That's Interesting:
The further adventures of Captain Jack Sparrow
FANFICTION: LOTR/Pirates crossover.
Disclaimer: this is a fanfiction based upon characters and situations used in Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Carribbean. I don't own any of the characters mentioned, nor the locations and setting used in this story.
Synopsis: Set in Gondor, just after the War of the Ring. In the city port of Pelargir-on-Anduin, a mysterious ship with black sails makes its way into the harbour. Miles upriver in the rebuilt city of Osgiliath, Faramir, Captain of Gondor, is unaware of the impending danger. But his life is about to be turned upside down when a charismatic, lost and possibly insane corsair swaggers in en route to Tortuga and causes no end of havoc. With more important matters to concern the king of Gondor, it is up to Faramir to keep the situation under control.
Chapter One
The sun was sinking to the east of the reclaimed city of Osgiliath, and the few people who had returned were making their way homewards, but Faramir, Captain of Gondor, walked alone through the pale streets, quiet in the early evening. A warm breeze was sweeping in from the south, carrying on it the seeds of the grasslands that covered the great plains from here to the coast. There lay the mysterious city port of pelargir, the abode of ruffians and corsairs from across the sea. The last remnants of Saurons allies, scattered and cowed for a time after the Great War now had returned to Pelargir like rats. After the destruction of so much in Middle Earth, the mercenary plague remained, just a days journey down the great river. And, so close to that sinister malice, Faramir was restless.
In his heart, Faramir knew he was no soldier--just one of the countless who had been willing to give his life for the country he loved. But even with the return of the king, Gondor was not yet free from peril, and above all he knew that his duty was to his country, no matter what the cost. The day would come, he felt, when the parasite would turn predator, and then the people, his people, would be placed in danger once more. And that was why Faramir had requested permission from the king to return once more to Osgiliath to ensure its continued defence while the people returned to rebuild the city. And the king had granted him leave from his court. The greatest hardship, and onethat played forever on his mind, was his absense from the woman he loved.
Eowyn, the white lady. In these last days before his return, he saw her before him more and more often. At night, he dreamed of her quiet touch to his face and saw her pale face, her bright eyes shining as they had the moment she first said thst she would be his. And in the day, in those quiet times when his musings took him back to moments such as this, he felt his heart ache, and he would give anything to be with her once again.
Now, as the light began to disappear from the world, and the golden sun vanished, he found his thoughs once more upon his lady, and he wondered what she was doing at that moment. Was she thinking of him? Was she sitting in that lonely room in distant Minas Tirith, and looking out to Osgiliath, shining like a pale jewel in the fading light?
He found that his wanderings had brought him to the top of a winding stair, and now he stood at the height of the city, looking over it's turrets and spires, rising higher with each day. And, beyond the scaffolds and smoke from the few homely fires, the river carried his gaze far away, to the horizon, to the sea. On the horizon, a dark cloud hung. Despite the warm summer air, there would be a storm tonight.
In the city port of Pelargir, the crowded dockside was a hubbub of activity. In the moments before dawn of that day, the wind had started to gather speed, hurrying down the narrow streets in the darkness. With the dawn, a great black cloud was seen to cover the horizon; a mass that seemed a solid wall of shadow, but that nevertheless moved inexorably closer to the city port with every passing hour. As the day wore on, workers on the dock watched as it bore down upon them; and now that the sun was disappearing the blackness seemed more complete and more chilling than mere night. Even the most black-hearted of corsairs felt a shadow creep over them. A ship was seen to emerge from the swirling fog, bearing down upon the port with a terrible speed. It's sails were black and tattered—so much so, that they looked like the webs of giant spiders. Sped on by the unnatural gale from the ocean, it seemed to be pulled into the harbour by invisible ropes, until, almost imperceptibly, the ship slowed as it entered the waters of Pelargir, and an anchor was dropped with a scream of chains. In the gathering duck, even the boldest corsair sis not dare approach the mysterious ship, even as the fog that surrounded it lifted, leaving it lying still in the moonlight.
In the narrow backstreets of Pelargir, one of the many taverns was at the heart of its business; the hours between sunset and when the clientele could no longer stand were generally the most profitable. Generally, but not tonight, because tonight, a slightly gullible barman was being played for all he was worth.
"Show me again," he demanded, slapping another piece onto the bar with a 'thunk'.
The other man drained the last few drops from his tankard in a meaningful and hopeful way, and the barman filled it, almost unconsciously. The customer took it gratefully.
"I dunno mate," he said, "you want to see it again?…Well, alright…maybe one last time."
He picked up the coin, and held it tightly between his forefinger and thumb, holding it up for the barman to see, who watched it intently.
"Well now," the trickster said, his eyes boring into those of the other, "now I take this coin, and—" His fingers became a blur, and the silver piece had become a copper coin. The barman grinned, impressed, and took the coin, turning it over and over in his fingers, admiringly. Outside, a distant thunderclap rolled over the port.
"Well now," the barman chuckled, "I still didn't see how you did that, not a single part of it! You must have learned it from a wizard, or else you know magic-lore. Captain Sparrow, I take my hat of to you."
Jack Sparrow motioned to the copper coin with his tankard. "I tell you what, mate, you can keep that."
The barman looked down at his newly acquired copper piece with pride, Jack emptied his tankard, and made his exit, his pockets considerably heavier than when he went in. Behind him, the barman looked at the coin in his hands, then at the moneybag on his belt. Out on the streets, the rain was pouring down with a ferocious intensity.
Captain Jack Sparrow had been marooned at this strange port for just over a week now, and he was beginning to wonder vaguely how he was going to get back.
It had all started because of that bloody treasure—the treasure of Isla de Muerta. A few days into the voyage; everything going swimmingly, and his first mate Barbossa comes along and asks to know the location of the treasure. Well, it had seemed a good idea at the time. The next thing he knew, it was himself who was swimming—to the only land on the horizon, a desert island.
What a cock up.
A month later, after much effort on his part, he found himself the captain of a leaky rowing boat.
A rowing boat! Him, Captain Jack Sparrow! It was embarrassing to say the least.
Then, a day or so later and on his way to Tortuga, he had found himself drifting in a strange-coloured fog. When the fog cleared, however, it seemed that he'd managed to put into a strange port with the name of 'Pelargir'. Like Tortuga, he'd found, but less rats.
Bloody Bermuda Triangle! Last time he'd go there.
But, as he'd found already, the benefits of being an unknown here were already apparent. He had no idea where in the Spanish Main he had ended up, but Captain Jack Sparrow never was one to pass up an opportune moment. And, he thought as he ambled through the backstreets of Pelargir, there were many opportunities here.
Jack Sparrow's steps took him to the waterfront, and he swaggered along in the silent moonlight. Suddenly, he stopped. In front of him, looming out of the darkness, was a great dark mass, sitting very still in the water. Jack quickly skirted around a corner, out of sight of the ship. The moonlight was shining very brightly, and lit the docks in a pale light. Carefully, Jack put his head arounf the corner of the building, and scrutinized the ship. His ship; The Black Pearl.
Jack took in the black sails, and the weather-worn figurehead. Barbossa, that git. If he was going to betray someone, steal their ship and leave them on a desert island to die, he might at least take better care of the ship…But why was The Black Pearl here? He wondered. There was no way that Barbossa could know he was here; as far as that treacherous weasel was concerned, Jack was rotting on an island somewhere. There was only once answer; The Black Pearl had been through the Devil's Triangle as well…
Jack took one last glance at his beloved ship, and then turned away, making his way hurriedly away from the waterside. That's interesting, he thought, as he made his way back to his rooms at the Trollsgate Inn.