of gilded blood
chapter I || setting the stage

"Paint the town
Take a bow
Thank everybody
You're gonna do it again
You are the few, the proud
You are the antibody
Mind, soul, and zen
And the world's a stage
And the end is near
So push rewind, just in time
Thank anybody
You're gonna do it again
*Smash Mouth, "Then the Morning Comes"

They ran.

There was nothing else for them to do.

It went by in such a daze; Aragorn half-carried, half-dragged Frodo away, Gandalf following with his staff lit, face bloody. Boromir and Gimli ushered the three other hobbits along in front of them, the man of Gondor swinging his sword madly behind himself to protect the little ones. Orcs drew their bows and shot their arrows – all of which missed their marks, Aragorn observed as if from far away. They did not have the talent that his friend Legolas did – Legolas, who was falling, falling – had fallen – and would not be returning to them.

They burst free from the darkness of Moria – free from the stench of Orc, free from the smog and heat and ash the Balrog had left wafting in its wake, free from the dry and long dead corpses of the slain dwarves within the walls of the mines. But their hearts and throats were tight with pain, and their frantic steps faltered then slowed then stopped. For what seemed to them to be a very short amount of time, all they could do was gasp and sob and tremble, and soon – too soon – Aragorn was telling them they needed to move on, to get to Lothlorien before they were discovered by the enemy.

"Why?" Frodo asked brokenly, even as Sam pulled him to his feet. "We have not the Ring – we have lost both it and Legolas to the depths…." Frodo let out another anguished moan. "What hope we had is lost!"

There was silence that followed Frodo's words, and Merry, Pippin, and Sam seemed to sag with their weight. Aragorn rubbed at his eyes, wiping away the salty rivulets of tears away from his visage.

This is wrong. The words rose unbidden in Aragorn's mind. Legolas should not have fallen. The One Ring should not have been lost. But they were gone, and the rest of them weren't, and they had to get to Lothlorien. "We must make it by nightfall," he said, raising his voice and ignoring the thickness he heard in it. "Help me get them up, Boromir."

"Let them have a moment," Boromir replied angrily, beseechingly, looking at Aragorn with hard eyes, as if thinking the Dunedain were heartless. It made Aragorn's blood surge, suddenly, as he looked back into the other man's face.

"No," Aragorn commanded. "We leave, now."

"He is right," Gandalf spoke, finally, nodding towards Aragorn, body seeming to tremble at the effort of standing. Aragorn vaguely realized that the wizard was truly…deeply, exhausted. "We must leave. Gather the hobbits, and we shall be on our way. The Lady awaits."

William Turner paused for a moment, stilling his moments to lift his head up and listen. Off in the corner, he checked, Master Brown was still dead drunk, sleeping off his hangover as usual. He glanced over his shoulder, then up into the rafters, trying to find the source of what had made the sound – a loud thump it had been, rather odd. Exchanging glances with the donkey, he put the hammer down and wiped his dirty hands on the towel left on the workbench before wandering towards the back of the shop.

It's probably just some stray, he thought, as he opened the door to the back room. Nothing there. Master Brown's room? No…nothing there either. Lastly, he went to his own room. Opening the door, Will blinked, just to make sure what he was seeing was actually there.

Lying on the floor by his bed, looking torn and ragged, was the most ethereal being he'd ever seen. She had long, flowing golden hair, smooth pale skin, and there was a glow emanating from her, though Will was sure he was imagining it.

Slowly…one foot first, then the next…he approached the being and turned the girl over gently, carefully, and looked at her. Well then. She was a little flat, but she was definitely still a girl, Will told himself firmly. Brushing silky hair from the face, Will was once again startled, by two things: One, this girl's face had many similarities to his own, though with obvious differences; and two, she was sleeping with her eyes wide open.

"Agh!" he gasped in horror, jumping back and dropping the girl's head, which landed on the floor with a dull thud.

Just as suddenly as the girl had been found, she woke up. Blinking several times to clear her muddled sight, she groaned and turned over. "Ohhh…" she hissed, lifting a slender hand to her head, "what…happened?" She paused, her hand coming down a little as she thought, before she turned to Will and asked, sounding not even slightly vulnerable, "Who are you?"

Will, who had progressively walked backwards in order to give the woman her space, bowed from his place by the door politely, unsure of what else to do. "My name is William Turner, my lady." He paused. "May I ask as to what it was you were doing in my room?"

"W-What?" the lady sputtered after a few moments of staring disbelievingly at him. Then her beautiful face grew flushed – with anger? "I am not a woman!"

"You aren't?" Will asked, taken aback and forgetting his manners. "But I was sure…you're so…."

The young woman – no, man, Will corrected himself – snarled in his direction. "What am I doing here? What is this place? Why do you have my face?"

"It's my face," Will said indignantly, drawing himself up straight. Well then. If this woman – man – wanted to claim his face, then there would be a good use for his swords after all.

"I'm several hundred years older than you," the blond boy said to Will condescendingly, "and assuming that you are one of the human race, I believe it is you who is at fault here."

Will said nothing in reply. Minutes of silence passed between them before the blond shook his head, face losing its slackened hue, and slowly he began to speak again. "We don't look identical – our eyes, hair, and skin are all different. I am an Elf," the blond finally revealed, realizing the blank look for one who had not ever met one.

The words brought no comprehension to Will.

Legolas frowned at what he decided was a very dumb human, and got to his feet unsteadily. As he did, something that he hadn't realized he had been holding fell out of his grip to the floor below. Picking it up, he realized it was the ring. His memory flared.

We were in Moria…the Balrog…. His hands trembled as he remembered falling, and the pain… and the ring. Wherever he was, the ring was far from Sauron's clutches, at least. But it was now in his. What if…how soon would it be until the ring corrupted him…? For he was not so vain to believe he would resist the darkness any better than Isildur, any better than Gandalf or Elrond or Galadriel would have…. He had to get it back to Frodo. Slowly, he put the chain to his neck and shut the latch, letting it go to hang heavily on his chest. It thumped against his skin before settling, the smooth metal cool even to his elven senses.

"You're hurt," the human finally said thickly to Legolas, eyes looking over the battered form. "Rest for now; I shall go retrieve some bandages."

"I'm absolutely fine," Legolas said stubbornly, even as he lay back on the mattress. Wincing as his numerous cuts made contact with the crisp sheets, he closed his eyes and found himself both surprised and grateful at his lack of massive injury. It could have been much worse…. He must have fallen here before making contact with the depths of Moria, as otherwise he'd have been killed on impact.

But…how had he fallen here? There was a roof, and his keen eyes found no breaks in it large enough for him to have simply slipped through.

Gandalf. It had to be something the old wizard had done, Legolas decided; uncertain at first but beginning to place more weight on the thought. He vaguely remembered the chanting he had heard as he passed out. Well, Legolas thought to himself as he tried to relax his sore muscles, at least he insured that the ring didn't fall into the wrong hands…in the first place. He didn't know how long he'd be able to withstand the ring's power.

He heard the other boy approaching, holding a few rags and basin of water with him. "I'm sorry, I do not have the means to treat you any other way," the boy began, setting the basin by the bed. Leaning to the floor as he wet one of the rags, has asked, "Do you have any major injuries?"

Come to think of it, his ribs hurt an awful lot. "No. I'm perfectly fine, but thank you for your concern. I can clean myself." With that, Legolas held out his hand for the rag, wincing as he stretched just a bit further than was his aching ribs could take.

The boy paused a moment before handing the rag to Legolas and sitting back, still watching him. Legolas ignored the boy, grudgingly appreciative of the kind gestures, and went ahead to wipe his several abrasions tenderly, wiping away the dirt and grit and blood. He would bind his ribs later, if they still pained him.

"What happened to you?" the boy asked bluntly after a few moments.

"I fell off a bridge," Legolas replied just as bluntly.

The boy stared, the same nonplussed expression gracing his features, and said, "How'd you manage that?"

Legolas looked up and stared at the boy, properly making him uncomfortable, as it was when the eyes of humans met those of the elves. When the boy looked up again, Legolas told him clearly, "A creature of fire and shadow pulled me down off a bridge in a cave. A Balrog. Perhaps you have heard of such a thing."

"No," the boy replied simply. He sighed, expression losing all sense of incredulity. "My name is Will Turner. I've lived most of my life here in Port Royal. Who're you?"

Legolas had gone back to treating his wounds, but still answered. "My name is Legolas Thranduilion; I am an archer. I left on a quest several days ago with a company of eight others, and I find myself at a loss to explain what may have possibly caused me to come here. I did not think there were any human settlements in Moria's vicinity."

"Moria?" Will raised an eyebrow. "Never heard of it."

Odd, Legolas thought absently, concentrating on pulling out a small chip of stone that had wedged itself into one of his cuts along his shoulder. "Ah. Well." He sighed, gritting his teeth before yanking out the stone. He was being rude, and he knew better than this. Uninformed as this person may be, he was still obviously kind to him. It was only my pride that suffered, he scolded himself. Just because the boy thought he was female at first didn't mean that the human was stupid. Just sort of slow, maybe.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he told Will softly. "I am very grateful for it." Will's face brightened and he smiled at Legolas.

"Oh yeah, me too," said a voice behind the two of them. Legolas snapped up straight, berating himself as quickly as he readied for battle. How could you not pay attention to your surroundings? You bear the ring now – take care of it!

The man – Legolas' eyes slid over the rounded ears – held out a sword in front of him, pointed menacingly at the two. His long hair was wrung in dreadlocks, adorned by several beads and trinkets. Over his head he wrapped a long, red cloth, with a hat over it; his clothes were aged and roughened by use, though seemed comfortable. He had a slight grin creeping through the tough facade – an upturn of the corner of his lip – and an amused expression on his face. Dark eyes glittering, he kept the weapon trained on them as he circled around.

"What have we here, lad?" the man said idly to Will, who had gotten up swiftly in his shock. "Stay quiet and you'll not be hurt. I'll just be on me way…."

"You're the one they're searching for," Will said, eyes wide and fixated on the man, as he backed away from the nearing point of the sword. "You threatened to hurt Miss Swann!"

"Only a little." A smirk played on the man's lips, as he paused, his face lost of humor, and gazed at Will closely while leaning backwards slightly. "You look familiar, boy – have I threatened you before?"

"I make a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates," Will spat angrily in reply, still as ever, avoiding the ever-close blade.

The man laughed heartily at that. "Thank you for your master's sword, but I believe I'll have to get going now, savvy? Move aside."

"Right then," Legolas said curtly, getting fed up with the bickering between the other two, and starting to wonder whether the situation was supposed to be funny or not. "What are you trying to do?"

Jack Sparrow turned his head to the figure still resting on the bed. His eyes widened slightly at the elf, Legolas, and raised an eyebrow at Will. "Why, aren't you a strange-looking wench! You look…" Sparrow glanced at Will before turning back to Legolas, slightly concerned, "…nearly like him…."

Legolas glanced at Will's face – which was glazed over with that blank look once more – and was about to ask what the pirate had meant by that comment, before Will gave a derisive snort.

"He's not a wench," Will said sulky, still glaring at the pirate. "He says he's over a few centuries older than I am and that he fell off a bridge and somehow appeared here."

"Too much rum?" Sparrow asked, eyebrows rising as he leaned back to get a closer look at the elf. Then something seemed to hit him, and he asked, with an even more disbelieving tone, "It's a he?"

Legolas opened his mouth angrily once realizing that they were insulting him, but Will replied before he could.

"Yes, strange, is it not? He looks female enough at first glance…."

Legolas found himself speechless for the first time in his very, very long existence. How…how dare they insinuate that he was overly feminine? Feminine. Him. Of all elves. The warrior chosen to go with the Fellowship of the Ring out of all in the elven race. Feminine. These humans were calling him feminine.

He tried to forget and focused his eyes on the two, before shaking is head.

He couldn't get his head around it. How was he feminine? Of course he had the long hair, but all elves did, and so did many men. He wasn't very tall, but was slim, true, but so were many others. His clothing wasn't feminine. His face wasn't feminine, so he couldn't see how Will could say he was without agreeing that he himself was also feminine.

Maybe humans considered femininity differently than elves did? He'd have to remember to speak to Aragorn about it – Aragorn would certainly know, as the Elfstone. He would rue ever explaining to the Fellowship the disgrace of being called feminine by the two mortals – and even more despised the fact that the dwarf Gimli would eventually somehow find out – but his curiosity would overcome him, he knew. Maybe Aragorn would someday let him live it down.

Anyway.

"Will both of you be quiet?" Legolas finally demanded, silencing the two immediately.

That is, until Sparrow realized that he was supposed to be in charge, as he was in fact holding the two at sword point. "Move aside, lad." The pirates' voice had flattened and lost quite a bit of its careless, sultry manner. Legolas noticed his eyes flitting to the door in the back of the room. His escape was so close at hand….

"No! I cannot just step aside and let you escape," Will snarled in reply, quick as lightening as he pulled out a dagger from his belt.

Naturally, battle ensued. Legolas grunted in exasperation before rolling off the bed and looking around for a spare weapon – he must have lost his knives in the fall – and he found…absolutely nothing. And Valar his ribs hurt badly… Forgoing the original plan of finding something to fight with, Legolas grabbed the closest thing – the pillow, then – and tackled a surprised Sparrow to the ground, effectively crushing the pirate's weapon under their body weight and stuffing his face full of…pillow.

"Argh, what's wrong with yeh, man!" Sparrow's words came, muffled down in volume. He thrashed violently, catching Legolas in the ribs and throwing him off. Gasping, he stood, blocking himself from Will's sword as he spared slightly weirded-out glances at the elf pouting off to the side, hand to his chest and breathing painfully.

Sparrow shook his head and let loose a bright chuckle. Aye, here's one man definitely crazy enough to join me on this quest. Attacking someone with a pillow and nearly suffocating them…creative, wasn't he?

Jack Sparrow raised a hand and pulled back his weapon, voice smoothing out and expression somewhat kinder than before. "Who makes all these?" he said as he glanced about the room and the swords loitering in spare nooks. The tone may have been curious if not for the underlying exasperation.

"I do," Will declared, glowering at the pirate, a bit of humble pride coloring his tone. "And I practice with them three hours a day."

"You need to find yourself a girl, mate!" Sparrow advised, eyebrows quirking and body swaying again as he took a moment to knowledgeably point at him with several fingers. Then a look of comprehension settled about the sullied features. "Or…perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you have already found one and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet." He paused again. "You're not a eunuch, too, are yeh?"

Will and Legolas both stared at him blankly.

Again, the same faces with the same expressions and the same eyes staring at him made Jack feel more than just a bit wary. He figured that their answer was a firm no.

"Good to know," he said, backing away. His eyes lingered on Legolas more than they did on Will – after all, the elf had attacked him in a more devious fashion than the young boy had. He couldn't believe he'd nearly been taken out by a pillow – one wielded by a eunuch, at that. He started his way towards the back door.

But before he could quite take his leave, something large, heavy, and painful fell on his head with little ado, and Jack fell over unconscious.

Several hours later, Legolas sat up straighter as Will came back into the room fuming. "Master Brown gets all the credit for having taken down Sparrow and we were the ones holding him off!"

"It matters not," Legolas said wearily, rubbing his ribs lightly. "As long as he is imprisoned…. Aside from his sword-fighting skills, he doesn't seem like a dangerous man."

Will gave him an odd look, which Legolas found rather appalling. He would never contort his face into such an expression, and here the man was doing it, with the exact same features! "You're totally clueless when it comes to pirates, then," Will said lightly, flopping down onto the floor and leaning his back against the wall.

At the same time, Legolas stood and began limping out the door. "Where are you going?" the boy called exasperatedly from behind, as he too followed.

"I need to find out where I've fallen, and how to find my Company once again," Legolas replied patiently. "Know you of any mines in the area, at all?"

Will looked at him blankly.

Legolas turned away and refrained from making comment. He would be getting many of those looks in the time coming, he assumed – he might as well get used to them. Limping down the staircase, Legolas let his eyes wander around the stuffy room. There were no windows, no trees…nothing of nature in that room. His eyes drifted to the hearth and he distastefully looked upon the myriad of metalworking tools haphazardly strewn about. "A blacksmith, I assume," he remarked to Will quietly.

"Swords, mostly," Will replied, answering an unvoiced question. Will watched as Legolas tenderly lifted a sword from its place on the wall, and peered at it closely, running his fingers along the edge of the blade. "Who are you?"

Legolas did not pause in his inspection of the sword, and he held it away from him before giving a few test swirls. "I've given you my name."

"Yes, yes, Leggy or something. That doesn't explain anything."

"Legolas," the elf corrected patiently. "I am an elf, like I said. I hail from Mirkwood."

Will rolled his eyes again, gingerly approaching and taking the sword from Legolas' grip. He was wary of the other, and – if the "elf" was as delusional as he came off – then Will definitely did not want him armed. Gingerly, he said, "Elves don't exist. There's no such place as Mirkwood in any of the colonies, nor in Great Britain."

"Great Britain?" Legolas repeated, frowning. He stood still for a few long moments, then politely inquired, "Do you have a map I may look at?"

Will nodded and after a slight pause in which he rummaged through a cabinet on the opposite side of the room from his workstation, he pulled out a scroll and laid it upon the workbench, smoothing out the creases. "Here," he said, point towards the corner of the large parchment, "we are right here, in the Caribbean, and this town is called Port Royal."

Legolas' eyes progressively widened and his heart slowed its beating as he stared at the map. This cannot be. Nothing of the sort existed on Middle-Earth – no map of any other land, no knowledge of any others, besides their own elven kin, living to the West or South of Middle-Earth. How was it possible that this map charted lands across seas, and that those seas and those lands bore no resemblance to the world Legolas had come from?

He began breathing faster, peering closer, hoping for some sort of sign that this was all wrong and that Will was just a boy with an imagination that would've done better to stay within the bounds of his skull. But to no avail; when Legolas looked at the boy and saw his openly questioning expression, he knew this was no lie.

Suddenly he felt weak. He felt sapped of energy and hope, and he left himself lean against the workbench, feeling each and every nuance of the horror of his predicament wash over him in waves. How could this be?

Gandalf could not have done this. The Wizard was exceptional, yes; but it would have taken all of his power for the Wizard to do this…absolutely everything….

"How much longer, Gandalf?" Boromir asked quietly. He had long ago hoisted Pippin upon his back, as the little one was tired and he himself couldn't distract his eyes from the dragging feet of the others. He shot a frown at the heir of Numenor before turning his attention back to the Istar.

"Not much longer, my friend," Gandalf replied, voice low. Boromir's gaze lingered a little longer, before the man's attention returned to the path. He hadn't known of Gandalf's long-standing friendship with Legolas until recent…but the wizard was truly distraught over the loss of the elf. He looked…bad. Wearier and more fatigued than he had ever before seen him.

Boromir could feel that loss. He had slowly gotten to know the elf over the course of their journey, and though he did not feel the grief that the wizard did, he could not banish the sadness he felt so quickly for the loss of such a being as the elven archer. The elf had truly been a creature of light. He put the safety of the others before his own, and was a firm handhold within the Fellowship – the one that despite everything, could still smile and with a quick tale or song bring laughter back to their ears. There would be no replacing that within the Fellowship.

"Halt!"

Startled out of their thoughts, the Fellowship heeded the directions and came to a stop. A group of elves came into sight, each with a notched bow and arrow held out in front of them, pointing at one of the Fellowship. One, obviously the leader, stepped out and his keen eyes observed them critically. "You are trespassing in the Golden Wood."

"We seek audience with the Lady Galadriel," Gandalf said, staff lowered.

The elf looked closely at Gandalf, pausing before reevaluating the others. "There was a group of nine, they said, that would be soon arriving. I count only eight, Mithrandir."

"One of our companions fell in the mines of Moria," Aragorn said, voice low. His heart trembled as he spoke the words. "Legolas Thranduilion."

The reaction among the elves was immediate and dismayed. The Marchwarden looked taken aback – eyes widened, jaw slacked – before eyebrows furrowed together and he demanded, "He fell? How? Elves do not simply trip and lose their balance!"

"It was a Balrog," Gimli answered. "A Balrog of Morgoth."

The elf stared at the dwarf with disbelief and dislike painted across his features. He breathed deeply before looking at Aragorn and Gandalf fiercely in the eyes. "It is only for his sake I allow for any of you to pass – including the dwarf – without other precautions. I will take you to my Lady immediately." He signaled to his companions before looking back at the Company, letting his eyes linger on that of Aragorn's. He nodded them forward, and began to lead the way.

The path was long and strained. The elves kept silent vigil over the Company, their wary eyes lingering longest upon the dwarf. Gimli, meanwhile, kept his silence and his distance. Aragorn let his mind wander in the safety that the cover of the Golden mallorn trees offered them, and knew that this magnificent sight – the golden woods – would forever be tainted to him by the death of his beloved friend.

Legolas would live to see them, he swore to himself. He would have survived the assault of the Balrog. Death could not claim the immortal, he furiously thought against the tide of despair the welled within him. Death could not have taken Legolas so soon.

They walked on, and on, all lost in thoughts as the trees grew into thickets around them and little light was shed from the skies. When they were escaping from Moria, they hadn't had time to stop and grieve or think. And now, with the elves leading the way and protecting them, it seemed as if all the time they so desired after escaping the caves was suddenly there, and too overwhelming and unwanted and too soon. Aragorn tried to think of other things, and heavily raising his head from its fixed position staring at the ground, he looked at the rest of the Fellowship.

The Hobbits were dragging their large feet. Boromir still carried Pippin upon his back – Pippin, who was sobbing silently into Boromir's shoulder – but the other three were walking as quickly as they could in order to keep up with the long strides of the others. Sam was pale in complexion and eyes wet – his strained eyes kept glancing over to Frodo. The latter hobbit was worn beyond any condition Aragorn had before seen him in. Face pale, eyes empty…. Frodo would do some good healing in Lothlorien while he had the chance….

And not only that – he no longer bore the Ring as a burden. It had fallen, fallen with Legolas, who saved Gandalf only to lose himself to the abyss of Moria. Gandalf. Aragorn looked lastly at him, and was alarmed by the weariness that lined all of the Maia's features. The hand holding the staff was trembling minutely, and rather than face an injury having come to the wizard, Aragorn let his welling eyes wander back to the trees, telling himself that they were all tired and the wizard was no exception to this. If the wizard was injured, they had no means of helping him anyway.

Upon their entrance into the center city of Lothlorien, the members of the Fellowship were momentarily stunned. Forgetting their anxieties, their eyes wandered around the beautiful abode; The trees glowed with and ethereal light, and the lamenting voices of the elves mingled with the evening breeze left the Fellowship speechless in its awe.

The Marchwarden of Lothlorien stepped forward and placed a hand gingerly upon the gigantic base of the center tree, peering upwards and gleaming with unshed tears. "The trees mourn for the passing of the Prince, as do the elves of Lorien." He looked back at the Fellowship, eyes still blurred despite his now rigid features. "Come. My Lord and Lady await."

Up they followed the Marchwarden, hearing a whisper in their minds and impressions of knowing eyes. They allowed the laments of the elves to wash over their minds, mourning with them the youngest of Eryn Lasgalen and the royal elves. It was almost with trepidation, however, they stepped upon the dais of the talan of the Lord and Lady of Lorien.

They were waiting, however, the two elves. Each tall and matching in height, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel both allowed their piercing, jewel-bright gazes to rest upon each of the Fellowship, one by one. While Lord Celeborn's hair was of silver silk, Lady Galadriel's long tresses were spun of fine gold. Lady Galadriel's eyes stopped upon Gandalf's face.

She stepped forward and looked into Gandalf's eyes. Their gazes meeting, and Gandalf holding it steady, Lady Galadriel stopped and remained still, as if listening to the rustling of the leaves of the mallorn trees around her. "He has fallen," the Lady said softly, voicing what all of Lothlorien knew, then going on to voice what very few in Middle-Earth knew. "He has fallen, and the One Ring has fallen with him."

Gandalf nodded slowly, eyes still wide and focused. Before he could add anything, the Elven Lady continued. Her ancient but smooth hands reached upwards to gather Gandalf's hands into her own. "You have saved them for now, and you are tired."

Gandalf kept his features still and steady, ignoring the confusion spreading upon the faces of the others in the Fellowship. Boromir glanced at Aragorn. Had the wizard told the other man something about this?

"Then rest, Gandalf the White," Lady Galadriel said, hands gently falling back to her sides. "Rest; and when we next see you, you shall be robed in the color befitting your rank."

Inclining his head to the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, he offered a slight, characteristically knowing smile to the Company, before following one of the two elves standing beside the Marchwarden down back into the depths of the city.

Done watching him leave, Lady Galadriel's gaze seemed to harden as she turned to face the others once more. "There is much for you to learn. Ask your questions."

Unable to keep himself quiet any longer, Aragorn blurted, "What is happening? My Lady, is what you say true? Gandalf has saved Legolas?"

Galadriel nodded her head gravely. "As the Prince fell with fire and shadow, Gandalf the Grey used an ancient spell to save the his life. The spell, however, took most all of Gandalf's life force. He is dying."

A horrified gasp rose within the Fellowship, and Aragorn more felt than heard Pippin fall to his knees. Quickly, Galadriel raised her hand. "Yet worry not. Gandalf will be well and whole once again, and he will return to us swiftly in order to further aid this quest."

Aragorn's throat worked for a moment, and he feebly recollected his thoughts. He would trust the words of the Elf and leave it at that. Gandalf would be fine. "And Legolas? He lives?"

Galadriel's stern gaze found his. "For now."

end || setting the stage


Disclaimer: Characters, plot, and places are property of Pirates of the Caribbean © Walt Disney; Lord of the Rings © New Line Cinema & JRR Tolkien. No infringement intended.

Author's Note: I have definitely decided to continue writing this :D I hope everyone's willing to stick through with it; I do warn you that I'm slow at updating, due to both the length of chapters and the effort that I put in. And I have problems with time management, so. Yeah. I've gone through this chapter again and edited though, mostly the part where Jack shows up. Incorporated more movie dialogue and hopefully improved characterization. As a heads up: no Legomance, lots of plot, action. First half will generally be Pirates-oriented, second half will move almost completely into the Middle-Earth scenerio. Enjoy, hopefully!