It's an Odd Coincidence
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that you recognize; I'm just borrowing them for the purpose of this tale.
CameoCorbin: I'm glad you're enjoying the story, and thank you for your kind comments. I have not thought of sending the Fellowship into other universes, to be honest. Perhaps certain members, but not the entire Fellowship. It could be fun; I'm just not sure if I know enough about certain characters (i.e. Gandalf) to pull it off.
Smiles: I'm not going to put this story on hiatus, ever, so you don't need to worry ;). I post each week on Friday, and if I don't, it means something big has happened to either me or my computer.
Thank you to all who have reviewed.
Chapter 14: The Wolverine and the Birds
Legolas and Aragorn returned not with one bird, but two. One of those animals had been pierced by two arrows, and both had hit vital areas. "That is complete overkill," said Logan as he set down his bundle of firewood on the still slightly damp ground. He was of the opinion that he had achieved no mean feat, as there were very few trees in this place.
With Gimli's help, they had felled a few and neatly split them into logs — or splinters, in some cases. Actually, that wasn't Logan's problem, but Boromir's. He'd forgotten to sharpen his axe, and was acutely embarrassed by the negligence. "No one's perfect, y'know," Logan had said to him as he had grimaced at the messy pile. "I mean, look at me. At least you didn't sing any songs about cannibalistic barbers who wanted to cut people's throats in Rivendell."
"Aye, that's true," Gimli had said as he had tossed another piece of wood onto the growing pile. "And we'll keep this between us, won't we, lads?" Boromir had smiled sheepishly at that and thanked them. He was always so polite, no matter what.
"Perhaps you have not noticed, Master Logan," said Legolas. "Those are two arrows of different designs. One of them is mine. The other belongs to Aragorn."
"We both shot it at the same time," said the ranger. "It just burst out of the brush. I thought it was trying to attack us."
"Still, it's overkill," said Logan. He glanced over to where Frodo was, sneezing into his handkerchief yet again, and not noticing that the entire Fellowship seemed to be hiding something from him. Merry and Pippin were busy washing the mushrooms and herbs they had found, and Sam was trying to coax Frodo into drink some of the sweet tea he had brewed. "Anyway, how are we gonna cook two birds in Sam's pot?"
"We could always roast one on a spit," said Boromir, who was watching the fire.
"The fire is a little too small to have both a bird and a pot hanging over it," said Aragorn, frowning.
"You just leave it to me," said Gimli. At their looks of surprise, he simply grinned and winked. "I am a craftsman and an artisan. The culinary arts happen to be very important to all dwarves, and I have learned one or two tricks. Although, someone else will have to pluck and gut those birds, because I am going to find what I need." With that, the dwarf went off, after having borrowed a saucepan from Sam. He stopped to examine the ground every few steps, peering very closely at it.
"I think we should simply leave him to it," said Aragorn. He took one of the birds. After extracting the arrows and dousing it in hot water, he began to yank out handfuls of feathers. It was easier to do so with the skin half-cooked. A mountain of fluff grew beside his feet, and the wet feathers did not fly everywhere, which was an added advantage.
Gimli soon returned, having gathered handfuls of what looked just like mud to Logan. "You're not going to make mud cake, are you?" asked the Wolverine. "Real mud cake is made with chocolate and flour, just in case you don't know."
"I have no intention of making cake, mud or otherwise," said the dwarf. "I do not make pastries, and I do not know what chook-coal-lit is either."
"Oh, right," said Logan. "This is purely old-world, isn't it? I mean, as opposed to the New World." His questions and statements were met with blank looks. He sighed and glanced up at the sky. "All right, all right. Just ignore me. It's not as if you will ever understand this anyway."
Taking one of the plucked and gutted birds, Gimli rubbed salt and herbs into the meat before stuffing some more herbs into the cavity of the bird's body. Then, to everyone's surprise, he coated the entire thing in mud.
"What are you doing?" said Merry in alarm. His mushrooms were forgotten. Pippin took this opportunity to eat a few more before the rest went into the pot with the other bird. "We can't eat muddy pheasant!"
"Calm down, young Master Meriadoc," said the dwarf. "This isn't mud. It's clay."
"In other words, another sort of mud," said Logan.
"Not exactly," said Aragorn. "Mud is composed of many types of earth, and once dry, it easily crumbles. This is clay, which means it can be shaped, dried, fired and glazed to make—"
"Yeah, I know you can make toilet bowls out of porcelain," said Logan, rolling his eyes. "It just looks like mud, though, y'know?"
"I was merely thinking of bowls and vases," said Aragorn. "You have ceramic latrines?"
"Maybe some people have not noticed," said Legolas drily, "but we are preparing the evening meal."
"And when preparing the evening meal, one should not be discussing latrines, no matter what they are made out of," added Boromir. He was eyeing Gimli's clay ball rather dubiously. The dwarf's grin simply widened.
"Now, I'll place this in the fire, and after we finish the broth, it should be perfect," he said. He said it with such confidence that he was almost able to convince them that he was right.
The soup smelled heavenly. Elvish cooking, with all its fancy layers of taste and whatnot was all very well, but sometimes, Logan preferred rich, simple food which did not have so many tastes mingling together to confuse his taste buds. Sam's soup matched the second description. The steam curling up into the air from the bubbling pot made the Wolverine's mouth water. He felt as if he had not had proper food with salt and herbs in a long time.
Slices of mushroom floated at the top of the soup. Well, it was more of a broth than a soup, but Logan didn't care. It was good enough in his book. Even Frodo, who could not possibly smell the...concoction, looked eager to try it. In fact, the sight of the cooking food —even if Gimli's bird did not look much like food at the moment— seemed to cheer him up.
Aragorn dug into his pockets. "I found some nuts," he said as he produced some handfuls of hard closed pods. "I thought we could roast them in the cinders or something after we're finished cooking."
Merry and Pippin looked extremely happy at the prospect of being able to add hot roasted nuts to their menu. As far as they were concerned, this entire meal was their idea, and they deserved much of the credit. No one would argue with them on that count, of course.
Upon hearing the word 'nuts', Legolas and Logan glanced at each other, and then Logan started chuckling. The elven prince was trying, without much success, to hide a very wide grin. Their reaction surprised everyone else, not so much because the others did not see what was so funny, but mainly because of the fact that Legolas and Logan seemed to both understand something which they did not.
"What's this?" asked Aragorn. "Legolas and Logan are sharing a private joke?"
"You sound surprised, Aragorn," said Legolas. "Logan and I had some interesting discussions while we were out in the wilderness alone."
"Would you care to share the joke?" asked Boromir. This only caused Logan to snort, and the shaking of his shoulders became even more noticeable.
"How strong is your stomach, Lord Boromir?" asked Legolas.
"I have a strong stomach!" said Boromir indignantly. "I am a soldier!"
"This calls for another type of 'strong stomach' entirely," Legolas assured him. "I have learned many fascinating things about Logan's world, and I am not entirely sure if this is any more appropriate for dinner conversation than latrines."
"I thought you were talking about nuts," interrupted Merry. "What can be so disgusting and inappropriate about nuts?"
"You have no idea," said the elf.
"Now you've made me even more curious," said Pippin. "Come on, Legolas. Do tell. It's not fair if you know, Logan knows, and the rest of us don't."
"Afterdinner," Logan insisted in between snorts of laughter. "Legolas can tell you after dinner."
"I had no intention of sharing this piece of information," said the elf. "Since you suggested it, Master Wolverine, you may have the honour of relaying the other meanings of the word 'nuts' in your language."
'Master Wolverine'. The name, title —whatever— sounded nice to Logan's ears. It rolled off the tongue nicely too. At least, it rolled off Legolas' tongue nicely; then again, everything sounded nice when it was being said by an elf. They had pleasant melodic voices and gentle lilting accents which made them sound like they were singing even when they were cursing. All right, maybe that was an exaggeration; Glorfindel's cursing hadn't sounded much like music, unless one was into all that angry yelling which some people considered to be metal. But, if Logan had been one of those people, he would have enjoyed listening to Glorfindel curse. It was a funny image, Glorfindel as a rock star. Logan could not imagine anyone who looked less like a rock star. Greek god —or goddess, certainly, but not rock star.
"Soup's done!" called Sam, pulling Logan out of his amusing —if completely off-topic — thoughts.
It was with much trepidation that they watched Gimli use two pieces of wood to roll his 'ball of mud' out of the fire. It had been blackened beyond recognition, and the outside now had an added layer of ash. Using one of his smaller axes, the dwarf cracked open the hard clay shell as if this was a giant egg. Delicious aromas issued from within the hard baked clay. Inside was a roasted bird with shiny crispy skin the colour of mahogany. The clay had sealed the flavours within so that nothing had been lost.
"Good God," said Logan. "Who knew that muddy chicken could smell so good?" He happily accepted a juicy thigh with grease dripping from it. There was the smell of clay clinging to the meat, but it was rather pleasant. Clay, it seemed, did not smell like mud, even if it looked indistinguishable, at least to his eyes. Earth science had never interested him much; he lived on land, and that was it, as far as he was concerned.
"I have a new idea," said Gandalf. "Gimli and Sam should take turns at cooking, when we have the time to cook."
"We would, if you let us," said Pippin with his mouth full. "Gimli, this is wonderful. How did you think of it?"
"I did not think of it," said Gimli. He was glowing, partly from the fire, and partly from praise. "It is a recipe which has been passed down through generations of dwarves. We mine precious things from the earth and craft them. It is no surprise that we have also learned to cook with things taken from the ground."
"Maybe this is something which I can learn to make," said Boromir. "It is certainly very convenient fare when one is on the march."
"And no one has to wash anything," added Sam shyly. "I like that."
"That is very nice," said Pippin. "I do not like dishwashing duty. Especially not at parties."
"If you did not insist on getting up to mischief at parties," said Gandalf, "you would not have had dishwashing duty in the first place."
Frodo leaned over and murmured something into Merry's ear. The older hobbit still looked pale, and his nose was red, but his eyes were shining, and he seemed to be in a good mood after everything that the others had done to try and get him a good dinner. Merry grinned as he listened to Frodo, and then he cleared his throat.
"Our cousin would like to thank everyone for their efforts on his behalf —Frodo, did you have to make it sound so stuffy? — and secondly, he wants me to say that if you had not been caught making mischief, Pippin, you would not have had to do dishwashing duty."
"Hey! Most of the time I got caught executing your ideas!" protested Pippin. He pointed his half-eaten drumstick at Frodo.
"My plans would have been fine if you had been a little more subtle," said Frodo quietly. His sore throat and blocked nose made speaking loudly difficult. However, none could miss the mischievous tone. Perhaps there was more to this Ringbearer than they had thought.
Gandalf simply shook his head as he pulled out his pipe. "Hobbits," he muttered, and winked at those who heard him, namely Aragorn, Legolas and Logan. The hobbits would have heard him if they had not been so busy discussing their various party tricks.
"Well," said Aragorn. "I shall roast the nuts, and Logan, or Legolas, can tell us this inappropriate private joke concerning them."
"Well, not your nuts specifically," said Logan. And then he paused. "That sounded so wrong."
Apparently, Gandalf meant to take them through the Redhorn Gate —which was not a gate, but a comparatively easy to climb mountain pass— and thus cross over the snow-capped mountains which loomed on the horizon. Their peaks were mostly hidden by cloud, but on particularly clear days, such as this one, Logan could see them quite clearly, gleaming like pearly spires of a faraway mythical city in the pale sunlight. The landscape looked like a cross between Switzerland and Canada. He remembered the 'Gap of Rohan' and the 'Misty Mountains' from his geography lessons with Boromir, because unlike most other place names in Middle Earth, he could pronounce these without too much difficulty.
He was pleasantly surprised when Gandalf announced that they were in Holland. Sure, it was an old and obsolete name for the Netherlands, and 'Holland' in his world was part of what made up the 'low countries' — history lessons, like biology, could be absorbed through osmosis, at least some parts of them could. When it came to analyzing things and making arguments, he was completely lost.
This Middle Earth version of 'Holland' was, in fact, high country marked with a low ridge lined with holly bushes. A few red berries glistened amongst dark waxy leaves, but most of them were still green. It was not yet time for Christmas. That cheered him up somewhat. He was hoping that this whole business would finish by then, and like the soldiers in the First World War, he could look forward to spending Christmas at home—or in Rivendell. Did they even have Christmas in Middle Earth?
There was no sign of civilization to be seen. Of course, he was glad that the terrain was relatively flat compared to what they had been through. "This," said Gandalf, indicating the place with a wide sweep of his arm, "was once known as Eregion, and elves lived here. Those were happier days."
"They were indeed," said Gimli. "My forefathers worked there, in those mountains. Beneath them lie the legendary halls of Dwarrowdelf —Khazad Dûm, in my tongue. My cousin went there nigh on thirty years ago in hopes of reclaiming them."
"And?" asked Logan.
"I have not heard from him," said Gimli gravely.
"Oh," said Logan. He glanced around. Apart from them, and a few birds, there was no sign of life. Well, animal life. "I guess the postal service around here isn't all that efficient." That must have been the wrong thing to say, for Gimli gave him a dark look and then marched on ahead to speak with the wizard.
"It is no laughing matter," Aragorn murmured to the Wolverine, having heard the exchange between him and Gimli.
"Right," said Logan. "No jokes about dwarves and Drarrow—Dwawwoe—Drawwoe—that underground place. Geez, why does every name have to be a tongue twister?"
"Why do you insist on saying the wrong things at the wrong time?" asked Aragorn.
"I don't insist on doing it," said Logan. "I just do. Anyway, double negatives cancel each other out, so the wrong place at the wrong time would mean right place and right time."
"Two wrongs do not make a right," said Aragorn.
"But a negative number multiplied by another negative number makes a positive number," said Logan. The ranger gave up on trying to reason with Logan. The only thing he was achieving was making Legolas laugh so much that that the elf's shoulders were shaking. Silently, of course; Legolas was too subtle to laugh out loud.
"So," said Logan. "Why are all the names tongue twisters?"
"They just are, Logan," said Aragorn. "It's just the way things are, like the way the sun always sets in the west."
Gandalf was still outlining the path he meant for them to take. It involved a lot of flowery names like the 'Silver Load' and the Secret Wood which sounded as if they belonged in a fairytale. 'You are in a fairytale,' Logan told himself. 'You've made friends with elves and wizards and hobbits and dwarves; you're on a quest to save the world from some evil demon or something. It doesn't get more like a fairytale than that.'
"And then where to?" Merry was asking.
"And then...to the end," said Gandalf. He seemed hesitant. "The end of the journey." At the mention of their final destination, silence fell upon the company. They seemed to dread the thought. Gandalf didn't even say the name of the place.
"It's called 'More Doors', right?" ventured Logan.
"Elbereth!" said Legolas. "I pray to the Valar that there is only one of them. And I am certain that there is only one."
"Let us not think so far ahead," said Gandalf, "This is a wholesome land, for elves once lived here. Rest, and be glad that the first stage of our journey is over."
"How many stages are there?" asked Logan. A glower from Gandalf made him realize that, once again, he had said the wrong thing. The hobbits were absolutely exhausted, and they looked as if they did not want to know right now.
"I am not familiar with the elves who once lived here," said Legolas hurriedly, in order to distract them all. "The trees and grass do not remember them. Only the stones mourn their passing." To the others, it seemed to have some meaning. Logan, however, barely held back a snort of laughter.
"Are you high, Legolas?" he asked.
"I am not certain what that means," said the elf slowly. "Why do you ask?"
"You're talking to plants and rocks. Something must have short-circuited or...something. Right, no 'circuits' in Middle Earth, eh? But come on, you must know what a high is. I mean, you have coffee!"
Merry and Pippin glanced at each other as the Wolverine continued to ramble on. "Grammatically speaking, he's making sense," said Merry, "but I have no idea what he is saying."
"I think there's something wrong with Logan's head," remarked Pippin.
"Maybe he just needs some coffee," said Merry. "He did seem rather partial to it in Rivendell, and when he didn't get his morning cup, he would always seem a little out of sorts. Either way, it is amusing to watch. I don't think I've seen old Gandalf so confused before. If only we could draw him very quickly and then show him the picture later."
Logan opened one eye. It was still relatively early, and certainly no one was trying to make him get up. In fact, he could hear snores from many of his companions. Only two other people were awake. Strider and Sam were sitting with their backs to the rest of them, talking quietly. The ranger was smoking a pipe and looking into the distance. Logan turned as quietly as he could. His side was getting numb. As he moved, he caught sight of Legolas, who was lying on the ground with his hands crossed on his chest, and his eyes... Logan leapt up. "Holy shit!" he shouted. His claws erupted from between his knuckles.
At once, everyone sat upright, or scrambled to their feet, including Legolas, who had looked dead only moments ago. "What is it?" demanded Boromir, looking around frantically in an attempt to see the threat.
"Uh...I'm confused," said Logan. His claws slowly retracted.
"You woke us all up simply because you were confused?" said Aragorn. "Not to mention you also claimed that excrement was sacred in some way."
"It's not my fault!" said Logan, now pointing at an equally confused Legolas. "I thought someone had killed him in his sleep!"
"Oh," said Boromir. "Why would you think that?"
"His eyes were open, and he was lying as still as a corpse!"
"His eyes were open?" said Pippin.
"That's what Logan said," said Merry.
"Perhaps I should explain this before Logan can claim that some other vile thing is sacred," said Gandalf. Now that he knew there was no immediate threat, the old wizard looked rather amused with the whole situation. "Elves sleep with their eyes open when they are healthy. When you see an elf sleeping with his eyes closed, then he must be gravely wounded or afflicted with poison."
"That's helpful," said Logan. He pressed his lips together. Why couldn't they tell him these things before he embarrassed himself?
"We all react the same way when we first see an elf sleeping," said Aragorn, "if that is any consolation. Although, I must say that I doubt anyone has ever claimed that excrement was holy."
"That's just a phrase!" said Logan. "I know that shit isn't really holy, unless you're a dung beetle. It's like...it's like saying 'holy mackerel', 'cept I'm not British, so it just sounds weird."
"I guess mackerels are not as vile as excrement," said Boromir. "But I would not say they are holy either."
"The point is that they're not," said Logan. Maybe he should just quit using slang altogether while he was with these people. He hated having to translate his own sentences. "Look, we're just a weird bunch of people with weird phrases and words, okay? Just...forget it. It's too early in the morning."
"I don't think I can go back to sleep after that," said Pippin. His stomach growled, as if in agreement. "Besides, I'm hungry. Since it's so early, there should be time for breakfast, right?"
"I'll get the sausages," said Sam. "There are a few left."
"I don't suppose there will be time to search for birds' eggs?" said Merry hopefully.
"No, there definitely will not be," said Gandalf. "Sausages will be more than adequate, Meriadoc. If not for Logan's timely, if shocking, wake up call, you would be eating dried fruit for breakfast."
"I don't mind dried fruit," said Pippin, "but it gets boring after a few days of the same fare."
Soon they had a fire going. The day looked as if it was going to be grey and overcast again, possibly even with some drizzle. However, the prospect of sausages seemed to cheer up the hobbits, and their good mood seemed to affect everyone, possibly with the exception of Legolas, whose brow seemed to be perpetually furrowed this morning.
The elf had spoken to no one after that conversation about the way elves slept, and he kept on peering into the distance with narrowed eyes. His body was as taut as a drawn bow. He seemed ready to pounce, although no one could tell what was bothering him, and he was certainly not telling them. Logan had been about to ask the elf, but Aragorn had stopped him. "When Legolas is worried, he usually has his reasons," the ranger had said. "Legolas might not be a seer, but sometimes, he can sense that things are about to happen, even if he doesn't know what."
"You mean he's a watered down version of a fortune teller?" said Logan.
"Seers are not the same as fortune tellers," said Aragorn. "I have met both types of people, and they are vastly different. Seers have the gift of foresight, and they get visions when they do not expect them, or do not want them. Fortune tellers, on the other hand, are notoriously unreliable, and will tell all sorts of lies for a bit of coin. One tried to read my palm."
"Is that right?" said Logan, now completely distracted. "What did you do?"
Aragorn sat down and withdrew an apple from his pocket. "Let's just say that I discouraged her from doing so," he said as he began polishing the fruit on his tunic. Logan wondered which direction the germ transfer was in. If his nose was correct, then this was the same tunic the ranger had been wearing for the past two weeks. Of course, they could not afford to be too particular about laundry right now, but Logan certainly would not polish his apple on that tunic.
"Weren't you even a little bit curious?" he asked the ranger. What Strider did with his apple was his business.
"Why would I be curious when I knew that she would lie to me? I have had my future laid out before me ever since I was born. There can only be two outcomes."
Logan was about to ask what the outcomes were when he was distracted by the sound of metal striking metal. Automatically, he extended his claws, thinking that there was a fight. Instead, he turned to see that Boromir engaging Merry and Pippin in a mock battle to pass time while they waited for the sausages to cook. "Ugh," he muttered as he retracted his claws for the second time that morning without using them. "I'm getting paranoid."
"I suppose you do not want to explain the meaning of that word either?" said Aragorn.
"Definitely not, but I'll just say you're all paranoid," said Logan. He turned his attention to the two younger hobbits. They were going to need whatever Boromir was teaching them today. Pippin was slightly more agile than his cousin, but that could be attributed to the fact that he was slightly more light-hearted than the already light-hearted Merry, and he was simply lighter in build. Merry seemed to know the importance of the sword lessons, and sometimes, he thought too much about his moves, instead of simply letting his body respond. However, for first timers, they definitely weren't bad. They were better with swords than Marie was with a plane anyway.
Speaking of Marie, he wondered how she was doing now that he was not there to watch her. He'd been the mutant who'd taken her under his wing when she had been lost and frightened. Over the years, he had taken on the role of her guardian, if not her mentor. He had she reacted to the news of his disappearance? In fact, how were Storm and everyone else holding up? He wished he could know, but alas, there was no form of communicative technology which could let him contact people in what was possibly another dimension.
A yelp from Pippin brought him back to the present. He sniffed. Blood. Whoops; Boromir had been a little too optimistic about his pupil's progress. What had been an orderly mock swordfight turned into a wrestling match, with the two hobbits bringing down Boromir, although Logan was pretty certain that Boromir had let them do that on purpose. He was a big man, after all—not as big and heavy as Logan, certainly, but he probably weighed more than the two hobbits put together. At least, that was Logan's guess. Math had never been one of his strengths. All those numbers and symbols made him dizzy. Why did it have to be mostly in damn Greek anyway? As if learning one set of alphabet was not enough.
"Come on, Pippin!" called out Logan. "I mean, you don't have any cheerleaders, but we'll just have to make do in the wilderness."
"I think I shall just pretend to understand you and not respond," said Aragorn. He got up, still chewing on his apple. "All right, gentlemen, that's enough of rolling in the dirt. There are sausages that need eating."
Oddly enough, the promise of sausages did not seem to be enough to entice the two young hobbits. Instead of getting off Boromir, as Aragorn had thought they would, they simply reached out and pulled out his legs from under him. Caught off guard by this most unexpected move, Aragorn lost his balance and fell onto his back. The impact of the rough landing drove the breath from his lungs. Logan cheered the hobbits on. At last, a fun morning! Well, fun for most of them. Legolas was still standing on that rock, peering into the distance and trying his best to look like Robin Hood. It was not as if there was anything to see. The only thing in the distance was a dark cloud, which was not surprising, as the entire day was grey and overcast. Surely a little rain was not enough to make the sarcastic elf silent and sullen?
"What sorcery is that?" asked Gimli, who also seemed to think that the dark cloud was more than just a cloud.
"A rain cloud, perhaps?" said Logan. "Maybe a bit of thunder and lightning?"
"It is an unusually dark cloud," said Boromir, "and it is moving against the wind."
"I do not think that is a cloud, Logan," said Aragorn.
"Wait...now that you say it," said Logan. "A mini-hurricane?"
"It is not the weather, Logan," called Legolas. The elf did not bother turning around. "Those are crebain!"
"Hide!" shouted Aragorn. "Douse the fire! Scatter the ashes! Sam, hide Bill! Logan, cover the packs and then get behind something!"
"What the hell is crab wine?" demanded the Wolverine. However, he did as the ranger asked him. After all, the man had given him no reason not to trust him. Having dragged a couple of branches from nearby thorn bushes over the bags, he wedged himself into a cramped space between two rocks just as a flock of cawing dark birds flew overhead. There were so many of them that the flapping of their wings was just a thrum in the background. Logan had seen crows before, and he had to say that these were abnormally large crows. Perhaps mutant crows?
The birds circled above them a few times, as if they were looking for something. It was odd behaviour. Perhaps they had seen the sausages and they wanted a free meal. That was the only explanation Logan could think of. Either way, he was quite certain that they were all overreacting. The Wolverine did not hide from bloody birds!
The creatures left after what seemed like a tediously long time. No one came out of their hiding places until it was absolutely certain that the birds were gone. "Can someone please explain to me why we were hiding from mutant crows?" demanded Logan.
"Those are not crows, Logan, no matter how much they resemble those birds," said Gandalf. "Those crebain are the spies of Saruman —the bad wizard, to put it simply."
"What is this Sah-roo-Mahn?" said Logan, scoffing. "Doctor Doolittle? They're birds, for God's sake! Are they gonna say, 'they're here, master. Polly wants a cracker'?"
"This is serious, Logan," said Aragorn. "Those birds are not natural. This route is being watched."
"By the Feathered Bureau of Intelligence?" said Logan.
"Suffice to say that we cannot remain here," said Gandalf. "We must hurry. I intend to reach the Pass of Caradhras by tomorrow afternoon." At that, everyone stilled, and Boromir let out a sigh.
"Caradhras is cruel and treacherous," he said. "I do not think it is the best course of action."
"What's the Pass of Carrot Dress?" said Logan. "If you tell me we're going to have to dress up in bright orange frocks, I am going to kill someone."
"Thank the Valar we are not dressing up in bright orange frocks, then," said Legolas, managing to keep his face and tone serious. "Now that you put it that way, Caradhras seems to be the more pleasant option. What do the rest of you say?"
"I wouldn't know about that, Son of Thranduil," said Gimli with a grin. Perhaps it was not the most sensible thing to do, but the rest of the Fellowship seemed to need cheering up, and he did enjoy making fun of the elf. "I would pay your weight in gold to see you in an orange frock."
"But would youdress up in an orange frock just to see Legolas in an orange frock, Gimli?" asked Pippin in all innocence. Only the mischievous gleam in his eye gave him away.
"Enough about orange frocks!" said Gandalf in exasperation. "There will be no orange frocks, or frocks of any sort! There are no lasses in this company. I should hope not, anyway."
"An orange frock might be an improvement on Gandalf's grey tent," said Merry with a shrug.
"We shall never know until we test it," said Frodo. He had to admit that he was terrified about the prospect of climbing that steep snow-covered mountain, but he was glad that he had these people to support him. Somehow, even during the direst of circumstances, they could still manage to jest and make everyone laugh, or at least grin. Everything seemed easier to bear when one was laughing.
A/N: Gimli's recipe is an actual Chinese recipe. Translated, it's called 'Beggar's Chicken' because apparently, beggars used to cook their stolen chickens like that. Traditionally, the bird is only cooked with salt, as beggars in China did not have access to herbs (herbs don't grow well in China's soil, which has high clay content). I've never tasted 'Beggar's Chicken', and I don't think one can recreate this recipe using an oven. Best not to try, anyway, just in case the clay shell explodes or something just as disastrous happens.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter.