holding a light purple T-shirt in her hands. Her light blue eyes began to fill with tears.

“…Storm?”

She didn’t answer. She was twisting the shirt in her hands, balling it up slowly.

“…Ororo?”

With a cry of frustration, she hurled the shirt across the room, which now darkened. The white curtains blew inward, as a harsh wind invaded. Thunder sounded overhead.

Logan turned Ororo to face him. He may be aloof and often dangerous, but he was never indifferent to those he truly cared for.

“What’s wrong, darlin’? Why does one bad dream got you so worked up?”

Tears spilled down her dark skin, and for a moment she struggled to answer.

“I…I cannot explain it. Something deep within is telling me to go to my people, to seek them out and protect them. In this dream, there is a voice, laughter…I feel as though I know the one who is laughing, and yet I do not. I feel as though I’ve heard him before.”

She looked down at Wolverine, her eyes full of sadness.

“I worry about my people, Logan. There is so much turmoil in Africa. So many dying and that have died. My tribe has been spared but largely due to my presence. They look to me to keep them from harm, as my ancestors of powerful priestesses had done for generations. There are times when I wish to stay and never leave them…but I know I am needed here, and other places in the world.”

She paused, taking a deep breath. The gathering storm dissipated with the revelation of Ororo’s feelings. It felt good to tell someone this. She had never spoken about this inner turmoil before. This was something that didn’t concern being an X-man, and until now she felt it would help no one if she brought it up.

Wolverine reached up and cupped her chin.

“You go where you feel you are most needed right now.” He wiped her eyes gently with his thumbs and then released her.

As he left her room, he seemed to anticipate her concerns. He added, “And the hell with One-Eye!”

+ + + +

“One-Eye” would indeed be another matter. After Scott Summers, Ororo was considered a leading member of the X-Men. He counted on her abilities as a master tactician and fighter as well as for her formidable mutant powers when dealing with their various enemies. She was certain he’d be less than enthusiastic about her taking off again, especially after having only returned days earlier.

She found him alone in the kitchen, watching television. It was a soap opera. He had coughed and said that it was just on and he really wasn’t paying attention. Ororo, not the least bit concerned, told him of her dream the previous night, her feelings of foreboding, and wishes to return to her people.

She did give him credit for not immediately informing her that she was out of her mind, but the facial expression behind his ruby lenses suggested he was probably thinking it.

“I understand your concern,” he said, surprisingly sympathetic. “Things are very hectic in that part of the world right now. And the anti-mutant genocide campaigns aren’t making things any easier, I’m sure.”

Ororo cringed at the word “genocide”. On her last visit, children from her village spoke animatedly about reports of families being mowed down with machine guns, mutants and their human relatives. The murderers called themselves FNA or “Followers of the New Africa”, a group who blamed “impure blood” for the many problems in Africa. Their leaders brainwashed eager followers into believing that only through “cleansing” Africa of mutants and those who have mutants in their families can good and pure leaders be able to bring about a new age of peace and freedom. It was homicidal hogwash and thousands of innocents were paying the price for the dreams of the insane. The closest occurrence of the group’s hate killing had been only fifty miles from her village. She deeply wished such murders didn’t occur at all.

“My dream may not be a warning of an enemy attack,” she replied, “but the genocides are enough of a reason for me to go. I know that I’ve sworn never to take a life…but that doesn’t mean I should stand by and do nothing.”

Scott regarded her carefully. “So, what is it you’re saying, Storm?”

Ororo didn’t answer right away, but when she did, her voice was quiet and sad.

“I fear I may need to leave the team…for good.”