of gilded blood
chapter III the worst pirate ever

"Gotta keep
One jump ahead of the breadline
One jump ahead of that sword
I steal only what I can't afford
That's everything…"
Aladdin, "One Jump"

"Why didn't you wake me up?" an angry voice bellowed out of the room, as Legolas backed away. To his delicate elven hearing, it was as if an Oliphaunt had just roared into his face. Well…Will could pass for one, the way he's going on. The boy was terribly moody. "I can't believe you just let me sleep like that!"

"You were merely unconscious," Legolas replied patiently, a little wryness coloring his tone. "I assure you that next time I won't let that get in your way."

Letting loose another sound – something halfway between one of Pippin's disgruntled murmurs about food and one of Gimli's ground-trembling snores – Will grabbed the poor, already mutilated pillow and threw it at Legolas in frustration. "Come on! We're going after her!" He strode out of his room determinedly, taking a small hatchet and strapping it to his belt, picking up one of the beautifully-crafted blades of his own make, raising an eyebrow at the elf, inviting him to take his pick.

Refreshed by the idea of choosing new weapons – yet sorrowful when the thought of losing his own, crafted for him by the greatest of elven smiths at his coming of age, surfaced his mind – he pushed the feelings away surprisingly quickly, half forgetting the import he had always regarded his weapons with. He took two scantily ornate, though obviously lethal daggers, into his hands and spun them twice in the air, testing the weight and feel of it in his hands. It fit well to his palm, and despite that they were not the blades he had carried for centuries, they would do. Fixing the scabbards to his belt, he looked up at Will and nodded.

Legolas followed the angry boy at a calm pace. One clear thing he had concluded during the wait for Will to awaken was that he was most probably going to have to wait for Gandalf to get him back to Middle-Earth – as the wizard was the one who brought him here. And in the meantime, he would search for his own way back home. Or some form of contact, at the very least. He trusted the wizard enough to have hope and faith that he would soon somehow get an explanation of the events that had procured, but knew very little of any means that could possibly result in that.

Another thing that helped him come to this conclusion was the fact that he had meticulously searched every nook and crevice of Will's bedroom – the place he found himself in upon first awakening in this new world. If there had been any way – any remote evidence or residue of magic drifting in the air – Legolas knew he would have sensed it. Thus, the lack of any sort of abnormality left him adrift, eventually bringing him to decide to forgo patience and seek the Wizard out himself. There was no time to squander, after all – the Ring was still very much in his possession, something of which he could not let himself forget, despite how much he would liked to have done so.

Following Will and silently rejoicing in the light of day, Legolas peered at the streets of the small port. There were still many things littering the ground – shards of glass, pots and pans, random little trinkets – but there was little of value left lying, and relatively few spots of blood that his eyes could catch. Whatever casualties they had suffered had been relatively little, then. The aims of the pirates were merely to pillage – unless….

"Would they have come for Sparrow? The other pirate?"

Will shot him an incredulous look, before he narrowed his eyes and then fixated them on his path. A quiet, steady loathing filtered into his voice. "Pirates have no morals. They would sooner slit the throats of their leader than come back for one of their own. To them, one less man is one less to split the booty with."

It was common thievery, but the ferocity of the attack left him adrift. These were somehow no mere thieves – it was something more organized, more orchestrated. There had been no such things he had heard of in Middle-Earth – but there was also little watercraft used in war, not to the extent that he had seen of the black ship the night before, save for the legendary Corsairs of Umbar, though he had never laid eyes upon them….

"Commodore Norrington," Will called, his steps quickening as they approached a small, shaded dais alongside the bounds of the fort.

Legolas observed cautiously as a tall man of regal-bearing lifted his chin a fraction and spared the fleetest of glances at the elf before saying with thinly veiled impatience to one of the red-coated soldiers beside him, "Mr. Mullroy, Murtogg, remove these men." The soldiers, one a plump man, and the other a taller, thinner one, brandished strange, long weapons of sorts, glancing at the young blacksmith in hesitation, before reluctantly starting towards the boy.

Will, however, was either stubborn or was used to this sort of treatment, Legolas thought, the skillfully elegant way he stepped out of Murtogg's reach and weaved his way to the table where this mister Commodore was standing, poring over a chart. Legolas turned his gaze to the man, immediately noticing the air of dignity, similar to that of Aragorn's, though muted in strength. Sharply eyeing the man, Legolas took note of the concise movements, controlled words.

"They've taken her – "

"I am very well informed of that, Mister Turner," Norrington interrupted, not letting the Will's outbursts break his concentration. His tone seemed indifferent, but a trickle of anger was starting to bleed through the patience, and Legolas shifted his eyes to Will, wondering if the younger man would choose to stop his assault.

Stance one of both pleading and determination, Will went on, fists curled tightly. "We must go after her – we must save her!" In his voice there was a thick resolve, and not for the first time, Legolas wondered about the boy. He could be so soft-spoken, and then so fierce…his calm belied the strength this boy had; and in this wispy, already known but not yet acknowledged realization, Legolas felt humbled for not the first time by one of the human race. He kept it to himself, and showed no outward sign of his solidifying trust in the lad, but he somehow felt it less ginger to breathe. The tense muscles relaxed and the weight about his neck seemed lighter.

"And where do you propose we start?" a voice asked, voice quavering in the slightest. "If you have any information concerning my daughter, please share it." Another man who had been pacing to the side – older than both Will and Norrington – with a plump, kindly face and white hair, approached Will swiftly. Legolas found himself looking into devastated blue eyes, a sort of pain that he had seldom seen in others. His life outside of Mirkwood had been limited by his protective father, and thus he had never known the sorrow of loss or death quite as the others in the Fellowship, or even most elves knew.

Will's eyes locked on to those of the elder man, and his jaw firmed though he made no move to speak. A thick silence descended upon them, and more than only Legolas felt the tension in the air.

Hesitantly, Legolas stepped forward. "What of Sparrow, Master Commodore? Perhaps he knows something that may aid us in this." He addressed the figure he felt was in charge – Norrington – and his soft-spoken words floated, wavered, then dispersed in the air as the others turned their eyes to him.

James Norrington raised his eyes to the figure standing before him, for the first time wholly observing the one standing before him. Blue eyes so sharp that he could not hold his gaze for long without feeling comfortable, Norrington's sharp observations noted the oddly royal clothing the lad wore, the quality of the gauntlets and leather and silk of the tunic speaking highly of the young man's status. And the boy didn't quite…look like a boy, either. He was quite tall, yes – about the same height as he himself, though almost identical to the stature of his wayward companion, William Turner. Hair shining finer than any silk James Norrington had ever set his eyes on flowed freely about the lad's shoulders, and he looked not a day older than nineteen, though somehow he regarded these assumptions dubiously. He seemed more effeminate than most would warrant these days, but carried an air of dignified pureness – like nothing could touch him, not really. Norrington took note of the polite words, regal bearing, serious face…and he immediately felt both inklings of respect and suspicion blooming in his mind.

What if this boy – who had never before graced the cobble-stone paths of the small island trading post – had been among the fleet of pirates who had so ruined them only the night before?

He did not credit the thought, but did not dismiss it either. "I have never seen you in Port Royal before," Norrington finally said, frowning slightly, even as he gave a customary tilt of the head. If anything, he knew nobility when he saw it. "If you do not mind my asking, who are you and what brings you here?"

Legolas blanched. What was he supposed to say? Middle-Earth didn't exist here, so is heritage would mean nothing. He exchanged a furtive glance with Will. Stranger here or not, he'd rather not give them his true name, just in case a plot of the Eye came afoot. What if the Nine – or even others – had been sent after him? "My name is…."

"His name matters not – " Will heatedly interrupted, being cut off as well in turn.

"Lasgalen," Legolas interjected Will's sad attempt at changing the subject. By the look of rapt curiosity on the faces of those around him, he knew that he would be held under scrutiny until he was forced to answer. "My name is Lasgalen Laiqualasse."

For a moment, when no one said anything, Legolas felt anxiety pound at his heart, but then Norrington raised a more than slightly disdainful eyebrow. "French, is it?" He gave Legolas one more fleeting look over before turning back to the map.

"Yes," Legolas agreed confusedly, deciding that that sounded safe enough. "I am…here on a quest, of sorts." Yes. One to return the Ring and himself back to Middle-Earth. He was uncomfortable lying of his origins, but they lacked the time and credibility to truly explain his, ah, unique situation to the Commodore. "Nevertheless, if there is any way I may aid this situation, I would like to do so. Master Turner has been most kind." At his mention of Will, Norrington's eyes flickered in an irritated manner before going back to them map.

Mullroy, the plump man suited in red who had feebly attempted restraining Will before now stepped forward beside Legolas. "Don't mind my saying, sir," he said, "but Mister Laiqualasse has a point. That Jack Sparrow. He talked about the Black Pearl."

Somehow, this caught Norrington's interest, and he jerked upwards sharply, leveling an intent stare at his subordinates. The other soldier – Murtogg – also stepped forward slightly, interjecting with a drooping brow, "Mentioned it, is what he did, more like."

Eagerly jumping back into the fray, Will turned confidently back to the Commodore, defiance and agitation still painted clearly for all to see in his restless movement. "Ask him where it is," he implored, though coming dangerously close to sounding demanding – something that Legolas was sure would not help the situation. "Make a deal with him. He could lead us to it."

Norrington let his eyes linger blankly on the young man standing before him for only a moment longer before giving a slight shake of his head. "No…the pirates who invaded this fort left Sparrow locked in his cell – ergo, they are not his allies." He swiftly turned his face back to the older man still standing among them. "Governor, we will establish their most likely course – "

Will raised the hatchet in his hand and even Legolas was surprised to see it embedded into the map – the wooden table beneath it – and turned his eyes to the simmering blacksmith. "That's not good enough!"

Silence rang in the warm afternoon air, and despite the sweet breeze brushing past them, a certain amount of tension had descended upon the small group. James Norrington slowly turned back to the table, gently pulled the hatchet out of its nest, and walked around to pull Will slightly side. Legolas did not move, but averted his eyes. His elven hearing would provide that he would catch every word anyway, something he heartily felt would come in handy in this new world.

Will was looking away from the Commodore's face as the man spoke with hushed words. "Mister Turner. You are not a military man, you are not a sailor." Each word dripped from the man's mouth with a unique flavor of scorn and impatience. "You are a blacksmith – and this is not the moment for rash actions." His voice dimmed even further. "Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only man here that cares for Elizabeth." Handing back the hatchet, Norrington nodded towards Legolas – in obvious dismissal – before returning back to the Governor's side.

Jack Sparrow could not believe his luck.

Well, more like he couldn't believe the lack of it. Idly sitting in his dark, bleak cell, he glanced mournfully at the gaping hole in the brick of the next cell over. There were no words to describe his irritation at the powers that be – for he had also, in the ample time given to him spent in the dank, dark cell, decided that he did believe in a higher power. Yes – one that had a distinct penchant for cursing him with the very worst of every situation! First the mutiny, then those eunuchs (he shuddered), and now being locked into a dungeon awaiting his own beheading, just as freedom was a hole two feet off from where it should have been.

He rocked back where he was sitting, leaning against the cool brick of the jail. Well, it didn't matter anyway, he reassured himself, dismissing all and any negative feeling with all the ease of a Buddhist monk (or so he liked to think). He was Captain Jack Sparrow! Nothing could go wrong.

With that enlightening thought in his mind, he cheerfully went about continuing the business of trying – and failing – to find a way out. He was sure that if he repeated the process several times, with enough accumulated unsuccessful attempts, the higher powers might possibly take pity on him and move that hole! Or better yet – make another one! Right there. Preferably in a manner that would avoid any and all injury to his person. He stared at the wall of his cell, and imagined an exit there, leaving him free instead of the others who had been crowded into the next cell over only the night before. Oh, how he could clearly envision himself, standing glorious outside, silhouetted by the torchlight, smirking and calling something like "sorry mates" over his shoulder, before prancing off to steal himself that pretty boat. Ship.

He cleared his mind again, before sitting up and glancing around. There had to be a better way for him to get out. Maybe that dead soldier over there had dropped something? His eyes inadvertently drifted to where the man lay, face smothered against the ground, one arm crushed underneath his body and the other outstretched, blood pooling at his head. Jack sobered as he remembered the night before.

Twigg and Koehler had – unwittingly, he supposed, if they could be counted for having had any wit in the first place – revealed to him something very interesting indeed. The nature of their curse was the stuff of legend: in the moonlight, the cursed were revealed in their true form, that of a skeleton. By all other means they were dead – dead walking amongst the living. If his logic was correct, which it altogether most likely would not be, there would be no point in attacking them, even if – when – he escaped from the prison and made it to Tortuga.

They were already dead – and until that curse was lifted, he would be hard-pressed to really regain the Black Pearl from the mutinous crew that had landed him in this situation in the first place. He narrowed his eyes and shook himself free of those thoughts. As soon as he could find himself some rum, he'd be able to think of a way to do this. But before he could, he needed to get out of this jail! Darting his hands through the bars, Jack quickly sat up on his knees and grabbed the bone that he had left there the night before to give a shot at escape attempt number two hundred and seventeen.

Sticking the bone into the keyhole from the other side of the lock, Jack put his ear against it and listened as he jiggled the mechanisms within. "Please…." The hope for escape that he had been so suppressing overtook him again and he jabbed the bone fiercer into the keyhole.

The same screeching he had heard the night before sounded suddenly, and Jack automatically left the bone where it was – still in the keyhole – and threw himself to the ground, settling himself into a casual position, staring at the ceiling as he put his "it wasn't me" expression firmly into place. They were coming to execute him.

As the soft pattering of footsteps halted, Jack found himself wondering who it was. His eyes darted upwards and he felt a slight jolt of shock flit through him at the sight of not one, but two figures standing there. A soft glow emanated from their direction, lighting up the gray jail. He maintained his nonchalant façade, though, and continued to fix his gaze on the ceiling. It was an ugly one – gray concrete all around and deep crack allowing for water to drip through, especially in that one corner over there –

"You. Sparrow!"

"Aye," Jack nearly exclaimed, stilling his movements and looking over with wide eyes. It wasn't him, it wasn't him…. Was it time for his execution yet? Would they be hanging him or would they choose to gut him with a – wait a second. Wait…just one second. He felt like he was missing something, and didn't like the confusion that flittered through his mind, before he remembered that that was quite a normal occurrence for him anyway. What were the eunuchs doing here? Figures that Bootstrap's son is the one that hunts me so ardently…. No luck, I tell you, absolutely no luck.

Leaving no room for hesitation, dark eyed boy immediately began his interrogation. "You are familiar with that ship – the Black Pearl?"

Jack didn't move. Just found meself a way out. "I've heard of it." He shook himself to ease his muscles, and lazily looked back up at the ceiling. It was looking much better, now that he knew he wouldn't be staring at it much longer.

"Where does it make berth?"

Jack laughed from where he was – a harsh laugh leaving his throat in a smoothly frayed tenor, lacking any amusement. "Where does it make berth? Have you not heard the stories?" He glanced over to find two intense gazes fixed on him. He ignored the – wench, he knew not what else to call it, for he could hardly find it in himself to consider the creature male (argh, just…too…pretty…!) – and focused on the dark eyed boy instead. "Captain Barbossa and his crew of miscreants sail from the dreaded Isla de Muerta. It's an island that cannot be found except by those who already know where it is."

The wench (as Jack decided to start calling it) was staring at him in a peculiar manner, and it made the pirate nervous. What was it about those eyes? They were not blue so much as they were tinted steel…and lots of other things that Jack Sparrow decided not to dwell on. The wench frowned as it said, "The ship is real enough. Therefore its anchorage must be a real place. Where is it?"

Trying hard not to let his smirk completely overtake his face, Jack raised a dirty hand and picked at his nails. Raising a devilish eyebrow, and knowing the answer, he asked in a sultry tone, "Why ask me?"

The dark eyed boy frowned, and his reply was more than amusing. With a little pout and wrinkling of his nose, like the answer was really that simple, he answered, "Because you're a pirate."

"And you want to turn pirate yourself, is that it?"

Immediately a flush lighted the boy's cheeks and his fists clenched on the bars of the prison, the only thing keeping Jack from escaping to freedom and the boy from strangling his neck. "Never!" Calming, fists loosening from their tight hold, he added a bit more quietly, though no less fierce, "They took Miss Swann."

"Oh, so it is that you've found a girl, aside from this wench," Jack said heartily, gesturing to the blond standing beside his darker counterpart.

"I am not a – "

"Well," Jack interrupted, loudly cutting off the incensed denial, "if you're intending to brave all, hasten to her rescue, and so win fair lady's heart – " his words dangled tantalizingly in the cool air of the prison, " – you'll have to do it alone, mate. I see no profit in it for me."

The pirate relished in observing the boy at that moment. The poor lad looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel somewhere important, somehow tempered by the calm and patient – though still frowning from the wench comment – light-featured boy standing slightly behind him. His eyes suddenly narrowed – how was that possible? – was that glow from before coming from the wench itself?

"I can get you out of here."

The words startled Jack into attention and he looked at the boy disdainfully. "How's that? The key's run off." Thrice damned dog.

The boy explained that he'd helped to build the cells and that with the "right leverage and proper application of strength" the door would come free. Jack didn't understand much aside from that, anyway, the boy had started on something too technical for him to care enough about to get his mind around. Well, whatever. As long as he got out.

Sitting up, he watched the young man point at hinges and talk more about its construction, suddenly wondering if he had it all right. Bootstrap wasn't capable of producing intelligent offspring, was he? The lad must've gotten it from his mother's side. "What's your name?"

The boy paused and answered haltingly. "Will Turner."

"That will be short for William, I imagine. Good, strong name. No doubt named for your father, eh?"

The dark eyes were quickly growing suspicious, and the boy brushed a strand of dark, culy hair from his handsome face. "Yes."

Jack thought hard for a moment as he nodded. Good. Very good. He'd be getting out, getting a ship, and reclaiming the Pearl, all in one go. Despite the trouble the lad might cause, he'd serve his purposes well. "Mister Turner, I've changed me mind." He sat up, and this time turned to face the two standing before him. "If you spring me from this cell, I swear on pain of death I shall take you to the Black Pearl and your bonny lass. Do we have an accord?"

The boy was reaching his hand out to shake his own before the wench's hand shot out and gripped Turner's hand, preventing the deal from being sealed. The wench fixed his stare with all the weight he could muster – not that he needed to, in Jack's opinion. "I am coming along as well, Master Sparrow. That will also be part of this accord." At Jack's reluctant nod, the wench continued, "I will warn you now. Any hint of deception, I will not hesitate to restrain you and strip you of your weapons."

"Yes, yes," Jack nodded, rolling his eyes and wavering on his feet impatiently. First chance he got, he'd be shoving the wench off the boat. Ship. Nothing would stand in the way of him and his effects!

"And no more calling me a wench," the wench said, looking at the pirate sternly.

Jack froze.

Opening his eyes, he glanced at Turner in disbelief before turning back to the wench. He looked over the wench again. Clean hair, pretty face – no facial hair, even – fancy clothes and pouty demeanor. And glowing. Yes, it was glowing, and despite that he'd been to Singapore, Jack had never seen such a thing. He felt confusion tickle at his mind, and grew the more impatient for it. "Well, then, what would you have me call you? If you're not a wench, then what are you, mate?"

"I am an elf," the wench replied, voice and manner calm. Strange how the Turner boy hated pirates so, yet accompanied one that spoke to him without the usual disdain that all others held for pirates in general. "I come from a far away place and this is not the time for an explanation. You will address me properly else we leave you here to face the order of execution placed upon you."

Jack didn't let his scowl show through more than a simple sway of his body, something which he did so often that it made no difference. So this…elf-wench…was "special," one way or another. It explained the glowing, at the very least. But the elf was also disillusioned, had no trust in him. He'd have a more difficult time getting what he wanted, maybe…but still, there was time. "Very well, mate. Elf, wench – it's all the same in my book. What say ye?"

The elf gave a nod, released Turner's arm, and stepped back, poised and at attention. Still glowing prettily. Well, maybe they could put that to some use in Tortuga. He shook the Turner boy's hand and then clapped his hands, standing back. "Now get me out!"

Elizabeth Swann glared hollowly at the door. Barbossa hadn't entered the dining room since he'd left the night before, and for that she was thankful. She had no desire to spend more time than necessary in the company of the lecherous pirates.

Cautiously peering out of the window over her head, making sure there wasn't anyone peeking in, she stretched from the huddled position she'd been in since the night before, trying to ease her weary msucles to relax from their hours spent trembling. Twisting her back slightly and feeling better at each pop of her joints, she stood and inched towards the table, still stockpiled with food. She hadn't had the chance to eat much before her attempt to escape, and was too afraid through the night to try to get any more.

Reaching for the plate she'd left mostly intact from the night before, she took it back to another corner, most obscure and without a window nearby, and sat, placing the plate on her lap. Taking her time and not ravaging the turkey leg like she had earlier – helped by the fact that she found that she lacked the appetite, her mind wandered back to the terrible events of the night before, and the terrible medallion that hung from her neck.

The medallion was one of eight hundred and eighty two pieces that they'd scattered from a chest of Aztec gold – Of course they ignored the warnings, Elizabeth thought darkly of the pirate crew, grinding her teeth more than she needed to on the piece of bread she was chewing. Each one had to be found and returned to the chest, along with a bit of the blood of the one who had removed each medallion from whence it came. And they wanted her blood for the coin she never took.

At first, a fear had clung to Elizabeth's heart – now that she wore the medallion, would she become a skeleton under the light of the moon? Almost immediately the rational side of her mind struck this idea down. No, she had held the medallion for eight years now, and it had no such repercussions on her. And what of Will – Will Turner?

She had taken the medallion from him the moment they met, on the crossing from England eight years prior. If Will had been one to have taken a medallion from the chest, he'd have been cursed too. Was he? Elizabeth thought hard…when had she seen him after dusk, anyway? Never. Except, of course, in her dreams – silly dreams for another time, she scolded herself, picking up her fork and viciously stabbing into a potato, bringing the chunk to her mouth and biting down hard.

No, no. Assuming that Will had been one to have stolen a medallion from the chest, and was cursed, wouldn't he have wanted to end the curse as well and collaborated with the pirates? He wouldn't have toiled in Port Royal for eight years. And though possible, how would such a young child have been in such company in the first place? The fact that she herself had held the gold without becoming cursed herself proved that for the curse to take effect, she would have had to stolen the medallion from the chest directly.

Ooh, this was difficult, Elizabeth found herself thinking, trying to tell herself to let it go for a moment to enjoy the meal and get the rest she needed. Stop it, she told herself, just quiet yourself in there. Her thoughts stilled for moments, before she imagined her own voice yelling loudly in her ears, Think, think, THINK! She lapsed back into her previous train of thought and continued to focus, absently breaking off a stale piece of bread and bringing it up to her mouth to nibble on.

All right. All right, so Will most likely did not take the coin out of the chest directly, and was not cursed. No, maybe Will found it. Or someone gave it to him. Why would the pirates want his blood, though? For though he held it, he wasn't the one who…unless…. Someone sharing his blood…had…taken it…?

In her excitement, she didn't notice that the thing she'd bit hard on between her teeth wasn't any sort of food, but her cheek. Quieting herself before a yelp escaped her lips, she held her hand to her mouth, smarting painfully. Several curses that would put her father to shame, if he ever knew of her frequent use of them, drifted into the air through her muffled whimper, and she stifled the sting as her hands traveled to the chain and she wore around her neck. Putting aside the now-empty plate, she pulled out the medallion and brought it before her eyes, letting the light glint off its smooth surfaces and crevices.

She had always felt a sense of thrill when she had looked at it, and whenever she was too tired to sleep or bogged by daydreams it had made an appearance. Otherwise she'd kept it in the secret compartment of her drawers, out of sight and mind. She had never come to terms with the unease she had from taking it from Will – though she reminded herself that it had been for his own protection. Captain Gillette – then a first-mate – had searched Will himself in order to ensure that the boy was not a danger to the crew or people of Port Royal. Had they found the Aztec gold, they would have known for sure that the boy had had dealings with pirates and would have imprisoned, enslaved, or – most likely – hanged him. There was no sympathy for pirates.

It had held such a promise of adventure to her in her youth. But now, with the cool metal in her palm, she could only feel a tense coil of fear in her stomach, a fickle tingling of disgust for what it would take to break the curse. Then she remembered the skeletons outside, and she hurried to put the coin away, as though the eyes from its embedded skull could see her watching it, and would somehow turn her into a monstrosity, too. Tucking it neatly back into the folds of her gown – borrowed and sullied, but still beautiful – her body eased itself into a less tightly wound spring.

She shuddered as her eyes drooped slowly, hunger sated and warm in her corner. Yes, maybe she'd take a rest now – leave the worrying and all that to when it would make a difference – and dream those silly dreams. Maybe they would meld into reality and the one who had introduced her to such trouble would come to get her out of it.

After all, whatever the intricacies of it may be, it was Will's blood they wanted – not hers.

"Where's your boat?" Will Turner asked Jack Sparrow, as Legolas took a moment to scout the area. They were huddled behind a stack of crates being prepared for the trade ships coming and going from the industrious port. In broad daylight. Legolas wondered if there was a point to all their skulking, as they were bound to get caught anyway, but kept his silence.

"Ship. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, and me ship…" Jack gave a grin, shrugging his shoulders as he did so, "I'm in the market, as it were."

Will blinked at him before scowling and giving a roll of his eyes. Looking over his shoulder, he asked Legolas, "How are we faring?"

Legolas turned to the two men crouching beside him and with a delicate tone, betraying his rather thin calm, he replied, "I do not claim to have any idea of what sort of foolery runs through your thoughts, Sparrow, but I would compel you to speak of your intentions." He shifted his feet, absently relishing the feel of sand beneath his fingers. "Whatever you may be planning to do, speak of it and let us get this over with." He did not let himself look over the sea to the ships just yet; that ache inside him was back, gently tugging at his heart. It was faint, for now, but would it be the same in Middle-Earth? Worse? Would he not have the affliction at all, as he had not seen the sea he was called to sail?

Will grunted derisively, reminding Legolas of Gimli all over again and pulling him out of his rampaging thoughts. "Well, obviously we're going to have to steal a ship." The young man looked towards the sea and lifted his chin in the direction of a ship with its sails ready and rippling in the wind. "That one?"

"Commandeer," Jack was quick to correct, eyes narrowing as he peered at the vessel. "We're going to commandeer that ship. Nautical term." He looked off into the distance a moment longer, before glancing at the two beside him out of the corners of his kohl-traced eyes, squinting in the bright light of the sun. "One question about your business, boys, or there's no use going." He turned to Legolas first. "What's your business with the lad and why are you coming? You wouldn't happen to be hunting for a lass yourself?"

"Nay," Legolas said, shaking his head. "I am looking for…" he faltered, before his mind belatedly supplied him with the correct name he shouldn't have hesitated on, "someone by the name of Gandalf. I know nothing of this place, but I have reason to believe that he may be in the general area, or that I may find information on his whereabouts. Will is my guide here, and in turn I will help him find Miss Swann."

"And you, boy," Jack said, turning to Will, lingering on the elf only a slight moment before casting his suspicions away. "This girl – how far are you willing to go to save her?"

Will's steady gaze met the pirates'. His dark eyes smoldered as he clenched his hands around the edges of one of the crates they were hiding behind. "I'd die for her."

"Oh, good. No worries, then." Starting to move beyond the crates and out into the open, Jack motioned for them to follow. Exchanging glances, Will and Legolas began to move forward. Despite that Sparrow was mad – something both the elf and lad had heartily agreed on earlier – he was their only chance at accomplishing their goals, and they were willing to take it.

Jack quickly darted forward across the beach, not checking to see if the other two were keeping pace. He was sure they were, as the biggest impression he had gotten of the two were that they were intense worriers. They had no confidence in his skills whatsoever! Especially the Turner boy. Never mind that – they'd soon learn what the name Captain Jack Sparrow truly implied.

That he was the best damn pirate ever.

That's why when Will and Legolas ducked under a boat he had swiftly overturned and began inching forward into the water with him, he was able to forgive Will's grouchy demeanor. "This is either madness or brilliance," the Turner boy was muttering.

"Madness," Legolas answered flatly. Jack's head was already shaking side to side with a small smirk directed at the other two thrown over his shoulder.

"It's remarkable how those two traits often coincide, isn't it?" Making it to the ship with more or less no incident – though getting his foot stuck in the deteriorating crate left Will in an even more simmering disposition than before – they swiftly made it to the side of the Dauntless, as the ship was dubbed, and climbed up it silently, making sure the sounds of the sailors masked their own.

"Are we to take them all on?" Will whispered as soon as all three had made it to the edge of the deck, peering over in order to see the bustling feet of the sailors.

"More like throw them all off," Jack rephrased brightly, features perked as he leaned over and stared longingly at the helm. "Only for a bit." Before Will or Legolas could ask him what he meant by that, Jack shook his head slightly to silence them and heaved himself up and over the rail onto the deck.

For a moment, Legolas considered staying where he was to hopefully watch the sailors make Sparrow rue the day he ever dreamed of beating such odds. Then he considered the number of times he himself had beaten such odds, and found himself on the deck, sword raised and ready, looking at the affronted sailors steadily.

"Everyone stay calm!" Sparrow yelled unnecessarily, as there was hardly any panicking going on. "We are taking over this ship."

"Aye! Avast!" Will, Legolas noted, seemed taken with the idea of commandeering a ship. Surprising, really, how far he'd bend for this girl.

Unsurprising, however, that all the sailors laughed at that. One man, obviously the leader, flicked his glance over Will with an irritated look before kindly informing them, "This ship cannot be crewed by three men." Here he laughed derisively. "You'll never make it out of the bay."

Jack listened in an amusing fashion – he looked as if he'd eaten something that tasted more disgusting than not, mouth twisted, head titled, and eyebrows raised – before simply lifting his gun to the man's head and explaining, "Son…I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?" Within moments, the crew of the Dauntless was reduced to hurrying back towards shore in a life-boat, while Jack readied his followers to take the Inceptor as soon as it pulled up and its masters swung onto the Dauntless.

And so with those words, nearly ten minutes later Commodore Norrington found himself watching the Interceptor sail away from the Dauntless, looking through his spy-glass as the pirate, blacksmith, and French nobleman set off into the sulking skylight.

Beside him, Lieutenant Groves watched with narrowed eyes, arms crossed in front of his chest, standing straight. "That's got to be the best pirate I've ever seen."

Norrington seethed, tossing down the spy-glass and leaning forward. Through gritted teeth and obvious reluctance, he replied, "So it would seem, Mister Groves. So it would seem."

end the worst pirate ever

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 must sincerely apologize – this is the kind of stuff that I need to wade through before getting to the better parts. I must also apologize for the lateness of this chapter, but I graduated! I finished high school so. There's something that doesn't happen all the time, and I lived it up. Next chapter is already underway; this chapter has been reviewed by Sidhe so thank you very much, my dear co-wench!

And from my terrible Elvish, I gathered that "Lasgalen Laiqualasse" roughly means "Greenleaf of Greenness" in a mix of Quenya and Sindarin. I'm hopeless ;)

See you all next chapter :)