Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Don't kill me! Sorry it took so long to update, I've been having writers block on all my stories. Thanks to my reviewers DanCrazed, Sugar-high Pixie, RikdoOsaka, and Single-Black-Rose. I luv you all, now, I'll stop rambling and continue with the story.
Chapter 6
A Prisoner of Pirates
"The oars are gone! Find them!"
Weylven smiled as the pirates milled about the boats, frantically searching for their means of propulsion. The sound of unsteady footsteps in her sensitive ears caught her notice and she turned her head slightly to see the source. Out of the corner of her eye Weylven saw Jack staggering forward, his gaze bleary and confused. In one hand he held a single wooden oar, using it to prop himself up. To late he realized he was amidst hostile pirates.
"You!" A pirate exclaimed catching sight of Jack.
"You?" Another asked confused. "You're supposed to be dead."
"Am I not?" Was Jack's slurred answer. Weylven grimaced as she noticed a sizable knot on the back of his head. Someone had most likely clubbed him and then gotten away. From the startlement apparent on every face around her it hadn't been one of those present. That left only one who knew Jack was here. A sour taste filled her mouth as the implications of this simple fact flooded her mind.
There was the audible click of those odd 'pistols' and Jack froze. She was still not sure what damage smoke and noise could do, but everyone else seemed to think they were dangerous.
Faced at gunpoint, the unsteady pirate began stuttering strange syllables, only some of which Weylven recognized. Parsnip? Pasley? What did these words have to do with their current situation.
"Parley?" A pirate asked. Weylven began to sense that he was not nimble of thought.
"Parley! That's the one! Parley!" Jack exclaimed, confusing the elf further. How could Jack attempt a truce or even negotiate one when both she and he were at the mercy of their enemies? Apparently the word had some significance, most likely in the pirate code Will had been so curious about, for the next words spoken were, "Parley? Damn to the depths whatever man thought up parley."
"That would be the French." Jack said this as if everyone knew who these French were, but the nation was unfamiliar to Weylven. She was sure no kingdom of Men, Elves, Dwarves, nor Hobbits went by that name. The name was dissimilar to any of Middle Earth. Perhaps she was farther from home than she previously thought.
A/N: Ahhh, Weylven is finally realizing she's not in Kansas anymore, not that she ever was, but you know what I mean. I'm sorry it's short but I have really bad writer's block and I'm focusing on a manuscript for publishing right now and the deadline I set myself for finishing it is new years... I'm only halfway there... Anyway, I thought something was better than nothing. I apologize once again for the shortness and long wait. Please review anyway though. My cat Jelly Bean says "Hi" by the way.
