Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Disclaimer: I don't own Balian, Legolas, Will, Jack, Paris, Hector...you get the idea. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

Chapter 21: Revenge is Sweet

The Greek sentry stared lazily up at the sky, half-dreaming. Tomorrow, they would march through Mycenae, laden with spoils from Troy. Already, he could hear the cheers of the people. The new moon gave no light, not that there was anything to be seen. The war was over. They were home. There would be no more surprise attacks by the likes of Hector. Even that god, a lord of War if there had ever been one, had been captured. For the first time in many months, the Greek felt he could be lax in his duty.

Achilles liked this part of the plan. He especially liked the part that he and his Myrmidon were to play. They were going to create a diversion by setting Agamemnon's camp on fire. Revenge tasted sweeter than he had ever imagined it to be.

"Remember, once the fire, is lit, run," said Balian, worried that Achilles would stay behind to gloat. He and Cassandra would be waiting here while Will went to fetch Legolas and Paris. As soon as the fires were lit, everyone would make for the coast, where the ships were waiting for them.

"Yes, yes," said Achilles impatiently. "You've said that eleven times in the past three days. I counted."

"You don't seem the type who is inclined to take orders," snapped Balian.

"I take orders when there is a need to do so, Balian of Troy."

"It's 'Balian of Ibelin'," said Balian. "Just because I fight for Troy doesn't mean I'm Trojan."

Achilles looked rather amused. Finally he had made this stoic man lose control of his temper. He knew he was being unfair. The man was probably very nervous about this plan which he had devised. If they failed, he would be responsible for the terrible deaths which would ensue, including his own. It took a strong man to bear such stress.

The Greek warrior signalled to his men. His excitement was infectious. They were all eager to burn down Agamemnon's tent. It would be the most daring thing the Myrmidon had ever done, and that was saying a lot.

Inconspicuously, as Balian had told them to be over and over again, the Myrmidon infiltrated Agamemnon's camp. No one interfered with them. They were Greeks after all and no one was going to put his nose into Achilles' business. As the night deepened, the Myrmidon gathered behind the area where hay, grain and other supplies were stored. It was autumn, and dry. Everything caught fire easily enough. They poured oil, alcohol and other combustible liquids which they had carried in gourds strapped to their belts, onto the supplies. Achilles threw down the torch. The supplies burst into flames quicker than he could curse Agamemnon. There was the sound of an explosion as dry flour ignited. The Myrmidon quickly leapt out of the way. Achilles could not help but gloat a little over this victory, even though it was entirely dishonourable and hand little renown in it.

"To the coast," he said to his men.

Balian, alone in the Myrmidon camp, waited for the fire to start and fretted about whether he would be able to see it or not. When in did start, he felt foolish for ever having worried at all. It was impossible not to see the monstrous inferno which raged in Agamemnon's camp. Nor was anyone able to ignore the chaos which ensued. The wind was strong, helping to spread the fire from tent to tent until they were all engulfed in a firestorm. Men and horses alike were screaming.

"Cassandra, it's time," said Balian, peeking through the tent flaps. She was ready, wearing a dress which Balian had managed to find and 'borrow', as Jack would say, from amongst the loot. It rightfully belonged to a Trojan woman anyway so Balian, despite being a man of honour, felt no guilt about taking it.

"Do you think they're all right, Paris and the others?" she said, coming out of the tent. Balian put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. Even in these dire circumstances, his touch still sent sparks shooting down her spine.

"It's Legolas, Paris and Will that we're talking about," said Balian, although inside he did not feel half as confident. "Three brilliant minds, two great warriors; of course they'll be fine. I have faith in them. Let's go."

Will stayed low until deep into the night. When the signal came, it took him by surprise. 'And Achilles didn't even have gunpowder,' he thought, and then he remembered. They had given him the Dutchman's entire stash of rum, much to Jack and the crew's chagrin. 'Oh well, he can always grovel at Barbossa's feet for some from the Pearl.' Dodging running men, he made his way to where the slaves were being kept. Acrid smoke filled the night.
Orange flared in the sky, lighting up the clouds with a sickly warm glow. Legolas could not help but grin. Their friends had come for them. He shook Paris awake and then reached down with his bound hands into his boot. His back protested at having to bend into such an abnormal position but he ignored it. His fingers grasped the smooth bone handle of one of his small knives. The hilt was warm from his body. He extracted the small blade, thinking the Valar that the Greeks had been too stupid to search him. The elf began sawing at the ropes which bound Paris' hands. In the panicked chaos, their guards did not notice that something else was amiss, until the other captives raised a shout and begged to be freed also.

"There's an escape!" cried the Greeks, rushing forward with swords drawn to confront the two runaways. Legolas only had his many small knives, and Will's pistol. He threw two of his knives at the guards, felling two of them. The others stopped for a while to regard their dead comrades, but not long enough for Legolas and Paris to run. The elf needed his other knives. He pulled out the pistol and fired. The loud gunshot made the Greeks leap back as one more of their number fell. Before the others could react, the captain made a gurgling noise as the tip of a long slender iron blade covered in a net of dark blood emerged from his chest.

Legolas leapt into action. The two small blades in his hands were a deadly blur of silver. He pressed the handle of one into Paris' hand just as Will threw him a familiar looking long knife. He caught his old companion by the hilt. "Took you long enough!" he called to Will as he slashed at a soldier's throat.

"Things didn't quite go according to plan!" replied Will. "Someone saw me for what I was. Had to fight off a lot of them by myself." Once they had finished with the guards, they freed the other prisoners, at Paris' insistence.

"Now move!" shouted Legolas. "To the coast! To the..." He didn't get to finish his sentence. A Greek arrow sprouted from his shoulder, just missing his heart by inches. He took a sharp intake of breath as the pain hit him.

"Legolas!" shouted Will, immediately firing at the man who had shot the elf.

"Lead them on, Will," gasped Legolas. "I'm fine."

"To hell you are," scoffed the young pirate, half carrying him. "I'm not leaving you behind." But Legolas' crippling wound was only the first of their misfortunes. Greeks now surrounded them with a ring of inward pointing spearheads. The ring tightened, like a noose around a condemned man's neck. The Trojans shrank back against each other. Both Legolas and Will simultaneously reached for their pistols, all the while remaining in fighting stance, although the elf's wounded arm was rendered useless. Will glanced at his friends worriedly. They all knew that they could not win; they only had a limited number of shots in their pistols. Still, they were determined to make victory difficult and long in coming for their enemies.

"Let them not say in the years to come that the Trojan spirit broke in the face of adversity," said Paris softly.

It occurred to Achilles that Balian and the others did not trust him fully. That was why his part in this plan was so passive; they were afraid that he would betray them. 'Sometimes men are too suspicious for their own good,' he thought. He would prove to them that he was not Agamemnon's mercenary. "Eudoras, go down to the coast and tell Balian that we've gone to help the others," he said. With that, he ran, sword in hand, to prove that he was not on the Trojans' side just because he happened to be there.
The Myrmidon warrior called Eudoras joined Balian and Cassandra on the beach. The Trojan princess looked alarmed by the presence of the Greeks at first and then that expression became one of confusion. She was, however, to breathless to say anything. Eudoras opened his mouth to relay Achilles' message but there was a strange expression on Balian's face, as if he was speaking to the gods. His eyes were unfocused.

"What's wrong?" demanded Eudoras. This man unnerved him.

"Something's happened," said Balian. He turned to run back towards the Greek camp. "I'm going back to help the others." The Myrmidon warrior made to stop him.

"Achilles and the other men have gone to help," said Eudoras. "They'll be fine."

Balian shook his head and pushed past Eudoras. "Look after the princess, and take her to the ships!" he called without looking back. Cassandra sent a swift prayer up to any god who might happen to be listening, asking them to protect the man she loved.

Balian charged into the melee, his sword hacking, splitting skulls as if they were melons. He found Legolas, Will, Paris and the others soon enough, engaged in a battle for their lives. The elf was wounded. His movements, although still lethal, was not as graceful. The blacksmith, who was not a graceful fighter to begin with, charged with the finesse and force of a rampaging angel to his friend's side, his sword cleaving in every direction. In the midst of the fighting, Legolas managed a grin. "I thought you were supposed to adhere to the Pirates' Code," he said.

"I'm a knight," retorted Balian. "That puts me out of their jurisdiction." With the unexpected reinforcements, the Trojans and their comrades were able to batter their way out. Once at the shore, Will took the wounded Legolas by the arm and they both vanished, only to materialize on the deck of the Flying Dutchman. The rest of them rowed, shielded by cannon fire — something which Agamemnon's troops mistook for the wrath of Zeus. Screaming prayers in fear, they backed away and ended the pursuit.

The Trojans, the Myrmidon and the others were hauled onto the deck by the pirates. "Got into a spot of trouble, I see," said Jack.

"Troubles which arose, ensued, were overcome," said Will. Legolas looked pale. His shirt and tunic were soaked in blood.

"That is not the 'ichor which flows in the veins of a god," said Eudoras.

"I never claimed to be a god," said Legolas through gritted teeth "apart from that one time." Will lowered him to the deck.

"Is it deep?" he asked.

"I think I'll live," said the elf.

"I'll be the judge of that," said Balian. "You look terrible."

"Bloody awful," supplied Jack "'scuse the pun." He glared at Will. "Now, tell me, why is the rum always gone?"

"It was for a good cause, Jack," said Will, who was not in the mood to engage in another petty argument; the type which Jack always won. He went below deck to find something which could act as antiseptic and also to look for linen bandages.

Balian scrutinized the wound. He had no knowledge of healing skills. He was always the one receiving treatment, not delivering it.

"Anything I can do to help, lad?" asked Bootstrap Bill kindly.

"Do you know how to remove arrows?" asked Balian.

"Dunno about arrows, lad, but bullets, I've done a couple of those."

"See if you can pull it out slowly so that the arrowhead doesn't break off," hissed Legolas. Balian swallowed. He was not squeamish usually, but he was afraid that if he made a mistake, he would worsen his friend's situation.

"Maybe I should do this," Bootstrap said to Balian, seeing the younger man grow tense and nervous. "You hold your friend still."

Legolas jerked as Bootstrap extracted the arrow, with the bloody arrowhead still attached to the shaft. "That went better than it usually does," he said hoarsely. Sweat gleamed on his brow.

Will came back up with a bottle of absinthe and linen bandages in his arms. "Can someone go down to remind Paris and Helen that the captain's quarters belong to me, and they should leave it the way they found it after they're done with...whatever they're doing?"

"Why didn't you tell them?" asked Jack. Will turned red.

"Oh, I get it now," said Jack. "I guess someone's not a eunuch then."

"Captain Barbossa!" called Legolas. "Can you please shoot Jack for me?"

"My pleasure, Master Greenleaf," said Barbossa. He reached for his gun, and then remembered that Jack had it.

"Sparra!" he shouted. "Where be me gun?"

"Dunno," called Jack innocently. "Gave it to the Whelp."

"Will!" said Legolas. "Shoot Jack!"

"I can't. My hands are full,' said Will. He soaked a clean rag in absinthe and began to bathe Legolas' wound. The elf hissed.

"What is that?" he demanded. "It smells foul."

"Absinthe," said Will. "Strong stuff." He offered Legolas the bottle. "Don't let it hit your tongue. It might just knock you off your feet."

"I'm already off my feet." Legolas took a sip, and then blinked several times.

"You mean you drink this?" said Balian curiously, reaching for the bottle. Legolas held it out of his grasp.

"Uh, Balian, I've seen how you react to ale," said the elf. "I don't think I should let you try this."

"Come on, Legolas. I'm a grown man."

"You're a mere babe by my standards."

"You tried it. You have no right to say I can't try it."

"My dear Balian, Baby Balian, trust your elders when they tell you not to do something. It's for your own good."

Balian pressed his lips together in a tight line so that the skin around his mouth was white under the beard. He clenched his fists. Legolas was nonplussed; he knew that in this state, Balian would never try to tackle him. He was right. The blacksmith stormed down below deck.

Legolas handed the bottle of absinthe back to Will. "How did you manage to keep that from Jack?" he asked.

"It's the captain's private stash," said Will, corking the bottle. "I have the only key to the cupboard."

"You men are confusing. Why would you want to poison yourselves with this?"

"It takes my mind off the lack of a heart in my chest, Legolas. I didn't think I would miss my heartbeat so much, but I do."

Cassandra had watched this whole exchange. Her nervousness was fading, now that the old man, Bootstrap, was steering the ship away from Mycenae. Shyly, she approached Balian's friends. "What is that?" she asked, indicating the bottle. "Why won't you let Balian taste it?"

"My lady," began Legolas with a benevolent smile and a mischievous glint in his eye. "Let me tell you something about our beloved friend. He is the worst drinker in all of history. Last time we had a competition, he was the first to become intoxicated, and he'd only had eighteen mugs of not very strong drink. This...absinthe would really knock him off his feet before I could shoot an arrow."

Achilles snatched the bottle from Will. "Well, since even Balian is not allowed to drink it, I deem it worthy of a man," he said, taking a large swig. Before he even swallowed it, his face went red and his eyes seemed to bulge. He spat out the mouthful and then glared at Eudoras who was trying to suppress his laughter. "I think I'll stick to wine," he gasped, wiping his mouth.

Will was able to retake his bottle of absinthe and stow it away safely, even though Jack was begging him for just one sip. "Beg Barbossa for rum," he told the pirate. Jack gave Will a doleful look.

"You really do owe me a lot of rum, William Turner," he grumbled.

Cassandra smiled to herself. So her perfect man did have some flaws after all. She sighed. Somehow, his being less than perfect made her love him more. The gods really had sent Balian, but not for Troy. They had sent him to her.

A/N: Balian's little problem grows, the poor guy. He's not really equipped to deal with such things, and Paris is too busy to advise him on anything at the moment. Anyway, reviews please? (author makes pathetic puppy eyes)