The Elendilmir by pandemonium_213

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Chapter 38: The Crow's Nest

Because it has been a while since I updated (almost a year), I'll recap briefly: 

Sámaril (Ringmaker and Annatar's former apprentice, now master of the forge of Rivendell) and Elerína (Isildur's widow and now Sámaril's lover) and have arrived in Gaillond, intending to spend the summer there. The jewel that Sámaril has obtained from the Dwarves, and will use for the new Elendilmir, resists his attempts to apply the deep arts to it. Elerína believes this is because Sámaril needs to learn more of the Sea and the descendants of the Númenóreans who live and die by it. Hence, they arrive Gaillond, a port town northwest of the mouth of the Baranduin River. This chapter picks up about three weeks or so after their arrival.

Thanks muchly to the Lizard Council for their grooming and suggestions for the motifs on the ships' colors.  Darth Fingon's name generator came in handy, too.

 

 

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The long dormant villa blossomed along with the spring flowers that waved in the meadows high above the Sea. The light of the bay and the ocean breezes drove back the shadows within, save for one that trailed Elerína and dogged my footsteps. It lingered in quiet corners, ever at edge of my vision, only to evaporate like mist in the sun when I turned my head to catch sight of it.

My beloved acknowledged no ghosts as she took firm charge of the household and more. Within a week of our arrival, Reeve Cellorn came to the villa to inform her of a problematic trade agreement between Gaillond and a port town called Brûn Hobas just beyond Edhellond. I learned quickly that issues of trade were common in Gaillond. Mortal and elven merchants sailed here from the south, the east, and the north seeking salt cod, sailcloth, whale oil, and the most precious of all commodities, ambergris, which Círdan's folk especially coveted.

As word of Elerína's arrival swiftly spread throughout the surrounding lands, visitors began to seek audiences with her. Up the path they came: traders from foreign ports; the local nobility, such as they were; and fishermen and merchants of the town. Elerína fell into the role of counselor with extraordinary ease. This should not have surprised me as much as it did, but then I had not yet seen this side of her so fully realized. Although she had contributed to the running of the household in Rivendell, she had little reason to display her capability for leadership so openly. Here in Gaillond, she left no doubt who had ruled by her husband's side in Minas Ithil, hard against Mordor's borders.

During those early days in Gaillond, I, too, was at her side when she conferred with her visitors. I sat on an exceedingly uncomfortable carved wooden chair nearby, where I felt like so much decoration, garbed as I was in a fine linen chiton and a robe of such a deep shade of purple that it approached black. The garments had belonged to Isildur. When I tried them on so that the tailor might adjust them, I recalled correctly that Isildur had been taller and broader than I.

"You look kingly, Istyar," said Elerína, who looked on with a smile of approval.

I ran my fingers over the gold embroidery of scrolled waves that edged the rich fabric of the robe. Although the garments had been cleaned and stored in a cedar chest, I was convinced that Isildur's scent still lingered on them.

"I am no king," I corrected her. "I am a commoner, my lady. A stonemason's son."

She shook her head, her smile now indulgent. "So you keep reminding me, but you truly have no idea the effect that the Fair Folk have on mortals, do you?"

I could only shrug and think that effect to be ridiculous, but also admitted to myself that I was not above using it to my advantage.

"So you wish me to exert these effects on your petitioners? Am I to be a fair elvish bauble on your arm?"

"A very fair one."

She introduced me to the tradesmen, nobles, and merchants as "the Istyar, the great loremaster of Rivendell's forges," or even more flowery titles, but I felt like a curiosity rather than anyone of real significance. More often than not, I found these audiences to be boring beyond words. Matters of business, save for the procurement of metals, ores, and gems from the Dwarves, had never held much interest for me.

Elerína, on the other hand, clearly enjoyed the dance of negotiations with the foreign merchants. She smiled, regal and gracious, while listening to their flattery that disguised slippery proposals, which would have left Gaillond short. Then she dashed their assumptions that a woman might have little ken for trade when she spoke of tariffs on imports and exports, projected needs of Gaillond, and currency values in their lands. She had a notable acumen for such things, and her practical talent for numbers served her well.

The disputes of the petty nobles that she heard were worse, but with patience, she presided over the unending disagreements, most often concerning borders of their properties, brought to her by the local landowners. Their bickering provided a form of entertainment for them, and perhaps Elerína, too, but they were exceedingly tiresome for me.

Thus, it was not long before I became restless and irritable from a growing sense of uselessness as Elerína continued to solidify her power in the region. Time and time again, she told me, "It is my duty as queen-mother to hear these men out. I do this for Valandil," but I had the sense that she relished her influence, now that she was out from under the ancient and often unyielding ways of Rivendell where Elrond was the undisputed lord and where his own counselors kept the books in order. Here, she had little in the way of competition.

She took note of my increasing restlessness. "You are here to relax, Istyar," she said. "You have worked hard for years uncounted. Enjoy your idleness for a change. If you do not wish to be a bauble at my side, as you say, then I excuse you to go do something elvish: enjoy the lands of the coast. Go explore!" Then she returned to the business at hand, whether it was reading a petition from a landholder, examining the map of a surveyor, or finding errors in the calculations of a sailcloth inventory.

Thus dismissed, I set aside Isildur's chiton and robe, donned my own clothing, and hiked along the narrow trails that meandered through the coastal heath, now fragrant with fresh green growth and resplendent with birdsong. From there, I entered the pine forest that loomed above the red and grey granite stones that tumbled down to the sea. I drank in the green scent of the woodlands and the briny odor of the ocean. I listened to the cries of the fish hawks, the trumpeting of swans, and the eternal sighing of the surf. Often, I found myself standing on the heights near the great beacon tower of Súl-Barad, where I looked out over the bay and beyond to the sea, watching the boats and ships come and go. I made my way down to the shoreline where waves broke upon the rocks to cover me with salty spray, but I found no peace.

It was around that time that I began to dream of the Sea. In some dreams, I walked into the surf that drew me into deep water where I swam, breathing as a fish might, with beams of sunlight that sliced down into the profound depths. A melody so deep that it was almost beyond hearing engulfed me. I strained to listen to this song of the Sea, trying to find meaning in words that were indistinct and mingled with the rush of the surf.

One of these dreams was exceedingly strange and vivid, as the most memorable of our dreams tend to be. I found myself braced on the deck of a swift ship that surged through the waves. Its sails caught the wind and billowed into the wings of a hawk that lifted the ship to fly over the dark waters. My heart soared along with the flying ship, and I felt I could fly, too, so I leapt over the wale of the deck. I did not plunge into the water, but ran across the swells, fast as a hunting wolf. I charged toward water that churned white streaked with crimson, closer and closer to my unseen prey, my blood running hot with the lust of the hunt, and then I awakened with my heart pounding and my cock iron-hard.

That I woke up in such a state of arousal at least assured me that there was nothing fundamentally wrong with my body, for the difficulties in the bedchamber between Elerína and me continued unabated. Despite her sure knowledge of what gave me pleasure, I was unable to maintain my erection such that I could enter her, or, on the occasions that I was successful, so that we could remain joined. I had other ways of sating her and took gratification in her moans of love, but I knew that she, as much as I, longed for the connection now denied to us. Each failure made the next one worse. While we lay together on my bed, her words of understanding no longer soothed me, but grated instead, for I sensed the frustration that lay beneath her thin coat of empathy.

One morning, as the rising sun burned off the morning fog and after I had failed once again in our lovemaking, I complained of an impending visit from an official from the sail-makers' guild of Lond Daer, one Master Caumbar. She shrugged on her dressing gown as she readied to return to her own bedchamber. While I grumbled peevishly, she pulled the long fall of her hair from beneath the garment.

"Then take a walk if it bores you so," she said while rolling her eyes. It was such a small gesture, trivial even, but it ignited annoyance into anger, and my response was not temperate.

"I can take only so many walks! I need something to do!"

"Then make yourself useful for something!"

Our eyes were locked while the tension between us crackled. The bitterness of what was left unsaid pierced me. Her face softened with remorse, and she forced a smile, but my manly pride, already wounded, was now severely stung. She closed the distance between us and wrapped her arms around my waist, but rather than pulling her to me, I clenched at her touch. Her face fell while her hands dropped away from my body. She gamely forged ahead while I ground my teeth to prevent another outburst.

"Then why don't you go with Gaereth to the market this morning?" she said, her voice wavering for just a moment before she regained control. "Her mother is sending her there to buy provender for this evening's supper that she will prepare for Master Caumbar. Visit the town and talk to the people. I daresay Gaereth would appreciate your company." Then she left me and closed the door between our bedchambers with a resounding thud.

So on that morning, Gaereth and I, both carrying large baskets, and followed by Lithorn, the kitchen boy, laden with more baskets, walked down the path into the town. It was a menial chore, but it allowed me to escape the mounting frustration between Elerína and me. As I walked along, I chewed on a blade of new grass and fretted: what I hoped would be a summer idyll had rapidly become fraught with worry and resentment. Every day that passed under the cloud of trouble etched yet another sad and painful memory that would remain with me until, if the tales were true, the world ended and the Firstborn along with it. I mashed the grassy stem between my teeth in an effort to wrest my thoughts from a spiral of despair and focused instead on Gaereth's chatter.

"Mama wants scallops and flounder for today's luncheon and lobster for supper tonight. She said we should bring back mussels and oysters, too." Gaereth's accent had reverted to a thick coastal brogue almost as soon as we rowed into the harbor. "Master Nibendur should be docking his boat soon, so we'll get the scallops and flounder from him. Master Losbreg will have mussels. He gathers them off the rocks most every morning at dawn. He'll have oysters, too. You like oysters now, don't you, Istyar?"

"Yes, I like them quite a lot actually."

"And lobsters? You like them, too?"

"Yes, Gaereth. Lobsters are tasty, even if they look like big, horrible bugs."

"But you eat crayfish back in Rivendell!"

"Yes, but they are smaller, less horrible bugs."

She laughed at that. "We must get lobsters at the docks, too. My kinsmen trap the best."

The path from the villa became a cobbled street. We passed modest but tidy stone cottages where spring flowers bloomed bright in window boxes. As we drew nearer to the walls of the fortress, the cottages gave way to larger houses that had shops on the ground floor with living quarters above. Carved wooden signs advertised their services: a barrel for the cooper, a boot for the cobbler, an urn for the potter, a sailboat in the wind for the sail-maker, and loaves for the baker. The tantalizing scent of freshly baked bread wafted from the shop and mingled with that of flowers and of the sea. The town was refreshingly free of the stench of sewage that so often plagued villages of mortals, thanks to the sewers built by the Númenóreans, and the village folk were the healthier because of it.

I looked down a side street, which ended in a wide paved courtyard before a building with a huge chimney with many vents rising from its center. Wisps of smoke floated up to the sky from the chimney. A wooden sign with a ship's anchor carved into its surface creaked on its hinges in a gust of the morning breeze off the ocean; it sounded like the riggings of a sail straining in the wind. This had to be a smithy, but one that made hardware for ships and boats rather than hoes and ploughs for yeomen of the land. I made a note of it, thinking I would pay the smith a visit at another time.

I smelled and heard the market long before I saw it: the reek of fish mingled with the odors of many people. Voices shouted and haggled. Laughter mingled with song. Someone played a tin whistle, another beat on drums. We emerged into the market that spread through the square in front of the old Númenórean fort.

In the center of the square rose a fountain where water spilled over the marble statue of a breaching whale. Merchants hawked all manner of wares in the two dozen or so stalls that surrounded the stone-paved square. Near the fountain, a juggler spun two glass floats, a hammer, a wooden ball and a large pinecone between the blurs that were his hands. Gaereth and young Lithorn made a beeline for the small crowd that had gathered round to watch him. His tin cup was half-full of coppers and guarded by little brown and white dog with fierce eyes.

While the juggler's skill captivated Gaereth and Lithorn, I looked over the crowd in the market square. As I had observed when we first arrived in Gaillond, these people were more accustomed to the presence of Elves than many of the Middle Men, so my presence was not met with fear, but instead with curiosity. Likewise, I studied them.

Some men and women were tall and thin, some squat and plump, and yet others compact and wiry. Many had dark brown or tawny hair, blue or green eyes, and skin that ranged from pale to amber. These people, based on what Reeve Cellorn had said (and confirmed by Sigilros), were the descendants of the Númenórean fisher folk and tradesmen who had returned to Middle-earth when life on the island had become oppressive. Before that, Sigilros said, they counted themselves of the tribes of Beor and Hador. Others, like Gaereth, had red hair that ranged from dark russet to fiery orange and milky skin dotted with freckles. These folk had come from the exiled tribe of the Minhiriath. A few people were brown-skinned with wavy or curly black hair, descendants of traders from the coasts of Far Harad and beyond who had decided to settle in this northern coastal town. Despite the differences in appearance, the ties to the sea united these people.

Unlike the juggler, the market stalls offered little distraction to Gaereth, who, after tossing a copper into the cup and scratching the not-so-fierce little dog behind his ears, threaded her way through the crowd with Lithorn and me in tow. We bypassed the stalls where merchants sold clothing, leather goods, vegetables, herbs, potions, jewelry, tools, bread, and pies. We stopped only at Master Losbreg's stall to select a bucket of mussels and oysters. It was situated among large booths where silver fish of many shapes and sizes lay lined up according to kind; squid and octopus were piled in tin buckets filled with sea water, but Gaereth bought no fish from these merchants.

"Mama always buys from our kin at the docks," Gaereth sniffed.

We left the market square by way of stone steps that led down to the wide street heading toward the docks. Beyond, the bay shimmered in the mid-morning sun. Small vessels under sail glided across the water, and fishermen tied their boats down on the docks, made from wood that looked relatively new, in contrast to the ancient stone quay that extended out far out into the bay. Although the fresh scent of the sea replaced the reek of the market, I caught another odor on the breeze, a rancid stench that made my stomach queasy.

Beyond the quay, four ships were anchored in deeper water. Three of these were single-masted cogs, similar to those that I had seen in Tharbad, but larger, no doubt capable of sailing on the open Sea. The banner of Lond Daer - a spreading oak tree surmounted by stars - flew from two of the cogs, but the other banner, that of a ship under sail on a pale blue field, was strange to me.

It was the fourth ship that captured my attention. Although larger than the cogs, the two-masted vessel was sleeker and possessed of a predatory beauty. Two smaller boats hung off its sides, one at the stern, one at portside, and I thought I glimpsed a third at starboard. The colors of Gaillond, a breaching whale against a dark blue field, waved lazily from the higher of the two masts. The figurehead at the bow showed the profile of a bird of prey, and I read a name painted on its side: The Sea Hawk. I caught a whiff of the horrendous odor again, and I realized it came from that graceful ship.

Tied to the wooden docks were lesser fishing boats of all sorts where their crews unloaded their morning's catch. Hundreds of gulls wheeled in the sky overhead, screaming and diving to snatch offal flung from the boats. Gaereth went to this boat and that, where we bought flounder and scallops from the fishermen, all of whom seemed to know her or her family. Then she led me to an old brown boat - the Beach Rose - where four men were hauling cages onto the dock. One of the men, the oldest of the four, looked up when we approached, and smiled broadly. His red face crinkled into a thousand wrinkles, and his smile exposed rotten and missing teeth.

"Gaereth, my lady-girl! I heard ye're back and here y'are. M'lord!" He swept the faded cap off his bald pate and bowed.

"Hello, Cap'n Gwathlin! Mama sent me to buy lobsters from you for my lady's supper."

"And right your ma is in sending you to me. I trap the best. How many?"

"Eight, I should think. Not too big, but not too small. She wants to make lobster pies."

"Your ma's lobster pies are the best in the port. Here, now, Raenhalf! Open up those cages for your cousin."

While Gaereth picked out the lobsters, all so dark as to be nearly black, I introduced myself to the captain of the lobster boat.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Istyar," he said, his brogue thicker than the creamy white clam chowder that Gaereth's mother served at the villa. "My cousin seems to be faring well with your folk up north there in the Faerie Vale. She has that lilt in her voice and the brightness of eye that mark those who spend time with the Fair Folk. Still, she has missed the sea, I warrant."

"I think you're right, Captain," I replied as I watched Raenhalf deftly tie the lobsters' claws with twine and then stuff the creatures and seaweed into the deep basket strapped to Lithorn's back. "She has adjusted well to life in valley, but her face was alight when we reached the sea."

"What of you, Istyar? You are not of the Sea-Elves."

"No, I am not a Sea-Elf. A Deep-Elf, rather. This is the first time I have visited the Sea. So far, I have liked it, and I would like to learn much more." Then I let loose the desire that had latched hold of me. "I'd like to sail out on the open waters. We came here by riverboat, but did not venture far from shore."

"I'm sure you'd find a captain willing to take you out for a cruise."

"What of that ship?" I nodded toward The Sea Hawk.

The lobsterman frowned and shook his head. "If m'lord is wanting a cruise, you might pick another. The Sea Hawk is a whaler. That ship means hard work and danger."

"I am not interested in a mere cruise. I have seen both hard work and danger, Captain."

"Like as not you have, m'lord, but not like that on a whaler. And if you'll pardon me, you are no man of the Sea."

Gwathlin was right. I was not experienced with the Sea, but I remained undeterred. The haunting melody of the deep waters called to me, even as I stood there talking to the lobster boat captain, and the image of the flying ship of my dream glided across the edge of my sight.

"I'd like to meet the captain of The Sea Hawk. Is he ashore?"

"Aye. Like as not, you'll find Cap'n Duin at The Crow's Nest."

"Thank you, Captain. Here's payment for your lobsters." I placed several coppers in his rough palm. "Could you tell me where The Crow's Nest is?"

"It's right there." He pointed toward a two-story stone building with a high-pitched roof that faced the water, bracketed by boatwrights' warehouses. "Raenhalf, you take m'lord to The Crow's Nest and find Captain Duin for 'im. Gilbaran, you help your cousin with the lobsters and walk with her and the lad back to the villa. Maetham and I will finish up here."

"Aye, Pa," answered both young men.

"Have a care in the Nest, Istyar. There's some rough trade there."

"I will." I patted the sheath of my long knife. "This blade has tasted troll and orc blood more than once." The lobsterman's eyes widened a bit. "I have also seen very rough trade long ago on the docks of Tharbad. I thank you for your concern, Captain, but be assured that I am capable of defending myself, should the need arise. Your lobsters are quite good, by the way, if those are what I have been dining on at the villa."

He smiled, baring rotten teeth again. "Aye that they are. Good luck to you then, Istyar."

Raenhalf led me to tavern where a weathered sign, carved with a crow pecking at a crab, which swung above the planked door. I stepped into a dark, smoky shroud. The place stank of ale, long unwashed bodies, and fish. The men at the tables and the women draped over them all stared at me. Behind the bar, a stout woman, her heavy breasts nearly spilling free of her laced bodice, wiped tankards with a grey rag. Sitting at the bar was a lone man, who remained focused on his ale as Raenhalf led me to him.

"Cap'n...sir," the boy said hesitantly. "I brung someone who wants to meet you."

The man swiveled around to face me. Luminous brown eyes under black brows raked me up and down. His skin was tanned from the sun, and his jaw bristled with unshaven whiskers. Despite his unkempt look, this man, with the sculpted planes of his face, square chin, and those beautiful eyes, could be called fair even among my people. He took a drink of his ale and assessed me shrewdly above the rim of the tankard as he did so.

"Cap'n Duin," Raenhalf said. "This here is the Istyar, the smith of Rivendell."

"Ah." Duin set the tankard down on the bar counter. His smile gleamed with perfect white teeth. "The Elf-lord from the North. The Lady's...uh, friend." My brows arched at his emphasis, but he answered with an impertinent wink. "I am Thólon Duin, captain of The Sea Hawk. Pleased to meet you." He extended his hand, and I shook it in my own, our grips tight.

"My pleasure, Captain Duin."

He invited me to sit beside him. I did so after telling the obviously uncomfortable Raenhalf that he could leave, which he did in short order, but not without staring at the blowsy women who lounged about the tavern.

"What brings an Elf to The Crow's Nest?" Duin gestured to the barmaid who silently set a full tankard of ale in front of me. The brew was sour and skunky. "None of Cirdan's folk set foot in here."

"I am not of Cirdan's folk."

"Should have figured," he said. "You're taller, bigger than the Sea-folk. I'd guess you are of the High Elves?"

"Descended from them, yes. My family followed Lord Fingolfin across the Grinding Ice, and they lived in Gondolin for a time, but I was born here."

"An ancient lineage you have then. I won't even ask when you were born. You're lucky to have caught me on land. Why did you wish to meet me, Istyar?"

"Captain Gwathlin said you are a whale-hunter."

"That I am."

"And yet you are the captain of a sea-faring ship. I thought the whales were hunted from shore here in Gaillond. I've seen the watch towers."

"Yes, that is how whales were hunted for many years here, and still are if right whales are the prey. They swim closer to shore."

"You do not hunt those whales?"

"No. I hunt the carcassi."

"Toothed whales?"

"Yes, the Lions of Uin. The great whales with fangs in their jaws and rich oil in the humps of their heads. They swim in the deep waters, and I know where to find them. Why would this interest an elven-smith?"

"Because I wish to go to Sea for a time, to sail out on the open water. I saw The Sea Hawk anchored in the bay. That is the ship on which I'd like to sail. So I am here to ask if you might take me aboard for a time."

For a few moments, Duin stared at me. Then, he started to chuckle, which grew into breathless - and derisive - laughter. When Duin at last got himself under control, he turned about to the men in the tavern. "Did you hear that, lads? This noble landlubber of an Elf wants to take a little pleasure cruise with us on The Sea Hawk!" Duin snorted again, and taking the cue from their captain, the men burst into half-drunken guffaws.

"What is so ridiculous about my request?"

Duin's smile faded. "What is ridiculous is that you have no notion of what a voyage on my ship is like. Our hunts are not a lark. We sail far into the Sea to find the carcassi." He took a long swig of ale, set the tankard down, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "What could you do aboard my ship? I cannot afford a useless landlubber."

"I am a smith so I can mend things. I'm good with knots. I can row well. And I'm very strong. Stronger than any on your crew, I imagine."

He sized me up again. "That may be. I know the Sea-Elves are a strong folk, and your smith's work shows in the breadth of your shoulders and the calluses on your hands. But, no. I cannot take you aboard. Our voyages may last months, more often a year or more. That may be a blink of an eye to you and your folk, but I doubt that the great lady in the villa would take too kindly to me whisking you away for what would be long time for her. I know a few here who might give you a ride, if you wish, or you might go out on one of the lobster boats."

"Oh, I intend on doing that, going out on the lobster boats, I mean. But I want to hunt a whale."

"Why?"

My vivid dream had begun to make sense, but that was not something I intended to reveal to Duin, who no doubt already thought I was quite mad. "I'm not altogether sure. Perhaps because whaling seems so important to the folk of Gaillond, and before that, of Númenor-That-Was, and that is what I wish to know: the heart of the people here and of the Númenórean exiles. Not just the nobility, but also those who work. Like yourself and your crew."

"You have good intentions, thinking of us hard-working mortals like that, and I wish you luck. But I simply cannot take you aboard my ship. It is far too dangerous, and I will not risk your lady's displeasure."

We kept our eyes locked for some time until he broke away to empty his tankard. "Another, Maedael, for me and the Elf-lord."

"Not for me, thank you," I said as I placed two silver coins on the counter, far more than the price of the tankard I had just consumed. Duin's eyes glittered when he saw the money. It was more than enough to pay not only for my tankard, but two times over for Duin and his men. I saw that there might be a way for him to take me aboard. "There's more of that, Captain. And elf-jewels, too, should you reconsider my request. Thank you for your time."

With that, I rose from the stool to walk out of the dusky tavern into the bright, brine-laden day. I went to the edge of the sea wall, where I squinted against the glare and watched The Sea Hawk gently rise and fall with the gentle swells. It was thoroughly impossible, this obsession to hunt a whale, but the Sea called and would not release me.

 

~*~

 

Three days later I stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the bay where The Sea Hawk remained anchored, Súl-Barad at my back, and watched a lone figure trudging up the path to the villa. Soon enough, Thólon Duin was at my side, where he joined me to gaze out over the bay and the ocean beyond.

"What was it that Voronwë said to Tuor of the Sea?" he asked, revealing that he was a man of some learning. "Worse things it holds than to sink into the abyss and so perish: loathing, and loneliness, and madness; terror of wind and tumult, and silence and shadows where all hope is lost and all living shapes pass away. Is that what you wish to know, Istyar?"

"I have known madness and terror, Captain."

The whaling captain fixed me with his dark eyes, seeking more from me, but that I would not give him, not yet. He pulled off the battered cap from his head to reveal thick dark hair, shot through with strands of silver that gleamed in the sunlight. He raked his fingers through his hair and replaced his cap. "You are a fey one, no doubt, but I think I may be able to grant you your wish. For gold, that is. I cannot speak to your lady's ire."

"I will handle Elerína."

"Very well." His eyes took a distant cast, as if he were listening for something. "I can take you out for a month. You'll need to make it worth my while."

"I can accommodate that. How much?"

"Twenty kulustar."

I almost agreed at once, so eager I was to sail on The Sea Hawk, but I could practically hear Mélamírë's voice shouting in my ear: "Your counteroffer should make them bleed!" She had loved to dicker with the merchants of Tharbad, dragging us from stall to stall in the marketplace to buy almost worthless trinkets, simply because bargaining entertained her. She joked that she must have inherited her propensity for haggling from her grandfather Carnistir. I had to smile at the memory.

"Six."

Duin clapped his hand over his heart. "You wound me, Istyar! You may as well take a dinghy and try your hand at trawling for flatfish at that price." Then he grinned, his brown eyes gleaming. "Seventeen kulustar."

"Twelve. That's enough for two voyages I should think." I had no idea if it truly was, but the glint in his eyes suggested he thought it a good price.

He countered. "Fifteen."

"Twelve." I held firm and added, "The Eldar consider it a lucky number." I took my chances that Duin might be as superstitious as Captain Rinan.

"Twelve it is." And we shook hands on it.

"I will weigh anchor in two week's time," he said. "But let's you and I go fishing first. I want to see how much watercraft you have. Meet me at the docks at dawn tomorrow morning, and be prepared for new blisters. Good day to you, Istyar."

Duin doffed his cap and turned to walk back to the town. The man, who looked like tattered nobility with his unshaven but fair face, carried himself with confidence, and yet his legs seemed a little wobbly on land, as if they missed the Sea. When he disappeared behind the rise, I steeled myself to return to the villa so that I might count my coins and tell Elerína of my plans for an utterly mad adventure.

 

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Chapter End Notes

In the Pandë!verse, Brûn Hobas is the port town that will become Dol Amroth latter in the Third Age; bear in mind that this chapter of The Elendilmir takes place very early in the Third Age (~ 4 T.A.) (, prior to Imrazôr settling there and the eventual name of Dol Amroth.   The banners of Brûn Hobas, Lond Daer and Gaillond are solely my invention with input from the Lizards.

Lond Daer (Vinyalondë) is the port at the mouth of the Gwathló, established by Tar-Aldarion in the early Second Age. 

On Brûn Hobas:  Cobas Haven is mentioned in The History of Middle-earth VII, The Treason of Isengard, "The First Map," page 312.   From Note 10: "In the Etymologies  (V.364  - 5) Quenya kopa 'harbour,  bay'  was given under the stem KOP, but this entry was replaced by a stem KHOP, whence Quenya hopa, Noldorin hobas, as in Alfobas = Alqualonde."   Thus,  in the Pandë!verse, Brûn Hobas = Enduring Harborage.  Thanks to Russandol for nattering about this.

Carcassi - derived from Quenya carcassë, row of spikes or teeth.  This is my guess at a word for Physeter macrocephalus, the sperm whale.

Kulustar -  plural of kulusta, gold coin, from JRRT's Qenya Lexicon.

Captain Thólon Duin takes a bit of inspiration from Captain Billy Tyne of The Andrea Gail out of Gloucester, Massachusetts, the subject of Sebastian Junger's The Perfect Storm, later made into a movie starring George Clloney and Mark Wahlburg.  Cap'n Duin might just resemble Mr. Clooney to some degree. ;^)