FicWad

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make nothing financially off of my writings. I owe everything to the Great Bird of the Galaxy and Great Wizard of the Universe.

Author's Note: This story is taking place between the movies Star Trek: First Contact and Star Trek: Insurrection. This is a first for me in my story writings because I have not written slash before. I highly suggest if you do not like slash then do not read this story. As a personal note, I did not like the idea of slash either but after coming across a well-written slash LOTR fic, I knew great stories could be written. I hope I can do the same for you, my readers. I blame my friends auronlu and mrs_picard for encouraging me to write this pairing after they saw a banner I made for my website Palantir Crossroads.

Chapter One: Chance Meeting

"Personal log, Stardate 51621.3 - I am on my way to the Tikarel system for a much needed shore leave. The last time I had a long period between shore leaves I received much... encouragement from Commander Riker and a few of my senior officers to take a holiday. I thought it would be best to make plans before they did so again, as they did before my journey to Risa."

"I am afraid that I may land into trouble with strange adventures again but hopefully my eight-week stay shall remain peaceful. The planet Jenti Prime in the Tikarel system is uninhabited besides a few scientists who occasionally travel there for research. My preparations were made for an archaeological dig at the foot of the mountain steppes where a flourishing civilization once stood. Quiet and tranquility without the possibility of being disturbed is all I desire."

Captain Jean-Luc Picard sighed as he stared out the forward window as the light streaks of stars stretched out around his captain's yacht, the Cousteau. Leaning back in his chair, he cradled a warm mug of tea that he occasionally sipped as the little vessel sped along at warp. The yacht's autopilot would get him to the Tikarel system in a few days. For now, he would just relax with his classical music and a good book.

"I am not one to tell of my personal business to others; though, I cannot keep Counselor Troi from noticing my moods or feelings. She is never afraid to ask me if there is something troublesome, yet, even Beverly was aware of a change in me. The recent events of the Borg incursion on Sector 001 and our adventure in the 21st century has taken a toll on all of us. The growing possibility of war with the Dominion does not help matters either. I fear these events may have affected my health more than I realized. End log."

Picard stood, placing his mug on the console, and headed toward the back of the vessel where he had stashed his belongings and equipment. Absentmindedly tugging at his shirt then stopping himself, Picard smiled with a chuckle at his habit. Even when out of uniform, he noticed himself adjusting his tunic or outfit whenever he rose. Tossing a few bags aside, he found the container with his old-style, paperbound books and selected one of the novels. On his way back to the cockpit, however, the yacht suddenly jerked to the side, causing him to nearly lose his balance.

"Computer, report!"

"System failure. Warp engines offline. Cause unknown."

"Go to stabilizing thrusters. Send power to the inertial dampers," Picard ordered.

"Warning! Thrusters are not responding. Systems are unresponsive."

As the warning klaxons rang in his ears, Picard struggled to walk on the rocking floor panels to the forward console. He gripped the arm of the chair as he practically fell into it from a powerful shudder that rumbled through the yacht.

"Conduct full engine system shutdown and restart."

Picard took a deep breath as he finally felt the vessel seem to slow for a moment but he held it again as he felt a change in direction.

"Navigational operations offline. Attitude stabilizers are offline..." the computer continued.

"No matter," Picard mumbled to himself. "If I can restart the communication system, the Enterprise or another nearby ship should be able to locate me quickly. Status of sensor array?"

"Sensors are offline."

"Restart communications and sensors then boost power to those systems," Picard said to the computer but paused as he felt the yacht's velocity speed up once more with growing intensity.

"Warning! Losing altitude. Unable to maintain stable orbit."

"Orbit?" Picard though as he glanced out the window.

The view of a planet quickly began to overtake the window.

"Full power to thrusters!"

"Unable to comply. Thrusters are offline."

"Full power to structural integrity!" Picard yelled over the sirens.

Quickly stumbling to the back of the yacht, Picard grabbed anything that would help cushion himself in the impact. All he could do was brace himself as he felt the vessel plummet.

*
"Open your eyes," Picard tried to will himself as he felt consciousness reaching out to him in the fuzziness of his mind. "Wake up!"

Blinding sunlight forced him to shut his eyes again but he tried to open them again, this time slowly. A throbbing pain emanated in his head and abdomen as he tried to move his limbs. Fog still clouded his mind as Picard drunkenly fought the effects and injuries that he sustained in the crash. The final moments before impact were a blur to him and he could not remember much else. A sharp pain shot through him as he tried to drag himself out from underneath a dislodged compartment. Biting his lip, Picard managed to drag himself out from under the debris but fell back into unconsciousness as the pain from his body overwhelmed him.

*
"Eriol a cuin... pel... galad..."

"Flae... ascar haru..."

The voices floated in the dark void of his thoughts as Picard struggled against the oppressive abyss that kept him from full consciousness.

"He... help," he fought to say but his throat felt raspy and dry.

"Echuivo, drúadan," Picard heard one of the voices speak rapidly as he sensed someone draw near to him.

A cup was held to his lips and he tried to swallow with a little trouble and coughing then fell back into the darkness.

*
The pain racked through Picard's body and he cried out. There was nothing around him but black yet he could feel the stinging and pounding through every inch of his being. It felt just like when... the Borg had taken him.

"No not again!" he cried out.

Thrashing every which way he could, Picard threw his arms and kicked his legs at anything that might try to hold him down. He yelled and screamed through his ragged throat, to show that his resistance would not be futile. He would fight to the very end and not let them take him a second time. The throbbing in his body grew stronger with each movement he made but he tried to feed off it, adrenaline pumping through him as he struggled against the sudden sensation of hands holding down his limbs. Fighting harder and more violently waving his arms and legs, he felt them give way but someone now held him, his arms tightly encasing Picard against him chest-to-chest.

"Radotrí naur a nifred. Hu-nin! Dartho-anim," came a whisper in his mind.

Picard felt a calm come over him and his heart rate slowed as his breathing became deeper. A sense of comfort and safety came with the one who embraced him and he clutched at the figure, feeling a sob rise in his throat as his earlier fear of assimilation began to melt away. Eventually, sleep overtook him once more.

*

"Raenfirion."

The calm, soothing voice drew Picard out of his sleep, a kind beckoning that went to the very bottom of his soul. A soft touch trailed along his torso and he felt the dressings around his abdomen's injury being changed by the person speaking to him. He could also feel another bandage wrapped around his head, a portion of it draping slightly over his left eye. His head throbbed with a slight pulsation and the sounds of birds chirping and other creatures chattering eased through his sleepiness bringing him more awake.

Picard opened his eyes and tried to focus his blurred vision on the hazy figure at his side. As he finally began to see, he saw a man hovering over him. Strangely, he had pointed ears much like Vulcans but slightly different in shape and a long curtain of dark hair flowed over his shoulders. His clothing was a white tunic and a robe of rich purple and red shades hung on the back of a chair nearby. A silver circlet of simple design sat upon his head, a shining counterpart with his midnight-hued hair. His eyes of grayish-blue focused on his task at hand of changing Picard's bandages.

A cough racked Picard's frame as he tried to take a deep breath and he curled instinctually toward his stomach.

"Baw, idh sí," he said, placing his hands on Picard's shoulders, forcing him to lie down.

Realizing his shirt was missing, Picard also grasped that his communicator that included his universal translator was missing. The room around him was airy with several open archways that let sunlight come through. There was no metal present in the design, mostly ceramic and wood made up the design and ornate designs of the room. Outside the windows he could see trees blowing in a slight breeze, boughs dancing gently. Beds lined the walls inside the room he was in but Picard noticed he was the only one there along with the man tending to him. He let himself be pressed back down but he tried to motion to the man next to him nonetheless.

"I need to get back to my vessel," he said, waving his hand outside.

The man looked at him curiously but without comprehension. He smiled slightly; knowing that there was a communication problem between them and went back to tending Picard's injury. The captain let him continue until he had finished, not wanting to cause more trouble or further injury to himself. He watched as the man walked to a nearby table and gathered a salve cream in a bowl that he spread over the gash across Picard's midsection. He hissed under his breath and the man looked at him with understanding, squeezing Picard's hand knowingly.

Curious, Picard watched him as he went about his duty, taking pride and care in what he was doing. It was a rather simplistic healing method compared to 24th century Federation medical abilities but it was all that was available. He knew this man was the same one he had heard speaking to him before when he had tried to awaken.

Picard knew that he possibly had made the mistake of becoming involved with a pre-warp culture, breaking the creed of the Prime Directive. It was not as if he could have stopped himself from crashing on the planet but he would try and avoid any further interaction with others on the planet. As soon as he could escape, he would make his way to the yacht and try to repair it enough to break through the planet's atmosphere.

"My clothing," Picard asked, pointing toward his tunic he saw on a nearby bed.

The man gathered it for him and handed it over with an observant eyebrow raise. Another man, of similar stature entered the room but stopped in the doorway. He had golden hair and was dressed as if he just returned from a battlefield, a sword sheath at his side and armor protecting his body. The first man went and started speaking with him in the language Picard could not understand.

While they spoke together, Picard reached over and took a sharp pointed tool on a nearby nightstand with other medical items. He found his communicator attached still to his shirt but a portion of it was broken. Removing the pin from the clothing, he began to poke at the inner workings with the tool he took from the table. The other two were still busy talking as Picard heard a little chirp come from the tiny item.

"... the scouts sent by Lord Celeborn have say that they have found more wandering survivors but Sauron's forces are pressing further north and shall be spreading throughout Eriador within weeks," the golden-haired man said as Picard glanced their way upon the realization that he could finally understand them.

"We will ride forth to provide aid if need be," the dark-haired man replied.

"What of him?" the second man said, motioning toward Picard.

"He is healing but still needs aid," Picard's tender said. "If I must leave, the other healers can continue without me. It is not imperative for me to remain by his side now that the worst is over."

The second man nodded then stepped out to go about other duties. The first man came back to Picard's side and smiled again before reaching for the dressing on the captain's head.

"What is wrong with me?" Picard asked him.

The man looked at him in surprise after Picard spoke.

"You can understand and speak now?" he asked.

"Yes," Picard said carefully. "I was not certain at first, it must be my wounds."

"Perhaps," the man nodded. "How do you feel?"

"A little weak..." Picard answered. "And my head still hurts a little as does my stomach."

"That is expected," the man said as he began to unwind the bandage on Picard's head. "You were badly hurt when you were found and had a fever with several delusions while in my care."

"How long have I been here?" Picard queried.

"Eight days," the man answered, dabbing a wet cloth carefully at the scabbing and dried blood. "If Lord Glorfindel did not come upon you when he did, you may not have made it to today."

"I shall give him my thanks then," Picard said.

"He was the one who was here. When he returns later you may tell him yourself," the man said. "And I have meant to ask your name. I would rather know what to call you rather than what we have said these past days."

"My apologies," Picard said nervously and decided it would not hurt to give his real name. "I am Jean-Luc Picard."

"I am Elrond, lord of Imladris where you are now," he said with a bow of his head. "Your name, it is quite peculiar and I am not familiar with its origins."

"Ah, well I am from... the east," Picard thought quickly.

"Strange, you do not appear like the Easterlings," Elrond commented.

"I am having trouble remembering things," Picard lied. "All I remember is that I am from the east."

"You may be from one of the settlements in Rhovanion," Elrond said with some thought. "I shall help if you wish."

"I would like that," Picard answered as Elrond continued with tending to his wound.