Summary: Storms coalesce and disappear in the blink of an eye, with little to indicate their passage. But they have, undoubtably, left a mark. In this tale, Ororo travels back in time and struggles in a new world with new faces, hurtles her way through the 8th century and finds a home.
Disclaimer: Every recognisable character, setting, backstory and/or themes belong to their respective owners, Marvel Comics and Michael Hirst. I am in no way associated or representative of the estates of these fictions and any copyright infringement is unintended.
Pre-read/Author's Note: Greetings and welcome! This will be a first for me in terms of published fiction that I have written; I am looking forward to this journey. Now the pairing is a strange one, I agree: I haven't seen anything in published fiction online that comes close to linking these two, Ororo and Ivar, together! I have adored Ororo since I was a little'un and I am enamoured by the Viking world – both historically and creatively. So, I thought I'd give it a shot.
Now I have aged up Ivar about 5 years; made him and Ororo about the same age. In short, I believe that many of Ivar's characterizations in the show come from an immaturity due to his young age and the trauma of his childhood stunting his developmental growth. I think aging him allows me as an author to explore the issue surrounding his seeming lack of empathy and cruelty towards others but how that might manifest as an adult who, let's be honest, would have had to curb that behaviour in order to run successful campaigns, be a cultural signpost (my headcanon is Ivar takes on Floki's role in the canon as an arbiter for the Nordic culture and religion of the time and acts as a backstop against the (inevitable) encroachment of Christian and Western ideals and practices) and effectively manage people and resources as a political and martial leader.
Ororo is also a slightly younger version than most people who read the comics have seen for a long time (about the time when she first joined the X-Men). This could present an interesting challenge in terms of how to flesh her out and what direction the character would like to go, but I am excited for it.
A sidenote: I am also British so some phrases and spellings may differ from what readers are used to. Let's hope this works – please feel free to send any comments or critiques. Long rambly introduction over, please enjoy!
Narration: storms
Thoughts: storms
Speech: "storms"
Chapter 1: Tropical Disturbance
THE BATTLE had now raged on for several hours, Storm felt, as she soared overhead the complex, looking at the carnage and damage below. As her mind subconsciously catalogued the energy of all her teammates, she realized they themselves were coming to the end of their stamina. Magneto's Brotherhood had been relentless, but her X-Men family had been resilient so far, keeping the worst of the damage from any bystanders and effectively teaming up to neutralize this threat.
As she gathered the winds around her again, she spotted that Jean was keeping two of the Brotherhood at bay but seemed to be struggling. Storm swept into the action, harnessing a bolt and sending it flying towards one of the adversaries. He dodged and managed to collect himself, but she was on him. Her hands dropping rapidly in temperature, the windrider gathered frost and ice in her palms and blasted stream after stream straight towards her opponent. He stumbled from the attack and countered with a beam of energy shot in her general direction. Being airborne gave Ororo an advantage in perspective – he had been off by several inches.
She turned to see the blast shoot past her and with horror realised that Nightcrawler had his back towards them and was unaware of the danger he was in. Without thought, Storm swept around and launched herself, shouting out to Nightcrawler to move somewhere, anywhere. The world slowed for her as she approached her teammate at supersonic speeds – her desperation to shield him, come between him and harm's way, propelling her forward. So fast, almost too fast to slow down, and the teleporter had finally seen the blast and was preparing to port away.
Storm had gathered lightening and static around her arms and body, the air around crackling with charge, and she collided with Nightcrawler just as he had teleported. There was a flash, intense heat seared her skin for a moment… and then black.
COLD … is what she registered as her mind slowly trudged its way to consciousness. Her vessels dilated automatically allowing warm blood to flood to her extremities, effectively heating her up. Ororo pried her eyes open, her eyelashes frozen together slightly and her forehead creasing, at first from pain then from confusion. Cold? Summer had been in full swing in New York, in the middle of a heat wave. She recalled Jean complaining to her about it the day before… Jean! The battle?
Ororo startled awake, raising herself to a sitting position in a panic. What had happened to Jean? And Nightcrawler? Her teammates' names on her tongue, she was shocked to see that she was covered in snow. The land around, a blanket of ice and cold. Ororo whipped her head back and forth, calling out to her friends – someone must have been around. But as she was about to yell, a sharp pain coursed through her back and down one leg. Gingerly, she reached around and smoothed her hand over the injury.
Taking stock of herself, her X-Men outfit was still on her but had extreme signs of wear and tear. Beast had designed these suits to withstand enormous pressure, heat and distortion; to cope with the strains that their own bodies went through to fight and manoeuvre as they did but also taking the brunt of the damage of many different kinds of attack. The force required to rip through and tear this fabric… did not bear thinking about.
Ororo glanced around her again, blinking rapidly and trying to absorb what her senses were telling her. A quiet surrounded her, not the hustle and bustle of a city or town; sentinel-like trees creaked in the crisp wind; the crunch of snow beneath her fingertips. Close by, a crystalline lake stretched out towards the east – mirroring the intense blue of a cloudless sky. Winter, her senses told her. She slowly, spread her psionic energy out from her core and outwards of her body, spreading out to her surroundings to determine where she was.
The feedback she received floored her; she was geographically 3000 miles away from where she thought she was. The North Sea? Scandinavia? Maybe, the fall had messed with her powers, giving her false readings. But Ororo was certain she was now in winter – how could that be? The windrider lifted her hand gingerly, towards a nearby patch of gathered snow and the particles lifted at her command, albeit slowly. My powers seem fine, she thought although the pain on her lower back was distracting.
Ororo allowed herself to feel a momentary panic, she was confused and now she believed herself to be lost. As she recalled the events leading up to her black-out, she realised that the explosion that ensued from her collision with Kurt must have blasted her far. Collecting herself, she performed a quick visual check on her body to make sure there were no more injuries. Rallying her strength, the weather witch gradually unfolded to her full height and walked forward a few steps. Unsteady, perhaps, but still mobile.
As she brushed the snow off, she tentatively reached her mind out to the telepaths of her team. Charles had sat with her through many lessons, aimed at centring her thoughts and mind and giving her more mental agility. She used this now, to reach out to them. Jean was a young mutant; her powers frighteningly powerful but still underdeveloped but the Professor had a wealth of experience. Surely, he would hear her.
Professor? Charles? Are you there? Jean? Professor? Please answer back if you can hear me.
A void responded to her call, chilling her to the core. She tried again, reaching out further and further, as her mind weakened under the strain. But still, no response. At this point, she was struggling to remain calm and as the pain radiated upwards of her back and her leg burned, she wanted to cry. To scream out in frustration.
The winds around her responded in kind, at first dancing through the clearing, but now howling in fury; reflecting the turmoil she was in. Snowflakes that had spun prettily to the forest floor, now sloughed down in a heavy curtain and the temperature plummeted. NO! She would not lose control, not now.
Breathing deeply, she summoned her powers to soothe the winds around her, calm the skies and thus steady herself. She could get through this but she needed to remain calm. After taking stock of herself, she decided to try and find civilisation. At the very least, if she could get to a telephone, she may be able to reach her friends (family). So Ororo started walking towards the trees and along what looked to a path through the snow. Her injuries made the progress slow but gave her time to absorb what had happened to her. Residual adrenaline from the battle still sung through her veins but her mind was cooling, settling into this new reality.
Ororo walked for what seemed like hours and her surroundings barely shifted. If not for her distress, she would have appreciated the static beauty of this forest. The firs and pines were tall and broad, bare and covered with cotton-like snow. The quiet was punctuated by the rustle of small wildlife scampering through the forest floor. Scores of birds flew overhead periodically, and the cold felt invigorating. She revelled in this version of nature; seeing the natural forces undisturbed and not marred by buildings and skyscrapers, cars and technology.
Nature could not distract her from the tiredness and hunger though; she still seemed to have a long way to go. The sky was darkening and deepening telling her that she needed to find shelter for tonight. She had to find food beside the berries she had collected earlier on. As she walked, she had used her powers occasionally, but in small doses. To avoid drawing any attention to herself in case any people around could see, she kept her power shifts small and localised. But she created an air "bubble" around herself, to trap warm air and keep her warm. It also served to make sure she wasn't leaving a scent for any wild animals.
She came across a thick copse of trees that shadowed the path she had been walking on. Off the beaten trail, the copse provided good cover and afforded her a good view of the forest around her. The former goddess trudged up the small incline and knelt in the snow, which on her silent command cleared and melted away. Ignoring the pangs of hunger (Cairo had beaten out of the incessant need to eat every few hours), she laid her head on the grassy knoll and shortly fell to sleep.
HER sleep was riddled with nightmares, menacing shadows and the distant voices of her teammates – getting further away from her even as she ran after them. The distress pulled Ororo into the world of the living, gasping and dry sobbing. Recovering slowly, she realised she could hear voices nearby. She panicked briefly, not wanting to be caught unawares but realising her body was not at full strength. As the voices approached, the windrider sat up, her body weak from hunger and her mind slow from the remnants of her sleep.
Gazing out of the copse she was resting in, the mutant locked eyes with two people who had now turned around the corner. A pause followed, both parties taking the other in.
Ororo almost laughed out loud; the two travellers obviously had never seen anyone like her before and was not expecting to see anyone. Their eyes bulged out slightly whilst taking her features – her hair and skin, coupled with the strangeness of her eyes. In America, she had become used to the almost constant staring in public.
The mutant was also sizing up her interlopers; what she saw both confused and dismayed her. They were both Caucasian, a man and woman, that looked close enough in features to be related. Tall and lithe, the woman had deep eyes and a sharp chin. She was staring at Ororo with what looked like the beginning of suspicion. Her companion was taller still, with thick brown hair on his head and chin. Braided,she was surprised to see, into a low ponytail. They both wore strange clothing; what looked to be leather or hide, donning tunics and knotted belts with strange designs on them. If she could hazard a guess – perhaps Celtic? But no, she knew that she was closer to Scandinavia than Scotland or Ireland. Cloaks and boots lined in fur to keep the cold out.
The windrider rarely ever found herself wrongfooted – but this scenario had thrown her off course. Who are these people? I assume Norwegians or maybe Finnish people? Why were they dressed in such a … archaic manner?
She hoped that they spoke some English at least. She stood gingerly, in part from pain and in part to keep the strangers from reacting badly. She had noticed the sharp glint of a weapon hanging from the man's hips.
"Good morning, sorry to bother you both. Do either of you speak English?" she asked. She hoped that they did, she was sure that there were quite a few Scandinavians who were multilingual. But as she spoke, she could see on their faces that nothing was registering.
"Hello?" she switched to Russian. Still nothing. She tried not to show her apprehension as the woman and man mumbled to each other, eying her as they discussed. From what she can hear, the language they were speaking sounded Danish and the duo seemed to be as apprehensive of her.
The air was tense and Ororo prepared herself for a confrontation; but then the woman stepped forward decisively and asked her a question. The weather witch shook her head; she did not understand. The brunette then pointed towards herself and said "Yrsa". Ororo was confused for a moment, so the woman repeated the action and the word. … she is telling me her name! Ororo was touched, repeated the action to herself and said "Ororo". She repeated the name when she saw the woman struggling with it.
"Or-ur-roh?" Yrsa questioned, the repeated vowels of the Kenyan's name sounding strange on Yrsa's tongue; but there was a pleasant burr to the sound as well. "Ororo" the windrider corrected gently, before pointing to the woman and saying "Er-sah?". The woman seemed pleased, a quirk to her lips that brightened her face. Her companion watched on in silence; Ororo could see he wasn't convinced about her presence.
Ororo, happy to have at least got rid of some of tension from before, spread the air bubble around her two companions. They would not notice anything but a slight warming in the air, the reduction of the bitter wind, but it would be enough to keep them from getting too cold. The man shifted slightly and then relaxed his shoulders, the warmth softening him and making him appear less hostile.
Yrsa stepped closer to her and reached out to tug on her clothes. She seemed puzzled by the material; she hovered her hands over the rips and looked up at Ororo in query. Ororo used hands and gestures to mimic a battle, pointing to the sword at her companion's side. She was glad to see Yrsa seemed to understand her. The man caught the mutant's attention by gesturing towards Ororo and then the forest behind them. "Fylgja, svart skjønnhet." He started striding back along the path.
Yrsa pointed at the man's broad back and said "Sven", repeated this word several times until Ororo nodded her understanding of the man's name. Her female companion then gestured for her to follow, so she assumed that is what Sven had instructed her to do.
Ororo complied and as they walked along, the windrider realised that this could be a trap: they could be anti-mutants who thought her dumb and easy to lure, waiting for her to drop her guard and then capture her or worse. Her senses were on high alert but… She was also heartworn and hungry, the realisation that she was further from her home and her team than ever before a disheartening one. She would follow, follow these people and this new path to see what the goddess had in store for her.
Fylgja, svart skjønnhet = Follow, dark one/beauty