The Thurber Hypothesis

 

Or

 

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Imladris

 

 

 

By Capella

 

 

 

One

 

Xander was half way past the graveyard when he heard the noise.  Years of Slayerette practice hadn’t gone to waste – he knew what to expect when he turned.  Sure enough, there was the game face.  He’d been a youngish guy when he died, medium height and stocky.  Black suit covered in dirt, clearly just up from the grave.  And hungry as hell.

 

He started to run, digging in his pocket.  Crap.  Well done, Xander. Take the short cut, why don’t you?  Hours after sundown, and in your work pants, not even a cross to help you out.

 

The vamp was gaining on him as he dodged round the corner into a poorly lit street, tree-lined.  No sign of any stake material to hand.  And no chance to outrun this one, probably a football player with that build.  Where’s the Slayer when you need her?

 

Less than thirty yards down the street the inevitable happened.  A hand on his shoulder, then an arm around his neck, pulling him up short and in against the stinking body.  Xander took a deep breath and slammed his elbow back, trying to get enough distance to turn.  They may recover quickly, but a kick in the balls still hurts them, might give him time to get away.

 

No such luck.  Seconds later the vamp had him backed up against a broad tree trunk, leering in at him with foul yellow eyes.  How many aborted apocalypses had he seen, only to end up going like this?  It seemed a terrible shame, somehow.  And the others, they’d all be sitting around at Giles’s place right now, special scoobies meeting in session.  How ironic. 

 

Buffy is going to make this her fault, for sure.

 

He brought his knee up sharply, made the connection, saw the genuine pain in the vamp’s eyes.  Not such a killer move without the added Slayer strength - he was still pinned against the tree, only now the vamp was mad as hell, as well as hungry.  One grey, filthy hand came up and grabbed him by the jaw, slammed his head back into the wood.  He saw stars, and something else:  a glimpse of blonde hair, moving very fast.

 

Jeez, where did she come from, out of the tree? 

 

Xander slumped to the ground, head reeling, as the vamp was pulled off him.  Then opened his eyes and came back to earth in a rush.  That most definitely was not Buffy, blond or not.  Then who the hell was it?  Some tall guy in a fancy dress outfit, like an extra from Robin Hood, but nothing fake about his fighting, that much was clear.  The vamp was down, not finished, in spite of the vicious looking knife being yanked out of somewhere near his heart.

 

“Won’t do it,”  Xander croaked.  “Need to cut his head off.” 

 

The tall guy turned and glanced at him.  Wow.  You wouldn’t have to be into men to spot this one.  Plus, he didn’t mess about – just waited till the vamp got to his knees, then dusted him with a flash of steel across the neck.  A very fast flash of steel.

 

“Who . . .”  Xander stopped, finding the guy suddenly crouching next to him, hand at his throat, holding him still without quite hurting him.  There was something very strange about him.  They stared at each other.  The guy seemed wild, frightened.  And the more Xander looked, the more obvious it was that the guy wasn’t actually human.  The voice confirmed it, making the hairs on the back of Xander’s neck stand up.

 

“What is this place?”

 

 

********************

 

 

When the conversation turned to Riley, Giles fled into the kitchen area to make another pot of tea.  Fond as he was of Buffy and Willow, and even, these days, of Anya, there were definite limits to his indulgence.  He could not deny that mention of the boy’s name still stung.  Oh, they had all been at pains to make up for his complete humiliation, had apologised a hundred times between them for simply forgetting to tell him about the college-boy commando.  If anything, they had tried far too hard to make him feel better.  The damage was firmly done, and Giles knew that it would be a while before he could be in their company for any length of time without feeling old and, quite frankly, useless. 

 

Still, here they were, supposedly engaged in research, although in fact the sum total of their findings was too close to zero to bear examination.  Whatever the new  threat in town might be, it was not announcing itself clearly.

 

He crouched at the fridge, reaching for the milk, as he heard the door open and Xander, boisterous as ever, calling,  “Good evening, Ladies!  Daddy’s home!”  Giles winced at the boy’s assumed accent.  “And look who’s coming to dinner.”

 

The room seemed to become very quiet.  Giles felt goosebumps starting on his skin even before he placed the carton on the tray, picked the whole thing up, and turned to look over the counter top into the lounge.

 

The man standing behind Xander, gazing around the room as if taking in every detail, was extraordinary.  One could ignore his clothes and his hairstyle; Giles had seen far stranger sights on the Californian streets.  His height and bearing, however, would merit a second glance in any company.  He had a lean, muscled look, almost a dancer’s build; and a sense of wary readiness, as if some internal spring was coiled for a hair-trigger release. 

 

Giles stared silently, worried for a moment by some faint, nagging hint of familiarity.  He couldn’t begin to place it, as he was sure he had never seen the man before.  It would be impossible to forget a face like that.

 

‘Man?’ he thought suddenly, realising that he was looking at no such thing.

 

Buffy, with her Slayer sense, must have reached the same conclusion.

 

“Ooo – a pretty demon!  That’s a new twist,” she said.

 

The visitor turned his head towards her and spoke, the sound sending shivers down Giles’s spine.

 

“I am no demon, Child.  You would be wise to choose your words with more care,”  he said.

 

There was no anger in his tone, but Giles, for one, would be inclined to agree.

 

Xander seemed to be the only one of them entirely at ease with the situation.  He finished off a burger with his customary enthusiasm for such junk, and threw the crumpled wrapper across the room into the bin before he spoke. 

 

“He’s on our side, whatever.  Gets my vote – I’d have been partying solo in the morgue if he hadn’t shown up to save me.  He’s an edhel, right?”  He looked at the other for confirmation.  “Name’s Legolas.”

 

Giles heard Willow’s squeak, as he let the tray crash down on to the counter and blurted out the exclamation,  “Good God!” 

 

Less than half a second later he was staring far too closely at a long, gleaming knife.  How it had come to be so near, he was not entirely sure. 

 

“Buffy, no!”  he cried, as the Slayer vaulted the sofa to come to his defence.  Raising his hands in what he hoped was a universal gesture of surrender, he focussed on the edhel – elf – in front of him.  Strangely, it did not occur to him to doubt that Xander had spoken the truth.

 

“Amin hiraetha,”  he said, rather breathlessly.  “Avo ‘osto.”

 

The knife was lowered slowly.

 

Giles brought his hands down carefully to his sides before carrying on.

 

“Mae govannen, mellon.  Creoso a’baramin.” 

 

He was quite unprepared for the effect the elf’s smile had on him. 

 

He was aware of Buffy, standing just behind and to one side of Legolas, ready to step in if necessary.  He heard Willow’s “You speak Sindarin?  Cool!”, and the confused queries from Xander and Anya in response.  But all those things seemed to exist somewhere on the periphery of his consciousness, in the tiny fraction of his brain which was not riveted to the sheer radiant beauty of the sight in front of him.

 

Giles could feel the blush rising and his heart speeding up, as the blue eyes continued to gaze into his.  He was quite convinced that the elf knew exactly what was happening, and cursed himself as a fool for his lack of self control.  He longed to take off his glasses and polish them, his habitual gesture of self defence, but could not even bring himself to move.

 

“You are most courteous,”  said Legolas, at last, in strongly accented English that sounded infeasibly musical.  “Please forgive my unnecessary aggression.  Finding myself here in your world has unsettled me.”

 

The spell seemed to be broken by the words, and Giles felt himself smile at the gentle understatement and the serenity of the stranger's voice and expression.  This, then, was the legendary composure of the elves.  Even by Sunnydale’s rather exceptional standards, this promised to be a most interesting evening. 

 

 

 

 

Amin hiraetha:                      I’m sorry

Avo ‘osto:                                Do not fear

Mae govannen, mellon:        Well met, friend

Creoso a’baramin:                 Welcome to my home

 

 

 

 

 

 

Two

 

 

“It’s all in here.”  Giles set the heavy book down with something of a flourish.  “I had the feeling that I remembered the reference.  Inspiration finally struck me in the early hours and I retrieved it from the cellar this morning.” 

 

It had been the only good to come of the lengthy, restless night.  Legolas may have slept wonderfully well – no doubt he had needed to do so after three nights of fearful hiding in a strange world – but his mere presence in the house had been enough to ensure that Giles had found no peace.

 

“And it is?”  Buffy enquired brightly, head tilted to one side.  “ ‘The Geek’s Guide to Dungeons and Dragons?’”

 

“Buffy!”  Willow seemed unnecessarily upset by her friend’s comment.  “Don’t mock Legolas.”

 

Buffy shot her an apologetic glance then turned to smile dazzlingly at Legolas.  The elf, sitting back motionless in his chair, barely raised an eyebrow in response.  It was hard to tell how much of the conversation he had fully understood, since he drank it all in with little apparent reaction. 

 

“Sorry,”  Buffy said, “I didn’t mean to offend.”

 

“As I know nothing of the book to which you refer, it is hardly likely that your remark would offend me,” replied Legolas placidly.  “Perhaps you could explain it to me?”

 

Buffy had the grace to blush slightly.  “Maybe later.  I think Giles wants to play teacher now.”

 

Giles cleared his throat.  “Indeed.  I can see no point in waiting for Xander, who is doubtless going to sleep the morning away in his own dank dungeon.  This,” he laid a hand on the dusty volume, “is the collected digest of the proceedings of the British Paranormal Society annual conference for the nineteen seventies.” 

 

“Now I’m really excited,” Buffy chipped in.  Giles and Willow both turned to silence her with a look.

 

“In nineteen seventy-two, William Thurber presented his hypothesis to the conference.  It was not well received, and for a while nothing more was heard of it.  In recent years, however, due to advances in cosmology and quantum physics, the hypothesis has gained some credence amongst the more learned theorists in the field.”

 

“Giles, we speak English here, remember?” 

 

“So we do, or at least what passes for English in Southern California.”  Giles glared at the Slayer.

 

“What does the theory say?”  Willow asked impatiently, leaning forward with her elbows on the table and staring up, wide-eyed, at Giles.  She was definitely on edge; he would have to question her discreetly later on.

 

“Let me read from Thurber’s own abstract.” Giles opened the book at the place marked by a Magic Shop flyer.  “Here it is.”

 

“ ‘In a creation which comprises an infinity of multiple universes, it may be posited that every conceivable scenario is in fact reality in one such universe.’  Nothing unexpected there . . . he talks for a while of the multi-universe theory . . .  ah, here:  ‘given that’  no, wait, ‘the most potent of our myths, the most complete constructions of our fantasy, are more than simple products of the human imagination, expanded over generations to become part of the collective consciousness.  They are in fact reflections of actuality as it is experienced in  those universes least distant from our own, when considered in the framework of multi-dimensional space-time.’  There is more, but that gives the gist of it.”

 

Buffy frowned.  “And again I say to you, in English, please?”

 

“Stories aren’t stories,” Willow spoke quickly to her friend.  “They’re visions of reality in other worlds near ours.”

 

“But not all stories?”

 

”I sincerely hope not,” said Giles with a shudder, “Although without considering the true meaning of ‘infinite,’ it would be hard to say.”

 

“If I understand it correctly, this theory would explain why you, through these books you speak of, know so much of my world,” Legolas said, his gaze fixed somewhat disconcertingly on Giles.  “But does it shed any light on the reason for my presence amongst you?”

 

“I’m afraid it does not.  I can only assume that some magical accident brought you here, perhaps some fluctuation related to the Hellmouth.”

 

The elf nodded silently.

 

“Er, Giles,” Willow was positively agitated now.  “Does the theory state that the stories are written because the universe is close, or does the writing itself bring it closer?”

 

Giles narrowed his eyes at her.  “The debate continues, although Thurber himself inclined to the former view.  Why?”

 

“I have a horrible feeling it might be my fault that Legolas is here,” she said in a small voice.

 

Even Legolas could be seen to start at this announcement.

 

“Will, what are you talking about?”  Buffy sounded incredulous.  “Don’t tell me you . . .”

 

“Magicked, yes I know, I said I would be careful.  I didn’t mean to do it.”

 

Giles sat down heavily and reached for the teapot.  “I think I might need something stronger after I hear this,” he said wearily.  “Do tell us, Willow.”

 

“Four nights ago – that’s when you arrived, isn’t it?” Willow waited until the elf signalled his confirmation.  “I was on the net, looking at stuff about the films they’re making in New Zealand – you know, the Lord of the Rings trilogy.  It looks really cool, and they’ve got all these great actors and effects . . . there’s loads of discussion about it.    I went and read some of the best bits of the book afterwards, and then I was thinking of . . . about Legolas, ‘cos he’s always been my favourite.” 

 

Willow’s face was nearly as red as her hair, but the elf showed no response to her stuttered words.

 

“Buffy was out and said she’d be really late, so I thought I’d practise some spells until she got back.  I was trying a summoning, nothing dangerous, just benign spirit stuff, but I guess I didn’t really focus.  I felt this huge rush of energy, but nothing appeared, and I just assumed the spirit had got part way here and gone back again or something.”

 

“And instead,” Legolas said gravely, “you summoned me.  Do you know what powers you play with, Child?”

 

Willow stared down at the table and mumbled , “I’m really sorry, Legolas.”

 

“At least we know there is nothing more sinister than utter foolishness behind this,” Giles said with a sigh.  “Willow, we’ve talked about this before.  You know perfectly well that there is no such thing as a safe summoning spell.”

 

They were spared further discussion by the arrival of Xander, with a large cardboard box in one hand and a carrier bag in the other.

 

“Good morning, Ladies, Gentlemen and Elves, I bring you . . . brain food, direct from Dunkin Donuts.” 

 

Giles stood and went through to the kitchen, listening as the others exclaimed over the contents of the box.

 

“Legolas should have first choice,”  Willow stated. 

 

“What is this?” 

 

“Delicious goodness,” Xander told the elf.  “Fat, sugar and starch – all the crucial food groups.  I guarantee you’ll love it.”

 

“You do eat our food, don’t you?”  asked Buffy.  “Not just nectar and ambrosia and stuff?”

 

Giles grinned to himself as he filled the kettle.  His own doubts on that score had been dispelled the night before, while watching Legolas demolish a huge portion of chicken fajitas rapidly, cleanly and with unconcealed delight.

 

He approached the table just in time to see the elf licking the last remnants of the donut from his long, slim fingers.  It was a sight he could have done without under the circumstances. 

 

“Wondrously sweet,” Legolas pronounced, “And the brown confection . . .?”

 

“Chocolate!” the youngsters interjected in unison.

 

“The chocolate was quite delicious.  Thank you, Xander.”  The elf’s smile suddenly became melancholy.  “I can think of a Halfling who would weep for joy to taste such a delicacy.  Giles, now that we have established how I have come to be here, perhaps we could discuss the manner of my return?”

 

“Huh?”  Xander noisily pulled a chair out from the table and parked himself on it.

 

“Parallel universe.  Will goofing up her spells.  I’ll explain it later,” Buffy told him.

 

“Magic brought you here, Legolas, and only magic can send you home again,” said Giles, leaning on the back of the remaining chair.

 

“You have some power; I can sense it.”  The elf stared searchingly at him until Giles felt his body hairs stand on end.  “Can you do this for me?”

 

“I am afraid I cannot.  It would take more power, and far more skill, than I have at my disposal.  A simple banishment I can manage, but to return you to the exact place, at the right moment –”

 

“Then will Legolas have to stay?”  Willow sounded rather too eager.

 

“I doubt it.”  He crossed the room to the bureau and opened the lower drawer.  “I may not be much of a sorcerer, but I do maintain a pretty impressive network of contacts in occult circles.  I think it may be time for me to do a little summoning of my own.”

 

“I, er, have a Taransthenian crystal, if you want to borrow it,” Willow said hesitantly.

 

Giles retrieved the old diary and gave her a long hard look.  “Thank you, Willow, that will not be necessary, although perhaps you should bring it here for safekeeping anyway.  On this occasion the telephone will suffice.” 

 

Miranda, the voice said, was out of town until the end of the week.  Giles left an appropriately heartfelt message and returned to tell the others.  “She will call back by Friday, I have no doubt.  It’s worth waiting for Miranda; she is both powerful and reliable.  Besides, she owes me a favour or two.”

 

“I suppose you introduced her to her husband,” Buffy said.

 

Giles laughed.  “No, it’s rather more complicated than that.  I don’t think Miranda would thank me for disclosing the whole story.  Legolas, I should tell you that I’m not completely certain she will be able to help you; there are many factors to consider.”

 

“I have to believe that it will happen,” the elf said quietly.  “In which case, it seems that I have a week to learn what I can of your world.  I should start by studying your script, perhaps.  I admit that I am keen to know what is written of Middle Earth in this book you speak of.”

 

“Ah, no need to bother with the reading.”  Xander lifted his plastic bag up to the table.  “I called in at the bookstore and got you a little something.  See?  The Lord of the Rings – Audio Edition.  And a Walkman to play it on.”

 

Xander started unwrapping the cassettes and showed Legolas how to put one into the machine, don the headphones and switch it on.  A look of wonderment crossed the elf’s face at the same moment that a horrible thought entered Giles’s mind.

 

“Wait!” 

 

They all stared at him, shocked. 

 

“Legolas, you mustn’t – you cannot listen to all of it.”

 

Comprehension clearly dawned on the elf as his eyes held Giles’s.  “I must not know of my own future?” he said.

 

“It is a fundamental rule of contact between worlds,” Giles said quickly.  “All kinds of cosmic forces will be thrown out of balance, and who knows what the consequences might be?”

 

The glorious smile took his breath away once more.  “Then you shall listen first, and tell me at which point I must stop.”  The elf removed the headphones and slid the apparatus across to Giles.  “As I told you last night, in my world it is thirteen years since the defeat of Sauron.”

 

“No, wait, it’s OK,” Willow was reading the back of the box.  Tape seven is the appendices; he’ll be alright as long as he doesn’t listen to those.  And it won’t ruin the story either.  Although I just love the bit at the end where he and -”

 

“Willow!”

 

“Oops!  Sorry.”  She pulled the last cassette from the box and handed it to Giles.  “There – all safe.  And I promise not to talk about it again.”

 

Giles stowed the tape in a drawer and picked up a pile of papers from the bookcase on his return journey.  “And now perhaps the rest of us should return to our rather more usual business,” he said.  “In spite of all this excitement, there is still the matter of the mysterious sightings in the woods.  Buffy, are you sure there’s nothing more you can add to these?”

 

The Slayer studied the drawings laid out side by side across the table, as Giles moved round to look over her shoulder, the sketching pencil in his hand. 

 

“I know you think I should have stuck around to get their names and ID numbers,” she said irritably, “but there were too many of them and I only had a stake.  These guys are gonna need some serious weaponry.  And there’s something not quite right about the face.”

 

“I’ve got to agree with that!”  Xander grimaced at the pictures.

 

“No, I mean the drawing isn’t right.”

 

Legolas rose smoothly to his feet and came to stand at Giles’s elbow, terribly close.  Giles thought he might be imagining the sensation of heat from the elf’s body, but the shiver that ran across his skin was real enough.

 

“May I?” 

 

Giles moved out of the way as the pale hand took the pencil from him and Legolas bent to the table.  With a few deft strokes the elf widened the middle of the figure’s face and altered the slant of its eyes as the humans watched in silence.

 

“That’s it!  That’s what I saw,” Buffy exclaimed.

 

“Then the mystery is solved,” said Legolas, “although the problem remains.  At least it is one with which I am well qualified to help you.”

 

 

 

To be continued…

 

 

 

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