The Fandom Games

Peter

And this is the moment the witch and the assassin fall out the sky.

Stomping and screaming rises above the rattling of the train. Legolas tenses his shoulders, and removes the arrow from his bow. ‘Is that more of your enemies?’

‘I don’t know,’ Peter protests, ‘I don’t know everything! I mean, they probably are. I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up, but like the entire world minus about ten people now counts as one of my enemies, so…’

Legolas turns away before Peter finishes, and glides down the carriage towards the screaming. A swarm of people burst out of the neighbouring carriage, pushing past each other. Legolas slips through them, and leaps over the divider into the next carriage. Peter grabs his Spider-Man masks, and yanks it over his face. He wades through the crowds, yelling, ‘sorry train people,’ and forces his way into the next carriage.

The carriage is practically empty. The last passenger sees Spider-Man, squeals, and runs out. Legolas. Collapsed on the middle of the floor are two girls, both kind of around Peter’s age. The first girl’s silvery brown hair, and sleek black clothes and fur cape which make her look like a really hardcore Dungeons and Dragons player. She glances up at Peter. The ferocity in her eyes suggests she’d happily tear him apart, and the scabbard peeping out from beneath her cloak suggests that she’d do a pretty thorough job of it. The second girl’s clothes are considerably more normal-looking. She’s wearing the sort of wintery grey top and fuzzy scarf that teenage girls post orangey pictures of them wearing as they sip lattes in study cafes. Her coppery curls have been clipped back, but are tangled and bumpy, as if she’d once taken time over her hair, but it had since come undone. She sits up, scanning her surroundings. Peter wishes he could know what thoughts were running around in her mind.

Peter scans his memory for any recollection of these two. Are they police detectives? Are they spies? Criminals? He tries to place their faces, the medieval girl’s clothing, anything. Maybe they’re not one of the billions of people who want him dead. Maybe they’re here to help him. They’re obviously not Avengers, but could they be some of those teenagers trained up by Avengers to replace them when they become less attractive? He keeps hearing on Reddit that that’s going to happen soon. Cautious, Peter reaches towards the medieval girl. ‘Hey,’ he says, ‘are you…?’

The medieval girl leaps to her feet and draws her sword in one clean motion. The metal sparkles in the fluorescent light; Peter steps backwards. He doesn’t want to become a Spider-Man kebab. Legolas aims his bow at the normal girl, and draws back the string. The normal girl stands up, reaching into her pocket. Peter holds his breath, waiting for another sword, or even a gun. Instead, the girl produces a small twig. She waves it menacingly at Peter.

Okay. So they’re not exactly here to be helpful.

‘Look,’ says Peter, slowly edging backwards, ‘I’ve already had a really terrible day. Please don’t make this any worse.’

‘You. You’re the man on the cover of the comic.’ The modern girl lowers the twig a little, her whole arm trembling. ‘It’s you who looks like a middle-aged man with a lucre fetish.’

Before Peter has a chance to ask what she means by that, the medieval girl spins behind Peter, wraps one arm around his torso, and holds the sword up to his neck with the other. ‘Hey!’ He wriggles, but the medieval girl restrains him tighter, like those big bulging snakes that suffocate their prey in their coils. Peter would be impressed if he wasn’t so terrified.

‘Drop your weapons,’ she hisses, ‘and perhaps I’ll let you live.’

Legolas lunges towards them, but the twig girl grabs his arm and pulls him back.

‘I’m sorry but wasn’t me who killed those people,’ Peter yelps, ‘I was framed by Mysterio, and I’m sure I could prove it if you just let me explain everything and talk to my aunt and…’

Medieval Girl gnashes her teeth, ‘I have no idea who this Mysterio is, but if you do not let me pass I promise that neither he nor anybody else will save you from your fate.’

‘You destroy this little hero, and I will feed you to a Nazgûl,’ Legolas threatens. He breaks away from Twig Girl’s grip, and lines up his arrow so that he could spear both girls in a single shot.

‘Wait! Mr Legolas!’ Peter holds up his hands. Legolas arches an eyebrow at him. Peter turns to the girls. ‘You don’t know who Mysterio is? Do you know who I am?’ Excitement rises in him. Maybe they haven’t been sent to kill him after the News broadcast. Maybe they’re just trying to kill him for regular reasons.

Medieval Girl spits on his cheek. ‘I know enough. I’ve killed many little boys in silly costumes before, and I’ll kill many more after I’ve killed you, you villainous cockroach-brained dog’s…’

‘Woah, woah,’ Peter protests. She ignores him, and continues her increasingly inventive string of insults, while the Twig Girl hovers behind her, glaring. ‘Listen!’ Peter yells. ‘We’re’ – he points at himself, then Legolas, then himself again – ‘we’re not villains. Like, I’m a good person, who’s just been having really terrible day. And I’ve only known Legolas for like an hour, but since he hasn’t tried to kill me yet I’m going to assume that he’s not exactly Thanos.’ Peter smiles, and waits for the girls to laugh a little. They don’t react at all. ‘Look, I’m probably just as scared and confused as you are right now. But if you’ve got some great problem to solve, or somebody to find, then we can help you! I mean, Legolas can help you. I need to call my aunt.’ He turns to Twig Girl. ‘Any chance you have a portable charger on you?’

She screws up her face with confusion. ‘A what?’

Legolas catches Peter’s eye, nods, and lowers his bow. ‘The little hero is correct. I can help you on your way, if you leave him unharmed.’ He stretches out his hand to Twig Girl.

She narrows her eyes, which would probably make her look stern and intimidating, if her hand and twig weren’t shaking as much as a dog in the rain. ‘Arya,’ she whispers, ‘maybe we should…’

‘Lies!’ Arya kicks Peter in the shin. He stumbles forwards, wincing. Arya shifts her weight too, keeping him trapped in her coils. For someone so short, she sure as hell is talented at inflicting pain. ‘We know you work for the… uh…’ she glances back at the modern girl.

‘Demon clown barbie,’ she puts in.

‘Yes,’ Arya spits, ‘the demon clown barbie. And the sooner you admit that, the sooner we will be on our way.’ She gestures at Twig Girl. ‘Come on, help me. Or do you only do your sorcery on your own allies?’

Did she just say sorcery?

Arya arches her leg again, and Peter raises his wrists.

‘Stop!’ Twig Girl shouts. She softens her voice, as if talking to a child. ‘Arya, if they were working for the demon clown barbie, don’t you think they would have killed us by now while you were doing all that talking?’

Arya wavers. Nobody speaks. Peter can almost hear the thoughts whirring around in her head as loudly as he can hear the train whirring down the tracks. ‘I suppose so,’ she decides. She sheathes her sword, and lowers her arm. Peter mumbles a thank you, and rushes to Legolas’s side. He’d rather be closest to the person who has tried to kill him the least recently.

Legolas takes the arrow out of his bowstring, and bows to Arya. ‘Greetings. I am Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil of the elves of Northern Mirkwood, prince of the Woodland realm, member of the fellowship of the ring, brother-in-arms of Gimli, son of Glóin, and Aragorn, king of the reunited kingdom.’

Arya bows back. ‘Greetings, Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil of the elves of Northern Mirkwood, prince of the Woodland realm, member of the fellowship of the ring, brother-in-arms of Gimli, son of Glóin, and Aragorn, king of the reunited kingdom. I am no-one – I mean – I am Lady Arya of House Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully of Riverun, priestess of the god of many faces, Princess of the North, Hero of Winterfell.’

Peter holds out his hand to Twig Girl. ‘Spider-Man.’

‘Hermione.’ She shakes it.

Legolas makes a sweeping gesture towards the seats, and sits down on the sticky train seat as elegantly as if he was lowering himself onto a golden throne. He awkwardly props his bow up against a window. Peter slumps down into the seat next to him. Hermione and Arya exchange glances, then sit down opposite, leaving one seat between them. The train lurches around a corner, and Arya gasps. Each time the carriage rattles, she grips onto the seat, and her eyes dart around the room.

‘Tell us how you came to be here,’ Legolas begins, ‘and perhaps we can help you on your way.’

Arya scowls at him with the ferocity of an iPad-deprived toddler. Hermione glances sideways at Peter, then says, ‘we don’t know. One moment I was with… my friend. Then I stepped outside, and suddenly I wasn’t outside, but I was in a dark house.’

‘What?’ Peter asks, ‘you just, like, disappeared? Like magic?’

Hermione rolls her eyes. ‘It wasn’t like magic, it was magic. Don’t you think I know what magic is?’

There are many questions which Peter would like to ask, the first of which being if he should think she knows what magic is, but Legolas taps his shoulder before he can open his mouth.

‘Two people were talking, so I hid from them,’ Hermione continues, ‘at least, until Arya appeared out of nowhere, and made such a noise that they saw us. And this terrifying woman attacked us…’

‘The demon clown barbie?’ Peter blurts out.

He waits for Hermione to roll her eyes again, but instead her lips curve slightly into a smile. ‘Yes. The demon clown barbie. She attacked us, and while we were trying to get away I touched a book with a picture of you on,’ she nods at Peter, ‘and then suddenly we were here.’

Peter grips the edge of the seat. ‘Hold on. In this really creepy place full of magic and darkness and demon clown barbies, there’s a book with a picture of me on? Me? Like, did it say anything?’

Hermione leans forward as if to say something, but Arya interrupts. ‘Hermione told it incorrectly. I was about to escape, but then she decided to blast a spell at me from that tiny twig of hers, and then the demon clown barbie head us.’

Hermione tips her head back and groans. ‘We’re running for our lives, we’re being whisked off to strange lands, and that’s what you choose to focus on? Not that it matters, but you’re wrong. It was you who…’

Arya shouts over her. ‘Of course it matters! I was doing fine by myself. It’s your fault they saw us. It’s your fault that I’m in this mess. I should be at the helm of a ship bound for west of Westeros at the moment, and instead I’m trapped here with you and an idiot with… with a lucre fetish, and I have no idea what is happening, or what lucre is…’

They continue arguing about the hall in the mansion. Hermione mentions the book again, and Peter leans forward, asking, ‘where was the book? What did it say on it?’

‘Quiet!’

Hermione and Arya stop arguing. Peter turns around. Legolas is frowning at the three of them, but he looks more exasperated than he does angry, like a teacher telling children to be quiet in assembly. (Peter knows that look very well, since he is very experienced in being shushed in assembly). ‘You are all speaking a great amount but saying very little. Nobody talks but the sorceress. Who were the strangers that pursued you?’

Hermione shuffles backwards in her seat, looking down at the floor. ‘One was the demon clown barbie. But she wasn’t in charge. She was asking if she could work for this horrible… thing.’ She shudders. ‘What did Harley call him, Arya? Do you remember? Dark… something? Dark Vader?’

‘Darth Vader?’ Peter leans forwards so much that he nearly slips off the seat.

Arya frowns. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Was he all in black with, like, buttons, and the very iconic helmet, and the lightsaber, and the’ – Peter covers his hand with his mouth, and breathes in, and out – ‘stuff?’

‘Yes,’ Hermione says, ‘he was exactly like…’

‘How long was the lightsaber? Was it a proper overpriced one or a cheap one from Amazon? Had he gone for a more New Hope look, or like a more Rogue One look?’ Peter’s voice is trailing off from forgetting to breathe. ‘Oh my goodness, I can’t believe it. You met a criminal who’s a Darth Vader cosplayer?’

Hermione furrows her eyebrows. ‘I don’t understand. How do you know who he is?’

‘What?’ Peter shrieks. ‘You don’t know what Star Wars is? Star Wars is as integral to the world… as… as… as Taylor Swift is to my playlists?’

Legolas, Hermione and Arya all look at him with confusion.

‘You…’ Peter stammers ‘you don’t know who the goddess of bridges is?’

Hermione shakes her head. ‘No, we don’t.’

Snippets of their conversation race through Peter’s mind: their confusion when he mentioned Mysterio and Thanos, how they don’t know understand how they got here, and of course the overwhelmingly obvious fact that Arya is dressed like she’s on her way to a larping contest. ‘You’re like Legolas,’ Peter realises, ‘you’re both from other universes. And you ended up here by accident, just like Legolas did.’

Hermione turns whiter than the floor of the train (although, that’s not hard. The New York subway could really do with a pressure wash). Arya brushes her scabbard with her fingers. ‘Tell us how to get back.’

‘Umm,’ Peter glances up at Legolas, ‘I don’t actually know how to…’

‘Tell us!’ Arya screams. The train lurches around a corner, as if it were shaking with fear.

Peter doesn’t know what to say. How can you tell somebody ‘hi, you just teleported to a different universe, and I have no idea how, why, or if it’s even possible to send you back?’ No amount of Taylor Swift can make up for that.

Legolas tries to take Arya’s hand. She wriggles away. ‘Lady Arya,’ he begins, ‘I am as lost in this world as you are. But this little hero’ – he clamps his hand on Peter’s shoulder so hard that he flinches – ‘has sworn to find why monsters from his world have invaded mine, and to lead the quest in removing them. I’m sure that he would be able to return you ladies to yours too.’

‘Umm…’ Last Peter checked, he hadn’t sworn to do anything.

Arya screws up her face. ‘He’s the leader of the quest? You are being led by that?’ She points at the six-foot-tall elf with the flowing platinum hair, the ivory bow and the features of a Greek god, and at the five-foot-eight Peter in a red spandex suit.

‘The that has a name,’ Peter protests, ‘and I’m not leading any quests anywhere. My life as I know it just got ruined. I don’t need to take anyone to any worlds. I need to call my aunt, eat a doughnut and cry. Legolas, you keep going on about this life debt, but you didn’t even really save my life. I owe you a taser-and-possible-life-of-imprisonment debt, tops!’

‘Then I am calling in my taser-and-possible-life-of-imprisonment debt.’

Peter studies the three of them. Arya is gripping the hilt of her sword so tightly that her knuckles are white. Hermione is keeping her eyes fixed to the ground. Is she hiding the fact that she’s crying? But Legolas isn’t scared like the three of them. Legolas looks at Peter with respect, with admiration, with hopefulness. Peter knows that look. He just hasn’t seen it since Mr Stark died.

The problem isn’t that he doesn’t want to help them. A superhero’s whole job is to help people. The problem is that Peter isn’t a superhero anymore. He’s already so entangled in Mysterio and his identity and what could happen to his friends, that he doesn’t need to get stuck in any other webs. (Like, metaphorical ones. Or literal ones. Peter does get stuck in his own webs sometimes, and getting out involves a lot of willpower and a lot of hanging upside down scrolling through Instagram one-handed until they dissolve).

The train lurches round a corner, and the whole carriage rattles. And Peter has an idea. Maybe he can help these people at the same time as he helps himself.

‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know how to get you back to your universes, or how to solve the problems in them. But I do know some people who might.’ Peter stands up, and scans the subway for routes to Esopus.