Posted: Tue May 4, 2004 12:43 pm
It wasn’t as much the sound of battle that caught -and kept- the sailor’s attention as the tongue of the South, even if no more than one word had been uttered. The Haradaic cry turned quite a few heads of passers-by but they quickly moved on. Some continued along their pre-determined path, some - rather hastily - changed direction altogether. They all had one thing in common though: all stayed well away from an alley up ahead.
Arunakhôr narrowed his eyes. A hiss escaped his clenched teeth – a word in a tongue as uncommon here as the one that had echoed down between the houses only seconds before.
Bauderain…
He had to admit he had thought their 'clan' was no longer part of this world. No word, no rumour of them had reached his ears during his recent forays. Despite that, he should have known. Some flames - especially this one - were hard to extinguish. Highly secretive, invisible they were, until it was too late; until they were about to slice one's throat. The Bauderain never made a move in public without a reason. If they were here, matters of great importance - earthly affairs or higher causes - were at stake.
What he thought about the Bauderain - and more generally about the Servants of the Secret Fire? Simple! They were the enemies of his enemies.
Did that make them friends? In most cases it probably would…. but this was not one of those cases. No longer did he believe in the ends they pursued. Long years spent in pain with nothing to do but think had disillusioned him. It had been a long time since he had worshipped anyone.
Arunakhôr had not come here to get mixed up in any dark dealings of the Baudarain. Followers of Malkôra they were, advocates of the dark Lord of the World as he was known in some parts of the South where the fallen Ainur of the Eldar days were worshipped to this day. The only reason he had come this far North, contrary to his heart which longed to settle in Umbar, was that he disliked following paths so many trod.
He looked over his shoulder. Apart from his presence, the street was deserted.
He turned his gaze ahead again. A fountain, standing in the middle of a small square marked the centre point of two crossroads. The fountain's form was gracious, charming, elegantly coiling – clearly made by elven hands. Its water splashed down into a marble basin and, accompanied by the soft whistling wind which made the water ripple, it produced a sound that was strongly reminiscent of a lament.
Slowly his feet started moving again and after a few steps his pace quickened. Fleet-footed, surprisingly so for a man his size, he made for the square. He halted when he reached the fountain, his fingers touching the cold, smooth marble while he listened attentively. Where were the sounds coming from?
Ahhh… yes….. from up ahead in that narrow alley. However, he could not get a clear line of sight for numerous balconies and galleries, so typical for this city, impeded his view.
He was no fool. He would never expose himself to the Bauderain unless it was crucial. That however, would hardly ever be necessary. Their business never had been his - and vice versa. Yet, to make certain that that was still the case he needed a better look. His dark eyes screened the environment. Not long did he have to search.
Crossing the curved street he had walked before order to stay out of sight of the alley that held his interest, he reached a narrow gallery. It provided just enough cover for him to be able to skirt the wall leading up to a corner undetected. Taking another step would enable him to round the corner. But that would also expose him - even if only for a split second. He hesitated. But then the clear ringing of steel compelled him to move - one, two giant leaps.
Pressing his dark clad figure against the wall where some large, stacked, oaken barrels left only a small strip between them and the balcony above, Arunakhôr narrowed his eyes. He peered up ahead. He could clearly distinguish a dark robed man and a person of smaller, lighter stature – a woman ?!?! - engaged in a vicious sword fight. Imperceptibly he shook his head. What iniquitous odds! Pressing his lips together in concentration he followed the events, wondering what the woman had done to elicit such aggression.
Suddenly his right hand moved across his waist. His fingers closed on the cold hilt of his cutlass that hung off a heavy leather sheath strapped across his torso. Stepping forward, one boot exposed to the faint sunlight for but one moment, he quickly retreated. It was neither fear nor cowardice that had made him stop. It was the same intuition, a flash of recognition that - subconsciously - had made him grab for his weapon; that had driven him to step forward in the first place - that now held him back. He knew her, the red haired woman who now was forced into defence. The man driving her towards the wall was moving his curved sword at a deadly pace.
He knew her…! No, his eyes must be playing tricks on him. Her appearance was the same - only, she looked not a day older. How was that possible? The one he at first sight had taken her for would be much older now. It was long since he had encountered that one. It was difficult for him to determine for certain just how long ago exactly. Yet one thing he could determine with absolute conviction: were she indeed that woman, she would appear older than the one he saw now.
He focussed back on the action. Suddenly another man joined the scene, crossing the street with his sword drawn. Arunakhôr followed the events without even the slightest hint of wanting to interfere as it was immediately clear to him that the newly arrived man came to the aid of the redhead. He saw how the assassin fell with one mighty stab of the shining blade, saw now also that there were more who already had been slain. Watching the pair, he could well imagine what it was the man explained to the woman while she recovered from the ordeal. With interest he followed his moves as he pulled one of the bodies up and soon after held up something small, something that looked like a chain with a pendant.
And then suddenly, he was gone, as if he had disappear while the sailor had done nothing more than blink. Arunakhôr felt uneasy and he scanned anew the roofs and balconies as far as it was possible without him having to leave his hiding place. In the end he concluded with a shrug that it probably was of little importance just who the man had been, why he was here and helpful, and how he had been able to vanish into thin air.
A sudden crack of thunder interrupted Arunakhôr’s reverie, making him aware that the woman had started to move, walking towards him just as the first drops of rain hit the cobblestones; thick, lazy drops at first, soon turning into a downpour. As if momentarily frozen in time, he watched her coming towards him, violent gusts whipping her red hair. A deep frown furrowed his brow.
The resemblance was uncanny! The same light-boned frame, similar colours of outfit, identical hair - a fierce red reminding him of the setting sun - even the way she walked seemed familiar. Strange, how he remembered so much of one he had only met once, briefly - but what a meeting it had been!
There was no doubt in his mind any longer. It was she… Alandriel! But… how could that be? How could she look hardly older than…mid-thirties? And then it finally dawned on him. He realized what he should have known all along, what probably had been the cause for him to remember and recognize her: Númenorean blood!
Quickly he made to escape, leaving his shelter for he wanted to return to the harbour, to his ship. Yet through stepping out from under his cover, he was exposed; and to more than just the light of the day now turned grim. A strong gust of wind ripped the cloak from his tight grasp. It blew straight into his face, making it impossible for him to breathe for a moment. It tore through his hair and ripped the hood from his head as if strong and invisible fingers were at work. He cursed yet the savage word was sliced by the wind, its sound lost forever. The gale suddenly eased and furiously he wrapped his cloak around him again. Muttering as he took hold of the hood he turned his back away from Alandriel. That she had not seen him he doubted. He only hoped….
"You……?!?!?!?!" - Alas!
He froze and for a moment closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. Opportunities were limited at this point. Fighting? Not really an option he preferred since the woman just had survived a though fight and hadn’t come out of it completely unharmed although victorious. He had learned to choose a fair fight if possible; the joy afterwards was so much greater… Running? Never a desirable choice … Lying and denying? He chose the latter. After all, should that fail, he still could change his course of action.
Turning around, his face straightened. He looked at her with eyes that showed nothing of what he felt.
"Since there’s no one else around, I guess ye mean me," he said, clearly noting the sorry state she was in. A broken arrow shaft protruded from one shoulder, another one was embedded in one of her bracers. "Must take me for someone else, aye…" he mumbled as he hastily turned in the direction of the harbour.
"Not so fast friend." Her words rang out behind him. "I might forget a name but never a face and in your case - Arunakhôr - my memory is as clear as daylight."
He stopped and swallowed on a throat suddenly gone dry. Then he turned heel.
"There ye have it," he continued in the same tone of voice, feigning a lack of interest in the whole situation. A sigh followed. "Tis not me name, lass."
He rolled his eyes skywards for a moment as now the rain came pouring down anew, drenching his clothes layer by layer until it soaked his skin.
"And if ye would excuse me now… I’ve got things to do... and you should go see a healer," he added with a nod in the direction of her shoulder, trying to remember if it had been the same one he had wounded during their encounter long ago.
With measured steps she covered the short distance that separated them. Nonchalantly, a winning smile drawing attention away from what she was just about to do she said:
"You might go by another name now - that would hardly surprise me, yet......"
With a swift motion, she pulled his hood back, her sea-green eyes boring into his dark orbs. ".... yet, to me, you always remain Arunakhôr - the corsair and ...... pirate."
Without waiting for him to acknowledge or refute this statement she continued: "And it seems luck … fate… has once more brought us to the same place. Undoubtedly you could do with coin - I need a ship."
He almost turned his eyes skywards again. What gall!! First pulling back his hood while giving him that over-confident smile - women! - and then calling him… pirate?! He shuddered. Yes, he was a Corsair, yet the word pirate he loathed. It stung! It made him wonder if he ever would be able to convince her he was unlike them . She was so sure he was who she took him for that all efforts to prove the contrary seemed futile. He couldn’t let down his guard though. Arching his brow he looked at her attentively as her request sank in.
"Y’r the woman that landlubber told me about before? … The one who’s seeking a ship to sails northwards?"
"Indeed," she answered, "and I'm prepared to pay a handsome fee, a very generous sum - if no questions are asked."
Seeing his brow furrow she added in an appeasing tone: "Nothing out of the ordinary; nothing that a man such as you could not handle with ease..... a highly profitable ease. All I require is passage for a small group of people, ten at the most with a journey time of approximately a month, there and back again. More than that I will only divulge once we're well away from Mithlond. Are you interested?"
"No questions asked aye?" He snorted. "From what I’ve seen, at least three men tried to kill ye and ye tell me this will be nothing out of the ordinary? I probably would believe ye were I not convinced that somehow there is a connection. I know their kind," he said, pointing to the alley where Alandriel had nearly faced death.
"….they don’t attack one for no reason. So don’t ye tell me this will be like a vacation for me… some easy earned money. I got no business in the North!"
He looked left and right, making certain no one could hear him. His eyes clouded while he looked at her again. "Since ye seem to know me so well, I’m sure ye’ll be able to figure out why that is. Go see a healer, lass. And watch y’r back, is all I can say."
After a long, considering pause Alandriel retorted: "I'll watch my back captain - you just watch yours. I know that before long you will want to leave Mithlond …. in a hurry - and your choice of destination won't be south." She scrutinised his face once more before adding: "You can find me at the Inn, the House of the Seven Stars, should you change your mind and consider sailing for profit." And with that she drew her own hood up and walked off.
‘In a hurry indeed,’ Arunakhôr silently mused, watching her go. ‘Ye know who I am, and I’m sure ye now know what blood runs through me veins… even though I doubt y’re aware of its strength…. or so I hope. And I’d like to keep it that way…’ His eyes followed Alandriel’s steps until she was out of sight. How much he had hoped to see her again, back then when…. Not anymore! Now everything had changed. He looked around and nodded. No, now he could not stay…
The spilled blood of the corpses diluted by the rain had gathered in pools on the hard, uneven soil. Without as much as casting a glance at them the Corsair proceeded through the maze of streets with hurried steps, trusting his memories of previous visits to guide him. He cursed inwardly. This really was the last thing he needed! He should have let it be, should have followed the lead of the other passers-by. He should have been more focussed, less careless… Never had something like this happened to him before!
With the distance between him and the redhead steadily increasing, Arunakhôr regained some of his calm yet kept to his speed until he recognised Cirdan’s house. It looked exactly as he remembered. With a bit of luck, the elf still would be settled here, and at home. A closer look revealed that all windows were as dark as the clouds above the city and a few knocks on the door told him that no one was at home. Arunakhôr cursed his misfortune. He took a step back and scanned the street, looking left and right. No one was present for him to approach for information or directions. His only hope now was set on the shipyard which was - luckily - located not too far from here.
He turned, his feet walking once more over the slippery cobblestones towards the water. Amongst the fury of wind and water familiar shipyard sounds resounded: banging of metal on metal, metal on wood, sawing... The closer he got the clearer the sounds became, and when he entered a large brick building he could discern voices - talking and singing - amidst noises of heavy labour.
The building where parts for boats and ships were constructed as well as repaired was hangar-like. Many an elf and men worked industriously.
There it was where he found CÃrdan, the Guardian of the Grey Havens.
When he left the shipyard, he could not recall precisely how long it had taken him to come to an agreement with the shipwright. Dusk had settled in already. No doubt it must have taken him hours. As he strode out he noticed that the oil lamps bordering the street had been lit, bringing light to the dark alleys and corners, casting many an eerie shadow.
The storm ravaged on once more. Rain soaked his clothes again after just a few minutes in the open. He made his way back to the harbour using a different route. Walking over the pier he saw that all moored ships had been secured with extra lines to protect them against the power of the water that wildly crashed against the wharf. He imagined what the force of this storm would be at high sea, how the white foaming crests could lift a ship with ease… Even after only a short time on land he already missed the swaying of the timber beneath his feet. He sighed silently. Soon would he be able to feel the heaving waves at high sea again.
Three days the answer had been at first. The shipwright's eyes had pierced him while he had negotiated and the Corsair had felt anything but at ease. Still, he had been able to keep his cool and with great difficulty had managed a compromise - mostly in his favour, but most importantly about time. Tomorrow at dusk, at the latest, so went the deal with the Teleri elf after much arguing and pleading. A square sail with the correct measurements - dark canvass. Very scarce that particular material was here in the Grey Havens. Most ships preferred light coloured sails. Yet he had been lucky. All looked to be perfect - apart from the price. In front of CÃrdan he had acted as if money was not an issue but in truth, the price they had agreed on was much more than what he could afford. In the end, he had had little choice; it had been a matter of taking or leaving.
He spent a little while fondly regarding his vessel - she would be as good as new - until a shadow had left the ship to join him. The wind remained yet the downpour had stopped. There would be little rest this night Arunakhôr pondered as he walked the dark alleys once more. He needed coin…. heaps of coin for he almost had none left. Time was limited. He would have to be careful not to make any more mistakes.
He walked by many an Inn; the sounds and fragrances of cooking that wafted from the kitchens made him drool. His stomach knotted, to the point of hurting. He could not afford a hot meal. Maybe after closing time he would find a few leftover scraps here and there. He sighed though he knew he had survived on less and worse. If all failed, he could still join his companion in eating those last ship’s biscuits. He growled. This was not what he had expected from his visit to the Grey Havens.
Just when he started to believe he was the only one who wandered around in this weather - not that he had expected otherwise, right now most landlubbers were probably huddled up in front of their fireplace - he soon noted a slender figure walking back and forth. From the build he took it to be a woman. It was worth a try. He shrugged and slowly approached from behind when she stopped her restless pace only moments later. Nimble-fingered he found what he hoped to find, where he had hoped to find it.
As he pulled his hand back a slight breeze caressed his skin - a feather light touch - a shadow gone in an instant. It was done.
Then he felt a soft hand grab his wrist …..with determination and unexpected strength.