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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37: All Hell

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The Ino,

The Black Sea

Mid-2004

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Elladan's elven ears heard that bullet pierce the night, and though he was a warrior accustomed to such things, it made him jump for he was most certainly not accustomed to fleeing away from a battle.

The two young men with him were glancing at him nervously.

"Maybe we should go back," Finn said softly.

Elladan turned to him, own constricted throat tempted to say nothing. But those aching eyes called for so much more. "We all have our parts to play, my friends. Strengthen your hearts. We can only trust that all will be well, this night."

" " "

The Docking Bay,

The Black Sea Coast,

Sinop, Turkey

" " "

"Who are you?" Bob Baggins asked, eyes boring into a Mithrandir who frankly was unsure of where to start.

"It will take us too long to tackle that question," Haldir said swiftly, cutting in with his usual cool, "Let us say simply this. I am with Interpol, and this is part of my team." He drew out his wallet, showed them his credentials. "You can look that up, I guarantee."

Sean Malcolm squinted at him and the hacker at his side, before his eyes went wide in recognition of them. "You were at the Hotel."

"Yes," Haldir replied, "Dean Malcolm took your Ankh, but he did not do it alone. The men who took over the Amazona knew they'd find the Ankh there and not at the Hotel this night because Dean Malcolm told them. We suspect he was bribed by Grissom Warrington, who is very much in our wanted list."

"I've heard of him," murmured Bob Baggins, "That labor union case. What does that have to do with my Ankh?"

"He is fixated with the idea that it holds a mystical power that can grant him control of the world," replied Gandalf, wincing. "He may or may not be correct, but either way, he must be stopped. Your nephew… he is still in the barge."

Bob's eyes widened. "We must call the police."
Gandalf glanced at Haldir, considering the wisdom of that. They could not have asked for the aid of institutions before, since they'd have looked like cooky people running on crazy, unfounded suspicions. Now, with a barge having been taken over perforce… they can call upon help. But to call upon help in a situation of this magnitude… Grima Wormtongue was a man desperate for victory and if he cannot have it, he will not let anyone else win. His years of lonely failure crafted him into a ruthless killer. To push him to a corner, with a barge full of hostages a lot of whom were their friends… The new Fellowship would also have a lot to answer for; what were they doing there, what did they have to do with anything, not to mention having to explain all of their illegal arms… Battling crime and evil in this day and age, when everything required a permit and red tape was certainly very complicated.

"I prefer stealth," Haldir said, "Wormtongue will not appreciate having his back to the wall and he will take his ire out on the Amazona staff and our friends in his company. He will be desperate and unmerciful, and trust me, the authorities will leave him with so few options that if we call upon them, we will surely see a lot of blood this night. But it merits consideration too. Our own backs are pressed to the wall. What can we do? Storm in there ourselves, now that Wormtongue and his mercenaries have such a foothold on the territory? Now that theirs is the high ground, and they can see any foe headed to the Amazona from miles away?"

His address was cut short by Elrohir raising up a hand at him to pause, and pressing his free one up to the comm. link in his ear. The familiar buzzing was telling him that they were very much getting back on-line.

"This is Anatalia Craxi, over," the melodious, accented voice graced the lines, "Can anyone read?"

"Loud and clear, sweetheart," Elladan said over the comm. Elrohir detected relief, and a bit of strain in his twin's voice.

"That's not proper protocol, over," Elrohir said good-naturedly, simply happy to hear from his brother. The Rivendell elf smiled at Gandalf, Haldir, Goran, and the four 'hobbits' with them. "We are back on the comm. links, folks. Ana?"

"I'm in the hotel room," she said, trying to sound confident and flippant past all her considerable worries, "The generators are working here, and I could not stand that filthy motel."

"Status report," Haldir requested, aching for a comm. link of his own, having left all his gear in the men's room along with Goran's earlier in the night. "Knowing where everyone is may point us in the right direction."

"Haldir, Goran, Mithrandir, Pip Took, Mark Brandy, Sean Malcolm and Bob Baggins are with me here at the docks," said Elrohir over the comm., "We are safe and Mr. Interpol Agent is requesting a status report."

"I am in the Ino with Sam and Frodo," said Elladan, "We are about ten minutes away from you. We are not being pursued. Eowyn, Eomer and Faramir are being held in the Amazona's Mess Hall along with other captives made up of staff and crew. We shouldn't expect a reply from them, their comm. links were likely detected in disarming them and were consequently discarded."

A potent silence hovered over the group as they awaited the reply of Legolas or Aragorn. All were accounted for save for the pair and Brad, who did not have a comm. link on. It was in this silence that they heard the sound of bullets and rustling and the muffled sounds of combat, that did not need any words at all.

"Boromir!" they heard Legolas' breathless, desperate cry, "Bormir, please. Stay with me…"

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The Sundeck

The Amazona,

The Black Sea

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All hell broke loose.

Legolas felt the burly American's weight take him to the ground, and his betrayed heart wondered for a moment if the broken side of Boromir emerged at last, and his desires won over him and he went against the Fellowship once again.

But when the sound of that bullet broke through the night, and he heard his friend's startled cry as the aim proved true to his back, Legolas lost all track of the world around him. The blood, the pain of loss, his failure, his friend writhing on the ground presented a whole reality of its own. He did not notice the sound of his friends on the comm. link, he barely even noted Aragorn trying valiantly to fight his way through to Legolas and Brad, outgunned and outnumbered.

"No!" he dimly heard the adan cry as he tried to push his way past his foes, "No!"

"Boromir," Legolas breathed, desperation straining his voice as he held his fallen friend close, "Boromir, please. Stay with me."

But he's going to die, the long-tired part of his mind insisted, This is how the story was always meant to end…

"No," Legolas said to himself sternly, shakily.

"No," he said again, more determinedly. He lowered the absently much-pained Boromir to the floor, deciding he was never one to surrender. He's never surrendered against overwhelming odds. He's never even surrendered to his own fate, the fate that called him away from the world he loved, the fate that called him away from the people he cherished.

"It's just a cursed bullet," Legolas said to Boromir sternly, staring into the man's eyes, "It's a single, cursed bullet. It doesn't count for anything. It cannot defeat us, not after all our lives and all the ages have brought us here, in this place, all together all over again. It will not. I won't let it. Don't disappoint me, my friend," he said in a rush, as he pressed his arms to the exit wound on the man's shoulder, "You'll break my heart."

Brad stared at the staunchly determined elf. The wound was burning, it was filling him with coldness and emptying him of himself. It was not a new feeling. Boromir was coming back and ironically, he was returning toward death.

But not to die, he thought determinedly, Boromir did not return simply to die…

He returned, at last, to live.

Breathing harshly, his brows furrowed as the last strings of his life and awareness wound itself about the crazy elf's words.

It's a single, cursed bullet.

It doesn't count for anything. It cannot defeat us, not after all our lives and all the ages have brought us here, in this place, all together all over again…

"Not this time, Boromir," Legolas told him, almost harshly, almost angrily. Boromir reflected that the elf was very much becoming the pouty princeling on him.

"This is what second chances are made for," Legolas said to him, "For god's sake, live."

The elf and injured man did not even notice Dean Malcolm inching away from Legolas and Brad. He crawled to the gun that left Legolas' hand in the tumble. Shakily rising to his feet, grip tight and trembling, he rose to his feet and pointed the gun Legolas' way.

"You'd have killed me for the Ankh," Dean Malcolm said slowly, loudly, over the din of the rain, over the din of his own turbulent thoughts, "You'd really have killed me for it. That makes what I am about to do, far easier to bear."

Legolas looked up at him, facing down the gun that was pointed right on his face.

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The Docking Bay,

The Black Sea Coast,

Sinop, Turkey

" " "

"You'd really have killed me for it. That makes what I am about to do, far easier to bear."

Elladan's blood froze at what he dimly heard over the comm., and knew quite well that Legolas was in lethal trouble. As he maneuvered the Ino to dock, Sam and Finn left his side at once and joined the rest of the team underneath the nearby shed, having sighted Mark and Pippin and eager to ensure they were safe.

Elladan stayed in the Ino's bridge a moment longer to secure her as he called over the comm., "Legolas. Legolas listen to me. Legolas, mellon-nin, I hope you're listening. Tell him not to kill you. Tell him the Ankh is not where he left it. Tell him you put it somewhere else. Tell him if he kills you, they'll never know where it went. Legolas. For the valar's sake, hear me."

" " "

Finn and Sam embraced their friends, and Finn embraced his uncle. When he stepped away, it was only at this time that he looked upon the others who were with them. He did not know most of them, yes, but his eyes settled upon Sean Malcolm with great mistrust.

"I found the Ankh in your room," Finn said to him darkly, "What does it mean, Doctor?"

Mithrandir stared at the young man. "The Ankh? Is it with you?"

Sean Malcolm was squirming uneasily loosening and tightening his tie and loosening and tightening it again in his unease.

Finn was nervous as well, for he did not know the old man questioning him, or the man who resembled Elladan looking at him with intensity. The young man was most relieved when Elladan jogged over to them, and the Rivendell elf saw the fear and uncertainty in his eyes.

"You are with friends, Frodo," Elladan told him soothingly, "That is Elrohir, obviously my twin brother. That is Haldir, he is with Interpol. That is Goran, a friend of ours, and that is Gandalf. If you search within your heart, you'll find you are very much safe with us. And treasured too."

Finn took a deep breath, nodded. Sam wordlessly and almost subconsciously pressed closer to his back, as if to lend him warmth and strength as he said, "Yes. The Ankh is with me." he turned to Sean Malcolm again, "And I found it in your quarters."

"I don't know how it got there!" the doctor exclaimed, eyes wide as saucers.

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The Sundeck,

The Amazona,

The Black Sea

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For the valar's sake, hear me…

"The Ankh is not where you left it," Legolas said to Dean Malcolm slowly, so as not to alarm him, "I know where it is."

"You lie," Dean Malcolm said darkly, stepping forward and pressing the cold, cold barrel of the gun to the elf's forehead. The Mirkwood Prince did not even flinch, staring back at the man with his glacial eyes set in determination.

"If you kill me, you will never find it," Legolas guaranteed him.

"You lie," Malcolm said again, "You were with me all this while, you were not in the Amazona, you couldn't have found it. I should just kill you now—"

Grima Wormtongue stepped behind Dean Malcolm and put a hand to his shoulder to calm him. "Lay down that gun, Doctor, I doubt you know how to use it."

Reluctantly, Dean Malcolm lowered the gun to his side. Grima Wormtongue stared at the elf, who was on his knees on the ground. He liked the sight of it, as if the elf was begging for his life. He felt quite powerful, and therefore it put him in a bit of an indulgent mood.

"The Ankh is not where Malcolm left it?" Grima asked.

"It's not," Legolas replied stonily.

"Tell you what," Grima said, "We'll see. And if you are lying," he waved two of his men forward, and they were hoisting a disoriented Aragorn between them. Legolas' jaws set at the sight of his friend, regretting that he was busy tending to his and Boromir's troubles to aid the adan, now sagging between his captors.

"I will shoot his face in front of you," Grima promised him, "Right in front of you, so near that his blood will spray to your lips, and you can taste it and smell it and remember it always. And then, and then I'll literally drown you in that one's blood," he said, nodding toward the semiconscious Boromir on the ground.

Legolas' chin jutted up in defiant, angry reflex. But looked upon his injured friends, he bit his tongue, and then said more calmly, "None of that will matter if they are already dead."

Grima's eyes narrowed in irritation. "Fair of you to say." He turned to one of his men. "Bring the pair of them to sick bay, treat them just enough to keep them alive, so we can kill them if the clever elf proves to be a liar who decided to waste my time."

A group of mercenaries shuffled away to do as he bid, bearing Aragorn and Brad away with them. Legolas watched his two friends being dragged away with a heavy heart. He fervently hoped that Elladan was telling the truth.

A pair of Grima's men hauled him up to his feet, and Wormtongue stepped toward him with a calculating look in his eye. He took quick aim with his gun and shot at the elf's leg, almost casually.

Stunned, Legolas let out a surprised, pained cry as his knees buckled beneath him and he leaned upon his captors heavily.

"Shouldn't expect anymore trouble from you," Grima said coldly, before turning to Dean Malcolm, "Lead the way, Doctor. Take me to where you think you left my prize."

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The Mess Hall,

Deck B,

The Amazona,

The Black Sea

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They took the on-staff doctor away. The man had an inalienable calm about him that Faramir oft saw in folk of that profession. Mercenaries stormed into the Mess Hall asking for him in both name and title, and he coolly raised his hand and rose to his feet from his position sitting across from Faramir, whom he was treating for cuts and bruises after tending to the Rohan siblings.

"I am the doctor," he said, and they simply dragged him off. Faramir watched, unworried. They asked for him because they required his services, and his life is likely far more safe and secure than the lives of all the rest of them. He wondered how his brother and their friends were faring.

His wife, as always, knew to read the turbulence in his eyes. She laid claim to his bruised hands and squeezed them gently, making them sting a bit, but more than anything, reminding him that he was not alone, and things will somehow turn out for the best.

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Sick Bay,

Deck C,

The Amazona,

The Black Sea

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The Amazona, having such a large crew handling a lot of heavy and dangerous equipment, was required by law not only to have a competent medical team as part of the regular staff, her sick bay was also required to be surgery-ready.

Aragorn could tell, however, that the calm doctor who was treating Boromir was yet to encounter a gunshot wound in all his years of service.

The once-King of Gondor glanced at the doors to the sickbay, manned by four mercenaries. They were watching him with steely eyes, as if daring him to attempt an escape. He had no plans of taking up the invitation anytime soon; his head was throbbing, his body pained and sore. He had nothing on him at all, not even the comm. links, having been completely disarmed. They worked on him quite well, he mused with some quirky humor. Besides, he was not making any escape attempt alone, to abandon a friend grievously injured and stretched upon an operating table looking like death.

I've just found you in this life, my friend, he thought fervently, Do not leave me.

"Do you require assistance?" Aragorn asked the doctor, who was studying the situation thoughtfully, "I am Doctor Adrian Aarons, I've handled gunshot cases before. I'm a practitioner in L.A."

The younger doctor looked at him skeptically, but he stepped forward anyway. The mercenaries stiffened with caution, but let him do as he pleased.

"I am injured," said Aragorn, "And my hands are not quite… steady. But I can assist you in other ways, and advise you. I am qualified, I guarantee. But more than that, this man here is my friend, and I will not fail him. I can be your head, and you can be my hands. Together, we can save him."

" " "

Deck C,

The Amazona,

The Black Sea

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They seemed to have no qualms about streaking the floor with his blood. Legolas dizzily craned his neck behind him, watching the deep red of his life streaking the ground behind him as he was dragged along the narrow hall lined by door after open door of empty sleeping quarters. He and his two escorts walked behind Wormtongue and Dean Malcolm, the doctor walking at a bit of a harried pace in his nervousness. The eager Wormtongue beside him held no complaints of course, excited to either hold the new Ring in his hands or gleefully kill Legolas and his other 'tormentors.' The other mercenaries in their parties held the same brisk pace in stride, and it was of course, only Legolas who was profoundly displeased about it.

He tried to walk, really he did, but the blasted leg had a mind of his own. It bent and twisted and seemed to even melt with his weight, and it bled generously, as if he had so much to spare.

He's been shot before, of course, it was theoretically supposed to be an experience he knew to handle. Years ago, it had been his left leg, and now it was his right. There was something almost vaguely insulting about that, he just wasn't sure why. He sighed heavily; he wasn't making very much sense, he was confusing himself. He wondered what will happen next.

Elladan was probably telling the truth, that Ankh wouldn't be where Malcolm left it. That means Aragorn and Boromir won't be killed in a most terrible way before him, although he'd likely have successfully courted Wormtongue's ire again such that Grima might just go through with his plans anyway. He craned his neck behind him once again at the blood-streaked floor.

What did I say earlier this night? he thought, None of that will matter if I'm already dead…

Or it will matter, he supposed. Of course it mattered. His life was on the line, yes, and so was that of all his friends'. Their victory mattered for his loves, he naturally wished they'd survive. But greater than all the rest of them, victory mattered because it was now coming down to what they will be leaving the world—good or evil. It just didn't matter in the sense that if he bled to his death being so cavalierly dragged along these halls, he wouldn't be able to affect the outcome anymore.

The party stopped when Dean Malcolm and Grima Wormtongue halted before the door to the doctor's quarters. The tension was palpable as Dean Malcolm took a deep breath and stepped inside. For one reason or other, Grima Wormtongue stood by the doorframe, watching the doctor with narrowed eyes and a thoughtful frown.

Dean Malcolm went to his cabinets and seemed to know exactly where to look, there was no hesitation at all to where he was sure he kept the Ankh. His eyes and jaws were set, his hands sure. But of course he came up empty, and with a growl of frustration, he dug deeper into the cabinet. Still, no Ankh. He then threw all of its contents to the ground—various ties and cufflinks and handkerchiefs. By this time, Wormtongue was no longer surprised when he still yielded nothing. Dean Malcolm thereafter turned to another cabinet, did the same, and then focused on another…

The floor was by now littered with the man's belongings, and before he could completely scour the room in his desperate searching, Wormtongue, a picture of controlled rage waiting for the final straw to break him, turned to Legolas.

"Where is it, elf?" he asked darkly.

Legolas looked up at him, said nothing. After all, what can he say? The silence was cut up by the vicious, aggravated half-sobs of Dean Malcolm, now on his knees in the middle of the room. He glared at the elf hotly.

"It was not yours to take!" he exclaimed.

"You're one to speak," Legolas said to him mildly.

Wormtongue, of course, did not bother with claiming he wasn't a thief. He stared the elf down, said nothing for a long while as he thought about his next course of action.

Suddenly, Dean Malcolm gasped with an epiphany. Legolas, Wormtongue and the mercenaries glanced at him quizzically as he pushed his way past them and headed toward another room. He stepped inside and began going through all the cabinets and closets of Sean Malcolm.

"What are you doing?" Wormtongue asked irritably.

"I left the Ankh in that closet of mine," replied Dean Malcolm distractedly, "Then I helped take care of business aboard the Amazona. I lingered with the work as Bob Baggins and my cousin went to dress for the hotel event tonight. By the time we were all ready, I just… I remembered it just now. Sean was wearing one of my ties. I suspect he may have found the Ankh when he was rummaging through my things to borrow one thing or other—not entirely strange of him to do so—and he kept it to himself."

Exhaling a quick breath, Wormtongue nodded at his mercenaries to aid the doctor's eager searching. But the way he pinned Legolas' face with his eyes clearly told the elf that Wormtongue was not counting on finding the Ankh in that room.

The two mercenaries holding Legolas up leaned him against the wall, and he sagged against it as he returned Wormtongue's stare. The man grabbed Legolas by the side of his neck, fingers digging into hair and skin. He pressed the elf's face close to his own.

"Prince Legolas," he said, voice soft and slithering over the small space stretched out between them, "I know this story quite well, and thought to beat you to the Prize. You'd go look after your hobbit friends, that much was certain. But I headed straight for the first hobbit who had that Ring in his hands, for I never took my eyes away from the bounty, I was never blinded by the friendships that ultimately took you elsewhere. And I was correct, I beat you to the Ankh. In a sense. But the goddamn story is repeating itself, and though I've found Dean Malcolm and the Ankh first, it was taken from him by Sean Malcolm. And if this story does go on as we all know it, I won't find that Ankh in that room, will I? I'll find it with Frodo Baggins."

"I don't know," Legolas admitted, considering it a safe answer.

"You certainly knew enough to say the Ankh was not where Malcolm left it," Wormtongue pointed out, "Where is the Ankh, elf? Do not try my patience." His grip about the elf's neck tightened, and he pressed Legolas' head to the wall.

"I don't know," Legolas said again.

With a low growl, Wormtongue pulled his hand away from the elf, as if preparing to strike him. But his fingers tangled in the elf prince's hair, and a slim black wire that he traced all the way up to a comm. link on the elf's ear, and a cleverly-concealed speaker at his collar. He ripped it off, as Legolas cried for his friends:

"Say nothing of importance!" he said, "Wormtongue can hear!"

This time, Wormtongue did successfully backhand him across the face, and if he wasn't clinging to the wall in support in the first place, it was a strike of such great force and anger that it likely would have brought him to the floor.

Wormtongue slipped on the comm. link. "I wish to speak with young Mr. Baggins."

TO BE CONTINUED…

HEY GUYS!!! Sorry for the delay, I've just been so busy. I'm halfway through chapter 38… I guess you can tell where this will be headed. Wormtongue's going to try and ransom all of his Amazona hostages for the Ankh, and is going to make damn sure hurting people will make Frodo Baggins and company consider his offer.

Thanks for the c&c's… an extended thanks and replies will be at the end of the fic, I promise, along with my afterword or story notes; the inspiration of the story, some parallelisms with LOTR, some symbolisms you may or may not have noticed, some character notes, etc.

I'm also considering a sequel for F.E.E., and for those of you who know I'm obsessive compulsive, a sequel ultimately means a trilogy so that I'd end in a kind of 'round' number. FEE will has parallelisms with the original LOTR theme so that it won't be so much of a detached leap from the original to a modern-day AU. After the considerable difference has been breached, I will be going all-out modern for the sequel, and then going back to the original themes in the third of the trilogy. I already have the plots, but I won't discuss them yet as I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps in my notes, where I almost always discuss my next projects. There'll be a definitive summary already.

Anyway, thanks so much for your time, keep the c&c's coming if you can, I know life can get so crazy. Hope you had fun and 'til the next post!!!