FIC: Crown of Thorns (X-Men Movieverse)
Jul. 31st, 2007 04:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ficwizeFIC: Crown of Thorns
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wizefics
Fandom: X-Men Movieverse
Characters: Magneto-centric
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Erik considers the role of fences in his life.
Warnings: Slightly disturbing content; slight Erik/Charles if you squint,
A/N: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
twicetoldfandom ficathon. The archive can be found at Twicetold Fandom. I was assigned this image: Photo Found Here, which, much to my amusement and delight, I found was submitted by musamea. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.
Erik stood in the pre-dawn silence and stared at the trees around him. Mist unfurled from the ground, preparing to be chased away by the rising sun. The air was slightly chilly, slightly damp, and the campground was covered in a thick blanket of ominous anticipation. The second part of his plan would go into effect in only a few short hours. He was so close to victory that he could almost taste it, but that was not the reason he'd awoken so early.
Nightmares.
The fence groaned and bent, the metal reaching for him, even as he reached for it. The soldiers holding him were being dragged through the mud. He was almost there; he was almost to his mother; he could still hear her screaming. Closer… closer… ever closer before the crack of a barrel of a gun ended the battle, leaving them all sprawled in the mud.
From a completely detached and unemotional vantage point, Erik knew that nightmares were nothing more than random images generated by his brain. From a cynical standing, Erik also knew that a life such as his insured that his brain had more unpleasant memories than most to choose from. Those educated and hardened parts of him knew that nothing in his dreams could hurt him, but the part of him that was still a boy playing at his mother's feet had woken him covered in sweat. That boy hadn't learned yet that there were worse things than death.
There was razor wire all around the camp. He could feel it calling to him, crooning at him, but he couldn't answer. He didn't know how to answer. Every day, the Butcher forced him to try, encouraging him with increasingly painful tests, but he always failed. The call of the metal faded into the desperateness with which the boy craved everything… food… clean clothes… a bath… freedom.
Breathing deeply, Erik felt the familiar and almost subliminal call of metal pulling at his mind again, like an echo of the past. Resisting only momentarily, he turned to look at the remnants of a barbed wire fence. He did not know why it had been built; there was no evidence of a building nearby; there was nothing to protect. No reason that Erik could see for the fence to exist, other than hubris. It was simply more evidence that mounted against those he considered his enemy. Even here, even hidden in the depths of a national forest, there was always proof of man's desire to control nature and limit its growth.
Most of the fence was gone, fallen over the ages and buried under leaves and dirt. He could feel the thin wires calling to him, but he ignored them in favor of the section that still stood. It was old, rusted and weak. The wires at the top were twisted into cruel points, but it was the barbed wire above it that drew his eyes. The fence had been so long forgotten that the very trees themselves had accepted it. One tree had even grown around the wire, swallowing it into its depths, the otherwise smooth trunk frowning around the painful invader. Almost tentatively, Erik exerted his power and pulled at the wire. The tree groaned, but the wire stayed where it was. Releasing the metal, Erik released breath and turned away.
His reward for his small success (small because it wasn’t useful… he couldn’t kill them…) had been increased isolation. He was worse even than a dirty Jew. He was a dirty Jew freak. The other prisoners were afraid of him. The guards were overzealous in their determination to break his spirit and he was unable to protect himself from them, the metal in their guns mocking him for being too weak. Crying, he had tried to shield his head with his arms as they beat him, the silence of those observing nearly excusing his attackers.
So many times in his life he had been fenced in against his will. So many times others had told him that he wasn't worthy of even the most fundamental rights because he was other - Jew, immigrant, mutant. So many times he had been forced to fight to tear down those fences, both real and imaginary. He had learned to fight and he had done it well. He was not afraid to fight… He was afraid not to.
"Ahh, my old friend. Have you not yet learned that fear is the highest fence?"
Charles' voice in his head sounded no different than it ever had. "I will not waste my time discussing my fears with a dead man, Charles." Erik thought back idly.
Two heartbeats later, he was surprised at the depth of the disappointment he felt when no further comment sounded in his head. "I miss you, Charles. I miss your naive search for hope, even though it was your misguided belief in the inherent goodness of people that brought about your own downfall." The words were bitter, tinged with resignation, and placed carefully to cover the grief that lay at their heart.
Memories that he didn't want washed over him. There had been a time when he had thought that he would find peace with Charles Xavier. There had been a time when he had been happy. He remembered long discussions and friendly chess games and old movies and the sense that all of these happy times were made better because he could share them with someone who did not condemn him as other but who understood.
Gradually, over time, Charles had understood him less and less, until one day, they stood on the opposite sides of an invisible barrier, as divisive and painful as any fence that had ever kept him inside Auschwitz.
"We are on the same side, Charles. We are fighting for the same cause."
"No, Erik. We are not."
That barrier, not being made of metal, had been one that Erik had never been able to tear down. Finally, tired of fighting, tired of worrying that Charles' ideology would kill them all, he had left. Bowing out gracefully, Erik had left Charles to gather his X-men and spread his message of peace and friendship with the very humans who only wanted to see all mutants destroyed.
From a distance, Erik watched Charles build a fence of dreams and ideals and call it a school. Later, Erik had watched the world refused to be fenced out any longer. School children, even ones with special abilities, were no match for trained mercenaries. Soldiers who, even without wearing the armbands he had learned to fear in his youth had taken those children (like they had once taken him) to a place from which they were never expected to emerge.
For a long moment, Erik stood silent as the wind chased the last of the mist away. Then he stretched out his hands and curled in his fingers. He could feel the hidden metal straining for his call, but he ignored it. Instead, he focused his power on the wire in the tree. He did not have to look to feel it humming in tension as it labored to answer his call and he smiled mirthlessly.
With a twitch of his fingers, he ripped the barbed wire from the tree, leaving it shuddering and showering leaves down from its branches. Wood splinters sprayed as the tree swayed violently, but the wire obeyed his call perfectly. It twisted and curled at his every command until it formed an interwoven crown.
Dropping his hand, Erik let the circlet fall. Turning he walked away without looking back. He intended this day to be the savior of his kind. He had no use for a crown of thorns and the painful memories it represented.
Author:
wizeficsFandom: X-Men Movieverse
Characters: Magneto-centric
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Erik considers the role of fences in his life.
Warnings: Slightly disturbing content; slight Erik/Charles if you squint,
A/N: Written for the
twicetoldfandom ficathon. The archive can be found at Twicetold Fandom. I was assigned this image: Photo Found Here, which, much to my amusement and delight, I found was submitted by musamea. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.
Erik stood in the pre-dawn silence and stared at the trees around him. Mist unfurled from the ground, preparing to be chased away by the rising sun. The air was slightly chilly, slightly damp, and the campground was covered in a thick blanket of ominous anticipation. The second part of his plan would go into effect in only a few short hours. He was so close to victory that he could almost taste it, but that was not the reason he'd awoken so early.
Nightmares.
The fence groaned and bent, the metal reaching for him, even as he reached for it. The soldiers holding him were being dragged through the mud. He was almost there; he was almost to his mother; he could still hear her screaming. Closer… closer… ever closer before the crack of a barrel of a gun ended the battle, leaving them all sprawled in the mud.
From a completely detached and unemotional vantage point, Erik knew that nightmares were nothing more than random images generated by his brain. From a cynical standing, Erik also knew that a life such as his insured that his brain had more unpleasant memories than most to choose from. Those educated and hardened parts of him knew that nothing in his dreams could hurt him, but the part of him that was still a boy playing at his mother's feet had woken him covered in sweat. That boy hadn't learned yet that there were worse things than death.
There was razor wire all around the camp. He could feel it calling to him, crooning at him, but he couldn't answer. He didn't know how to answer. Every day, the Butcher forced him to try, encouraging him with increasingly painful tests, but he always failed. The call of the metal faded into the desperateness with which the boy craved everything… food… clean clothes… a bath… freedom.
Breathing deeply, Erik felt the familiar and almost subliminal call of metal pulling at his mind again, like an echo of the past. Resisting only momentarily, he turned to look at the remnants of a barbed wire fence. He did not know why it had been built; there was no evidence of a building nearby; there was nothing to protect. No reason that Erik could see for the fence to exist, other than hubris. It was simply more evidence that mounted against those he considered his enemy. Even here, even hidden in the depths of a national forest, there was always proof of man's desire to control nature and limit its growth.
Most of the fence was gone, fallen over the ages and buried under leaves and dirt. He could feel the thin wires calling to him, but he ignored them in favor of the section that still stood. It was old, rusted and weak. The wires at the top were twisted into cruel points, but it was the barbed wire above it that drew his eyes. The fence had been so long forgotten that the very trees themselves had accepted it. One tree had even grown around the wire, swallowing it into its depths, the otherwise smooth trunk frowning around the painful invader. Almost tentatively, Erik exerted his power and pulled at the wire. The tree groaned, but the wire stayed where it was. Releasing the metal, Erik released breath and turned away.
His reward for his small success (small because it wasn’t useful… he couldn’t kill them…) had been increased isolation. He was worse even than a dirty Jew. He was a dirty Jew freak. The other prisoners were afraid of him. The guards were overzealous in their determination to break his spirit and he was unable to protect himself from them, the metal in their guns mocking him for being too weak. Crying, he had tried to shield his head with his arms as they beat him, the silence of those observing nearly excusing his attackers.
So many times in his life he had been fenced in against his will. So many times others had told him that he wasn't worthy of even the most fundamental rights because he was other - Jew, immigrant, mutant. So many times he had been forced to fight to tear down those fences, both real and imaginary. He had learned to fight and he had done it well. He was not afraid to fight… He was afraid not to.
"Ahh, my old friend. Have you not yet learned that fear is the highest fence?"
Charles' voice in his head sounded no different than it ever had. "I will not waste my time discussing my fears with a dead man, Charles." Erik thought back idly.
Two heartbeats later, he was surprised at the depth of the disappointment he felt when no further comment sounded in his head. "I miss you, Charles. I miss your naive search for hope, even though it was your misguided belief in the inherent goodness of people that brought about your own downfall." The words were bitter, tinged with resignation, and placed carefully to cover the grief that lay at their heart.
Memories that he didn't want washed over him. There had been a time when he had thought that he would find peace with Charles Xavier. There had been a time when he had been happy. He remembered long discussions and friendly chess games and old movies and the sense that all of these happy times were made better because he could share them with someone who did not condemn him as other but who understood.
Gradually, over time, Charles had understood him less and less, until one day, they stood on the opposite sides of an invisible barrier, as divisive and painful as any fence that had ever kept him inside Auschwitz.
"We are on the same side, Charles. We are fighting for the same cause."
"No, Erik. We are not."
That barrier, not being made of metal, had been one that Erik had never been able to tear down. Finally, tired of fighting, tired of worrying that Charles' ideology would kill them all, he had left. Bowing out gracefully, Erik had left Charles to gather his X-men and spread his message of peace and friendship with the very humans who only wanted to see all mutants destroyed.
From a distance, Erik watched Charles build a fence of dreams and ideals and call it a school. Later, Erik had watched the world refused to be fenced out any longer. School children, even ones with special abilities, were no match for trained mercenaries. Soldiers who, even without wearing the armbands he had learned to fear in his youth had taken those children (like they had once taken him) to a place from which they were never expected to emerge.
For a long moment, Erik stood silent as the wind chased the last of the mist away. Then he stretched out his hands and curled in his fingers. He could feel the hidden metal straining for his call, but he ignored it. Instead, he focused his power on the wire in the tree. He did not have to look to feel it humming in tension as it labored to answer his call and he smiled mirthlessly.
With a twitch of his fingers, he ripped the barbed wire from the tree, leaving it shuddering and showering leaves down from its branches. Wood splinters sprayed as the tree swayed violently, but the wire obeyed his call perfectly. It twisted and curled at his every command until it formed an interwoven crown.
Dropping his hand, Erik let the circlet fall. Turning he walked away without looking back. He intended this day to be the savior of his kind. He had no use for a crown of thorns and the painful memories it represented.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-08-01 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-01 07:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-02 04:17 am (UTC)Thanks for sharing...
no subject
Date: 2007-08-03 03:26 pm (UTC)I like Magneto, too. He's a really complex character and he's fun to write about.