Author's Notes: All power to New Line, Tolkien and the Mouse. The
characters aren't mine, I'm just taking them out to play...
Frodo sat on the beach of Valinor, gazing back toward the East. Living in eternal Elven heavenly bliss started to wear on him about two centuries ago.
"Honestly," he said to himself, "how many verses can Elrond possibly know to these ancient songs? I think he's making them all up."
Further up the beach and coming closer, he heard a slurred voice singing, "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me," and Frodo rolled his eyes.
"It's not possible that is a song about the first battle against Sauron, Elrond, so don't even pretend," he shouted over his shoulder.
The person that met his gaze was certainly not Elrond. Hair that rivaled the worst of Aragorn's bedhead was barely contained in an enormous three- sided hat. Slightly bloodshot black-rimmed eyes met Frodo's astonished blue ones.
"Hello, small person," the stranger said. "Where am I?"
Frodo stared. "You are on the island of Valinor, the Elven paradise."
"So, not the Caribbean, then. Does that make you an Elf?"
"No," said Frodo. "Those over there—the ones capering around and singing? Those are Elves."
The stranger, weaving slightly, turned in the direction of the large group of Elves standing around a fire further down the beach. Elrond was in his fourth hour of explaining through interpretive dance how Elves had built Rivendell.
Legolas, sitting a little apart from the rest of the Elves, removed his bored gaze from Elrond's high kicks and looked toward Frodo and the newest arrival.
The stranger's eyebrows rose almost to his horrible hairline. "It can't be," he muttered. He squinted his bloodshot eyes as the Elf moved down the sand toward them.
"Frodo, who is this new visitor?" Legolas asked.
The stranger gaped at the Elf. "I don't believe it. The eunuch trades in his hat for a blond wig."
Legolas stared, not a trace of recognition in his blue eyes.
"Surely you remember Captain Jack Sparrow? I taught you everything you know about sailing, drinking, and wenching?"
Legolas continued to stare.
Frodo had often thought that the differences in Legolas' expressions -- from "faintly perplexed" to "murderously angry" – could only be noticed in the quirk of his eyebrows. He gauged this particular stare at "incredibly confused" with a trend toward "hoping desperately for the wind to change direction." Frodo recognized this look from Fellowship days when Boromir and Aragorn had decided to have a "see who smells more ruggedly Manly" competition that included swearing off bathing from Rivendell to Lorien.
Sparrow smiled winningly at the Elf. Legolas' expression changed not at all.
"Perhaps not. I'm entirely too sober to be doing this," Sparrow said.
He pointed in the general direction of Frodo, his hand not entirely steady. "Come, my hairy-footed friend. If this is heaven, it will have rum. Let us go and find some. The eunuch can just continue playing hard to get."
He leered at the Hobbit. "Not that it worked for him so well before. After all, I am Captain Jack Sparrow."
Frodo sat on the beach of Valinor, gazing back toward the East. Living in eternal Elven heavenly bliss started to wear on him about two centuries ago.
"Honestly," he said to himself, "how many verses can Elrond possibly know to these ancient songs? I think he's making them all up."
Further up the beach and coming closer, he heard a slurred voice singing, "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me," and Frodo rolled his eyes.
"It's not possible that is a song about the first battle against Sauron, Elrond, so don't even pretend," he shouted over his shoulder.
The person that met his gaze was certainly not Elrond. Hair that rivaled the worst of Aragorn's bedhead was barely contained in an enormous three- sided hat. Slightly bloodshot black-rimmed eyes met Frodo's astonished blue ones.
"Hello, small person," the stranger said. "Where am I?"
Frodo stared. "You are on the island of Valinor, the Elven paradise."
"So, not the Caribbean, then. Does that make you an Elf?"
"No," said Frodo. "Those over there—the ones capering around and singing? Those are Elves."
The stranger, weaving slightly, turned in the direction of the large group of Elves standing around a fire further down the beach. Elrond was in his fourth hour of explaining through interpretive dance how Elves had built Rivendell.
Legolas, sitting a little apart from the rest of the Elves, removed his bored gaze from Elrond's high kicks and looked toward Frodo and the newest arrival.
The stranger's eyebrows rose almost to his horrible hairline. "It can't be," he muttered. He squinted his bloodshot eyes as the Elf moved down the sand toward them.
"Frodo, who is this new visitor?" Legolas asked.
The stranger gaped at the Elf. "I don't believe it. The eunuch trades in his hat for a blond wig."
Legolas stared, not a trace of recognition in his blue eyes.
"Surely you remember Captain Jack Sparrow? I taught you everything you know about sailing, drinking, and wenching?"
Legolas continued to stare.
Frodo had often thought that the differences in Legolas' expressions -- from "faintly perplexed" to "murderously angry" – could only be noticed in the quirk of his eyebrows. He gauged this particular stare at "incredibly confused" with a trend toward "hoping desperately for the wind to change direction." Frodo recognized this look from Fellowship days when Boromir and Aragorn had decided to have a "see who smells more ruggedly Manly" competition that included swearing off bathing from Rivendell to Lorien.
Sparrow smiled winningly at the Elf. Legolas' expression changed not at all.
"Perhaps not. I'm entirely too sober to be doing this," Sparrow said.
He pointed in the general direction of Frodo, his hand not entirely steady. "Come, my hairy-footed friend. If this is heaven, it will have rum. Let us go and find some. The eunuch can just continue playing hard to get."
He leered at the Hobbit. "Not that it worked for him so well before. After all, I am Captain Jack Sparrow."
