Author: Mirrordance

Title: For Every Evil

Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.

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29: Shopping

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Flight

Rome, Italy to Sinop, Turkey

Mid-2004

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Bob Baggins was a fifty-eight year old who was being a grander mischief-maker than his age normally would have allowed. He was a nautical archaeologist by degree, an avid historian by spirit, an adeventurer at heart. His litany of tours included stints in Egypt, China, Iran… where the waters of ancient cultures ran, so did Bob Baggins. He's even spent months on end in ships and barges in the middle of seas and oceans. Such was the case in that he was now in the territories of Turkey, using Sinop as his main docking area but spending more time in the middle of the Black Sea.

Legolas examined more of the eccentric and popular scholar/adventurer's file from Jimmy Goran's laptop. He winced and noted the names of two colleagues of Baggins' he almost simply glossed over.

Sean Malcolm and Dean Malcolm. Cousins, several years Bob Baggins' senior, also his pair of mentors from long ago, who were presently with him in the Black Sea.

Legolas stared at their photographs a bit longer, his jaw setting in grim thoughts. Smeagol and Deagol, he decided by name and affiliation, though he never saw the latter and new the former only as the distorted, ghoul Gollum.

Blast, he thought, thinking that conditions were now indeed ripe for a fantastic disaster and Sinop, Turkey was the likely stage.

And Boromir and Haldir went off without me…

"You look like you're gonna go bury someone," Goran said with a grunt, shifting his position beside the glum elf.

"Oh I am," Legolas sighed, "I'll kill them and bury them myself…"

"Seriously?" said Goran wistfully, "I don't know. Your face… like this… it makes me sad too, suddenly. I mean I can't explain it. It's just so strangely familiar."

Legolas glanced at him, said nothing. Funny that the dwarf should remember this look of all things. In afterthought, however, if anyone would have seen much of it, then that would indeed be Gimli the dwarf— he was there when Gandalf fell, when Boromir died, when all the folk they loved died all around them, when Aragorn died… likely, Gimli had seen the same look when Legolas said goodbye to him, when he himself died all those ages ago…

"I'd forget about it," Legolas muttered.

Goran frowned at him and fell silent a long moment. "You've got issues, man."

Legolas tossed him a sour look, before glancing out his plane window, as if there were things to see outside.

"So the guy's uncle is in Turkey, right?" said Goran, "Why do you look so glum? Sinop is like, this resort isthmus facing the Black Sea. Nice place, I heard. Maybe they just went over to visit the guy's uncle or something. I mean, Bob Baggins is there excavating some thing or other. You're just pissed they got the best of you, eh, Brad and Harding?"

"That's part of it," Legolas said dryly, "But not just that. I'm not petty… or at least I certainly try." He sighed, ran his hands over his face, "Gods. Where do I start. Hm. You've been told the story, right? This Ring…?"

"Yes," Goran answered, "I've been loosely informed."

"Before it came into the hands of the four hobbits we were trying to find," said Legolas, "It went to Bob Baggins first, and two other hobbits before him. They are all in Sinop at the moment. This whole situation is driving me crazy. First I thought that there is no new Ring-like evil resurrected in our times, and Wormtongue is just chasing ghosts and misusing his life's second chance. In effect, our search was originally geared only toward the prptection of the hobbits—our old friends-- against Wormtongue. But now…" he shook his head in dismay, "The Ring was forged in a place called Mordor, and when the ring was destroyed the land fell with it. The ages shifted the earth and this land sank lower and lower, eventually filling with water, turning into a deep lake. And then when the glaciers melted some millennia ago, the Meditarranean spilled over the land that separated the lake from the sea, eventually creating The Black Sea."

"Yeah…?" Goran encouraged.

"So we are, in effect, headed toward old Mordor," Legolas pointed out, "And Bob Baggins-- Bilbo Baggins--, and his two other ex-hobbit colleagues are digging around in the dirt because, well, that's what they do for a living now. Maybe this is more than Wormtongue's ghosts after all. Maybe there truly is an old evil awaiting us beneath the Sea. That is, if Baggins and co. have not found it and raised it up yet."

Goran scrunched his face in dismay. "Or maybe he's simply an archeologist and his nephew and his nephew's friends are just coming for a visit. It is vacation time, and he is after all working near a bloody beach."

"Yes, well," Legolas sighed, too tired to argue, "There is that too, I suppose."

"But you don't really believe it," Goran pointed out.

"Oh what do you want me to say?" Legolas asked exasperatedly.

"I need you to believe it," Goran answered.

"Wel I couldn't even if I tried," Legolas guaranteed him.

Goran frowned at him, crossed his thick arms over his burly chest. His mind was racing, as he pondered what kind of thing this was he just got into. He was nervous, and that's because he found himself believing the situation he's formerly categorically classified simply as crap that ends with him having a good load of relatively easy money. Now his life was in danger. The world was in danger! He wasn't sure exactly how and when it happened, only that it did and he was very likely in deep trouble.

"I did say you're contagious," Goran muttered, and the elf beside him smiled a little for the first time since Goran woke him up with the terrible news.

"Yes, well," said Legolas, "You stayed without having been forced. As you said, you could have tossed me on my arse."

"So it's my fault?" asked Goran wryly.

"It most certainly is."

" " "

The elf made good use of the flight by sleeping, and Goran wisely advised him to face the window or cover his face with his hair or hand lest the stewardesses think he just keeled over and died there. He took the advice to heart, and his back was turned to Goran, face turned toward the window.

The elf seemed stronger and was recovering quickly, a vast relief to Goran in a world that was crumbling right beneath his feet. Because the ride was tight and he was a very burly fellow, he felt Legolas' phone vibrate with a call, even though the elf's mobile was in his loose, outer coat pocket.

"I got it," Goran murmured, fishing for the mobile easily as the elf stirred and then went back to sleeping. The call was registered as coming from Adrian Aarons.

"'Ello," Goran greeted.

"Gimli!" Aragorn exclaimed, "How's Legolas?"

"Asleep," the hacker replied, thinking with some surprise that he was already getting strangely comfortable with a stranger's name. "Where are you?"

"We're catching a flight now," Aragorn replied, "We'll be there just a few hours after you. Where do we go after we get to Sinop?"

"The hobbits can't get anywhere without much money," said Goran, "Either they go to Finn Baggins' uncle—unlikely, unless they plan on walking there—or he picks them up. He can take them to just a few places; a couple of hotels in the area. But I'm betting they want a secure area if they think they're being followed around or threatened. I'm talking about Baggins' excavation site."

"Where's that?" Aragorn asked with a wince.

"A barge in the middle of the Black Sea," replied Goran, "Secured area, passes required, all that. They don't know us, they won't trust us, they won't let us in. That's gonna be a tricky one, even for you."

"Ha," said Aragorn, his mind already racing for a plan, "You have your laptop with you?"

"Always," replied Goran, "And a few… trappings from our Italian adventure too, just in case."

"Good," Aragorn affirmed, "Fantastic."

"What's in your head, boy?" growled Goran.

"Just stay put when you get there," Aragorn said easily, "Tell the stubborn elf to wait for me before he does anything. We'll think of something. I'll get in touch with Brad and Harding and tell them to stay still."

"Good luck," said Goran, "We've been calling them but they do not answer."

"Did you use Legolas' mobile?" Aragorn said wryly, "If that registered in their cell phones, they'd likely ignore it to escape his ire." He barked a laugh, "I would."

Goran glanced at the sleeping elf beside him nervously. "Oh, yes. So would I."

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Sinop, Turkey

Mid-2004

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Brad's phone was ringing, as it had been ringing sporadically since he left ol' Detective Leland Greene up in Rome. He didn't really feel much like dealing with the angry elf and so ignored the call for the most part. This time, however, he was truly busy.

Horace Harding, like other truly great agents before him, had alliances both official and… well, for lack of a better term, shady. Which Brad thought of with a wince, because the wordplay was truly unintended…

He and Harding were standing in a touristy-shop that was so small it was like a hole in the wall. The real crazy thing about it all was that the shady local who was Harding's contact was selling… well, shades. Sunglasses of all sorts lined the walls, and he absently picked up a tacky, yellow plastic pair and wondered at who would buy it…

He pretended to be busy. He, Harding and the shopkeep were the only ones there, although the streets were busy with the mid-morning crowds. Harding was speaking in… Turkish, Brad supposed. The shopkeep was looking at the Interpol agent wryly and they both chuckled, as if sharing in a joke.

After a few more words, the shopkeep looked about the shop warily, and then closed his doors and flipped the sign— Brad did not understand what was writted but it likely meant 'Sorry, we're closed.'

"You all right?" Harding asked Brad.

"Yeah," replied the American, "I didn't know you can speak Turkish."

"I know a whole lot of things," Harding said coolly, "I was stationed here for a time."

Harding turned back to the shopkeep, who was busying himself behind his tiny counter. Brad heard a click from somewhere and the shopkeep smiled a bit in satisfaction. He then walked over to one of the wall displays and literally just pulled at it and it opened up like a secret cabinet.

Brad craned his neck to have a look, but the shopkeep handed Harding a pair of battered old black and brown leather bags, before sealing up his secret cabinet again and re-opening his shop.

Harding handed Brad one of the bags and they both began to stride towards the door when the shopkeep called them back in.

"You," he said to Brad, voice heavy with an exotic accent, "Buy shades for American dollars."

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They looked so grave that it was so easy to spot them amidst the resort crowd of sunny Sinop.

Brad and Harding commandeered a corner of one of the multitude of seafood restaurants facing the Black Sea and lining the shore. The Interpol agent and the American lab technician had wide sunglasses over their sleepless eyes, dark, European coats and battered, dark, leather bags piled atop one of the chairs and cups of coffee and plates of half-eaten kebab and mackerel littering their table. They looked a bit the worse for wear, dark clothes wrinkled from travel as if they just fell into the island from some other place they were supposed to be. They managed to look cold and imposing, however, like a black hole in the middle of a sun-kissed paradise.

They turned to the new arrivals in the same instant, watching coolly as a frigid Legolas and burly Goran slumped to the chairs across from them.

"Where've you been?" Goran demanded, "You didn't answer our calls!"

"We were busy," Harding replied, "I was with my… less reputable contacts here acquiring some hardware for us."

"Hardware?" Goran muttered, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the menacing-packages haphazardly stacked on a chair.

Brad watched the pair a moment, before wordlessly pushing the half-empty plate of kebab in offering to Legolas, who glanced at it before he raised his eyes to Brad. "You owe me an apology."

The elf saw the man's lips quirk a bit, and the eyes beneath the dark shades light up. "I do?"

"You do," the elf said.

"I don't know, man," Brad said with a smirk, "You broke the word you didn't give to Elrohir, I broke the word I didn't give to you… I'd call it square. Or karma."

Legolas looked at him dryly, but was quite satisfied with that, in that he had Brad and Harding, flesh and blood before him, smiling, making crazy jokes and seeming so alive. The elf's long fingers drummed on the table as he considered the fine Turkish fare.

"I'll have it if you won't," Goran said, and Legolas coolly slid the plate along to his old/new friend.

"Where do we stand?" Legolas asked Brad and Harding.

"I got in touch with my affiliates here," Harding replied with a wince, "They said my bosses are pissed because I'm supposed to be in Italy with them, but I also got us the information we want. Four young Brits came in about five days ago, real nervous like, though I've been told one of them still had the gall to try and charge a meal to one of the patrons of this very restaurant and sneak out. They washed the dishes to pay it off, and the owner was endeared enough to give them a free dinner. Then Bob Baggins picked them up and took them to the Amazona in the middle of the Black Sea. That would be the excavation barge. They've been there since. But Bob Baggins is doing a speech in a local hotel this evening so he's docking. Black tie, several course dinner, invitation only." The Interpol agent grinned and raised up two invites from his pocket, "For me and a date."

"The hobbits are alive," Legolas breathed, "Good. Any sign of Warrington?"

"No," Harding replied, "Else we'd have picked him up on the spot. International jurisdiction, my friend."

"Lucky you," said Legolas wryly, "What's with the speech tonight?"

"Baggins will talk about his finds," said Harding.

"What's he doing in the Black Sea anyway?" asked Goran, munching on the kebab. The great food was elevating his spirit despite the direness of the situation.

"The Black Sea and pretty much this entire area has been a multi-cultural hub for centuries and centuries," said Harding, "Great ancient kingdoms—talk about the Black Sea and you'll hear of great old Greece and Imperial Rome, Constantinople, Byzantine, Ottoman… any big ancient name you can think of, I can guarantee you it came through here as either conquerors, traders or plain adventurers. They've all crossed these seas and these lands, and so it is easy to believe there are a lot of ancient treasures abound that are valuable both monetarily and academically. Especially since the Black Sea has also been referred to as Karadeniz by the Turks and Axenos by the Greeks —both means inhospitable—for the storms. Hence, likely there are shipwrecks down there."

"Lots of wrecks to see all over the world," Brad pointed out.

"Yes," conceded Harding, "But the thing with the Black Sea is that because it used to be freshwater and suddenly became seawater when the glaciers melted several thousand years ago, it resulted in a deeper layer that is anoxic—no oxygen whatsoever, poisonous even—where no living things could survive and there is nothing to feed or degrade the wooden wrecks below. So we're talking about ships thousands of years old, found hundreds of feet below the Black Sea that are so well-preserved they could have just come out of the shop yesterday. Theoretically, they could even find human remains that are thousands upon thousands of years old."

"It will be just like a class reunion for Greene," Brad chided, exchanging sour looks with Legolas.

"Aside from the great preservation," Harding continued, "Turkey is also the intersection of three tectonic plates—the Eurasian, African and Arabian plates, making earthquakes often harsh and surely common. So storms created shipwrecks from long ago, the Black Sea preserved them, and the earthquakes often stir out those from the deeper depths, so once in awhile people can really recover some stellar finds that have been beneath the sea for ages. That's what Baggins is here for. That's what any visionary nautical archeologist or historian or even anthropologist would be here for."

"Stellar find," murmured Legolas thoughtfully, "I wouldn't necessary call it that… the Ring, I mean."

"You're an elf," Goran retorted, "You wouldn't call a spade a spade!"

Legolas looked at him dubiously, raising an eyebrow at him, for traces of Gimli the dwarf were undoubtedly fighting their way out.

Goran frowned at himself, shifted in his seat and stuffed the last of the kebab in his mouth. He nodded toward the sunglasses Brad and Harding were wearing.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked.

"Some tourist shop down the street," Harding replied, "That's where my contact works. Why?"

"You two look like…" Goran hesitated, "Well say I'm twenty years old, right, young and nervous and I think someone's after me? Well… Well… when I see you, I'm going to think they're you."

Legolas stifled a laugh.

" " "

It was out of pride that they did not lose the sunglasses, lest the blasted hacker find in satisfaction that his opinion actually mattered to them. And so it was in this way that Brad, Harding, Legolas and Goran decided to go on about the resort town.

The breezes were comforting, and the place was naturally beautiful. Once in awhile, Legolas would glance out to the sea that had once demanded at him so persistently. He frowned in thought—he was looking out to the Black Sea, yes, but it was also inextricably part of the great breadth that laid claim to his elven destiny. It still called, and he remembered that he's not stood before any beach since… since World War II. He sighed heavily, and sought solace in his strange companions.

"You all right?" Goran asked, glancing down on his face.

"Yes," Legolas said, flashing him a quick, reassuring smile.

They strode into the adjoining hotel rooms they've rented out. This was the very hotel where Baggins would be making his speech later that day. Aragorn and company were still quite a few hours away, and it was questionable whether or not they'd make it in time for the event tonight, so the four of them had to be reasonably well-rested and prepared on their own.

Goran wordlessly yielded the bed closest to the window to Legolas, whose weary eyes oft drifted to the sight of the Sea, as if he was entranced by it.

Brad and Harding shared the room beside theirs, but they kept the adjoining door open, bustling to and fro as they set out to work.

Goran laid out his laptop on the floor, a multitude of wires running toward one of the outlets and the phone lines. He spread himself out on the ground across from it, stomach to the floor and chin on an elbow as he worked with one hand. He was researching Bob Baggins' excavations in the Black Sea; perhaps he could find this so-called Ring or it's like here, if it's already been unearthed.

Legolas was sitting on the edge of the bed behind him, looking over his shoulder.

"So I'm looking for some kind of a Ring," said Goran.

"Literally, yes," said Legolas, "But I believe the original one was truly destroyed, else the land would not have been broken with its fall. But only the gods know what other less vile though undoubtedly dangerous things were crafted there. So we seek any kind of jewelry or artifact that legend holds to encase evil, or give the bearer remarkable powers."

"That could be a whole lot of things," Goran pointed out, "We're talking about centuries worth of legend here, more will be false tall tales rather than the truth you seek. How can you tell fact from fiction?"

"One can't," Legolas said with a wince, "at least, instantly and definitively. I suppose when it all comes down to, it should just feel a certain way."

Brad and Harding appeared by their door, and offered Legolas the various treasures of their weathered leather bags by laying out the guns and rifles and knives on the bed.

"Oh for god's sake," Goran hissed, looking about the room in a panic, "We look like a bunch of terrorists!"

"Relax, Mr. Goran," said Harding, "We're staying in a bloody two-star, you won't find surveillance here."

Legolas in turn rummaged through the bag he and Goran brought and raised up the slim, communication links they commandeered from the Rome mission for the others to see. He and Goran literally brought everything they could think of from the Rome mission left in the house (except the arms they were not allow to bear in flight) in case of a dangerous encounter in Sinop.

"For the event tonight," Legolas said, "I cannot be there, neither can Gimli. I suspect Wormtongue will have the mind to come, and he will likely recognize us. It has to be the two of you. We do not wish to force him into irrational, rash action after all." The elf winced, "But I'm hoping the others arrive in time. You'll forgive me for not only not wanting you out of my sight, but the thought of you two alone also together sends me into spectacular panic."

"That's too bad," said Harding, "We're just here to tell you that Brad and I are going out on the town to look for formal wear."

"You stay," Legolas said to Harding, pushing himself up to his feet, "We are roughly the same. Brad and I will go."

"We may be the walking departed, Greene," said Harding, "But right now, I'll hold my own better than you, eh? Sit tight. Sleep, or something, you look like the dead. We're going shopping, for god's sake, nothing's going to happen."

"Well the last time you went shopping," Goran retorted, "You went home with all of this." He nodded to the arms on the bed.

Legolas frowned at Harding disapprovingly. But he knew also that if he dared dispute, Harding was bound to try Elrohir's proving tactic from Rome and he doubted he had the strength or patience for another embarrassing, wordless admission of his slow recovery. He relented, and tossed Harding a comm. link. The Interpol agent caught it cleanly. Legolas tossed another to Brad.

"Do not lose them," he said to the two darkly.

"You're really scary sometimes, Greene," Brad said to him evenly, winking as he turned to leave.

" " "

The bustling city was alive with locals and a smattering of foreign tourists. The sound of the strange and intricate language, the exotic music, the smell of the food and the teas… Sinop was vibrant and alive and just so wildly different, simply intoxicating.

Like most tourist destinations, it was already very much modern. But it was not quite a hot Miami yet, with the two-star hotels and simple settlements still lining the beaches contributing the the exotic feeling, and traces of Sinop's grand history still scattered liberally about the city in old buildings, roads, museums, temples, even.

But modern indeed, and Brad and Harding had no trouble at all finding a shop that rented out tuxedos and things.

"Nice," Brad said, nodding and smiling at his reflection in the full-length mirror situated just outside his dressing room. The small shop stood right next to a sidewalk lining a busy street. He was very satisfied with the double-takes the women from outside were giving him and he decided that playing 007 or no, this little adventure may not be a complete loss for his love life after all…

Harding stepped out of the dressing room beside Brad's and glanced at the other man coolly. "Not bad. But it's a bit…"

"A bit what?" Brad asked irritably.

"You look like you're going to the prom," Harding said dryly. He, on the other hand, looked just like James Bond in the black number…

"You look like my goddamn bodyguard," muttered Brad, and both men glanced at each other sourly, and then back at their reflections.

"Harding," Legolas said quietly over the communication link, "Are you all right? You're taking a bit long."

"We're alive, Greene," Brad assured him, as he loosened the bow tie of his suit. Almost casually, his eyes drifted up to look at the mirror and the crowds glancing in on them from outside. It wasn't some fine, exotic woman that caught his eye. Rather, it was a lanky young man with shagging unkempt hair and wide blue eyes, accompanied by three friends. He frowned, because he felt suddenly as if his heart was hammering in his chest.

He gripped Harding by the arm, and nodded to the mirror. Harding followed his gaze to the four young men, and his eyes widened in realization.

"Legolas," Harding said quietly into the comm., "Hobbits."

"Come again?" Legolas demanded.

"I'm looking at them right now," Harding said, "I recognize them from the photographs."

"They're looking this way!" muttered Brad, averting his gaze at just the right moment. Finn Baggins had eyes that bored straight through to the soul…

Harding watched them from the mirror, preparing to busy himself with his tie. "They're rushing their pace. I think they think we're watching them."

"Don't do anything rash to—" Legolas was saying, just before Brad bolted after the hobbits and they ran faster away at the sight of him.

"—scare them?" Harding finished for him wryly, watching Brad running out of the shop with his formal wear on. The attendant waved after the American, sputtering curses in his native tongue.

"I'll pay," Harding said quickly to appease him, "We'll take your fine suits, sir."

TO BE CONTINUED…

Hey guys!!! As always, massive thanks and keep the reviews coming if you can :) I'm still stuck in chapter 31 but I'm really really working. Hope you guys had a blast!!! :) so sorry for the sporadic updates, I'm trying my best not to keep you hanging for too long I promise :) I've just been so pressed for time. Oh well. 'til the next post!!!