Chapter Eight: Being Wrong
“I wish people who have trouble communicating would just shut up.” Tom Lehrer
Sunday, September 15th 1940, would go down in the history books as the day when over 200 German planes were shot down while inflicting the heaviest bombing of the war on largely civilian targets. Twenty-five English planes were brought down too, but the decisive defense of England’s heartlands in this ‘Battle of Britain’ was so fierce that Germany ultimately decided to re-think their plans for forcing England to her knees.
Power stations and train lines in the Central and Southern parts of London were hit during daylight as well as night time hours, and parts of the city were hidden under a thick pall of smoke from the many fires. The bombs fell so thick and fast that almost everyone could feel the palpable sense of evil intent behind the destruction. If only they’d known the half of it….
Legolas Greenleaf, warrior archer of Mirkwood, hid beneath the pallet bed in his barren cell and trembled as the walls reverberated with the sounds of nearby explosions in the city around Brixton Prison. Dust streamed from cracks in the ceiling during the heavier impacts, and shouting and screaming could be heard from the few other prisoners still remaining in the building. The Elf was not afraid of dying…he was afraid that something worse was due to happen. He had no control over his fate, and no touch-point with anything he’d ever understood about the world.
Aragorn had parted company with Vic, reluctantly, in a town called Taos. He liked the name, he liked the look of the town. He especially liked the ring of white-capped mountains hovering so enticingly near. Dressed now in jeans and a strangely patterned lightweight shirt, a long tan duster wrapped around his body to ward off the chill air, Aragorn strode through the streets with his few possessions in a plain duffle -- a bag long enough to accommodate most of Narsil’s length.
He felt confident that he could find enough work in this place to keep him going -- at least for a while. He had a goal now; he’d seen something in a waking dream which drove him onward. Not being a real Elf, he didn’t experience truth and dream states the same way his brothers did, but Aragorn was at least sensitive to images and impressions. For the past few nights he had seen Legolas’s face in the far distance.
Somewhere…somewhere past the farthest horizon.
He could hold the image in his mind’s eye: the flaxen waves of soft, hair, braided with such care. The sparkle of Legolas’s eyes, corners crinkled with inner humor, snapping with the life and energy that surged through his slender frame. The finely tipped curl of his pointed ear, perhaps colored lightly with a blush…maybe even a blush of passion. Those soft, mobile lips, so quick with a quip or soothing with a kiss….
Yes, Aragorn was sure that he was not utterly alone in this alien place. He was sure now that he could find his missing brother somewhere in this alien land. Find him, and return with him to Middle-earth.
It took days for Colin to be informed that his brother Iain’s plane had been shot down over in a vicious dogfight over Harwich; days longer to learn that he’d managed to parachute to safety. He thought that this ‘not knowing’ was worse than ‘knowing’. Colin thought that it was the worst thing anyone could ever endure.
He was wrong.
Aragorn was walking along a small irrigation ditch when he heard the strangest sound, and finally looked up to see the most amazing sight…a bright and shining bird made of machinery was flying very quickly through the morning air! It was like one of the ‘cars’ had taken leave of the earth and could drive the sky at will! Dipping and wheeling, the metal bird was crossing over some distant fields, passing a thin spray of smoke down onto the rows of pepper, onion and lettuce plants. Aragorn thought it was the most amazing thing he would ever witness in his life.
He was wrong.
Legolas had survived the worst destruction London suffered, and right from the heart of it too. Somehow the city would rise each morning from the ashes of its own destruction, shake off the terror, and continue to fight. But the Elf couldn’t witness these daily acts of courage from the cage where he was being kept. He could only feel what was in the air, hear the sounds that carried to his sensitive ears. When he heard a group of Men approaching his cell for the last time he thought that they were there to release him from his unjustified imprisonment.
He was wrong too.
Weeks passed before Lieutenant Farrell was able to find out what had happened to Legolas – the ‘Wild Man of Victoria Park’. The newly organized Military Intelligence Unit had taken an interest in the strange man at last, and were doing their best to understand what he was and where he’d come from. This had not resulted in any increase of intelligence, or discovery of unique information valuable to the war effort. It had ultimately resulted primarily in Legolas’ transfer to a new kind of prison.
Farrell was a persistent man, and a devious one, when when he needed to be. He finally gained permission to visit the ‘hospital’ where this ‘possible enemy agent’ was incarcerated.
Colin arrived a few minutes before his scheduled appointment with the caseworker overseeing Legolas’ prolonged interrogation, and stood on the small patch of dead grass outside the inconspicuous building smoking a purloined cigarette and wondering why he was expending so much time and energy trying to solve this puzzle.
Scanning the dingy facade of the building, he noticed something strange. There was a fresh runner of ivy trailing upwards on the dirty wall, stretching toward a single window on the third floor. Nothing really that odd, until you took into account that all the other traces of ivy in the area were already dormant for the winter, looking mostly dead under a pall of dust, desiccated enough to rustle like bones in the morning breeze. But this particular tendril was still green. In fact it looked wholly new and spring-fresh. With a shiver, Colin realized that the window toward which the ivy appeared to be straining was barred in metal, and likely opened onto a ‘patient’s’ room.
He knew who the occupant was without even thinking.
“…and even dressed like a spy,” commented one of the men who was meeting with him before allowing him in to see Legolas. “Perfect cover for hiding in the woods.”
“Sure,” Colin laughed. “Pretty clever spy, ain’t he, wearing his forest camouflage in the heart of London! Such a danger to the Empire, these sneaky Elves!”
The man glared at him, but continued, as if Colin just needed a bit more convincing. “The cloak alone had this incredible quality – something that we need to be able to figure out. It seems to take on the colour of whatever surrounds it. Almost like it would help the wearer become…invisible.” When this failed to elicit proper astonishment, the man added, “We still don’t even know how it is he never sleeps.”
“I’ll bet he’s got other mystical powers as well!” Colin enthused, trying to hide how worried he was getting about the direction of their interest in the ‘Wild Man.’
“All the clothing was hand-sewn, sometimes with stitches so fine that we’ve had to use magnification just to see them. The ornamentation is so subtle, yet elaborate….”
“Yeah, he’s fuckin’ Royalty where he comes from,” Colin sighed. “Can I just be seeing the lad now, or not? I’ve got a duty shift to attend to eventually.”
A few more wasted minutes of bureaucratic mumbo jumbo, and he was finally shown to the ward where Legolas was being housed. It looked rather like a hospital, but all the locked doors sent a pretty obvious message. The last door was unlocked and Colin let through, knowing that he was probably being watched. He couldn’t help but notice that this WAS the window where the ivy still grew.
A stealthy motion from across the room, and dull, pale blue eyes turned to meet his. Colin gasped aloud, unable to hide his shock at the sight of the terribly thin, pale face -- which looked at him flatly. The dying ivy outside had more life in it. A government-issue uniform hung on hunched, bony shoulders, cuffs nearly obscuring the fisted hands as the figure slowly paced, just like a caged zoo animal. The furniture had been moved to make room for a track around the perimeter of the ward.
But the worst obscenity was that the fine, golden hair had been shorn closely and crudely, as was common practice with mental patients. The pointed ears stuck out, emphasizing this gross defacement. “Colin,” Legolas acknowledged hoarsely, his voice a shadow of its former self. Even in utter defeat, he tried to square his shoulders and lift his head proudly.
That was when Colin Farrell realized that he had to rescue this unique creature…this Elf.
Sunday, September 15th 1940, would go down in the history books as the day when over 200 German planes were shot down while inflicting the heaviest bombing of the war on largely civilian targets. Twenty-five English planes were brought down too, but the decisive defense of England’s heartlands in this ‘Battle of Britain’ was so fierce that Germany ultimately decided to re-think their plans for forcing England to her knees.
Power stations and train lines in the Central and Southern parts of London were hit during daylight as well as night time hours, and parts of the city were hidden under a thick pall of smoke from the many fires. The bombs fell so thick and fast that almost everyone could feel the palpable sense of evil intent behind the destruction. If only they’d known the half of it….
Legolas Greenleaf, warrior archer of Mirkwood, hid beneath the pallet bed in his barren cell and trembled as the walls reverberated with the sounds of nearby explosions in the city around Brixton Prison. Dust streamed from cracks in the ceiling during the heavier impacts, and shouting and screaming could be heard from the few other prisoners still remaining in the building. The Elf was not afraid of dying…he was afraid that something worse was due to happen. He had no control over his fate, and no touch-point with anything he’d ever understood about the world.
Aragorn had parted company with Vic, reluctantly, in a town called Taos. He liked the name, he liked the look of the town. He especially liked the ring of white-capped mountains hovering so enticingly near. Dressed now in jeans and a strangely patterned lightweight shirt, a long tan duster wrapped around his body to ward off the chill air, Aragorn strode through the streets with his few possessions in a plain duffle -- a bag long enough to accommodate most of Narsil’s length.
He felt confident that he could find enough work in this place to keep him going -- at least for a while. He had a goal now; he’d seen something in a waking dream which drove him onward. Not being a real Elf, he didn’t experience truth and dream states the same way his brothers did, but Aragorn was at least sensitive to images and impressions. For the past few nights he had seen Legolas’s face in the far distance.
Somewhere…somewhere past the farthest horizon.
He could hold the image in his mind’s eye: the flaxen waves of soft, hair, braided with such care. The sparkle of Legolas’s eyes, corners crinkled with inner humor, snapping with the life and energy that surged through his slender frame. The finely tipped curl of his pointed ear, perhaps colored lightly with a blush…maybe even a blush of passion. Those soft, mobile lips, so quick with a quip or soothing with a kiss….
Yes, Aragorn was sure that he was not utterly alone in this alien place. He was sure now that he could find his missing brother somewhere in this alien land. Find him, and return with him to Middle-earth.
It took days for Colin to be informed that his brother Iain’s plane had been shot down over in a vicious dogfight over Harwich; days longer to learn that he’d managed to parachute to safety. He thought that this ‘not knowing’ was worse than ‘knowing’. Colin thought that it was the worst thing anyone could ever endure.
He was wrong.
Aragorn was walking along a small irrigation ditch when he heard the strangest sound, and finally looked up to see the most amazing sight…a bright and shining bird made of machinery was flying very quickly through the morning air! It was like one of the ‘cars’ had taken leave of the earth and could drive the sky at will! Dipping and wheeling, the metal bird was crossing over some distant fields, passing a thin spray of smoke down onto the rows of pepper, onion and lettuce plants. Aragorn thought it was the most amazing thing he would ever witness in his life.
He was wrong.
Legolas had survived the worst destruction London suffered, and right from the heart of it too. Somehow the city would rise each morning from the ashes of its own destruction, shake off the terror, and continue to fight. But the Elf couldn’t witness these daily acts of courage from the cage where he was being kept. He could only feel what was in the air, hear the sounds that carried to his sensitive ears. When he heard a group of Men approaching his cell for the last time he thought that they were there to release him from his unjustified imprisonment.
He was wrong too.
Weeks passed before Lieutenant Farrell was able to find out what had happened to Legolas – the ‘Wild Man of Victoria Park’. The newly organized Military Intelligence Unit had taken an interest in the strange man at last, and were doing their best to understand what he was and where he’d come from. This had not resulted in any increase of intelligence, or discovery of unique information valuable to the war effort. It had ultimately resulted primarily in Legolas’ transfer to a new kind of prison.
Farrell was a persistent man, and a devious one, when when he needed to be. He finally gained permission to visit the ‘hospital’ where this ‘possible enemy agent’ was incarcerated.
Colin arrived a few minutes before his scheduled appointment with the caseworker overseeing Legolas’ prolonged interrogation, and stood on the small patch of dead grass outside the inconspicuous building smoking a purloined cigarette and wondering why he was expending so much time and energy trying to solve this puzzle.
Scanning the dingy facade of the building, he noticed something strange. There was a fresh runner of ivy trailing upwards on the dirty wall, stretching toward a single window on the third floor. Nothing really that odd, until you took into account that all the other traces of ivy in the area were already dormant for the winter, looking mostly dead under a pall of dust, desiccated enough to rustle like bones in the morning breeze. But this particular tendril was still green. In fact it looked wholly new and spring-fresh. With a shiver, Colin realized that the window toward which the ivy appeared to be straining was barred in metal, and likely opened onto a ‘patient’s’ room.
He knew who the occupant was without even thinking.
“…and even dressed like a spy,” commented one of the men who was meeting with him before allowing him in to see Legolas. “Perfect cover for hiding in the woods.”
“Sure,” Colin laughed. “Pretty clever spy, ain’t he, wearing his forest camouflage in the heart of London! Such a danger to the Empire, these sneaky Elves!”
The man glared at him, but continued, as if Colin just needed a bit more convincing. “The cloak alone had this incredible quality – something that we need to be able to figure out. It seems to take on the colour of whatever surrounds it. Almost like it would help the wearer become…invisible.” When this failed to elicit proper astonishment, the man added, “We still don’t even know how it is he never sleeps.”
“I’ll bet he’s got other mystical powers as well!” Colin enthused, trying to hide how worried he was getting about the direction of their interest in the ‘Wild Man.’
“All the clothing was hand-sewn, sometimes with stitches so fine that we’ve had to use magnification just to see them. The ornamentation is so subtle, yet elaborate….”
“Yeah, he’s fuckin’ Royalty where he comes from,” Colin sighed. “Can I just be seeing the lad now, or not? I’ve got a duty shift to attend to eventually.”
A few more wasted minutes of bureaucratic mumbo jumbo, and he was finally shown to the ward where Legolas was being housed. It looked rather like a hospital, but all the locked doors sent a pretty obvious message. The last door was unlocked and Colin let through, knowing that he was probably being watched. He couldn’t help but notice that this WAS the window where the ivy still grew.
A stealthy motion from across the room, and dull, pale blue eyes turned to meet his. Colin gasped aloud, unable to hide his shock at the sight of the terribly thin, pale face -- which looked at him flatly. The dying ivy outside had more life in it. A government-issue uniform hung on hunched, bony shoulders, cuffs nearly obscuring the fisted hands as the figure slowly paced, just like a caged zoo animal. The furniture had been moved to make room for a track around the perimeter of the ward.
But the worst obscenity was that the fine, golden hair had been shorn closely and crudely, as was common practice with mental patients. The pointed ears stuck out, emphasizing this gross defacement. “Colin,” Legolas acknowledged hoarsely, his voice a shadow of its former self. Even in utter defeat, he tried to square his shoulders and lift his head proudly.
That was when Colin Farrell realized that he had to rescue this unique creature…this Elf.
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