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Old February 13th, 2008, 12:00 AM
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Telcontar Rulz Telcontar Rulz is offline
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Join Date: Jul 2007
Location: New Zealand
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Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Title: Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy
Author: Telcontar Rulz
Disclaimer:I don’t own anything you recognize. I wish I did.
Category: LotR/KoH/PotC/Troy crossover
Type: Action, Adventure, Drama, Humour
Rating: PG13
Characters: Legolas, Balian, Will, Jack, Barbossa, Hector, Paris, Achilles, Helen, Briseis, Ajax, Agamemnon, Menelaus, Jack the Monkey, Ragetti, Pintel, Iliad canon characters (Cassandra, Aeneas, Hecuba), Calypso cameos etc.
Warnings: Violence, Mild torture
Brief Summary: More misadventures for Balian and Legolas as they meet some strange pirates and then end up in a legendary city just in time for another war.

Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Note: This is a sequel to Chance Encounter and if you haven’t read that, you might not understand some bits. It is advisable to read that first.

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Balian, Legolas, Will, Jack, etc, but I don’t. I’m just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

Chapter 1: Many Meetings

Will Turner, captain of the Flying Dutchman, gazed out across the vast expanse of ocean as the sun rose in the east. On the other side, the sun would be setting and his dear Elizabeth would be getting ready for the evening. He wondered how she was. How long had it been? Six years, three months and thirteen days. He missed her so much. She owned his heart in every sense. It was strange how Davy Jones had lost his humanity when he cut out his heart and yet, Will Turner had not. He had asked Calypso about it once but the Sea Goddess had failed to give him a coherent answer. Will smiled wistfully. There were so many questions in the world and not nearly enough answers. His smile turned into a frown as he spotted two figures in the ocean. They did not look like the usual souls of those who had died at sea.

Will pulled out his telescope and put it to his eye to take a better look. There were indeed two people in the water, waving their arms to attract his attention. They seemed to be drowning. That was odd. The dead usually floated serenely in the water or in boats, waiting to be taken to the other side. They would certainly not be drowning.

“Mr. Turner!” he shouted to his father and First Mate. “Men overboard on the starboard side!”

“I’m onto it, Cap’n!” said Bootstrap Bill, steering the ship towards the two people. A line was thrown to them and they were hauled onto the deck, coughing up seawater. The two contrasted each other perfectly with their colourings. One was as dark as a Spaniard and the other looked as if he had been made from sunlight.

“This is my third shipwreck,” said the dark man. He had a foreign accent.

“Maybe you should stay on dry land when you get there,” said the one with golden hair.

The darker one of the two looked up at the curious crew. He was about to thank them but his voice died in his throat when he took in Will’s face. Will was astounded, for this man whom he had taken from the sea had exactly the same face as he did, save for a long red scar down the side of his face.

“Balian?” said the golden-haired man. “You didn’t tell me you had a twin brother.”

The one called Balian didn’t respond. He stood and stepped towards Will. Seawater dripped from his hair and clothes and ran down his face. “I thank you all for saving our lives,” he said “but please, tell us where we are, and who you are.”

“You’re...you’re at World’s End,” said Will, not taking his eyes off Balian. “I’m Captain Will Turner of the Flying Dutchman. This is my crew. We ferry the souls of those who died at sea to the other side.” He looked Balian up and down. “You don’t seem dead to me.”

“I’m not,” said Balian. “At least, if I am, I don’t remember dying.”

“Is your heart still beating?” asked Will.

Balian felt for his pulse. “Yes,” he said. “It is.”

“This is strange,” said Will.

Balian’s companion also had the same face as Will and Balian and he seemed a lot more wary about Will and his crew. He introduced himself as Legolas, and Will gleaned the remaining information from Balian. Legolas was an elf, the man told him. Will had always thought of elves as small, pixie-like creatures but apparently, he had thought wrong. Balian was French, which explained the strange accent. What it didn’t explain was how they could understand each other when Balian told him that he did not know a word of English.

“I think there are supernatural forces at work here,” said Will. “It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. Some higher being wants us to understand each other. Our meeting, therefore, was not a coincidence.”

“Is there anyone who might know why we’re here?” said Legolas.

“Perhaps,” said Will.


Captain Jack Sparrow drained the last drop of rum and peered wistfully into the bottle. “Why is the rum always gone?” he muttered. No one answered him. He didn’t expect an answer. After all, he was sitting in a leaky dinghy floating in the middle of nowhere. He put his empty bottle down and took out his scrap of chart and his compass. The chart didn’t make any sense at all, and the compass’ needle kept pointing in different directions, which meant that something was wrong, usually. What he needed was someone who knew every inch of the sea...

Calypso. That name suddenly popped into his mind. Calypso was the Goddess of the Seas. She would know. Jack Sparrow licked his finger and held it up to see which way the wind was blowing, then he looked at his compass again. The needle had stopped moving.


Barbossa was angry. No, to be exact, he was furious. Knowing that he had been thwarted by one of Jack Sparrow’s idiotic ideas was not a good feeling. Recently, he had heard news of that rum-soaked pirate from the island of Tortuga and he was now tracking him through the Caribbean. He peered through his telescope. There. A lone dinghy was sailing doggedly across the azure water. Barbossa smiled. This was the day they would all remember as the day that they caught Captain Jack Sparrow.


Calypso’s old abode looked abandoned, but Jack knew better. This was the Sea Goddess’ temple and the best place to speak with her. He settled himself in a spot that was relatively uncluttered and crossed his legs in a meditative position. Creatures of every denomination had established themselves in this tiny wooden shack. The pirate flicked away an over-inquisitive flying insect that had landed on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and concentrated his thoughts...


Balian spluttered and coughed up seawater. Everything had happened so quickly that he had not had the time to register what had happened. One moment, the sun was setting and then there was an eerie green flash of light. The next thing he saw was the rising sun. Legolas was glaring at the captain for not having given them ample warning. The elf was soaking wet like the rest of them but he was decidedly tidy. He looked as if he had been bathing with his clothes on instead of being dunked in the ocean. Balian brushed his wet hair out of his face and peered up at Will.

“We’re back in the land of the living,” said the captain.

“Oh,” said Balian. He didn’t know what to say.

“You said we’re going to find answers,” said Legolas who was still scowling. Balian wondered if his friend’s sea-longing was affecting him again. The elf wasn’t usually this short-tempered.

“We need to go upriver to find them,” said Will “and I cannot step onto land until my ten years are over. I’ll take you to the island. Will you be able to find the way by yourselves if I give you directions?”

“We can try,” said Balian. “We’ll come back to find you if we can’t.”

“Just don’t maroon us on the island,” said Legolas darkly. He didn’t trust these people. They felt wrong, especially the captain. His sea-longing was stronger than ever. He decided not to tell Balian for fear of worrying the young man.

“I give you my word as the captain of the Flying Dutchman that I won’t maroon you,” said Will, wondering what he had done to win the elf’s mistrust.


Life was going on as usual in the city of Troy. Vendors displayed their wares on the streets. Children ran about underfoot, laughing in their play. Inside the palace, King Priam was seated on his throne, reading a letter from King Menelaus of Sparta. He handed the document to a tall, broad-shouldered young man with well-formed features and a neatly trimmed beard. “What do you make of this, Hector?” said the old King after his son had read the letter.

“I think we should accept his offer, Father,” said Hector, heir to the Trojan throne and light of the Dardan lands. “Menelaus is an honourable man. I believe he is sincere in his desire for peace between Sparta and Troy. If you will allow me, I shall go to Sparta to negotiate with Menelaus.”

Calchas, High Priest of Troy, listened intently to the conversation between the King and his son. Hector was so unlike Priam, who had absolute faith in the gods and their priests. Hector tended to question every omen and he viewed Calchas with suspicion. The High Priest knew that his days of power were drawing to an end if he did not act soon. Priam was old. He could not have many more days left on earth. Hector would replace him as King and Calchas’ influence would diminish as the new King would not trust him enough. And now, here was the perfect chance to get rid of Hector once and for all and replace him with his hapless younger brother, Paris.

The High Priest planned to send a message to Agamemnon, High King of Mycenae and Menelaus’ older brother, asking him to order Menelaus to kill Hector in exchange for control over Troy. Or maybe they could tamper with the ship. Poseidon was unpredictable. Who knew when He would decide to curse travellers?

“What do you think of this?” Priam asked Calchas.

“I think the prince should be allowed to go to Sparta, for the sake of our two nations,” replied Calchas. “The gods will it.”

“Then you shall go to Sparta, my son,” said Priam, turning back to Hector. “You shall go and forge peace between our two nations. Paris shall go with you. He has been asking me to give him a commission. I have been reluctant to do so but since he will be under your guidance, I will not worry. This will be his opportunity to prove that he is worthy of tasks of greater importance.”

Hector hesitated. Paris? He loved his brother but he was not oblivious to the younger man’s flaws. Being a younger son who had been overindulged since birth, Paris was an irresponsible young man who left a trail of broken-hearted girls and women behind him wherever he went. But then, maybe all Paris needed was a chance to be responsible.

“I shall inform Paris of your intentions,” said Hector, bowing his head in deference to his father.


Balian eyed the dense sunless forest around him warily, expecting the trees to begin moving any moment. Ever since the battle of Helms Deep, the blacksmith had treated forests with suspicion and had given them a wide berth, much to his elven friend’s amusement.

“Relax, my friend,” said Legolas as he manned the oars of their longboat. “The trees are not going to eat you.”

“They killed the orcs,” said the man. “Are we there yet?”

“We should be almost there if the instructions that your friend Will Turner gave us were correct,” said Legolas.

“I don’t know why you don’t like him,” said Balian. “He seems decent enough.”

“He’s a pirate, and I can feel there’s something wrong with him,” said Legolas. “The shack’s just ahead and it seems we’re not the only ones who have come here to find this Calypso.” There was a little sailboat floating just outside the shack. Compared to the Flying Dutchman, it looked like a toy. The two companions tied their boat to a tree and stepped on shore.

It was dark inside the shack. Only the weakest rays of sunlight came in through the grimy windows to penetrate the gloom. Balian moved as carefully as he could, trying not to disturb the piles of clutter. There was a click and he felt something cold and hard against the back of his head.


Jack heard something, but it was not Calypso. He was not alone in the shack. There were two other people. It was too dark to make out their faces. He crept up behind one of them and put his pistol to the back of the man’s head. His hand was on the butt of his other pistol, ready to point it at the stranger’s companion who had gone out of sight. “Put your hands in the air,” he growled.

“Are you Calypso?” said the stranger. He made no move to do as he had been told.

“I don’t think it matters what I am and what I am not, mate,” said Jack. “I got me gun trained on your head and if you don’t do as you’re told I’ll blow your brains out, savvy?”

“What’s a gun?” said the stranger. Jack was speechless. Who on earth did not know what a gun was? Before he could say anything, he felt the cold caress of a blade on his throat.

“Release him,” said the other stranger. Jack had to admit, he was good. There weren’t many people who could sneak up on Captain Jack Sparrow and put a blade to his neck without him knowing until it was too late.

“You know, son, I can probably blow his brains out quicker than you can cut my throat,” said Jack.

“Do you want to test that theory?” said the second stranger.

“Do I get a say in this?” asked the first stranger. He turned his head to glance backwards. “I really don’t want to be part of this little experiment. And what is a gun?”

“Will Turner?” said Jack as he caught a glimpse of the man’s face. “What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be on the Dutchman.”

“I’m not Will,” said the man who looked like Will “but he sent us here to find answers.”

Jack got a good idea. Maybe he couldn’t find Calypso, but Will was the next best thing. He was the captain of the Flying Dutchman and master of the seas, albeit the seas on the other side. He would probably know where the Fountain of Youth was. “I have the answers,” he told them “and if you’ll be so kind as to take me to the good captain, I shall divulge them when I see him.” He removed the pistol from the first stranger’s head and he felt the blade being taken away from his neck.

“What’s your name?” he asked the first stranger who seemed the friendlier of the two.

“Balian,” he replied.

“That’s a strange name,” commented Jack.

“What sort of name is Calypso?” asked the other stranger.

“I have no idea,” said the pirate. “Gentlemen, shall we?” He indicated the longboat.


Barbossa spotted Jack, but the twice-cursed rum-soaked pirate was not alone. He was in a longboat with two other men, one of which looked suspiciously like William Turner the Second. What was the captain of the Flying Dutchman doing with Jack Sparrow? Wasn’t he supposed to be at World’s End ferrying the souls of the dead? He decided to trail the longboat and was unpleasantly surprised when it stopped beside a very familiar looking ship. So the Dutchman was on this side again. Had Turner decided to become the terror of the seas as Jones had been? It hadn’t even been ten years yet and the last time he had seen Elizabeth Swann-Turner —which had been only a few months ago— she had still been very faithful to her husband.

The crew had also spotted the Dutchman and they were very nervous. “What should we do, Cap’n?” said Pintel.

“We wait,” said Barbossa.

The three men in the longboat climbed onboard the ship, only to be greeted by yet another William Turner. This was getting very strange and Barbossa was itching to find out just who was the real captain of the Flying Dutchman.


“Will,” said Balian. “We’ve brought Calypso. He said he would give us answers if he saw you.”

Will was only half listening. Behind him, Bootstrap snorted with laughter. The younger Turner’s attention was focused on the very familiar newcomer, who grinned.

“My dear William,” said Jack. “How lovely to see you, mate.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Will.

“Your friends brought me here,” replied Jack.

“You tricked them.”

“It’s their fault they were gullible enough to be tricked.”

“I take it this is not Calypso,” said Legolas.

“No,” said Will. “Calypso is decidedly female. This is Jack Sparrow.”

Captain,” added Jack. “It’s Captain Jack Sparrow.”

“You said you would give us answers,” said Balian, stepping forward to look Jack in the eye.

“Sorry, mate,” said Jack with a shrug. “I lied.”

“Pirates,” muttered Legolas.

“What do you want, Jack?” said Will. “And no, I am not joining in on one of your harebrained schemes again.”

“Well, William, let me tell you something. Last I remembered, you were the one who...oh bugger.” Jack’s eyes were focused beyond Will. He was gazing with dismay at something on the horizon. Will turned to see what he was staring at.

The Black Pearl in all its splendour was sailing towards them. “Jack,” said Will. “Did you and Barbossa have another disagreement?”

“Captain Turner!” called Barbossa as soon as they were within speaking distance. “I believe you have a certain pirate on board!”

“We’re all pirates here, Barbossa!” replied Will. “Which one do you want?”

“You know exactly which one!” said Barbossa. He had Sao Feng’s charts in his hand and angrily, he unfurled them. In the centre was a circular hole where the map had been.

“You marooned me on Tortuga,” said Jack from behind Will “so we’re fair and square.”

Balian gaped at the pirates. How could they be so deceitful? In all his life he had never met someone who was as accomplished in the skill of lying as Jack Sparrow and he wondered how men could have so little honour.

Before Barbossa could retort, lightning flashed across the sky, followed by roaring thunder. A jagged bolt of lightning snaked down from the gathered storm clouds and struck the water between the two ships. A whirlpool formed where the lightning had struck and it drew the two vessels in towards the centre.

‘Not again,’ thought the blacksmith. ‘I’ve only just arrived.’


A/N: Here’s the first chapter. The story will get more interesting once Balian and his friends meet Hector and Paris.
Telcontar Rulz
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Old February 15th, 2008, 08:35 AM
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KiwiGirl KiwiGirl is offline
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Wow - so many threads in there. I just smiled when Jack appeared. Just sat here and smiled. God I love that man.

Great start and I like all the suspicion and distrust, this is going to get interesting......very interesting...

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Old February 16th, 2008, 08:27 AM
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Telcontar Rulz Telcontar Rulz is offline
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Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Disclaimer: I don’t own Balian, Will, Legolas, Jack, Paris, Hector etc. I’m just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them.

Chapter 2: Many Questions

As the sun rose over Troy, it found men preparing a seaworthy vessel for the two princes’ imminent voyage to Sparta. Hector was overseeing the preparations and he wondered where Paris was. They were setting out as soon as the sun touched the top of Mount Ida and yet there was no sign of the younger prince.

“Hector!” The Crown Prince turned to see his sister Cassandra running towards him. Her wild curls were in disarray, as usual. The morning light accented the shadows under her eyes and the hollowness of her cheeks. “Don’t go to Sparta, please don’t,” begged Cassandra. “This voyage will bring back nothing but disaster for Troy. I know it! I have seen it!”

Hector sighed. He was in no mood for another one of Cassandra’s depressing ‘prophecies’, if they could be called that. He loved his sister dearly but there was no denying that she was mad. She seemed to delight in predicting death and doom. He took her by the shoulders gently and tried to calm her down. “Relax, Cassandra, it’s alright,” he said. “We’re going to Sparta to make peace. There won’t be any disasters, trust me.”

“No, Hector, you don’t understand!” Cassandra was beginning to grow hysterical. Hector did not want his sister to create a scene. “You have to believe what I saw!”

“Of course I believe what you saw,” said Hector. He spotted Paris —finally— in the distance. His younger brother had to ability to charm any female creature, even Cassandra. If anyone could calm her down, it was Paris. At the moment, the younger prince was deep in conversation with their cousin Aeneas. Hector tried to beckon to Paris as subtly as possible. Thankfully, Paris saw. He excused himself from Aeneas and ran down to Hector and Cassandra.

“Sister dear,” said Paris. “What’s wrong? Has Hector upset you again?”

Hector glared at Paris.

“Don’t go to Sparta,” said Cassandra. “Tell Hector not to go. You can’t go to Sparta!”

“It isn’t really Hector’s decision, Cassandra,” said Paris soothingly. “Father made him, but if you’re so certain that we shouldn’t go to Sparta then I shall try my best to persuade our brother.” He winked at Hector, who wondered how Cassandra could still fall for his tricks after numerous times.

‘Life would be so much easier if I had Paris’ charm,’ he thought.

“Do you promise?” said Cassandra, looking Paris in the eye.

“I promise,” lied Paris smoothly without so much as blinking. Cassandra relaxed considerably. She was about to say more but a fanfare announced the King’s arrival. All of them dropped down onto their knees to greet Priam and his entourage which included Queen Hecuba, Hector’s wife Andromache and their infant son Astyanax, and Ganymede, the youngest of Priam and Hecuba’s sons.

“Arise,” said Priam. His gaze was focused on his two older sons. He smiled at them benevolently. “Hector, Paris, come here to receive an old man’s blessing.”

Hector approached Priam first, as protocol dictated. The old king kissed his eldest son’s forehead and whispered words of blessing into his ear. Priam repeated the procedure with Paris and then it was the rest of the family’s turn to bid the two princes farewell. Andromache went up to Hector with Astyanax in her arms. Hector took his tiny son from his wife.

“Are you going to say goodbye to me, little one?” he said, smiling down at his son whose fingers were wrapped around his thumb. “Are you going to say goodbye to Papa?” He tickled the baby’s stomach, making him giggle. Andromache smiled as she watched her husband play with their son. She took Astyanax back just as something pounced on Hector.

“Ganymede,” chided Hector as he shook his younger brother off. “I’m getting too old for this. If you must annoy someone, annoy Paris.”

“Hah! I’d squash him flat if I tried that with him,” said Ganymede. “The maidens of Troy wouldn’t be too pleased if I did.”

At thirteen years of age, Ganymede was a beautiful boy. Paris was handsome but Ganymede was beautiful, and he knew it. Hector knew that he could charm women better than Paris if he put his mind to it.

“Well, go annoy Aeneas then,” said Hector.

“I’d rather not. He swore he’d break my legs if I tried to annoy him. I wish I could go with you, Hector. It sounds like such an adventure. Things are going to be so dull with you and Paris gone. I’ll only have Cassandra and Briseis for company. No more scandals, no one to annoy, what am I going to do?”

“Look after your parents, your sisters, Ganymede, and don’t forget your nephew, oh and Briseis of course.”

“I’m not a family man, not like you.” Ganymede gave Hector a hug. “Will you promise to tell me everything when you get back?”

“I promise, little brother.”


Balian hung on grimly to the railings of the ship as it was dragged down into the ocean’s depths. The water closed over his head. Salty brine flooded his nostrils and then, the ship stopped moving and he could breathe again. “What on earth is going on?” he heard Will say. “I’m on land...what? How?”

“I dunno,” said Jack Sparrow. “It don’t look good though.”

Balian scrambled to his feet and brushed his wet hair away from his eyes to see what was going on. The ships were safe. In fact, they were very safe for they were stuck on a high barren island beyond the reach of the tide. There was no other land within sight and t he only creatures they could see were a few lonely seagulls., wailing mournfully as they wheeled in the clear cloudless sky. The hot sun quickly dried them, leaving them caked with salt.

“We’re going to die of thirst here if we don’t do something,” said Legolas. His long golden hair was stiff with salt.

“Do you see more land or other ships or anything, Legolas?” asked Balian.

“Yes,” said the elf. “I see the sea.”

“As if I don’t know that.”

“You asked.”

“Lower the longboats,” said Will. “My crew won’t die of thirst and starvation but you will. I found you and it is my responsibility to ensure that you reach safety.”

“What about me?’ said Jack. “I’m still mortal, you know.”

“You can come with us,” said Will. The Black Pearl’s remaining crew were already lowering the longboats. They could hear Barbossa shouting orders.

“Mr. Turner,” said Will. “In my absence you are in charge of this ship and the crew.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” said Bootstrap. Balian saw the smile that they shared and wondered why it was the son who was the captain and not the father. It seemed rude to ask especially since he did not know either Will or Bootstrap that well. The Dutchman’s crew lowered one longboat. Balian, Legolas and Will carried it down to the water while Jack carried the oars and a grimy bottle of dark brown liquid. Every now and then, the pirate swigged from it.

“What is that?” whispered Balian to Will. The captain grimaced.

“That, my friend, is rum, the vilest drink in the world,” said Will. “I only have it on board my ship because for some inexplicable reason, my crew are addicted to it. I allow this one addiction because rum is a good substitute for gunpowder when one is desperate.”

“What’s gunpowder?” said Balian.

“It’s powder which explodes when ignited,” said Will, thinking that this was one ignorant blacksmith. ‘Then again,’ he thought ‘he’s French. I suppose that would explain it.’

“That reminds me; what’s a gun? I think Jack tried to threaten me with one.”

“Sure did, mate,” said Jack. He put down the oars then took out his pistol to show it to Balian and Legolas.

“It doesn’t look like much,” said Balian, looking down at the curious metal object.

“Neither does the whelp,” said Jack, jerking his head in Will’s direction. Will pressed his lips together in a grim line. “Do not underestimate it.” Balian was not sure whether Jack meant the ‘gun’ or Will.

“So what does it do?” said Legolas.

“It shoots out hard metal balls,” said Will.

“Like a slingshot?” asked Balian. Jack and Will looked at each other. What sort of blacksmith did not understand what a gun was?

“In a manner,” said Will, who did not want to explain the inner workings of modern artillery. “Come on, I don’t like this place. I’m not supposed to be on land until my ten years are up and they are definitely not up.”

The other ship’s crew —or rather, what remained of it— had reached the water’s edge and were pushing their boats in. The captain called Barbossa was sharing a boat with two contrasting men. One was tall and lanky with a wooden eye while the other was fat and short. A strange furry creature perched on Barbossa’s shoulder. Will called it a ‘monkey’.

Apparently, Wooden Eye and his companion were having problems. Wooden Eye was complaining that his companion was rowing too fast while the fat pirate was complaining that Wooden Eye was not rowing fast enough. At the moment, their boat was going around in a large circle but a circle nonetheless. Jack watched them with some amusement. Some things just don’t change, do they?” he asked. Will didn’t answer. He was busy staring into the distance with a wistful look on his face.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” he breathed, not talking to anyone in particular.

‘Who’s Elizabeth,’ thought Balian.

“Ah, Jack Sparrow,” said Barbossa as his two crew members finally came to an understanding and were catching up to the other boats. “At last. I’ve waited for this moment for a long time.”

“It’s Captain Jack Sparrow,” said Jack, flashing a grin while trying to hide behind Will.

“Well, captain or not, you’re in my grasp now,” said Barbossa.

“Not while I’m under the protection of the captain of the Flying Dutchman, mate,” said Jack smugly with a twinkle in his eye. His grin was as wide as ever.

“What ?” said Will, who had not been paying very much attention.

“Hush, William,” said Jack. “I promise to tell you about your bonnie lass if you say ‘yes’.”

“I mean, yes, Barbossa. Jack’s right,” said Will hurriedly, not really understanding what was going on between Barbossa and Jack. “Now tell me about Elizabeth.”

“She’s fine,” said Jack. Will looked at him dolefully. “Oh, alright. She’s in New England now, and did I tell you that you’re a father, William?”

“No,” whispered Will. “You didn’t.”

“Well, now I have,” said Jack with a flourish.

“I could’ve told you that,” said Barbossa “and more besides. You have a son. William James Turner. He looks just like you and he and his mother should be managing well, financially at least. I share me plunder with them every now and then. Just gave them some gold not three months ago. It should last them a year or two.”

Will was speechless. Barbossa was helping to support his wife and child? Who would’ve thought? Then again, Barbossa always had a soft spot for Elizabeth.

“Not to interrupt,” said Legolas “but there is a ship on the horizon. It’s sailing towards us.”

“What colours?” said Jack.

“Colours?” said Legolas

“Flags,” said Will.

“Looks like some sort of animal,” said the elf, shading his eyes with a slender hand. “A horse, or maybe a dog.”

Barbossa peered through his telescope in the direction that Legolas was pointing at. “It looks like an ancient Greek galley,” said the pirate. He turned to Legolas. “You have good eyes, boy.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m probably older than your grandfather so it would be most inappropriate for you to call me ‘boy’,” said the elf

“He’s immortal,” said Balian quickly before Barbossa could take offence.

“Is he now?” said Barbossa. Both he and Jack looked very interested. Balian paid no attention to them. Rather, he was busy trying to attract the ship’s attention, as many of the other sailors were doing. The blacksmith stripped off his outer shirt and was waving it wildly. He hoped that the people on board the ship could see.


Paris peered across the azure water. He could hear the oarsmen behind him and the sound of Hector’s carving knife as he whittled a wooden toy for Astyanax. Paris wondered if he would ever fall in love as Hector had done with Andromache. The younger prince had bedded many women but none of them had managed to capture his heart. He frowned as he caught sight of something in the distance. A flag out in the middle of the ocean? Someone was waving it. Whoever it was, they seemed desperate. “Hector!” he said. “Someone’s out there.”

Hector stopped whittling and went over to look in the direction at which Paris was pointing. “Do you see it?” asked Paris.

“I think there are boats,” said Hector. He turned to the oarsmen. “Increase your speed!”


Balian could see it quite clearly now. It was a very strange ship, unlike any that he had ever seen. There were eyes painted on its prow to make it seem like a living creature. Dark-skinned people manned it. The blacksmith stopped his waving. At the prow of the ship was another young man who looked very much like Legolas, Will and himself.


Cassandra fought the unease which lurked in the pit of her stomach. She could not eat or sleep and had not been able to ever since Paris and Hector had left for Sparta. They were still not back yet, which could only mean that Hector had no intention of not going to Sparta. She prayed to the gods for guidance but as usual, they gave her none.

“Cassandra,” said a cheerful voice. She glanced around to see her brother Ganymede. He was dressed in civilian clothing.

“Ganymede? Where are you going?” she asked. Her unease increased.

“Just down to the beach. I want to explore some of the caves,” said the youngest prince. At the mention of the word ‘caves’, Cassandra saw a flash of red before her eyes.

Ganymede, don’t go down to the caves,” she said. “Something’s there...”

“Oh no, not another prophecy,” groaned Ganymede. He made to leave.

“No, listen to me...” began Cassandra, but her brother was already gone.


Calchas listened to the messenger’s reply from Agamemnon. Menelaus had refused to have Hector murdered, calling it dishonourable and cowardly. He pondered his problem in the gloom of the cave. The sound of the sea echoed. He fancied that Poseidon was speaking to him. Either way, Hector would die; he just preferred to have him die in Sparta so that Menelaus could be held responsible, thus shifting the blame. “If Menelaus won’t do it, then we must think of something else...” began the High Priest.


A/N: Love it? Hate it?

Thanks, Kiwi. Jack is such a wonderful character, but I cannot possibly hope to get every aspect of his personality because he is so complex, and has anyone ever seen him not drunk? Anyway, I'm glad you like it.

Aeneas — cousin of Hector and Paris

Astyanax — Hector and Andromache’s son.

Cassandra — younger sister of Hector and Paris. She’s a seer but she’s been cursed so no one believes her and thinks she’s mad.

Ganymede — younger brother of Hector and Paris.

Hecuba — mother of Hector, Paris, Ganymede, Cassandra.
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Old February 16th, 2008, 08:36 AM
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KiwiGirl KiwiGirl is offline
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Oh he is not drunk that much....you have it right when you say complex, he is also very very clever and very deep. I write alot of Jack stuff and it seems like there is just layer after layer to the man..

I am really enjoying the dialogue in this. Made me smile that Barbossa was looking after Elizabeth...

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Old February 17th, 2008, 04:55 AM
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Telcontar Rulz Telcontar Rulz is offline
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Warning: moderate to intense violence in this chapter

Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Disclaimer: I don’t own Balian, Legolas, Will, Paris, Jack, Hector etc. etc. I’m only borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

Chapter 3: A Conspiracy

Ganymede heard men’s voices echoing the dark limestone cave and saw the flickering of firelight on the rough uneven walls. That was odd. He thought no one came down here. It was so hard to access. Quietly, like a cat, he sneaked in, taking care not to slip on rocks which were slimy with seaweed and algae or sharp with oyster shells which jutted out like tiny blades. The voices were magnified by the cave’s vast emptiness. He recognized Calchas’ voice. What was the High Priest doing down here? “...we can send men to Sparta,” Calchas was saying. “They must be handpicked. Hector is a fierce warrior. Only the best can overcome him. If all else fails, I have men on the ship who will finish it, but I would prefer it if Hector could die in Sparta. Once he is dead...”

The young prince let slip a gasp. His eyes were wide with fear and his heart sounded like a herd of horses galloping across the plains. The High Priest and his servants stopped speaking.

“Someone’s here,” said Calchas. “They’ve overheard us.” Ganymede tried to run but strong hands grabbed him and dragged him before Calchas. The High Priest looked down at the boy. “Your highness,” he said, sweeping a mocking bow.

“What are you going to do to me?” said Ganymede, breathing rapidly. His voice came out sounding strangled and his heartbeat was unbearably loud in the stillness of the cave.

“I wouldn’t dare, your highness,” said Calchas in a dramatic manner as if he was a player doing a performance before the King. “But I have been thinking, it would be cruel to send your brother down to Hades all by himself with no companion. He would be so lonely. Perhaps you could go before him and show him the way when he arrives.”

Ganymede was speechless with fear. Before he could react, he was thrown onto his back. His died in his throat as someone plunged a cold blade into his chest and through his heart. Everything faded and turned black...

Blood poured out from the gaping hole in the boy’s chest when the man pulled out his sword and wiped the blade clean on the prince’s clothes. Calchas looked on indifferently. A pity. Ganymede was such a beautiful boy, even in death. The High Priest’s servants wrapped up the body and weighted the bloody bundle down with stones before offering it into the ocean’s watery embrace. It was a necessary sacrifice to ensure that the High Priest’s plan succeeded.


The sun had set, and yet Ganymede still had not returned to the palace. Frantic with worry, Cassandra told Aeneas who immediately set out to find the missing prince. Their efforts proved to be fruitless. Ganymede had disappeared, as if the earth had swallowed him whole. The two of them went to Priam, who summoned the High Priest to ask him what had happened.

“Ah,” said Calchas when he heard of Ganymede’s disappearance. “I was in the temple today when I was granted a vision. It seems that Prince Ganymede was walking alone along the beach when Zeus, King of the gods, saw him. Moved by his beauty, He took him up to Mount Olympus to be the divine Cupbearer. The prince, your majesty, has been deified. You should rejoice for him.”

Cassandra could feel that something was wrong, but she didn’t know what. Something about the High Priest made her want to shudder. When she met his eyes, red flashed before her again. “Ganymede’s not on Mount Olympus,” she whispered. “He’s in Hades.” The tears started flowing and she began to scream hysterically, tearing at her face and hair. “Oh my brother! He’s in Hades! He’s dead!”

Priam, who had been shocked by the surprising revelation of Ganymede’s deification was shaken out of his stupor by Cassandra’s cries. “Take her away,” he said. “She is mad! Her words are poison! My son isn’t dead; he’s with the gods!” Aeneas quickly dragged Cassandra away before she angered the King further. She struggled against him with every step. He was thankful that she was light and frail, like a baby bird. Her struggles were futile against his strength. That did not stop her from trying though.

“It’s alright,” he said in his most soothing tone. “Everything’s going to be fine. Ganymede’s a god now. He’s happy. Hush, it’s alright...” Her hands beat against him. She was not calming down at all. Where was Paris when he was needed?


Paris gaped at the men in the boats. Three of them had his face although one was very fair with long golden hair and pointed ears while the other two were dark and bearded, one of them more so than the other. They all wore strange garments which were at the moment stiff with salt from the dried seawater. The man who had been waving the makeshift flag spoke first. “Can you help us?” he said. “We’re lost.”

“Where are you heading?” asked Hector.

“Just land; any land, with fresh water and supplies,” replied the stranger.

“We’re going to Sparta,” said Hector. There was something about this man...something special, as if he was blessed by the gods. “You can come with us.”

“Many thanks,” said the man. He turned to his companions and they all began a rapid discussion which included many loud screeches from a small monkey. The old man wearing a garment on his head with a large feather seemed reluctant to accept Hector’s offer.

“I don’t think we should accept the offer so easily,” said Barbossa. “Who knows what ill intent they’re harbourin’?”

“I think their offer is genuine,” said Balian. “If they want to kill us they can just leave us here to die of exposure. I suggest that we take the risk and go with them, Captain Barbossa.”

“Mebbe ‘e’s right, cap’n,” said Pintel hesitantly, afraid of inducing Barbossa’s wrath. “Gettin’s shot’s better than starvin’ or dyin’ o’ thirst.”

“Aye! I second that!” said Jack enthusiastically, pointing a finger at the sky. He shrunk back when Barbossa glared at him. Jack the monkey screeched and Jack the pirate made a face at said monkey.

Hector took in the interaction between the man with the braided beard and the small monkey. They were certainly a strange lot. “Are you sure it’s wise to let them join us?” said Paris, eyeing the three men who had his face.

“We can’t just leave them out here to die,” said Hector. He told the men to lower a rope ladder down the side of the galley. The man who had spoken to them climbed up first, followed by his golden companion. The others came up one after the other. The old man with the monkey was the last. The waves were increasing and he seemed to be having a little trouble balancing. Hector held out a hand to him. The man glanced at it and then accepted his offer to help, although he did so warily. Hector pulled him up onto the deck. One of the crew was offering the strangers drinks of water. The stranger who had first spoken took a cup and put it to his lips. He nodded at the others who immediately drank their fill.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Why were you out there with nothing but small boats?” asked Hector.

“Our ships were stranded on a barren island by a huge wave,” said another man who also looked like Paris but was lightly bearded and wore a cloth about his head. “We had no choice but to take the boats and try our luck.”

“The gods must have smiled upon you then, for you are lucky that we found you,” said Hector. “I am Hector, son of King Priam of Troy.”

“I am Balian,” said the stranger who had first spoken to them. “I am a blacksmith.”

“What’s a blacksmith?” asked Paris.

“Err...” said Balian. He seemed to be at a loss for words.

“He works with metal,” cut in his golden friend. “He makes weapons and the like.”

“Ah, a metal smith,” said Hector. Balian nodded. The prince turned to the golden man. “And you?”

“I am Legolas, son of Thranduil,” he said.

“That is a very strange name,” said Paris.

“Paris,” chided Hector. He turned to Legolas. “Paris is my younger brother, and I’m sorry if he’s offended you.”

“Mind you,” cut in the man with the braided beard. “’Legless’ is truly a very strange name.”

“Don’t mind Jack Sparrow,” said the other man who looked like Paris.

“Captain, my dear William. Captain Jack Sparrow.”

The others all introduced themselves with foreign sounding names. Barbossa and Jack seemed to be mortal enemies. Hector was intrigued by Balian and his godlike friend Legolas. Both of them were so different from their companions. Balian carried many battle scars and despite the fact that it was he who had first spoken to the Trojan’s, he was in fact a man of very few words, preferring actions to speech. Hector was curious about Balian’s sword. It was shiny like silver and there was a ruby in the hilt. It was the most beautiful sword that he had ever seen, although the shape was strange.

Legolas was very dignified and Hector sometimes even felt intimidated in his presence. He looked young, but he felt as if he was as wise as any old sage or oracle. The golden being carried two bone-handled knives with blades that were tinted with blue. He also had a beautiful light bow. The prince guessed that he was a warrior, like his friend Balian.

In contrast, the others were a noisy and undignified bunch, maybe with the exception of William, who preferred to be called ‘Will’. The Trojan Crown Prince found this shortening of names an interesting idea. Why did anyone want to shorten their name? It wasn’t as if William was really a huge mouthful.

Paris wondered how such different people met each other and managed to cooperate. There had to be a fascinating story behind all of this. He was itching to know what it was.


The next day, the sun rose to find the Trojan ship still alone on the blue sea. Balian woke as the sunlight bathed his face and broke through his dreams. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Hector was already awake. He was carving something out of wood as the wind toyed with his hair. Legolas was at the prow, staring out into the distance while Jack the monkey perched on his shoulder. The elf stroked the small furry animal absent-mindedly. Everyone else was still asleep.

Hector looked up and smiled genially. “I hope you are well rested,” he said.

“I am, thank you,” said Balian. He rested his hands on the rail of the ship and took in a deep breath of sea air. It was fresh, with a hint of brine. The wind was comfortably cool but he knew it would get hotter as the day progressed. There was not a wisp of cloud in the sky to shade them from the sun’s glare.

Hector glanced at Balian’s hand. There was a large scar on the back of it. It looked as if someone had branded the man. Was Balian an escaped slave? If so, the sword which he carried had to have been stolen. “Might I ask how you got that scar?” said the prince.

“He was captured by the enemy and tortured,” said Legolas, before Balian could reply. “We were fighting a war against a dark lord who would’ve taken over our world had we lost.”

“I’m sorry,” said Hector to Balian. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You saved our lives,” said Balian. “You have every right to ask.”

‘How like Paris he is,’ thought Hector as he observed Balian ‘and yet they are so different.’ It would be interesting to get to know all the newcomers. “How did you get that sword?” he asked out loud.

“It’s a family heirloom. My father gave it to me.”

“Where’s your father?”

“Dead.” With some coaxing and prompting from Legolas, Balian told Hector about his life and how he had gotten every single one of his scars. As Hector listened, he felt a stab of pity for the man. He loved both Andromache and Astyanax very much and could not bear the thought of losing either of them. To lose both would be the death of him. Here was a man who had lost both his wife and child, all in the matter of a few months. It was as if the gods had cursed Balian.

Balian finished his story by telling Hector how they became stranded on the island and had to venture out to sea in those little boats. “I’m very glad we met you,” said Balian.

“Or else we’d all be mummified,” said Jack from behind. It seemed as if everyone had heard Balian’s story and they were all looking at him with a mixture of emotions.

“I’m sorry about your wife and child,” said Will. “I can’t imagine losing Elizabeth... and my son.”

“It’s alright, Will,” said Balian. “It happened four years ago. Time has lessened my pain.”

“But it will never really go away,” said Hector. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my wife and son like that.”

“God willing, you won’t find out,” said Balian.

“It’s just like one of them fairy tales,” whispered Ragetti to Pintel.

“He got rich,” said Pintel, staring at Balian, mostly at the sword which the blacksmith was carrying. The fat pirate wondered what the ruby alone was worth. It was bright red and shiny and very beautiful.

“Yeah, but he’s still a good man,” said Ragetti in awe. “Imagine that —getting rich and still being able to get to Heaven. I wonder how he did that.”

Jack rolled his eyes. He was more interested in how Balian got given his immortality. If one was immortal then one would not have to worry about going to either Heaven or Hell, and have time to get rich and drink rum.

The heat grew intolerable as the day progressed. Many of the men, including Balian, had stripped of their shirts and shoes. Despite the heat, Legolas did not strip off his clothing in the manner of the men, knowing that they would find his hairless body strange. He did not want anyone questioning his ability to sire children. Already, Jack had twice accused Will of being a eunuch, despite the fact that the man had sired a son. The elf felt sympathy for the captain of the Flying Dutchman, and also admired him for the stoic manner with which he bore the insults. Will just simply ignored Jack. Despite the fact that the elf felt there was something wrong with Will, Legolas was beginning to like him. Will was more dignified and seemed to have more honour than the other pirates. In fact, he was a lot like Balian in some ways.

Late in the afternoon, Legolas saw land. They had reached Sparta. From a distance, it wasn’t much to look at. All they could see were a few galleys and a simple wooden dock. Hector knew that the spirit of Sparta did not lie in its appearance but in the strength of its people.

Balian, Legolas and the pirates stayed on the ship while the princes and their escort went onto the shore where they were greeted by the entire Spartan court. The elf caught a glimpse of the Spartan queen. For a human, she was very beautiful and in total contrast with her husband who was old and fat and completely graceless. He thought that she looked sad. The Trojan princes greeted the King of Sparta. Not once did Helen take her gaze off Paris and the younger prince seemed to return the gesture. It was as if the arrival of Paris had given the queen a spark of hope. Legolas felt that there would be trouble brewing. Men usually did not take well to other men who interested their wives.


Balian noticed that ever since their return to the land of the Living and Will had discovered that he could walk on land, he had been rather quiet. The blacksmith wondered why Will couldn’t go on land in the first place but when he tried asking him, the captain had not given a clear answer. Jack’s answers were no more coherent than Will’s but Barbossa proved to be much more helpful.

Despite his gruff exterior, the old pirate had a soft heart. The fact that he was helping to support Will’s family proved that. It turned out that Will literally didn’t have a heart and was therefore technically not alive. ‘No wonder Legolas felt there was something wrong with Will,’ thought Balian, feeling very sorry for the young pirate.

Ragetti and Pintel had taken to asking Balian questions, much to the others’ amusement. Ragetti wanted to know how to be a good man while being a pirate and Pintel wanted to know how to seduce a princess. Balian didn’t have any answers and he became more and more flustered as they tried to coax him into telling them. Legolas was bent over double from laughing and when Balian glared at him for not coming to his rescue, the elf just laughed harder.

Jack managed to never find himself alone with Barbossa. He had attached himself to Will. Legolas had befriended the monkey. The furry animal seemed to understand when the elf spoke to him in his native tongue, something which intrigued all of them. The sound of elvish was so musical; it was almost as if the elf was singing even if he was not.

“When do you think the other two will come back?” Barbossa asked Balian one night as the two of them admired the moon together.

“I don’t know for sure,” said Balian “but knowing peace negotiations, it’s going to take more than a day or two.”

“What about that time at Jerusalem?” asked Barbossa. “You negotiated for peace in under an hour, you said.”

“That’s different. I was negotiating a surrender.”

“I still don’t understand why you refused the King’s offer,” Will cut in. “You could’ve become king and prevented war from taking place.”

“It would have been wrong to be the cause of someone’s death,” said Balian.

“’E won’t sell his soul,” interjected Ragetti.

“I’d sell mine, if the price was high enough,” said Pintel.

“Well, you ain’t no knight, are you?” said Ragetti.

Barbossa rolled his eyes, just as the moon peeked out from behind the clouds. They heard Legolas yelp in alarm. Balian whipped around, hand on sword, ready to fight. He scanned their surroundings. There was no threat in sight.

“The monkey...” began Legolas. His face was as pale as the moon.

“Oh, Jack’s undead,” said Barbossa. “He does that when the moon shines on him.”

“Does what...” began Balian “...oh.” His voice trailed off as he saw the animal, or rather, what remained of it. Its flesh had rotted away. Small scraps still hung on its bones. One sight was enough to give a child nightmares for a year. “Why is he like...that?”

“He took a piece of cursed gold...” began Barbossa. With plenty of interruptions from Jack and some from Will, Ragetti and Pintel, the old pirate told them about the chest of eight hundred and eighty two pieces of cursed Aztec gold and the misadventures which ensued from finding it.

“You know,” said Balian thoughtfully after the pirates had finished their narrative “if eight hundred and eighty two soldiers took that gold —one piece each— and didn’t spend it, they could become an invincible force.”

“A truly discomforting notion, mate,” said Jack. “Imagine; eight hundred and eighty two invincible men under the command of Cutler Beckett or the like...” The pirate shuddered. “I need some rum.” He fished around for his rum bottle but came up empty handed. “Why is the rum always gone?”

“Because you drank it,” said Balian.

Jack looked at him as if he had suggested that they all put on dresses and start dancing. “You’re not making any sense at all,” said the pirate. He sauntered away, leaving Balian utterly perplexed.

“Just ignore him,” advised Will. “He does that a lot.”

“Aye,” said Barbossa. “It’s the lack of rum that’s put him in such a mood.”

“If he’s like that when he’s sober, then I don’t want to know what he’s like when he’s drunk,” said Legolas.

“Oh, I like him better when he’s drunk,” said Barbossa. “He’s much easier to trick.”


A/N: A little bit of action in this chapter. It takes a while for them all to get to know each other and become friends (maybe). The next chapter will be more interesting, I promise.

I don't know if I've done Jack justice here, Kiwi. He's a very hard character to guage. Glad you liked the dialogue for the previous chapter.
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Last edited by Telcontar Rulz; February 17th, 2008 at 05:00 AM.
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Old February 17th, 2008, 08:12 AM
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KiwiGirl KiwiGirl is offline
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Another intriguing chapter...so much detail and I really like the interaction between the shipwrecked and the Trojans.

Just let Jack speak is probably the best advice that I can give with that one. Just write what comes out and don't think about it too much.

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Old February 18th, 2008, 12:34 PM
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erendira erendira is offline
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¡Woow Tel,that´s what I call a feverish imagination....! Balian,Will,Legolas and Paris(not mentioning Hector...) all together in the same boat...OMG,hotness overload...
I like a lot the vision of Legolas stroking Jack (the monkey I mean...)
I´m waiting for next chapter impatiently.....

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Old February 18th, 2008, 06:36 PM
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Telcontar Rulz Telcontar Rulz is offline
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Warning: Violence in this chapter

Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Disclaimer: I don’t own Balian, Legolas, Will, Jack, Hector, Paris etc. I’m just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them.

Chapter 4: Hashashin!

For the first time in his life, Paris felt that he had met his soul mate…in Queen Helen of Sparta whose beauty seemed to surpass every other woman’s. He knew that this was the last thing Troy needed. They were here to negotiate a peace treaty, not steal other men’s wives, but the young man’s basic nature won over his common sense. He was in love and he was so certain that if he needed to die for Helen, then so be it. It was agony, watching Menelaus treat her as if she was just another ornament which decorated his halls.

There was no doubt that Helen felt something for the young prince. Her eyes followed his every move although she dared not speak to him unless it was to exchange pleasantries. How different he was from Menelaus. Where the King of Sparta was rough and loud, Paris was gentle and quiet. He had an air of innocence and naivety about him which attracted Helen as the scent of nectar attracts a butterfly. If only she was free of Menelaus.

Paris ached to free his pent up feelings, but he knew he could not confide in anyone, not even Hector. Especially not Hector. The older prince was a rigid and honourable man who loved Troy above all else. Although Paris loved him and respected him, he doubted that his brother would understand how he was feeling. He sighed. It would have to wait. Both he and Helen dared not show their feelings.

Someone was addressing him. He turned around to find a Spartan noble. ‘Here we go again,’ thought Paris as he launched into another bout of pleasantries.


Legolas was restless. Maybe it was being in such close proximity to the sea which was making him feel like this. His sea-longing had not abated at all ever since he and Balian were shipwrecked. He leaned on the rail and gazed at the stars. Jack the monkey leapt onto the rail and gave and chattered in his own tongue. He held a nut in one small hand and was gazing at the elf with dark soulful eyes. The elf smiled down at the monkey, who quickly lost interest and started gnawing on the nut. ‘If only my life was as simple as yours,’ thought Legolas.

“Is your sea-longing bothering you again?” said Balian, coming to join the elf.

“Yes, no, yes...” said Legolas.

“So is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes... a bit. How do you know about sea-longing?”

“Gandalf explained it...or tried to. I still don’t understand it. Does it mean you want to sail the seas forever?”

“It’s not like that, Balian. It’s hard to explain.”

“We have a lot of time,” said Will, entering into the conversation. “Tell us what this ‘sea-longing’ is. Maybe we can help.”

“Or not,” muttered Jack. “The rum’s all gone.”


Will couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t help but feel uneasy. He wasn’t supposed to be here. The deal was that he ferried the souls for ten years and yet here he was, torn from his task with no explanation whatsoever. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Something compelled him to look into the dark water. The reflection of the moon’s face stared up at him, and then it warped until he saw Calypso.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded of her in a whisper. He didn’t want to wake the others.

“You have a task here, William Turner,” she said. Her voice was like that of the waves crashing upon the shore.

“I’m not supposed to leave my post.”

“We, heathen gods, as you call us, have discussed this. You will not be held responsible. When you get back, you will still be who you are now.”

“What am I supposed to do here?”

“You will see, Captain. You will see.”

‘Heathen gods,’ thought Will. ‘Why won’t they give straight answers?’


Hector leaned on the low wall which surrounded the balcony and gazed eastwards to Troy, towards his homeland. He wondered what his wife was doing at the moment. Probably singing Astyanax to sleep, or trying to. Andromache couldn’t sing, no matter how hard she tried. Paris could sing better than she could and when Paris sang —which was thankfully seldom— he sounded like an ox in the rut. The moon bathed the Trojan prince in mellow silver light. Paris was asleep. It had been a mistake allowing Paris to come to Sparta. He should’ve remembered that Queen Helen of Sparta was rumoured to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

A sound behind him made Hector whip around. “Who’s there?” he said into the darkness of the room. It did not come from the bed where Paris was sleeping.

“What?” said a sleepy Paris.

“There’s something out there,” said Hector. His wariness heightened and his hand strayed to his belt where he always had a dagger. Something was not right. No friendly guest would come in unannounced and hide in the shadows. He heard the scuff of a sandal and then something knocked him off his feet.

In the darkness, Paris could see the black struggling shapes of his brother and the mysterious assailant. Other figures leapt out to attack Hector. The younger prince finally found his voice. “Intruder!” he shouted. He reached for his own dagger, only to find that he had misplaced it. A man leapt at him. Paris saw the glint of bronze in the moonlight. The prince reached out to search for anything that he could defend himself with and found himself hurling the empty chamber pot at his attacker.

There was the pounding of feet outside and then soldiers, Trojan and Spartan alike, burst into the room, led by King Menelaus. Outnumbered, the princes’ assailants were easily overcome and cut down in the chaotic moments that followed. The oil lamps were lit to reveal the aftermath. Six men lay dead. Their blood had been sprayed onto the walls and now stained the floor boards and the animal skins which decorated it.

“What is going on?” demanded Menelaus. “Who are these men?” He flipped over one of the bodies with his foot. The man’s face was covered with cloth, leaving only his eyes. With disdain, the king removed the fabric.

“A Phoenician?” said Hector. What did the Phoenicians have against him?

“Here’s a Hittite,” said someone else. "And a Trojan as well."

“Mercenaries,” spat Menelaus. “I should’ve been more prepared.”

“What do you mean?” said Paris.

“Before you came to Sparta, I received a message from my brother Agamemnon,” began Menelaus. “He wanted me to arrange Prince Hector’s death. I refused. I couldn’t betray a guest under my protection.”

Hector stared at Menelaus, whom he knew to be an honourable and honest man. He could see only the truth in the king’s eyes. “Why would Agamemnon want me dead?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Menelaus. “I don’t think he thought up this all by himself. Someone else wants you dead very much, which might mean you are needed in Troy. I think you should leave soon. You’ll be safer in your own land and you might find more answers there.”

“We’ll leave the day after tomorrow,” said Hector. “I’ll send word to the crew and give them a day to get ready.”


The sky was cloudless and the sea was calm on the day the two Trojan princes set sail for Troy. Balian hoped that there would be no more unexpected storms or whirlpools to suck them into God knew where. Hector had given a very vague explanation for their sudden departure from Sparta. They only knew that the princes were needed back home. Paris was unnaturally quiet, as if he was hiding something, but no one questioned him about it. If he wanted to hide something then it was his business.

When Sparta was out of sight, Paris nervously approached Hector, although he tried to seem relaxed. “A beautiful morning,” he said, glancing up at the sky. The sea breezes tugged at his dark curls like a playful lover. Hector did not look up from his half finished carving of a wooden lion. “Poseidon has blessed our voyage.”

“Sometimes the gods bless you in the morning and curse you in the afternoon,” said Hector.

“Do you love me, brother?” said Paris abruptly. “Would you protect me against any enemy?”

“Last time you spoke to me like this, you were ten years old and you had just stolen Father’s horse,” said Hector. “What have you done now?”

Legolas raised an eyebrow. He had heard every word and nothing that he had heard improved his opinion of the younger prince very much. Paris was too flippant and irresponsible. It seemed that he always relied on his brother to hold up the sky when he caused it to fall.

Paris was silent for a while, and then he met Hector’s gaze. “I must show you something,” he said. He went and opened the hatch which allowed them to go below deck and climbed down. Hector followed.

Balian wandered to Legolas’ side. “What do you think he’s got hidden down there?” said the blacksmith.

“Something which Hector won’t be very pleased about,” replied the elf.

“Now, that just goes without sayin’, Master Legolas,” said Barbossa, coming over to join them.

“I’ll bet he stole something,” said Will.

“How much are you willing to bet?” asked Jack. A voice from below deck stopped Will from having to answer.

“Helen of Sparta?” roared Hector. He clambered back onto the deck. His face was dark with the impending storm of temper which he was about to unleash. “Turn her around! Back to Sparta!”

“He definitely stole something,” said Will.

“You mean ‘borrowed’,” said Jack. “Borrowed without permission and with no intention whatsoever of returning her to her husband.”

“Excuse me,” said Balian. “Isn’t that exactly the same thing as stealing?”

“Of course not,” said Jack. “There is a world of difference.”

“He means in the wording,” said Will.

“Oh,” said Balian and Legolas together.

“For a man who’s just found out that his brother has stolen the queen of an ally, Hector’s pretty calm,” said Barbossa.

“It’s called royal dignity, Captain Barbossa,” said Legolas. “All princes are expected to have it.”

“Hopefully returning the queen to her husband will resolve everything,” said Balian. His voice was full of worry. He thought back to his affair with Sibylla. What a dangerous game they had been playing. One mistake could have brought about both their deaths or worse, cast the kingdom into civil war. “An unfaithful wife is not something that you’d want to start a war over.”

Legolas glanced at Balian. He knew exactly what was on the blacksmith’s mind. “You and Sibylla, you were different,” said the elf.

“It was exactly the same,” said Balian, shaking his head in shame.

“We all make mistakes,” said Legolas. “At least you refrained from making even bigger ones.”

Hector was close to screaming at Paris. They were all impressed with how the older prince managed to refrain from cursing or just throwing his brother overboard. Paris had probably just ruined the Spartan-Trojan alliance with his little romance. “I won’t let you start a war for her,” Hector was saying. His voice was rough with anger.

“May I speak?” said Paris. “What you say is true. I’ve wronged you. I’ve wronged our father. If you want to take Helen back to Sparta then so be it, but I go with her.”

“What an idiot,” muttered Jack.

“To Sparta?” said Hector. “They’ll kill you.”

“Then I’ll die fighting,” said Paris.

“Oh, that sounds heroic to you, doesn’t it, to die fighting?” said Hector. “Tell me, little brother, have you ever killed a man.”

Paris looked down at his feet, unwilling to meet Hector’s furious gaze. “No,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Have you ever seen a man get killed?”


“Well, I’ve killed men,” said Hector, bringing his face closer to Paris’ and forcing his brother to look at him. His voice was a low grating growl. “I’ve watched them dying and I’ve heard them dying and there’s nothing romantic about it; nothing poetic!” His voice rose. “You say you want to die for love but you know nothing about dying and you know nothing about love!”

Paris glanced up, just for a moment, but long enough for them to see the love-crazed determination in the liquid brown orbs. “All the same,” he said. His voice was hard and he allowed nothing to sway his decision. “I go with her. I won’t ask you to fight my war.”

“You already have,” said Hector. His voice was barely above a hoarse defeated whisper and in his face, the others could see despair. “To Troy!”

Balian felt as if he ought to say something to stop this madness before it became worse but what could he do? He was a stranger in a foreign land and he did not even know Hector and Paris well enough. He had no right to voice his opinion to them on this matter. The man caught Legolas’ eye. The elf’s face was grim. Apparently, he felt the same way.


She was straining to reach him, but demonic talons held her back. Her cracked and bleeding lips formed his name. Balian! Balian! Glistening tears streamed from her bloodshot eyes. The dark purple marks on her neck stood out starkly against her pale flesh. He wanted to go to her, to take her in his arms and to shield her from all evil, but he couldn’t reach her. He tried to scream out her name, but his voice only came out as a strangled whisper. He quickened his pace and ran towards the maw of hell but it seemed to grow further and further away and Jocelyn along with it...

Balian’s eyes flew open. He was drenched with sweat. Ever since he had woken up after he had taken his wound before the Black Gates, he’d had that dream whenever he had slept. No one else knew about the dream except him, not even Legolas. It was too intimate to share, and it was his problem, not anyone else’s. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but he was now wide awake. He lay there with his ear against the wooden boards. There was a soft footfall. He frowned. Who was awake during this time of night?

The blacksmith pretended to be asleep but kept his eyes open as narrow slits. A shadow passed before his vision. Someone was nearing him. He tensed, but forced himself to keep still. A figure loomed over him. He saw the glint of a blade. Just as the blade came down, Balian rolled away, kicking the man’s feet from underneath him and making the would-be murderer fall to the deck with a grunt. “Hashashin!” shouted Balian, for lack of a good word in his own tongue. It didn’t matter if it was in Arabic or Greek or something else. Everyone woke up, groping for their weapons. Balian drew his sword from its sheath. The steel blade cut through the bronze ones as if they were made out of mud.

“Go to Hell, ya scurvy dogs!” he heard Barbossa shout as the old pirate held his own against multiple assailants. The pirates had strange thin swords which looked as if they would be easy to break. However, they also looked as if they were easier to wield than Balian’s heavy long sword. Legolas’ knives were a shiny blur as the elf moved at a speed which the human eye was unable to follow. While they were all occupied, the elf noticed that their attackers were congregating around the area where the princes and Helen had been sleeping. No doubt they were all awake by now but the elf did not think that two men could defend themselves against so many. “Balian!” he shouted. “Barbossa! Will! To the prow!”

“Oi! Wait for me!” said Jack. The four of them battled against the horde of mysterious assailants and made their way to the prow, which was already blocked by the men. Will stabbed someone through the stomach. His sword made a squelching noise as it entered flesh. Foul smelling stomach acids and bile spilled out, splashing onto the deck. Balian slit someone’s throat. Hot salty blood sprayed his face. He pushed aside the corpse and forced his way to the front of the ship. Legolas was directly behind him.

Surrounded by attackers clothed in black in the semi-darkness, Hector was fighting for his life. He didn’t know what was happening. All he remembered was waking up to someone shouting in a foreign tongue and then narrowly avoiding the downward plunge of a blade which would’ve otherwise pierced his heart. He heard Helen scream as Paris cursed.

Helen had never been so afraid, not even when she had been sent to marry Menelaus. She couldn’t see Paris. The dark men hid him from her sight. She screamed out his name and jumped backwards as one of the men tried to strike at her. A hand grabbed her and pulled her out of harm’s way. She didn’t know who it was, but it didn’t feel like Paris. Her rescuer caught hold of the attacker’s wrist. “Now that’s not very nice,” he said. Helen caught a glimpse of golden teeth and a whiff of foul breath.

The monkey had latched onto some unfortunate’s face, screeching as he tried to claw out the man’s eyes. No matter what the man tried, he could not get rid of the half-rotten little creature.

Paris saw the point of a sword coming straight towards his chest. He was paralysed by fear. Something knocked him off his feet, saving him from being stabbed. It was Balian. The other man parried the blow, caught the blade with the guard of his sword and then with a rotating move, decapitated his adversary.

The fight was finally over. All the mysterious assailants lay dead. No one was seriously hurt although the monkey had been stabbed multiple times. The deck was slick with blood. “Who were they?” demanded Will.

“The oarsmen,” said Hector. “I recognize them.”

“Why would they want to kill you?” asked Balian.

“I don’t know,” said Hector “but Menelaus said that we might find more answers in Troy.”

“I dunno if I like this,” said Ragetti to Pintel. “We’re not undead no more.”

“You saved us,” said Paris, staring in particular at Balian.

“We are indebted to you all,” said Hector.

“You’re welcome,” said Jack.

“Now that we’ve killed all the oarsmen, how are we going to get back to Troy?” asked Paris.

“I’ll take the helm,” volunteered Jack. Everyone looked at him incredulously. Hector wasn’t sure if he was ready to entrust his safety to this man. Jack seemed a little strange; too strange for Hector’s liking.

“No,” said Barbossa. “If there’s to be anyone to man the helm then it should be a real captain.”

“I’m captain,” said Jack, running to the helm. He slipped in the blood and fell face-flat on the deck. Barbossa overtook him and took charge of the helm.

“I thought you were the captain of a ship,” said Legolas to Will.

“I’m happy to leave those two to it,” said Will. “I’ve spent more than enough time captaining a ship. A rest is always welcome.”

“I suppose I’ll row then,” said Balian, taking an oar.

“You know,” said Jack, clambering to his feet “one oarsman isn’t going to make any difference.” He pulled out his pistol and took aim at a spot close to Barbossa. There was a loud clapping bang which made Balian and Legolas hasten to protect their ears. An inhuman shriek rang out. Jack hurriedly pressed the pistol into Balian’s hand.

“He shot Jack!” said Pintel, pointing at Jack the pirate with an accusing finger. Ragetti nodded emphatically.

“I did not!” said Jack indignantly. “Anyway, I’m still alive. No harm done.” Balian still held the smoking pistol and was turning it over in his hands, examining the strange artefact.

“Jack!” said Will in exasperation. “You’re such a rum-soaked...pirate.”

“Correct, William,” said Jack. “Once again you have proved yourself to be extraordinarily adept at pointing out the obvious.”

“Now, Jack Sparrow,” said Barbossa in his drawl. “Who was it that shot me monkey?” Jack glanced at Balian meaningfully but no one believed him. The blacksmith was not the type to engage in such immature behaviour.

“Maybe for once you can tell the truth, Jack?” said Will.

“Who died and made you boss?” demanded the pirate.

“Davy Jones.”

“Oh. Now I remember. You owe me for that one, William Turner.”

“Excuse me,” said Legolas. “If the monkey cannot die, does it matter who shot it?”

“It’s all a matter of pride, Master Legolas,” said Barbossa.

“He stole my ship,” said Jack quickly. “Twice.”

“And you stole my map,” said Barbossa, advancing menacingly towards Jack. Balian reminded himself not to cross Barbossa.

“Only once,” said Jack with a smug grin. “Anyway, I was just borrowing it. Borrowing it without permission and with no intention whatsoever of returning it to you, savvy?”

“Maybe we can leave this until later,” said Will. “After we make port. Hector and Paris need to get to Troy as soon as possible.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” said Jack and Barbossa sarcastically. They both raced for the helm again. Barbossa gave Jack a shove, causing the other pirate to overbalance and fall. The old pirate reached the helm and Jack made a face at him. Then resignedly, he joined Balian, Legolas, Will, Ragetti and Pintel in rowing.

Seeing that his guests were willing to work as oarsmen, Hector motioned to Paris and the two brothers settled themselves at an oar each.


A/N: They reach Troy the next chapter. More chaos ensues (as expected).

Hashashin — Arabic word for ‘assassin’. The word assassin is derived from it.

Astyanax — Hector’s son

Andromache — Hector’s wife

Kiwi, thanks for the ongoing support. Everyone is awfully confused about each other, so I'm sort of looking forward to Hector explaining their origins to Priam and the rest of the family.

Erendira, Legolas and Jack the Monkey are the only non-human things on board, so I thought it would be appropriate that they bonded It's been my dream ever since seeing Troy to write something which would incorporate all my favourite characters into the film and give the ending a chance to change.
Telcontar Rulz

Last edited by Telcontar Rulz; February 18th, 2008 at 07:21 PM.
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Old February 19th, 2008, 12:11 PM
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erendira erendira is offline
Alive...and kicking
Join Date: Jan 2007
Location: Watching the most beautiful sunset in the world...
Posts: 7,887
very good,Tel!
I´m not a sailing lover,I´m afraid of open sea...but for all the Olympo´s gods...I´d do anything for sail in that ship..!!
Thanks a lot Tel,¡Troy there we go!

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Old February 19th, 2008, 12:31 PM
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nuit nuit is offline
besotted with buttons
Join Date: Mar 2004
Location: In the wrong kind of Paradise
Posts: 11,320
....! Balian,Will,Legolas and Paris(not mentioning Hector...) all together in the same boat...OMG,hotness overload...
I like a lot the vision of Legolas stroking Jack (the monkey I mean...)
heheh Yes my thoughts entirely!
Regards Jack, I think Ki has it, people tend to try too hard in my opinion and end up kind of straightjacketed (?) by the cartoon. I think if you can get the sound of his voice in your head , the pattern comes naturally.

Sig and avatar by Erendira Larrikin Mary- Joe Byrne Fan Fiction
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Old February 19th, 2008, 07:20 PM
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Telcontar Rulz Telcontar Rulz is offline
Inspired by him
Join Date: Jul 2007
Location: New Zealand
Posts: 886
Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Disclaimer: I don’t own Balian, Legolas, Will, Jack, Paris, Hector…you get the idea. I’m just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

Chapter 5: To Troy

Barbossa expertly steered the ship so that it made the best possible use of the wind to make up for their lack of oarsmen. The rowing was uncoordinated at best. Everyone rowed at a different pace for they were not used to rowing. Will finally synchronized their rowing by counting out loud. Hector would never though that rowing took so much skill. It looked so easy and simple when the oarsmen did it.

The sun blazed down on them, causing sweat to run down their faces and soak into their clothes. Helen brought out food and drink and shared it around. If she wasn’t Menelaus’ wife then the eldest prince might even have approved of her as a sister by marriage. When she reached Hector, she refused to look him in the eye, knowing that her presence on the ship was the cause of his troubles. Hector hardly glanced at her. His mind was working furiously to find a way to avoid war without getting his love-struck brother killed.

They came within sight of Troy on the fourth day after the latest attempt on Hector’s life. The walls looked to be golden at first glance, jutting up proudly into a clear blue sky while a wide stretch of azure water lay before it like a shimmering sheet of blue silk which stretched out to the very ends of the world. The view gave Balian a sense of familiarity.

“I’ve seen it before,” he said to no one in particular.

“Where?” asked Legolas. He had overheard his friend and was curious as to what he was talking about.

“I saw it in Lady Galadriel’s mirror,” said Balian. “I’d forgotten about it but seeing the city made me remember.” He took a deep breath. “I think I saw Hector too, and a giant wooden horse which towered above everyone, casting a huge dark shadow on the land. I don’t know what that means. And then I saw the city burning.”

“That’s not a good sign,” said Jack, who had overheard the second half of the conversation.

“Are you turning into Gibbs, Jack?” said Will. “What’s not a good sign?”

“The city burning,” said Jack. He turned to Balian. “That’s what you said, ain’t it?”

“What city burning?” demanded Hector.

That city, mate,” said Jack, pointing at Troy.

“Do not tempt the Fates,” growled the prince.

“I didn’t say it,” said Jack. “He did.” The pirate pointed at Balian.

“He saw it,” said Legolas quickly. “It was a vision.”

“A vision?” said Hector. Was Balian a seer, or was he mad, like Cassandra? “Tell me more.”

“There is nothing more to tell,” said Balian. “I suppose I did see Barbossa’s ship as well but that has already come to pass.”

This did nothing to improve Hector’s mood. If Balian’s vision was indeed a true vision, then it meant that Troy was doomed. War was inevitable, and it was a war that they could not win. Helen had to go back to Sparta. If he had to lock up Paris in order to send her back, then he would do just that.


They were very close to Troy now. Hector looked magnificent in his armour although the same could not be said of Paris. The armour looked awkward and heavy on him.

“Your highnesses,” said Barbossa, taking off his large feathered hat and sweeping a low bow. “We will make port in half an hour.”

“Thank you, err, Captain Barbossa,” said Hector. He had not yet decided what to make of the old sailor. Barbossa had an elegance which many courtiers lacked and yet from the stories that had been told, Hector knew he could be as rough and rash as any mercenary.

“One question,” said Legolas. “Once we arrive, what do we do?”

“You are our guests,” said Hector. “After all, you have saved our lives and the least I can do is offer you some Trojan hospitality.” Legolas was another mystery. His senses were keener than any man’s and at night, he seemed to glow. The prince had heard Balian mention something about immortality. Legolas certainly seemed older than he looked.

Jack interrupted his thoughts. “I like the sound of that!” said the pirate cheerfully. “Is there any rum in Troy? I’ve run out.”

“Good,” muttered Will.

Hector grimaced to himself. He was not looking forward to introducing Captain Jack Sparrow to his father. What would Priam make of this less-than-honourable character? ‘I’ll deal with it when the time comes,’ he decided. Sometimes it was better to not think about such things.


The golden stretch of sand reminded Balian of the Holy Land. There were a few palm trees growing here and there. Outside the city was something that looked like a temple. A golden statue of an archer knelt on the steps, pointing his arrow into the sky. Men were waiting there with horses on and a chariot for the two princes. When they saw Helen and the newcomers, more than a few eye brows were raised by no one said anything. They trusted that Hector knew what he was doing.

Barbossa eyed his horse —a placid palomino mare which looked as if she was more interested in dozing than throwing her rider— warily. He had never ridden one before and he had no desire to ride one. He did not trust these large animals or any means of transport which had a mind of its own.

“It’s alright, Barbossa,” said Will, awkwardly heaving himself onto his horse’s back. It seemed that saddles and stirrups had not been invented yet. Having once been a blacksmith’s apprentice meant that he was more familiar with these animals than the pirates were. “Horses don’t bite…usually.”

“You ain’t gonna bite ole Jack, are you, luv?” said Jack to his horse. The animal flattened its ears and sidestepped, snorting as it did so.

“I ain’t gettin’ on,” said Ragetti stubbornly. “’e could run off wif me on ‘is back. I don’t wanna get lost.”

“You have to ride, or you’ll be too slow,” said Balian. “It’s quite safe. Just hold on tight and nothing will happen to you.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Barbossa. “You look like you were born on a horse.”

Paris helped Helen into the chariot and then got up beside her. A groom handed the prince the reins. They were all ready to go, if only the pirates could get over their fear of large land-bound animals.

“You can either ride or you can run behind,” said Hector. “It doesn’t really matter but we cannot tarry any longer.”

“I shall ride,” said Jack in the most pompous tone that he could muster “...in style.” Will bit back a snort of laughter as he recognized the style of speech that Cutler Beckett had been so fond of.

“What d’you know about style?” demanded Barbossa, raising an eyebrow.

“One thing mate; I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?” Jack scrambled onto the horse’s back as someone held it still for him and immediately slipped off the other side and into the sand.

“Is that supposed to mean anything?” Legolas asked Will.

“I don’t think so but with Jack, you never know,” Will replied.

Jack finally got onto the horse and stayed there. He dusted the sand off himself. “Not so bad,” he said. “The view is rather more spectacular-er from up here, and I’m taller than Barbossa, even with his big hat.”

“You’re not going to let him get away with that, are you, Captain Barbossa?” said Will.

“Well, he’s gonna have to,” said Jack smugly. “He can’t ride.”

“Want to bet on it, Sparrow?” growled Barbossa.

“I’ll bet my hat that you can’t get on your horse,” said Jack in a sing-song voice.

Barbossa sneered and hauled himself up with such grace that everyone was impressed. Despite his age, Barbossa was really very nimble.

Jack’s face fell. “I’m not givin’ up me hat,” he told Barbossa.

“I don’t want your hat,” said Barbossa. “But you do have something else that I want.”

“I swear on my children’s lives that I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t have any children.”

“I might do...out there...somewhere...”

Legolas rolled his eyes. “We’re wasting time,” he said. He turned to Ragetti and Pintel. “You two,” he said sharply in a commanding tone that his father often used to make his subjects cower. “Get on your horses.”

Used to obeying others, the two shabby pirates quickly did as they were told. Finally, they were ready to go into Troy.

The chariot went first, followed by Hector on horseback. Balian found it awkward to ride without a saddle or stirrups. How did one fight on horseback without those essential pieces of tack? Wouldn’t the horseman fall off? ‘If I do fight, it’ll be on foot,’ he decided.

The wooden gates of Troy creaked open, pushed by four men. Loud cheers for the princes washed over them like waves from the ocean. The citizens had lined the streets to welcome Hector and Paris home. Children waved, and Hector raised his hand to return the greeting. ‘They love him,’ thought Balian. The animated welcome made him feel warm, even though it was not meant for him. It reminded him of the first time he had laid eyes on Ibelin. If the people of Troy loved Hector so much, then he must indeed be a great man.

The blacksmith caught Legolas’ eye. The elf glanced behind them and winked. Balian followed Legolas’ line of sight until he saw what had amused the elf. Barbossa clutched the reins tightly in one fist while the fingers of his other hand were tangled in the horse’s mane. He was as stiff as the mast of a ship. In total contrast, Jack was as excited as a child who had found his Christmas gift early and seemed to be enjoying his little ride through Troy. He waved wildly at the people until he became too enthusiastic to concentrate on riding and overbalanced. The horse sauntered off without him, leaving him chasing after the rest of the procession.

The Trojan palace looked like a small city within the larger city, with high yellow walls. A long flight of steps led up to the main citadel. Paris halted his chariot before the steps. Getting down, he offered Helen his hand and helped her out of the chariot. The Spartan queen was wearing a long white robe hemmed with golden thread. A circlet of golden leaves perched on her hair which was the same colour as Legolas’. The sun’s rays reflecting off the overwhelming amount of gold made her look as if she was glowing with a divine light.

Once on the ground, she looked up at Paris and gave him a small smile. Balian could tell that she was nervous. He didn’t blame her. From what Hector had said, her presence had ruined all the years that old King Priam had spent working for peace.

Hector slid off his horse with practised ease and took his place at the head of the procession. The rest of them dismounted, and a breathless Jack finally caught up with them. “I hate horses,” he muttered.

Balian fell into step beside Legolas. The elf was attracting an abnormal number of stares, probably because of his colouring. The two friends followed Hector up to the citadel, where a delegation of Trojan nobles waited with the king for the princes’ return. Hector entered the citadel first, followed by Paris with Helen. The others trailed behind them. Balian caught sight of Will from the corner of his eye. The pirate seemed very uncomfortable. He was probably feeling the way Balian had felt when he had entered a palace back in Jerusalem. Jack acted in a dramatically overdone solemn manner. ‘He carries himself like a pompous bishop,’ thought the blacksmith.

Will tried his best to look as if he didn’t know Jack. He was nervous enough as it was. It was even more awkward than when he had visited Governor Swann’s mansion back when he had been a blacksmith’s apprentice; before Jack Sparrow had entered his life and changed it forever. Will still could not decide whether he should hate Jack or thank him.

Priam stood at the top of the steps, dressed in a loose robe of deep blue. His skin was wrinkled and spotted with age and his hair was totally white. Balian thought he looked old enough to be Godfrey’s father. The King cupped his eldest son’s face in his withered hands and kissed Hector on the forehead. “My son,” he said tenderly. Hector dipped his head in deference to his father and then stepped aside to let Paris go up to greet the old king.

“Paris,” said Priam with a genial smile. He looked very proud, just like any indulgent parent. Balian could remember that his mother had once looked at him in exactly the same way. The King kissed the younger prince on the forehead as well.

“Father,” said Paris, drawing Helen forwards. The woman clasped her hands tightly before her and looked down at her feet. “This is Helen.”

“Helen?” said Priam. “Helen of Sparta?”

“Helen of Troy,” said Paris adamantly. He gave Helen a little nudge, and she stepped closer to the King, although she still did not dare to look at him.

“I have heard rumours of your beauty,” said Priam, kissing her on both cheeks. Unlike Hector, there was no outburst of temper, only calm acceptance. It seemed that the King bore Helen no ill-will for ruining the chance for peace between Troy and Sparta. “For once, gossips were right.” He took her hand as if she was his own daughter. “You must be tired.” This left Balian, Legolas and the pirates lingering at the entrance, feeling exposed and uncertain as to what they should do. Hector saw them.

“Father,” he said, indicating the foreigners. “These men, they saved our lives and I owe them thanks.” He beckoned to them. Mustering all his grace and dignity as the elven prince of Greenwood the Great, Legolas stepped inside the citadel with his head held high. He had dealt with numerous kings in his life time. What difference would one more make? Priam did not seem like a tyrant who was to be feared.

Murmurs rippled through the gathered Trojans as they took in his appearance and demeanour. Balian thought he heard the words ‘god’ and ‘divine’ more than once. He scanned the faces of the people present.

One man in particular caught his eye. He was old and dripped with ornaments. His eyes were hard and piercing like spearheads and he was scowling as if he was not pleased that the princes had returned home. He had no time to think about it as he heard Hector call his name. Stepping forwards, Balian fell onto one knee and bowed his head. “Your majesty,” he said.

“Look up, so that I may see your face, young man,” said the King. Balian lifted his eyes to meet Priam’s.

“How can this be?” breathed Priam as he took in the blacksmith’s features. “You...you...it has to be some trick...”

“I assure you, Father, there is no trick,” said Hector hurriedly before matters could get any worse. “There is more than one man who has Paris’ face.” The prince beckoned to Will. Jack gave him a small shove. The pirate stepped forward and bowed awkwardly at the waist. “This is Will Turner,” said the prince. “He, Legolas and Balian all have Paris’ face. I think this is a sign from the gods.”

“Calchas, old friend,” said Priam, turning to the man who had been scowling just moments before. “What do you make of this?”

Calchas stepped forward and peered into each of their faces. “I can see nothing that would indicate that there is anything special about these men. It may be merely a coincidence that they look like Prince Paris.”

“A coincidence?” said Hector. “Are you sure you are not mistaken, High Priest?”

“Hector, show some respect,” chided Priam. “You should trust the High Priest’s words. He is, after all, a servant of the gods.”

Hector bowed his head in apology. He had no desire to argue with his father. He was tired and anxious to see the rest of his family. Jack was next. The pirate took off his hat and swept a low and dramatic bow. “Captain Jack Sparrow at your service,” said Jack. “Although I do ask a favour of you.”

Everyone was speechless and Hector cringed inwardly.

“Ask, Captain,” said the king, unperturbed.

“D’you by chance have any rum in your most glorious and plentiful city?”

The others were introduced one by one although Jack the monkey was the only one who even came close to making a first impression as dramatic as Jack the pirate’s had been. Hector released a sigh of relief when it was all over. Now he could go and rest.

“Hector!” cried another voice. The prince looked up to see his cousin Aeneas hurrying towards him with a grin on his face. “Hector! I am so glad to see you.” The two men embraced each other. “Well, Light of the Dardan Lands, do you bring peace with you?”

Hector sighed. “It’s a long story,” he said. “And there will be time to tell it, but it is not now. You look well, Cousin.”

“As do you,” said Aeneas. “Who are the foreigners?”

Before Hector could answer, he heard a high voice call Paris’ name. Briseis had come and she ran towards Paris to throw her arms about his neck. The other two went over to join them. Briseis was a sweet-natured girl whom everyone adored. Hector took in her garb. So she had finally made her decision and decided to dedicate herself to Apollo instead of a man.

“Hector!” This was a voice that he knew very well and loved very much. Andromache was here, standing beside a crib which held his baby son. Hector quickly excused himself from Aeneas and went to his wife. He enveloped her in his arms while she layered kisses on him.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured into her hair which smelled of incense and rose petals.

“We’ve missed you too,” said Andromache. Then she pulled away from him as she remembered Astyanax in his crib. She picked him up. “Look,” she said to Hector who by now was grinning like a simpleton. Delight shone in his eyes.

“He’s grown,” he breathed.

Balian felt a pang of regret as he watched Hector and his family. ‘It could’ve been me,’ he thought. Indeed, he could have had what Hector now had, with Jocelyn, with Sibylla, but both had left him.

Hector now held his baby son in his arms. He shone with fatherly pride. Seeing his new friends standing alone, he went over to them to show off his son.

Jack looked bored and so did Barbossa but Balian immediately felt tremendous love for Hector’s child. “He’s beautiful,” he told the prince sincerely as the baby clutched his finger.

“Here we go,” said Legolas. “Nanny Balian resurfaces.”

“What?!” said Will. Jack was laughing too hard to say anything and Hector just gaped.

“Nanny Balian?” he asked. “Where did that come from?”

“We forgot to tell you, Balian is a professional nanny,” said Legolas with a straight face although they could all tell that he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“You jest,” said Paris whose eyes were round with shock.

“No, I tell the truth,” said Legolas. “While in Rohan, he was charged with taking care of the orphans. You should’ve seen him. Three of them rode a horse which he was leading and one was perched on his hip. By the end of the day, they were begging him to tell them stories and calling him ‘Uncle’ and other embarrassing names which I will not mention.”

"I am going to kill you, Legolas Greenleaf," muttered Balian.


Cassandra could hear voices coming from the main hall. Dread gripped her and she felt as if all her guts had turned into rock. Her brothers were back, and they had brought the doom of Troy with them. She ran out, not caring to check her appearance first. “We’re doomed,” she whispered. “We’re doomed...” As she neared the main hall, her sense of dread grew stronger until she wanted to scream. And then she saw him, standing with Hector and playing with Astyanax. The sight of him made calmness wash over her. Her dread dissipated, for there was a man who had been blessed by the divine powers. He was beautiful, so like Paris and yet not like him. It was as if Hector and Paris had merged to form this man.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. There were many strangers in foreign garb. An old man with a monkey on his shoulder stood nearby, observing all that was going on. The monkey spotted her and started to point and chatter, attracting its master’s attention. The old man saw Cassandra, and he smiled. “Greetings, young missy,” he said.

“Greetings,” returned Cassandra warily. Who were these foreigners? She had no time to wonder for what she saw next did make her scream. Paris was with a foreign woman; a woman whom she knew to be Helen of Sparta.

“Bane of Troy!” she cried in her shrill high voice. “You have doomed us all, Spartan Vixen!”

“Cassandra!” said Priam, finally losing his temper. Gripped in the throes of prophetic frenzy, his daughter ignored him.

“The Greeks will come! They will destroy us! They will burn Troy to the ground! The gods have cursed us! There will be no more Troy! Mourn, all ye sons and daughters of Troy! Weep, for your motherland will be no more!”

Paris tried his best to calm her down, but to no avail. Cassandra would not be placated. He looked to Hector for help, but even the Crown Prince was at a loss when it came to dealing with Cassandra. And Priam was getting angrier by the moment.

The girl’s outburst had shocked everyone into silence. She reminded Balian of a maddened horse, spooked by something that only she could see. Quickly making up his mind, he went to help Paris. It would be wise to take her away before the King lost his temper completely. Together, the two men half-carried Cassandra away deeper into the palace through a dark labyrinth of corridors.

“Shh,” said Paris. “Nothing will happen to Troy. Hector will know what to do. No Greek will set foot inside our high walls. We are safe.”

“We will burn,” she sobbed. “We will burn until there is nothing left but the ashes of our bones.”

“Nothing is certain yet, my lady,” said Balian. Cassandra looked up at him. Her sobbing subsided.

“You have lost much and known much grief,” she said. Although she was young, her eyes seemed to be as wise as those of a grandmother. “Will you save Troy as you have saved the other cities?”

Balian was taken aback by her question. How did she know about his past?

Paris seemed embarrassed. “Don’t mind her,” he said. “She thinks she’s a seer, but we know better.”

Balian didn’t answer. He stared at Cassandra and her wild eyes stared back at him, full of silent pleading. “I will try,” he finally said.

They were only three words, but they were enough to make Cassandra smile.


A/N: Once again, I say that Balian will not have a romantic relationship. He is still in love with Sibylla and he is also being plagued by dreams of his wife in Hell. Cassandra is a teenage girl and teenage girls have crushes. Hopefully we’ll meet Achilles soon. I can’t wait for him to meet our friends from all the other worlds.

Thanks, Erendira. I just love the thought of all those guys together in the same story lol. I can't even swim, and am deathly afraid of the sea, but this particular voyage is also very attractive for me

Nuit, Jack in my head tends to make rowdy jokes and almost no other sort of comment.
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Old February 20th, 2008, 07:56 AM
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KiwiGirl KiwiGirl is offline
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I see that I missed one chapter. I am enjoying this immensely. The detail of the characters is fantastic and the little touches of humour in there break it up.

Jack talks in my head quite often so I wouldn't be too worried about him...

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Old February 20th, 2008, 04:15 PM
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*giggles madly* Nanny Balian god I love it!

I am utterly in love with this story.. so pleae please do continue and SOON! * grins*
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Old February 21st, 2008, 01:03 AM
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Telcontar Rulz Telcontar Rulz is offline
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Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Balian, Legolas, Will, Jack, Hector, Paris etc. but I don’t. I’m just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

Chapter 6: A Dream from Hell

As Paris and Balian made their way through dark corridors of stone back to the main hall, the younger Trojan prince noticed that the other man seemed unnaturally tense. It was probably Cassandra’s ‘prophecy’ that made him feel so uneasy. It was strange, really. Cassandra usually did not react so well to people who were not immediate family and yet she seemed to like Balian, and unlike other men, he had been able to calm her down with very few words. ‘Maybe there is something special about him after all,’ thought Paris.

Balian was deep in thought. A few years ago, he would have been unnerved if someone he had just met spoke to him of his past, but after meeting Lady Galadriel, this sort of thing had ceased to frighten him. It was curious though. If Cassandra was truly a seer, why did her family treat her as if she was mad? He looked at the younger prince. “Paris,” he began. “Cassandra...is she...”

“Something’s not quite right with her head,” said Paris. “She thinks she’s a sibyl, but she isn’t. Everyone in Troy knows it, except her.”

“If she is mad, then how does she know about my past?”

“Maybe she overheard something, or it’s just a total coincidence. If she was a prophetess, the priests would know.”

They stepped out into the light of the great hall. The Queen had arrived. Immediately, Balian could see the family resemblance. Paris had his mother’s eyes. Although she was aging, Queen Hecuba was an elegant woman draped in brightly coloured fabric which made her stand out in crowds. Her brown hair, now threaded with silver, was braided and covered by a sheer scarf which looked as though it was transparent and woven from dyed spider silk. She and Priam were seated side by side on twin thrones, although hers was slightly smaller than her husband’s. The newcomers stood before the monarchs with their heads bowed, although Ragetti and Pintel kept peering around them, looking as if they had died and gone to heaven.

“Last but not least,” said Priam when he saw Balian. He beckoned to the young man who stepped forward hesitantly to join his friends. “Hector has told us the entire story. We are forever indebted to you all. Tell me, how would you like to be rewarded?”

“With all due respect, your majesty,” said Legolas on behalf of his companions “we ask for no reward for the welcome which we received is more than enough. Therefore, we beseech you only to tolerate our presence in this most beautiful and glorious city until such time as we can find our way back home.”

“A gracious answer worthy of the most well-spoken of princes,” said Priam with approval. “Very well; a feast shall be prepared in your honour tonight, and you will all tell us your stories then. But for now, you have all journeyed for long and you must rest. Send orders for rooms to be prepared.”

As the foreigners were led away, Jack leant close to Legolas. “You could’ve asked for anythin’,” he muttered to the elf.

“We’re not here for their wealth,” said the elf.

“That’s all very well, high and mighty Legless, but I would never say no to a bit o’ gold.”


Calchas stared after the newcomers with such disdain that if looks could kill, the foreigners would have all been reduced to ashes long ago. They were the ones who had thwarted his plans. He had a bad feeling about them, especially the scarred one whom Hector held in such high esteem. That man was just like the Crown Prince in every way, except he seemed to have an extraordinary amount of luck, as if he had been blessed by one god or another. He had to go. They all had to go.

The High Priest glanced at Priam, who was engaged in light-hearted conversation with Helen. Now was not the time to try and persuade the King that the foreigners would bring nothing but bad luck to Troy. Priam was too pleased with them for having saved his precious sons.

Paris was glad that his father seemed to like Helen. He knew how hard it was for her, being in a foreign country which did not exactly welcome her presence. Cassandra’s accusations and prophecy of doom had frightened the former Spartan queen. He glanced around. Something was missing. It was awfully quiet, usually there would be children shouting and running around and pouncing on the adults...

“Where’s Ganymede?” he said suddenly, causing Hector to look up. The older prince frowned and Priam stopped speaking. The King sighed.

“Come, Paris, Hector, sit down,” he said. “You too, Helen. You’re family now. While you were away in Sparta, something happened to your brother.” Priam paused, then looked to Calchas. “Maybe you should explain, old friend.”

“As my lord commands,” said the High Priest. He cleared his throat and inflated his chest, bringing himself to his full height as if to assert his authority. “Prince Ganymede, as it seems, was walking along the beach by himself when Zeus, King of the gods, saw him. Moved by the prince’s beauty, Divine Zeus came down to earth and swept him up to Mount Olympus to be the divine Cupbearer. Prince Ganymede has been deified.”

“Deified? Ganymede?” said Hector. “You must be mistaken. It’s not possible.”

“My prince,” said Calchas calmly “with the gods, everything is possible. Truly, do you doubt my word?”

“Have you any proof?” said Hector. “If he was walking alone when Zeus took him up to Olympus, how do you know that this was what happened?”

“Hector,” said Priam. “You must trust the High Priest. He is a servant of the gods, and they gave him a vision.”

Hector was still not convinced, but any further argument would mean blasphemy and he dared not make such a mistake. The High Priest was a powerful man who was not to be offended. Priam trusted him entirely.

The older prince glanced at Paris, who seemed to be just as suspicious but like Hector, he didn’t dare to contradict Calchas. ‘Apollo’s horses,’ thought Hector. ‘Troy is ruled by a superstitious old fool.’ And then he stopped. Was Calchas just a superstitious old fool or was a bit more complicated than that? He looked at the High Priest. Calchas’ face betrayed nothing but his eyes... it was said that a man’s eyes were windows into his soul. Hector met Calchas’ gaze, and he fought back an involuntary shiver.


Balian’s room opened out to a balcony which looked over a small courtyard guarded by golden statues of numerous deities. A large bronze tub with steam spilling out of it waited for him in the centre of the room, filling the air with the scent of water vapour and rose petals. Maids with oiled golden skin stood to one side. One held a set of clothing and the other a cloth for drying him after his bath. The others were approaching him to help him undress.

As soon as their fingers touched the ties on his shirt, he took a step backwards and held up his hands. “I’ll be fine on my own,” he said. He could feel his face growing hot.

“We were commanded to wait on you, my lord,” said the boldest of them. She sounded amused. The others giggled at this foreign man’s shyness. He was not like the Trojan men, who seemed to think they were the gods’ gift to women. They found his bashfulness refreshing and lovable.

Will’s voice penetrated the wall from the room next door. “I am a married man,” he said, almost indignantly. “This is most inappropriate.” It seemed that the pirate was facing the same dilemma.

“Please,” said Balian to the maids. “I can truly manage on my own...I’m not used to this.”

“Most men are not shy about their bodies,” said the boldest of the maids, stepping forward again to undo the ties on his shirt. Her deft fingers quickly untied the knots before he could further protest. Balian did not know what to make of Trojan women. They were so...forward. Even Sibylla had been more hesitant.

The other maids now slid the shirt from his body and then there was a gasp as they saw his bare torso. “You’re scarred...” whispered one of them, tracing the marks on his back.

“Now you understand why I did not wish for you to see me thus,” said Balian. That was one of the reasons. He had many more.

“Forgive us, my lord,” said the maid who had first spoken. “We did not know.” She nodded to her two companions who held the drying cloth and the clean clothes. They set the items on a couch and then started to make for the door, followed by the other maids. “If you need us, we will be outside.”

At last, he was alone. Balian breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly stripped of the remainder of his clothes and stepped into the tub, where he proceeded to scrub the dried filth from his skin. The hot water loosened his tight muscles. Rose petals floated on the surface, giving the steam a delicate fragrance which reminded him of the Holy Land...and Sibylla.

He drove the morose thoughts from his head and cleared his mind, letting the heat and scent of the water sooth him. His eyes grew heavy and they slowly closed...

He was alone in a little rowing boat, floating on dark water which resembled the black oil of the East. He was rowing towards a huge walled fortress. Fire stained the broiling clouds above the fortress red. There were terrible tortured shrieks coming from inside. The gates were guarded by demons with rough dark skin and glowing red eyes like smouldering coals. They had long iron fangs protruding from their sneering mouths. When he met their gaze, his heart almost stopped with fear.

The gates groaned as they were opened to reveal a place full of fiery pits and demons and the tormented souls of sinners. They clawed at blistered skin and charred flesh, trying to alleviate their agony. Many floundered in a river of molten rock, reaching out for help, but there was no one to help them.

And then he saw her, with purple ligature marks on her pale blistered neck. Her fingers were burnt black and her lips were cracked and bleeding. Tears flowed from her eyes and sizzled as they fell and were dried up by the fires of hell. Demons held her. Her voice was drowned out by the screams and cries of the other souls but he could see that she was repeating his name over and over again, calling to him for help. He tried to call back, to tell her that he was coming, but all that came out was a croak. Jocelyn...

He increased his speed. He was almost through the gates. They were beginning to close. Balian put all the strength that he had into powering those oars but it was no use. The gates slammed close in his face, barring him from Jocelyn. He pounded on them, bruising his hands and causing them to bleed from the impact, but to no avail. The sound of his fists on the gates echoed...

Balian’s eyes flew open. His breathing was harsh and quick and his heart knocked against his ribs. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Someone was knocking on his door and the water was tepid. He stepped out of the tub and quickly wrapped the drying cloth about his dripping body to hide his nakedness. His wet skin gleamed in the dying rays of the sun.

The door opened and Legolas peeked in. “Are you alright?” he said. “I heard you moaning a couple of yards away. What’s taking you so long?”

“I’m fine,” said Balian, rubbing his face with his hand. “I fell asleep in the water.”

“You’d better hurry,” said Legolas. “Everyone is waiting for you.” Balian nodded.

“Can you apologize for me, and tell them that I’m coming?” he asked.

“I already have.”

The door closed. Balian rubbed himself dry and then attempted to put on the strange Trojan garments. The underclothes were simple enough. There was only a loincloth. And then came the sleeveless robe which looked like a dress. It was a deep blue, the colour of the sky at dusk when the sun’s light was almost completely gone. He slipped it over his head and adjusted the sash which went around his waist. The sandals were easy enough to deal with, once he untangled the straps. That done, he rushed out and hurried to the main hall, where he found everyone seated and listening intently to a very animated Jack Sparrow who seemed to be re-enacting something with exaggerated movements. There was no empty space save for one, in a place of honour only three seats away from the King.

Paris saw him, looked at the empty seat and nodded. Balian, not feeling very comfortable with this arrangement, took his place. He was grateful that it was between Helen and Legolas. At least he was not amongst strangers. He found himself opposite Calchas. Of all the people present at this feast, only Calchas was not listening to Jack. The High Priest was staring intently at Balian with his hard piercing eyes as if he was trying to delve into the young man’s soul. Although he was not overtly bad, as Guy de Lusignan and Reynald de Chatîllon had been, Balian felt that Calchas was more dangerous than the two put together. He had a sort of cruel cunning about him.

‘What are you thinking?’ he wondered as he stared back at the older man. Calchas’ eyes narrowed slightly and then he looked away, leaving Balian’s question unanswered.

The food was brought forward. There were entire roasted pigs and platters of succulent birds stuffed with herbs and grains. The bread was piled up like mountain ranges and wine flowed like rivers. No one remained in their places. Some men, who had drunk too much, started an unsteady dance. Jack was in the middle of it and trying to teach the Trojans a tuneless song.

Hector made his way through the throngs of people towards Balian and pulled him aside. The staring match between the blacksmith and the High Priest had not gone unnoticed by the prince. “Calchas is an important man,” said Hector. “You must be careful not to offend him, and there’s something about him that makes me...uneasy.” The prince told Balian about the Ganymede issue. “I don’t know what to think...” said Hector once he’d finished. “The High Priest is the servant of the gods, but it just seems...” The prince was at a loss for words.

“I don’t believe a single word of it,” said Balian. “I don’t know what happened to your brother, but whatever it is, Calchas will have something to do with it.”


The next day was filled with trepidation for the impending Greek attack. Balian was outside on the beach, helping the men with the fortifications. Legolas was with the archers and the pirates were dispersed everywhere. Stakes were being driven into the sand, pointing seaward. Balian was examining the materials available and wondering if he could make siege engines. He decided it was worth a try although one very important thing was missing; iron.

It was the seventh day after Hector and Paris had returned to Troy when ships were sighted on the horizon. They came like a swarm of pests. Each standard was a challenge to Troy’s sovereignty. At the very front of the fleet was a ship with a single black sail. A man with a mane of tousled hair the colour of ripe wheat was at the prow.

The ship cut through the water like a knife, heading straight for Troy. The man with the mane was addressing his men, boosting their morale. And then the ship ploughed into the sand. The men leapt out with piercing battle cries. The Trojans showered them with arrows. A few were taken down but the golden warrior charged on. The men formed a barricade of shields, stopping the arrows from getting through. Like a tortoise, they steadily advanced, their shields impenetrable by Trojan arrows.

Balian unsheathed his sword just as the Greek warriors separated. He rushed forward to meet them and found himself using all his skill to avoid being run through. The Sword of Ibelin was superior in quality, but it was also a lot heavier than the Greek swords. Behind him, he heard Barbossa cursing the enemy. His friends had come to help.

The golden Greek warrior fought as if he was a god of war. He leapt and parried as if he was dancing and not killing. He carried his shield on his back to protect himself. Trojan soldiers were being cut down as if they were heads of wheat being harvested by a farmer.

Without thinking, Balian rushed forward to stop the warrior in his rampage of death. Their blades met. The force made the bones in his arm ring. Unfazed, the warrior swung around and swiped at the blacksmith’s legs. Balian leapt out of the way just in time. He lunged at the warrior who dodged and tried to trap Balian’s arm with his shield. The blacksmith just managed to outmanoeuvre the Greek.

The warrior seemed to be tireless, and Balian could feel his strength waning from trying to keep up with his every move. He stumbled and the warrior moved in for the killing blow when a blur of gold, green and silver moved between them and engaged the warrior in battle.


A/N: Yay! First encounter with Achilles and his Myrmidon! And it’s not over with our friend Calchas yet. More action next chapter.

Kiwi, more battle scenes for you I'm glad you don't think the humour is too strange. I've had strange looks before.

Thanks, Casakit. Glad you like the teasing between Legolas and Balian.
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Old February 21st, 2008, 08:57 AM
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KiwiGirl KiwiGirl is offline
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Will protesting that he was a married man amused me no end and was perfectly William. Great touch.

I am liking the friendships that are growing here and how you have the undercurrents subtly moving throughout. Great chapter. Looking forward to the next...

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Old February 21st, 2008, 07:39 PM
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Telcontar Rulz Telcontar Rulz is offline
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Join Date: Jul 2007
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Warning: Violence in this chapter

Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Disclaimer: I don’t own Balian, Legolas, Will, Jack, Paris, Hector...you get the idea. I’m just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them.

Chapter 7: Losses and Loot

Achilles lifted his shield just in time to block a downward slash from one of his opponent’s flashing silver knives. Never in his life had he seen anyone move so quickly, and with so much grace and strength. He caught sight of his opponent’s face and was rather taken aback by what he saw. No mortal could have such a face. It spoke of eternal sculpted youth and the piercing blue eyes carried thousands of years of knowledge and wisdom within them. Achilles felt as if he had looked into the eyes of a god.

Legolas was impressed by the man’s speed. Humans were hardly ever this fast. The warrior’s stamina was great, and the elf knew that they could both continue to fight for many hours without ever deciding who was winning or losing. From the corner of his eye he saw Balian surrounded by other ‘Greeks’. More of the enemy soldiers were landing, including a troll of a man who wielded a war hammer made from a rock tied to a long wooden shaft. He whirled it around in wild circles, almost smashing Will’s head. The pirate nimbly ducked and lunged forward with his light sword, scoring a light cut on the giant’s leg. Like an annoying stinging insect, Will immediately darted out of reach, only to resume his attack from another angle. The giant chased after him, but Will, being lighter on his feet, always managed to keep ahead.

Ragetti and Pintel were not enjoying this. No one had said anything about fighting when they had joined the two princes. And they weren’t undead anymore. The two pirates looked at each other. Understanding passed between them. They turned tail and fled towards the temple, with a horde of angry Greek warriors in pursuit. Jack saw them running as he parried a Greek sword, and then his eyes fell on the golden statue kneeling on the steps of the temple. They were losing ground, and it was only a matter of time before the Greeks took the beach and the temple with it. Always an opportunist, Jack abandoned the battle and ran for the temple. Maybe he would be able to save some of the lovely shiny things he was bound to find in there before the Greeks took the rest.

Eudoras watched the fight between Achilles and the golden stranger with much unease. The Myrmidon warrior was worried for his lord. Both of the men were well-matched. When two lions fought, one of them always got hurt. He did not want Achilles to be that unlucky lion. Eudoras rushed forwards with a wild cry, intending to strike the golden one in the back. The golden warrior turned around and blocked the downward cut with both his knives, giving Achilles some reprieve. Achilles, knowing that it would take too long to win against the stranger, if he could win at all, cut his way through to the temple instead. That was the greater prize. No one would remember him for defeating a nameless golden warrior with the face of a god, but they would all remember him if he took the temple and beach of Troy with only fifty men. Trojan soldiers did not prove to be much of an obstacle. Achilles paid no heed to the blood which sprayed onto him as he ended lives with careless strokes of his sword. He raced up the steps, past the golden statue of Apollo aiming an arrow into the sky.

Having fended off Eudoras, the golden warrior now chased after Achilles. He ran as if he wore Hermes’ winged sandals. His feet hardly made an imprint in the yellow sand. The other man, the one with the scarred face, was on his heels, covered in sand and blood, with stubborn determination emanating from his eyes.

With a flying leap which defied all logic and reason, the golden warrior soared overhead as if he had suddenly sprouted invisible wings. He landed amongst a group of Myrmidon warriors who were already slaying the Trojans who guarded the temple. Somehow, the golden warrior had managed to sheath his knives and was now using his bow and arrows to great effect.

Scarface had reached Achilles. Although he was not as skilled as the lord of the Myrmidon, Achilles had to commend him for his courage and perseverance. They locked blades with each other, the way contending bulls lock horns, pushing backwards and forwards. Scarface tried to get under Achilles’ guard, but the Greek leapt out of the way. They circled each other, their muscles as tense as those of great predatory cats getting ready to pounce on their prey. “What’s your name, warrior?” said Achilles. There was no point in killing a worthy opponent without knowing who he was.

“Balian,” replied the scarred warrior.

“You’re either very brave, or very foolish, to fight me after you have already lost, Balian.”

“I’ve been called foolhardy by some,” said Balian in a low growl. He showed no signs of being daunted. Achilles smiled at that. He could see more of his men coming. Maybe it would be more beneficial to capture this Balian alive. If anything, he would certainly make for an interesting prisoner.

Balian watched this lion of a man warily. He knew that the Greek could strike without warning. The blacksmith had seen how quick and deadly he could be. The wild cries of more battle-maddened Greeks were coming from behind him. He knew he would be outmanned soon.

Achilles was about to launch an attack when something made him stop. The golden warrior seemed to have dealt with all the Myrmidon at the top of the steps. He sent a shield sliding down the steps and then leapt onto it, landing on his feet. All the while, as he descended the stone steps with a sliding shield, he released arrows in quick succession, with deadly accuracy. In all his years of experience in battle, Achilles had never seen such a skilled warrior. Many Greeks fell to his missiles and Achilles himself only just managed to avoid being shot.

The golden warrior jumped just as he was descending the last few steps. The shield flew off the ground and struck someone in the neck, breaking the spine and killing him instantly. Without losing any momentum, the golden warrior whipped out his knives again. “Come on, Balian!” he said. “You go up there!”

Already, more Greek warriors had reached the temple. Legolas seemed to be managing fine all by himself. Balian charged up the steps to the temple’s entrance, feinting left and right to avoid Greek arrows. Pain shot through his arm as an arrow managed to embed itself in his muscle. Crying out in frustration more than in pain, he tried to pull out the arrow, only to have the shaft come away without the arrowhead. Cursing, he ignored his wound and took his place before the temple, cutting down any Greek soldier that tried to get in.

Will could see that everyone was heading for the temple. There were enemy soldiers everywhere. His main concern was the giant who was chasing him, roaring and swinging his hammer of stone. Barbossa saw the younger man’s plight. Snatching the monkey from his shoulder, the old pirate hurled his pet at the giant.

Ajax didn’t know what had hit him. All he knew was that there was something trying to tear off his face while shrieking shrilly into his ear and deafening him. He abandoned the all thoughts of the young man with the strange sword and pulled the irritating creature off his face. He stared at the monkey in his hand. However, before he could act, the animal bit him and caused him to let go with a disgusted cry.

Jack the monkey scampered back to Barbossa, chattering at his master with disapproval. The pirate ignored him. Will was beckoning to him. “To the temple, Barbossa!” said the captain of the Flying Dutchman.

The two of them hurried to join the rest of their comrades who were slowly but surely being overwhelmed by the ever increasing number of enemies.


Hector, on horseback, with the Apollonian Guard behind him, saw that the Greeks were already swarming up the steps of the temple. Aeneas rode up beside him. “They’re going to take the sacred statue,” he said. “Without it, we will be lost.”

“I’m more worried about Briseis,” said Hector. “She’s in the temple. But you’re right. We can’t let the Greeks take the Talisman of Troy.” He turned to the Apollonian Guard and signalled for them to charge. The prince dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. The animal surged forwards. They raced for the temple, past the corpses of the sons of Troy littering the beach, their blood staining the sand of their motherland.


Ragetti and Pintel could not believe what they were seeing. All the sounds of dying men faded from their minds. In the antechamber of the temple, there were only the two of them, and the gold. There was even more treasure here than on Isla de Meurta. “How much do you think is here?” asked Pintel. His eyes were as large and round as the two golden bowls he was holding. Numbers confused him and in this ecstatic state, he could not even get his mind around the simplest of sums.

“It don’t seem right to be stealin’ from a god,” said Ragetti. His one eye was staring at a statue of Apollo with his bow hanging by his side and laurel leaves in his hair.

“It ain’t stealin’,” said Pintel, starting to pick up trinkets which were light enough to be carried. “It’s salvagin’. Them Greeks are gonna get it all anyway.”

“Ah, gentlemen,” said Jack as he sauntered in with more urgency than his usual casual movements. “I see you have found the shiny things. Well, hurry, chop chop. We ain’t got all day. The enemy’s comin’, savvy?”

Ragetti found a sack and the three pirates threw whatever they could get their hands on into the sack. Jack put a crown on his head and a heavy golden chain around his neck. Rings were added to his already impressive collection. There was so much; enough for an entire shipload of rum. The roar of the battle could be heard now. They hurried towards the exit.


“Hector’s coming, with the cavalry!” shouted Legolas as he cut down two Greeks simultaneously.

“Thank God!” said Balian. His words were drowned out by the din of the fighting. The man with the sandy mane was nowhere to be seen. Presumably he had ventured deeper into the temple. More Greeks were pouring in, swarming the defenders like stinging fire ants attracted by a carcass. The closed confines of the temple limited his movement. It was like a maze in there, dark, with so many twist and turns that anyone would get lost.

“When are they arrivin’?” demanded Barbossa. “We can do with a bit o’ help here.”

“Where’s Jack?” asked Will as he ran a Greek through.


As Hector, Aeneas and the Apollonians neared, they feared that they might have been too late. The Greeks seemed to have taken the temple already and were dealing with the last of the defenders. One warrior, with hair the colour of wet sand, saw the approaching Trojan force. He hefted a spear and with practised ease, threw it. The spear pierced the throat of the man on Hector’s left. The Trojan Prince looked back at the fallen man in shock, and then at the Greek. How could anyone throw a spear like that? Hector lifted his own spear and returned the Greek’s favour, but the warrior simply sidestepped and let the spear pass. Nonchalantly, he stepped inside the temple and was lost in the gloom and the chaos. The Trojans leapt off their horses and charged up the steps on foot. Mounted soldiers were no use in the cramped spaces of the temple. They found their way blocked by fierce and determined Greek warriors. Hector slammed his shield into one of them while using his sword to fend off another. He managed to force his way past the threshold, with Aeneas right behind him.

It was a chaotic scene inside. Men were packed in like slaves in a ship, all jostling with each other and trying to fight. In the gloom, they looked like a mass of mindless creatures, devouring each other.

Aeneas saw it first. The Talisman of Troy. It was a sacred statue made out of cedar wood which stood at the height of three hand-spans. One of the ancient founders of Troy, whose name had been lost in the sea of time and memory, had carved it. It stood in a niche, watching the violence unfold before it with passive blind eyes. Balian was fighting to the left of the niche. A Greek, realizing the importance of the statue, was reaching for it.

“Balian!” shouted Hector’s cousin. “The statue! Don’t let them get the statue!”

Balian turned, and saw the carving. Without thinking about why the statue was important, he knocked aside the Greek who was trying to take it and snatched it up with a bloody, gore-covered hand.

He saw movement behind him, and made to cut down whatever it was, only to find that it was Jack Sparrow.

“Whoops,” said the pirate with mild surprise. He wore a crown of laurel leaves on top of his triangular hat and had draped himself with gold. “Must’ve taken a wrong turn. I do apologize for this interruption, gentlemen.” Two more pirates stepped out, carrying a sack of treasure.

“Where’s the door?” said Pintel.

“Now which door would that be?” said Jack.

“The one we came in through,” said Ragetti.

“Now is not the time to be joking,” said Barbossa. “We have to get out of here, or we’ll be trapped.”

The small group charged out, with Legolas in the lead, followed by Hector and Aeneas. The rest of the Apollonian Guard had been slaughtered. Balian was at the back, still clutching the wooden statue. More Greek ships had landed. They mounted the horses and rode back to the city. Hector glanced back at the temple, just in time to see the Greek with the golden mane decapitate the statue of Apollo on the steps of the temple.

‘Why doesn’t Apollo strike him down?’ thought Hector.

The bedraggled company rode back through the gates of Troy, battered but alive. Servants helped them off the horses. Priam was there to greet them. He embraced Hector. “I’ve failed you, Father,” said the Trojan Prince. “I’ve failed Troy.”

“All is as the gods will it,” said Priam. “Come, you must be exhausted.”

Legolas glanced at Balian. The blacksmith had a wound to his upper left arm, and he was clutching a wooden statue. “Balian, what’s that?” he asked.

Balian glanced down at the statue. “I don’t know,” he said. “Aeneas said to take it.”

“The Talisman of Troy,” breathed Aeneas. “Thanks be to the gods, you managed to take it!”

“Who managed to take it?” said Hector. He looked at the blacksmith. “Zeus’ thunder, this has to be the one fortunate thing in this day of misfortunes. Balian, once again, we are in your debt.”

Jack sneaked away while they were all busy thanking Balian for rescuing what was a piece of firewood as far as the pirate was concerned. Although he had to say it looked as if it was worth more than his jar of dirt. Pintel and Ragetti followed him. They were all eager to see how much plunder they had managed to obtain.

Balian was quite perplexed. What was so special about a small wooden statue which wasn’t even very beautiful? All he could think about was how tired he was and how his arm hurt. He wanted to sleep. Legolas saw his distant expression. “My lords, he is hurt, and he needs to rest,” said the elf.

“Of course,” said Priam. “How can I have forgotten?”


Cassandra had heard about the battle. She had known it would’ve ended like this. She stepped out into the corridor. There were voices. The princess could make out her brother’s voice. The shadows approached her. She could see them more clearly now. Hector was with Balian. The latter’s arm was bleeding and he looked tired. As she watched him, an image flashed before her eyes. It only lasted for a moment, but it was long enough for her to decipher it. She saw Balian on his knees. His hands were bound. And then, a flash of red. Her breathing sped up. Was this a message from the gods, warning her about something? She quickened her pace. She wanted to talk to Balian. She had so many things to ask him, and to tell him. Was he badly hurt? In her haste, she bumped into Barbossa. “How now, Princess?” said the old sailor. “Why the hurry?”

“I have to see Balian,” she said, trying to get past him. “I have something to tell him. It’s important!”

“You can’t see him right now,” said Barbossa. “He’s not a sight for young ladies at the moment. You can tell me, and I’ll pass it on to him.”

Cassandra shook her head. Barbossa would think she was mad, as everyone seemed to do. He would not pass on her message, and Balian would never hear of the warning. “You won’t believe me,” she said. “You’ll just think I’m mad.”

“Princess, I’ve been in Jack Sparrow’s crew. I think I know what’s mad and what is not. Now tell me, what is so important that you must barge into a strange man’s room to speak to him.”

With no other choice before her except to wait, Cassandra took a breath. “I had a vision, just then,” she told Barbossa. “I saw...saw danger for him.” She expected to be laughed at or mocked as she usually was, but Barbossa just looked thoughtful.

“You’re a seer, ain’t ya?” said the old sailor. There was no jest. Barbossa was serious. “D’you know what sort of danger’s in store for our dear blacksmith?”

“I only know there’s danger,” said Cassandra. “Visions are never that specific. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

The look in Cassandra’s eyes made Barbossa want to take a step backwards. He’d seen such a look before, only it had been in Elizabeth’s eyes. She had been talking about Will. Such a look foretold a boring monologue about the qualities of a certain man. However, the fact that Cassandra would feel this way about Balian surprised him. She’d only known the man for a few days, and he was far too old for her. The pirate doubted that Balian even knew about this.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” said Barbossa. “I’ll tell him. And he’s tough. He’ll survive.”


A/N: Now things start getting a bit more complicated. Trouble escalates for Balian. It is foreshadowed, and Classicists should have seen it. It’s also the first time I’ve done such a long fight sequence. I don’t know what came over me.

Thanks, Kiwi. Will decided to inspire me when I wrote that line for him. I could so hear him saying it inside my head.
Telcontar Rulz

Last edited by Telcontar Rulz; February 22nd, 2008 at 10:03 PM.
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Old February 22nd, 2008, 07:40 AM
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KiwiGirl KiwiGirl is offline
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Great battle scene....I must admit I am much more comfortable with writing them than any of the kissing stuff..

You are setting a cracking pace with this, am looking forward to the next bit!!

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Old February 23rd, 2008, 08:47 PM
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Telcontar Rulz Telcontar Rulz is offline
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Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Disclaimer: I don’t own Balian, Legolas, Will, Jack, Paris, Hector...you get the idea. I’m just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

Chapter 8: From Bad to Worse

Will had discovered that whilst Balian was a patient man in almost every aspect, it did not mean that he was a good patient. The older man was as taut as a strung bow and more restless as the healer prodded his arm and clucked his tongue in concern. “I tell you,” said Balian. “I’m fine. There is no need to make such a fuss over nothing.”

“You have an arrowhead stuck in your arm,” said Legolas, silencing the man with a glare. “If it is not removed, it will fester.”

“Well, remove it then,” said Balian.

“I can’t,” said the healer, who looked as if he was half Balian’s age. “The arrow’s been broken, and I can’t get a hold of it.”

Legolas sighed and began to examine the wound himself. Although he was no expert, even he could tell it wouldn’t be very difficult to remove the remains of the arrow. Part of the shaft still protruded, even if there was not enough for him to get a grip on. All that needed to be done was to make the right incision which would free the arrow. The elf held out his hand for the healer’s small bronze knife, usually used for lancing infections. The healer looked confused. “Give me the knife,” said the elf. The healer quickly obeyed. Legolas turned to Balian. “Hold still,” he said. With more skill than the healer had shown, he inserted the small thin blade into the wound. Balian winced and clenched his teeth together.

After what seemed like a painfully long time, the arrowhead was free. Legolas bathed Balian’s wound with warm water and bound it. “Try not to aggravate it,” said the elf. “And I think you should rest. You’ve lost quite some blood and the fighting was hard.”

“Yes, alright, Nurse Legolas,” said Balian. There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Legolas stiffened.

“What did you call me?” he said in a dangerous tone.

“He called you ‘Nurse Legolas’,” said Jack, who seemed very interested in seeing what would happen next. “Nanny Balian and Nurse Legless...how fitting.”

The ‘nanny’ and the ‘nurse’ in question glared at the pirate and were about to tackle him to the ground when Barbossa came in.

“I apologize if I be interruptin’ anythin’,” he drawled sarcastically, not sounding very apologetic at all. “There be some matters of urgency which need to be addressed.”

“What matters of emergency?” asked Jack in a hurry, trying to divert the blacksmith and the elf’s attention.

“It concerns a warning, from a seer,” said the old pirate. He took a few steps towards where Balian was sitting with his shirt half on. The younger man’s body gleamed with sweat.

“There be danger ahead,” said Barbossa, looking down at the blacksmith.

“That goes without saying,” said Legolas. “We’re at war.”

“What sort of danger?” asked Balian.

“Of that I am not certain,” said Barbossa. “I am only passing on a message from a certain lady. She told me to tell you to be wary at all times.”

“I will,” said Balian, putting his arm through a shirtsleeve and doing up the ties on the front. “Please thank her for her warning on my behalf.” He turned to his friends. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to see to the defences.”

“I thought I told you to rest,” said Legolas.

“Legolas, I can’t rest when there is work which needs to be done. We have no more time to lose. What if the Greeks attack and besiege us? We’ll be defenceless.”

“Uh, I’ve just been on the wall to survey the enemy,” said Will. “I didn’t see any ladders or catapults or other siege weaponry with the Greeks.”

“How can you tell?” asked Legolas. “I do not mean to offend you but you are human and I know human eyesight is not the best.”

“I had my telescope.”

“Tele...what?” said Balian.

“Something which allows me to see further than I usually do,” said Will.

“You must show me that sometime,” said Legolas.

“How do the Greeks intend to take Troy without siege weaponry?” said Balian, looking perplexed. Will shrugged.

“Seeing as they have no siege weaponry,” said Legolas “ours can wait a bit.” He stared pointedly at the blacksmith. When Balian did not seemed to be affected, he bodily dragged Balian over to the bed by his good arm. “You rest and don’t come out until you have done so.”

“Well, Nurse Legolas,” said Jack. “I think we should leave him to it.”

Legolas whipped around, looking murderous. Jack turned and fled for his life, with a furious elf on his heels. Barbossa watched with open amusement. Will shook his head. “Will Jack never learn?” he said to Barbossa as the two of them left Balian’s room and closed the door firmly behind them.

“He’s Captain Jack Sparrow,” said Barbossa. “Of course he never learns.”


Achilles drained his cup and flung the vessel aside into a dark sandy corner of his tent, wishing that he could throw it at Agamemnon’s head instead. He hated that arrogant man, and until he gave him that girl Briseis back, he was not going to fight. Let Agamemnon deal with the golden warrior who fought as one gifted by Ares. Let Agamemnon fight Hector and the stubborn Balian. And that monkey that Ajax was talking about. The lord of the Myrmidon would rejoice if the High King of Greece was defeated by that motley and efficient group of fighters.

The walls of his tent muffled the men’s voices. It was dark inside. That suited Achilles. He had no desire to see the sun, or anything else for that matter, maybe with the exception of Briseis. Let Agamemnon try to take Troy without Achilles. The King will find out soon enough that it was impossible. They needed him. The Greeks needed Achilles.


The main hall was noisy with the voices of men raised in debate. Some of the newcomers had been invited to this meeting of noblemen to discuss the matter of war. Everyone, except for Ragetti and Pintel, was present. Legolas wore an impassive expression on his face, as if he was listening to squabbling chickens fighting over corn. Beside him, Balian, with his arm bandaged, was frowning.

Paris was impressed by their stoic manner. He wished he was more like them and Hector. No one took him seriously. He could still hear the crackling of flames as they consumed the pyres upon which the fallen soldiers lay. They had died for him. Each death pierced his heart like an arrow. The screams and wails of their families would haunt him forever. He could not bear to meet the gazes of his people, knowing that his little affair had been the cause of their sorrows. He couldn’t let anyone else die for him. This was a dispute between him and Menelaus. It was his problem. Resolutely, he stood up. Naive determination radiated from his face. “There won’t be a war,” he said. “This is a matter between two men. I don’t want another Trojan to die because of me.”

This declaration caused a number of raised eyebrows and hushed whispers. Hector felt both pride and despair at once. He was proud of Paris for finally shouldering his burdens, and he despaired because it was common knowledge that Paris was no fighter. Menelaus was a great warrior. The younger Trojan prince would not stand a chance.

“Paris,” chided Priam, was alarmed by his son’s speech.

“I will fight Menelaus,” said Paris. “The winner will take Helen home, and the loser will burn.”

Jack leaned over to whisper to Will. “I guess we’ll have to start building a pyre then, eh?” he said.

Will frowned. “Jack, that’s not a good thing to say,” he said.

“Well, I’m tellin’ the truth,” said Jack.

“For once,” muttered Will.


In the darkness of his chamber, Calchas paced. His mind was working furiously. Paris’ fight with Menelaus meant that Hector would go out of the city as well. This would make him more vulnerable. He would not be behind high walls. But how to kill a warrior like Hector? The High Priest frowned and sighed. The opportune moment had been lost once Hector had returned to Troy. Everyone loved the Crown Prince. The only time where it was possible to kill him was during the chaos of battle.

Calchas stopped in his pacing. He needed to send a message to Agamemnon, teaching him how to flank Hector and thus attack the prince from all directions. Surrounded and cut off from all reinforcements, Hector would surely perish, unless his new friends managed to interfere yet again. The High Priest quickly wrote the letter and then summoned his most trusted servant to bear the message to the High King of Greece.


Aeneas felt uneasy. He glanced at Hector, who was walking beside him through the gardens. The Crown Prince was deep in thought. “Do you really think that Paris can win this fight?” asked Aeneas.

“I can only hope and pray,” said Hector. They were nearing a courtyard, and they could hear the sound of sword against sword.

“Take a high guard. A high guard!” Balian was saying to Paris from the side of the courtyard. It seemed that Legolas had forbidden him to physically show Paris how it was done.

“Rest on the balls of your feet, not your heels!” said Legolas.

“Mind your foot-work,” called Jack, sipping from a golden goblet of wine.

Paris and Will stood in the centre of the courtyard. Both had bronze swords in their hands. The others were scattered around the sides, giving advice or encouragement. Balian, Legolas and the pirates seemed to have taken upon themselves to prepare Paris for his impending fight.

Helen watched from the corner. It was her fault that Troy was suffering. With each move, she became more convinced that it would be Paris who would burn. She couldn’t let that happen. She didn’t want him to die for her. She wrapped her arms around herself and bit her lip. She knew what to do, but she was afraid to do it.

“Ready?” said Will. Paris nodded. Will stepped forward and lunged, rather slowly. Paris managed to block the blow but almost lost his balance. As they parried, Will called out numbers. Jack shook his head.

“He’s hopeless,” said the pirate. There was no doubt as to who he was referring to.

“There is always hope,” retorted Legolas, who still had not forgiven Jack for calling him ‘nurse’ one time too many.

“Bend your knees!” said Balian, taking note of Paris’ awkward and stiff movements. “Sword straighter!” Paris tried to do both at once and Will immediately caught him off guard. The captain of the Flying Dutchman tripped up the prince and sent him sprawling. Paris clambered to his feet again and charged at Will, who caught Paris’ blade with the guard of his sword and then swung his own blade to Paris’ neck, stopping just before the sharp edge bit into flesh.

“The blade isn’t the only part of a sword,” said Legolas.

“Won’t it be easier if we just give him a pistol and teach him how to use it?” asked Jack.

“Maybe,” said Will, retreating to the sidelines as Barbossa stepped into the courtyard. “But I don’t think the Trojans and the Greeks know about duelling with pistols.”


The day of the fight dawned. Paris was getting more and more nervous. He didn’t really want to die. Practising with the newcomers had just confirmed his suspicions that he was no warrior. Jack could beat him while drunk, although the pirates had taught him some useful ways to cheat when Hector and Balian had not been looking. Legolas just turned a blind eye to the dishonourable behaviour.

The army was gathered outside the gates. They parted ranks to let Hector and Paris through. Aeneas and the newcomers followed behind them. Hector was of the opinion that they would need experienced fighters such as them.

Paris turned around to look back up at the city. He knew his father and Helen were watching, as well as all the noblemen. “Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Hector.

“I started this war,” said Paris bravely, not feeling very brave at all.

“Wars are not ended by duels,” said Aeneas. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” said Paris. It was too late to back down now. They would call him a coward.

The Greek army appeared over the horizon, like a swarm of pestilence. Their spears glinted in the morning sun, creating a rippling sea of shining metal. The leaders rode in chariots. Balian presumed that it was Agamemnon in the middle. With him were the giant Ajax, a man who looked suspiciously like Boromir, and another man who looked like Reynald de Chatîllon. Balian tensed at the sight of him. Achilles, the warrior with the golden mane, was nowhere to be seen.

Agamemnon halted his army and then indicated to his charioteer to drive up to the Trojan Princes. The Trojan delegation rode out to meet them.

“I see you’re not hiding behind your high walls today,” said Agamemnon nonchalantly. “Very valiant of you; ill-advised, but valiant.”

“What do you want here in Troy?” said Hector.

“You can stop this war, young prince,” continued Agamemnon as if Hector had not spoken at all. “First, you must give Helen back to my brother.” He indicated the false Reynald. “And, Troy must submit to my command. Look at my army. You cannot win this war.”

“You think you can put fear into my heart?” asked Hector. “Do you know what I see? I see fifty thousand men brought here to fight for one man’s greed.”

“Careful, boy,” said Agamemnon. “My mercy has limits.”

“And I’ve seen the limits of your mercy,” said Hector. “I tell you now that no son of Troy shall ever submit to a foreign ruler!”

“Then every son of Troy shall die!”

Hector’s eyes blazed with defiance. Before he could say anything else, Paris spoke.

“I have a proposal to make, as a prince of Troy.”

“What prince?” demanded Menelaus. “What son of a king would greet a man in friendship, eat his food, drink his wine and then steal his wife in the middle of the night?”

“The sun was shining when your wife left you,” retorted Paris disdainfully.

“She’s up there watching, isn’t she?” said Menelaus. “Good. I want her to see you die.”

Things were getting tense. Both men were getting ready to fight. Menelaus’ hand had already strayed to the hilt of his sword. And then Jack pranced up and put himself between them. Hector was too shocked to react. Behind the prince, Will was cringing and Balian looked as if he was choking on something. Legolas pressed his lips tightly together. Barbossa stroked his monkey, seemingly calm. ‘How much worse can this get?’ wondered Hector to himself.

“If I may have a word, gentlemen,” said Jack. The Greek delegation looked as him as if he was one of Dionysus’ satyrs. The pirate looked as solemn as a minister who was about to give a sermon. He turned to Menelaus. “First, let us examine why your wife left you.” He smiled brilliantly, revealing a few gold teeth. “Obviously you couldn’t satisfy her.” He spoke as if he was teaching a very small child. Then the pirate frowned and looked Menelaus up and down. He gazed at the Spartan king.

“You’re not a eunuch, are you?” asked Jack with a grimace.

Hector’s jaw dropped. Things were about to get much worse than he had thought possible.

Menelaus roared in anger. Paris was forgotten. He lunged at the man with kohl-lined eyes and a braided beard.


A/N: Uh oh. Nasty stuff is about to happen. Jack has not yet added the word 'diplomacy' into his vocab list.

Thanks Kiwi. I like battle scenes more than love scenes, that's for sure, both reading, writing and watching.
Telcontar Rulz
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Old February 23rd, 2008, 09:49 PM
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Now my mother i loking at me like I am loony cause she doesn't get what I am laughing myself silly over!* wipes tears* oh please do continue and soon! *giggling* nurse LEgolas.. *giggles* can't help it...

When has Jack EVER learned diplomacy? answer.. uh never lololol0ololol
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Old February 24th, 2008, 12:58 AM
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KiwiGirl KiwiGirl is offline
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Oh that was just brilliant...having Jack wander in there like that. Could see it all so clearly and I laughed so hard.

I am very much looking forward to what happens next, I presume this is where things change...

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Old February 27th, 2008, 05:46 AM
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Telcontar Rulz Telcontar Rulz is offline
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Join Date: Jul 2007
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Posts: 886
Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Disclaimer: I don’t own Balian, Legolas, Jack, Will, Hector, Paris...you get the idea. I’m just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

Chapter 9: The Gun

Jack fumbled for his pistol as the angry Spartan King charged at him, only to find that his favourite weapon had disappeared. “Bugger,” he muttered, instinctively ducking, but he was not fast enough. Menelaus managed to snatch his hat. “Oi!” said Jack. “No one touches my hat!”

Will could see that if nothing was done and soon, Jack would be torn to pieces by the furious king. He whipped out his sword and pointed it at Menelaus. “I can’t let you do that,” he said, at the same time wondering why he was defending the pirate who had tried to sell his soul to Davy Jones.

“I knew you’d warm up to me,” said Jack, tearing the hat out of Menelaus’ hand and scrambling away. Menelaus turned on Will and pulled out his sword. They were about to do combat there and then when Agamemnon decided that this ridiculous business had gone on for long enough. Who were these men? The focus was shifting to them. Soon, his combined army would be forgetting why they were in Troy in the first place. The High King of Mycenae caught Menelaus’ arm to restrain him.

“Do not ruin my plans,” he hissed at his younger brother.

“He insulted me!” growled the King of Sparta, pointing his sword at Jack, who grinned cheekily.

“We’re not here for your honour,” said Agamemnon. “We’re here for Troy. If you fight that man, our purpose will be forgotten! Even if you must fight, then you must fight the real culprit, not some nameless wretch from some barbaric land.”

Menelaus gave Jack and final glare, and then turned back to Paris. “I accept your offer, Prince, and tonight, I’ll drink to your bones,” he said.

Paris pressed his lips together and said nothing. He was getting more and more nervous and he was afraid that he would stammer if he tried to retort. The two parties walked away to prepare for the confrontation. A Trojan soldier was waiting with a shield and a helmet for Paris.

“What were you thinking, saying such things?” Will demanded of Jack.

“What?” said Jack. “It was a totally reasonable question. Why else would his wife leave him for that whelp?” The pirate jerked his head in Paris’ direction.

“You’re mad, Jack Sparrow,” said Will.

Captain. Captain Jack Sparrow.”

They were all mad, as far as Legolas was concerned, although Jack was madder than most. He left them to their bickering and went to join Balian, who was looking worried for Paris. They all knew that the younger Trojan prince could not win; especially not now when Jack has enraged Menelaus.
Balian paid the pirates no attention. His focus was on the Trojan princes, particularly Paris. The younger man was putting on his bronze helmet.

Paris hands were shaking ever so slightly although he was trying to control himself. It was as if all his bones and tendons had gone soft and could not support him adequately. His knees felt as if they wanted to collapse. Gods above, he was not ready. The hilt of the sword felt awkward in his hands and the shield was an unnatural weight which threatened to overbalance him. On the Greek side, Menelaus looked murderous. Jack’s intervention had not helped at all. The Spartan king gave a few experimental strokes with his sword. ‘For Helen,’ Paris repeated to himself over and over again inside his head. ‘For Helen.’ She was up there on the wall, watching him, as was everyone else. He swallowed, trying not to let his fear show. “Hector,” he said. “If I fall, tell Helen...tell her I...”

Hector nodded. “I know,” he said, attempting to reassure his younger brother and not succeeding. He wished he could protect him, but this was one battle which Paris had to fight for himself.

“Don’t let Menelaus hurt her,” said Paris. His breathing quickened. He swallowed again and tried to work some moisture into his suddenly dry mouth. His tongue felt thick and cumbersome and his throat threatened to close up from terror. “If he...”

Hector gripped his shoulders, stopping him in his blathering. “You focus on your sword and his sword and nothing else,” said the older prince. Paris nodded. He turned to meet Menelaus in combat, his confidence diminishing with each step he took.

‘It is your duty,’ he told himself. ‘You started this war, now you can end it.’ He passed by Balian and glanced at the older man.

“God be with you, Paris,” said Balian, dipping his head slightly. Paris met Legolas’ gaze. The golden being smiled a little, trying to encourage him.

“Remember what you’ve learned,” he said. Paris doubted he meant the honourable moves which Balian and Hector had taught him.

Jack winked at him. “Try not to do anything stupid,” the pirate advised.
Paris’ walk was a sombre as a funeral procession. His heart beat like a war drum inside his chest. The helmet impeded his vision. He could only see directly in front of him. What had Balian said about helmets? Didn’t he always take them off? The prince held his sword out before him unsteadily. His arm felt weak. He was weak, not like Hector and Aeneas and Balian and Legolas and all the rest of them.

Sand leaked into his sandals. Each step brought him closer to his doom. And then he and Menelaus were within striking distance. Paris didn’t know what to do. The Spartan King terrified him. The large man struck. Paris forgot everything he had learned while practising with the others and he immediately ducked and raised his shield to block his opponent’s sword.

Balian winced as the force of Menelaus’ blows drove Paris backwards. ‘Fight,’ he thought. ‘Evade his blows.’ The Spartan King shoved Paris to the ground with very little effort, sending his helmet flying from his head and rolling uselessly to one side.

“I knew we should’ve given him a pistol,” said Jack to no one in particular.
“Get up,” whispered Hector. He clenched his fists, holding back the urge to run to his brother’s aid. He prayed to every god he could think of, begging them to spare his brother’s life.


Achilles finally gave into his urge and went to observe the battle from the top of a high dune, where the rest of his men were gathered. He could not sulk in the dark of his tent when there was a battle being fought. His men were restless. He could feel their frustration building up inside them. Patroclus, his innocent and naive cousin, was as taut as a drawn bow. Achilles knew that the boy would rush to join in if he so much as nodded his assent. There was no chance of that. He was Achilles, and he would not give in until Agamemnon complied with his wishes. And even if the Myrmidon did fight, He would not permit Patroclus to take part. The boy was too young and inexperienced. Let him be innocent for a few more years before his nights started to be filled with dreams of the men he killed.

He turned his attention to the duel below. The golden warrior that he had fought the other day was the best fighter that Achilles had ever encountered, but the young man who now fought Menelaus certainly had to be one of the worst he had ever seen. Achilles could feel himself getting agitated with the Trojan youth as he finally decided to launch his own offensive and emerged from behind the shelter of his shield, lunging at Menelaus with wild and ill-aimed swipes which, unfortunately for the young man, missed. Menelaus took hold of the young man’s shield and swung him around, flinging him away. The Spartan King tossed the shield aside, laughing at his opponent’s incompetence. Above them, the crows circled.


Paris gripped his sword with both hands, trying his best not to be petrified. He watched Menelaus’ sword closely. The king swung it with such ease. He blocked one blow, two, three, and then Menelaus caught him off guard and sliced his muscle just above his knee. Blood spurted from the wound. The leg collapsed beneath him. Paris cried out in pain. He made a final attempt to strike at Menelaus, but the larger and older man simply knocked the Sword of Troy out of his hand and into the sand.

“Pick up your sword and fight,” whispered Balian. “Fight him. Fight!”

“If you ain’t good enough, fight while runnin’,” whispered Jack. Even the usually nonchalant pirate was concerned. “Honour don’t matter much when yer life’s at risk.”

Paris’ courage broke. He grabbed a handful of sand and flung it in Menelaus’ eyes. While the Spartan king was temporarily blinded, he turned tail and fled to his brother. He knelt at his brother’s feet, clutching Hector’s leg.

‘Cheating,’ thought Jack. ‘I like that. Wish I had a brother like Hector, even though he can be stuffy at times.’

Balian and Legolas both cringed at the humiliation, even though they were not the ones kneeling at Hector’s feet. Balian looked away, unable to watch anymore.

Menelaus looked at the pathetic form of Paris sprawled on the ground in front of Hector. Why had Helen preferred that thing over him? He lifted his arms to the sky and looked up at the top of the city walls where she surely would be. “Is this what you left me for?” he demanded in humiliation and anger. His voice echoed across the vastness of the battlefield. He turned back to Paris. Hector or no, they would finish this duel as two men. “Get up!” he shouted. “Get up! This is not worthy of royalty!”

Hector was torn. He could the pain of his brother’s humiliation. And yet, as a man, Paris should be getting up and fighting. He looked down at Paris. A man? No, this was a child; his little brother who was looking to him for protection. “The fight is over,” he said to Menelaus.

“Over?” snarled Menelaus. “The fight is not over! Stand aside, Prince Hector. I’ll kill him at your feet, I don’t care!”

Hector did not move. Balian’s respect for this man grew. He had killed his younger brother. If he was Hector, he might have made Paris fight. “He’s my brother,” said Hector.

Menelaus did not hear the warning tone in Hector’s voice. He stepped closer and made to stab Paris but Hector moved first. He pushed Paris aside, pulled out his own sword and in one swift moment had pierced Menelaus’ abdomen. Blood spurted out from the wound. Menelaus staggered backwards, with blood staining his beard. And then, he fell and lay still.

“And so the battle begins,” said Legolas, drawing an arrow from his quiver. Balian unsheathed his sword. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the Greek army. They seemed to be spreading out so that their lines were longer than those of the Trojans’.

“Legolas, Barbossa, Will, Jack, they’re trying to flank us!”

“What do you mean?” said Barbossa.

“They’re going to encircle us, block us off from any possible reinforcements,” said Legolas. “Does Hector know?”

Balian looked where Hector was. The older prince was shouting after Paris, who was running towards the advancing Greek army. What was the younger man doing? Did he want to die after everything that his brother had done to save his life? Paris dove to the ground and scooped up something.

“’Tis the sword,” said Legolas. “He’s finally showing signs of courage.”

“A little bit too late for that,” said Will. “The battle has started. By the locker, I wish he’d showed some courage back then and fought on. Even I felt disgraced.”

“We have to stop them from circling us,” said Balian.

“How?” demanded Jack.

Balian didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to the Trojan cavalry. “You!” he said to the captain. “To the flank with me, now! Legolas, you take the other contingent and go to the other flank!” He scrambled onto his horse, once again regretting his failure to craft stirrups and make a saddle. Balian dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and lead the cavalry away to the left flank.

“Is he allowed to do that?” asked Will.

“Who cares?” said Jack. “I’m staying right here. The battle’s going to come to us whether we like it or not.”


Priam rushed forward as Paris tumbled from the horse’s back, bloodied but alive, and still clutching the Sword of Troy. “My son,” he said, catching the wounded young man in his arms and embracing him. Paris looked away in shame. His father had seen him grovelling before Hector. They all had. Helen, Andromache, Cassandra, his mother, his friends, his brother. Hector.

He couldn’t bear to look at them, knowing the condemnation and the disapproval. Paris knew he would never be like his brother. Hector had no fault. He was brave, a hero, and he would never give up his honour and pride. “I’m a coward,” he said. Paris freed himself from his father’s arms and limped away. He wanted to be alone with his dark thoughts. Helen called out to him. He did not turn around. He felt her hand on his arm, and only then did he look at her.

“You’re hurt,” she said. “Let your father’s physicians tend to you.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Paris, please...”

Paris caught her hand in his own. Her skin was so soft and her bones were so fine. “How can you love me?” he asked. “I disgust myself.” With that, he continued on his way.


Balian was glad that Achilles was not here. The battle was difficult enough already. The Trojans were outnumbered. He found himself facing a giant. The mountain of a man seemed to be avoiding Barbossa deliberately. The blacksmith leapt off his horse to avoid being smashed by the giant’s war club. The stone head hit the horse. The animal screamed in pain and fell sideways, almost crushing Balian. The Sword of Ibelin became trapped under the animal’s corpse. Balian quickly picked up a short Trojan sword and ducked again as the giant swung his club. He had no weapon long enough to reach the giant, and Legolas was away on the other side defending the right flank.

Then he remembered it. He still had Jack’s ‘gun’. As he dodged and weave, trying to evade the giant’s club, he reached for the weapon at his belt. He remembered Jack had done something with a little lever at the back. The pirate’s finger had been on another lever. Balian wrapped his last three fingers around the handle placed his index finger on the trigger. With his thumb, he pushed the flintlock forward, and then pointing the gun at the giant, he fired. The force shocked him, as did the noise. He heard the giant roar in pain as the projectile lodged itself in his leg. The moment of reprieve gave Balian the chance to retrieve his much longer sword from beneath the horse. He put the pistol away. It definitely was useful.


Will was not enjoying this. He’d thought that the battle with the East India Trading Company would be the last battle that he would ever fight, but apparently the heathen gods were playing with him. Some distance away, Balian was being chased by the same giant who had chased Will during the first skirmish. The giant was swinging his hammer wildly, nearly hitting Balian.

The blacksmith was surrounded by Greeks, all trying to kill him. The pirate cut the throat of the man he was fighting with and then went to help his friend.
He cut his way through the melee and made his way behind the giant. He stabbed the mountain of a man in the calf, causing him to fall onto one knee. “Balian!” he shouted. “Get away! I’ll deal with him!”

“Be careful!” said Balian as Will engaged the giant in battle. The blacksmith was quickly occupied again.

‘Don’t worry,’ thought Will. ‘I can’t die...I think.’


Calchas could barely contain his fury. Once again, those newcomers had ruined his plans. He cursed that man called Balian who displayed the qualities of a leader of men. The High Priest had made his decision. He would be the first to go, and he knew just how. With the King and everyone else too occupied with the battle below, Calchas slipped away to find the sacred statue that still bore bloody handprints.


A/N: Not much funnies in this one. It’s sort of hard to maintain that sort of tone. I hope you enjoyed it anyway. This chapter was more of a focus on the other characters, such as Paris. I’ll try and do a bit more Jack next time. And Balian of course. Can’t live without him. By the way, the ancients were obsessed with treating sacred things with respect, and touching a sacred statue with bloody hands counts as sacrilege (hint hint). Can you guess what our friend Calchas is going to do?

I'm glad I made you laugh Casakit. That's my goal in life, to lighten it up a bit.

Kiwi, I'm glad you liked Jack's interference. I thought that was the best line I'd ever written in my whole life.
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Old February 27th, 2008, 08:21 AM
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KiwiGirl KiwiGirl is offline
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It was a hard part to make any sort of lightness of. I remember the first time I watched Troy and wanting Paris to let him kill him. It was an excruciating scene that one.

You had some great Jack moments in there though. Well done and am once more waiting for the next chapter..

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Old February 28th, 2008, 09:01 AM
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Telcontar Rulz Telcontar Rulz is offline
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Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Disclaimer: I don’t own Balian, Legolas, Will, Jack, Hector, Paris...you get the idea. I’m just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

Chapter 10: Sacrilege

Jack saw Will run past him. The next thing the pirate knew, a giant was charging at him with a war hammer of stone. He leapt out of the way, but the hammer hit his sword. It broke, leaving him with a stub of blade about six inches long.

“Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger,” said Jack, throwing the remnants of his sword at his enemy and searching about desperately for a weapon. His eye fell on Barbossa, and he reached out to grab the other pirate’s pistol. Barbossa was too busy fighting to notice that he had been robbed. Jack quickly put a lead ball through the head of a Greek who was trying to kill him. The Greek’s companion roared in anger and ran at Jack. “Sorry!” said Jack as he pushed past Greek and Trojan alike, trying to get away from the furious man and reloading the pistol at the same time.

Hector watched the battle with increasing worry. Thank the gods Balian had seen that they had been about to be flanked and had taken his own initiative to stop that from happening. Legolas’ prowess was intimidating the Greeks who looked as if they wanted to flee from him but did not dare to do so without their commanders’ consent. To his left, the giant Ajax was wreaking mayhem. No Trojan who tried to fight him survived, although Will served as an effective deterrent to Ajax, distracting him with quick darting moves. Most of the Trojans gave Ajax a wide berth.

The prince knew that the giant warrior’s presence threatened to lower his troops’ morale. He had to do something, as their commander. Hector hefted his spear and urged his horse forward towards the giant. As he readied to plunge the spear into Ajax’s chest, Ajax swung his shield around. The spear went wide, and the horse was thrown onto its side. Hector flew several feet and landed on his back with the air driven from his lungs. Ajax lunged at the prince with his hammer raised, ready to bring it down on him. At the last moment, Hector snatched up a large shield that was lying next to him and brought it between himself and the rapidly falling hammer head. His other hand found a spear and he gripped it tightly. The hammer head smashed through the shield, stopping just an inch or so above Hector. The prince sent a swift prayer of thanks up to the gods.

Ajax watched the shield. It did not move. He snorted, satisfied that he had killed Hector, Prince of Troy and Light of the Dardan Lands. He was about to lift his hammer when the body beneath the shield suddenly came to life. Hector flung away the shield and Ajax’s hammer along with it. He thrust the spear up the giant’s ribcage. The bloody spearhead emerged from the other side.

Even though he was mortally wounded, Ajax still possessed strength which rivalled that of Heracles. With one swipe of his arm, he sent Hector flying. The giant broke off the shaft of the spear and used it as a weapon, bringing it down upon Hector’s back. Hector drew his sword, and made ready to do battle with the wounded giant. Ajax managed to trap the prince and proceeded to crush him.

Jack knew he should do something, but he had run out of shots and he had no desire to throw away such a fine pistol. Barbossa would kill him. He saw a rock at his feet. He picked it up. It was roughly the weight of a coconut. The pirate gave it a few experimental tosses and then threw it. The rock hit the back of Ajax’s head and bounced off, but it was enough to make him drop Hector, who promptly drove his sword into the giant’s heart. Ajax staggered. His knees gave away beneath him and he toppled over onto the ground. Cheers erupted around Hector. Breathing rapidly, he pulled his sword out of the Greek.

“Jolly good effort, mate,” called Jack as he picked up a fallen sword. “You owe me.”

Hector had no time to say anything to the pirate. Glaucus, his father’s old general, had brought him his horse. He mounted. From this height, he could see much better. The Greeks had ruined their formation while trying to flank the Trojans. It would be easy now just to force them back through sheer strength. “Push!” he shouted to his men. Behind their shields, the Trojans heaved, shoving the Greek force backwards. Trojan spears were thrust through the gaps between the shields.

Balian found himself in the front line, pushing together with the foot soldiers. It had been years since he’d done this. He grunted with the effort as he took another step forwards, forcing the Greeks to retreat. There was a red mist as Greek soldiers were brought down by archers on the top of the wall.

Odysseus didn’t like what was happening. If nothing was done to stop the onslaught, there would be a massacre and he doubted the Greeks could emerge as victors. “You have to retreat!” he shouted to Agamemnon.

“My army’s never lost a battle yet!” roared Agamemnon.

“You won’t have an army if you don’t fall back!”


From his sand dune, Achilles couldn’t help but feel pleased that the Greeks had lost this battle. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking like this but he was glad that Hector, a young man with an army half the size of Agamemnon’s, had beaten the arrogant High King of Mycenae. ‘Well done, Prince of Troy,’ thought the Myrmidon warrior.

Patroclus was beside himself with frustration. “Achilles,” he said. “If you were down there instead of up here, we wouldn’t be beaten...Achilles? Are you actually pleased?!”

“Let’s just say I prefer the Trojans to Agamemnon,” said Achilles. He started to make his way back to the camp.

“But Achilles!” said the enraged Patroclus, storming after his stubborn cousin. “They’re the enemy! Agamemnon is your king!”

“The Trojan prince fights his own battles. That’s more than I can say for Agamemnon. If I wasn’t born a Greek, I’d be fighting for him.”


From his quarters, Paris heard the shouts and cheers as people celebrated the victory. Hector’s victory. It made the younger prince feel even more ashamed of himself. He didn’t deserve such a brother. He sighed. The pain of humiliation stung him like a thousand fire ants. He could not rid himself of it. ‘Coward,’ he thought. ‘You’re such a coward, Paris. Menelaus was right about one thing; you’re not worthy of royalty.’


Helen grew more and more anxious as time went by. Paris had locked himself in his chambers and he refused to come out or to allow anyone to see him. She wrung her hands and paced outside his door, trying to think of ways to persuade him to let someone tend to his wounds. She saw Hector coming down the corridor. “Hector!” she cried. “Thank the gods! Paris won’t come out, and he won’t let anyone in. Maybe you can talk to him. He hasn’t eaten anything and he won’t let anyone tend to his wounds.”

Hector knocked on Paris’ door. “It’s me, Paris,” he said. “Open the door.” There was no response. “Paris? Paris, if you don’t open this door, I am going to ram it down.” There was the grate of wood on the other side as Paris unlocked the door. It slowly opened. Paris looked awful. His leg wound was encrusted with blood and his face was haggard.

“Why have you come, Hector?” he croaked.

“Oh, Paris, I’m worried about you,” said Hector. He reached out to embrace his younger brother but Paris shrank away.

“I don’t deserve your love, or anyone else’s,” he said.

“Love doesn’t have to be deserved, Paris,” said Hector. “It is given freely. I love you because you are my brother. Now stop being silly and let someone clean your wound. I didn’t go to all that trouble to save you just so you can die of blood poisoning.”

Paris nodded, and Hector clapped him on the shoulder. He made to leave, but then turned back. “You’ll make us all proud one day,” he said. Paris watched his brother go. Hector’s words reverberated in his mind and lifted his spirits. His brother had faith in him, even though he had shown himself to be a coward. The younger prince smiled for the first time since his defeat. He would not fail Hector.


“To victory!” said a very drunken Jack. He couldn’t remember how many times he had said that already. Once more wouldn’t do any harm. He brought his golden cup to his lips, sloshing liquid all over himself. These Trojans made some good stuff. It wasn’t rum, but it was pretty bloody close as far as Jack was concerned.

“No thanks to you,” muttered Balian as he polished an apple and watched Will show Legolas how to use a pistol. The elf was learning fast. The blacksmith sank his teeth into the fruit.

“Push the flint lock forwards first,” said Will. “Now have your index finger on the trigger...yes, like that. Perfect. Now point it at something— I know it’s tempting but no, you can’t point it at Jack’s cup. You might hit him instead.”

Balian looked at his half finished apple. “Legolas, shoot this,” he said, throwing it high into the air. Moving so quickly that none could follow, Legolas took aim and fired. Bits of apple showered down on them.

“Bravo,” said Will. His eyes were full of admiration. Barbossa was clapping slowly while Jack the monkey screeched and blocked his ears, jumping up and down.

“Master Greenleaf, you are most welcome to join my crew,” said Barbossa.

“With a shooter like that, the Greeks don’t stand a chance,” said Will.

“Too bad there’s only one Legolas,” said Balian.

“Achilles wasn’t there today,” said Legolas. “He’s the only one worth mentioning. Without him, the Greeks were as organized as an Orc scout party.”


Calchas quickly wrote another letter to Agamemnon. After today’s victory, Priam wouldn’t be very eager to kill anyone, not even for sacrilege. There was a village to the north of Troy. That was where a lot of supplies were stored. It was a stronghold, protected by the rocky and difficult terrain. There was only one way to get up to the village and only Trojans knew of that hidden path, which was hardly more than a goat track. The High Priest drew a map of the village and the secret path, and added detailed instructions telling Agamemnon how to get there. He sealed the letter and gave it to his mute servant to deliver.


Agamemnon peered into his cup, finding only bitter dregs resting at the bottom. He flung the vessel away angrily, splashing his advisor Nestor’s cloak. “They’re laughing at me in Troy,” he said. “Drunk with victory!”

“Maybe we should go home,” said Odysseus, rubbing his chin.

“I never abandon a campaign!” shouted Agamemnon.

“The men believe we came for Menelaus’ wife,” said Odysseus. “We won’t be needing her anymore.”

“My brother’s blood still wets the sand and you insult him!” said Agamemnon, enraged at the Ithacan’s bluntness.

“It is no insult to say that a dead man is dead,” said Odysseus calmly.

Before the argument could go any further, a messenger rushed into the tent. “My lords,” he said, kneeling before Agamemnon. “Sire, a Trojan emissary waits outside.”

“Cut off his head and stick it on a spear!” shouted the High King of Mycenae.

“Wait,” said Odysseus. “Send him in. He might have something useful to tell us.”


The Trojan court was in an uproar. “The Greeks have sacked the village of Arenios, taking three months worth of supplies,” read Glaucus from the report. “Three months! How did they even find their way up to the village? There is only one hidden goat trail!”

“It is the will of the gods,” said Priam gravely.

“My king speaks truly,” said Calchas, standing up to address the court. “The gods are punishing us, and rightly so, for the greatest sacrilege has been committed.”

Priam stood up abruptly. His eyes were wild with religious fervour. “What sacrilege?” he demanded.

Instead of speaking, Calchas clapped his hands. Once, twice. Two lesser priests came forward, bearing on a little litter the sacred statue covered with rust coloured hand prints.

Murmurs of horror rippled through the assembled men. Balian began to feel uneasy. They were his bloody hand prints.

Aeneas and Hector both turned to look at the blacksmith. They knew that he had rescued the sacred statue from the temple during the first battle. Their eyes were full of worry. This was a serious breach of religious protocol. If it was indeed Balian who had brought the wrath of the gods upon Troy then, friend or not, he had to be punished in order to assuage the deities’ anger.

“Someone has defiled the sacred figurine!” said Calchas. “He must be sought out, and made to pay the price!”

“Who did this vile thing?” demanded Priam. “Who?”

Legolas shook his head Balian, but the stubborn blacksmith stood up despite the warning. He knew that Calchas had seen him with the statue and there was no point in hiding it.

“Now that’s stupid,” said Jack quietly.

“I did,” said Balian “unknowingly.”

“Ignorance is no excuse,” said Calchas. He had that foolish young man now. “The gods will punish us for this offence. They have already started! You have doomed us all!” Members of the Apollonian guard stepped forward, ready to seize Balian but the young man boldly approached the High Priest.

“I wonder if it was the gods, or someone else, who taught the Greeks how to sack the village of Arenios,” said Balian. He and Calchas were standing less than a hand span apart. The two men circled each other, like mountain lions getting ready to fight.

“Legolas, we have to do something,” whispered Will to the elf. “He’s going to get himself killed!”

“I think he’s getting at something,” said the elf softly. “I know him well enough to know that he isn’t trying to commit suicide, although it might seem like it.”

“Still, something needs to be done!”

“What do you suggest we do?” hissed the elf, who was also trying to figure out what Balian was trying to do with his seemingly suicidal actions.

“I’m thinking,” said Will. “I’m thinking very hard.”

“If such a small offence can bring upon us the wrath of your gods, then by rights the Greeks should be utterly destroyed,” Balian continued “for they desecrated the temple and even the golden statue of Apollo was beheaded! And yet, the Greeks have managed to sack the village. Don’t the gods care, or can’t they care or...” He turned back to the High Priest “maybe you’ve misinterpreted the divine intentions?”

“He really has gone too far,” said Will.

Legolas didn’t say anything. He was too busy noting everyone else’s reactions. Priam was furious, and the princes were tense. They had caught Balian’s meaning.

“You know, I support him, mind and soul, just not in body,” said Jack.

“Recent events have led me to believe that there is a traitor in our midst,” said Balian. “And you do not need to look further than your own High Priest!”

Chaos erupted. Everyone started shouting! “He’s a liar!” roared the noblemen, most of whom were Calchas’ supporters. “He has no proof! Your majesty, you cannot let him get away with this!”

Priam raised a hand. Everyone fell silent, looking at him with apprehension. “I have heard enough of this blasphemous talk, foreigner,” said the King. “You shall insult neither the gods nor their servants anymore!”

The Apollonian guard seized Balian. He struggled against them as they tried to make him kneel. One man kneed him in the stomach, making him double over in pain. Another kicked him behind his legs, causing him to fall to his knees. There was a crack as he landed on the stone floor.

Legolas made to run to him, but Barbossa restrained him. “You’ll not be doin’ him any favours by gettin’ yourself killed,” said the old pirate. “Live today; fight tomorrow. We’ll be needin’ a plan to save him.”

“Barbossa’s right,” said Will. “We can’t save him through brute force.”

“Your majesty!” shouted Balian. “Who is in charge? You? The gods? Or is it Calchas? He is the one giving the orders, using the name of the gods!”

It took all of Legolas’ control to make him stay still as Calchas struck Balian hard across the face to silence him. One of the heavy rings he wore tore through the flesh on Balian’s cheek. The cold edge of a blade was placed against the young man’s neck, drawing a thin line of glistening red which stood out starkly against his skin.

“You say any more, and we’ll cut you here,” said Calchas quietly so that only Balian could hear. “And then you won’t be able to say anything ever again.” He turned to the guards. “Take him away!”

Hector wanted desperately to do something, but he could only watch on helplessly as they dragged Balian away, hitting him with their fists to subdue him. The man was right. The ruler of Troy wasn’t Priam, and it definitely wasn’t Hector.

It was Calchas.


A/N: Mwahahahaha! Calchas shows his true powers! I had been meaning to put the gods into this fic but then it’s so much more fun having an evil High Priest pretending to be the gods. How will Balian get out of this one?

That was indeed a very agonizing part of the film, Kiwi. I was wishing that Paris might be smart enough to kill Menelaus whilst the king of Sparta was too busy spitting out teeth. I guess he simply isn't a warrior, our Paris. The character was under-developed though, I feel so here I'm trying to get inside his head and develop him a bit more.
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Old February 28th, 2008, 09:10 AM
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KiwiGirl KiwiGirl is offline
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I am enjoying your Jack immensely, your Legolas is very likeable and the dialogue with all the characters is just fantastic. I have not read many good Paris stories as most of them just deal with him as the lover. I am really looking forward to seeing more of the man that he could be.

Well done and am once again waiting for the next chapter...

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Old February 29th, 2008, 10:42 AM
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Telcontar Rulz Telcontar Rulz is offline
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Join Date: Jul 2007
Location: New Zealand
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Chance Encounter: Pirate Kingdom of Troy

Disclaimer: I don’t own Balian, Legolas, Will, Jack, Hector, Paris...you get the idea. I’m just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them, savvy?

By the way, I made a wee trailer for this. You can see it here at www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPT-rjoQxx8

Chapter 11: Divine Intervention

Legolas cursed inwardly in every tongue he knew as Priam announced the time and manner of Balian’s punishment; death by burning, in five days. If Balian had to reveal the High Priest’s true nature, couldn’t he have been more subtle? Legolas supposed that subtlety was not one of the blacksmith’s strong points. He glanced at Hector, who was as powerless as the rest of them in such a situation. “Alright, Barbossa,” said the elf. “You told me to live today and fight tomorrow. How are we going to fight?”

“What manner of ‘fighting’ are you looking for?” asked the old pirate.

“Preferably something that won’t make us fugitives,” said Will. “It has to be based on reason, rather than the sword.”

“Captain Turner, you are talking about politics,” said Barbossa.

“Politics?” said Jack. “Nasty stuff. Never liked it myself.” He wrinkled his nose. They were so immersed in their conversation that they did not notice Paris approaching them. There was a small limp in the prince’s urgent stride but he was quickly on his way to becoming whole again.

“We need to save him,” said Paris. “Sacrilege or not, I won’t see him burn. He is right. Calchas is using the gods’ authority to control my father, and through him, Troy. The old snake is up to something.”

“Have you spoken to your brother and cousin about it?” asked Legolas.

“I have. They are uncertain as to what should be done. They are afraid of offending the gods.”

“And you? Are you not afraid of offending the gods?”

“After what Balian said, I’m not sure they care.”

“We can’t do anything without Hector’s support,” said Will. “Even if Calchas can override his authority, he still has great influence.”

“I’ll talk to him,” said Paris.


Calchas went down to the dungeons where they now housed Balian. The prisoner was quiet, for the moment, but without doubt he would start talking again if he had listeners. “Silence him,” he said to his servants “inconspicuously. He knows too much and he can say a lot in five days.”


Hector was troubled. One part of him greatly desired to save Balian, who had proven himself to be a steadfast and loyal friend. Another part told him that anything he was planning would be futile, not to mention dangerous. The gods themselves would cut down the man who had committed sacrilege if the Trojans did not. There was no point in incurring the anger of the gods if it would not spare his friend. He sighed.

“Hector?” said Andromache. “What’s wrong?” She came over to him and rested her hand on his arm. The prince turned to look at his wife. If Andromache had been a man, she would’ve made a fine commander. He told her about the incident between Balian and Calchas.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“What does your heart say?” said Andromache.

Hector shook his head. “My heart is divided,” He wanted to say more but a knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. Paris came in.

“I need to talk to you, Hector,” he said. “Alone.”

Andromache looked from Hector to Paris, and then back at Hector. “I’ll go and see the queen,” she said. “I have been meaning to do that for quite some time.” She kissed her husband and then walked past Paris, closing the door behind her.

“We need to save Balian,” said Paris. “You know it in your heart that he’s right. If the gods won’t punish the Greeks for beheading the statue of Apollo, they’re not going to care about our sacred statue, they’re not going to care about our sacred statue. Calchas is using Father’s faith. You can’t let a good man burn for seeing through the High Priest’s illusions.”

“What can I do, Paris?” said Hector. “Against Calchas, my word is nothing. Only divine intervention can save Balian now.”

Paris stilled and was thoughtful. His mind worked furiously. Divine intervention...divine intervention...hadn’t Balian survived a wound that would have killed any other man? And everyone thought that Legolas was more than just a man. Then there was Barbossa and the monkey that couldn’t be killed.

“So we’ll use divine intervention,” said Paris. “Come, we have to talk to the others.”

Hector was utterly dumbfounded by his brother’s proposal. Had Paris become mad like Cassandra or, gods forbid, Captain Jack Sparrow?


Agamemnon was in a very good mood as he strode into his large spacious tent with a report in his hand. Nestor bowed as the king came in. “My liege,” said the old man.

“Everything is going according to plan,” said Agamemnon, slamming the piece of parchment onto his low carved wooden desk and falling into his chair. “The report from the spies says that the Trojan court has descended into utter chaos. Soon, we will be rid of Hector, if Calchas does his part properly, and Troy will be ripe for taking.”

“Just one thing, Sire,” said Nestor. “We need Achilles, and his Myrmidon.”

“Wrong, Nestor,” said Agamemnon, leaning back with a satisfied look on his face. “I don’t need Achilles.”

“My lord,” said Nestor patiently. “Troy is like an old tree with roots which dig deep down into the ground, holding it fast. You need the strongest gale to blow it over.”

“Troy, Nestor, is rotting from within,” said Agamemnon. He picked up the report again. “It says here that old King Priam is about to put a good warrior and talented commander to death because Calchas has accused the man of sacrilege. With the influential High Priest on our side, there is no chance that we won’t win.”

“You forget. Calchas is on no one’s side but his own. He won’t let Troy fall into your hands.”

“He has promised me!”

“Men like that break their promises to everyone. If he can betray his own king, he can betray you. And I have heard the men speaking of a golden warrior who fights for Troy. His prowess is unmatched. They say he moves faster than a man’s eye can follow. He leaves no prints when he runs on sand and his arrows are swift and always true. Some say he is Apollo, taking on the shape of a man so he can defend his city. Others insist that he is Ares, taking the Trojans’ side. Whatever he is, we need Achilles to fight him. Only the son of a goddess can be a match for a god.”

“Fine! Let’s say we need Achilles. I can’t control him! The man won’t listen to me! He is as likely to spear me as to speak with me!”

“Just give him his slave girl back and then Odysseus can speak to him on your behalf.”

Agamemnon snorted impatiently. “He can have the damn girl,” he said. “I haven’t even touched her.”

“Then where is she?” said Nestor, dreading what he was about to hear.

“I gave her to the men,” said the High King. Nestor wasted no time in getting word to Achilles. He doubted the leader of the Myrmidon would be very happy if someone raped his slave girl.


“It might work,” said Will when Paris described his plan to them. They were gathered in an unused weapons storage room. Ragetti and Pintel were on the roof with Will’s telescope, acting as lookouts. “But how are we going to convince your father that the gods have chosen Balian and therefore it would be sacrilege to kill him?”

“The spear wound,” said Paris. “Legolas and Barbossa can pretend to be divine messengers. Legolas fights like a god and he glows in the dark, and Barbossa’s monkey can’t die. You two can tell my father that he can’t kill Balian.”

“This is mad,” said Jack.

“Coming from Sparrow, it has to mean something,” said Barbossa.

“But it will work, if we substitute Barbossa with William,” continued Jack. “He can walk through walls...”

Hector choked and Aeneas eyes looked as if they might fall out of their sockets. “He can what?!” they both said. Paris was too shocked to make a sound.

Will, Jack and Barbossa hurriedly explained what it truly meant to be the captain of the Flying Dutchman.

“You’re Charon,” said Paris in a small voice. “You’re the boatman of the Styx...”

“No no,” said Jack. “Charon ferries souls across the River Styx. The whelp ferries souls across the ocean, and he doesn’t take payment, stupid blighter.”

“Jack,” said Will with a warning tone in his voice.

“I think Father really will believe it if Will walks through the wall and then tells him that killing Balian is sacrilege,” said Paris.

“Hopefully it won’t frighten Uncle Priam too much,” said Aeneas.

“So when do we do this?” said Legolas.

“Tomorrow night, the fourth hour after sundown,” said Paris. “Father will go to the temple of Zeus to pray. We will meet at the east of the temple, under the tall fig tree. Now, let’s discuss entrances and exits...” He took out a piece of parchment and a piece of charcoal for drawing. With smooth firm strokes, he sketched out a map of the temple.

Hector watched his younger brother with admiration. Paris might have no idea how to use a sword and he might be a hopeless commander, but when it came to shrewdness and deception, he surpassed everyone.


Achilles could hear her screaming. The sound made his heart thud like the hooves of a herd of stampeding horses. He ran. He could see her now, being clawed at by drunken men. They threw her around like a sack of meal, or a lump of meat, laughing at her fear. One of them lifted a piece of hot metal from the fire. The rest held her still. Achilles wasn’t about to let anything happen to her. Greek or not, he leapt at the man who was about to apply the red hot piece of metal to her flesh and turned the brand around so that it seared the man’s neck instead.

The warrior wrenched away the brand from the drunk and pointed it at the others like a sword. They promptly dropped the girl and ran, not willing to engage the furious Achilles in a brawl over a Trojan girl. When he looked at her, he felt strange, as if he was not just a warrior but a man who could feel. In her, he could see the possibility of another life, one in which he could love and be loved.

He dropped the brand into the sand and picked her up in his arms. She whimpered and struggled against him but she was so weak from hunger and fatigue. “Shh,” he said to calm her down. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Achilles carried her back to his tent and laid her on his furs, regretting that they weren’t cleaner. He didn’t know much about women but he knew that they liked to be clean.

The warrior pulled over a basin of water with a wash cloth floating in it. At least that was clean. He wrung out the cloth and tried to wipe the blood and dirt from her face but each time he moved towards her, she pushed him away. ‘She has more spirit than most men,’ he thought, remembering when they had first met. She had told him her name: Briseis. It was a beautiful name. He swallowed his frustration and repeated the action a couple of times. Then he lost patience and threw the wash cloth at her. She threw it back and hit him in the face. If it had been anyone else, he would have taught them a lesson but he only sighed and dropped the cloth back into the basin. They had a long way to go.


It was totally dark when they all gathered at the prearranged meeting place. “Are you ready?” whispered Paris.

“For Balian’s sake, we have to be,” said Legolas.

“I have a question,” said Jack. “What if your father doesn’t believe Legless and the whelp?”

“Then we’re doomed,” said Will. “Or Balian will be, at least.”

They all took their designated places. Legolas was going to go in through one of the side doors and Will would appear walking through the wall behind the altar.

“I can’t believe I’m helping to fool my own father,” said Hector to Aeneas. “The pirates must be influencing me.”

“I can’t believe Paris came up with a plan like this all by himself,” said Aeneas. “It seems that we’ve underestimated him.”

“Don’t say that until we’ve succeeded in getting Balian out alive.”


Priam knelt before the altar in the dimly lit temple, begging the gods to protect his country. His lips moved in silent prayer. And then he stopped. A man emerged from the wall behind the altar and then walked right through the altar. “Priam,” said the figure. “You are about to commit a great offence. Heed my words and do not make this mistake, for you will bring down upon Troy the wrath of all the gods on Olympus.”

Will hoped that he sounded divine enough. He had never had to pretend to be anything before, much less a god. From the look on Priam’s face, it seemed that he had succeeded. “Who are you?” whispered the king.

“Only one of the gods’ messengers, sent to warn you,” replied Will. Thank God he had Jack and Paris to help him prepare these lines. He could never make up anything so pompous. “You know my name, but that is of no importance.”

Before Priam could say anything else, he heard a low melodic voice, like the sound of waves on the sand, calling his name. He turned around. A figure, shimmering with divine light, glided towards him with smooth and certain steps. “Priam, son of Laomedon,” said the golden glowing one. “You cannot harm the man who is known as Balian. To do so would be sacrilege.”

“But he has committed sacrilege...” began the old king. The golden being shook his head.

“No, he has been chosen by the gods to do their work. To harm him in anyway would bring down the wrath of every deity upon you and your city.”

Will looked at Legolas in awe. The elf sounded exactly the way a god should. He was very thankful that Legolas would take over from this point onwards.

Priam looked at the two of them. “Hector was right,” said Priam. “It is not a mere coincidence that you all look like my son.”

“The gods work in mysterious ways, King Priam,” said Legolas.

“Decide wisely, King of Troy,” said Will. They both turned, as they had practised, and left the king still kneeling before the altar. Will disappeared through the wall. While the king was too preoccupied with Will’s spectacular exit, Legolas slipped through a side door.


A/N: Paris vs. Calchas. An unlikely combination, I know. Balian will re-enter the story the next chapter. At the moment, he’s still locked up and rather unhappy about his situation.

I've always seen Paris as a character with potential that was sadly not used. Glad you liked the dialogue, Kiwi. They're my favourite bits to write.
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