It's an Odd Coincidence

Anon: Don't get me wrong, I love Logan's character, and I think he's got a really vivid and strong personality. However, he also comes across as quite sarcastic and reckless in the movies, and not the most social person, at least to me, so I guess that's how I end up writing him. Thank you for the review.

Chapter 29: Home of the Horselords

It was one of those rare occasions when the Wolverine completely lost the ability to find words to express himself, whether they were right or wrong. He could only gape at the wizard before him, not comprehending how this had come about. People did not come back from the dead, unless you were one of those who believed in God, which he wasn't. Apparently, things didn't work the same way in Middle Earth, and science definitely had no place here. He had seen Gandalf with the thong of a fiery whip wrapped around his ankle. And yet, the wizard was here in this goddamned forest, talking to them. Just as well he wasn't the only one who was shocked out of all coherence. Boromir was also staring, although he was well-mannered enough not to let his mouth hang open. Gimli was stuttering, trying to ask a question, and failing. Even Aragorn looked as if he could not believe what he was seeing. And Victor...well, he looked as if he had seen a ghost from the past, and who could blame him? Essentially, if Logan guessed correctly, Gandalf looked like Magneto dressing up as Saruman right now. Not exactly a pleasant image for someone who'd served both those men...uh...people. Things.

"You need not worry about Merry and Pippin," Gandalf was saying, "for they are safe now. I left them in the hands of a trusted friend of mine."

"Are they well?" asked Aragorn.

"Undoubtedly," replied the wizard. "Pippin was complaining of hunger the last time I saw him. No doubt Treebeard would have fed him something by now." He shook his head. "Hobbits are such resilient creatures, although they might not look it. Most would not have survived so well as captives of the orcs."

"They risked much to aid us in our search," said Aragorn. He pulled out the brooch which one of the hobbits had dropped some distance from the track of the orcs. The bright green and silver of the ornament glinted like a star in his grimy hand. "This sign from them gave us the hope to continue, or else I doubt we would have come this far."

"Aw, come on," said Logan, who had finally recovered his voice. "Don't be that harsh on us. I don't think we would have given up that easily."

"I am sure that you would not have," Gandalf said, placating the dissatisfied Wolverine. "Come, come. Sit down and tell me of all that has transpired. Galadriel told me a little when Gwaihir brought me to Lothlorien, but I was in a hurry to find you, and could not tarry for long." He led them over to where there were a few fallen logs and a patch of sky. It could hardly be called a clearing, but the trees were a little sparser here, and Logan was glad, for he felt as if he could breathe a little easier. Still, he opted to sit on one of the rocks sticking out of the ground instead of on the trunk of a dead tree, just in case these murderous organisms took offence to him planting his arse on one of their old friends'...erm...remains.

"Who's 'Gray Hair'?" asked the Wolverine.

"Gwaihir, Master Logan, not 'Gray Hair'," said Gandalf. "I see you are still mishearing things. Gwaihir has no hair, for he is an eagle."

"A bird took you to Lothlorien after you fell down a hole in a cave?"

"Chasm, Logan," said Gimli. "Chasm. Khazad-dum is hardly just a hole, and Moria is no mere cave. But, pray tell, how did you escape from Durin's Bane, Gandalf?"

"Escape?" said the wizard. His eyebrows drew together as he frowned. "I did no such thing. Do you think so little of me that you believe I would run? No, do not concern yourself, Gimli. I was merely teasing you. But no, I did not escape. I fought the Balrog of Morgoth, from the lowest plains to the highest peaks. It was a difficult fight, and many times, I had feared that I would perish before I could claim victory. However, you will be pleased to know that I did finally vanquish my foe. There, too weak to move, my spirit strayed. Then it returned, and I found myself completely naked and lying in the snow. Gwaihir found me and brought me to the Golden Wood, where the Lady herself clothed me in these robes of the White."

"It looks nicer on you than the grey did," said Logan. "It's a little less frumpy."

"Yes, they are pleasant on the eye, aren't they?" said the wizard. "However, that is not the most important part, Logan, for these new robes signify my new status."

"As what?"

"As the one who has replaced Saruman as the White Wizard," said Gandalf. "My goodness, has no one taken it upon himself to teach you something during my absence?"

"That's not true," said Aragorn. "We taught him how to bow."

"And we taught him some courting rituals," said Boromir. "Of course, not very many of us can be called experienced when it comes to that aspect of life, so I do not know how successful we were."

"Ah yes," said Gandalf. "I did hear about that. Never in my dreams had I thought that you would claim the heart of an elf-maid, Master Wolverine."

Logan had not thought it possible, but he felt heat spreading from his face to his ears. It was most unnerving to be discussing personal matters with a wizard of all people, especially one who looked like Magneto. However, he wasn't given any time to be embarrassed, for the wizard's attention had turned to the newest addition —unwelcome addition— to their company. "And who is this?" he asked. The others all turned to look at Logan.

"Er...my brother, apparently," said the Wolverine. "Gandalf, this is Victor...Victor what?"

"Victor Creed," said the Sabretooth. "I am your half-brother, Jimmy."

"That would be why you can't see any family resemblance between us, and I'm not Jimmy anymore, so don't you dare call me that," added Logan, turning back to Gandalf and ignoring the wizard's raised eyebrow. He would never admit that he and Victor had their similarities, not even if his life depended on it. "Apparently, he's been in Middle Earth longer than I have, and he worked for the guy you're here to replace. He's also worked for that other guy who looks just like you, Gandalf, and wants to take over the world, so I wouldn't trust him if I were you."

Victor growled deep down in his throat and took a swipe at his younger brother, who nimbly ducked and extended his claws.

"What's that?" said Gimli, just as the two antagonistic brothers were about to determine who was the top predator. Everyone turned to look in the direction Gimli was pointing to. All they could see were trees.

"What?" said Logan, confused.

"A distraction," said the dwarf. The revelation shocked them so much that they could only stare at Gimli for a few moments. He had a very distinct sense of humour, yes, but it wasn't like the dwarf to play a prank on anyone, not even such a minor one. However, when Logan had digested the information, he realized that Gimli had not been playing a prank. "We can't fight amongst ourselves, and you know it." Even the luxuriant red beard could not disguise the scowl on the dwarf's face. "The enemy is on our doorstep, and if you two kill each other, then that would be two less warriors to fight him."

"It would only be one," muttered Logan. "It's not like he can kill me. Anyway, there usually is a winner in a normal fight. This ain't Hollywood, where two people can kill each other at the same time. Uh...no, Hollywood is not a wood, and it isn't all that interesting, unless you like lots of flashing lights."

"I am glad to know that you can still confuse me, Master Logan," said Gandalf. He looked entirely serious, except for his twinkling eyes. "At least things have not changed too much."

"You haven't really been gone for that long," said Logan. "And you might want to know that you still confuse me. Why did you run last night? Aragorn invited you to sit by our fire."

"Run? I did no such thing," said Gandalf. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, I saw you, although...that wasn't you, was it? You smell different."

"Indeed, I was nowhere near you last night." The wizard was frowning. "The only members of your company I saw were your horses, so no, that was not me."

"Then it could only have been Saruman," said Aragorn quietly. His worry was evident; he wasn't the only one. The entire company was wondering what could have happened had the wayward wizard attempted to harm them. Would they have been able to harm him? Logan thought not. Wizards were wizards, after all; who knew what they could do with their superpowers? Most mutants only had one power. There seemed to be no limit to a wizard's powers.

"Then he must have taken our horses," said Legolas.

"No, that he did not," said Gandalf. "Your steeds are fine."

"You mean I'm gonna have to ride again?" said Logan. He didn't like the sound of getting back in the saddle. It was one of the most uncomfortable seats he'd ever sat in, and that was saying a lot. And the nag was one hell of a customer­—ride. It never listened to him. He could tug on the reins all he wanted, but it would still go wherever it desired, completely ignoring his commands or attempting to toss him off.

"Logan, you cannot possibly travel to Edoras on foot, can you?" said Gandalf with much amusement. "I am surprised that you, a soldier, did not ride into battle. Yes, Galadriel has told me some of your past. You need not be alarmed."

"How come everyone knows about me except me?" said Logan.

"Not everyone," said Boromir. "I, for one, do not know much about you."

"In fact, only three people know about your past, as far as I know," said Legolas. "Not counting you, that is, since you do not seem to understand it very much."

"You try losing your memory and see how much you understand," said Logan. "It ain't all that easy, all right?"

"I will have to take your word for it," said the elf in all seriousness. "I have no desire to experience what you are feeling now, and I have a lot more memories to lose."

"At least you are remembering something," said Boromir. "That is better than nothing."

"But why can't they just tell me if they know everything?" asked the Wolverine.

"Because the mind is not a box—" began Gandalf.

"Yeah, yeah," said Logan. "The mind is not a box to be opened and closed at will. I've heard that one before. Look, it's my mind, and I really don't mind if you tell me what's in it."

"To be quite honest with you, Lady Galadriel did not tell me very much at all," said Gandalf. "She said to let you recover your memories in your own time, and I agreed with her. It would be much more understandable, and less shocking, I would think. Have some patience, Master Logan. All will return in time."

"Exactly how much time are we talking about?" demanded Logan. "Because I'm tellin' you, I don't have that much time."

"I thought that being immortal, you had eternity," said Aragorn. "That is quite a lot of time."

"Fine! But I'd hate to wait that long," said Logan.

"I doubt it would take that much time," said Gandalf. "You have less than two centuries to remember. Compared to my advanced years, that is but a moment."

"Why is everyone rubbing their age in my face?" said Logan. "I know you're all ancient, all right?"

"I take offence to that," said Legolas. "Amongst my people, I am considered young."

"Then perhaps you should stop calling us children," said Aragorn.

"But you are children," said Legolas. "I cannot help it if that is the truth."

"I swear," muttered Logan. "One day, I am going to end up doing something to that elf that we'll both regret."

"I'll hold you to that, laddie," said Gimli. "But save it for after the war, when we will have the time to appreciate your brilliance."

"You mean you don't appreciate my brilliance at the moment?"


As they emerged from the forest, Logan was forced to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. The clouds had dissipated while they had been in Fangorn, and although it was far from warm, the sunlight did something to alleviate the sense of doom which they had all begun to feel. Or perhaps that was just Gandalf's presence, and the knowledge that Merry and Pippin were hale and safe. At any rate, he was in a much better mood than when he had gone into the forest, and he might even be able to be friendly to his horse, if he could find the old nag, that was.

Gandalf gave a shrill whistle, and a whinny answered him. Logan heard the hooves of the horses as they galloped over from behind a hillock, where they had been grazing, presumably. In the lead was a white stallion with powerful long legs and a proud sledge-shaped head. His ears were pricked, and Logan got the sense that he was in the presence of equine royalty. The other five horses were behind him; submissive subjects.

The lead stallion trotted over to Gandalf and butted him affectionately. In return, the wizard patted his neck, almost like the way a soldier would clap another soldier on the shoulder. "This is Shadowfax, the chief of his kind," he said. "Your horses smelled him, and in their eagerness to greet him, they pulled out their tethers."

"So...this would be a horselord?" said Logan, eyeing Shadowfax with some degree of incredulity. How could a horse be so white? It wasn't natural. Horses were supposed to always have a bit of grey on them, unless they were albinos, and Shadowfax obviously was not.

"No, Shadowfax is one of the Maeras," said Gandalf. "The term 'horselord' refers to the Rohirrim. It would be advisable not to mix up horses and horselords."

"If someone had bothered to explain the difference, I wouldn't have made the mix-up in the first place," said Logan. He caught his horse's trailing reins. The animal snorted and tried to sidestep away from him. "Look, buddy," said the Wolverine. "I don't like this any more than you do, but we're stuck with each other so we might as well accept that fact and go with it until I can get rid of you and you can go back to your grass or whatever."

The horse squealed in response, as if he understood Logan perfectly and didn't like what he was hearing. Of course, if he had been able to understand the Wolverine, he really wouldn't have liked it. Logan put his foot in the stirrup and hauled himself into the saddle. He was quite proud of himself for not forgetting the reins, actually. Maybe he was making some progress with this riding business after all.

His horse tossed his head, pulling at the bit. In return, Logan tugged at the reins. The last thing he needed was for the infernal animal to run off, or roll, or scrape him off with a low-hanging branch. The possibilities were endless. "Whoa!" he said, although he felt more like swearing at the moment. However, he had been told that these horses didn't recognize profanities, and therefore that wouldn't have done him any actual good, although it might have made him feel better.


The plains of Rohan seemed endless. Logan didn't know how long he'd been bouncing in the saddle for ­—neither him nor his horse was enjoying this— but they just didn't seem to be going anywhere. Gandalf, riding bareback on 'Shadowfax' was at the front of the company, as was to be expected. The wizard had always led them, and just because he was now a 'White Wizard' didn't mean that was going to change. Behind him was Legolas, on his small but fiery stallion, with Gimli clinging on for dear life behind him. Well, at least Logan wasn't the only one having trouble with large herbivores. Aragorn was just behind the elf and the dwarf. Victor, as usual, had isolated himself from the rest of the company. The Wolverine wasn't sure if it was because they were hostile to him, or because he was hostile to them. Frankly, he didn't really care.

Logan, of course, was 'bringing up the rear'. With that nag being so uncooperative, where else would he be?


Edoras. Gandalf had said it was a city, but all Logan could see was a little settlement at the top of a hill, surrounded by a wooden palisade made of raw logs. The tops of them had been sharpened to add to the defence, but overall, it looked extremely vulnerable. Any mutant worth his salt could tear that apart, and if it was Pyro...well, that kid did love to throw fire around.

In contrast, proud gold and green banners flew in the wind. If anyone hadn't guessed what Rohan's favourite animal was by then, they had no excuse to remain ignorant of that fact any longer. The standards bore horses; proud, prancing, with arched necks and manes flying in behind them. For Logan, it was like stepping into a museum exhibit. While both Bree and Edoras were built by humans, they might as well have been built by different species. Despite the complete lack of impressive architectural structures, there was something very aesthetic about the way the city had been built. In particular, the large building at the very top of the hill with the thatched roof caught his eye. This was juxtaposition, and he wasn't sure if it had been done for the sheer effect. The exterior decoration told him that important things went on in there, and yet, no one had bothered to make tiles. No one seemed to think there was anything wrong with it. If this had happened to the White House or Buckingham Palace, people would have been gawking.

As they approached the city, they saw grassy mounds covered with small white flowers. The mounds were all too uniform in shape and size to be the result of natural processes, but Logan had no idea what they were. His knowledge of medieval customs was hazy, and even if he had been a bit more informed, he had no way of confirming that people in Middle Earth had exactly the same traditions as, say, medieval Rome.

Soldiers in full armour stood at the gate, which was a wooden arch, essentially. Even though the concept of plated armour was no longer alien to him, Logan still marvelled at the way they could move as if they weren't wearing sheets of metal on their bodies. The guards let the travellers pass without much question, although that might have something to do with the fact they seemed to recognize Gandalf, and maybe Boromir too. The old wizard had covered his new robes with a grey cloak. His elevated rank seemed to be a secret, and Logan had one or two ideas about why that might be. Along the way, the wizard had explained something about Saruman possessing the king's body. That in itself didn't seem to odd to Logan. Charles Xavier had been known to control the minds of others, although he had only done it when there had been no other choice. Saruman, it seemed, did not share the same morals as the mutant who had helped Logan so much.

As they rode into the city, the Wolverine could not help but stare at the state of the houses and the streets. The decay was not evident from afar, but upon close inspection, Edoras looked a bit like a village in a third world country which had seen better days. Actually, this could have been exactly the case. If an evil wizard had taken over the mind of the king, then who knew what Saruman could have done to this place?

The cobbled streets were in much need of repair. Rundown houses with thatched roofs were scattered all over the hilltop, and there were a couple of stables built of stone. As Logan rode through the city —and tried to keep his horse from wandering off in search of the nearest manger or water trough— he noticed that life here seemed to have stagnated. Where was the vivacity which ought to be in a city? This felt like London after the Blitz... where had that comparison come from?

Children with gaunt faces and sad eyes which belonged to people much older than them watched the travellers as they passed by. Although it was chilly —and if the Wolverine could feel it, then it was serious; he was Canadian, after all— some of them wore no shoes, and their clothes were so threadbare that Logan doubted they were very warm. Some of them had wrapped rags around their feet to stave off the cold. He heard the wailing of babies. The ones he could see had thick mucus running from their noses. Their eyes, which ought to have been full of cheer and curiosity, were empty with hunger. More often than not, these children were being looked after by other slightly older children. There were a few women —even thinner than the children­— and they also had the same empty expression in their eyes, as if they feared to feel emotion. Adult men, apart from the few soldiers, were very scarce indeed. Many of their menfolk had gone off to battle and never returned. They had wept so much that there were no more tears to be shed.

No one in the company said anything. Then again, they didn't need to, for they could easily imagine for themselves just how badly off the people of Edoras were. Logan desperately wanted to help, but he had no idea where to start. All right, he did have some idea, but he knew next to nothing about politics and magic... or whatever they called it here. That was more Gandalf's specialty, and maybe Legolas', and Boromir's... Heck, compared to him, even Victor would be an expert on Middle Earth's affairs.

They pulled to a stop just before the stone steps of the —great hall? Palace? Parliament? Senate? Well, he guessed it was some sort of big administrative hub, considering how many guards were stationed all around it. And for a building with a thatched roof, it did look quite impressive, at least now that he was standing right in front of it.

"Be very careful what you say in there," Gandalf murmured. "We are probably not welcome." The message was intended for all of them, but Logan had a feeling that it concerned him more than anyone else. However, he also felt that the wizard was overreacting. He knew not to speak in such a hostile situation; his claws would be more than adequate if he needed to express his opinions. Wait...maybe that suggestion applied to Victor too. He wasn't that talkative, but when he did talk, he had a barbed tongue and perfect aim, at least where Logan was concerned.

A contingent of guards stopped them at the doors, which looked like they ought to be in a museum. The wood was so old that the surface had been polished smooth by the thousands of hands which must have touched it over the years. The captain of the guard said something to Gandalf in yet another strange language. He sounded almost apologetic, and more than just a little embarrassed. The wizard replied in the same language. It sounded as if he was agreeing with whatever the man had just said. Logan felt a little uncomfortable about all of this; once again, he had no idea what was going on. He glanced around. Apart from Aragorn, no one else seemed to know what was happening either. For the first time he could remember, even Legolas looked mystified.

"I heard something about weapons," Boromir murmured into the Wolverine's ear. "However, they were speaking too quickly, and I am afraid I am not skilled enough in the tongue of the Riddermark to decipher the entire meaning."

"They want us to disarm," whispered Aragorn. "Grima Wormtongue is not amenable to the idea of having so many armed strangers inside the Hall of Meduseld, although it is King Théoden who has issued the order."

Logan raised an eyebrow. How was he supposed to properly disarm? It wasn't as if he could remove his claws. He could keep them hidden, but they would always be a part of him. However, he remained silent, as he didn't want to be kept outside while everyone else went in. What the guards didn't know wouldn't hurt them, and he didn't actually intend on using his claws anyway. Usually, adamantium enforced fists were good enough to crack most skulls. He didn't expect to find orcs or wargs in there.

Legolas was the first to hand over his weapons, after the wizard of course. He gave his quiver, bow and long white knives to the guardsman. "Take good care of these," he said, "for they are gifts from the Lady of the Golden Wood." The man took them as if they were made of glass and then hastily but gently set them down.

"You have my word that no one will touch them whilst my men and I are here to guard them," he said.

Logan handed over his sword —he hadn't even used it— while Victor waggled his gloved hands at the guards to show that he was 'unarmed'. Of course, the gloves hid the only weapons the Sabretooth would ever need in a close-range skirmish, just as Logan's skin hid his main weapons. At least they wouldn't be completely defenceless, although the Wolverine had a feeling that all hell would break loose should they actually use their claws. Then again, Victor probably would enjoy that. Boromir also handed over his sword and shield. That left Gimli and, surprisingly, Aragorn.

The ranger fingered his sword, but he made no move to take it off. "I am reluctant to give Anduril into the hands of any other man," he said.

"Yet, it is King Théoden's wish," said the captain of the guards.

"Although Théoden is King of Rohan and lord of the Mark, it is not clear to me that his wish should prevail over that of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elendil's heir," said the ranger. His voice was quiet, but no one could miss the stubbornness in it. Logan was surprised, actually. Never before had he heard his friend speak like this before, and invoking his true identity in order to back up his authority? Although he didn't really know what it meant, —Who was Elendil?— it was uncharacteristic of the ranger to try and impose his will over someone, especially a king. It revealed a really big ego, and before today, Logan had been quite certain that the ranger was a humble man. Now, he wasn't so sure.

As the ranger finished speaking, Logan heard Victor's sharp intake of breath.


The heir of Elendil? Here? Victor couldn't believe what he was hearing. This scruffy man was the heir to the throne of Gondor? His master had been searching for him all those years, without much success, and here he was, right before the Sabretooth's eyes.

He resisted the urge to lunge and take down his prey. Not yet. Now was not the time. There were too many people watching, and Jimmy was here. He would not like it if Victor tried to harm his friend. No; indeed, it would be better to wait for the opportune moment. They didn't exactly see him as a friend, or even just a trustworthy ally. And he had come for more than just Elendil's heir. There were bigger things to deal with, such as the problem of Saruman. At any rate, Elendil's heir was in his grasp. Once Victor had his sights set on something, they never escaped.


Hah! He was actually more sensible than Aragorn this time! Logan knew he was being smug, and it probably showed, but he didn't care. At least he hadn't been the one who had almost refused to give up his weapons. Then again, he still had his weapons. They just couldn't be detected, since these people didn't have metal detectors. He wasn't sure what was so special about Aragorn's sword. The ranger had made it sound as if it was the Holy Grail or something rather. It was just a sword with a fancy name, wasn't it? Even if it was an expensive heirloom of some sort, no one could tell, and therefore no one was likely to steal it. Ah, well. These people were strange; he ought to know that by now.

And Gandalf —he had talked the captain into letting him keep his staff. Walking stick indeed. Logan had seen what that 'stick' could do. So in short, the captain of the guards had truly failed to confiscate their weapons. If they needed to, they could probably put up a pretty good fight. Besides, who knew if the others had weapons hidden on themselves? The soldiers had not bothered to search them properly, trusting that they would be honest enough to hand over all their weapons. Well, Boromir probably would; that was how he was. And so would Legolas, and Gimli, and Aragorn, for that matter. So...well, maybe searching them hadn't been necessary.

The floor of the 'hall', as Logan called it, was made out large slabs of grey stone. A great fire burned in the hearth and smoky torches hung in metal brackets along the walls. The windows were high and rather small, and since it was winter, most of them were shuttered anyway, so most of the light came from the fire and the torches. At the very end of the hall was a golden seat, so large that it could easily dwarf Victor. An old man occupied that seat. His straggly hair was white —or grey; in this light, one could not tell— and his face was so wan that he looked as if he was made out of chalk. Rheumy eyes looked at them, but did not seem to see anything. He was swathed in a cocoon of furs, and on that pale head was a golden crown. This was the king of Rohan? No wonder things were so dire.

Beside the king was another whey-faced man. This one was considerably younger, and he looked very spirited as he made his way down the hall towards them with slow deliberate steps, almost swaggering, even. His robe, also made of fur, trailed behind him. Logan wrinkled his nose as he caught his scent. There was body odour, and then there was body odour. This man smelled absolutely rancid, as if he had been cooped up indoors and wearing that robe for three years. By the looks of him, it was a possibility. He was about to make a remark about it, and then remembered that he probably should not speak, as this looked like a sensitive diplomatic matter.

Movement in the periphery of his vision caught his attention. He smelled hostility. Some men were prowling along the edges of the hall, their gazes fixed on these strange travellers. When it came to reading others' emotions, Logan considered himself to be a complete amateur, but even he knew that these men meant to do them harm. They were in for a surprise. The Wolverine forced himself to remain relaxed. It wouldn't do to alert them before they were ready. He wanted to take them by surprise.

The whey-faced man took one look at the travellers, gave a disdainful sniff, and then returned to the king's side, where he proceeded to whisper into the old man's ear, completely unaware of the fact that three of the strangers could hear him perfectly well. It sounded as if he was dictating lines to the king. It was most odd.

"Hail, Théoden, son of Thengel!" said Gandalf. His voice rang out clearly across the hall, and it echoed in the tall space.

"You will find no welcome here, Gandalf Stormcrow!" wheezed the king. "Ever have you been the bringer of ill news."

"You speak justly, milord," said the pale man at the king's side. "Trouble has always followed this conjurer wherever he may choose to wander. Láthspell you are, and they say ill news is an ill guest."

"You have become a witless worm, Grima, son of Gálmod," said Gandalf. "Therefore, remain silent, for I have not passed through fire and death to exchange words with one such as you."

Grima began to laugh, but his laughter was cut short when he saw the staff in the wizard's hand. "Did I not tell Hama to take his staff?" he cried. "That fool has betrayed us!"

That was when everything happened at once. The men lurking in the shadows suddenly sprang out, brandishing small daggers. The unfortunate observers dashed for cover even as Victor launched himself at the charging men, bowling them over with the sheer force of his leap. One man was thrown against the wall. There was a crack, and then he fell in a crumpled heap on the floor, still and lifeless. Grima was shouting at his men. Gandalf was chanting...something; Logan's own snarling more or less prevented him from hearing what was being said, not that he really cared. His fist slammed into someone's face. He felt bone crack and heard the cry of pain suddenly cut off. The man fell to the ground. The Wolverine didn't waste any time wondering about whether he'd killed him or just rendered him unconscious. A dagger glanced his face, leaving a shallow cut which healed immediately without even the slightest scar. Logan grabbed his attacker by the arm and then flung him into a pillar, wishing that he could kill him, but knowing that it would probably be better if he let the man live. Then he changed his mind when he caught sight of Grima's men surrounding those of his companions who did not have weapons. Out came the claws.


A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter.