It's an Odd Coincidence

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize. It belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, New Line Cinema, Marvel and 20th Century Fox.

Amba gurl: In that case, maybe Scott could have a small part. Thanks for the idea. The plot bunnies are playing with it. :)

crazyjedifrankhardy91: Thank you. I'm glad I was able to make you laugh. Dialogue is so important to characterization.

Partypony: I'm glad you liked the bath scene. Éowyn does seem like the bossy type. She's a great role model.

Thank you to all my lovely reviewers. I really appreciate any thoughts and comments you might have. If I somehow didn't reply to your review, it was an accident and I apologize if I have done it.

Chapter 37: Shattered Illusions

He had the acute feeling that he was being watched. Victor straightened himself. There was no one in sight. However, there were definitely quick footsteps of someone who seemed to be running away from him. Had they seen him? He couldn't risk it. Any potential threat was to be eliminated; that was his way. The only time he hadn't been able to do that had been when that threat had been his brother. Victor could never quite bring himself to attack his brother without provocation, even though he knew that the Wolverine was probably one of the biggest threats to his ambition. Logan was dangerous. He knew that. And yet, he simply couldn't get the image of little Jimmy out of his mind. For a century, they had watched out for one another. Just because Logan had forgotten didn't mean that Victor had to forget it with him.

'Oh, stop being so sentimental,' he scolded himself. Jimmy was the one who formed irrational emotional attachment to people. Victor was a pragmatist who always did what he set out to do because he never let anything stop him. It had always been this way. He strode down the corridor after whoever it was that had seen him. It wasn't Logan; of that he was certain. One, Logan's footsteps were not that light and two, Logan never ran from him. He usually just charged.

Éowyn knew that she was being followed. Her pursuer did not even bother to hide the fact that he was hunting her. Oh, she'd had quite enough of this. Nobody was going to hunt her in her own family's halls! Hadn't Grima been enough? Well, this was much worse than Grima, she had to admit. For one, Grima did not have claws and he could not break someone's spine over his knee. 'Oh, for the love of the ancestors, stop panicking, Éowyn,' she told herself as she quickened her pace. All she really needed to do was get out of the corridor and find someone, preferably the other man with claws and who could also break spines over his knee.

It was with much relief that she emerged into the great hall. Victor had ceased to chase her, knowing that it would be futile to try and hunt with so many warriors watching. No doubt his brother would be nearby. The fact that he had tried to hunt her did confirm her suspicion. Whatever he had been doing, it had not been good. She caught sight of Gandalf speaking with her uncle. Well, the wizard was even better than Logan, the Shieldmaiden had to admit, and she wondered why she did not think of him in the first place. He was the obvious choice, being the White Wizard. She just wasn't so sure about approaching him. After all, his age and wisdom, not to mention his power, made him an intimidating figure. Still, she had to tell him. He would know what to do. "Milords, forgive me for interrupting," she said, curtseying.

"Ah, if it isn't the Shieldmaiden of Rohan herself!" said Gandalf. "Well, well, it seems that hobbits are not the only ones who can surprise me."

"You flatter me, milord," she said. How did one address the White Wizard? She knew that his friends called him by name, and the irreverent Logan called him 'the old fella', but she was neither a friend nor an equal, as her uncle was. The wizard chuckled.

"Oh, I am no lord, Lady Éowyn, and I should not be addressed as such," he said. "Just call me what everyone else does, and you know I answer to a multitude of names, although—" Here, he raised his voice. "—I draw the line at 'old fella'."

"You still answer to it!" called Logan from outside.

"I need to speak to you on some matters of importance...Gandalf," said Éowyn.

"Of course," said Gandalf, sensing that something was amiss. The frivolity left his face and he stared at her intently with wise grey eyes. "What worries you?"

"Can we speak outside?" she said. "I believe this concerns Master Logan as well." Her uncle opened his mouth to comment on the very strange statement, but then he thought better of it and remained silent as he and Gandalf followed her outside.

"Logan!" called Gandalf. The Wolverine was, well, believe it or not, entertaining young children. For all his gruffness, he was strangely gentle with them, rather like a doting father. "Can you come over here for a moment? There is something which we must discuss."

"It's not about me callin' you 'old fella', is it?" asked Logan, getting up from where he had been sitting on the steps. "Because if it really gets to you that much, I'll stop."

"No, no," said Gandalf. "I do not believe it is anything so trivial. As long as the nickname does not spread, you are welcome to call me whatever you want. I am not petty enough to care. Lady Éowyn?"

"I saw Master Victor down by the ale barrels," she said. "It might have been nothing, but when he realized that I had seen him, he tried to follow me. I think he is hiding something."

"Are you certain that he was not merely stealing ale?" asked Théoden.

"Victor does like his ale," said Logan with a shrug, "but would he just steal it from the barrel and not take the barrel?"

"Perhaps," said Éowyn. "I did not truly see what happened, but my heart tells me that I ought to be wary."

"Then you've got good instincts," said Logan, "not that I expected anything less from you, milady. I don't trust Victor either, and something tells me that there is more to it than just spiking the alcohol. He never does anything without reason, even if that reason is just provoking me."

"What are you suggesting, Logan?" asked Gandalf. "He is your brother after all, and you know him best out of all of us."

"We need to test that ale and make sure that there is something wrong with it before I go and confront him. And if it's just a prank, I'll think of some way to pay him back for it. If there's anything I've learned over the years, and especially in Middle Earth, then it's that things are never what they seem. Well, sometimes they are, but most of the time, there is more to it."

"I agree," said Théoden. "We should have proof before we start accusing anyone of anything. Should we let anyone else know? Lords Aragorn and Boromir, perhaps? And maybe Prince Legolas and Lord Gimli?"

"That goes without sayin', doesn't it? If Victor does react like a trapped cat, I might need their help."

"Forgive me," said Gandalf, "but I though wolverines were supposed to be more vicious than cats?"

"But this is a big cat," said Logan in all seriousness.

"How big can a cat be?" asked the wizard.

"Oh, you'd be surprised," said Logan. "Trust me, you don't want to come face to face with one of those kitties."

"Oh, you can be assured that I will not," said Gandalf. "I do not like cats at the best of times. Their fur is irritating and it gets everywhere."

Boromir was genuinely outraged when Logan told them that there was a large chance that Victor had tried to poison them, and Gimli spent a good while spluttering expletives in his own tongue while Legolas turned white with rage and couldn't find anything princely to say, but Aragorn, on the other hand, did not seem surprised. "Did you never wonder why he always seemed so isolated and hostile?" he said when asked about his lack of shock. "He never wanted to be one of us. This was not something he thought of at the spur of the moment; he has been planning this for many days and I should have suspected him sooner."

"No, I should have suspected him sooner," said Logan. "He was my brother. I knew him best out of the lot of you. Anyway, it doesn't matter who should have known. We all have a clue now, and we just have to make sure that he did put something into the ale. It would be stupid to confront him over nothing."

"You are right, of course," said Aragorn. "We need proof, not that I do not trust you, Lady Éowyn."

"I understand, milord," said Éowyn. "But how are we going to test for poison, short of making someone drink the ale."

"I could do it," said Logan. "Just a little bit won't kill me. My metabolism works fast enough...right, the word 'metabolism' doesn't feature in your vocab. I get it."

"No, Logan, you are not drinking it," said Aragorn. He turned to Théoden. "Would you happen to have any silver, milord?"

"I am a king, Lord Aragorn," said Théoden, "and while my kingdom might not be as wealthy as some others, I have a bit of silver. More than a bit."

"I just need one piece," said the ranger.

"What are you going to do with it?" said Legolas.

"It is something I learned during my travels in the east," said Aragorn. "Haradrim noblemen are prone to poisoning each other in their struggles for power and they use this method to make sure that their food is safe to eat. They would touch the food with silver, and if the silver turns black, it means that there is poison in it. It works well enough, since it is seldom that Haradrim noblemen die from poisoning."

"Smart," said Logan. "Yeah, that sounds way better than drinking it."

The metal turned black almost as soon as it touched the ale. "Right," said Logan through gritted teeth. "Mr. Creed has a lot of explaining to do. I'm going off to do a spot of questioning."

"Does 'questioning' involve claws?" asked Aragorn.

"What do you take me for?" asked Logan. "I might act like an idiot sometimes, but I'm not an idiot. Everyone knows that you don't kill a man before you interrogate him. That just ruins the whole purpose. Mind you, people have done stupider things before. Not me."

They weren't doing anything. Victor wasn't sure whether to be relieved or suspicious. Could he possibly have been mistaken about having been seen? If that was the case, then it would mean that he was losing his touch, and that was impossible. If anything, he had become even more alert ever since coming to Middle Earth. However, everything was just going too smoothly that even though he believed that his plan was workable, hardly dared to believe that he could just sail right through and go back to his master with Rohan and Gondor on a platter.

He stood in the shadows, watching the hapless peasants pass him without even suspecting what was going to befall them. If he had had a conscience, he might even have felt sorry for them.

He carried the two mugs to the great hall where Victor was standing to one side, scrutinizing the activity going on around him as if he was waiting for something to happen. "Hey there," Logan said as he approached him, hoping that it didn't sound too contrived.

"What are you doing here?" Victor asked. The Sabretooth narrowed his eyes.

"I got this from the barrels in the hallway and I thought that the two of us should have a drink," said Logan with a shrug. He held out one of the mugs to Victor. "I mean, I think we deserve it. Come on, I know we didn't really get off on the right foot, but we are brothers." Okay, that did sound a bit too cheesy for Logan's liking. "Ah, come on. You won't even have a drink with your own brother? We're on the same side here, or at least I hope we are, and I would never spike your drink, so don't worry."

"I'm not in the mood, Logan," said Victor.

"What, you really think there is something in the ale, don't you?" So much for subtlety. Logan was getting impatient. "Why would you think that?" He took a step closer. Any pretence at cordiality was gone. "Tell me, Victor. Is there something wrong with this ale?"

Logan had learned subtlety? All right, so his subtlety was completely unsubtle, but it was the attempt which surprised Victor more than anything. Middle Earth had changed his brother. "So?" said Logan. "You're gonna tell me something, aren't you? Aren't you?"

"What, are you interrogating me now, Jimmy?" taunted Victor. There was no point in even trying to hide it and the Sabretooth was not going to back down just like that and submit himself to whatever these mortals had prepared for him.

"I guess I am," said Logan through gritted teeth. "What did you put in this?" He threw the two mugs down in front of his brother. They shattered on the flagstones, splashing the foaming liquid everywhere. "Who are you workin' with, coz it sure as hell ain't us."

"Well, well, wouldn't you like to know," said Victor. He braced himself. Logan didn't disappoint him. The Wolverine leapt, claws brandished. Victor would have felt the full brunt of his brother's anger. However, since he had expected it, the Sabretooth had the time to feint to one side. Unfortunately, others seemed to know what was going on, and Logan was a lot more popular than he had seemed. Even worse, the wizard knew. Using his very brief advantageous moment, Victor flung Logan aside and then ripped one of the metal torch-holders from the wall and before Logan could react, rammed the sharp end into his ribs.

The Wolverine might be many things, but even he could be brought down by a well-aimed blow to the chest, if only temporarily. This slight lull was all Victor needed to push his way through the crowd. A few arrows flew in his direction. Ah, so they were prepared. One of those grazed his scalp. He snarled, more in anger than in pain, but he was not going to stay and exact revenge right now. For one, it would never work. There were too many to fight, and unlike Logan, he could be decapitated with common steel. The doors flew off their hinges as he crashed into them, and then he leapt down the stairs before vaulting on a horse —knocking off the rider in the process— and then galloping out of the gates of Edoras. By then, everyone was shouting, some in confusion, some in anger, and some in concern, for his hasty getaway plan had included a few injuries, although not nearly enough by his standards. If he'd had his way, some of the most important people in this ridiculous alliance of the so-called 'free' forces of Middle Earth would have been lying dead and his master would have won half the war. Did they really think that true freedom existed? They lived under the yoke of hierarchy and duty. What was so different about being a slave to their own kings than being a slave to the Dark Lord? In the end, they were still not free.

Logan groaned as he yanked out the torch from between his ribs. Damn Victor; this was a bloody painful mess, not to mention the borrowed clothes were completely ruined. His friends were crowded around him in concern and someone had already gone to get bandages, not that they would need it. They would, however, need to clean the floor. Logan was rather flattered that "How are you feeling?" asked Aragorn, ever the healer.

"I just got stabbed by my brother in the chest with a torch, the traitor got away and there is a chance that we won't have any ale for tonight," said Logan. "I guess we all know that the answer is 'not fine'." Yes, he was a bit cranky. Could anyone blame him? Not only had he been stabbed, but he'd also failed, and he wasn't going to get as much alcohol as he had thought he was.

"I am just glad you can still make acerbic comments," said Aragorn, hauling him to his feet.

"It'll take more than an iron torch and a Sabretooth to kill me," said Logan. "Wolverines are tougher than that."

"I guess we did prove his guilt, but that only creates more questions; questions which our friend was disinclined to answer," said Gandalf. "Perhaps the situation is more serious than I thought."

"What should we do, then?" said Boromir. "Should we ride after Victor and bring him back for questioning?"

"I dunno," said Logan. "I mean, if we want to, we can catch him, but I don't know if we can make him talk, and he's very good at escapin'. He escaped from Saruman. What if he went back to his master afterwards with information about us? I mean, we're already at a disadvantage with our numbers."

"But what if he knows something that is valuable to us?" said Éomer. "We could make a deal with him. We spare his life if he tells us."

"Victor values his freedom more than life," said Logan. "You'll have to let him go, and we will have no way of proving that what he tells us is the truth. Y'know, he might not have answered me, but there is only one person in Middle Earth who he would work for."

"Sauron," whispered Gandalf. "Yes, now that you say it, it is obvious. And he knows who Aragorn is. No, we must catch him, if only to prevent him from going back to Sauron. He already knows too much."

"Then what are we waiting for?" asked Gimli. "Let's go hunt a big cat!"

"Meow," said Logan.

Victor followed the Great West Road; anyone else would have stayed off the road, but it was the quickest way, and besides, there had to be other travellers. Not very many, but Victor had seen the fresh trail of a cart and smelled the scent of unwashed people. As soon as he was in Mordor, which would take a week or two, they would not be able to get him. Besides, his master was thinking of striking very soon. The others would have to turn their attentions to other things and he, Victor Creed, would be able to go on as he always had, commanding the troops of Mordor and knowing that this time, he was going to be on the winning side.

He heard hoof beats behind him. They were far away, but it was only a matter of time before they caught up with him. He hadn't had that much of a headstart. Victor dug his heels into the horse's sides, making the animals squeal and then surge forward. It wasn't the best horse the Rohirrim had had to offer and no doubt his pursuers would have fresher horses, maybe even replacements. Then again, Logan was one of the worst riders he had ever seen, so that might hold them back.

Logan gritted his teeth and tried not to think about how uncomfortable he was on horseback. This animal was slightly more friendly than 'The Nag', but it was still a horse, and it seemed to be in equine nature to not like him. Logan could bear a lot, but he was beginning to get rather sore. He found himself thinking about motorcycles and cars again. Forget the latest models; he'd be happy with one from the World War. What sort of man enjoyed bouncing around in a saddle? Well, except the Rohirrim and certain strange people like Boromir and Aragorn, who were also in the company, along with Legolas and Gimli, as well as Éomer, who was, technically, the leader.

At least they were getting closer. The scent of the Sabretooth was getting stronger, and although he had done his best to mask his trail in what little time he had, it wasn't enough to deter these skilled trackers. The road, however, was becoming rockier and according to people who knew horses, it was easy for one of them to become lame if a stone became stuck in a shoe and went undetected.

"I can't believe we're going to miss the victory feast, all because of my brother," said Logan.

"My uncle is holding it off for until we get back," said Éomer. "Capturing enemy spies take precedence over food and drinking games."

"I guess, but how are you gonna keep the food fresh?" asked Logan.

"Don't ask me. I have no knowledge whatsoever when it comes to what goes on in the kitchen," said Éomer. "Éowyn and I are very alike in that aspect."

Aragorn opened his mouth and seemed to be about to say something, but then he thought better of it and remained silent. However, that did not go unnoticed by Éomer, who found this to be rather amusing. "I guess you have tasted my sister's work," said the horselord.

"It was...interesting," said Aragorn.

"I am not a picky eater, but I would not touch Éowyn's cooking," stated Éomer flatly. "I love my sister, but there are some things that I would not trust her with. The state of my taste buds is one of them. Other than that, I cannot think of anything else I would not trust her with."

Victor knew that he could not outrun them, so he might as well not waste any more energy trying to. Besides, there were only a few of them this time, and while he might have to get away from Logan, the others were not a problem. He could deal with a few swordsmen; a few hundred was a different matter. He dismounted and waited. Soon enough, the riders came into sight. They surrounded him in a loose circle, pointing bared blades at him, or, in the elf's case, a nocked arrow.

"You cannot run from us, Victor Creed," said Éomer.

"Do I look like I'm runnin'?" said Victor. He curled his lip back to reveal his unnaturally long canines. It usually intimidated people when he did that. The horselord flinched slightly; it was almost undetectable, but Victor knew what to look for, and he could also smell the faintest hint of fear.

"Listen, Victor." That was Logan. He had dismounted. No fear was coming from him, but he was furious. Logan tended to be reckless when he was furious. Maybe he could use this to his advantage. "I know who you work for, and you have two choices; you can either come with us quietly and tell us what you know, or I can kill you."

"Do you even know how?" asked the Sabretooth.

"I'll see if decapitation works," said growled Logan.

"Would you really do that to your own brother?" Ah, a conscience was a curse, and Logan had too much of a conscience.

"You tried to hurt my friends and other innocent people," said Logan. "You're not my brother."

"So you say," said Victor. "But when it comes down to it, you won't do it. I know you, Logan. You had the chance, many years ago, and you didn't take it. I don't see why you're gonna take it now."

"Are you comin' with us, or are you gonna fight?" said Logan. The claws slowly came out, glinting in the pale sunlight. Victor pretended to focus on them, although his attention was on the situation at hand. At the very front of the company were Éomer and Logan. The Heir of Isildur was very close to the elf and dwarf. If Victor tried to attack him, he would probably get an arrow in the eye. However, the Gondorian was another matter. If he could attack with enough surprise, he might break through the ring and be able to escape. No doubt some of them would stay behind to tend to their wounded companion who, if Victor did this correctly, would have no chance for survival. That way, his chance for escaping would be greatly increased. It was the best plan; the only plan. What other choice did he have?

"You have me there," he said, shaking his head. And then he pounced.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I know it's short, but I've come down with something and my brain isn't working properly.