Or Up And Down Again; A Physics Teacher's Tale
An uneasy feeling crept up the spine of the heir of Isildur and although their elf�s senses were far superior to his, Aragorn kept an ear out for the danger he knew was to come. Although he had managed to drag the remaining eight of the Fellowship off the slopes of the mountain, it didn�t take a catapult-scientist to figure out that orcs would flood those hills by nightfall. And many nights had passed since then. It was only a matter of time. Had he wanted to reach these woods a few nights ago? He frowned. Must be aging. Memory starting to haze.
Looking up, Aragorn breathed in deeply the warm sweet scent of cooking mushroom stew intermingling with the slightly chilly night air. Fireflies flitted in the distance, and small studs of diamonds lay scattered upon the dark velvet of night. If only Arwen were here to see this. Aragorn sniffled and wondered if he was getting a cold. Had one when they were leaving Bree and was sniffling all the way to Rivendell. Luckily, his favorite family doctor (and foster father) Dr. Elrond Half-Elven MD fixed him up with some Aspirin.
Although some may sit by their campfire, mesmerized by dancing flames and oblivious to the world, Aragorn and the heroes of the Fellowship were obviously not of those types. Aragorn, least of all. The far off snapping of a twig had him on his feet and sword drawn, eyes quickly searching the darkness. Of course, the others were right behind him and Pippin gave a little squeak of surprise, but for the rest, they were silent.
"What is this?" Boromir asked softly, "Not another new devilry?"
"That was not funny." A very dry response came from their elf, "Not even remotely funny."
"Orcs?!" The rest of the Fellowship gave him a blank look, thus, loudly and into the dark forest, Aragorn hollered, "Who crawls about on a night as dark as this? Be you a friend or a foe, my fire is welcome to you, as the evening and the accompanying chill has arrived."
"We�re not inviting an orc to share the fire with us, Aragorn!" Gimli snarled, but not loudly.
"I�m just trying to get them into the light!" Aragorn hissed back, "I thought I was the leader of the Fellowship!"
"Rank puller." Boromir snarled.
"I wouldn�t talk." Giving the other man a dirty look, Aragorn�s grip tightened about his sword, and called loudly again, "There is no need to fear us."
But there was no answer. Not even another snap of a twig, nor the sound of a sharply intaken breath. Aragorn frowned, perplexed and looked back at his companions, all of which were looking to him for guidance. The elf seemed to be much more alert than he was earlier, but although the hobbits wore brave masks, Aragorn saw through those right away and into faces of exhaustion. "Alright. I suppose they�re not going to take us up on that invite." The smell of mushroom stew hit him once again, and the gargle of Gimli�s stomach gave the Fellowship a chance to exchange nervous laughs. "We�ll stay here tonight and move at first light."
The hunter and Ranger within him told Aragorn that this was a mistake which could prove fatal. Still, to avoid alarming the others, he resumed sitting where he had been, but laid his bare sword on his knees. Sam had begun spearing sausages onto a fork and the hobbits looked cheered at the thought of a warm dinner. It always did good to listen to instinct, and more than once throughout the meal, Aragorn was tempted to urge them to move on, or at least put out the fire, but every time, he stopped himself. There probably was nothing. But that twig . . . ?
"I�ll take first watch." Aragorn offered, and Boromir dropped off to sleep the instant he found out he wasn�t on duty, leaning up against the trunk of a large tree. The hobbits didn�t need shooing into bed, and they almost fell asleep as instantly as Boromir. On the other hand, the dwarf took the time to finish his pipe. Aragorn frowned as Legolas showed no intentions of moving from where he stood, against a tall tree, where he had spent all evening, eyes rapidly scanning the darkness. He sighed, "That would mean you too, elf."
"I do not need mortal sleep." Legolas answered firmly, and although he was addressing Aragorn, his eyes did not look to his direction, but remained on their surroundings. "There lurks evil."
"Perhaps." Aragorn silently motioned with his hands to downplay the fact so that the rest of the Fellowship (who needed a nice rest) could find peaceful sleep that night. Frodo lifted his head and his eyes cast upon his friends questioningly. Aragorn gulped, and quickly lied, "We are safe for the night." The hobbit nodded once and fell back asleep, but Aragorn did not need Legolas�s fleeting look to tell him that his statement was naught more than a false truth.
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With Aragorn leading and Boromir acting as rearguard, the Fellowship pressed southwards into the forest, for the first time relatively well rested and in better spirits. Unfortunately, spirits amongst the hobbits were so high, they had almost lost Sam twice as the hobbit had run off the trail in search of mushrooms to replenish his supply. Twice, it took the elf�s sharp eyes to find and haul the little hobbit back to the Fellowship, albeit with enough mushrooms for that night�s meal.
"Look, hobbit." Legolas lectured in his cold, impersonal elven way, "If you do that once again, I�m going to make Frodo stand up against yonder tree with a single mushroom atop his curly head and provide you with a single arrow and use of my bow. Lest you miss, you shall slay your master and our Ring Bearer, but you shall be spared the experience of an elven prince�s wrath!"
Frodo touched the top of his head, "Sam, I like my head where it is. And the way it is. Without any unnatural holes. Make sure it stays that way." Still, he gave a smile to the other hobbit who was still trembling at the thought of his horrific aim.
"I do not like this," Up ahead, Aragorn silently exchanged a few words with Gimli as they followed the trail into a small clearing in the woods, the surrounding trees dark and hid much in their shadows. The dwarf nodded, fingering the axe at his belt, "It is a perfect place for an � "
"Aragorn!" Frodo screamed, panic ripping the name from the hobbit�s throat, as the Ranger turned quickly, "We�ve got a BIG problem!"
"That would be a slight understatement." Dry comment from their calm, composed and cool elf, of course. Aragorn expected to turn around and be face-to-face with a gigantic demon, perhaps another balrog, but instead, there was absolutely nothing aside from the Fellowship. He frowned in confusion, and knew that hobbits were known to make jokes once in a while . . . but the elf . . . ?
With a high pitched whistle somewhere to his right, a black shafted orc arrow slammed into the ground, and Aragorn drew his sword, "Where are they?"
"That�s the problem!" Gimli yelped, drawing his axe as the orc arrows came with a disturbing increase in regularity, from sources unknown, "Aragorn! Do something!"
"What?!" He yelped, "What am I supposed to do against an invisible foe?!"
"They�re all around!" Legolas whispered helpfully, and Boromir rounded up all the hobbits around him and tried to shield them all with his finely polished shield, "Aragorn?!"
"There has to be something . . ." The words left Aragorn�s mouth in a gasp, "Anything! But what?"
"It is Classic week." A voice came from the darkness, with heavy foot falls, "And if you don�t know what that means; it means a whole bunch of favors and other work to do!" Legolas�s arrow was trained on the speaker as he approached the Fellowship who were in a very tight situation. Aragorn studied the stranger warily, as the other was obviously an unarmed man, with what seemed to be a very thin slab of dark stone tucked under an arm, a large white circular object and in his sword hand, a gigantic half-eaten carrot. "And of course! I am here. And late for my physics 40S class again! Stupid student council and their activities!"
"Who are you?!" Aragorn demanded, and fortunately, at this moment, all the orc arrows had stopped flying, "Negotiator? For the orcs?" He doubted this very much, but was wary, "What is your purpose here?"
"First of all," The other man replied, adjusting what Aragorn noted were glasses, "I do not know what my purpose here is." He motioned to his orb, "I must be going to smooth out some details for the Viking Classic. It�s this weekend." He sighed, "Classic week!" When Aragorn did not answer, he took a bite out of his carrot, crunching loudly. "I am a teacher of physics. Mr. DeGroot."
"A man." Aragorn whispered softly, "Then you�d be a friend."
"Wow!" DeGroot gave them all a strange look, "How did you get the weapons? You�re a little early for Halloween!"
"What?!" Gimli asked, frowning.
"You know, the student council did a pretty good job with the scenery," Mr. DeGroot looked around, "The library looks pretty much like Middle Earth! Of course, where are the books? Or at least the photocopier?" He whipped a folded sheet of paper out of a pocket, "I need to photocopy a waver."
"The Great Library is in Minas Tirith." Boromir answered dryly, "Not here."
"Minas Tirith?" Getting obviously frustrated, Mr. DeGroot scowled, "Look here, there is no need to carry on this way! I am a teacher here at this school and deserve to be treated as such! I am in a hurry and in no mood for student�s early Halloween-decorating activities!"
"I must apologize for the inconvenience," Aragorn extended a hand, "But we do not know to which you refer. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn."
"ARAGORN?" Nearly dropping his paper, stone tablet and orb in surprise, Mr. DeGroot stared, "The Ranger?" The other nodded. "I don�t believe this! YOU won�t believe this! I�m your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandson or something like that!"
"I thought you had Arwen�s eyes." Aragorn noted, a little dryly, "Still, DeGroot, future heir of Isildur, your presence here is surprising."
"If I knew I was meeting royalty, I would have changed!" Mr. DeGroot looked down at his sandals, blue-tipped gray socks and Vincent Massey Volleyball sweatshirt, and pants, "Talk about unexpected things in life!" He paused, "Why am I here? Isn�t this Vincent Massey High School library in the year 2002?"
"No. It is year 3019 of the Third Age. You are on Middle Earth. In the middle of an orc-infested forest." Legolas provided the obvious, "The closest library is in Minas Tirith."
"What to do on a rainy night in TORONTO?!" Suddenly almost hysterical, Mr. DeGroot half-sang, "You HAVE to be kidding? I traveled back in time? What kind of physics phenomenon is THIS?!"
"You appeared when I had wished for aid. It is the only plausible explanation." Aragorn gripped his sword, "But why you? Unarmed but for a carrot!"
"This is my lunch!" Sounding quite offended, Mr. DeGroot took another bite.
"Are you a wizard?" Aragorn asked, frowning. "You carry a Palantir."
"No." Mr. DeGroot blinked quickly, "This is a volleyball!"
"A volleyball?" Pippin asked, "What�s a volleyball?"
"It�s a tool used in a game that is arranged into tournaments that give you headaches!" Mr. DeGroot frowned, "This can not be happening! Not during Classic week!"
"Quiet," Legolas hissed, "The evil returns!" And all the hobbits scurried around Boromir who held his shield over them all. Suddenly, an arrow smashed in out of no where, and the entire Fellowship cringed.
"Why aren�t you returning fire?" Mr. DeGroot asked, concerned, "That�s what supposed to happen, right?"
"We would if it were a visible enemy." Their elf answered far too calmly, "I can not risk my handful of arrows on a faceless foe."
"Haven�t you ever taken physics?!" DeGroot snarled angrily, and grabbed the elf�s arm, "Projectiles? TYPE TWO? What about SYMMETRY?" The elf shook his head, fair face twisted in confusion. "OH GOSH!" Quickly sitting down, DeGroot opened the stone slate to reveal what he called a lap-top computer, "Look, it is a type two projectile question. There is symmetry." From around his neck, DeGroot grabbed a velocity sensor and handed it to Gimli, as well as a small protractor to Frodo, "Get me the final velocity of the arrows, angle of launch and maximum vertical distance."
"Aye, aye!" The hobbits squeaked, and ran off to their respective tasks with Boromir and Aragorn often pushing them out of the way just in the nick of time as the ambush of orcs began their assault again. With quick fingers, Mr. DeGroot entered all the Fellowship�s collected data into his handy-dandy Type Two Projectile Calculator on Excel and pressed enter.
Like magic, everything he needed to know showed up on the screen and Mr. DeGroot informed Legolas and Aragorn who had their bows ready, "Orc at average horizontal displacement or range of exactly thirty meters!" Both man and elf loosened their arrows at the same time, and as both landed, shrieks of orcs followed.
"Wow!" Aragorn gasped, and as the hobbits and dwarf rapidly fed information back to their wonderful savior from the future, the arrows of Aragorn and Legolas found their targets quite easily, "Whatever physics is, I love it!"
"Same." Legolas permitted himself a small conserved elven smile as the orc arrows no longer flew from the bush and the elf was sure that the enemy was either slain or had fled, "Look. There is a practical application. The angle at which the arrows hit us and the angle from which they are fired are the same. If we maintain the magnitude but reverse the direction of final impact velocity, we can even fire upon a hidden enemy and strike them!"
Aragorn nodded eagerly, and Boromir ran up to join them, "Ranger, you have superior wishing skills! To wish that your descendant come rescue us from certain death!" Aragorn turned around, but although he was disappointed, he knew that Mr. DeGroot had already gone, as suddenly as he had appeared, returned to whence he came. He heaved a sigh and turned back to Boromir, "It�s the wishing wells, you see. You can�t drop in a penny. You have to go for the nickels."
"Mmm . . ." The man nodded silently, and looked up into the darkening sky, "I think we should press on, Aragorn. The road is long."
"Yes, yes, it is." Aragorn replied crisply, collected the Fellowship about him once again, and set off towards the east � Mordor.
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A loud buzzing of an electric-chicken zapper brought Mr. DeGroot back onto earth. Not Middle Earth. The physics teacher was standing in the middle of the familiar Vincent Massey foyer, many students streaming about him in a hurry to get to their fourth class before they were late. He blinked quickly and stared at the almost finished carrot in his hand, volleyball under an arm, and closed laptop.
"I�m going crazy . . ." He muttered and fought his way through the halls to his first afternoon class, Physics 40S, "I thought I had been on Middle Earth . . ."
Walking into his classroom exactly three minutes late, Mr. DeGroot set everything except the carrot on his desk and blinked at the familiar faces and surroundings. But Middle Earth had seemed so real? It had been a lifelong dream to meet his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, but traveling there to the woods had been too much for a physics teacher to handle! It couldn�t have been real. Stress of teaching was really getting to him.
But had it changed him? Traveling to Middle Earth? Had he made a difference? Why didn�t he even make it into the Tolkien novels then? Or did it matter? What did matter? Physics. Mr. DeGroot walked to the front of the room and began his lesson. "Circular motion. Were there any problems with last night�s assignment? Come on . . . who did the assignment . . . wait. I don�t want to know."
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It did not happen. But as soon as the physics class were busy at work on their assignments, Mr. DeGroot noticed something particular. The laptop was on. Microsoft Excel was opened. The Type Two Projectile Calculator had been used. It could not have happened. It did not happen.
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