I don't own Spider Man, Wolverine, Nightcrawler, or Lord of the Rings. They both belong to people who have way more money than I ever will, so if you are reading this don't bother trying to sue me. You'll just waste your money. Sue someone who's got loads of it instead.
CHAPTER THREE
The band that Elrond dubbed the Fellowship of the Ring would not depart from Rivendell for several weeks. Strider, or rather Aragorn, took several of his fellow rangers and elven scouts to search the forests for the Ringwraiths. He also brought along Logan and Peter; the former had demonstrated his formidable tracking skills and with the latter's ability to sense danger, soon they were able to account for eight of the unearthly creatures. But the ninth, the leader of the Nazgul, remained undetected, and that unsettled Aragorn.
Kurt remained in Rivendell, helping to prepare for the journey up ahead. He helped Samwise take care of Bill, the pony that would be carrying most of their supplies. The German mutant had helped care for horses and other animals in the circus he grew up in, so it wasn't unfamiliar. He could tell that the poor animal had been badly abused; Sam told him of how they got the pony shortly before they came to Weathertop. But under the care of Sam and Kurt and the elven stable hands the little equine thrived and grew strong; he reminded Kurt of one pony a midget bareback rider used.
Kurt also studied maps to understand the layout of the land he'd be traveling. Bilbo Baggins helped him there; the old hobbit had an ample collection of maps and even made several copies for the Fellowship to take along. He also helped Kurt learn much of the history of what Elrond told at the council.
It was one evening, right after studying with Bilbo, that Kurt was gazing at a mural describing the battle where the being Sauron was defeated. The scenes reminded Kurt of the Book of Revelation, beautiful and horrifying. He wanted to turn away, yet he could not, so captivating were the images painted on the wall.
"Impressive, are they not?" Kurt turned, and stiffened at the sight of Boromir. The still remembered the man's words to him at the council. "Scholars used the chronicles of these events to teach me my letters.
Kurt said nothing. "Kurt-that's your name, isn't it?" Seeing him nod, Boromir went on, "Kurt, I must say-for what I said at the council, I wish to apologize. I spoke rashly." Boromir stepped back looked at Kurt. "And now that I have a better look at you, you don't look like an orc-exactly."
"I'm human, just as you are," said Kurt. "But I'm-different." As if to emphasize his point, he teleported behind Boromir, then to his side, then back in front of him.
"That's an amazing gift you have," Boromir said. "If we had men of your talent, a dozen hundred or so-oh, how we would make Mordor tremble!"
"At least you call it a talent." Kurt reached into his pocket, and gripped the rosary he always carried with him. "There are some who would call it a curse. And one time-I thought so too."
Boromir sighed. "Life must have been-hard for you."
"At times," Kurt admitted. "Yet in many ways I was fortunate too. I grew up in a circus, where strange looking people are expected." Boromir nodded; circuses on Middle Earth frequently had unusual looking people traveling with them. "And I learned to be thankful that, while I may look strange, at least I was strong and healthy. I've known many others who suffered from deformities much worse. And I've met people who are able to see beyond how I look. They are my friends-and my family."
Boromir gave out his hand. "Again Kurt, I ask-no I beg-will you accept my apology. We are to be traveling together; it is best there be no bad blood between us."
Kurt reached and took Boromir's five-fingered hand in his own three fingered one. "Gladly." He looked into Boromir's face, and he felt this man was sincere.
There was a small stable near the mural wall, on which lay the fragments of a broken sword. "Narsil," Boromir said. "The sword with which Isildur cut Sauron's hand."
Kurt picked up the hilt, which still had a long piece of blade attached. "Still sharp?" he asked. "After all this time?"
Boromir nodded. "It was truly a well made sword."
Kurt set the sword hilt down. "I know so little of this vorld. Tell me something of your own home."
Boromir did, beginning with his home city of Minis Tirith, the capitol of Gondor. "It sounds beautiful," said Kurt.
"Thank you."
"But your father, you said, is the Steward of the kingdom. Vhat does that mean?"
"When Isildur failed to return, his nephew Meneldil became king of Gondor." Boromir then told how Meneldil's line ended when his descendant King Eanur and his sons were killed in battle against Mordor, which while reduced to a shadow of it's former self after Sauron's destruction was still a major threat. "His chief adviser,Mardil, assumed rule over the kingdom-and so it has passed down to my father Denethor." Kurt could hear understandable pride in Boromir's voice.
"And none since assumed kingship himself, instead?" Kurt asked. "In most kingdoms in my world, that would certainly be the case."
"Such would also be the case here in Middle-Earth, but no, they have not." Now Boromir looked forlorn. "I have ofton thought my family should, since we have assumed all the duties of the king except in name. But all of them, down to my father, have refused."
Kurt was certainly impressed. The men of Boromir's family, he thought, must be exceptionally honorable.
Yet Kurt remembered Boromir's face as he had looked at the Ring, and how he himself had felt when he looked at it. Kurt crossed himself, and offered a silent prayer that God would keep the Ring from tempting him. And Boromir.
Aragorn returned with Peter and Logan, and joined in helping with the preparations. As the weeks went by, the Fellowship practiced for the worst, and Peter, Logan, and Kurt manged to show the full range of their powers. Logan's claws and what he could do with them especially impressed the dwarfs, and Kurt quickly learned how to fight with an elvish style sword that seemed like a cross between a katana and a rapier.
On the practice fields outside of Rivendell, Peter demonstrated his web-shooters to the new arrivals. "Interesting toys," muttered Gimli, he had be watching Peter practice. "Although I fail to see how much use they'll be if we get attacked."
Suddenly the dwarf found himself buried up to his neck in a massive layer of webbing. He twisted and turned, but was totally unable to get free.
Legolas had also been watching. "Sometimes incapacitating a foe can be just as useful, or even more, than killing him."
"Don't worry too much," said Peter. "The stuff dissolves fairly quick-about half an hour, I'd say."
Gimli began to sweat; he'd had three mugs of wine a short while ago-and he didn't think he could hold it in that long.
As if sensing Gimli's distress, Legolas drew one of the short curved swords he carried attached to his arrow quiver. Grunting, the elf manged to cut the dwarf out of his web casing. But the webbing was still in his beard and hair." "Looks like you'll still have to wait for that to dissolve," said Peter. Either that or cut you hair and shave your beard."
Gimli looked at Peter in horror, as if he'd proposed doing something obscene and unspeakable. Scowling for a minute, he walked off.
"Dwarf's beards and the length of their hair are a major source of pride to them," said Legolas. "You might have well as suggested he cut off his privates."
"Yeah, I kind of figured."
Legolas looked at Peter thoughtfully. "Gimli did have a point though. Those webs are quite amazing. But, going one on one against the kind of creatures in Mordor-well, you may need more than that."
"I also have my fists."
"Yes, you are quite strong; far stronger than one might suspect. But orcs are powerful creatures too; a simple punch won't be enough to take care of one."
"What do you suggest?"
Your friend Logan has his claws, and Kurt seems quite good with a sword-he is already learning to use one of our kind quite well."
"I don't use blades. Not my style." Peter hated killing people, human and otherwise. Those few times he had done it he was certain the person deserved it, but it made him no less easy about it. Yet he also realized on this journey it was all too likely he'd have to.
"I prefer the bow myself," said Legolas. Peter had seen him at the archery range; the elf could put Hawkeye to shame. And while he may not have been able to run as fast as Quicksilver or Northstar, he could match the mutant speedsters in the reflex department-he could shoot arrows with machine-gun rapidity and precision accuracy. "Yet I may run out of arrows or have time to draw one. That's why I carry these." He held up the short sword in his right hand and drew the other with his left. Peter normally wasn't interested in swords or knives, but somehow these caught his attention. They were slightly curved, almost like a Japanese sword, and had a beautifully shaped curved grip. *"In our language we call these 'spider-fangs.' I think they may suit you quite well."
By some strange coincidence the Fellowship would leave Rivendell on December 25. Christmas day back home. And on Middle Earth it was a time for great merrymaking and feasting as well; they called the celebration Yule.
The night before departure Elrond held an enormous feast. There wasn't any turkey or ham, since the former didn't seem to exist in Middle-Earth and elves didn't eat pork. They didn't keep any domestic animals other than horses, dogs, and cats, and whatever meat they ate was wild game. So there was plenty of venison, rabbit, quail, duck, and partridges. There was also abundant corn, vegetables, grapes, apples, and wine. And too Logan's delight, the dwarfs had brought with them from their homes in the mountains to the east five barrels of excellent beer.
Peter went outside. Strange; it was December yet it felt more like fall; being from New York City Peter had never seen a winter without snow.
He sat clinging on the side of Elrond's home; the elves had gotten used to the sight of him sticking to the wall as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
It would be Christmas Eve back home. Or maybe it wouldn't; Peter knew from previous experience how screwy different dimensions could be with time. Still he missed home. He missed Mary Jane and Aunt May. He'd spent the past several weeks buried in the preparation for this journey they would be undertaking to that Mordor place, so he wouldn't have to think about them. But now though, he just couldn't help it.
All around him he saw elves dancing and singing; the few humans and dwarfs joining in. A little across from the Center of Rivendell, Logan was having a drinking contest. He'd already drunk Boromir, Gimli, his father Gloin, three other dwarfs, two elves, and six of Boromir's retainers under the table. One at a time.
And he wasn't even the slightest bit intoxicated.
Kurt was standing a short distance away, drinking a beer himself. This dwarf beer was very good; it made the best German beer taste like that Budweiser or Coors swill. He smiled as Logan called for his next challenger; the Canadian's healing factor allowed hims to drink enough to kill a horse.
Seeing people happy and merry all round can have two different effects on a depressed person-it can cheer him up or make him even more depressed. For Peter it was the latter. Especially seeing the elven couples all around him laughing and holdin each other affectionately, only made him miss his wife even more.
He crawled away from the sight of the revelers, hoping to be alone. But as he was right behind the building Aragorn and Elrond's daughter Arwen. They were talking to each other. Not wanting them to see him, he crawled up to the roof and hid carefully where he was sure they couldn't see him.
They were discussing something, of very deep importance apparently, although they were to far down and talking to low for Peter to hear. At one point Arwen grabbed Aragorn by his forearms and kissed him in the mouth. Aragorn kissed her back-then pushed her away.
"Do you always spy on people like that?" Peter suddenly turned around and saw Gandalf standing on the roof right behind him. **
"No, I, uh, just happened to stumble upon them," Peter stammered.
"Well, that is true-although you certainly stayed to watch them instead of walking away and respecting their privacy."
Peter felt like a little boy caught doing something he shouldn't have. "I had no idea that they were involved with each other."
"Aye. Although, it is not an easy thing, love between a human and an elf."
"Why?" Peter asked suddenly curious. "Is there some sort of taboo against it?"
"Yes-but not for the reasons that you may be thinking. Peter, elves are practically immortal-oh they can be killed or drown or die in a fire or by accident. But they never catch disease and they don't age-well, not after they reach maturity. At any rate, the only thing they can die of, other than what I've just mentioned, is a broken heart."
"A broken heart? That can really kill them?"
"Yes. Elven love is intense, very intense Peter." Gandalf's brows furrowed; the wizard reminded Peter of his uncle Ben trying to explain something. "When elves give their heart to someone, they give it fully. If Arwen were to give herself to Aragorn, she would give up her immortality-and Aragorn does not want that; so great does he love her."
"Oh." Peter looked back down. Arwen was gone; Aragron was standing alone and even from this distance, he could see the anguish on his face. Peter had spent the last several minutes worried about his family; now he felt sympathy for Aragorn and hoped nothing similar would split him and Mary-Jane.
The Fellowship of the Ring awoke at the crack of dawn the next day and assembled before the house of Elrond. Boromir and Gimli were still fighting the last vestiges of the hangovers they'd gotten from the night before and scowled at Logan, who had drunk way more than the two of them put together. He looked the very picture of health.
The other members of the Fellowship had either drunk very little or not at all. All of them were dressed in cloaks and garments lined with fur to protect them from the cold of the mountains they would all be traveling through. Peter's and Kurt's were in colors similar to their usual costumes; Peter also had his gloves and his Spider-Man mask was attached to his tunic where he could easily pull it on. He knew he had no secret identity to protect here on Middle Earth but somehow if he had to fight he'd feel more comfortable with it on.
In addition to his web-shooters Peter wore criss-crossed bandoleers of freshly made web cartridges and strapped to each thigh was a spider-fang short sword like the ones Legolas carried. He hoped he wouldn't need them, but he'd practiced with them every day since the elf had demonstrated them to him. Kurt had two of the larger yet similar style of swords on his back and both he and Peter wore a chain mail shirt underneath their Tunics. Legolas of course carried his swords and bow and arrows; Gimli a long handled ax that could double as a walking staff. Aragorn had his bow and arrow and sword; Boromir a similar sword and shield. Gandalf likewise carried a sword in the folds of his robes and a crooked wooden staff. The hobbits each carried a long dagger that would do as a short sword for them.
The community of Rivendell and their guests had gathered to bid them farewell. There was none of the mirth or merrymaking they'd shown the night before, only worry, for they all knew the fate of Middle Earth rested on the shoulders of Frodo and this mismatched band of individuals who sworn they would protect him.
Elrond and Arwen, and the twins Elladan and Elrohir, stepped down the white stone stairs and stood before the Fellowship. Arwen's eyes were brimming with tears as she looked at Aragorn, And Peter thought he saw sorrow in the ranger's too. Even Elrond's sons looked somber, and anyone who knew them might have been wondering if the world was about to end.
Elrond spoke up. "The Ring-Bearer is setting out on the quest to Mount Doom," and their was no mistaking the concern in the Elf-Lord's voice. "On him alone is any charge laid: neither to cast away the Ring or to deliver it to any servant of the Enemy, or even to handle it, save Member of the Company or of the Council, and only then at the gravest need. For you who go with him, no oath or bond is laid to go any further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose, and may the blessings of elves, and men, and all free folk go with you. May the stars shine upon your faces."
Aragorn, Legolas, and Gandalf all put their hands over their chests and bowed to Elrond. "The Fellowship awaits the Ring-Bearer," stated Gandalf.
Frodo cast one last look at Rivendell, wondering if he would ever see this place, or his beloved Uncle Bilbo again. Peter saw him looking at the old hobbit, and he felt a fresh pain at the memory of his own Uncle Ben.
Reluctantly, Frodo turned and led the Fellowship out of Rivendell, when something occurred to him. "Mordor Gandalf?" he asked. "Is it right or left?"
"Left," said the wizard.
End of Chapter 3
*I don't know the elvish words for the term.
**If you are wondering why Peter's spider-sense doesn't go off when Gandalf sneaks up on him-well, it warns him of danger, and Gandalf doesn't mean him any harm.