Chapter 4

"Noro lim, Noro lim!" Elladan urged the brown mare to run faster. Now that they had left the city through its southern gate, the road was empty before them. Thick tendrils of fog snaked lazily over the ground but beneath it the road was even and the horse accustomed to the terrain. The mare sped up obediently.

A ship taking up speed would be slow at first, and he had good chances to catch up to the corsair vessel if he could maintain a steady gallop. The rush of the chase was singing in his veins, as his heart beat in synchrony with the hooves of his mount, each step bringing him closer to his quarry. It had been too long since he had been the hunter, been the one to initiate the chase, rather than trying helplessly to stay afloat of events beyond his control.

He remembered his desperate race to reach Minas Tirith in time to help his twin, remembered the helpless feeling as uncounted leagues stretched before him, keeping him from his goal even as time was running out.

Now the distance was so much smaller. The steady, quick steps of his steed effortlessly ate away the miles he would need to cover and soon, soon he would be upon his unsuspecting prey.

Ahead of him the road bent to the right, but a well-worn path went off left, towards the shore. Slowing the horse, Elladan guided her towards the edge of the river. They entered the thick fog that still clung to the waters once more as he and the horse stepped off the raised road.

He was in luck. The path led to a shallow bay, small but clearly well used by small fishing boats. It was well cared for.

And just a few hundred yards from his position he could make out the dark shape of the corsair vessel. They still only had their smallest sail raised. There was little wind and they were likely trying to reduce the risk of discovery by his brother's ships. The steady pattern of moving oars caused ripples of waves to wash to shore, but any sound of rowing or of conversation onboard the vessel was swallowed by the thick fog.

Elladan slid off the horse and spared a moment to express his gratitude, before sending it back towards Pelargir. He unbuckled his sword belt and threw it over his shoulder instead, attaching it much like he would his quiver to keep the long weapon out of the way of his legs while swimming. With the sword securely attached to his back, he plunged into the Anduin, gasping at the coldness of the waters. Maybe he had been a little bit rash. The thought of what Elrohir would say - what he was probably thinking right now, flitted through his head and gave him new strength to push past the coldness. If all he succeeded on this mission was getting himself wet, Elrohir would never let him hear the end of it.

Going with the current, he angled towards the boat, slowly closing the distance until he could reach out and hold onto the bow of the ship itself. He let the ship carry him along as he waited with bated breath for any shouts, any commotion on board, but he was in luck: The rhythmic motions of the oars behind him showed that his approach had not been observed and so, checking his sword once more, he nimbly hauled himself up and onto the deck of the ship.

The fighting was over before it could truly begin. Two of the crew were manning the oars, their reaction too inhibited by their position on the benches to jump up and come to their captain's aid. The captain himself whirled around, but before he could draw the scimitar at his waist, Elladan was at his side. Gripping the arm reaching for the weapon, he used the man's own momentum to tip him off balance and throw him forward – and straight over the edge of the gunwale.

There was a splash as the man hit the waters of the Anduin, followed by rough cursing in the harsh Umbarian dialect of the Numenorian speech. Elladan whirled around to face the remaining corsairs just as he heard two more splashes. The ship was empty. The remaining crewmen had joined their captain in the water, swimming for the shore in long, sure strokes, leaving their vessel behind. They had chosen escape over resistance.

For a moment Elladan contemplated going after them, but he discarded the idea as pointless. Not only did he need to take control of the boat but the men would reach shore well before him, putting him at a distinct disadvantage if he wanted to apprehend all three in the still thick fog. The boat's oars were drifting lazily behind it on the water, fortunately still attached to the boat by heavy metal chains or they would have been lost already. But that was not his primary concern; drawing his sword Elladan ventured below decks, making sure that the ship was indeed as empty as it appeared.

It was.

Apart from a few barrels holding meager amounts of grain and fresh water, the hold of the ship was empty. The crew cabins were a welcome surprise, however. Lavishly decorated and draped in furs and blankets, each of the rooms was fit for a captain's quarter on the Gondorian caravels. The corsairs certainly traveled the sea in comfort.

Elladan sheathed his sword and snatched a blanket to dry his wet hair, before heading up on deck to store the oars and await the arrival of Aragorn's ships.

-o0o-

The wind had picked up, dispelling the fog over the river and lending speed to their fleet. The smaller corsair vessel, all its sails now raised and tied securely to their flag ship, was effortlessly matching the speed of the bigger vessels. It had taken some time to catch up to the smaller ship, on the swift-flowing river even though Elladan had not attempted to outpace them, showing just how easily the corsair spies might have escaped. Aragorn had sent out messages across the ships and back to the harbor, hoping that the men of Pelargir would catch the fleeing corsairs on the road.

It was a relief to have the chase over and to have it conclude successfully. Standing beside Elrohir while Elladan sought - and found - danger by himself was not a pleasant experience in the best of times, and Elrohir was far from his best, even still. Initially he relayed the events onboard the corsair ship, interspersed with colourful descriptions of his twin's merits – or lack thereof. But Elladan's actual fight had been short and as time dragged on Elrohir had become increasingly subdued as his anger cooled. To Aragorn's dismay he fell silent and withdrew once more, unwilling to share with Aragorn even his anger at Elladan, not to mention whatever else still occupied him.

If anything, Elrohir was growing more tense now that all they could do was wait until they had caught up to their reckless brother. Almost it felt as if a new shadow had fallen on him and, strangely, with increasing frequency Elrohir would glance east, taking his eyes off the small boat and Elladan ahead of them. Something bothered him, something more than his own misplaced feelings of guilt, and it set Aragorn's nerves on edge.

But he had let it rest, again. From painful experience he knew that Elrohir's stubbornness knew no equal and now was not the right time to truly press the issue. He disregarded his own misgivings, likely he was only reacting to Elrohir's disquiet.

And then, once they had conjoined the ships and had made their way to the deck of the smaller vessel things suddenly seemed much less grim.

Aragorn was hard pressed to suppress a smile as he looked at the twins' reunion. Elladan was practically radiating smugness at his success in capturing the corsair vessel, a sentiment that Elrohir clearly did not share. With both him and Captain Callon along as well Elrohir held his tongue, but Aragorn could feel the tension in the air and knew words would be exchanged eventually.

The twins were not so comically at odds with each other often and in his younger years Aragorn had enjoyed riling them up even further when it did happen – usually in an attempt to distract them from his own involvement in whatever mishap had occurred. Ah, those blessed years. He allowed himself to enjoy the moment of sentimentality until Captain Callon's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"A dhow," he stated, referring to the captured ship's build. "Umbarian made and exactly eight rangar," he nodded at Elrohir, his earlier doubts about elven eyesight clearly replaced with a newfound respect. "Minimum crew of two and a capacity of about ten. A nice catch." This, he directed at Elladan, who promptly grinned at Elrohir, an ill-conceived - and ill-received - gesture.

Aragorn decided to defuse the situation before it got out of hand - and before it damaged his brothers' reputation among his soldiers. It would be a shame if the Gondorians realized that his aloof elven companions were actually mere bickering children at times.

"Thank you for apprehending the corsair vessel before it could escape us, Lord Elladan." Aragorn infused his words with as much formality as he could muster, and Elladan, luckily, caught the meaning. He nodded solemnly, his teasing smile disappearing behind a mask of practiced authority.

"It was my pleasure, Captain Thorongil."

Aragorn continued, unable to resist the opportunity: "Your near reckless actions saved us much trouble, indeed." He paused to look at the ship with its Umbarian build and the stowed dark corsair sails, "And you might have supplied us with a powerful new weapon for our mission."

"It's a perfect scouting vessel." Callon agreed readily. He must have followed his thoughts, for before either of his elven brothers could react, the Captain of the Havens had spoken up. "Yes," he continued, seemingly warming to the idea even as he spoke, "it is small and fast and needs a minimum crew. In fact," he glanced at the elven brothers briefly, "in combination with that impeccable elven eyesight … If the lords Elladan and Elrohir would stay on this boat and…"

There was something in the way Callon chose his words, in the nervous way he held his shoulders and glanced at his brothers... Aragorn narrowed his eyes.

Taking Callon by the arm, he interrupted the other captain mid-sentence and led him towards the stern of the boat. He was acutely aware that his brothers would still hear them, but the move might help ease Callon's anxiety and let him speak more clearly.

"We are men of direct words, Callon. What are you implying?"

For a brief moment Captain Callon's shoulders sagged, but he took a deep breath and visibly relaxed when he straightened his shoulders again. "Men of direct words indeed, Thorongil", he laughed at himself, "I, at least, am clearly no good at subtlety."

He threw another furtive glance at Aragorn's brothers, before continuing. "It's the sailors, Thorongil. They're suspicious folk, more so than your educated soldiers from the city. There were rumors before we ever loaded the ships, and Lord Elladan's vault off the ship…"

Aragorn winced, without turning around he could feel the intensity of the stare Elrohir leveled at his twin – so much for defusing that situation. Callon did not elaborate further, looking instead directly at Aragorn, knowing that his message had been clear enough.

He was not apologetic, stating the facts as he saw them and for that Aragorn was grateful. It did not help him choose his response, however. All of a sudden he found himself caught between the loyalty to his brothers and that to his men, albeit the latter demanded entertaining a suspicion against elves founded on nothing but ignorance. Yet he could not allow himself to alienize his men, his crew, during a long journey bound for very real danger. Their morale, their conviction of fighting for the right thing, their trust in his leadership, he relied on these. They would not be victorious in Umbar without them. Yet if he asked his brothers to stay on this ship, he would bereave himself of their guidance and their counsel, and what was more, their company. On top of that, removing them from the crew might only let the rumours fester further.

Before he could make a decision a call came from up on the deck of their lead caravel. "Captain!"

Both he and Captain Callon looked up to see Egrahil nimbly sliding down the rope that hung off the larger ship and ended on the deck of the dhow. Aragorn had been surprised to find that his lieutenant had a history in sailing and Egrahil was taking to their journey like the proverbial fish to water.

"Captains." He greeted solemnly. "There is a problem on the Zimrabel. She has sprung a leak. The carpenter is keeping it contained but he asked to seek land to find the cause and attempt proper repairs."

The matter of his brothers momentarily forgotten, Aragorn looked at Callon. On the waters the Captain of the Harbours was still the authority.

"We should land then." Callon said, rubbing his chin. "The Eastern shore is level here, ideal to drop anchor and make landfall. We will not have this opportunity for some time."

Aragorn nodded, yet before either he or Callon could give the order, he was interrupted again.

"We must not land on the Eastern shore."

Aragorn turned, surprised to find Elrohir standing right behind him. His brother had dropped the pretense of not hearing their discussion and he met Aragorn's gaze unflinchingly. His eyes hard, imploring his adopted brother to heed his words - though still he refused to elaborate.

"Why not?" Captain Callon asked, glancing east, though the shore was hidden behind the hull of their flagship.

Elrohir did not answer. His gaze remained fixed on Aragorn alone, serious, severe - but sincere.

Aragorn found himself nodding his acquiescence. He had never doubted his brothers, he would not start now. "Captain Callon, what are the alternatives?"

Callon was looking back and forth between him and Elrohir, trying and failing to understand what was happening until he eventually gave up. If nothing else, Aragorn realized, this would serve to fortify the sailors' beliefs about the strangeness of elves. He almost winced at the thought, at the realization of what this would mean.

"The western shore is ragged granite from here to the mouths and then it'll get worse." Callon said and drifted into a contemplative silence. "We could make for Tolfalas", he eventually suggested before he turned to Egrahil. "What did Balakan say? Will the Zimrabel make it that far?"

Egrahil nodded. "He said that, at a push, we could wait a few days."

"Tolfalas, then." Aragorn decided. "Make the arrangements, Captain Callon." Then he added with a sigh: "I will discuss the manning of our new scout vessel with the sons of Elrond."

The look of poorly concealed relief on the other captain's face showed Aragorn that he had made the right decision in that at least. Like it or not, he now had to make amends. Fulfilling his brother's request on an apparent whim could otherwise very well set the entire crew against them.

He sighed. It was a lot to ask of the sailors, even of Captain Callon to trust his brother's warnings when they insisted on being so stubbornly secretive. Again he wished for the old times in Rivendell, longing for the simplicity of those days. Back then he did not need to consider the sensibilities of the men under his command, did not need to consider centuries old misconceptions and fears - and he could trust his brothers to be plain with him.

He looked after Callon until the man disappeared over the gunwale of their flagship, then squared his shoulders and turned to Elrohir.

"Now, will you explain?"

-o0o-

A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I kept tweaking it and I think it's somewhat in shape now. It does serve it's purpose at least. Our poor adventurers can't even make it down the Anduin before their ships fall apart - and what exactly is lurking on the Eastern shore? More problems? Yes, exactly that, you guessed it :D