Mae govannen!

a quick explanation- these stories are part of a small series i was inspired to write, thanks to encouragement from my amazing friends!

i hope you all enjoy!

There will be Five stories in this series.

DISCLAIMER; i own none of these characters!

please review :)

"Man overboard!"

Will Turner staggered to the ship's gunnel, squinting out into the driving rain, the lashing sleet well near blinding him. The crew of the Flying Dutchman jostled him as they too fought to see, leaning far out over the rail, the ship groaning against the wind and sleet.

There, bobbing drunkenly in the dark, turbulent water, was a ragged sheet of silver wood, the slats free of nails and rope, yet somehow staying together as it was tossed about by the grasping waves. A man clung to it with white fingers, bloodshot eyes latching onto Will's, a desperate look of hope alighting in them. They were the pale blue of a summer's sky.

"Turner!"

Will spun just in time to catch the rope that was flung at him. The first mate sneered. "Go fish him out."

Will wasted no time, lashing one end of the salt-crusted rope fast to a bollard, hands numb with the cold. Tugging on it to check it was secure, Will bound the other end about his waist.

"Hurry!" snarled the accursed creature. "Or we're leaving him."

Will swung his body up over the gunnel, lowering himself down the rough hull. A ragged gasp was torn from him as he hit the water, the cold a blow to his chest. Icy claws digging deep into his bones, Will struck out for the man, shoulders burning.

"Faster, Turner!" drawled the first mate, voice raised in a lazy shout. The crew laughed as Will grimly swam on, finally grabbing ahold of the silver wood.

"Hey!" He shook the man's shoulder. "Hey! You need to let go!" He was shouting to be heard over the agonized howl of the raging wind, spray lashing his face, stinging his eyes. "Can you hear me? Let go!"

The man raised his head and gasped something, but Will stared at him in shock and it was torn away, unheard. The man's face was surprisingly young. Smooth alabaster skin. Elegant features…there was no way that this man was a sailor. Nor a pirate. His long, ash-blonde hair hung in sodden sheets, plastered to his neck and shoulders. He stared at Will, dazed.

"You need to let go! Grab hold of me and let the wood go!" Will yelled over the wind, leaning in so he was close to the man's ear. A second shock smote him, for the man's ear tapered to a delicate point, like the end of a sword. A vicious jerk on Will's rope told him he was running out of time. "Grab onto me!"

The young man obeyed, lacing his arms around Will, who held him tightly to his chest.

"Mae le hen?" he rasped.

"What?" Will shouted. "I don't understand!" He squinted up at the ship. "Pull us up!"

None too gently, they were hauled from the water, the wind slamming them back against the hull until Will felt sure his teeth were going to rattle loose. The crew threw them to the deck, sniggering. "Oh, he's clearly not a pirate!" jeered the first mate. "He's far to clean cut!"

They bellowed with laughter, and Will hauled the young man to his feet. "Why are you here?" he asked softly.

The young man cast a weary glance at the crew. "Lendis cair nîn," he said in reply.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." Will startled as a look of utter fear lit in the young man's eyes. He stumbled to the gunnel face white.

"Gimli!" he screamed out into the dark storm. "Gimli! Mellon nîn!" Spinning back to Will he said wildly, "there was another. A small man with white hair. Have you found him? Is he aboard?"

Will shook his head and the man let out a wail of grief, collapsing against the gunnel railing, his body shaking, red-rimmed eyes dazed as he gazed out at the raging sea.

"Enlinon, mellon nîn," he whispered in a torn voice, body wracked with heaving sobs. "O-orech am le althan…" He took a great, shuddering gasp. "Le ni danhir…"

"Turner. You caught us a new fish I see."

Will turned to see Davy Jones moving towards them, dark eyes gleaming as he took in the distraught newcomer. The lash wounds on his back seared as if in response as the Captain smiled, two of the crew grabbing hold of the young man.

"What do you plan to do with him?" demanded Will, glaring at the captain, eyes full of a dark fire.

Jones ignored him and approached the young man. "What's your name, boy?"

The young man raised his chin, a stubborn set to his jaw. The grief was hidden now. "Legolas Thranduilion." His voice was full of a soft authority and Jones seemed to notice, for he frowned.

"And what be your purpose here?"

Legolas Thranduilion glared at the captain. "Albaur le ni dangweth."

Jones let out a small laugh. "I can lash it out of you, if you would rather. Just ask Mister Turner here."

Legolas glance at Will. "En le lindarnion?"

Will had no idea what Legolas was asking, but the young man must have seen the warning in Will's eyes. Not to test Jones, for he swallowed.

"I was sailing into the west with a friend…" The man's voice trembled. "We were set upon by a storm."

"I see…" Jones lent into Legolas's face. "Now tell me, Legolas Tranduilion…" Jones smiled. "Do you fear death?"

To Will's utter amazement, the young man spat at Jones's feet. "Menna udûn!"

The captain chuckled softly. "Fire runs in your blood, Thranduilion. I suggest you quench it."

Legolas spat something dark with hate at the captain in return.

"Or perhaps…" said Jones. "I can quench it for you." The bosun stepped forward, fingering his whip with glee.

"No!" Will started forwards, only to have a crew member haul him back, grip stronger than iron, and he was forced to watch as the bosun unfurled his whip, his own wounds burning in sympathy. "You can't do this!"

"And why ever not, Turner?" asked Jones, tone mocking. He prodded Will in the chest as the crew pinned Legolas up against the mast, his now bare back arching as he tried to pull free. "This is my ship. Do not attempt to tell me what I can and cannot do."

"Nére carhernillen!" spat Legolas as the bosun drew back his arm.

"We'll start with five." Jones had a small smile hovering over his lips that Will didn't like the look of.

"He's playing with him," said the crew member holding Will fast. It was his father. Bootstrap Bill looked grim, and a pale orange starfish had adhered itself to his cheek. Will was struck by a sudden mad urge to peel it from his father's face and toss it over the side, but the crack of the whip drew his attention back to Legolas.

Bootstrap had been telling the truth about the bosun's strength. A deep red furrow had been laid bare on the smooth expanse of Legolas's back, blood mixing with the rain and sea spray.

"Hold!" Jones said suddenly, before raising his voice. "Tell me, Thranduilion, what number was that?"

The crew roared with laughter as Legolas unleashed a torrent of words on his strange melodic tongue.

"Start over," said Jones.

This was repeated three times, with Legolas refusing to speak. Jones laughed. "You have guts boy. Start over."

Damn you Sparrow! Thought Will in anger. If you hadn't sent me, neither of us would be here and Legolas could have peacefully just drowned!

"I have all day, Thranduilion," said Jones. "the crew do love a good show."

"Pedinnas alni!" yelled Legolas, trying to pull away. The whip struck again slamming him into the mast,

"Start over."

Will found himself unable to watch as Legolas was beaten mercilessly again and again. Finally, in a lull of noise, his back a bleeding ruin of torn flesh, Legolas choked one word, the crew members now holding him up rather than still.

"One."

"You shouldn't have fought them."

Legolas spun on Will, eyes blazing. "Those creatures do not scare me!"

"They could have killed you!"

"I cannot die so easily, Turner!"

Will gazed at Legolas's pointed ears once more. "Are you alright?"

"No." Legolas pulled his sodden cloak tighter about himself, blood seeping through the back. He sat down, wincing. "I thought I was sailing to an eternity of peace."

Will crouched in front of him. "Look. I'm sorry I pulled you out of the sea, but perhaps I can offer you something better…" Legolas watched him, curious. "I need to find this." He unfolded the drawing of the key. "Once I have it. I can kill Jones. Or…" he smiled grimly. "We can. Are you in?"

Legolas nodded. "Athon."

Sindarin to English:

Mae le hen- who are you?

Lendis cair nîn -my ship sank

Albaur le ni dangweth- I need not answer you

Mellon nîn -my friend

Enlinon -I am sorry.

Orech am le althan -I could not hold on

Le ni danhir- I lost you

Thranduilion -Son of Thranduil.

En le lindarnion- he whipped you?

Menna udûn!- go to hell!

Nére carhernillen!- do your worst!

Pedinnas alni!- I will not speak!

Athon- yes

Sorry: Just a Quick note! :)...and yessssss i know it is stupid to put this in the middle of a story; but bear with me. i never quite got to write this part, it wasn't working for me:

So, Legolas and Gimli's ship to the west got torn to bits… and now Leggie won't be able to find his way back home…so he's stuck in Earth

At the shores of the Grey Havens, Círdan finds broken pieces of the ship on the sand, along with a half-drowned Gimli. He sends word to Thranduil who then takes a ship and goes in search of Legolas, sailing into the fog that separates Middle-Earth from Earth. He has also been to Earth before…as time in Middle-Earth passes faster than in Earth.

Arrr! So, then Thranduil needs help. And he finds that in Tortuga from none other than…)

"How many have we got?" Jack Sparrow shook his compass furiously up and down, then side to side for good measure. Popping the lid, he groaned as the arrow spun madly in circles. Bloody thing can't be broken, can it? Can it break?…should have asked.

"With those four, that leaves us with a grand total of…four," said Gibbs, casting yet another look at the man who was watching them. He was leaning against a pillar, his face in shadow, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Arrgh," said Jack, snapping his compass closed. "We're not gonna get anywhere at this rate." The chatter of the drunken rabble was full of playful abandon as he stood, brushing straw from his pants. "What're you staring at, Gibbs? You look like you're eyeballs want to pop clean outta your head."

"That man," muttered Gibbs, nodding at the topic of speech. "I'm trying to remember where I've seen him before."

By the time Jack had spotted him, the man was moving towards them. He wore a black leather shirt, buckled closed, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His face was elegant and clean, with heavy dark eyebrows over pale grey-blue eyes the color of a cloudy summer morning. His long ash-blonde hair was tied behind his head in a knot, exposing delicately pointed ears that tapered like knife blades, sword hanging at his side. Jack knew that sword. The silver steel blade. Wider than his ring finger, carved with thorns. Deadly sharp.

But then again, so was the man who wielded her.

"Well, if it isn't old Thrandy!" said Jack with a grin. "Haven't seen you in a while, mate! How are you these days?" Recognition flared in Gibbs's face, as Jack continued, saying, "last time I saw you, you were trying to kill me…we're past all that now, savvy?"

"I am not here to kill you, Sparrow," said the man. He stood a full head taller than Jack.

"Then what is your business here, Thranduil?" asked Gibbs.

Thranduil scowled. "I am looking for my son."

"Your son?" Jack laughed. "I never had you down as a family man! More the cranky old sailor type!"

"Aliaes caren," said Thranduil darkly. (Do not mock me.)

Jack frowned. "Ooh, I'm a bit rusty with your jabber by now, but I'm not mocking you, mate."

"Last time you told me you owed me a favor, Sparrow."

"Last time we got caught by the East India Trading Company, and only escaped by quite a large bit o' luck, Thrandy."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Well then, stop calling me Sparrow. The name is Jack, oer le edhel." (You nasty elf.)

The Sindarin sounded odd in Jack's mouth but it was passable.

"You got us branded by that company. If it had not been for me, you would have been hung long ago, Jack," said Thranduil, the ugly red burn scar in the form of a letter P stark on his pale wrist, as he drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword.

Jack sighed. "Alright. Alright. I'll help you find your son…but first. I need yours."

Thranduil gave him a dark look, full of annoyance. "Garman le thî cered, Jack?"

(What have you done now?)

Jack thought about it. "Well…I suppose that depends on what you mean by that…"

(Now it's just Dead Man's Chest story-line with two elves in the mix!)