It's an Odd Coincidence
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize. It all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, New Line Cinema, Marvel Comics and 20th Century Fox. I'm just borrowing the characters.
Ambagurl: Here's the update. :) I'm not sure about adding Scott because he's so powerful that he can easily upset the balance.
Partypony: We'll just have to see what happens with Logan and the palantir. He won't forget it in a jiffy, but Pippin needs his share of the action too. Logan's already stolen his part by picking up the stone. ;) I'm not sure if Legolas can drink Logan under the table. Logan has pretty good metabolism.
Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. I really appreciate them. If you haven't gotten a reply by now, I must have accidentally missed you and I'm sorry if I did.
Chapter 37: Party Plans
It was good beer. Logan took another appreciative draught. The hobbits had insisted on making the 'big folk' —which, strangely enough, included Gimli— sit to one side whilst they went about making lunch. A few slices of bread were suspended on sticks above the fire, and Merry was going about cutting up salted pork and arranging a platter of dried fruit.
The wooden table they were sitting at was so old that Logan was pretty sure that it was beginning to fossilize. It didn't smell the same as other wooden tables; no varnish, no stains. Not even the scent of resin was that strong anymore. However, there were deep gouges, as if someone had tried to use the table as the lower part of a guillotine. He took a deeper sniff. Yes, that was definitely the scent of old blood. Not a lot, though, so the orcs couldn't have used this too many times. He knew something about them now and from what he had observed, he doubted that they were tidy eaters. And they definitely looked like they would have no problem scoffing down a raw pig. Live.
"You know what I really miss?" said Pippin as he stared into the fire, watching the bread turn brown. "I miss my ma's fruit loaf, and her stew, and her...well, I miss everything about her. She is the best cook in the whole of the Shire, you know."
"Hardly," said Merry. "You know that you Tooks love to experiment. I remember once or twice when said experiments went awfully wrong and everyone had to grin and force it down."
"That's not true and you know it, Merry," said Pippin. He took the browned bread off their sticks and set them on a large plate already piled high with toast. "Those experiments were novel and interesting. I'm sure that if we had to eat it again, people would have gotten used to it soon enough."
"Brandybucks, on the other hand, prefer traditional recipes which always taste good," said Merry.
"Where's your sense of adventure?" asked Pippin. "I swear, Merry, you get more staid and boring by the day." Merry threw a piece of dried apple at his younger cousin.
"You keep saying that, and you will be in big trouble, young hobbit," he scolded.
"And because you are so staid and boring," continued Pippin, completely unperturbed, "I was the one who thought of the brilliant plan to help everyone else. Admit it; my more adventurous Tookish nature saved us."
"You wanted to go back to the Shire, if I remember correctly," said Merry. "Was that part of your adventurous Tookish nature?"
"Even Tooks get tired of adventures sometimes," said Pippin, "and besides, the main thing is that I didn't go back and I stayed to think of that brilliant plan."
"Will you ever stop mentioning it?" demanded Merry. "Everyone is grateful, I'm sure, but you don't need to keep reminding us seven times a day. Unlike meals, such reminders are not necessary."
"But they are! Otherwise, you would forget it."
Ah, how Logan had missed these hobbits. Even in such dark times, they could still find a way to lighten everyone's spirits. While many people might overlook them because of their size and their light-hearted nature, the Wolverine was of the opinion that theirs was a special and essential gift for these days when there was hardly anything to smile about.
"I assure you that I will never forget what you have done, Pippin," said Legolas. "And elves have long memories."
"I ain't gonna forget either," said Logan, "if you would tell me what happened, that is." Pippin gave him a dejected look.
"You didn't even know?" said the Took with mock disappointment. Actually, it was hard to tell whether he was pretending or whether he was being sincere. "See, Merry? I have to talk about it."
"Fine, but just this once, Peregrin Took," said the slightly older hobbit. "Humility is a virtue."
"I like to talk, but I do not boast without reason," said the Took, crossing his arms. "Anyway, I think everyone deserves to know what happened. You can help me tell the story if you want, Merry, although you are not a very good storyteller. Frodo is so much better..." He trailed off as he thought of his cousin and Sam. Who knew where they were now? The whole company fell silent. The only thing that could be heard was the crackling of the fire.
"So...uh...you were gonna tell us what happened?" said Logan after a while. Tense silences were the very worst sort of silences. Besides, he didn't want to think of all the possible scenarios concerning what had befallen Frodo and Sam. He really wanted to believe that they were safe and getting closer to ending their quest with each step, but really, the chances of that actually being true were very slim. Mordor was so far away, and they were two defenceless hobbits. Sam was as brave as any warrior, but his skill was sorely lacking, and who knew what was out there? No, no, that was too depressing. "I'm getting impatient for the story, and, if you don't mind, I like my toast brown, not black..."
"Oh! The toast is burning!" cried Pippin, rushing to tend to the smoking slices of bread. "What a waste. Well, there is plenty where this came from." He discarded the blackened slices and then impaled new pieces of bread on the sticks. "There," he said. "And if it starts burning and I'm too busy telling the story, you will tell me, won't you?"
"Of course," said Aragorn. "It would be a shame to waste more bread."
"It's stale bread," Logan pointed out.
"It is still food," said the ranger firmly, "and in such times, it would be a crime to waste anything that can be eaten."
"Man, I wish you could see my world," said Logan. He downed the last of his beer, all the while entertaining that strange image of Aragorn in New York, perhaps eating fast food. "Maybe you'll have as much of a culture shock as I did."
Pippin told them, in great detail, about everything which he could remember after he and Merry had been captured by orcs. Of course, Merry added many details of his own, and sometimes, these details conflicted with those offered by his younger cousin, especially when they came to the part about the heights of the two hobbits before they had consumed something called 'Ent draught'.
"Honestly, Merry, I've always been taller than you!" said Pippin in exasperation. "Don't you remember? That's what everyone said." He put salted pork on another slice of toast and took a large bite as if to stave off his frustration.
"Everyone must have been rather quiet about it because I never heard anybody say it," said Merry. "I have always been taller than you! If you don't believe me, we can measure each other now."
"What's the point?" asked Pippin. "You drank a lot more Ent draught than I did."
"I did not! You started drinking it first, without letting me know!" said Merry. "Otherwise, the difference between our heights would be more obvious right now."
"The important thing is that you are both tall now," said Gimli. "And no, unlike certain persons, any condescension was not deliberate."
"Who can be so rude as to be condescending deliberately?" said Legolas. He raised his mug of beer in a salute to Gimli when the dwarf glowered at him. "Oh, come. You cannot deny that you find it entertaining."
"Only when I'm not the one you're being condescending to," said Logan, interrupting the conversation.
"Thank you very much, Master Logan, for showing me who is on my side and who is definitely not," said Gimli. "Now I know who I have to make gifts for on their birthdays." It was meant as a jest, but the Wolverine became sombre. He quietly nursed his beer and didn't reply, even though everyone else was waiting for him to make a witty response.
"Is everything well, Logan?" asked Boromir.
"Yeah," said Logan. "It's nothing. I just don't celebrate my birthday, that's all."
"But why not?" asked Pippin, aghast that there were people who didn't celebrate their own birthdays.
"Birthdays should always be celebrated!" added Merry. "You only ever get to be a certain age for a year, even if you do stay young and live forever."
"What's to celebrate?" said Logan. "I mean, I don't even remember when my birthday is, so celebratin' would be a bit pointless, don't you think?"
"Celebrations are never pointless," said Legolas. "You should simply pick a day. The exact date is of no importance. The only important thing is that you should remind people that they should be glad that you exist and that you are here among them."
"And I'll also remind myself of how much I've forgotten," said Logan. "That's somethin' I'd rather not remember. I mean, the fact that I've lost my memory, not what I've lost. I wouldn't mind remembering that."
"Have you also forgotten that you are also beginning to remember?" said Aragorn. "Maybe it has not happened as often lately, since you have not had many chances, but in Lothlorien, you woke us up often enough with your nightmares about the past. It will not remain lost to you forever."
"So pick a day, preferably soon, so we can throw you a party!" finished Pippin. "You might not have noticed, but we hobbits love parties."
"Who doesn't like a good party?" asked Merry.
Logan wasn't so sure that having a birthday party for him was such a good idea. While he didn't mind being in the centre of attention —and sometimes revelled in it—, celebrating becoming older was...well, it was depressing in the sense that it reminded him that he was always going to be the same while everyone around him actually grew older and would one day be gone. However, his friends were so insistent and they were so enthusiastic about the whole project that he eventually agreed to let them throw him a party after the war was won. He was not going to even consider the possibility that they were going to lose. "Just promise me one thing," he said. "Don't put one hundred and sixty candles on my cake."
"Why not?" asked Merry. "We put one hundred and eleven candles on Bilbo's cake. Forty nine more candles isn't much of a difference."
The ride back to Edoras took much longer than the journey to Isengard from Helm's Deep, for the very simple reason that Edoras was just further away. All of the men were eager to get back. While these people were not hung up on hygiene the way people of Logan's world were, even they were beginning to long for soap and hot baths. The only consolation was that the women and children were safely back in the city, and no doubt Éowyn would be preparing for the victory feast. That, at least, was something to look forward to. There was, however, a bitter taste to their victory, and the feast would only highlight that bitterness. Inside the great hall of Meduseld, it would be impossible to not notice who was missing from their company. Brave warriors had fallen. Young boys. Women who had given everything they could; their children, their wealth, even their lives.
Speaking of women, Logan's thoughts inevitably wandered to the peaceful valley of Rivendell, where Sidhien was right now. Was she thinking of him the way he was thinking of her? He didn't know when he would see her again, but whenever it was, he hoped it would come soon. And then, who knew? He had no idea if her parents approved, or if they even knew. Family was important and the last thing he wanted to do was to force her to choose between him and her family. Still, their relationship deserved a chance, especially since Berenon had given them his permission. Her parents couldn't be that hard to win over, could they?
The only good thing about the long journey through the creepy damp forest full of strange woody noises was that there was plenty of time to think. The rational side of Logan knew that these trees would not harm him if he did not provoke them. He tried to let that part of his personality take over for the duration of their journey; otherwise, he surmised that he would be a mess, always looking out for any potential threats. No better than his nervous nag, really.
The journey took days. Whenever they could, they tried to find clearings in which they could set up camp. It felt better to be able to see the sky, even if it was cloudy and none of the stars could be seen. The only two people who did not mind the forest were Legolas and Gandalf. In fact, one could say that the former revelled in being here amongst the murderous trees. Logan had already concluded long ago that elves were strange creatures. The elven prince was only reinforcing that truth. Wait...what if Sidhien also loved murderous trees? No, no. She had seemed much too normal to like these things.
Wasn't she?
Edoras was abuzz with activity as people resettled into their homes. The king and his returning warriors were greeted with cheers and much fanfare. Éowyn, in all her glory, was waiting for them on the steps of Meduseld. There was a thin gold circlet carefully set on her head, proclaiming her status as a lady of the royal house. In front of him, Logan could see Éomer almost puff up with pride for his sister. Despite his intense disapproval of female warriors, being an older brother meant that he could not help but be impressed by what Éowyn had achieved. Logan couldn't blame him. He was rather proud of her himself, having been the only man who had encouraged her —sort of— to fight. It wasn't often that he got to inspire people.
Once inside, however, the men were quickly herded off by serving women in the direction of the baths. Noblemen, of course, were allowed to bathe in private if they wished, not that these hardened military commanders would even think of getting special treatment. No, they were one of the men, as far as they were concerned, and those big buckets of steaming water in the large stone communal bathing chamber were good enough for them. Only Victor had declined. Logan briefly wondered if he would even bother to clean himself up, and then forgot all about him. He had his own problems, mainly to do with clothing. The ones he was wearing at the present had to be washed, but what would he wear afterwards? He doubted anyone would condone running around in Edoras wearing nothing but a towel. There was only one person to ask.
"Milady?" he said to Éowyn. "I...uh...kinda need some help."
"Of course, Master Logan," said the Shieldmaiden. "You only need to ask."
"My clothes need washing, but I...uh...don't have anything else to wear, and I don't think your uncle would like it if I just wore a towel."
"My uncle may not like it but I think the maidens of Edoras would be secretly pleased," said Éowyn with a mischievous grin. Logan simply gawked at her. She had just made a joke! It was uncharacteristic. "Oh, you need not worry," continued the lady. She seemed to be in an extraordinarily good mood. "The maidens of Edoras will simply have to be disappointed. Go to the laundry women. They will wash your clothes for you and also there should be some spare garments for you to borrow. We always have clothing for guests."
Logan stepped inside the chamber with only a 'towel' wrapped around him. In Rohirrim terms, a towel was a piece of not very absorbent linen. He had dropped off his dirty clothes with the laundry women and they had loaned him a few spare garments in return. The clothes were a little tight, but beggars could not be choosers. Logan was just glad not to have to go around naked or wear wet clothes.
Most of the men were already there, including his friends. And by men, he really meant humanoid males, since Gimli and Legolas had decided that there was no point in them expressing their solidarity. They were also completely comfortable about the physical differences. In fact, no one was gawking, which would be what would have happened if this scene had happened back in Logan's own world.
These were not people who were shy about their bodies. Nor did they have any cause to be shy. Battle scars were being compared and the warriors were sharing stories about their exploits. Typical soldiers, really. Everyone had stories carved into their skin, even immortal royalty. There was only one exception, not that anyone asked. They knew what the Wolverine was and what he was capable of. Just because he didn't have a written record did not mean that his deeds did not exist.
He quickly discarded the towel and commandeered a bucket of hot water before it was all used up and then snatched the soap from Gimli. "I was not finished with that, lad!" protested the dwarf.
"You're covered in suds already!" said Logan as he poured water over himself began rubbing the rough soap —which smelled like lard— all over his body. It didn't create much foam, unlike the soap at home, but it would do. He was barely finished soaping himself before someone else deprived him of the soap.
"That soap was mine," said Aragorn. "You jumped queue."
"I was not under the impression that you knew about soap," teased Legolas, causing the ranger to throw the bar of soap at him. He would have caught it if it hadn't been so slippery. As it was, the soap sailed out of his hand and hit someone in the back of the head.
"Apologies, my friend!" called Aragorn.
"Apology accepted!" Well, it just had to be Éomer. "I needed that soap, at any rate. One would think that after fighting for our country's survival, a warrior should not need to fight for soap. Unfortunately, in times of war, such commodities become luxuries."
"I'd say!" said Logan as he grabbed a handful of clean sand from a nearby bucket and proceeded to scrub himself with it. The Rohirrim, it seemed, had no sponges. Oh well, he could deal with it. He'd washed himself with sand before when he had been living in his truck in the wild. And it wasn't even fine sand like this.
He dumped another bucket of water over himself to rinse off the soap and sand. There; much better. At least he didn't reek of orc anymore. As he sloshed water over himself, an image flashed before his eyes. A forgotten memory.
"Why the hell was I jumping down a waterfall naked?" he asked out loud. Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at him. Whoops. That should not have been a public announcement.
"I don't know," said Boromir. "You tell me."
It took a bit of explaining, but Logan finally convinced them that he had no idea why he had leapt down naked into a waterfall; he had just done it. Such an explanation probably did nothing to convince the others that he was not insane, but it was the best he could do. He rubbed his chin. Hmm, while he was at it, he could do with a shave. There were no razors, but that didn't matter. His claws were good enough. "Hey, can I have the soap back? I need a shave!"
"Save yourself the trouble and grow a beard like Gandalf's, Logan," suggested Legolas.
"Says the kid who doesn't even have facial hair," said Logan. "Or...much body hair, for that matter." He had known that the elf was in excellent shape, but right now, with water gleaming on his pale skin, the first thing that came to mind when Logan tried to compare him to something was Michelangelo's David, except more perfect, if anything could be better than perfect. Well defined muscles, the correct proportions. The only 'flaws' were a few thin scars from old wounds. Maybe even ancient wounds. However, they only reminded them of the fact that Legolas was not ornamental; the elven prince was also a killing machine when he needed to be. For someone who had such a pretty face, the elf had a very masculine body; one which any Hollywood star would envy.
"And you, Logan, on the other hand, almost have enough body hair to rival a dwarf," retorted Legolas.
"I should take that as a compliment, shouldn't I?" said Logan.
"Most definitely," said Gimli. He had already finished bathing and was now rubbing himself dry with one of those inefficient towels. The end result was laughter inducing, although no one actually dared to laugh out loud for fear of offending the dwarf. They had all seen what he was capable of doing and no one wanted to be on his bad side. His red hair was sticking up in every direction, making him look something like an exotic caterpillar. "Body hair is a sign of masculinity, lad. Mark my words; the ladies will be impressed."
"Dwarf ladies, perhaps," said Legolas. "Elves and Men differ somewhat from dwarves in that respect."
"Not necessarily," said the dwarf smugly. "Lady Arwen fell for Aragorn here, and Logan managed to capture the heart of an elf maid, did he not?"
"You did?" said Éomer, turning to the Wolverine. "Well, I cannot say that I am surprised. I have seen the way our women regard you, Master Logan, and I suspect that elven women also know a fine man when they see one."
"I am not certain it was his appearance that charmed her," said Aragorn with a grin.
"Hey, it only means I've also got a great personality as well as my looks," said Logan amidst a chorus of cheers and whistles.
"However, you seem to be rather lacking humility," said Boromir.
"Well, a man can't be perfect," said Logan. "I'm only human." A man could always dream.
It was impossible. How was he to get near the heir of Isildur when Logan was always with him? While Victor might be more skilled, he knew that his brother was more than a match for him with those adamantium claws. If only he could somehow get Logan away...
Wait, what about the feast? Was there not going to be drinking? How much alcohol did it take to get the Wolverine drunk? Was it even possible? Victor had never been intoxicated in his life and his brother had an even faster metabolism. Was there anything stronger than mead in this place?
Well, if conventional methods were not going to work, he was going to have to resort to the unconventional ones. Saruman might be many things, but no one could deny that he was prepared for every possible eventuality. Well, almost every possible eventuality. While the others had been busy eating, Victor had gone to the lesser known storage chambers in Isengard, where the wizard kept some of his most dangerous and prized resources. This covert way of killing was not Victor's preferred method, but what other choice did he have? His claws were not going to be enough. So what if there was going to be a lot of collateral damage? The ends always justified the means. Always.
Great long trestle tables had been set up. Barrels of ale and mead lined the sides of the room. The aromas of alcohol and cooking food were overwhelming. Man, he wanted a drink. The Rohirrim might be primitive, but they had some of the best beer Logan had ever tasted. Of course, whenever he tried to set foot inside the great hall in order to inconspicuously make off with a mug of the heavenly brew, he would inevitably be caught before he could even reach the barrels and the duly shooed out, just like the other warriors. Apparently, he wasn't the only one pining for a drink.
"There is no point in even trying," said Éomer when Logan asked him about it. "The women know how to deal with us. This is almost tradition at every feast's preparation."
"They're just going to starve us until sundown?" demanded Logan.
"Not starve us, but they are going to make sure that we are hungry enough to eat an entire pig each," said the horselord. "All we men can do is wait. At times like these, we are at the mercy of our womenfolk. Only the king can get past them, and perhaps your charming elven friend."
"Legolas doesn't even like ale," said Logan.
"That might be one of the reasons why he is allowed to go inside," said Éomer. "The women want to ensure that the ale is not gone before the feast has started."
Things were going as smoothly as can be expected, considering they had just finished winning the first battle in what could be a painfully drawn out war. Éowyn was constantly on the move, telling the servants where to put tables and barrels and overseeing the cooking, although, truth be told, she had very little idea about what was going on in the kitchen. Having tasted her own stew, she had concluded that while she might be able to accomplish many things, mastering culinary arts was something that she would never be able to achieve. Maybe it was a family trait. Her mother had not been a very good cook either.
Some of the men had volunteered to help her move the barrels of ale and mead from the cellar into the hall, but she had only accepted help from a few of them, mainly because most of the men would probably take the chance to drain at least half the barrels. Her brother was one such man, and she had once made the mistake of trusting him with a barrel of honeyed mead. That had been when she had first taken over the task of preparing for feasts as the highest ranking lady in Rohan. Never again was she going to make that mistake.
As she emerged from the stuffily hot kitchen and rounded a corner, she caught sight of a huge man bending over the barrels stacked in the corridor, waiting to be moved. Instinct took over, and she peered around the corner cautiously, careful not to alert the man. He seemed to be putting something into the barrels. The only thing she could see was a white piece of linen, dwarfed in his large clawed hands. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach. What was he doing? And why did he seem to be so alert? She ducked back around the corner just as he looked up. Her sense of danger was heightened. This warranted investigation, but how? She didn't want to alarm the clawed man.
Well, there were a number of things she could do, although she needed help, just in case she got into trouble. Who better to help her with a man with claws than another man with claws?
A/N: That bath scene was completely unplanned. It just...happened. I guess they needed to take baths. ;) Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter.