The Thurber Hypothesis

 

Or

 

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Imladris

 

 

 

By Capella

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

 

“But Willow, is it actually legal?”  Giles asked for the second time.

 

“Well…  not exactly… legal, as such, but as long as you’re not making any profit out of it, nobody’s likely to prosecute you.  Anyway, you use a pseudonym and hide your trail; nobody needs to know it’s you.  That’s the wonder of the Net.  And you can hardly have moral issues over copyright when all you’re actually doing is telling the truth.”  She smiled at him winningly.

 

“I really don’t know.”  Giles sat back in his chair and passed the pen from hand to hand, contemplating the possibilities.  “I still think it’s too good for me to keep it to myself, and Legolas was quite happy for me to share all the information he gave me.”

 

“What about the Paranormal Society?  You could really give some credibility to Thurber’s theory if you submitted a paper there.” 

 

“Oh, I couldn’t do that.”  He shook his head, thinking of the stuffed shirts on that committee.  “They’d never accept unsubstantiated eye witness accounts, even from a Society member.  The manifestation has to be verified by at least two registered monitors.  No, if I’m going to publish anything, I think the Net has to be the way forward.”

 

“There’s plenty to work on, anyway.  Just the story of him being here, let alone all the things he told you.  You must have talked for hours.”

 

“Yes, we certainly did,” Giles replied bleakly.

 

Willow looked at him, wide-eyed with concern.  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said gently.  “You still really miss him, don’t you?”  Her glance turned to the framed photo on the mantelpiece.  Of all the pictures it was Giles’s favourite; the elf’s serene smile more than compensated for his own foolish grin. 

 

“I miss him,” he said simply.

 

“Well, writing it up would be good for you… probably,” said Willow, trying hard. 

 

He smiled at her uncertainty.  “It would definitely be good for me.”

 

“And you don’t want to forget it all, so you need to get on with it.”

 

“Yes.”  Suddenly he knew he had to tell her.  “There are the tapes to transcribe as well, but I suppose that could be done later.”

 

“Tapes?  There are tapes?” she squeaked, almost out of her chair.  “You didn’t tell us you were making tapes.”

 

“I didn’t actually know about them until after he’d… gone.” Giles replied.  “Xander apparently got him the cassettes and showed him how to work the machine, but he must have made them at night.  There are six of them, six lots of ninety minutes.”

 

He was not about to mention the seventh tape.  There wasn’t much on it – Legolas hadn’t had much time to record it on that last  morning – but although short, it was astonishing, and most definitely not for sharing.  The elf had been gone for less than two weeks, but he had already lost count of the number of times he’d listened to it.

 

“What’s on them?”  Willow asked eagerly.

 

“All sorts of detail.  His childhood in Mirkwood, but mostly things about the post-war situation: Minas Tirith, Ithilien, Dol Amroth… it’s fascinating stuff.  There are even some jokes attributed to his friend Meluinen – and I can assure you, Tolkien wouldn’t have believed his ears if he’d heard those.”

 

“How fabulous,” breathed Willow, saucer-eyed.  Bless her!  Who else would really understand the value of this gift?

 

“Have you made copies yet?” she was asking.

 

“Copies?”

 

“Yes – Giles, you must copy them!  They’re invaluable – what would you do if one of them got damaged?”

 

“Good God, I hadn’t even thought of that.” And at the rate you’re going with that seventh tape you’ll be wearing it out all too soon, you old fool.  “What would I do without you, Willow?”

 

“Oh, you’d probably still be writing on a slate with a chalk,” she said cheerfully, getting up to take the tea tray through to the kitchen. 

 

Giles laughed, feeling too full of affection for her to bother making an acidic comment in response.  He leafed through the papers in front of him, chewing on the end of his pen, while she clattered about with the cups and plates. 

 

“Leave them, I’ll do them later,” he called.

 

Willow came back into the lounge and sat at the table opposite him.  He looked up to find her staring at him with bright eyes.

 

“Giles, could we – would you mind if I listened to one of the tapes with you?”

 

“No, of course not.” 

 

Of all of them, Willow had shown the most sensitivity towards his melancholy over the elf’s departure.  Nobody had asked about his relationship with Legolas, and generally they seemed to want to gloss over it, change the subject and cheer him up with spurious distractions.  Willow was the exception.  He felt sure that she had guessed or sensed the truth, and she actively sought to talk to him about the elf whenever possible.  If this crazy undertaking got off the ground, she’d be fully involved.  Yes, they could listen to the tapes together; and if he couldn’t hold the sadness in, she’d understand.

 

“Which one shall we start with?” he asked.

 

“Umm, the first one, I guess.  His childhood.”

 

“That makes sense.”  He went over to the stereo to set up the tape, saying over his shoulder,  “We might as well sit in the comfy chairs.”

 

Once they were settled he pressed the relevant button and sat back, feeling the usual note of sorrowful excitement in his belly.  He glanced at Willow, sitting forward on her seat with head in hands.  She smiled at him sympathetically before he shut his eyes.

 

There was a moment of hissing and crackling before the rich, lyrical tones of Legolas’s voice filled the space.  Giles breathed deeply, picturing the elf sitting across the room and spinning his wonderful stories, those blue eyes full of affection and trust.  The first few sentences of the recording washed over him as he held the image in his mind, nurtured it and focussed in on the details.  It didn’t matter that he wasn’t really concentrating on the words.  After all, he was not merely listening to the tape; he was remembering, for both of them.

 

 

 

 

 

********************    End   ********************

 

 

 

 

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