Chapter Twenty-three: Strange Feathers
“Some things have to be believed to be seen.” – Ralph Hodgson
Coming out the back door of Rebecca’s house at the edge of town, Aragorn hesitated, wondering which way Legolas had wandered. The pine slopes had been calling to the Elf earlier in the morning, but he might have felt the urge to explore somewhere else. The Ranger pursed his lips and whistled the mating call of a small, cheeky little brown bird that had never lived in this world, and never would. The response came from a copse of trees downslope, far back from the road. Aragorn trotted off in that direction.
He found Legolas with his legs wrapped around the trunk of a huge, gnarled old tree, back comfortably fitted along a heavy low branch, gazing up at the shifting leaves. He was hum-singing quite happily, fingers working back and forth across the weathered bark beneath his hips.
“That tree is called cottonwood,” Aragorn told him. “They like the banks of streams.”
“She had a stream here once,” Legolas said. “Over there. The Men took the water for their fields and left her bereft. Her children perished or were cut down, but she has persevered.” He leaned up on one elbow, looking at his friend critically. “I gave her my own water, and she is thanking me with some shade and memories of this land before Men came, many, many winters ago.”
“I knew I smelled the Elf piss. I followed it from Becca’s house.”
“Liar. You couldn’t smell Orc piss in a flower garden,” Legolas laughed. “You never even realized how badly Boromir reeked of onions and dillweed.”
“I chose not to notice. That is not the same thing, my friend.” He came close, standing on a humped surface root, hip against the limb, and reached down to grasp the Elf’s shoulder. His other arm went around Legolas’ waist, and he smiled fondly at the contented Elf. “I think that perhaps you should not go with me to talk to Saruman. I am very worried about what mischief he might have found.”
“We know that his magic does not seem to work in this world,” Legolas said. “Else he would have wrought more damage than he already has by intervening in the affairs of these people.”
“There are other kinds of magic, my heart. He has done evil enough, and that only with what we know. The things that we do not know frighten me most.”
“Nothing frightens you, King of Gondor,” the Elf all but cooed, stroking his hand through Aragorn’s hair. His eyes were dilated in the sun-dappled morning light.
“That is not true, as you well know.”
Legolas gently tugged Aragorn forward until their lips met, and he expertly kissed the Man’s mouth. His hum-singing changed pitch and tone. Aragorn’s arm tightened around his waist, and his fingers stroked the honey wheat of the Elf’s long, soft hair. “You have never tried to protect me before,” Legolas whispered, letting the edge of his thumb trace confidently over his lover’s features.
“In Middle-earth you are the ruler of all things. You are the most deadly creature to walk the land – and the most intelligent and learned and experienced. You can speak to the elements and the world, and it speaks to you.”
“Gandalf would beg to differ about Elven superiority.”
“I know. Maia don’t count unless they chose to. But here you are as a child. Your difference is not necessarily to your advantage. This is a world of Men, and of Men’s things.”
“And look at what they have done with it,” the Elf said. “War here, again, even with all the blessings of this world and all the outcomes of their science. Hatred and divisiveness, religions that separate rather than unify, and contempt for the integrity of the land and sky and sea.” He shook his head. “I grow even more convinced that Man is inherently insane.”
“You appear to be right.” Aragorn grinned, a wicked glint in his eye. “We’re all mad.” His quick fingers found the fastening on Legolas’ trousers and he slid the zipper down, laying his palm against the cool, smooth skin beneath the alien clothes without losing contact with the Elf’s eyes. He saw the flicker of heat in those purple depths.
“Mad,” Legolas repeated, knowing that they were unobserved in their current location. His eyes slid shut to savor the sensation as Aragorn’s lips and tongue teased his hardening penis, fingers tugging the short hairs of his pubis and stroking his tightening balls.
“I have seen Men here who have cut the skin from their cocks,” Aragorn said softly, his words slurred by the work of his clever tongue.
That made the Elf’s eyes snap open again, and he lifted his head from its pillow of bark. “You what? They...what do you mean?”
“This,” the Ranger explained, pulling on his foreskin, sliding a finger inside to circle the damp glans. That stimulation was enough to fill Legolas’ cock until the foreskin retracted along the shaft.
Hum-sing became a low moan, which left no room for doubt about the Elf’s appreciation. “What sort of craziness would impel such grotesque mutilation?”
“I asked Marvin the same question, and he said it increases the pleasure of stimulation.”
“That is clearly a lie,” the Elf said dreamily. “If my Elfhood were any more sensitive than it is now I would not be able to stand the torture. Stop teasing me with mock restraint, Man, and swallow what is offered.”
The Ranger happily complied, and was rewarded with a burst of song as the Elf tried to anchor himself to the branch, and thus to the world.
Aragorn’s sword had been hidden in the hangar while he’d had been off on his adventure to England. It was safe there, in Marvin’s care, but the Ranger still lovingly honed and oiled the blade after he’d come to retrieve it. Marvin watched him with a sense of tension. Something was going to happen, and soon. He had met Legolas at long last, and was surprised to find that this supposed ‘Elf’ was actually taller then he himself. Aside from a nervous eye cast toward the crop dusters, Legolas was clearly comfortable in this place, but eager to continue with their plans.
They had asked Marvin for help yet again, and despite his misgivings he agreed.
Pulling to a stop in the dusty parking lot of the Silver Lode Diner, Marvin shut off the truck’s engine and turned to address his passengers. “This is where he was two days ago, and where I asked him to meet me again. I think he'll likely show, but you never really know. These folks kinda come and go of their own accord.”
Aragorn nodded, smiling. “We thank you, Marvin. I am glad you thought such to help us.”
“Well, if you’re wanting to get a pizza, you look for an Italian.” The metaphor drew blank looks from the other two. He started to explain over again when a slumped figure emerged from the shadowed corner of the building. “Oh, there he is! Come on.”
They met beside the truck, and Marvin took it on himself to make introductions. “Larry Two Ponies, this is Aragorn and Legolas. These are the fellows I was telling you about.”
The old Indian took Aragorn’s hand, studying his face intently. The Ranger smiled warmly, recognizing another resident of the fringes of ‘polite’ society. “I am honored to meet you. I am Aragorn, a Dunedain of the North, son of Arathorn. I am sorry I do not speak your own language, and my English is not as good as it should.”
“My tribal name is Shufinne. I am of the winter cacique of the Tiwa Pueblos, and my village is Mojualuna. The whites call me Larry Two Ponies.”
“Whites?” Marvin laughed. “You callin’ me white? I think I’m offended!”
Two Ponies had turned his attention to Legolas, and could clearly sense that this was no normal person either. Legolas touched his open palm to his shoulder and greeted the Indian in Elvish, which seemed to please the old man no end. “Please call me Legolas. I am a stranger here, but not a stranger to ancient peoples and those who respect the land.”
“You are just as Marvin said you would be,” Two Ponies said. “But you are more beautiful than he told me, and with a strength of spirit I can see in your eyes. Yours is a very old soul.”
“Moreso than you imagine,” Legolas assured him.
Two Ponies nodded. “Come with me.” He led their group away, into the trees at the edge of the parking lot. A few dozen yards into the brush there was a blanket laid on the grass, and several bows were upon the blanket.
Legolas’ eyes had sparked at the sight, and he knelt to examine them. “May I touch these?”
“Of course. Marvin told me that you needed a real bow, not some worthless trinket made to sell to the tourists. These seasoned bows are from a master bow-maker in another tribe. They are made the old way, and would normally never be sold to a white.”
Legolas had quickly sorted through the selection, dismissing each for one flaw or another, and settled on two possible candidates. “This one seems too light for my arm, but it has been many years for me without a proper weapon.” He glanced at Two Ponies for permission before bending the bow and catching the string. “The Professor was very nervous about me having weapons for fear that someone might report me to the authorities, and there could be complications. Of course I made things to defend myself with, but I was a guest under his protection and I had to abide by his wishes.” He unstrung the bow again and took up the one he seemed to have liked from the first moment. Stringing this one, he tested it critically, bending the wood past what seemed would be the breaking point, letting his fingers gauge the quality of the gut string and searching for imperfections.
“I have some arrows.” Two Ponies said, indicating a small pile. “It is very sad how few today can make the arrows of the past. No one can even remember now how to make a kind of glue from deer hooves which my own grandfather used to use. There are so few good feathers now as well. The wild turkey is gone from our mountains and the whites tell us that we cannot have certain feathers any more. It is like the feathers now must belong to the whites, just like the land. Next they will tell us that the air is theirs too.”
“Don’t look at me,” Marvin warned. “I’ve been told crap and lies and ‘no’ my whole life too.”
Aragorn smiled at him warmly. “Hero not always appreciate.”
“You said that...sorta,” Marvin agreed.
Legolas had picked out a few arrows and stood quickly, testing the bow a couple more times before nocking an arrow and taking aim at something in the woods.
“There is a tree there...” Two Ponies started to say, but the arrow took flight with a faint whistle and disappeared into the deep forest. Legolas frowned, adjusting the head of the bow somehow, flexing it to re-seat the string, and then drawing quickly again. Another arrow flew past the target tree. One more, almost so fast that he’d seemed to produce it from nowhere, and then the Elf straightened, smiling to himself.
“You missed the tree,” Marvin commented dryly.
Aragorn laughed. “You clearly do not know Elves! Come with me, Marvin and Shufinne.” He started off into the woods. They walked for several hundred yards, through the brush and branches, at least eight times farther than the target tree had been, until they reached the bole of a big dead pine. Aragorn was grinning as he pointed to two arrows imbedded deeply in the stump of a broken bough, no more than a couple of inches apart. Another arrow was in the main trunk, probably that first shot which had displeased Legolas. Two Ponies had to tug very hard to get the arrows free of the dead wood.
“Like a sniper,” Marvin said in awe. “I couldn’t have done that with even a riflescope, a steadier eye than I’ve got, and a month of Sundays to practice!”
Two Ponies squinted back the way that they’d come, his face open with surprise. “This is a spirit-man! This is not a man of this world!”
“You are very right,” Aragorn agreed.
Legolas suddenly appeared beside them, having come through the trees without being seen. “Will you sell this bow to me, brother? And some arrowheads of metal or stone; I will make my own arrows.”
Two Ponies was almost overcome. “I cannot take money from you...I will give the bow to you. It is mine by inheritance, and I would have it sing again with righteous use.”
They spoke for a while longer, Legolas agreeing to shoot some more just to prove that the first shots had not been a fluke, and Marvin found that he could only agree that this was a spirit amongst them. Two Ponies took some money in the end, saying that he would use it to buy materials and make bows to teach the children of his tribe, and maybe make them remember when their people were the proud Tiwa Pueblos of old.
Legolas and Aragorn took their weapons, and prepared to find their enemy.
Coming out the back door of Rebecca’s house at the edge of town, Aragorn hesitated, wondering which way Legolas had wandered. The pine slopes had been calling to the Elf earlier in the morning, but he might have felt the urge to explore somewhere else. The Ranger pursed his lips and whistled the mating call of a small, cheeky little brown bird that had never lived in this world, and never would. The response came from a copse of trees downslope, far back from the road. Aragorn trotted off in that direction.
He found Legolas with his legs wrapped around the trunk of a huge, gnarled old tree, back comfortably fitted along a heavy low branch, gazing up at the shifting leaves. He was hum-singing quite happily, fingers working back and forth across the weathered bark beneath his hips.
“That tree is called cottonwood,” Aragorn told him. “They like the banks of streams.”
“She had a stream here once,” Legolas said. “Over there. The Men took the water for their fields and left her bereft. Her children perished or were cut down, but she has persevered.” He leaned up on one elbow, looking at his friend critically. “I gave her my own water, and she is thanking me with some shade and memories of this land before Men came, many, many winters ago.”
“I knew I smelled the Elf piss. I followed it from Becca’s house.”
“Liar. You couldn’t smell Orc piss in a flower garden,” Legolas laughed. “You never even realized how badly Boromir reeked of onions and dillweed.”
“I chose not to notice. That is not the same thing, my friend.” He came close, standing on a humped surface root, hip against the limb, and reached down to grasp the Elf’s shoulder. His other arm went around Legolas’ waist, and he smiled fondly at the contented Elf. “I think that perhaps you should not go with me to talk to Saruman. I am very worried about what mischief he might have found.”
“We know that his magic does not seem to work in this world,” Legolas said. “Else he would have wrought more damage than he already has by intervening in the affairs of these people.”
“There are other kinds of magic, my heart. He has done evil enough, and that only with what we know. The things that we do not know frighten me most.”
“Nothing frightens you, King of Gondor,” the Elf all but cooed, stroking his hand through Aragorn’s hair. His eyes were dilated in the sun-dappled morning light.
“That is not true, as you well know.”
Legolas gently tugged Aragorn forward until their lips met, and he expertly kissed the Man’s mouth. His hum-singing changed pitch and tone. Aragorn’s arm tightened around his waist, and his fingers stroked the honey wheat of the Elf’s long, soft hair. “You have never tried to protect me before,” Legolas whispered, letting the edge of his thumb trace confidently over his lover’s features.
“In Middle-earth you are the ruler of all things. You are the most deadly creature to walk the land – and the most intelligent and learned and experienced. You can speak to the elements and the world, and it speaks to you.”
“Gandalf would beg to differ about Elven superiority.”
“I know. Maia don’t count unless they chose to. But here you are as a child. Your difference is not necessarily to your advantage. This is a world of Men, and of Men’s things.”
“And look at what they have done with it,” the Elf said. “War here, again, even with all the blessings of this world and all the outcomes of their science. Hatred and divisiveness, religions that separate rather than unify, and contempt for the integrity of the land and sky and sea.” He shook his head. “I grow even more convinced that Man is inherently insane.”
“You appear to be right.” Aragorn grinned, a wicked glint in his eye. “We’re all mad.” His quick fingers found the fastening on Legolas’ trousers and he slid the zipper down, laying his palm against the cool, smooth skin beneath the alien clothes without losing contact with the Elf’s eyes. He saw the flicker of heat in those purple depths.
“Mad,” Legolas repeated, knowing that they were unobserved in their current location. His eyes slid shut to savor the sensation as Aragorn’s lips and tongue teased his hardening penis, fingers tugging the short hairs of his pubis and stroking his tightening balls.
“I have seen Men here who have cut the skin from their cocks,” Aragorn said softly, his words slurred by the work of his clever tongue.
That made the Elf’s eyes snap open again, and he lifted his head from its pillow of bark. “You what? They...what do you mean?”
“This,” the Ranger explained, pulling on his foreskin, sliding a finger inside to circle the damp glans. That stimulation was enough to fill Legolas’ cock until the foreskin retracted along the shaft.
Hum-sing became a low moan, which left no room for doubt about the Elf’s appreciation. “What sort of craziness would impel such grotesque mutilation?”
“I asked Marvin the same question, and he said it increases the pleasure of stimulation.”
“That is clearly a lie,” the Elf said dreamily. “If my Elfhood were any more sensitive than it is now I would not be able to stand the torture. Stop teasing me with mock restraint, Man, and swallow what is offered.”
The Ranger happily complied, and was rewarded with a burst of song as the Elf tried to anchor himself to the branch, and thus to the world.
Aragorn’s sword had been hidden in the hangar while he’d had been off on his adventure to England. It was safe there, in Marvin’s care, but the Ranger still lovingly honed and oiled the blade after he’d come to retrieve it. Marvin watched him with a sense of tension. Something was going to happen, and soon. He had met Legolas at long last, and was surprised to find that this supposed ‘Elf’ was actually taller then he himself. Aside from a nervous eye cast toward the crop dusters, Legolas was clearly comfortable in this place, but eager to continue with their plans.
They had asked Marvin for help yet again, and despite his misgivings he agreed.
Pulling to a stop in the dusty parking lot of the Silver Lode Diner, Marvin shut off the truck’s engine and turned to address his passengers. “This is where he was two days ago, and where I asked him to meet me again. I think he'll likely show, but you never really know. These folks kinda come and go of their own accord.”
Aragorn nodded, smiling. “We thank you, Marvin. I am glad you thought such to help us.”
“Well, if you’re wanting to get a pizza, you look for an Italian.” The metaphor drew blank looks from the other two. He started to explain over again when a slumped figure emerged from the shadowed corner of the building. “Oh, there he is! Come on.”
They met beside the truck, and Marvin took it on himself to make introductions. “Larry Two Ponies, this is Aragorn and Legolas. These are the fellows I was telling you about.”
The old Indian took Aragorn’s hand, studying his face intently. The Ranger smiled warmly, recognizing another resident of the fringes of ‘polite’ society. “I am honored to meet you. I am Aragorn, a Dunedain of the North, son of Arathorn. I am sorry I do not speak your own language, and my English is not as good as it should.”
“My tribal name is Shufinne. I am of the winter cacique of the Tiwa Pueblos, and my village is Mojualuna. The whites call me Larry Two Ponies.”
“Whites?” Marvin laughed. “You callin’ me white? I think I’m offended!”
Two Ponies had turned his attention to Legolas, and could clearly sense that this was no normal person either. Legolas touched his open palm to his shoulder and greeted the Indian in Elvish, which seemed to please the old man no end. “Please call me Legolas. I am a stranger here, but not a stranger to ancient peoples and those who respect the land.”
“You are just as Marvin said you would be,” Two Ponies said. “But you are more beautiful than he told me, and with a strength of spirit I can see in your eyes. Yours is a very old soul.”
“Moreso than you imagine,” Legolas assured him.
Two Ponies nodded. “Come with me.” He led their group away, into the trees at the edge of the parking lot. A few dozen yards into the brush there was a blanket laid on the grass, and several bows were upon the blanket.
Legolas’ eyes had sparked at the sight, and he knelt to examine them. “May I touch these?”
“Of course. Marvin told me that you needed a real bow, not some worthless trinket made to sell to the tourists. These seasoned bows are from a master bow-maker in another tribe. They are made the old way, and would normally never be sold to a white.”
Legolas had quickly sorted through the selection, dismissing each for one flaw or another, and settled on two possible candidates. “This one seems too light for my arm, but it has been many years for me without a proper weapon.” He glanced at Two Ponies for permission before bending the bow and catching the string. “The Professor was very nervous about me having weapons for fear that someone might report me to the authorities, and there could be complications. Of course I made things to defend myself with, but I was a guest under his protection and I had to abide by his wishes.” He unstrung the bow again and took up the one he seemed to have liked from the first moment. Stringing this one, he tested it critically, bending the wood past what seemed would be the breaking point, letting his fingers gauge the quality of the gut string and searching for imperfections.
“I have some arrows.” Two Ponies said, indicating a small pile. “It is very sad how few today can make the arrows of the past. No one can even remember now how to make a kind of glue from deer hooves which my own grandfather used to use. There are so few good feathers now as well. The wild turkey is gone from our mountains and the whites tell us that we cannot have certain feathers any more. It is like the feathers now must belong to the whites, just like the land. Next they will tell us that the air is theirs too.”
“Don’t look at me,” Marvin warned. “I’ve been told crap and lies and ‘no’ my whole life too.”
Aragorn smiled at him warmly. “Hero not always appreciate.”
“You said that...sorta,” Marvin agreed.
Legolas had picked out a few arrows and stood quickly, testing the bow a couple more times before nocking an arrow and taking aim at something in the woods.
“There is a tree there...” Two Ponies started to say, but the arrow took flight with a faint whistle and disappeared into the deep forest. Legolas frowned, adjusting the head of the bow somehow, flexing it to re-seat the string, and then drawing quickly again. Another arrow flew past the target tree. One more, almost so fast that he’d seemed to produce it from nowhere, and then the Elf straightened, smiling to himself.
“You missed the tree,” Marvin commented dryly.
Aragorn laughed. “You clearly do not know Elves! Come with me, Marvin and Shufinne.” He started off into the woods. They walked for several hundred yards, through the brush and branches, at least eight times farther than the target tree had been, until they reached the bole of a big dead pine. Aragorn was grinning as he pointed to two arrows imbedded deeply in the stump of a broken bough, no more than a couple of inches apart. Another arrow was in the main trunk, probably that first shot which had displeased Legolas. Two Ponies had to tug very hard to get the arrows free of the dead wood.
“Like a sniper,” Marvin said in awe. “I couldn’t have done that with even a riflescope, a steadier eye than I’ve got, and a month of Sundays to practice!”
Two Ponies squinted back the way that they’d come, his face open with surprise. “This is a spirit-man! This is not a man of this world!”
“You are very right,” Aragorn agreed.
Legolas suddenly appeared beside them, having come through the trees without being seen. “Will you sell this bow to me, brother? And some arrowheads of metal or stone; I will make my own arrows.”
Two Ponies was almost overcome. “I cannot take money from you...I will give the bow to you. It is mine by inheritance, and I would have it sing again with righteous use.”
They spoke for a while longer, Legolas agreeing to shoot some more just to prove that the first shots had not been a fluke, and Marvin found that he could only agree that this was a spirit amongst them. Two Ponies took some money in the end, saying that he would use it to buy materials and make bows to teach the children of his tribe, and maybe make them remember when their people were the proud Tiwa Pueblos of old.
Legolas and Aragorn took their weapons, and prepared to find their enemy.
Subtitles
- Chapter One: The Leap
- Chapter Two: Landing on your Feet
- Chapter Three: All the wild Things
- Chapter Four: Funny Paper Heroes
- Chapter Five: Caught
- Chapter Six: Blitz
- Chapter Seven: Hitting the Road
- Chapter Eight: Being Wrong
- Chapter Nine: Assumptions
- Chapter Ten: Coffee and Hot Cross Buns
- Chapter Eleven: Fate of the Brave
- Chapter Twelve: The Forest for the Brave
- Chapter Thirteen: Arrow in the Dark
- Chapter Fourteen: Little Brown Birds
- Chapter Fifteen: Popcorn and Prize-winning Pumpkins
- Chapter Sixteen: The Distance Breeched
- Chapter Seventeen: A Song to Light the Dark
- Chapter Eighteen: The Meaning of Fellowship
- Chapter Nineteen: Meanings Behind Words.
- Chapter Twenty: If Elves were meant to fly
- Chapter Twenty-one: Across the Western Sea
- Chapter Twenty-two: Atcheson Topeka and the Santa Fe
- Chapter Twenty-three: Strange Feathers
- Chapter Twenty-four: A Bitter Fruit
- Chapter Twenty-five: Looking for the Exit
- Chapter Twenty-six: Tainted
- Chapter Twenty-seven: The Killing Blow
- Chapter 28: Epilogue