Sorry about the wait, I was taking a break from writing ( more commonly known as writer block )

VII: Values

TA 3018, February

Imladris

Elrond's study

Elrond watched Thranduil's children from the window sill.

They had arrived during the preceding month, under Estel's guidance, and the Half-elven had quickly found himself fascinated by the mystery they represented. The four men looked exactly ike their other brother, Legolas Thranduilion, and yet they were different. And that not only in coloring, but also in personality.

William Turner was too much like his father, Paris was completely insure of himself, Brian Epkeen seemed about to end his life every morning and to end someone else's life the following afternoons, Balian was so calm he reminded Elrond of Aeweryn a lot.

The others were also interesting people. Odysseus of Ithaca and Cassandra of Troy were the subjects of the elven lord's actual wondering, especially.

Every time Elrond talked with the mortal king, he was reminded of his brother, Elros, and he couldn't quite understand why. It irked him a bit, he had to admit. Odysseus was clever and wise, for sure, but it wasn't only that. There was something else, as if Elrond could simply feel the man's superiority over many others, mortals and immortals alike. The Half-elven's closest guess was that Odysseus had to be the one with the most incredible ancestry amongst the guests, the descendant of two Valar and a Maia. If it wasn't him, Elrond had no idea how he could make even him feel young at times.

As for Paris' sister, she had been the reason for Thranduil letting his estranged sons out of his sight, which was clearly a feat of itself.

Speaking of sight, and of Cassandra of Troy, she and the elf lord were supposed to have their first talk in a matter of minutes. Elrond watched the mortals from his window for another moment, then walked away. He reached the door to his study at the very moment a tentative knocking was heard.

The Half-elven opened the door, and was greeted with Cassandra's face.

"Come in, Miss Cassandra. I believe we have to speak."

The young woman hesitated, clearly still ill-at-ease, either with elves, or with that language that some called Westron, and others called English, your guess. Elrond gave her a calming smile, and Cassandra walked in the study.

The trojan princess still had difficulties not to be in awe each time she saw an elf. Meaning, almost always, as she had passed the better part of the last three months in elven cities.

Elves were simply... different. They reminded her of her meeting with Apollo, and at the same time, not. They were... smoother than the god had been. They weren't as powerful, nor as frightening, though Lord Elrond was way more powerful than the average elf. From him, Cassandra could sense about the same amount of power as she had sensed coming from William Turner, though she hadn't realized the man was the one responsible for that at first. In fact, the princess was certain Lord Elrond had been one of the powers she had sensed back then, in Mirkwood.

The Half-elven was dozens of times more powerful than she herself was, but he didn't frighten her. She could see it in his eyes, and she could sense it in his aura. He was nice, and comforting.

He offered her a seat, and Cassandra sat, a bit stiffly if she wanted to be honest.

"How do you appreciate your stay in Imladris, Miss Cassandra?"

His tone told her the lord was truly concerned, and wasn't asking only out of courtesy. It was natural, she mused, considering they weren't the average travelers. The lord knew about their circumstances, as he was more likely to be of help than Thranduil had been.

And there definitely was something disturbing about being whisked out of one's time and into another Age.

Cassandra carefully thought her words, before answering. She still wasn't at ease in Westron.

"Your realm is treating... us well, Lord Elrond."

The elven lord heard a certain wariness in the young woman's voice, that did not surprise him.

"You must be wondering why I am only meeting you now, almost one month after your arrival."

Cassandra nodded curtly, blushing a bit.

Elrond smiled in amusement as he saw her embarrassment. He had lived long enough to know how people thought, most of the time.

"You needed rest after your journey, and I believe this month has been quite beneficial to your proficiency in Westron. What we are going to talk about is better understood if there is not too many misunderstandings of language."

Cassandra nodded, but said nothing. She still didn't know exactly what the elf lord could do to help her, and she was even a bit dubious. So far, no one had been able to help her, so why now? Why Elrond Half-elven, and not someone else?

Why not before?

"The Elvenking wrote to me that you have some... uncanny ability pertaining to the sight. Myself, I am subject to visions from time to time. The possible futures, the hopes of significant people... They come to me in my dreams, and haunt my mind for centuries, sometimes. Not all of them come true, I must say, but enough actually happens for me to know they aren't simple dreams."

Elrond turned to looked at his valley, through the high window.

"Do you still feel the presence of the Enemy, Miss Cassandra, even within Imladris?"

"I... can sense him, but... It is as if he was on the... other side of a window pane, perhaps. In the Halls of Thranduil it was better than out in the open, but even then Sauron's... malevolence was haunting me. Here... I don't feel the threat. Like... the portrait of an evil, and not the evil... itself. Why is that?"

The young woman truly looked surprised by the fact, even if she had noticed it weeks before. She simply couldn't understand why the terrible pressure from before was being repressed. How it could be repressed. What could possibly be strong enough to almost erase the evil's presence?

The elven lord's smile thinned a bit, and his gaze sharpened as it went past the limits of his realm, and towards the far-away lands of Mordor.

"I am a descendant of a Maia, just like you, I believe. And if not everyone in the family was gifted with a part of Melian's magic, I was. Moreover, I was given this ring of power, Vilya, which tremendously adds to my powers. I use it to ward this realm against Sauron's magical attacks, as well as from his sight in general."

Elrond showed her the golden Ring of Sapphire. Cassandra was almost struck by a powerful feeling when her eyes feel on the jellew, as she was finally able to pinpoint the source of at least half of the Half-elven's power. All that time, it had been as if the ring had been veiled, hidden from her eyes, and though she had sensed it, which wasn't everybody's case, she suddenly felt like she had been blindfolded for the whole month.

The princess looked away from Vilya. The ring and the elf lord together were too powerful for her to look at right now, and she almost felt as oppressed as when she had been fearing Sauron's presence. It was nowhere near Apollon's presence, though, and not mean in the slightest. It was simply... too much.

Cassandra couldn't repress a gulp.

"I suppose I have to thank you for my... tranquil... nights, then."

The atmosphere of the room suddenly lightened, and Elrond smiled again.

"I suppose so, but do not feel forced to. This protection is as much for myself than for you and the other residents of Imladris."

"Thank you, still."

There was an eery silence for a while, but finally Lord Elrond put an end to it. Cassandra of Troy had come to him for help about her clairvoyance, after all. It wouldn't do to forget about it, especially now that the Enemy was gaining his power back. Elrond was powerful, and Vilya wasn't to be taken lightly, but Sauron was a Maia, though a fallen one. The Lord of Imladris would have a difficult time defending his realm, if the Great Eye brought his attention onto his lands; and if the Half-elven was busy defending the valley from actual attacks, he wasn't sure he'd be able to also fend off Sauron's attempts at spying.

Cassandra would be there to be seen, then, and Elrond did not want to imagine what her fate would be if the Dark Lord took an interest in the young woman.

The training fields

Paris was sitting in the grass, watching wistfully as James Norrington and the king of Ithaca sparred efficiently not far away from him. Cassandra was off to see Lord Elrond, and the trojan prince wasn't feeling comfortable enough with anyone else to spend his free time, so here he was, despairing over the fact that he would never be able to hold a blade and actually do something else than crawling back behind Hector to be protected instead of fighting his own battles. And, because it wasn't depressing enough like that, he had to come and watch as two skilled sword fighters sparred.

At least Will Turner wasn't here too. The man was simply so good with a blade Paris considered asking if he hadn't been blessed by a god or something.

But William Turner aside, Odysseus, Strider, the commodore, most of the elves, Balian of Ibelin, and, worse, even Elizabeth Swann and Anamaria, were incredibly good at sword fighting. Each time the trojan prince came and watched their training sessions, he felt like they were mocking him at the same time, even if they weren't.

All that had led him to wonder why exactly he was wandering to the training fields every morning, considering it made him more depressed than he already was, every. Single. Time.

Strangely enough, he hadn't found an answer to that question.

And so he still came back every morning, to mope over the fact that he was an useless fighter and a shameful coward.

Someone sat down next to Paris, and the young man was taken out of his moping for a grand total of three seconds, just the time for him to recognize one of Lord Elrond's twin sons. Then he went back to moping, his eyes wandering again to the only two mortal fighters on the training fields.

Odysseus sent Norrington's sword flying, but the Navy man evaded the next attack, and jumped out of the king's range. The Ithacan narrowed his eyes, but barely reacted in time to avoid getting kicked in the leg. Odysseus having taken a step back, Norrington passed by him and got his short sword back.

In the blink of an eye, the two fighters were back at it.

Paris mused that if it had been him, he would have gone terrified the very moment the sword had been yanked out of the commodore's grip. Then again, that would have happened at least ten minutes sooner.

"Your companions' weaponry is slightly odd, but they seem to be making a good work of them."

This startled Paris, who spun around and looked at the elf sitting next to him.

He had almost forgotten his presence.

"Odysseus' xiphos is the... standard... sword, where I come from. And I heard James Norrington and William Turner speaking about their... thin blades as if it was normal... for them. Turner makes miracles with his sword, if anything."

Paris' Westron wasn't yet very good, he had to admit, but he knew how to speak, now. Only, there were times when he couldn't find the words right away, or times when he had to pick another word than what he was thinking about in his mother tongue. No one seemed to mind.

Elladan, or was he Elrohir?, looked from Odysseus back to Paris.

"I have seen William Turner fight. He is on equal grounds with Glorfindel, and that is definitely a miracle. If I didn't know any better, I would believe he is more than a few decades old."

Paris understood immediately what the elf meant by that. Turner had incredible talent, that much was obvious, but it coudn't be only that, could it? The man seemed to have an amount of experience that far surpassed any mortal's. Moreover, the trojan prince had seen some of Lord Glorfindel's sparring, too, and against many people, elves and mortals alike. Lord Glorfindel was never beaten by anyone, and rarely challenged.

With Turner, it had been a tie.

Elrohir's, or was he Elladan?, eyes were back on Norrington and Odysseus, but that didn't mean the conversation had ended.

"Don't you have one of these xiphos, if you are from the same place as this man, then? I think our blacksmiths would be interested in taking a look, if only for curiosity's sake."

The ellon immediately picked up on the young man's reaction. Elladan looked back again at Paris of Troy, surprised by the tense front the prince was now showing.

"I don't have one. My... skills at sword... fighting are terrible."

Despite the young man's hesitations, Paris' voice was sharp, almost defensive. Elladan could feel some hurt in his statement, and wondered why it was here. It wasn't as if not being a good sword fighter was a shame in itself. The young prince certainly had others qualities, didn't he?

What came next cleared it all up.

"And even if they weren't... I am nothing... but a coward."

The bitterness in Paris' voice was strong, and the ellon felt he had to try and cheer him up.

"The very fact that you told me this tends to demonstrate it to be a false statement."

The young man looked at him oddly, and Elladan wondered for a minute if there was something he hadn't understood. Paris of Troy hadn't been speaking Westron for very long, after all, and it was even incredible that the mortal would already understand so much. Being thrown right into a land where no one but his sister and Odysseus of Ithaca could really understand him might have helped with that...

Elladan glanced at Odysseus of Ithaca as this thought came to his mind. If Paris', Cassandra's and Balian's progress was incredible, the older man was simply a wonder. In two months, he had learned how to speak Westron perfectly, and he could already have a clever conversation in Sindarin. William Turner did miracles with a blade, and Odysseus of Ithaca did wonder with learning languages. These visitors that Estel had brought to Imladris surely were entertaining, and surprising.

But back to topic, the ellon tried to explain better what he had meant before.

"You have to be a little courageous at least, to admit to being a coward. The fact that you said it so plainly is more of a proof that you don't know yourself well enough, or that you underestimate your own heart, than of what you meant by it."

Paris sneered at himself, as the elf tried to comfort him.

"Or... maybe it only means I have no shame."

The young man kept quiet for a minute, plucking at the grass in anger, but in the end he couldn't keep it in.

"You shouldn't... waste your time with someone like me. I have no... redeeming... qualities to speak of."

The elf next to him sighed, but didn't leave.

"Of course you have. Maybe sword fighting is not your thing, but there surely are other things you excel at."

This made Paris laugh. Coldly.

"I am very good at making... bad decisions. And... bringing destruction to my... home. And I suppose I have good looks, since... women... tend to swoon everywhere I... go".

Alright, maybe he was exagerating a bit. Sure, there were women who almost drooled on him, but it wasn't all of them. Some had more self-respect than that. More self-respect than he had, too.

But he needed to let it out. He knew he had somehow talked about it with the Elvenking, though he wasn't sure as to what exactly had been said, but that talk had only taken care of his guilt. The shame was still here.

Here, and strong.

"I am a... shameless person, am I not? I... fell in love with the wife of the king we... were sent out to... treat for peace with, and I found nothing... better to do... about it than to take her... away and start a war. We might love each... other, but it does not excuse the... hundreds of deaths I have caused! And even after that, I couldn't even fight to... make... it end. I froze, and ran back to hide behind my brother... Hector... died because of my cowardice."

Elladan didn't know what to say to that. He didn't know enough about the story to speak truthfully. He didn't even know if...

But the tip of a blade embedded itself in the ground just next to them, and the two looked up to see Odysseus and Norrington standing there.

"If you cannot find value in yourself unless you get to prove your bravery, prince of Troy, then you will never have any, as you are wasting your time lying on the grass. Some, like Achilles, can afford to be reckless, for they are Ares' favorites. But others have to train to become strong, and then be able to be courageous and not die of it. You never truly trained with a blade, did you?"

Elladan and Norrington were watching the king of Ithaca as he spoke, wondering what exactly he was saying, for Paris to have gone this pale.

There must have been a reason for him to speak in Greek, when his quick mastery of Westron had almost become legendary. Maybe this wasn't something others should hear. If that was the case, they hoped Paris would know to appreciate it.

"Basic training only, but I was soon deemed useless, and so we focused more on archery, where I was great."

Odysseus refrained a snort. While it was true that cultavating one's qualities over their weaknesses would lead to greater results, telling a prince he was "useless" at sword fighting had surely been humiliating. For the fighters of Troy, as for his own, archery was good, but it meant nothing if the person couldn't even use a xiphos.

It wasn't the way to make sure the prince would master at least the basics. It was the way to keep him away from any kind of blade, and to be sure he'd stay "useless".

"Stand up, and take a blade. What you need is not comforting, but training."

Paris eyed the ithacan king warily, and it didn't escape Odysseus' notice.

"Stand up, I said. You cannot be brave if you do not know how to fight; you can only be foolish."

TA 3018, March

A path out of Imladris

Aragorn, Brian and Anamaria were ready to leave the elven city, one because it was his duty, and two because they couldn't stand the inaction anymore. Aragorn would lead the two time travelers to Bree, the biggest settlement of men around, and then be on his merry way... That is, keeping an eye on the Shire, but the two others didn't need to know that.

Brian had thought about it a lot, during the last two months. He wasn't feeling at home in the elven city, even if he certainly was welcomed. The elves were too... peaceful for him. He needed destruction, chaos, and unlawness, not to think about all that he had lost during the past year. He needed something to occupy himself with, and running after the bad guys or exploring a new world could do the trick, but lying in wait in a city of peace wasn't it. He himself was too broken to truly appreciate the peace of Imladris, or of Thranduil's realm.

The first months had been alright, and all of a sudden it hadn't been alright anymore. The inactivity was gnawing at his nerves, and he couldn't stand it anymore. Training everyday wasn't working, and it was the most physical thing he could do here as a guest.

No, he'd rather leave Lord Elrond's realm, even if it was to live with the money he'd make himself, hard as it would be in a new world.

Lord Elrond was here, too, saying goodbye to Strider, apparently. Brian had noticed the Half-elven called the man Estel, but he doubted it was his real name either. A hunch, he'd say.

The elven lord turned to look at the two other mortals who would be leaving his city this day. He was quite certain Thranduil would be aggravated to hear he was letting one of his sons out of sight, but what could he do? It was obvious that Brian Epkeen wasn't at ease in Imladris anymore, and Elrond certainly wasn't going to keep him somewhere he didn't want to be.

"You can come back any time you want, Brian, Anamaria."

The young black woman gave him a thin smile, and thanked him for his hospitality. Elrond was a bit worried as to the welcome she'd receive in Bree, but when he had talked to her about it, Brian had proposed to be her shadow amongst the mortals, and to break the nose of whoever tried to harm her because of her skin color. Anamaria had scowled, and said she could do that herself, but had accepted to stay with him anyway. They seemed used to this kind of situations, whatever it meant about their own Times.

For Anamaria, it wasn't that she needed chaos or something to take her mind away from the failures of her life. It was simply that, even if she had liked being a guest and not having to do anything if she didn't want to, she was starting to feel like a parasite. She knew the elves didn't see her like that, but she had never been someone of high status. She figured she needed to work again, to do something useful again.

And maybe, just maybe, she wasn't feeling as good with the elves as the others did. Most of the time travelers were people of importance. Most of them could, if not compete, at least not feel too out of place amongst the immortals and their greatness. Odysseus was a king, and Elizabeth Swann was the daughter of a governor. And even those who didn't really belong amongst the great, like Brian Epkeen, there was something about them... Something about the lookalikes, in fact. The four of them simply seemed right in the elven city, as if they weren't only mortals. They looked... at home, even if for Epkeen, there were other things that plagued him.

Anamaria didn't feel like that. She was an orphan, and she had worked all her life.

She needed to get out of the peaceful Imladris, out of this place that was treating her as if she was some kind of princess.

"I suppose we might come back at some point, Lord Elrond, but we need out for now. I'll remember your offer and your kindness, however."

The Half-elven smiled a calm smile at her, and the black woman could just say he would welcome her back into his realm when she'd need it. She didn't know why he was so kind... Elves were too kind too her. She wasn't used to it.

The elven lord nodded and looked back at Aragorn. In no more than a whisper, he spoke to him, while the two time travelers checked their packs one last time.

"Make sure they get to Bree unscathed, please. Thranduil would not like it if we... lost his guests."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow, still puzzled by all the secrecy that went between the Elvenking and his foster father, when it pertained to the people he had led into Imladris. The elf and the half-elf obviously knew more than he did on the matter, but they weren't sharing anything.

"These two are more than able to defend themselves, as I am sure you know, Lord Elrond. Brian Epkeen might even be one of the most dangerous of them, right behind William Turner, and with Balian of Ibelin and Odysseus of Troy, when it comes to fighting their way out of skirmishes. And almost all the others are good fighters of their own. Truthfully, I do not believe I have ever traveled with a more dangerous group, unless we were going to war."

A fleeting smile crossed Elrond's face.

"Yes, I have heard of their fighting prowess. Glorfindel cannot keep quiet about William Turner, as it is. They truly are a remarkable group. But it is not what I am worried about."

There the Half-elven kept quiet for a moment, wondering how much to tell his foster son. He trusted Estel, more than many people, but this was something else entirely. The less people knew, the less chances it got out. And he didn't want people with ill intentions to hear that "Strider" might knew something about some people that could be of interest to the Enemy.

What would come out of it would be terrible, and not only for the man.

"These two, and the others you accompanied here... They know next to nothing about this world. They come from far, far away, if you could say, and even if mortals men are more or less the same no matter where they come from, they still have different ways of being."

If Aragorn understood more than what was said, he didn't let it show.

One last minute of silence, and the ranger walked onto the path, towards the two other travelers, and out of Imladris, once again. Once more. But not for the last time.

Brian and Anamaria followed him, an impatient smile on their faces, but nonetheless, they sent one last look at the elven city they were leaving behind. They were happy to go back to active life, the detective thought humorously, but it didn't mean they wouldn't miss the quiet of Imladris.

Lord Elrond watched them disappear in a curve of the path, a sad smile on his face. Then he turned back, and passed an arch that marked the end / entrance to Imladris. There, he stopped and looked back one more time.

"You could have told her goodbye, she wouldn't have minded."

The man leaning against the arch snorted.

"I tried to have her hanged not so long ago. She was working with a pirate, so it was my duty, but it won't change the fact that I would have ordered her death if I had caught her. Anamaria doesn't want my goodbye."

Elrond looked at James Norrington, and all he could read on the man's face was that he truly believed what he had just said.

A garden

Elizabeth was sitting, thoughful, on a bench, alone. A few elves were speaking together, on the other side of the garden, but there wasn't anyone else here. The men had gone to train, and she had meant to go with them, but something had happened, and now she was here, alone.

Her eyes had fallen upon Will, and something had snapped in her mind. As if she had realized something, suddenly. Even if she didn't know why.

Elizabeth had looked upon her lover, and she had felt all the things he was hiding from her. All the things he wasn't telling her. All the time he hadn't told her about.

She knew they were married, in the time he came from, but it couldn't be about that. There had to be something else. He wouldn't be so closed because of that, would he?

Maybe something had happened to her, between their wedding, and the actual date he came from?

If it was that, the young woman was certain Will wouldn't have told her about it.

She sighed.

Just then, two people sat on each of her sides.

Elizabeth looked up from the vague point she had been fixing, and saw Sibylla at her right, and Arwen, daughter of Lord Elrond, at her left.

"Is everything alright, Elizabeth?"

The former queen of Jerusalem had a slight accent, which was charming, thruth to be said. The Pirate King wasn't sure whether it was because of her mother tongue being French, or because she came from a few centuries before her own time.

"It is nothing, truly."

Arwen smiled softly, as if she knew that excuse all too well.

"It is never nothing, Miss Swann."

The young woman hesitated for a time but eventually let it go.

"Will worries me."

"He always seems incredibly happy to be in your presene, though."

"He does, doesn't he? But he shouldn't. Not like that, at least. Every time we are together, I feel like he is blocking out all the things that could hurt our happiness. It feels as if..."

"As if he was enjoying the time you had together, because he knew it will not last forever?"

The two women turned to look at the half-elf, who seemed to know that all too well, too. Elizabeth knew it was exactly that, Arwen had nailed it perfectly, and it wasn't reassuring at all. As for Sibylla, she could tell, by the look on the other woman's face, that it was the exact answer.

Arwen's smile disappeared, and her gaze lost itself in the garden.

"Miss Swann, I personally am in love with a mortal man, to my father's horror. And I cherish any moment I can have with Estel, for I fear the time he will be gone, as all mortals do in the end. I... do not know why your husband would look at you this way, but I know that look all too well. I see it in my mirror every morning. My father has it, as he look upon Estel, as he wonders if I will choose a mortal life, as he remembers our mother who dwells in Valinor, and whom he can't see without leaving these lands of Arda forever. My brothers have it, as they spend a good part of their time with mortals."

There, Arwen went quiet for a time, before she could muster enough courage to speak her assumptions.

"I fear you have to consider the possibility of your untimely demise, Miss Swann, and that, for some reason, your husband knows of it when it has yet to happen."

Elizabeth paled.

Arwen didn't know about their time-travelling issues, but her hypothesis worked too well with the truth, that it had to be true.

Sibylla, who had kept silent as Arwen spoke, decided it was time to intervene.

"Let me tell you a story."

Arwen and Elizabeth looked at her, curious, but a bit put out by the change of conversation.

"It is the story of a princess and a baron."

The two others shared a look, as they were pretty sure Balian's title was that of a baron, and because they knew for a fact that Sibylla was a queen... and before that, a princess. Arwen had offered her the truth of her love, while Elizabeth was troubled by hers. Was it the time when Sibylla gave them her own story?

"The baron had come from another country, to take the lordship after the death of his father. The princess was married to a despicable man who wanted her brother's throne. The princess and the baron came to love each other. But the king, her brother, died of a terrible sickness. Before that, the king had asked the baron to marry his sister, after the execution of her current husband, because he could not be allowed to rule the kingdom, or he'd lead it into war. But the baron would not bear to be the reason for a man's execution, and to be rewarded for that by a kingdom and a wife. The king died, the princess became queen, and the evil husband king. The baron was left alone, but even then he did not come to regret his choice. The evil king started a war and was beaten. The baron came and saved the people, if he couldn't save the kingdom. Him and the queen left for his country, and they got married as a blacksmith and his wife."

Sibylla tried not to think too much of her brother, and not to remember Guy of Lusignan. Her life hadn't been exactly perfect, even if she had been a princess and a queen. The suffering of Baudouin had been terrible enough, but being married off to Guy...

Looking Elizabeth in the eyes, a sad smile on her lips, Sibylla ended her tale.

"What you must understand, Elizabeth, is that men... people, in fact... can't make the right choice every time. When a choice is right for one thing, it can be wrong for another. Balian... Balian could have been king, and my husband sooner. Instead, he let a war be born, and he let me to Guy of Lusignan. But if he had accepted my brother's offer, he would have hated himself all his life. Your Will is a man, like the others. He thinks he is doing the best for you, and he could even be right about that. You don't know how you will react to whatever he is hiding from you."

Seeing the younger woman's outraged face, Sibylla hurried another sentence.

"I am not suggesting you let it go. Even if he is right, and you migth be less hurt as long as you don't know, he is hurting. Marriage is not only about protecting each other, but also about sharing the difficult times. Speak to him. Help him to open to you, if he can't do it by himself."

"I'm not sure I can do that without getting angry at him."

Elizabeth looked ashamed of herself. Arwen and Sibylla shared a knowing glance, and the elven lady put a hand on her shoulder.

"Do you trust him?"

The Pirate King gave a humorless laugh, as all the times Will had done something for her came back to her mind. If she couldn't trust William, who could she trust?

"He jumped right into trouble to save my life, then he did it a second time, and after that he tried to give up on me when he thought I loved another man, and for my sake, he even volunteered to go into a forsaken place to retrieve that man. Will values me much more than he values himself. Only his promises can rival with my well-being in his mind."

"Then help him get over it. Make him talk, and if he doesn't, make him understand that you are not going anywhere until he does, and after that too. It might take time, but you cannot give up, if you truly love him."

Elizabeth nodded, and the two others figured they'd better leave her alone again, so that she could think efficiently. They excused themselves, to let her with her thoughts. But just before they left, Arwen turned around one last time.

"Miss Swann..."

"Call me Elizabeth."

The half-elf smiled warmly at that.

"Elizabeth, if it can help: from someone who has the same look on her face as William Turner does, it helps when the other accepts that some things will happen no matter what. You just have not to let it take you down."

TA 3018, April

Eriador

Bree

Brian had just finished taking care of his hunting knife when Anamaria joined him in the outskirts of the small human town.

"Anything happened?"

He shook his head. The day had been calm, calmer, in fact, than the whole week.

For some reason, possibly the coming war the elves had talked about both in Eryn Galen and in Imladris, the number of dangers on the roads, and even in town, had gone up in the last months. The inhabitants of Bree blamed the rangers like Strider, and looked a bit oddly at Brian and Anamaria, but the detective couldn't help but point out that, until now, the scoundrels were never rangers, and he and the young woman had been working for the town, not against it.

It could be that he had broken one jaw at some point, but the bastard had been trying to make a move on his friend. Needless to say, if Brian hadn't broken the idiot's jaw, and the guy had gotten to Anamaria, he'd have suffered from much more. The black woman knew how to defend herself, better than some men could.

Mark, who worked with them, stood up and stretched a bit.

"Nothing of interest. Brian frightened two scamps out of their skins when they tried to sneak upon us, but apart from that..."

It had become a popular game for the town children to try and get past the guards without being seen, but somehow, Brian always knew when a kid was up to no good. And the man had already made a reputation for himself, even if he had been in town only for one month, roughly.

Strider had led him and Anamaria to the town, but left just before they actually put a foot in town. The ranger had said it'd be better for their reputation, if they weren't seen with him.

After a week of searching for work, a man had offered to the detective to be a guard for the city. Midnight patrols, all that. Both Brian and Anamaria had been interested. The other guards had laughed at her, but she had dueled each of them, and beaten all of them. After that, the guards had started to feel some kind of grudging admiration for the woman, even if the town folks tended to eye her warily because of her skin color. Brian always glared at these people, and nothing was ever said.

In their defense, the number of passing strangers had gone up, and some of them weren't exactly friendly, especially the Southrons. But Anamaria kept away from anyone with the same skin color as her, or any shade close. Herself, she didn't like the vibe most of them were giving off.

The young woman sighed, and confirmed the calmness of the day.

"Same here. John and I had to deal with a wandering wolf, but apart from that..."

Mark snorted. He had just spotted the relief team, and was more than glad that their shift was ending. He had spent one of the most boring morning in his life.

"I won't complain that no one is trying to murder anyone today, personally."

"Yeah, you do that..."

The other men took their shift, and the three headed back into town. They were planning to go to the Prancing Pony, and get something to eat. It was already one in the afternoon, and Brian could have eaten a horse, or at least he felt that way.

Anamaria gritted her teeth when three Southrons sitting in the back of the inn eyed her expectantly. It wasn't the first time this happened, and if nothing had come out of it for now, she had enough experience with Tortuga to guess it wouldn't be like that forever.

Brian, having noticed his friend tensing, glanced to the Southrons. His hand went to his hunting knife almost instinctively. It jolted him out of it immediately.

When had he become so used to the medieval-like world of Arda, that he didn't hesitate anymore about using a blade against someone? Then again, hadn't he been just the same before, only, with a gun?

It raised other questions, though, such as, why was he so tunned in with this time, this way of life, when he was supposed to come from the Seventh Age, from the twenty first century? Why was he feeling so right, in this time... and going against villains, if possible?

Before he knew it, his meal was on the table, just before his nose, and Anamaria was nudging him to eat. Brian blinked, and complied.

Then he saw Mark and Anamaria tense, and the detective had an ominous feeling three Southrons were standing right behind him, and looking at his friend. Brian eyed his meal one last time, and let down his fork.

Then he turned around on his chair.

And alright, the Southrons were there, smirking at Anamaria.

They said something in their language that, unlike they expected, sounded only like gibberish to the black woman. Trying to stay polite, despite what she suspected, Anamaria smiled.

"Excuse me, but I don't speak your tongue."

The Southrons shared a surprised look, but finally squinted at her. They seemed to think she was mocking them, and they didn't seem to like that.

Brian fiddled with the handle of his knife, while Mark had a hand on his sword. The young woman was doing her best not to act just the same. It seemed to her that her cutlass was literally calling to her.

The taller of the strangers spoke again.

"We were wondering if you'd rather not spend your time with people more... like you."

And he looked at the two white men with disguised contempt. If Brian had been given money each time a suspect had given him that look, he'd be rich by now.

Anamaria forced her smile to remain.

"I am in perfectly fine company, gentlemen. Mark and Brian are my friends, and I am not used to spending time with strangers. You are strangers."

The man's face twisted.

"If you'd rather be a whore for these white wimps..."

He drawled that last part, but strangely enough, the drawling died on his lips before he could say anything more.

Anamaria and Mark had paled when the Southron had used the abhorred word which would not be repeated here. The patrons of the nearby tables had gone silent. The two other black men looked a bit green. Barliman Butterbur, the owner of the inn, had frozen in whatever he had been doing.

As for Brian, the detective had spun around his chair, and crashed his right foot against the tall Southron's left leg. Now the man was on the floor, and Brian was fisting his hair, having caught it just before the guy's nose encountered the floor.

"If you don't intend to take back that word, bastard, we will step out of this inn, and take care of that mouth of yours in the street."

The Southron cursed some foul words, and Brian rolled his eyes. The two other black men were either less courageous, or more intelligent, than the bastard, because they didn't seem thrilled with the idea.

The detective got the man up, and pushed him out of the inn. Mark and Anamaria followed, but the other Southrons stayed wisely inside.

In the street, some people stopped to see what it was about. When they saw who were involved, they almost winced for the poor fool who had angered Brian Epkeen. The young man might not be bulky or frightening, but they knew he was an efficient fighter eitherway.

Then again, if the Southron had angered the guard, he surely deserved whatever was going to fall upon him.

The black man spat in the earth, and looked crossly at the detective.

"And now what? Do you think you can beat me to a pulp, or what?"

Brian smirked. He knew for a fact that he could take the idiot on anytime, but that wasn't what he was planning on. That bastard was in for a bad surprise.

The detective backed away, leaving Anamaria to take care of her honor herself.

"I'm not the one you insulted, man."

Mark winced. He had known it would end this way, but still.

Imladris

Will and Balian had left the forges alone that day, and were walking towards the training fields. For all that, it didn't mean they weren't discussing smiths-things.

They passed a corner, and Will almost bumped into someone. Blinking, he recognized Lord Glorfindel. And as he blinked, he winced.

He had successfully avoided the elf, since their last sparring session, but apparently it was time for it to come to an end.

"William Turner! Just the man I was searching for. Would you mind if I borrowed you for a moment?"

"Of course not. Balian, I'll find you at the training fields later?"

The other blacksmith nodded, feeling something was not said about this encounter, but he just went his way.

Will killed his grimace into a smile, and waited for the moment it would all crash down.

At first, he had been able to play it smoothly. Lord Elrond had obviously noticed something, but the Half-elven knew who he really was, and what had happened to him, so it didn't matter. Most of the elves in Imladris seemed to know something was different with him, that he wasn't just any mortal, but they reacted exactly the same with Cassandra and Odysseus. But Lord Glorfindel...

During their matchs, the elven lord had found an adversary worthy of his thousands of years of experience, and that had gotten his attention. Will was pretty certain the elf had finally seen the hint he needed, when they had shared a glance at the end of their last match. The hint that said he had seen death in person, just like the elf had.

If Will had recognized the look in Lord Glorfindel's eyes, was it impossible for the elf to have recognized the one in Will's eyes? Certainly not.

The captain of the Flying Dutchman refrained a sigh, and watched with envy Balian who was walking away from all that, not even knowing what he was walking away from.

While William was preparing himself for an unpleasant interrogation, Balian reached the training fields, and arrived just in time to see the beginning of Paris' training session.

Odysseus and James Norrington had demeed it their duty to turn the young prince into a capable swordman, despite Paris' adamant protest.

So far, it wasn't very successful.

Sure, the trojan prince could now handle himself in a simple fight, and he wasn't running away anymore, but it seemed they had reached his maximum. For the last week, he hadn't progressed at all, and the king of Ithaca and the commodore simply didn't know what more to do to help him.

They could have given up. After all, Paris himself was convinced he couldn't get better than that, he was even surprised he had gotten where he was now. But the two older men wouldn't hear of it. They had told him they could make him a better fighter, and they felt they hadn't fulfilled their promise yet.

Balian sat on the grass, curious as to what they had managed to get out of Paris exactly. He had spent most of the last weeks with the smiths, and hadn't seen much of the prince's training.

The training really wasn't going well.

Balian sighed, and looked at his own broad sword, toughtful. He had a feeling that his lookalike wouldn't get better than that. Only taking a look at the younger man's training told him so much. Now he could defend himself, but that was all, and the blacksmith felt it would never be more.

Paris was fighting against Norrington, for now. Odysseus had spotted Balian, and joined him on the grass.

"It isn't going anywhere, right?"

The older man sighed.

"He is simply not talented at sword fighting, I guess. But it is a matter of honor for him, and even if he is asking us to give up, it does not mean he will accept it. He will only be more ashamed of himself, and I don't want that to happen..."

They watched for a few minutes in silence, until Balian broke it again.

"Paris is great at archery, is he not?"

Odysseus scoffed at the idea that Paris of Troy could be "great" at archery.

"He isn't 'great', he is a pure genius. He can rivals any elf, almost as good as the Elvenprince Legolas, and even when he fails a shot, the arrow somehow ends up just where it is needed. The other day, an unexpected gush of wind misdirected his shot, but instead of losing it, the arrow embedded itself in the next target. Right in the middle. But Paris doesn't understand it is enough of a talent by itself. As long as he can't fight in close combat too, in 'brave' combat, he will not be satisfied."

The king of Ithaca saw Balian frown a bit, and suddenly stand up and stop the training session. The Ithacan watched as the former lord and Norrington discussed something under Paris' confused glances. After that, Balian made the prince do some moves, before disappearing in the direction of his room.

The commodore let Paris go not long after that, and joined Odysseus on the grass.

"Any idea what it was about?"

"I think... Balian might be planning on making a special weapon just for Paris, but what? I have no idea."

Odysseus looked at his xiphos and sighed. The sword was getting old, but he didn't feel like learning to use another kind of blade. He was... too old to learn quickly. He just hoped his xiphos wouldn't break too soon.

"Balian asked about Paris' skills at archery."

James raised both eyebrows.

"Indeed? Well, I still don't see how the prince could use a bow in close combat."

"Neither do I..."

TA 3018, May

Balian's and Sibylla's room

The two blacksmiths looked at the plans the bow maker had given them one last time, before they started making their own. They were absolutely not sure if they could actually make it work, but they had to try. It was especially depressing to see one of your lookalikes / quintuplet brothers brooding like Paris did. It gave them the feeling they should be moping too.

And Will had enough things to be depressed about without Paris' help. Elizabeth had started to make allusions to something he'd be hiding from her, that she'd rather hear it from him than learn it in another situation... But he wasn't going to burden her with the knowledge of his fate. Never.

As for Balian... he was too caring not to help the young man. And he felt a bit sorry for Paris too: all of the prince's lookalikes were dangerous fighters, unlike him. Legolas was as good with his hunting knives as with his bow, William was simply deadly talented with his blade, Brian fought like a beast when he wanted, and Balian himself was able to take multiples opponents at a time. Paris, with his archery skills, could only do support combat.

"Do you think the elven smiths would make us some of that glowing metal?"

"The one which shines blue when orcs are near?"

"That one."

"I see no reason not to ask."

If they could make that bow for Paris, and if they managed to train him as was needed, maybe the young man could let go of his shame?

TA 3018, June

Elrond's study

Cassandra and the elven lord were speaking quietly when it happened.

Suddenly the young woman was taken by a violently coughing fit. The Half-elven tensed, and tried to pat her on the back, but she raised a hand and stopped his attempt. She was blinking furiously, unknown images invading her vision, and it didn't take her, or him for the matter, long to understand what was going on. The half-elf seized a piece of paper and a pen, waiting for it to finally come.

Half a minute passed like that, and they almost thought it was only a false alert, but Cassandra coughed worse than before, and it was here.

In a raspy voice, as her mind struggled with the dark intents of Sauron, the princess spoke. And Elrond copied the possible prophecy.

"Riding on a path

Nines shadows of wrath,

East, South, West and North,

Searching for what's worth,

Heading for the Shire

Not to know His ire."

There was a long silence after that, as Elrond tried to understand what it all could imply. But Cassandra coughed one last time, and he handed her a glass of water.

"Will you be alright?"

The trojan princess gave him a wan, but honest, smile.

"He didn't notice me, no, and I have to thank... you for that Lord Elrond. Last time, it was a dream, so I... wasn't conscious, but if this one had happened without... your guidance, I'd..."

Her gaze flickered to the piece of paper where her words had been copied. The elven lord handed it to her, and watched silently as she read it.

"I suppose the Shire is an area of some... sort?"

"It is. And the nine shadows can only be the Nazgûl. Whatever it is they are looking for, it cannot be good news... Do you know if it was an intent, or Him thinking of what is currently happening?"

Cassandra winced, and took another gulp of water, before answering.

"I can't tell for sure, but I don't think it's... already happening. And the 'Shire' part wasn't like the rest,... as if Sauron wasn't yet...completely aware it is the location he is looking for. A... part of him knows, be he isn't conscious of it... Somehow."

Elrond frowned, trying to understand that too, but as for the rest, it was too vague to really do anything with it. Moreover, if Cassandra was almost fluent in Westron now it didn't mean she was perfect either. Maybe she couldn't relay the exact meaning in the Common Speech.

"I'll send a word to the rangers who are guarding the Shire..."

Both of the clairvoyants had a feeling it would not suffice to counter whatever the Enemy and the Nazgûl were planning to do in the Shire.

TA 3018, July

The training fields

Paris arrived early that morning, wondering what it was about. Odysseus and James had stopped hoping for his skills to get better, he just knew it. Now he was training only twice a week, to hone his reflexes only, not that it wasn't important, but still.

The prince of Troy knew he had become somewhat passable a fighter, but it didn't mean he would ever be able to be truly brave. He could hold his own for a little time, if he ever was attacked, but that was all. He'd never be Hector. He'd never compensate the death he had caused.

So he really didn't know why he was here, when there was nothing he could really do here. It wasn't as if training more would do him any good.

The young man turned to look at the rising sun, contemplative of what his life had become since he was in this Age... No, actually, since the war he had started. He didn't really have a goal, now, he wasn't sure why he was alive... Why it mattered, all that. Helen was still in his original Time, and he wasn't sure he'd ever get back there. He didn't even have his love left.

Paris sort of sneered at himself.

"You really ought to stop brooding like that, child."

The voice sounded oddly like his own, and the young prince immediately knew who had just talked... Or at least, he could guess it was either William or Balian. Legolas wasn't in Imladris, and he sounded just a tad more... melodic, he guessed. And Brian sounded more hoarse, more spent, and wasn't here either. William, Balian and himself, on the other hand, could only be distinguished by their tone. The first one sounded a bit cold, when he wasn't with Elizabeth Swann, and the other was always calm, quiet. Paris, him, tended to be sure of himself back in time... and gloomy lately.

He spun on his heels, and was faced with his two lookalikes holding... a bow?

Paris refrained a snort, as he looked at Will Turner. The man was the same age as he was! Maybe younger, actually...

Before anything unpleasant could be said, Balian's quiet voice interrupted the tension.

"Take a look, Paris."

And the blacksmith handed him the bow.

"We worked hard on this. But no one had ever done... that, I suppose, with a bow, so we need you to... test it so we can see if something is wrong with it. If it works, in fact."

Paris blinked, and looked back at the short bow in his hands. He hadn't exactly taken the time to observe...

Right, now he saw why they were asking his opinion on it. It was definitely not a normal bow. He wasn't even sure it would be efficient, and he certainly had no idea why they had made it like that in the first place.

The bow itself was fairly normal, but what mattered was more what the two blacksmiths had added to it, or changed to adapt with the additions. Indeed, the two ends of the bow were taken in some sort of metal contraptions. It wasn't quite complicated, but Paris felt it was just unnecessary.

"What's that, exactly?"

Will shrugged.

"First impressions first, please."

"Well, if you ask... It largely doubles the weight, and I frankly have no idea what you want me to do with it. Moreover, I'm used to long bows, not short bows."

The blacksmiths shared a look, and William smirked a bit.

"Try to shoot an arrow, despite the added weight, please, and then tell us if it's really a problem. If it is only a matter of being used to it, you can train."

A doubtful look on his face, the prince of Troy aimed at a practice target not too far away. The first arrow embedded itself in the outer circle, and Paris pulled a bit of a face. The second arrow went right in the middle of the same target, while the third one took the next target perfectly.

Paris turned back to look at his lookalikes.

"It could be worse, but it only works because I'm good at it. I'm not certain... anyone could adjust to the changes so easily."

"Good thing this one is for you only, then. Do you think you could bear the weight if you spent enough time getting used to it?"

"Of course. But it doesn't tell me why you added the metal things... Or why I can't simply use a normal bow?"

William smiled, and Balian took a step back. Paris watched, confused, as the first one drew his sword and fell into fighting position. The latter one pointed at the bow.

"You want to be capable in close combat, don't you? Take a look at the edges of the 'metal things'."

Paris then noticed the edges were sharps. Blades, really.

"You've got no talent at sword fighting, Paris, and taking a sword alongside your bow would be a waste, given your skills; you can only defend, and can't attack. But Will and I wondered what would happen if you could use your usual weapon as a defense too. That way, if an enemy gets too close to you and land a blow, you can still ward them off with the metallic parts. Reason why it's a short bow, and not a long bow, by the way. And we added the sharps edges, if you manage to land a blow too. Once the one who attacked you is down, you can go back to shooting arrows, and that without losing time switching weapons."

Paris strengthened his grip on the bow, wondering if he could really do that.

"Obviously, it's a trial product, so it might not be perfect yet. In fact, it might not work at all. But we thought we had to try."

"Now, let's try this..."

Paris' eyes shot right back from Balian and onto Will, as he realized why exactly the man had fallen into a fighting stance before. A reassuring smile was on the man's lips, and for some reason, it did the very contrary from reassuring him to the prince, who paled at the sight. William Turner was so not someone he was willing, or ready, to take on, even if the blacksmith would certainly go easy on him. Even if it was supposed to be a testing session for the bow, Paris was certain he would get crushed no matter what...

A room

No one had seen Balian, Will or Paris of the whole morning, and Elizabeth was beginning to think they had simply disappeared of the elven city. There was one elf, true, who thought she might have seen the two blacksmiths in the early hours of the morning, on their way to the training fields, but they weren't there anymore. Elizabeth knew: she had spent two whole hours honing her own skills against a few elves, and Odysseus and James too.

Now the guests of Lord Elrond were all resting, after a pleasant meal, in a large room near the Hall of Fire. Even the king of Ithaca and the commodore had agreed to come, and they were speaking together, with Lord Glorfindel and a few others elves too. Lord Elrond had given the news, during the meal, about their possible return to their 'home', in other words, to their respective Ages. It seemed that return was still far away.

Arwen and Sibylla joined Elizabeth and Cassandra around a low table.

The trojan princess looked perfectly fine, now that she dwelled in Elrond's realm, the other females couldn't help to notice with joy. Apparently, here Sauron couldn't reach her at all.

But this day, it was Cassandra's turn to worry about one of her friends.

Elizabeth was growing more and more moody, as the time passed, and Will refused to tell her what wasn't right with him. Or with her, for all she knew.

The princess sent a desperate look at Arwen and Sibylla. No matter what she tried, Elizabeth would just fall back into despair. Comforting worked only so many times, and even a change of subject didn't last long. There was always something getting the young woman back to thinking about her loved one. A word he had said lately, a color that reminded her of him...

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Will was always there, even when he wasn't. He was trying his hardest for her not to be hurt from what he knew of her future, but it was destroying her. And Elizabeth couldn't help but wonder, if perhaps he didn't know her so well, that he believed she wouldnt be able to bear the future? Because if it wasn't the case, then it meant the future was worse than anything she could imagine, that it was something that even this pain she was feeling at him keeping it from her, was worth not saying the pain they would go through later on.

That pain Will had already experienced, and he wouldn't tell her about.

Arwen sat next to the young woman, and took both her hands in her own.

"Elizabeth, why don't you tell us about your love, like we did?"

The blond woman smiled faintly at the proposition.

"A tale, eh? I suppose I could do that..."

She leaned back on the couch she was occupying, and passed a hand in her hair.

"It all started on a ship."

The conversations around them slowly came to a stop, and most of the people in the room moved closer to hear of this tale. The elves especially had been taken in by the simple mention of a ship.

Elizabeth wasn't paying attention to the silence, though, and she continued talking without waiting for an audience.

"Once upon a time, a daughter and a father sailed away from their country. The father had been appointed as a governor for his king, for an island far away from home. The daughter was only a child, but she was fascinated by the ocean, and she enjoyed every minute of the journey."

A few people smiled at that, while Elizabeth recalled the time she had spent on the Dauntless, long, long ago it semeed. James sat on the opposite side of the low table, gone into recollections too.

"Then one day the fog on the ocean was so dense it seemed to be the night, the daughter saw a boy on a piece of wreckage. Soon the fog revealed a sinking ship, and the sailors only managed to save the boy. The daughter also saw another ship sailing away, with black sails and a skull for its colors, but no one else did witness it."

There she looked at the commodore, lieutenant at the time, who had gone white as he finally realized that the Black Pearl had been there, just next to the Dauntless' guns, that day... But maybe it was for the best, considering the cursed ship would not have been defeated anyway.

"The daughter took care of the boy, and then they lived in the same city, but without ever really talking for the next eight years. He was an orphan, and she was the governor's daughter. Her father already hoped she would marry the newly appointed commodore..."

"And I can assure you the commodore hoped the very same thing, for he loved the young woman dearly."

Elizabeth gave the said commodore an apologetic nod, but the man didn't look vexed anymore by her refusal. He had moved past it, and he knew Turner's love for Elizabeth was genuine...

Though he wasn't impressed with the way the young man was showing it lately. Maybe he'd have to talk to Turner at some point. To find out what it was that the blacksmith was trying to keep away from the Miss.

"Not long after that, a pirate ship with black sails and a crew of cursed men raided the city, taking away the young woman, thinking she was someone else. The commodore began an operation to get her back, but the boy, who had grown into a skilled blacksmith, couldn't wait."

A nostalgic smile came onto Elizabeth's face. No matter the danger of these times, everything had been so simple, at the time. Barbossa was the villain, Jack the shifty crook, Will the brave and bashful lover, and James the strick pretendant. No Beckett hiding behind the power of the crown and of tthe East Indian Company, no sudden change of allegiance, except from Jack, but well, Jack was Jack, and no secrets.

"The blacksmith freed a shifty pirate who could lead him to the pirate ship, and to his beloved, and together the blacksmith and the pirate stole a ship from the commodore, and sailed away. A lot of adventures happened, it was revealed that the blacksmith was the one the pirates needed to lift their curse, and in the end the villain died, while the daughter and the blacksmith stood together to protect the pirate who had helped them despite his profession, from the commodore."

Many eyes glanced to James, who was scowling at that last sentence.

"Yes, and that is what got us all in the troubles we knew after that. I should have had Sparrow hanged nonetheless."

Elizabeth gave him a crooked smile.

"You don't hate him that much."

James didn't answer that, strangely.

"That was the story of how the boy and the girl ended up promised to each other. There is more, of course, but let's just say it didn't end so simply. They were accused, alongside the commodore, of having let a pirate escape, and they had to run away, fight for their freedom, against a greedy lord and a traitor to his duty who had usurped his control over the seas. For me, the story stopped not long after the commodore was stabbed in the stomach and left to die, and just before the final battle."

James grabbed his tunic just above the scar he would always keep, at the reminder, and a few faces turned to look at him, just a second, before looking away once more.

In a whisper, Elizabeth added this:

"But I don't know where the story ends for Will..."

If someone else than Sibylla, Arwen and Cassandra heard that, they had the decency not to ask about it.

Eriador

Bree - The Prancing Pony

Anamaria nudged her friend discreetly.

"Brian."

"And so the evil queen..."

Mark winced, looking around, and seeing only hobbits and young children, all sitting on the very floor, around the detective. The midgets, sorry, otherwise small people, seemed all taken in the fairy tale that was being told to them. Mark had to admit, he had never heard that one. Neither had he heard the precedings, for the matter. He could understand why the happy-go-lucky hobbits and children were so enthralled, it wasn't often that an all new fairy tale appeared out of nowhere.

And the storyteller was good, very good. That story with the Big Bad Wolf and the Little Red Riding Hood had been, reality problems put aside, it was a fairy tale, after all, said with just the right thrill. And Mark was pretty sure one of the boys had pissed himself at some point.

But it wasn't the point.

"Epkeen."

"...And happily ever after."

Brian turned around, and squinted his eyes at his colleague.

"What?"

"Someone wishes to speak with you."

"I was busy."

Mark and Anamaria shared a look, raised both eyebrows, and looked back at the man.

"Storytelling?"

Brian snorted, and gestured to his audience, who was now leaving in search of something interesting to do. Story time was over.

"Try to interrupt storytelling and to keep them from hearing the end of a story, and you will know all nine circles of Hell. I am a father, I know what I'm talking about."

Mark didn't ask about that Hell thing. Sometimes Brian said things like that, and sometimes Anamaria knew what it was about, sometimes she didn't. The city guard supposed it was something well known where his colleagues came from.

Brian stood up, dusting his pants as he did so, and looked back questioningly at Mark and Anamaria.

"So? Who wanted to speak with me?"

The black woman gave him a pointed look, and the detective grew instantly suspicious.

"With both of us, actually."

"Ah. Did Strider come back into town?"

"Exactly."

The man clasped a hand onto Mark's shoulder, and bid him goodbye. The younger man glanced at the door of the inn, where a man with a long mantle was waiting for his two friends, his face hidden by a large hood.

"You should be careful about the people you're seen with."

Brian arched an eyebrow.

"What is it, Mark? Afraid of rangers?"

The guard said nothing for his defense. The rangers were simply distrusted in Bree, and it had been so for a long time. Mark wasn't really one to judge on rumors, but if he didn't condemn the rangers like Strider as a result, it didn't mean he would trust the man either.

"I'm just saying, there are people who could be... interested by the acquaintances you two keep."

Brian shrugged it off, but Anamaria could see the way his eyes scanned the inn. The detective was aware of the prying eyes and ears on them, there was no doubt about it.

After all, the two were strangers in Bree, even if they worked for the city guards, and had been there for a few months already.

"Good night, Mark."

The two time travelers headed out, after having paid Butterbur, who praised Brian for his storytelling prowess. The detective tipped an imaginary hat at the owner with a crooked smile, and Anamaria stiffled a laugh.

Finally they reached the door.

They stepped out of the Prancing Pony, followed by another shadow than their own. In the dark of the evening, the three of them walked to an empty alley, barely noticed by the people they crossed path with.

Out of sight, the ranger pushed off his hood, and the two others were greeted by the familiar, if a bit filthy, face of Strider.

Anamaria was suddenly reminded of the filth that Jack could muster, when he refused to take a bath for a whole month, which happened more often than necessary. Strider looked only a bit better off, and she hoped his last months hadn't been as terrible as his outfit and face seemed to indicate.

Unlike Jack, Strider wasn't doing this for fear of a bath; speaking of which, it was kind of ironic how the great pirate Jack Sparrow, claiming freedom from the sea, could be afraid of water, when it was put together with soap...

Anyway.

"Pleased to see you didn't go and got yourself killed."

The ranger winced at Brian's statement, knowing it was all too true.

"What about you two? I heard some... interesting tales about the two strangers in the guard of the city."

The detective winced a bit too, with a muttered "Touché.", while Anamaria smirked.

"If it's about me getting rid of idiots, I have to say they were being rude. If it's about Brian's storytelling sessions, he has no excuses."

Brian rolled his eyes, and soon enough, they were talking about the growing troubles. Strider asked them if anything really out of the ordinary had happened since he had left, but no, it was only getting worse on the long term, no great incidents.

"People get used to it after a time, even, and they don't really question the rising chaos more than they'd do if it was a one time thing."

"I can see that happening..."

Strider kept quiet for half a minute, a thoughtful look on his face. The silence was growing uncomfortable as the night was becoming darker. Brian and Anamaria were almost jumping at every little noise, pretty certain a bad guy would pop out of nowhere soon, or that maybe they were already here, listening in on their conversation.

Anamaria wasn't used to this level of paranoia, unlike Brian, considering that losing both his friends in a matter of days, and generally, working for the police, had not helped his low trust in people. For him, it was as simple as breathing; bad guys were everywhere, only, well hidden. For her, it was different; she came from a place where bad guys were everywhere, but visible, and often they had a softer side, well hidden, that one.

Brian gave the impression he trusted easily, when it was the very contrary: there always was a limit to his trust. Anamaria was openly guarded, but once she had offered her trust, it was given, and never taken back.

The young woman wasn't used to hidden evils.

Strider sighed, and after having checked they were truly alone one last time, he spoke quietly.

"If in the next month a hobbit, Mister Underhill from the Shire, came by Bree, and I wasn't around for some reason, could I ask you to guide him to Imladris?"

"We barely know the way, Strider..."

"Do not worry, I would catch up with you in little time, and if I cannot... Another ranger would come to you. It is only that the hobbit in question, and his possible companions, cannot stay in Bree for too long. It would not be safe for them."

The two time travelers shared an uneasy look, but agreed. Strider seemed relieved, and it worried them, because they felt like he was already considering he could be withheld from his task... Possibly by a grave injury, or worse, maybe by death.

Just as they were about to leave, the ranger added a piece of information which changed the situation quite a lot, and would keep them in that alley a bit longer.

"Of course, this Mister Underhill doesn't know I am expecting him. And he could think you are enemies, if you aren't careful in your way of getting to him."

TA 3018, August

Mordor

Barad-dûr

Sauron looked at the shadow, anger rising in his twisted mind. He had given one task to the Nazgûl. Only one task.

And the Witch King had done what had to be done. The Nazgûl had done brilliantly, even. It couldn't have gone another way, in fact, because to get William Turner without Curumo catching on... Well, it wasn't possible. It didn't mean the Dark Lord was pleased with the state of things. As long as the brothers lived, Elldúath wouldn't be complete. As long as the quintuplets lived, his weapon wouldn't be at its peak.

It had taken him so much time, to create that elven shadow, so much energy, and yet the Valar had managed to sabotage his efforts!

"Where are they?"

The shadow screeched, its voice still damaged.

"Legolas Thranduilion is still in Mirkwood, and Brian Epkeen is currently in Bree. I... cannot sense the three others. They must be in a guarded area. Surely the Half-elven's realm, or in the lands of the Lady of the Light. And our connection is growing fainter. In a few months, I will not be able to tell anymore."

The fallen Maia gnashed his teeth, and almost stomped out of the room. Elldúath watched the Dark Lord, without saying a word, wishing himself that he could get his hands on the five brothers, and take back what was rightfully his. What they had stolen from him, the very day they had been born.

What the Valar had stolen from him.

What was rightfully his!

The elven shadow wanted his life back. And for that, either he'd need to come into contact with each of them, or they'd have to die.

He wasn't against them dying. It would save him a lot of effort. And it would give him a part of his revenge.

Imladris

"Are you certain you wish to do this, Balian?"

The young man smiled lightly at his beloved, and nodded.

"They need another mortal for that mission, and it is time for me to see a bit more of Arda. I won't be gone long, and it is hardly the most dangerous thing I have done in my life. I will be back before long, and alive. Do not worry, Sibylla."

The former queen of Jerusalem didn't look very convinced, but she understood her husband needed to get out of the peace of the elven realm. She seeked Lord Elrond's confirmation that it wasn't the worst place her husband could be sent to, and the half-elf looked calm.

So she kissed Balian goodbye, and took a step back.

"Come back to me, my love, and then I will know I could trust you word."

The knight looked amused at that, and put his right hand on the pommel of the sword he had made to replace the Sword of Ibelin, improving it with Will's and the elven smiths' ideas.

"You can trust my word."

The knight and the nine rangers who were to accompany him rode out of Imladris, and towards Dunland.

Elrond and Sibylla stayed to look at their disappearing form for a time.

Eventually the former queen sighed.

"I suppose I should have seen it coming. But I trust him to come back in one piece. He survived too much already not to come back."

TA 3018, September

Eriador

South-West of Bree – Barrow-downs

Mark stopped his horse in the shadow of a monolith, and yelled for his colleague to hear him.

"Brian, which part of 'city' in 'city guards' don't you understand?!"

Anamaria joined him just in time to see the other rider of their little group reappear from behind another monolith. The man was definitely not going to stop anytime soon.

The detective barely turned around to shout back at them.

"The whole word, Mark, the whole word!"

And he rode out of sight. Mark winced, about to go after the man, but Anamaria stopped him.

"Forget it, he'll come back once he has him. Brian will simply not let a murderer go, even if the scoundrel is not around the city anymore. A thief, maybe, but a murderer?"

The guard rolled his eyes, and hoped Anamaria was right. As long as Brian didn't go anywhere near the Old Forest... But did Brian know about the Old Forest?

"I told you about the Old Forest, right?"

The look the black woman gave him didn't reassure him one bit.