Post by Admin on Jan 9, 2021 2:35:37 GMT
Author: Archeress of Silverbow
Summary; On a ship, one sweltering night, two captain's muse on the stars and old legends are revealed.
Rating; K
It was high summer in Gondor, the land roasting under a sun that had apparently arrived from Harad given it's intensity. Even the sea sweltered.
The young captain tossed in his bunk, achieving nothing but to tangle the blankets tighter around him. With a final effort he managed to dislodge them and fling them onto the floor. He lay for a moment, panting. But after a time it seemed no cooler like this than it had before. With a sigh he swung his feet downward onto the planks, thankfully cool due to being indoors. Silent as a cat he padded across the cabin out onto the main deck. The heat hit him like a wave and he skipped a few steps on the planking before leaning over the rail and licking one finger. As he had expected there was no breeze what so ever, the Alph Hiril merely rocking on the sea. He shook his head and impatiently swept his blonde hair back from his face, wondering if he dared break the sailors taboo and start whistling, apparently a sure way to raise a wind.
“Gi suilon Imrahil”
He turned slowly towards the bow and spotted a figure sitting up on one of the yard arms. In answer to the salutation he raised an arm and then, grasping the dry rope of the rigging, clambered up to join the other man. Just as he reached the place his foot slipped off the rope. Though he was steady he was grateful to feel a strong hand grasp his arm and brace him until he was secure again
“Hantanyet órenyallo”
“I 'ellen”
Now he recognised the voice and swung onto the opposite yard arm with a grin “Capitan Thorongil”
The older man shook his head in a manner between wry and rueful “Here I am no captain, but just another seaman.”
But he persisted “It is the title we call you, a title you have earned more than I have,” He looked down and astern, towards the wheel and tiller on the poop deck “Old Bronor is more captain of this ship than I, note how the men call him Skipper... I am captain by birth rank, not experience.”
The dark haired man at his side was silent for an long moment and he felt appraising grey eyes rest upon him for longer still. Finally, daring himself, he met them with his own paler ones.
Thorongil nodded, as if to himself, “You have the wisdom of your kin, Imrahil, and more than many Gondorians.”
He straightened, drawing himself up with pride “Though you call me Gondorian I am less that than a man of Dol Amroth, one of Eärendil's men, first and foremostly.
The northern captain smiled slightly then looked up at the sky “By your speech I can tell you know the tale of Eärendil's voyage, and indeed, I believe no sailor should be without it, especially he who is heir to Dol Amroth... But what of the other stars Varda has set in the dome? What can you tell me of them?”
“I can navigate homeward, northward, wherever you wish by them, Thorongil” Imrahil smiled slightly,trying to conceal his stinging pride with a false face
“But what tales do you know of them, Imrahil? What legends? What bardic wonderings?”
He thought for a moment, fishing through his brain and staring up at the stars, hoping for inspiration. Eventually he shook his head and looked to the other man, none that I can recall Thorongil
“Allow me to enlighten you then.”
Imrahil shifted so he could half rest against the mast, wrapping one arm securely around a rope. If he slipped while listening there would be a long drop with little to save him from slamming into the deck. Then he nodded and raised his eyes back to the stars.
“You see those three in a diagonal line? Look around them and you'll see the form of a man... There are two stories to that one, Imrahil. One, the official one you will find in all records of the skies, says that it is Túrin, son of Húrin, who they called Blacksword. He is set there to warn... men of the folly of blind emotions, both rage and love... Morgoth and his minions fear it because it is meant to remind them of Dagor Dagorath, the last battle.” Thorongil's speech died away and Imrahil twisted to look at him, saw silver tears coursing down the man's cheeks.
To spare his companion any more of whichever thoughts where haunting him he looked away and spoke as if he hadn't reacted “What was the second story you mentioned?”
The soldier seemed to rouse himself “Ah, yes, the second story around M-” He pointed upwards to the diagonal line, then slightly beyond it “You see how close the dog star is to it? My foster father always told me that they represented Beren and Huan as they traversed the countryside hunting the wolf for the Silmaril.”
Imrahil matched Thorongil's smile with his own “What other tales did he have?”
Thorongil looked back at the sky “Of his own invention? That Alph is Elwing, flying to deliver the Silmaril to Eärendil after escaping the sack of Sirion,” Thorongil nodded “He was especially fond of that one, though she isn't around tonight , it being summer she has flown back to her tower for a while.”
Imrahil closed his eyes briefly, allowing his mind to picture the scene as he had been told, a white tower rising from the foam, a lady at the window, watching the Mariner bring his ship home as many wives had done, but only able to greet him through a message bird.
Eventually he returned his gaze outward and pointed to the east “Dawn comes”
He sensed Thorongil's nod “Now is the time of the Second-born.... and for a captain to be in his bunk.”
But the heir to Dol Amroth sat up on the yard arm for a few more moments, watching Beren and Huan as they vanished from their position above the horizon. When there was no more sign he sighed and flicked his gaze around to seek Eärendil. But the Mariner too had found his harbour in the Undying Lands. The time of legends and tales was gone, much like those who had made the legends...
But the stars were eternal, and the tales were caught there as the light of the Trees had been captured in the Silmaril. Forever there to be relied upon, not just for steering, but for hope
Translations
Gi suilon Imrahil = I greet you Imrahil (S)
Hantanyet órenyallo = I thank you from my heart (Q)
I 'ellen = You're Welcome (lit. my joy) *S)
Summary; On a ship, one sweltering night, two captain's muse on the stars and old legends are revealed.
Rating; K
It was high summer in Gondor, the land roasting under a sun that had apparently arrived from Harad given it's intensity. Even the sea sweltered.
The young captain tossed in his bunk, achieving nothing but to tangle the blankets tighter around him. With a final effort he managed to dislodge them and fling them onto the floor. He lay for a moment, panting. But after a time it seemed no cooler like this than it had before. With a sigh he swung his feet downward onto the planks, thankfully cool due to being indoors. Silent as a cat he padded across the cabin out onto the main deck. The heat hit him like a wave and he skipped a few steps on the planking before leaning over the rail and licking one finger. As he had expected there was no breeze what so ever, the Alph Hiril merely rocking on the sea. He shook his head and impatiently swept his blonde hair back from his face, wondering if he dared break the sailors taboo and start whistling, apparently a sure way to raise a wind.
“Gi suilon Imrahil”
He turned slowly towards the bow and spotted a figure sitting up on one of the yard arms. In answer to the salutation he raised an arm and then, grasping the dry rope of the rigging, clambered up to join the other man. Just as he reached the place his foot slipped off the rope. Though he was steady he was grateful to feel a strong hand grasp his arm and brace him until he was secure again
“Hantanyet órenyallo”
“I 'ellen”
Now he recognised the voice and swung onto the opposite yard arm with a grin “Capitan Thorongil”
The older man shook his head in a manner between wry and rueful “Here I am no captain, but just another seaman.”
But he persisted “It is the title we call you, a title you have earned more than I have,” He looked down and astern, towards the wheel and tiller on the poop deck “Old Bronor is more captain of this ship than I, note how the men call him Skipper... I am captain by birth rank, not experience.”
The dark haired man at his side was silent for an long moment and he felt appraising grey eyes rest upon him for longer still. Finally, daring himself, he met them with his own paler ones.
Thorongil nodded, as if to himself, “You have the wisdom of your kin, Imrahil, and more than many Gondorians.”
He straightened, drawing himself up with pride “Though you call me Gondorian I am less that than a man of Dol Amroth, one of Eärendil's men, first and foremostly.
The northern captain smiled slightly then looked up at the sky “By your speech I can tell you know the tale of Eärendil's voyage, and indeed, I believe no sailor should be without it, especially he who is heir to Dol Amroth... But what of the other stars Varda has set in the dome? What can you tell me of them?”
“I can navigate homeward, northward, wherever you wish by them, Thorongil” Imrahil smiled slightly,trying to conceal his stinging pride with a false face
“But what tales do you know of them, Imrahil? What legends? What bardic wonderings?”
He thought for a moment, fishing through his brain and staring up at the stars, hoping for inspiration. Eventually he shook his head and looked to the other man, none that I can recall Thorongil
“Allow me to enlighten you then.”
Imrahil shifted so he could half rest against the mast, wrapping one arm securely around a rope. If he slipped while listening there would be a long drop with little to save him from slamming into the deck. Then he nodded and raised his eyes back to the stars.
“You see those three in a diagonal line? Look around them and you'll see the form of a man... There are two stories to that one, Imrahil. One, the official one you will find in all records of the skies, says that it is Túrin, son of Húrin, who they called Blacksword. He is set there to warn... men of the folly of blind emotions, both rage and love... Morgoth and his minions fear it because it is meant to remind them of Dagor Dagorath, the last battle.” Thorongil's speech died away and Imrahil twisted to look at him, saw silver tears coursing down the man's cheeks.
To spare his companion any more of whichever thoughts where haunting him he looked away and spoke as if he hadn't reacted “What was the second story you mentioned?”
The soldier seemed to rouse himself “Ah, yes, the second story around M-” He pointed upwards to the diagonal line, then slightly beyond it “You see how close the dog star is to it? My foster father always told me that they represented Beren and Huan as they traversed the countryside hunting the wolf for the Silmaril.”
Imrahil matched Thorongil's smile with his own “What other tales did he have?”
Thorongil looked back at the sky “Of his own invention? That Alph is Elwing, flying to deliver the Silmaril to Eärendil after escaping the sack of Sirion,” Thorongil nodded “He was especially fond of that one, though she isn't around tonight , it being summer she has flown back to her tower for a while.”
Imrahil closed his eyes briefly, allowing his mind to picture the scene as he had been told, a white tower rising from the foam, a lady at the window, watching the Mariner bring his ship home as many wives had done, but only able to greet him through a message bird.
Eventually he returned his gaze outward and pointed to the east “Dawn comes”
He sensed Thorongil's nod “Now is the time of the Second-born.... and for a captain to be in his bunk.”
But the heir to Dol Amroth sat up on the yard arm for a few more moments, watching Beren and Huan as they vanished from their position above the horizon. When there was no more sign he sighed and flicked his gaze around to seek Eärendil. But the Mariner too had found his harbour in the Undying Lands. The time of legends and tales was gone, much like those who had made the legends...
But the stars were eternal, and the tales were caught there as the light of the Trees had been captured in the Silmaril. Forever there to be relied upon, not just for steering, but for hope
Translations
Gi suilon Imrahil = I greet you Imrahil (S)
Hantanyet órenyallo = I thank you from my heart (Q)
I 'ellen = You're Welcome (lit. my joy) *S)