Chance Encounter

Congratulations to Estel Ashlee Snape, MoonlitPuddle, Nelarun and XinnLajgin for guessing correctly (or very close to correctly) what was wrong with Balian. You guys get virtual chocolates. Well done for those of you who actually tried to guess. There were some fascinating ideas :D

Disclaimer: I don't own Balian, Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, etc. I don't even own Guy, not that I want to own him. I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

Chapter 32: Convalescence

Legolas gazed towards Minas Tirith. The battle was well underway; with the Rohirrim's arrival, Gondor seemed to have a chance of winning. The ships slowed down as they drew near the western shore. Orcs came forward to greet them, thinking they were corsairs from Umbar. From his vantage point, the elf was hidden from the orcs' line of sight. He gazed down at the foul creatures with disgust. One of them had a human skull melded to his head and was wearing it like a hat.

"Late as usual, pirate scum!" he snarled. Legolas recognized him as the leader of this scraggly group. "There's knife work here that needs doing!"

'He probably wears the skull to increase his diminutive height,' thought the elf.

"Come on, you sea-rats!" continued the orc. "Get off your ships!"

Legolas waited for Aragorn's signal. Upon hearing the man's infuriated roar followed by the dwarf's, he realized that the king-to-be had forgotten to give it. He took a flying leap from the crow's nest and landed neatly on his feet. His keen elven hearing picked up the sound of Guy scrambling down a hastily set up gangplank.

The orcs were too shocked to move. Legolas wondered jokingly if they could even register that nothing was going according to plan. Of course they would, but the elf couldn't help but snicker at his private joke. Aragorn charged at them and the orcs sneered at the ridiculous human until something coming from the ship wiped the gleeful expression from their faces and sent them fleeing.

Balian hacked his way through the hordes. He noticed that there were fewer orcs attempting to breach the walls. Most of them were too occupied with fighting off the Rohirrim. He shook his head and blinked several times to clear his vision. The light of the day hurt his eyes and he wondered if he was becoming a vampire. He had heard stories which said that vampires feared the light. His bones ached and his entire body felt weak. He was shivering so much that it was becoming difficult to grip his sword. He felt cold, and the searing heat of his back wound was a painful contrast. Only determination kept him upright and fighting. The last thing the men of Gondor needed was to see their commander fall.

An orc slammed into him, knocking him into the stonework. Stars exploded in his vision and he very nearly didn't manage to block a blow that would have cleaved his head from his shoulders. He ducked and rolled. Keeping this up was becoming very taxing indeed. Minas Tirith would survive. He just hoped that he would too.

A green flood swept across the Fields of Pelennor, climbing over the bodies of the fallen fighters and overwhelming the ragged remnants of the enemy. It surged into the city, quenching the fires in the lower levels. Aragorn, King of Gondor, stood victorious in the middle of the battlefield with his friends beside him. Guy was striking a convincing pose on top of a dead mumak, pretending that he killed it.

Aragorn faced his army of phantoms. "Release us," demanded the ghost lord.

"Bad idea," whispered Gimli rather audibly. "Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact they're dead."

The ghost lord glared at the dwarf who paled a bit but remained staunch, then he looked back to Aragorn. "You gave us your word!" he said, outraged.

"I hold your oath fulfilled," said Aragorn. "Go; be at peace." There was an otherworldly wind. The ghosts sighed blissfully as they were taken up to the Halls of Mandos. Gimli snorted in defeat.

Gandalf came out of the city, a smile on his face. He bowed in deference to Aragorn who seemed a little uncomfortable about the whole business of being King. He surveyed to the carnage. Many lives had been lost. Legolas and Gimli were once again calculating their scores. He could hear them squabbling about how much Legolas' mumak was worth.

Balian stumbled out to greet his friends. His vision was growing blurry and unfocused. Partly through the gate, he fell onto one knee. The man tried to rise again by using his sword for support. He was shaking so badly that the weapon clattered to the ground. His body felt as if it was encased in ice, except for his wound which burned him with its heat. The world reeled, then faded...

Legolas saw the man fall. "Aragorn!" he shouted, catching the King's attention. Guy took this all in from his vantage point on the fallen mumak. Hope surged in his heart. Maybe there was a chance that Balian would die after all, and he didn't even have to do anything to instigate it.

Aragorn was beside the fallen man in a moment. Balian's skin was cold and clammy to the touch, although his brow burned with fever. He looked pale, almost translucent, like wax. Aragorn felt for the man's pulse on his neck. It was weak and irregular.

"What's wrong with him?" said Legolas.

"Morgul poison," said Aragorn. "Legolas, help me get him inside. He needs to go to the Houses of Healing immediately.

The elf wondered what protestations Balian would have come up with if he had been awake. Then he wondered whether the man would wake. He looked so close to death, as if he was already crossing over the threshold to greet his dead wife and child.

They carried him on a makeshift stretcher hastily put together with spears and the fallen standards of the enemy. They quickly melded into a flood of people carrying the wounded up to the Houses of Healing. Some of the injured men were beyond saving.

The Houses of Healing were filled to the brim. It was with some difficulty that Aragorn and Legolas found a bed for their sick friend. Aragorn, ever the healer, divested Balian of his outer layers of clothing and inspected his body for wounds. The source of his illness was a long ugly wound down the man's back. The flesh around the wound was festering and burning, but the rest of the man's body was as cold as a corpse.

"I need athelas," said Aragorn. Before Legolas could go off in search of the herb, Éomer burst in, looking absolutely distraught.

"Aragorn! Éowyn, she's..." began the Rohirrim warrior. The last word stuck in his throat.

"I'll come and look at her," said Aragorn gently, rising to his feet. He turned to Legolas. "Keep him warm. If he takes a turn for the worse, get me immediately."

"I will," said Legolas. "And the athelas?"

"I will ask the herbmaster for it myself."

The two men left, leaving Legolas alone with Balian. The man moaned softly in his troubled dreams. He seemed to be mumbling 'help me' over and over again desperately. It pained Legolas to see him thus. In all the time that he had known the young blacksmith, he had never heard the man beg for help in such a manner.

"It's alright, mellon-nin," said Legolas. The elf's voice seemed to calm the man and he became quiet again. "You're safe. Everything's fine. You don't need to be afraid; I'm here, my young friend. Nothing can hurt you."

His wife, his dear Jocelyn, hung from the rafters of their house. The body had long gone stiff with cold. He was shouting, screaming. Help me! Help me! Someone! Someone! Please help! He cut her down and cradled the icy body against him. Wake up. Wake up, my love. Don't do this. Please don't do this to me. I need you...He didn't know how long he sat there, holding her close in his embrace, as if his love and his own warmth could somehow bring back her life. Her beautiful eyes were wide open and empty. He couldn't bear to look at them. He could remember how they had laughed and shone when he had courted her. He knew that it was somehow his fault. It had to be. Jocelyn was sinless, an angel. It was his fault. God was punishing him for his sins, for being a bastard. They said that bastards couldn't have children. They were right. He had never deserved Jocelyn, never deserved their son. And now, both of them had been taken away, and it was his fault that they would never see heaven.

Despair engulfed him until everything around him was swallowed by darkness. He was lost, afraid. He had never been so afraid. Then a voice came through to him, like a sign from heaven. A sign that God still cared. "...You don't need to be afraid; I'm here, my young friend. Nothing can hurt you..."

'But what about my son?' he wanted to say. 'And my wife?'

There was no answer, but the voice had given him hope. Somewhere, out there, someone cared. And for a man who had known the face of rejection for most of his life, it was enough.

Legolas watched as Balian stilled, except for the constant shivering. "Come on," he said. "You have to wake up soon. Your charges are waiting for you back in Rohan, and they'll hate you if you die, Nanny Balian."

'...Nanny Balian...' He hated that name. "I'm going to get you for this, Legolas," he thought.

Legolas saw the man tense, even though he was unconscious. The elf chuckled fondly. "I know you hate that name," he said "but if you want to get even with me, you have to wake up first."

Aragorn returned, feeling troubled. He had seen more than just Éowyn. The Shieldmaiden, Faramir and Merry seemed to be suffering from more or less the same affliction as the blacksmith. He could cure it if he had athelas but after having listened to a long speech from the herbmaster concerning the properties of the plant, he found that there was none in stock.

"How is he?" he asked Legolas.

"No better, no worse," said the elf. "He's fighting it. I think he's been having nightmares. He was moaning not so long ago, but he quietened down when I spoke to him." Legolas smiled. "He tensed when I called him Nanny Balian."

"He won't thank you for it," said Aragorn.

"But it suits!"

Night fell. They were about to expect the worst when a boy rushed in. In his hand he carried six dried leaves of athelas lying on a cloth. "My lord," he gasped. His young face was drawn with worry. "Is this enough? This is all we can find."

Aragorn smiled and took the herbs almost reverently. "It will do," he said. "Thank you."

The boy bowed hurriedly and left the room. Legolas swore he could see a blush blooming

Aragorn worked quickly, crushing one of the precious leaves and casting it into a basin of hot water. The fresh pure scent of athelas filled the room, and Balian seemed to breathe more easily. Aragorn cut away the most corrupted flesh from the edges of the wound, glad that the younger man was unconscious. He bathed the wound with the athelas-steeped water and bound it with clean linen bandages. Already, the blacksmith's colour was returning and he had stopped shivering. His breathing was shallow, but regular. The King of Gondor left Legolas watching over Balian and went to tend to the others.

Gimli came in to join his elven friend in keeping vigil. "How's the wee laddie?" he asked.

"Getting better," said the elf. "This one's a fighter."

"With friends like us, how can he not be? I hope he wakes up soon. I need him to be the judge and decide who won this round."

The man in question shifted, then slowly opened tired eyes. "I shall definitely not involve myself in your mad debates," he croaked.

Gimli and Legolas grinned. "Oh, but you must guide us young ones, Nanny Balian," said Gimli.

"I'm going to get you both for this," murmured Balian as his eyes slowly closed again. He fell into a deep healing sleep. Legolas placed the back of his hand against the man's forehead to test the temperature. It was almost back to normal. He sighed in relief.

"Yes, my friend," whispered Legolas. "I'll hold you to it."

The next few days passed in a blur for Balian. He was asleep for most of the time and his few waking moments merged with his dreams. His dreams were filled with impossible pranks that could be played on the elf and dwarf. Somehow, Gimli and Legolas always emerged victorious.

On the fourth day, Balian finally shook off his dreams. He felt weakened, yet refreshed. Faint, dying sunlight filtered into the room. The days were growing darker. The other patients were either sleeping or out walking in the gardens. The young man glanced about him. Seeing no healers in the vicinity, he pushed himself up with much difficulty and waited for his vision to focus before swinging his bare feet over the edge of the bed. His boots were nowhere to be found. He was wearing a long white tunic which reached below his knees and loose trousers like those of the Saracens. His face flushed a little at the thought of someone else dressing him.

He padded through the long white corridors, holding onto the walls for support. What he would have done without thinking twice while he was hale was proving to be a great effort for a man in ill health. After what seemed like a lifetime of wandering through the maze of the Houses of Healing, he found the entrance to the gardens. With one last burst of energy, he made his way to a stone bench. He could not help but congratulate himself for having performed such a feat as getting outdoors all by himself without being caught by a healer. What he did not know was that someone had been watching him.

The blacksmith was startled when he heard soft laughter behind him. "I see that you possess the same tendency as Aragorn to elude healers and their instructions."

"No one told me anything about staying abed and boring myself to death," said Balian. "Have you been aware for all this time?"

"I've been following you since you left your room, just in case you fell or something," said Legolas. "I was about to pay you a visit and there you were, sneaking outside with as much finesse as a lame mumak. I'm surprised no one caught you."

"I was rather proud of myself for that."

Legolas smiled. "Now that you're out, do you plan to just sit here and do nothing? The hobbits want me to tell a tale about our little side trip with Aragorn and you're more than welcome to join us."

"What little side trip?"

"You haven't heard? I thought the story would've spread through the entire city by now."

"Don't forget, I wasn't conscious for most of the past few days."

"That's all too true, but come, the hobbits are getting impatient. Wise people know better than to keep hobbits waiting."

Legolas had an audience which paid him undivided attention as he told them of their journey through the paths of the dead, with occasional prompters from Gimli.

"You mean you let Guy come with you?" said Balian incredulously. "I daresay he wasn't much help."

"He wasn't," said Legolas "but his reaction was certainly amusing. It was well worth the trouble."

"I didn't think so," grumbled Gimli. "Nothing in there was amusing. And whilst we were getting out, this stubborn, thick-headed elf decided to swim in a pool of skulls. I had to bodily drag him out."

"And this dwarf here was afraid to get wet," said Legolas. "Did I tell you about how he lingered at the entrance..."

"Legolas! I made you promise not to tell!"

"I never agreed."

"You...!"

"If you agree that the mumak is worth forty, then I will not tell."

"Fine, it's worth forty! Satisfied?"

"Very. Well, Masters Peregrin, Meriadoc and Balian, we have told you our story. It's time for yours."

"I didn't see much of the battle," said Pippin. "You see, Denethor was trying to burn Faramir alive..."

"What?!" said Balian. "Where's Faramir? Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Merry assured him. "He's over there talking with Lady Éowyn." The hobbit added a knowing smile which Balian overlooked. The blacksmith heaved a sigh of relief.

"Can I continue on with my story?" said Pippin. He didn't like it when others interrupted his narrative.

"Sorry, Pip," said Merry. "Carry on. You haven't told me much yet, and I've told you everything."

"That's because you were talking too much."

"Was not."

"Was too."

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

Gimli cleared his throat. "And what else happened?" he said pointedly.

"Anyway," said Pippin as if he had not digressed entirely from the tale "I alerted Gandalf and we rescued Faramir from the pyre. He was already on fire but I put it out and only his clothes were scorched. Denethor was not so lucky. He had covered himself with oil..." Balian winced as he thought of the pain. "...and he burst into flames then jumped off the parapet. Oh, I saved Gandalf's life once, when I killed an orc that was about to stab him from behind."

"Oh," chortled Gimli. "The old fella would have enjoyed that."

"So what about you, Balian?" said Merry. "What did you do? We've heard so many stories about you and each gets madder and more fantastical than the last. Did you really head-butt an orc who was wearing a helmet?"

"I was desperate," said the man as a way of explanation. Gimli snorted and Legolas broke into an elegant coughing fit.

"So what else happened?" asked Pippin. "I didn't see you very much. In fact, I didn't see you at all."

"I fought," said Balian. Legolas rolled his eyes. Balian's storytelling skills had not improved at all. If anything, they had gotten worse.

"And he got hurt," added Pippin "but I suppose everyone knows that." He turned to Balian with sulky eyes. "I know you have a great story to tell. You just don't want to tell it to us."

"I can't tell stories," mumbled Balian, beginning to blush with embarrassment. It was at these moments when he absolutely hated being at the centre of attention.

"Nonsense," said Gimli. "Everyone can tell stories. You told us your life's story back in Lothlorien."

"No," said Balian. "You dug it out of me, by force."

"We'll do that again if you don't tell us exactly what happened," said Merry with a wicked gleam in his eye.

'Why do they all enjoy torturing me?' thought the young man.

Stay tuned...

FROM ONE WORLD TO ANOTHER...

Minas Tirith fades into Troy.

Hector pulls Barbossa into a boat.

Balian and Paris stare at each other.

BELIEFS CLASH...

Balian and Calchas, High Priest of Troy, eye each other with hostility, circling.

OLD FRIENDSHIPS PREVAIL...

Balian and Legolas grip arms.

Jack , Barbossa and Will glare at each other.

Hector claps Aeneas on the back.

NEW FRIENDSHIPS FORM...

Hector: (to Balian, Jack, Legolas, Will) This is the hour when we draw swords together, my brothers.

FATES WILL ENTWINE...

Cassandra: (turning to someone of whom only the back of the head can be seen) You were sent to save Troy.

DEBTS WILL BE SETTLED...

Barbossa and Jack stand next to each other. Barbossa looks angrily at a calm Jack. He is holding the chart with a circular hole in the middle. Jack holds a circular section of chart.

DISASTER WILL STRIKE...

Jack: (stepping in between two confronting parties; Paris and Menelaus) If I may have a word, gentlemen.

Balian grimaces.

Jack: Let us examine why your wife left you...

SUSPICIONS WILL ARISE...

Jack: Something smells fishy.

A sword is placed against a defiant Balian's throat.

From the author of CHANCE ENCOUNTER comes

CHANCE ENCOUNTER: PIRATE KINGDOM OF TROY

COMING SOON TO FF-NET

(PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN SECTION)

A/N: Not much action in this one. Balian needs to recuperate. I suppose the battle at the Black Gates will have to be covered later. Not much Guy in this chapter either. He's busy pampering himself. Hope you guys liked it anyway and please review!