It's an Odd Coincidence
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize. I'm just borrowing them for this tale.
Darcy: I completely understand your sentiment about real life ;). Logan's going to have a shock when he finally gets the idea that his pal Aragorn is not just a ranger. However, it's going to be a while before he actually realizes the truth.
Thank you all for the reviews.
Chapter 10: Wolverine Wants In
He still didn't understand. If anything, he was becoming even more confused, and that was a frightening thought. Everyone else had started shouting, and some of the dwarves looked as if they wanted to behead him. Not that Logan couldn't deal with a healthy dose of physical violence. He had had plenty of experience with that. What he truly did not understand was why that piece of bling on the stone pedestal was so important. Even worse, he felt that it was important, and he somehow wanted it. All the noise simply went by unnoticed as he stared at that ring. It was so round. Could anyone make such a round thing? His eye might be untrained, but it was an absolutely beautiful thing. It seemed...powerful, somehow, even if it was only a pretty piece of bling.
He was vaguely aware of Legolas becoming distressed while talking about something called a 'gollum'. His mind wasn't on what was happening. He could hear a strange soothing voice inside his head, promising him that he could go home, if only he would take the ring on the pedestal. 'But it's not mine,' he protested.
It could be, said the voice.
'But I know it's not mine.'
"Logan?" Strider's whisper dragged him out of his thoughts. He was one of the few who were not demanding that Logan be punished for spying on the council. "Are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine," said Logan. "Why shouldn't I be?"
"The Ring," said Strider, as if that explained everything. His face was grave. The lines on his face seemed deeper, and while he still looked younger than his eighty-seven years, Logan now felt as if the ranger was bearing a very heavy burden on his shoulders.
"Yeah, it's pretty. What about it?" asked the Wolverine, who was not about to tell his friend that he had actually wanted the ring for a moment back there.
"It is dangerous, Logan," said the ranger. "Don't look at me like that. I know what was going on in your mind, because it was going on in my mind too."
"What the hell are you on about?" asked Logan. "Strider, are you feeling all right? Sure you don't need to go have a lie down?"
"I feel perfectly fine, Logan," snapped the ranger. "Stop trying to change the subject."
"Well, no offence or anything," said the Wolverine, "but I don't think you're fine. You're usually not that snappy, and unless you're a mutant in disguise, I don't see how you can sense what I was thinking."
"The Ring has similar effects on all men, Logan," said the ranger so quietly that even Logan, with his advanced hearing, could barely hear him above the shouting. "It tempts us and lures us with false promises of power and grandeur, and then it consumes us should we fall prey to its guiles."
"Um, hello, Strider. It's a bloody ring. It can't do anything...can it?"
"Why did you covet it then?" The ranger had reason. It was just that it was such a bizarre reason that Logan couldn't quite accept it. It wasn't scientific! Rings didn't have minds of their own, and rings certainly couldn't make men do things which they otherwise would not do. Then again, those screechy black riders had been men whose minds had been taken over by magic rings. Why couldn't this be another magic ring? Logan grimaced and rubbed his temples.
"Now you're making my head hurt," he said. "Magic rings don't sit well with me." He glanced at the ring on the pedestal again. "Is it really playing with my mind?"
"I daresay it is trying to," said Strider. "If I had the time, I would explain everything to you in detail, now that you have seen the Ring."
"Oh no, spare me," said Logan. "I just want the abbreviated version."
"Fair enough," said Strider, "but even that will take a while. For now, sit down, and try not to attract attention." Logan looked around. Most of the people present had vacated their seats, and some of them looked as if they were about to come to blows. He did not know these people well, but from the expression on Strider's face, he guessed that this was unnatural behaviour. Ah well, natural or not, they were getting very aggressive, and would probably not notice if he stole someone's chair. He settled himself into one beside Strider and leaned back. Damn that tree. It had been a long fall, and that ground was really hard.
"Master Logan," said Elladan, "is it not bad enough that you have intruded on a secret council and smashed Glorfindel's seat? Must you take my chair as well?"
"Musical chair, pal," said Logan with a shrug. "Haven't you played that before?" Elladan did not look amused, and Logan took the hint. Geez, these people were highly strung. Had Elladan missed out on his morning coffee or something? Usually, the son of Elrond was a lot less grumpy. "Fine, fine, I'll go and stand behind Strider and pretend I'm a statue." With that, he went off to one side.
Elrond had managed to calm everyone down by then, and they all returned to their seats, with the exception of Glorfindel, whose chair had been utterly destroyed. He waited while the splinters were swept away and a new chair was put in its place.
"What do we do with this ring?" asked one of the dwarves. He looked like a grumpier miniature version of Santa Claus, and Logan would have laughed at the solemnity of that question, except he had promised not to attract attention.
"It cannot stay in Rivendell," interjected Elrohir. "Can it, Ada?"
"No, it cannot," said Elrond, "for the power of Vilya is not enough to hide it."
"We can send it over the sea," suggested one of the elves whose name Logan did not know.
"Or we could destroy it," said Elrond. Murmurs rippled through everyone gathered. Elrond ignored them, although he must have heard one or two of the things which were being said. "Sending it over the sea will not eliminate the threat. The only way to defeat Sauron is to destroy this Ring."
More murmurs. "Well, that's easy, innit?" said Logan before he could stop himself. All eyes turned to him. Again. Elrond raised his eyebrow at the mutant, but not in amusement. "I mean, it's just a ring, right? It can't be that hard." He extended his claws to make his point, and before anyone could stop him, he strode over to where the Ring was, on the stone pedestal.
It was smooth and golden, and so very beautiful. 'It's playing with your head, Logan,' he told himself, 'and that can't be good.' He slowly raised his hand, and then brought his claws down on the Ring. There was what sounded like an explosion, and he was thrown backwards. Pain shot up his arm, and he could see nothing but flames before him. His ears were ringing. 'Damn it!' he thought. 'Someone rigged that ring to blow!' He heard concerned voices calling his name, and identified Strider and Boromir's. Well, at least he was still alive. That had to be a blessing.
"Logan," Strider was saying. "Logan, answer me!"
"I can hear you," grunted Logan. He blinked several times to clear his vision. The vague shapes before his eyes became clearer, and he could see the concerned faces of almost everyone present staring down at him. "Wait, what happened to the fire?"
"What fire?" asked Boromir, looking around him in confusion. "There was no fire, Logan."
"What? That's impossible!" said Logan as he tried to sit up. His arm ached profusely and his head was reeling. "There must be a fire! That thing exploded!"
"Uh, Logan, nothing exploded," said Strider.
"Sure it did," said the mutant stubbornly. "It blew me backwards."
"Well, that part was true," said Gandalf. "But Strider is right. There was no explosion."
"But I saw..." Logan trailed off. Damn that ring! It was playing with his head again!
"What did you see, Logan?" That was Elrond.
"I saw flames," he said. "Wait...it looked a bit like a cat's eye, come to think of it. Kinda odd, but I've seen really odd things in my time. You sure there wasn't an explosion?"
"Logan, that was not an explosion," said Gandalf quietly. "You saw the Eye of Sauron." Tense silence descended upon them while Logan tried to process the information. Then the mutant rolled his eyes.
"Oooh, freaky," he said. "So I saw an eye. What's the big deal? I've even gouged out eyes on occasion."
"That is the all-seeing eye of Sauron," explained Elrond. "From his vantage point at the top of the Tower of Barad-dur, the Dark Lord sees all. It is dangerous to underestimate him."
"If he's so powerful, how come he only has one eye?" asked Logan as he sat up. They were right; there had been no explosion, and that blasted ring was still intact on the stone pedestal. There weren't even any dents to prove that Logan had tried to destroy the thing with his claws. It was unnatural, and not the least bit scientific. It simply didn't make sense to Logan, not that science made much sense to him.
"Later, Logan," said Strider in a low voice. "It is a long tale, and a dark one. All you really need to know right now is that you cannot destroy the Ring."
"If I can't, then what can?"
"The Ring, Master Logan, can be destroyed by neither craft nor claw," said Elrond. "It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast into the fires of Mount Doom."
"That is a dangerous path to take," said Boromir. His gaze was fixed on the Ring, as if he both wanted and loathed it. There was a strange gleam in his eye which made him look dangerous and alien. Logan didn't like that development one bit. From what he had learned of Boromir, the man from Gondor was a steadfast soldier whose heart could not be moved by either wealth or promises of great power, and yet here he was, lusting after this thing which was not his. Perhaps Strider was right; this ring was playing with their heads, but why?
"Any path is dangerous, Lord Boromir," said Gandalf. "The question remains; who will take the Ring?"
At once, everyone started talking, each claiming that he was the best choice. They squabbled violently, and to Logan, it was as if they had suddenly been transformed from noble lords into high school kids. Well, really snobby high school kids who spoke like the queen of England. Only a few remained in their seats, and Strider was included among that number. His manner was sullen, brooding, as if he was deep in some dark melancholic thought.
Logan's ears twitched. Frodo was saying something, but his voice was being drowned out by the others' shouts. The hobbit needed a microphone. Or he just needed to join in the shouting himself. Frodo repeated himself again, this time louder. "I will take the Ring to Mordor!" Logan heard him say. Obviously, the other people present heard him too, for they fell silent and turned in the hobbit's direction.
"That is a brave decision, Master Baggins," said Elrond, "but are you certain? The path to Mordor is fraught with danger, and the spies of Sauron are everywhere."
"I am certain, Lord Elrond," said Frodo. "I have brought the Ring this far. It is my task."
They all regarded the hobbit who was half the size of everyone present —with the exception of Bilbo— and was resolute in the extreme. His face was still pale, for he had not yet fully recovered from his wound. It seemed to Logan as if he looked a little translucent.
"I admire you courage, Master Hobbit," said Boromir. "Would that all men had hearts as stout as yours."
"He cannot go alone," said Glorfindel.
"No, indeed, he cannot," said Elrond.
"Then who's going with Frodo?" asked Strider.
"I'll come," said Logan. His arm still ached a little, but most of the discomfort had faded. He loved his mutant powers.
"The choice of Frodo's companions is an important matter," said Elrond. "We cannot make the decisions, lightly, Logan."
"Well, I'm just sayin' it, Lord Elrond," said Logan. "I want in. I can really help with all those dangers on the way, whatever they are."
"It would also help if he had some idea about what the dangers were," Elladan whispered to Elrohir.
"The decision is not yours to make, Master Logan," said Elrond patiently. He had expected that Logan would volunteer. As strange as the man was, he was quite predictable, and most people could tell that he was very protective of those whom he considered friends. However, as loyal as he was, Elrond doubted that he was a very suitable candidate for such a task.
"Well, Mister Frodo's not going anywhere without me!" declared a voice. Sam leapt out from behind some bushes, with leaves still stuck in his hair. He ran up to where Frodo was and planted his feet on the ground, as if he was expecting to be told that he couldn't go.
"Indeed, I would not think of it," said Elrond with a smile. "It is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not. Very well, Master Samwise. You shall go with Frodo."
"But I wasn't summoned either!" protested Logan.
"Logan, Sam didn't almost crush Glorfindel," said Elladan. "It makes him seem a little more suitable in the eyes of the council."
"Just a little bit more suitable," said Elrohir, slapping the fuming Logan on the back. "Never lose heart, my friend. For all we know, they might actually choose you to join the company."
"It is not fair," declared Pippin when Sam and Frodo relayed the events of that morning to him and Merry. "Sam goes along to spy on the council, and not only is he not punished, he's rewarded by getting to go on a big adventure with Frodo!"
"Really, Pippin," said Frodo as he poured himself a cup of tea and added two teaspoons of sugar. "I think it's the worst sort of punishment. Going to Mordor is no fun at all."
"Then why wasn't I punished?" asked Logan grumpily. Once again, he had joined the hobbits for afternoon tea. They were having it on the balcony of Frodo's room, and it seemed that with everyone else distracted by the secret council and all the rumours about what was actually going on, Merry and Pippin had managed to pilfer more food from the kitchens than usual. The Wolverine snagged a piece of ham on his claw and dropped it into his mouth.
"Logan, it's called a fork," said Frodo, brandishing the said piece of cutlery. "I think they thought you were punished enough when you fell out of that tree."
"Stupid tree," grumbled Logan. "I swear, it was deliberately making my life miserable."
"Logan, it's a tree," said Merry. "It probably doesn't hate you more than it hates anyone else."
"It still hates me," insisted Logan.
There was a knock on the door. "Can we come in?" came Gandalf's voice.
"Door's not locked, Gandalf!" called Bilbo. "Come, join us for some tea. The seedcake's all gone, but there is still plenty of food left—Peregrin Took, you ruffian, that was my sugar bun!"
They heard the wizard chuckling as he opened the door. Strider was right behind him; it was not often that the ranger joined them for afternoon tea, and it was a pleasant surprise. Everyone was glad to see the two of them. Gandalf accepted a cup of tea, but declined the offers of biscuits and sandwiches. "I've only just had lunch," he said.
"I don't understand how you Big Folk eat so little," said Pippin after the ranger also said that he was too full from lunch. "I mean, apart from Logan, that is. He's normal."
"Oh, Pippin, if only you can see the irony in that statement," said Merry.
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Pippin.
"I have no idea," said Logan. "Care to explain, Merry?"
"Out of all people, you say that the one with claws is normal," said Merry. "Isn't that ironic?"
"Yeah, but he still eats decently," said Pippin. "I say that makes him almost as normal as us hobbits."
"Is that a compliment?" asked Logan.
"What do you think, Gandalf?" asked Pippin, turning to the wizard. Gandalf almost choked on his tea.
"Oh no, Peregrin Took," he said. "I am not going to embroil myself in another debate with you. I came to tell you that Frodo will have eight companions, and that we have already chosen six of them."
"Am I in?" asked Logan.
"No, Master Logan," said Gandalf. "You are not part of what is to be the Fellowship of the Ring, for various reasons."
"Tell me just one," said the Wolverine, crossing his arms.
"Our mission is discreet," said Gandalf. "For all your virtues, Logan, you draw too much attention to yourself."
"It would be better for you to stay behind and prepare for the imminent war," said Strider. "Sauron will send out armies to attack the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, and we need men like you to defend them, Logan."
"Who are the others?" asked Merry.
"The Fellowship is to number nine in total," said Gandalf. "Nine walkers to counter the nine black riders. We have decided that the Fellowship should represent all the Free Peoples of Middle Earth. I am going, of course, as this is my purpose. For hobbits, we have Frodo and Sam. For the elves, the council has chosen Legolas of Mirkwood. Gimli, son of Gloin, stands for the dwarves. For men, we have Boromir of Gondor, and Aragorn here."
"Strider!" cried Frodo, beaming at the ranger. "I am glad that you are coming too!"
"As am I, Frodo," said the ranger. "It was a good arrangement, as I was about to head south anyway."
"What about the other two?" asked Logan. "I can be one of them."
"He never gives up, does he?" Gandalf said to Strider. He turned back to the mutant, who was staring at him with much expectation. "Elrond was thinking of sending two other elven lords, perhaps Glorfindel and someone else."
"I think we should go," said Pippin, grabbing Merry by the arm. "There are two of us, and Frodo needs us to look after him."
"Indeed," said Merry. "We were the ones who escorted him to Bree. You can't leave us out now."
"Besides, someone's got to keep you lot in place," said Pippin with a straight face.
"I beg your pardon?" said Gandalf. The wizard raised one bushy eyebrow. "Did I just hear you correctly, Peregrin Took?"
"I'm serious, Gandalf!" said Pippin. "I mean, with all you big people going, you're going to need some common hobbit sense to keep you in line. Isn't that right, Merry?"
"Of course," said Merry. "We Brandybucks and Tooks are famous for our common hobbit sense." Frodo spat out a mouthful of tea, and Sam choked on his sandwich as they both started sniggering. "Well, not really," Merry conceded, "but we are very good adventurers."
"Gandalf, it might not be a bad idea," said Strider thoughtfully. "It would be beneficial to our Fellowship to have people who will keep our spirits up."
"I thought that was why we chose Legolas to come with us," said Gandalf.
"Legolas' sense of humour is not to everyone's taste, Gandalf," said Strider. "You know that. Besides, even he is sombre right now."
"What about me?" demanded Logan. He extended his claws. "Hello! I'm the invincible one! You can't leave me out!"
"Logan, I already said that the council has decided that you were not coming," said Gandalf patiently. "You do not know Middle Earth well enough, and that would only make you a burden. I know you are eager to help, but you will be more useful if you remain in Rivendell and prepare for the war. Besides, if we take on Merry and Pippin, then the numbers will have been filled."
"Can't you just make it ten, and add me?" said Logan stubbornly.
"No, Logan," said Gandalf. "Nine walkers against the nine black riders. Too many would draw attention to our Fellowship, and our mission relies on its secrecy."
"We are not leaving you behind because we underestimate you, Logan," said Strider. "We are leaving you behind because this is truly a quest which is not suited to your nature. You would do better on the battlefield."
Logan stood up abruptly. He'd heard enough of all their excuses. They thought he was going to be a burden because he didn't know enough about Middle Earth. Well, he would show them. Gandalf was not going to change his mind, but neither was the Wolverine going to concede defeat. He went off to find Boromir. For his plan to work, he needed someone who knew Middle Earth relatively well, and Boromir was always helpful. It was in the man's nature.
Boromir was surprised to see Logan standing at his door. Around this time of the day, the man was usually having afternoon tea with the hobbits. "Boromir, do you have a minute?" asked Logan.
"Of course, Logan," said Boromir. "Come, come in. I am afraid I don't have any wine at the moment; I wasn't expecting visitors."
"Don't worry about it," said Logan. "So, you're going to be part of this Fellowship, eh?"
"Yes," said Boromir. "I was going to head back south anyway, and it is a good arrangement." He invited Logan to sit down. "I wish you could come with us, Logan, but Lord Elrond seems to think that you would be of more use here."
"Yeah, they told me," said Logan. "Hey, listen, I'd like to learn more about Middle Earth. Each day, I'm reminded of how little I know, and I feel like an absolute dolt."
"I would be delighted to help you, Logan," said Boromir, looking surprised. "In fact, I am honoured that you asked me, although I think Lord Aragorn or Gandalf would be much better teachers than I."
"They're too confusing for me," said Logan. "I mean, you know how they speak in riddles half the time, and are never straightforward? Just like all the other elves?"
Boromir smiled and nodded. "Indeed, I feel the same way sometimes. These elves are very learned, and I am very young compared to them. However, I believe you are many years my senior, Logan, no?"
"That makes you a lot less stuffy," said Logan. Well, Boromir was a lot less cryptic, and since they were both soldiers and men who had grown up amongst other men, they understood each other relatively well, albeit Boromir sounded like one of Arthur's knights more than a sergeant in the United States' military.
"I'm flattered," said Boromir with a laugh. "What do you wish to know?"
"Let's start with the geography, shall we?" said Logan.
"Ah, that I know," said Boromir. Soldiering had forced him to study the subject diligently, and he was extremely glad that Logan was not asking him about poetry or history. While he had studied those, he was not particularly interested in them, and many of the lessons had simply been lost over the years. After all, remembering a particular style of poetry was not going to help anyone win a battle against the forces of Mordor. "But first, let us go to the library. I will have need of maps to show you everything."
Maps lay spread out before them on the table. They were very beautiful maps too; hand-drawn, and with a lot of detail. All over the map was flowing spidery writing, although they meant as much to Logan as Egyptian hieroglyphics did. Boromir had not been entirely surprised when Logan had told him that he could not read whatever it was that they wrote with in Middle Earth, although Logan did have a suspicion that the other man simply thought he was illiterate. However, in this place, he might as well be.
"This here is Gondor," said Boromir, pointing to somewhere in the south east. "We are right on the borders of Mordor."
"Mordor's pretty well defined," commented Logan. There were mountains surrounding it completely. At least he would be able to identify that now. "Where's Rivendell?"
"Rivendell is here," said Boromir, pointing to somewhere in the middle of the great land mass that was Middle Earth. Logan forced himself to memorize every detail. If his plan was to work, then he would need to know all of this. Boromir told him of the climates of almost every place in Middle Earth. Actually, it wasn't too different from the sort of geography which Logan knew. The further south, the warmer it was. He learned approximately how long it took to go from one place to another, depending on the mode of transport. Considering his very prickly relationship with Bill the Pony and anything equine, Logan guessed that he was probably going to go everywhere by foot. The conversation soon turned to battles. Boromir briefly explained what orcs were to Logan, and by the time evening came, the two were comparing battle strategies, using paper weights to indicate platoons. Boromir particularly liked the idea of trench warfare. Snipers, however, garnered intense disapproval from the honourable man.
"I don't particularly like them either," said Logan. "I'm a close range man."
"I can see that," said Boromir. "You and I should spar together sometime, Logan."
"Oh, that would be great," said Logan. He liked sparring. It was physical, and he was good at it. "But right now, I'd love to go to dinner."
"Goodness, is that the time?" said Boromir, glancing out the window. "We should hurry, before they finish without us. I hear that there is to be a gathering in the Hall of Fire tonight."
"What's that about?" asked Logan. "Am I allowed to go?"
"Yes, everyone is invited. I believe there will be song and story-telling," said Boromir. "The music of the elves is legendary, although I have yet to hear it. I sincerely hope that they do not invite me to sing anything, even if they do think it is polite to offer such an opportunity to guests. Can you sing, Logan?"
"Me? Depends on what you consider singing. I mean, I don't know anything that's appropriate for a general audience." Well, that wasn't exactly true. He did know some pretty good songs, but he'd be damned if he had to belt out Broadway show-tunes to a bunch of elves.
"If I were younger, I would tell you to go ahead and sing them," said Boromir with a grin. "However, I am older now, and more sensible. It is not good to offend one's host."
"Can you imagine the look on Lord Elrond's face?" asked Logan with a snigger.
"No, I cannot," said Boromir, shaking his head. He was wondering just how inappropriate Logan's songs were.
"Hmm, perhaps I should go up and sing them," mused Logan, much to Boromir's horror.
The Hall of Fire looked as if it belonged in the Louvre. On every wall, there were frescoes, depicting mystical scenes. Logan was pretty certain that they were supposed to tell a story. He just wasn't certain about the storyline. On one wall, there were a series of images which merged into one another. In each panel, which was approximately five feet wide, there was a beautiful elven woman. She was dancing, always. Sometimes, there was a man in the image with her, watching her.
"It is quite amazing, is it not?" said Boromir as he came up behind Logan. He handed him a cup of mulled wine.
"Thanks," said Logan, accepting it. "I don't really know how to appreciate art, but I think this is quite beautiful, and interesting. I mean, it's like a comic book."
"What sort of book, sorry?" asked Boromir.
"Ah, basically a picture book," said Logan. He was about to explain the concept of graphic novels, but one of the elves had taken up a strange instrument which looked a little like a guitar, and had started singing. Boromir had not exaggerated when he had said that the music of the elves was legendary. Logan did not understand a single word, but he was drawn into the song anyway. The emotions in the music were so strong. He felt as if he was back at the beginning of time, watching the first flowers bloom.
'No way am I singing after listening to that,' he thought. Forget Pavarotti. This elf was the best singer he had ever heard. He found a place to sit near the hobbits, and leaned back to enjoy the song. Sam had fallen asleep, and Frodo was lazily tapping the beat with his fingers.
"Logan?" It was Strider. "I had not thought that you would come."
"I didn't think I'd like this, but I do," said Logan, indicating the singing elf, who had begun another song.
"I never took you to be an admirer of music either," said the ranger.
"You'd be surprised," said Logan. "I like a good tune as much as the next person does. It's just that my 'good tune' is not your definition of a 'good tune', most of the time."
Strider threw back his head and downed all the contents of his cup. He looked very relaxed; it probably had something to do with the wine. "I think you should sing us one before we decide whether you have an appalling taste in music or not," said the ranger.
"Uh, no thank you," said Logan. "I'm not going to make a fool of myself after listening to that. I'm not that good."
"The elves have learned not to expect perfect music from us men," said Strider. He beckoned over to one of the other elves and whispered something into his ear. The elf looked amused, and then went off to do something. The song finished, and the audience clapped appreciatively. Strider gave Logan a small push. "Go on," he said. "You're next."
"Strider! What am I supposed to sing?" said Logan.
"Just sing the first thing that comes to your mind," said the ranger. It was music. How horrifying could music be?
"You asked for it," muttered Logan. "If anything goes wrong, I'm blaming you." He wracked his brains for a song. His favourite musical came to mind. Ah well, it was Strider's fault. These elves and their guests were going to get a song about a cannibalistic killer barber who wanted to cut people's throats. He drained the wine in his cup. He was going to need it.
The elves looked at him expectantly as he stepped before them. "Uh...erm," he said. "I'm gonna sing a song from my place, and if you hate it, blame Strider. He made me do this." With that, he took a deep breath, and began.
Before the first verse was over, Elrond's glass goblet had shattered in his hand.
A/N: Logan's song is 'Epiphany' from the musical Sweeney Todd by Stephen Sondheim. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. This will be the last of the 'talkey' ones, I think. And yes, while Logan is not actually part of the Fellowship, he's not going to let himself be left out. ;) As always, suggestions and advice are most welcome.