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Fic: "FOH: Towers Of Darkness" PG-13 (7/?) [L/R, Ororo/Legolas, Scott]

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  • Nadja Lee
    Hi all, Sorry for the long wait. Still a crossover between LOTR and X-men. You still need to read the earlier parts. You can do so here:
    Message 1 of 1 , Oct 27, 2003
      Hi all,

      Sorry for the long wait.
      Still a crossover between LOTR and X-men. You still need to read the earlier parts. You can do so here:


      Part 7:

      Boromir had never thought he could be in so much agony. Wave after wave of pain washed over him as his beautiful but very deadly torturer proved herself relentless in her pursuit of his soul.

      He couldn’t say how much time had passed since he had last seen a friendly face. He remembered it so clearly and that memory kept his spirits up. Aragorn, the rightful King of Gondor, his Captain and his brother, bending over him with tears in his eyes as he mourned his coming death. Yet death hadn’t been what had been awaiting him. The peace he had so longed to find in the arms of death had been denied him. Instead of waking up to see a loved face, like his beloved departed mother, feel her warm embrace, he had woken up laying naked and shivering on a cold stone floor in a otherwise empty room. The presence of Saruman and a strange beautiful woman made him assume he was in Saruman’s stronghold of Isengard. He had been confused, hurt, and lost. What had happened? Why wasn’t he dead? He had checked his body but it looked like new; in fact he couldn’t even find old battle scars from before his journey to Rivendell. The pain in his body had been intense and his eyes had seemed to be hurt by the light that came in from the windows. He could see the sky through the windows, so he guessed he was high up in the castle, strangling any foolish hopes he might have had of escaping. His memories had seemed to jump back and forth and his senses seemed to play tricks on him; everything seemed louder, brighter…bigger.

      “He looks like him. We can use him,” Saruman’s voice had seemed loud and as devoid of any warm and caring feelings as the old wizard looked. His words made no sense to him and only increased the chaos in his mind. In his pain his eyes had gone from his enemy to the strange woman. She had stood tall, an impassive look on her beautiful face. She had clear green eyes, long floating red hair and a beautiful body dressed in a tight warrior outfit in orange/red tones with a large bird of fire painted on her chest. Too confused to think clearly and too weak to protest he had instinctually reached out a hand towards her, his tortured green eyes meeting and holding hers.

      “Help me, please.” The plea had easily escaped his lips, like a child asking for its mother. The woman had smiled but the smile had frozen his blood to ice and killed any illusions he might have had of getting help from her. She had gone to him and instinctually he had drawn a little back from her, flicking at the pain it brought his body. She had knelt beside him and had let a finger run carelessly over his naked body from his thigh to his shoulder blade, leaving behind a trail of fire that sent pain through every fibre of his body. He bit down hard on his lower lip to prevent himself from screaming out loud, making his mouth taste of his own blood.

      “I see my baby has finally been born,” she turned her head and smiled wickedly at Saruman before she turned back to him. “You’ll feel better soon, though I promise it won’t be for long. Until then…” she waved two Orc guards to her that had been standing behind him and so outside Boromir’s line of vision and he was rudely pulled to his feet. His heart rate quickened in fear at the sight of them, clearly remembering the agony of the arrows that had cut him down.

      “Nooo.” The protest of fear and panic had instinctually escaped his lips though with returning strength and memories his pride also began to return, making his cheeks flame with shame over his own weakness. He tried not to show his fear of the Orcs as they rudely held him up between them; too weak to stand he was only held up by their strength.

      “Take him away,” the woman made a dismissive gesture and the Orcs began to drag him away. He had fought a rising tide of panic as he weakly tried to get free of their grasp.

      “No! Who are you? What’s going on here?” he found his voice wasn’t nearly half as strong or demanding as he would have liked it to be. Instead it sounded weak and fearful; almost childlike.

      Despite his fears the Orcs hadn’t killed him but had locked him up in a room nearby. Thinking back he would have preferred it if they had either let him stay dead or had killed him then. But apparently nothing in his life should ever be easy and so neither should his death.

      After having been thrown on the floor by the Orcs he had laid still for a little while, trying to gather strength. He had managed to see that the room he was in was no cell. It held a bed, a closet and even had a mirror on the wall. He had struggled to his hands and knees and had managed to crawl into bed and had then promptly fallen asleep. When he had awakened again he had first thought it had all just been a strange dream and that he was home and safe in his room in his beloved city of Minas Tirith. No such luck. He wasn’t even dead. He had tested his legs again and had found some of his strength had retuned. Exploring the room he had found a pair of plain brown pants in the closet and had dressed in them. After finding the door locked, he tested its strength – he could not break it down. He had then made sure with a look in the mirror that he still looked like himself though without his scars. After that there had been little to do and a lot to think about. Why was he here? Why wasn’t he dead? Why didn’t his body have any scars? Who was the woman? Were the Little Ones safe? Had the Ring been destroyed? Were Aragorn and the others safe? Was Faramir well? Had Gondor fallen? He had thought long and hard about all those things but he knew none of the answers. He was however sure of some things. He was now a captive of Saruman’s and that could only mean he wanted to use him either to gain information or as a weapon against his friends. Maybe Saruman had felt his temptation of the Ring and therefore had been sure of his willingness to cooperate. Well, he had already made up his mind – he would rather suffer a thousands deaths than ever harm his friends again. He had already shamed his country and his name by trying to harm Fordo, the little Hobbit he had sworn an oath to protect. He had failed once; he wouldn’t fail again.

      His strength to keep to that promise had been put to the test ever since he had first thought it. He had known it would happen but the Orcs returning to bring him before the woman again had still come too soon. He had been brought back to the empty stone room, which he assumed was one of the towers. Saruman hadn’t been there this time but the woman had. Unlike Saruman, who Boromir was sure had a quick temper and who would try a direct approach, the woman had used torture mixed with more than enough psychoanalytic torture to make him wish her a million painful deaths all at once. After too many sessions with her to count he knew with certainty he would much rather have had Saruman interrogate him. Something that he was sure she knew too, which was most likely why she was torturing him instead of the wizard. The first time he had been brought before her he had been prepared to being questioned under direct torture. He hadn’t expected her to send out the Orcs, leaving only the two of them in the room with the door closed behind them. He had considered jumping her right there but time spent with Aragorn and Scott made him be more cautious. If Saruman trusted her this much she obviously had some kind of powers. She wore no weapons but that didn’t have to mean anything. Neither Gandalf nor Saruman would normally carry weapons either. She had smiled that icy smile which would have sent shivers up his spine even if he hadn’t been so damn cold already.

      “Slept well, I hope?” her voice had been like silk over iron. His eyes shot daggers at her as he completely ignored her question.

      “Who are you? Why am I here?” He was happy to hear his voice again carried command and strength. She had looked unsure for a second whether to be annoyed or amused about his questions. She had chosen the latter. With another small smile and a deadly gleam to her green eyes her entire body had seemed to begin to glow like a flame and she began to lift up into the air.

      “By the…” Boromir had mumbled shocked and had taken a step back, one hand raised before his face as if to protect himself. He had never seen anyone capable of doing anything like this!

      “I am Phoenix, fire and life incarnate!” her voice seemed like thunder. Then just as suddenly as it had begun it ended. The light and her warmth died out, leaving him feeling even colder than before as she descended to the floor again. He let his hand fall to his side and fought down his fear to look her in the eyes.

      “Why you are here?” she went to him and ran a finger over his cheek. Only with great control did he manage not to flinch or pull away from her touch. “You’re going to help me get this miserable Ring to Saruman so I can get what I want,” her voice was dark and sure. He had torn himself free, his eyes ablaze with fire.

      “Never!” he had vowed.

      “Careful,” she had warned and stepped a little away from him, her eyes never leaving his. “Never can be a very long time and as you might have found out…not even death holds release for you. Only I can grant you peace now!”

      No more words had been spoken as with only a wave of her hand she had sent wave after wave of pure agony through his body, making him scream out in pain, pride long forgotten and lost to the strong waves of torturous pain that demanded some kind of release.

      It was now at least the eleventh time Phoenix was torturing him, only stopping to heal him, something she seemed able to do as easily as she could inflect pain.

      “Your bodies here are so easy to destroy and repair,” she had said to him once when she had healed several broken bones and internal injures after an especially painful session with her, though they were all worse than any punishment he had ever been able to imagine and he had always thought he had quite a lively imagination in that regard. As time had passed he had a feeling that she knew as well as he did that his resolution to not give in was fading. His stubborn courage and strength was no use or match against her magic. Was he injured, she could heal him, was he dead, she could apparently bring him back. As she told him every time he refused her…there was no escape but to cooperate. Yet so far the images of his brother’s disappointment, Gondor in ruins, his friends tortured and killed had stopped him even though he had been so close. Now though, he wasn’t just near the edge; he was over it. His agony had no end; even death wouldn’t stop it. There was no escape, no way out, and Phoenix’s voice had seemed to ring in his mind over and over as she reminded him of that. She was setting every nerve end he had in his entire body on fire and he could feel several broken ribs and broken bones, which added to his agony. Finally…the words were forced from his bloodied lips.


      The pain stopped at once and the invisible hand which had held him upright released its hold on him and allowed him to slip to the floor with a small yell of pain as his abused body touched the cold and blooded stone floor. She waved her hand in his direction and his body instantly tensed, associating the movement with pain and torment but this time it healed. Slowly and painfully bones and flesh bonded, mended and healed until he could breathe freely again. Her hand dropped to her side but he didn’t stand up. If he just laid still, didn’t see the satisfied gleam in her eyes…maybe he could pretend he hadn’t spoken those traitorous words. Maybe he could pretend for just a few precious seconds that this was all some terrible nightmare…

      “Stand up,” the order wasn’t that harshly spoken but a small movement of her hand, a silent threat had him on his feet in no time. He forced himself to stop his body from shaking as his eyes met hers.

      “I told you you’d see reason soon enough, though you held out remarkably longer than I had anticipated,” she remarked as casually as if she was discussing the weather. Boromir tried to keep his thoughts and feelings under control. Through his torture he had noticed how she seemed to anticipate his every move and seemed to know his every last thought of hope so she could destroy it. Somehow she seemed able to read his mind and so he knew he had to try and keep all his thoughts and emotions inside; something he wasn’t used to. He had always been a man of action; letting his deeds speak for him. Now he knew it was time to change that in light of everything that had happened.

      “What is it you wish of me?” he forced the words out, fighting down his urge to object, to fight, to protest this humiliation. She smiled almost kindly and her eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

      “Saruman has sent a force to intercept the convoy your King Aragorn is leading to Helm’s Deep,” she began, taking enjoyment in seeing the shifting emotions that ran over his face from joy at finally knowing his friend was still alive to anger and fear and then finally, nothing as he regained control over his emotions again. “The Ring no longer travels with him. Instead it has fallen into the hands of no other than your brother.”
      Boromir couldn’t hide his joy at knowing his beloved brother was safe but then shock spread over his face at this news.

      “Faramir has it?!”

      How had the Ring landed with Faramir? Were Frodo and Sam dead? Had the mission failed? Again too many questions came to his mind and again he had no answers. He couldn’t keep a shiver from running through him as he thought of the last time he had had the Ring…dark, sinister…seductive. Please, don’t be tempted! He silently prayed for his brother, but then he found strength in the certainty that his brother was stronger than him; smarter than him…he wouldn’t be pulled down by the weight of the Ring.

      “The Ring is powerful,” Phoenix nodded, having read his mind. Boromir guessed as much and tried hard to clear his mind from any thoughts. “You may find that you’ll have to fight your brother for it,” she mused.

      Never! Boromir thought hotly but said nothing. This was his chance; his only chance. He had to get away from here. It was now or never.

      “I’ll send you to Faramir and preferably you’ll get him to give you the Ring but fight him if you must,” she instructed. Amazing that the warrior still had some spirit left in him, she thought as she read the instant denial in his mind, but he’ll need it later so she chose not to punish him for it.

      “Why don’t you just take the Ring yourself?” a note of defiance was in his voice.

      “Oh, believe me…I would if I could,” her eyes gleamed with the hunger for power and he knew she spoke true though from her words earlier he gathered it wasn’t the Ring itself she wanted but some kind of reward that she expected Sauron or Saruman to give her. “But I can’t,” she made an irritated movement with her hand which made him instinctually jump in fear of pain. “Something very annoying about different planes of existence or something.”

      Boromir wasn’t sure what to say because he wasn’t sure he understood her. As far as he could gather she couldn’t get the Ring because she wasn’t of this world. He frowned. Was he of this world even though he was technically dead?
      ”Don’t you worry about that,” Phoenix cut through his thoughts. “This body I made for you is of this Earth. You’re quite capable of taking the Ring for me.”
      There was silence for a while as Boromir hung his head, seemly broken and tortured by what would be yet another betrayal…another failure.

      ”Don’t feel so bad,” she teased wickedly. “Look at the bright side…as long as the Ring stays intact so will you.”

      Boromir’s head flew up at this but Phoenix seemed thoughtful and had a distant look in her eyes as if listening to something that happened far away. Had he understood her right? His resurrection was somehow connected to the Ring of power? Evil had resurrected him? It brought a foul taste to his mouth, but also brought him hope. In all the days, which must have passed since he had been awakened, he hadn’t had to drink nor eat. Apparently he no longer had human needs though he was in a new human body that looked like his old one. But if the Ring was destroyed…then so would he. Seeing Phoenix was still occupied he allowed himself a small smile. He had the answer. He knew what he had to do. For freedom, for Gondor, for Aragorn, for his friends, for his beloved brother…to restore his honor. It was suddenly so clear now. He had to fight to get his emotions under control; finally things seemed to brighten up a little. Finally, he had a plan and finally…he saw the faintest glimmer of hope. Now all he could do was wait and pray that his plan would succeed…on that everything depended.


      Author’s notes: We have here several of the things you asked for: more on Jean/Phoenix and more on Boromir.

      Again remember: In the X-men comics Phoenix was a cosmic energy that seemly possessed Jean and made her evil. That’s all you need to know about that. Just work with me here a little, okay? *smiles*

      As always thanks so much to Cathain for great beta.
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