白花叶绿 幽兰春芳
吾心安处 中土为乡

【Wigolas】Till Time Do Us Part(3):Debut & Reunion



  1. (1)Shipwreck

  2. (2)Salvage


[Chapter 3]Debut & Reunion

He curled up as they hit the freezing water and dived down below the sinking body, embracing the Elf through under his arms with his own, and then kicked hard to push both of them upwards. It was not easy. The waves tossed them to one side, counteracting his force, and the Elf was heavier than he remembered. He had used to be light as a leaf when he held him in his arms. It was not long before he realised that it must've been the heavy gears the Elf was carrying - his dual knives, his now empty quiver, and his precious bow.

Casting them away would be the wisest plan under such circumstance, but he could recall how much the Elf had treasured his weapons and garments, since they were the only things here to remind him of his homeland far away. Thus, he pushed harder and heaved the Elf upwards, while he himself was pushed back a little and had to regather strength to catch up with him and give another push. It was the toughest swim he had ever swum, all his muscles aching with sore, and his lungs hurt as if it were going to explode. Yet he pushed and fell, and repushed and fell again, for a little spark of fire was kindled in his heart which could not be extinguished by all the cold water in the sea ever again.

At last he dragged the Elf out through the surface of the sea. He gasped and inhaled as hard as he could despite the splashes of waves and torrents of rain rushing towards his face. The fresh air couldn't taste sweeter on his tongue, nor had the brush of sea wind flapping his face seemed so gentle to him before.

He searched around with his eyes. The Flying Dutchman would never leave without its captain, yet currently the sight of his ship was nowhere to be found in this bloody weather. He could really use the keen sight of the Elf now, but those eyes beneath the blonde hair refused to open and look at him with the joy and sadness as it had done before.

His heart sank a little, but at the next moment cheered up again. A wooden plank was floating not far away from them. He clenched the Elf's arm and stroke towards it. A rope was tied to its end. He crowed onto the plank, bound the rope fast around the Elf's thin wrist, and then pulled it hard thrice. The rope began to move, dragging the plank and the two upon it, towards the ship waiting for its captain in the mist.

As they were heaved upwards, suddenly the clouds burst apart. Sunbeams thrust through the thick atmosphere and shone upon them, warming their body up and drying their tangling hair. Salty winds ran through his hair. He felt again the freedom he had once felt when he first sailed on the sea. The freedom like a gull, ever soaring, ever touching the high firmament with the tips of his wings. The desire for freedom that he ever longed. The blood of a pirate that ran through his veins. Though now this freedom tired him rather than attracted him…

He landed swiftly on the deck, carefully holding the Elf in his arms. He lay him down carefully on a patch of rugs — the neatest in the range of sight he could find, while his crew crowded around him, their curious sights burning upon him and the Elf.

‘Stop staring!’ he howled. ‘Fetch some water.’ Then he remembered something, ‘Some clean water.’

He put his finger under the Elf’s nostrils and felt his breath. To his relief, it was faint, but not null. With trembling hands he loosened the buckles of the dark green hunting jacket all soaked and shrunken against the Elf’s lithe body, trying to make it easier for him to breathe. Beneath it was a set of silver mail hooked with rings, gleaming in the sun. Soft and flexible it might seem, but the blacksmith knew it was stronger than any metal he had ever handled. Knowing that it would be in vain to try to unlock that, he crossed his hands on the mail and pushed hard against the breast hard yet with care. Several times he repeated and the sharp rings bit his palms. Thin flows of water streamed from those pale lips, and all at a sudden, those eyes gazed wide open. Inside it was deep, pure blue. Bluer than the bluest sky. Deeper than the deepest water. A whole beautiful world of blue, unfolding in that pair of eyes, young yet old, laden with the burden of many ages unimaginable to Men.

With the tide of overwhelming joy flooding in his heart, unable to resist, he scooped his long-lost treasure into his arms. Once again he felt the smell of newly-born leaves in spring embracing him, and all efforts had been worth it.

‘O Legolas, thanks Poseidon I found you.’

At this that pair of pure blue eyes widened. Despite its astonishing beauty, it was filled with confusion and astonishment, unable to understand where he was, what had happened or who this stranger holding him so tight might be. And now after it perceived that those men wrapped in ragged, dirty cloth surrounding him were bearing symbols similar to those it had seen on the black ships of the Corsair of Umbar, and realised with surprise that his garments had been ripped apart before his breast, that peace of blue turned to rage and fury, as a tranquil sea suddenly bursting into storm.

‘Get off me!’ with a cry he struck, and the raging strike of an Elf was hard for any living man to take in, whether in the world he came from or not, especially when this particular man was so immersed in delight and relief that he was totally unprepared for a sudden battle with the one in his arms. So it came to be that the Elf struck hard right into the man’s soft stomach with his elbow, mercilessly shook off the hug, unleashed his dual knives from the leather sheath behind his back and posed into attack posture. But the pirate was no tardier. As soon as he realised the situation, defensive strategies were taken with no delay. His cutlass was drawn and steadily bore the first blow from the knives, clinging and sparking as steel hit steel.

The Elf was amazed. Few among Men could have survived that strike. Judging by his nimble paces and deliberate tactics, the man he was confronting must be highly-skilled in sword-fighting. He took a few quick glimpses during brief pauses: it was a man around middle age, how old exactly he could not tell, since the lifespan of Men varied greatly from that of the Elves. A brown bandana was wrapped around his unruly dark ringlets, all soaked and tangling on his tanned brown skin lying bare beneath his sloppy shirt. His face was supposedly good-looking if it had not been covered with long ages of stains of mud. And all about him flowed a breeze of uninhibited ever-unresting sea.

‘What's this?’ the man asked with a little panting, ‘Is it on purpose? A test? What’re you…’

Yet before he could finish two white blades glinting with ominous beam stabbed towards his chest. Gasping, he fended them off with his by a hair's breadth. The three blades dangerously hang inches above the pirate’s heart. A stalemate.

Then for the first time did the Captain gaze into the depth of those blue eyes, and see unexpectedly therein complete fury, vehemence and strangeness, a glare so fierce and unfamiliar shooting from the bottom of that sea that he had never seen before, apart from when the Elf was fighting ferociously with his foes.

‘Don’t you remember me?’ he dubiously asked, deep dread piling up into sullen clouds his chest. Why would the Elf ever want to kill him? Was it that he had grown too fast and too old for him to recoginse? Or was it that other mishaps had taken place beyond his knowledge to let the Elf hate him this much? ‘It’s me, Will Turner!’ 

The Elf didn’t even tremble at the name, nor did the fierceness in those eyes die out. Coldness was in his calm voice, chilling the pirate to stone, ‘Who is Will Turner?’



威尔潜入水中,靠将对方向海面推,救起了落水的精灵。天开云散时,精灵也终于在“飞翔的荷兰人号”上睁开了蔚蓝的眼睛。然而看见自己被海盗包围,还有一个陌生人类紧抱着自己不放,莱戈拉斯迅速出击。刀光剑影之间,威尔看见精灵眼中满是他不熟悉的凶狠与怒火。他不安地询问精灵是否还记得自己,而莱戈拉斯的回答却是——‘Who the hell is Bucky? Who is Will Turner?’


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