The Thurber Hypothesis

 

Or

 

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Imladris

 

 

 

By Capella

 

 

 

 

Three

 

“But Giles, they are so young.”  Legolas tucked a damp golden tendril behind his ear as he spoke.    “Buffy is different; I quite understand that.  I had sensed it before you told me of her calling.  But the other two?  They are mere children, yet you send them out as warriors against such foes as these.”

 

Giles gazed at the elf for a moment before replying.  Legolas sat straight-backed on the couch, loose hair drying across his shoulders.  His blue-eyed stare was almost uncomfortably penetrating. 

 

“Don’t think I’m not aware of it,” Giles said.  “I didn’t choose Buffy’s friends for her, she did that herself.  They have been through a good deal together and survived worse than this.  I sometimes wonder whether the love and loyalty between them lends a strength to Buffy greater than any physical weapon.  I wouldn’t wish to separate them.”

 

“Nevertheless, surely you agree that Buffy and I should seek out the Uruk-Hai tonight, while Willow and Xander stay here with you.”

 

“Willow, at least.  We have some serious talking to do about her dabblings in magic.”

 

“Aye.  She has great power, although she does not know how to control it.  She needs guidance, for such a gift will not long be restrained.”

 

“I rather fear you’re right.”  Giles sighed and leaned forward in his chair.  “More tea?”

 

Legolas blessed him with a sudden grin.  “I think not.  I believe I could become rather too fond of it.  I will take water if I may, and please, let me fetch it for myself.  Shall I bring some for you?”

 

“If you would.”

 

It had not taken long for the elf to observe the informality of the youngsters in Giles's home and modify his own behaviour to suit.

 

Giles’s gaze followed the lean, graceful figure crossing the room.  In spite of the fact that his borrowed white T-shirt was a little on the baggy side and the navy tracksuit trousers were distinctly short, Legolas was well worth looking at.  Dressed in Giles's cast-offs he may no longer scream ‘oddity’ to all and sundry, but he would still stop the traffic.  

 

As he handed Giles the glass, Legolas looked at him with serious eyes.  “And what of you?” he asked.  “You find yourself in a most difficult position, I think; responsible for your young friends’ actions, and yet not so.”

 

“Me?”  Giles made a vaguely dismissive gesture.  After a moment of silence he relented, suddenly aware that it had been far too long since he had been able to talk to another adult about his daily fear and uncertainty.  “Once again you are right, of course.  There was a time when my role in relation to Buffy was clearly defined.  Nowadays she always listens to my advice, but then basically goes her own way.”

 

“And you worry for her, constantly.”

 

“Yes.  She may be phenomenally strong and resilient, but she is not invincible.  She has already lived far longer than any other Slayer on record.”

 

“It is a terrible destiny.”  Legolas looked thoughtful.  “Yet she seems to bear it well.  There must be great depths of sorrow behind the light-hearted front she presents to the world.”

 

“Indeed there are.”  Giles agreed.  “The jokes and silliness may be in her nature, but they are also a major part of her self protection.”

 

“Then she is lucky to have loyal allies who understand her need for levity.  They must be a great comfort to her, and a source of strength, as you say.”  The elf grinned again as he continued.  “I myself have been similarly blessed, although of course I count amongst my friends several warriors of a rather more conventional type.”

 

Giles sat forward.  "Will you tell me something about them?" he asked eagerly.

 

Legolas laughed. “With pleasure,” he said.  “Aragorn and Gimli you know of, from your stories.” 

 

Giles nodded. 

 

“Aragorn is not one to approach battle in merry mood.  He fights with fire and passion, but it is ever a grim choice for him and he takes no joy in it.  Gimli, on the other hand, for all he is a kind-hearted and true companion, has the soul of a true warrior.  Once conflict is upon him, he takes a fierce delight in his work, and is consequently a terrifying foe.”

 

“I can well believe it,” Giles commented.  “What about you?  Are you a joyous warrior, or a reluctant one?”

 

“I could never enjoy the business of ending a life, even a mean and wicked one such as that of an orc,” the elf said pensively.  “Yet I admit that the fight itself is almost intoxicating.  There is much pleasure to be found in the exercise of physical power and skill.  It is often thus for those of my kind.  Meluinen is the same, for all his merriment.”

 

“Meluinen?”  Giles pronounced the unfamiliar name with care.

 

“You do not know of Meluinen?  No, of course not; he was not with me in the Great War, although he fought bravely at my father’s side in the battle for the Green Wood.”

 

“He’s an elf?”

 

“Yes, and my dearest companion amongst my people.  We have been friends since we were very young, and he dwells with me in Ithilien now.  He is both an excellent swordsman and a talented archer, and he has a ready wit and a great love of life.  In that respect, he rather resembles Imrahil.”

 

“Imrahil?”  Giles repeated stupidly, his head beginning to spin.  “Prince of . . . Belfalas?”

 

“Why so surprised that I mention his name?”  Legolas gave an odd, secretive smile.  “Things have changed since Sauron’s fall, and it is not now so uncommon for friendship to develop between man and elf.”

 

“No, I . . . it’s just that it’s terribly strange, hearing you talk of all these people whom I think of as mere characters in a book.  It’s taking some getting used to.”

 

“It can be no stranger than this experience is for me.” 

Giles caught the sudden note of anguish.  “Don’t worry,” he said with rather more confidence than he felt, “Miranda will get you back there.” 

 

They stared at each other for a moment.  “You are a good man,” Legolas said, “And I am grateful beyond words for all you are doing for me.  May I ask you something?”  He waited for the man’s nod.  “Is Giles truly the name your mother gave you?  I think that it is not.”

 

Giles looked hard at the ageless face and tried to detect a motive behind the unexpected question.  Legolas was giving nothing away.

 

“No, you’re right, again.  My first name is Rupert.”

 

“Rupert.”  From the elf’s tongue it sounded like a caress.  “A pleasing cadence.  What does it signify?”

 

He laughed, embarrassed.  “It’s hardly appropriate; it means ‘famous’.”

 

“Famous.”  Legolas’s smile broadened.  “Perhaps one day…”

 

“I very much doubt it,” Giles replied dryly.

 

“Would it displease you if I were to call you by your given name?  Or would it be discourteous according to your custom?”

 

“No, on both counts.  I should be delighted.” 

 

Far too delighted, Giles reflected, as he excused himself and headed upstairs to the bathroom.

 

The shower stall was cleaned and totally dry, the mat and cloth hung neatly over the rail.  Giles glanced around the tiny room and noted that Legolas was not only a diverting conversationalist, but a considerate houseguest too.  Easy company, in fact, were it not for the overwhelming physical response to the elf that Giles seemed unable to suppress. 

 

Time to give himself a serious talking-to about that, perhaps.

 

He stared into the mirror, noting the lines and wrinkles, the receding hair, the grey touches.  Where had the years gone?  It was such a long time since he had felt the stirrings of desire for another male, long enough to convince him that phase of his life was behind him.  And now . . .  mind you, one would have to be made of stone, not to be moved by Legolas. 

 

It was not just a question of ethereal beauty, either.  That he might have been prepared for.  But there was a physicality to the elf, a sensuality in the way he enjoyed his new experiences even in the midst of his anxiety and disorientation. Giles thought of the enthusiasm with which Legolas tackled his food, how his gaze and touch lingered on unfamiliar objects and materials, his delighted comments about the miraculously hot power shower – now there was a thought it would not be wise to dwell on.

 

Professor Tolkien might not have realised it, good Catholic that he was, but it would seem that this elf, at least, was a creature of the flesh as much as the spirit.

 

Then there was the flicker of feeling that had crossed Legolas’s face when he’d spoken of Imrahil – Giles was convinced he hadn’t imagined that.  “Oh yes, of course,” he hissed at his reflection.  “And just because he has something going with a part-elven ‘fair lord and great captain of men’,  it’s entirely appropriate for you to lose your head over him like some half-witted sixteen year old.  For heaven’s sake, Giles, grow up.”

 

Sighing, he turned from the glass, aware that realism was not going to win the day here.  Some spiritual focus might help, however.  The best thing he could possibly do was run through some Tai Chi exercises in his room before going back downstairs.  Legolas wouldn’t mind; he’d be happy enough listening to his tapes.

 

He was barely into the second sequence of slow, measured movements, his mind just beginning to calm, when a loud crash and a shout broke the peace and sent him running for the stairs.  Even before he reached the first step there were more noises, thuds and bangs, and another angry yell. 

 

Unfortunately, it was a voice he knew.

 

“Oh, Lord!” he groaned in exasperation.  “Spike!  What on earth are you doing here?”

 

“Giles!”  The vampire had no need of air to survive, but Legolas’s forearm pressed across his windpipe was clearly making speech difficult.  “Will you explain to Pretty Boy here that in the Land of the sodding Free we don’t strangle our guests?” 

 

Spike was obviously at a major disadvantage.  Legolas had a hold of both the vampire’s wrists, one behind his back in a firm lock, the other where he had apparently raised his hand in an attempt to dislodge the arm across his neck.  The well developed muscles of the vampire’s chest stood out in clear relief beneath his tight T shirt.  He was clearly trying hard to escape, but the elf seemed to hold him still with little effort.  Giles couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the sight.

Legolas was unamused.  “If you would pass me my knife, Rupert, I shall finish it,” he said evenly.

 

“Much as I’d love to watch that, Legolas, I’m afraid you need to let him go.”

 

“Why?”  Puzzled, the elf still heeded Giles and relaxed his grip.  “Is he not evil?  He fairly reeks of death.”

 

“Well . . .”

 

“Too bloody right I’m evil,” interjected Spike as he twisted himself free and turned to face Legolas.  “Rotten to the core.  And who’s asking?”  He stared at the elf for a moment, eyes narrowed.  “Legolas, eh?  Don’t tell me you’re a genuine elf?  The real bleedin’ McCoy?”

 

“You’ve read ‘Lord of the Rings?’”  For some reason Giles found the thought hilarious.

 

“Me?  Not bloody likely.  But a bloke doesn’t live for a hundred and fifty years without picking up a bit of general knowledge here and there.”  He spoke so hastily that Giles was certain he was lying.  Well!  Spike, a Tolkien fan.  Who’d have thought it?

 

Legolas’s grim expression had not softened as he stared back at Spike.  “And you are a bloodsucker, are you not?” he asked coldly.

 

“Certainly am.”  The vampire squared up, shoulders back, hands in the pockets of his ridiculously long leather coat.  He stood a good head shorter than the elf and his bleached crop seemed brasher than ever next to Legolas’s pale gold.  His strikingly angular face contorted itself into a coarse leer as he continued,  “Care for a little demonstration?  They might have fixed me up so I can’t bite humans, but there’s nothing in the rule book that says I can’t play with  elves.”

 

“Spike, for God’s sake!”  Giles exclaimed.

 

Spike blatantly looked Legolas up and down before grinning at the silent elf and licking his lips slowly.  “Oh, don’t worry,” he said in a low voice.  “I wouldn’t drain you all at once -  that would be a terrible waste.”

 

“I wish to have no contact with you,” said Legolas icily.  His gaze seemed locked to Spike’s, and there was an inexplicably disturbing expression on his face.

 

“Now, I’m not so sure of that,” the vampire said softly, taking a step closer.  “Are you going to lie to me and tell me you’re not just the tiniest bit intrigued by the thought of me getting my teeth into that pure white skin of yours?”

 

Spike moved in as he spoke, until he stood less than an arm’s length from Legolas.  To Giles’s astonishment the elf did not react, but continued to stare as if mesmerised.  Holding the eye contact, the vampire smiled wickedly and slowly raised a hand towards the pale neck. 

 

“Just the tiniest bit . . . aroused?” he said, as the backs of his fingers brushed the elf’s flesh.

 

There was a blur of movement as Legolas sprang to the corner of the room and whirled around with his knives in his hands.  “Touch me again,” he hissed, “and I shall slice your head from your shoulders.”

 

“You won’t catch me unawares a second time, Sweetheart.  How about you drop the knives and we go hand to hand?  You know how much you’d love it.  I promise I’ll be rough.”

 

Giles had had enough.  Reaching behind the sofa he grasped the nearest weapon to hand, a fine double-headed axe based on the ancient Minoan design.  “Spike, if Legolas doesn’t kill you, I’ve a good mind to do it myself,” he said, waving the axe to catch the vampire’s attention.  “Just remember that you are in my house, and unless you want me to change the metaphysical locks, you will abide by my rules.  That means no biting, no fighting, and quite definitely no more of your vile innuendo!”

“Oooh, what’s the matter?  Is Daddy jealous?” 

 

“That’s it!  Out. Now!”  Giles gestured to the door. 

 

For a second it looked as if Spike might argue.  His eyes flitted from Giles to Legolas, both armed and angry, and he shrugged.  “Okay, okay, no need to get your tights in a tangle.  I only came to see if you were interested in a bit of information on our army boys, but it looks like I’ll have to take it elsewhere.”

 

“Whatever you have to tell me, it can wait.  Just now, I would very much like you to leave.”

 

The vampire shrugged again before heading to the door, pausing to throw his blanket over his head before venturing out into the afternoon sun. 

 

Giles watched him go and drew the bolt before turning back to Legolas.  The elf still held his knives, although his hands had dropped to his sides.  The blue eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Giles.

 

“I’m sorry,” Giles offered.  “I should have warned you about Spike.  That could have been nasty.  Nastier.”

 

“He would not have hurt me,” the elf said,  calm once more.  “And there is no need to apologise; this is your home.  It is I who presumed by attacking him unprovoked, thinking him an intruder.”

“If he crashed in here as he usually does, it’d be an easy mistake to make.  Anyway, I am sorry.  And don’t be so sure he wouldn’t hurt you.  He’s a ruthless killer, and strong with it.”

 

“If his only intent was to kill me, he could present quite a challenge, it is true.”

 

“He has . . .” The words dried in Giles’s throat and he felt his cheeks start to burn as he realised the meaning of the elf’s comment.  Legolas did not seem at all concerned.  And why should he?  He had probably spent several centuries fending off unwanted advances, after all.

 

“Is it because there is still some good in him that you let him live?”  Legolas asked, seemingly oblivious to Giles’s discomfort.  “On the battlefield I have killed hundreds of whom that is true, and felt little remorse.  It is sometimes a necessity.”

 

Giles shook his head.  “To be honest, I don’t really know how we’ve restrained ourselves from staking Spike for this long.  He certainly does his best to provoke, as you’ve seen.  However, killing him now, when he can’t fight back, would be . . . morally dubious, I suppose.”

 

“And it may be that he yet has a part to play,” said Legolas thoughtfully, “like Gollum.”

 

Giles felt his skin prickle.  “Do you often see into the future?” he asked suddenly.

 

The elf looked at him in surprise.  “No, I was merely wondering . . .”

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”  Giles knew what he had felt, but sensing the elf’s disbelief, decided not to pursue it further.  Better to head for safe ground, and draw an uncomplicated smile from his companion.  He walked through to the kitchen, opened the fridge and inspected the healthy variety of foods inside. 

 

“Now,” he looked over his shoulder at Legolas.  “What shall we have for dinner?”

 

 

 

To be continued…

 

 

 

 

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