Chapter 11

The Shakalzagar was still lying at anchor, resting in the high sun of noon as it glistened off the gentle sea. There was not a cloud outside and the light breeze that teased across the waves was just enough to provide some welcome respite against the sun's increasing heat for the sailors that were performing mandatory repairs on their vessels.

A bright beam of Arnor's rays shone through the window of the Captain's cabin, lending enough light for Aragorn to glance at the mostly empty parchment in front of him.

My dearest Arwen,

your brothers are a trial!

Please tell me their sheer pig-headed stubbornness is not a family trait …

Aragorn broke off with a groan, somewhere between amusement and annoyance. It would not do to insult his beloved and her entire family line - or his own for that matter. What was more, he could practically see the smile on his mother's face. She would have delighted in informing him that, yes, mulish obstinacy did run in the family. In fact, when he was younger she had told him repeatedly, never failing to tell him that his father had been the very same. She had taken great pleasure in implying that Elrond or his parents were to blame, pointing out that Ëarendil would hardly have passed the enchanted isles and crossed the Great Sea if he had not been single-mindedly focused, as she had liked to call it.

He sighed again, trying to remind himself that but a few days ago he had feared that he might have to write Arwen a very different letter. Or, even, that somebody else would.

Aragorn vividly recalled his terror as the main sail's line had broken loose, striking like a living thing across the deck, the terrifying moment of weightlessness as he had tumbled over the side of the Shakalzagar, the crushing pain as he had hit the raging waters below. What came after had been worse. The uncertainty over his brothers' fate as he desperately searched the beach, knowing that they were facing one of the Nine. And then, the desperate rush to save Elladan.

He was reminded once more of the widow at the waystation on the Erui, of the devastation, the bottomless despair of her bereavement. And the reminder was close at hand: The Nazgûl's attack on the ships had caused loss of life and already Callon was already writing to loved ones, trying to find words of consolation where none would ever serve.

That could have been his fate.

And despite the victory they had hardwon on the shores of Harnen, more dangers were yet to come. He could not delude himself, Umbar held many dangers. They were heading for combat, bloodshed, war. He might not ever get the chance to write his letter to Arwen if he did not do it now. He had hoped to use the enforced break, while the ships were getting mandatory repairs, to finally pen the letter she deserved to have. She deserved so much more and his heart yearned for the chance to tell her, to show her, to lie the stars at her feet.

He should not fill his letter with juvenile complaints about her brothers.

But what to write her?

The white sheet of parchment in front of him was glaringly empty. Aragorn had escaped the confines of command – and the company of his brothers - for the exact purpose of penning these lines, but it increasingly seemed that it was not to be. He had found a million distractions. The crying of the gulls outside, the sounds of a ship under repair, of busy footsteps outside, of the sons of Elrond bickering like children ….

He sighed again as his thoughts returned to that too-familiar topic. Those two, he noted not for the first time, truly deserved one another. One too tired to stand unaided and the other too injured to even attempt getting up, they had been driving each other and everyone in their vicinity insane all day. How he wished he could go back to drugging Elladan, or better yet both of his brothers, just to gain a modicum of quiet.

The idea brought a smile, but the paper in front of him remained accusingly empty. And he knew he was unfairly blaming his brothers for his own lack of eloquence, when truly it was his own mind still reeling from the events of the last days that prevented him from finding the right words for her.

Eventually, he surrendered. Instead of forcing words that would not come, he let the sound of wooden hammers attaching broken beams and the tunes of the seamens' gaudy songs distract him. Opening the drawer under the desk, he found, not unsurprisingly, a bottle of good Gondorian rum, a staple in every captain's cabin. He whistled along to the merry, if entirely inappropriate, tune of the sailors as he strolled onto the deck looking for Callon. The letter would wait another day and the Captain at least would prove much better company than his brothers.

-o0o-

The sea was a quiet azure blue. The sun's golden rays danced over its restive surface like fishes at play, shimmering here and there with spectacular beauty. On the wind, he could catch the faint smell of sand carried by the desert winds, layered beneath the overpowering salty headyness that was the sea. In the middle of their tumultuous journey, this was a haven, a moment of peace, without rushing forward to meet their doom - and without fretting brothers to contend with.

Elladan breathed deeply, letting his unbound hair play in the wind to enjoy the same freedom he had been longing for for days, and closed his eyes.

"It is a pleasure to see you looking better, my lord."

His moment of solitude was short. Captain Callon looked at him briefly for permission and Elladan inclined his head, letting the man join him at the parapet. Some company that was not Elrohir, was not unwelcome.

"Where is your brother?" Elladan winced at Callon's uncanny knack of reminding him of the very things he was trying to ignore - and it must have shown clearly, for the jolly captain continued good-naturedly. "... Ah, I see."

"I would appreciate…"

"A moment of peace? Quite understandable." Callon kept laughing, "However, I'm not sure how long your location will remain a secret."

From where he was leaning his back against the railing next to Elladan, he gestured back towards the deck. Elladan followed his movement, only to find a nervous sailor slowly coming closer. Encouraged by the captain's jolly wave, the sailor stepped forward with more confidence. He held a bowl of stew in his outstretched hands.

"The cook sends me," the sailor stammered by way of explanation, as he passed the bowl to Elladan. His words were a hurried jumble of sounds, seemingly trying to escape his mouth all at once. For a brief moment he looked like a deer poised to flee, yet unable to bring himself to do so, and his wide eyed stare started to make Elladan uncomfortable. It was Callon's loud booming laughter that finally broke the spell. The sailor awoke from his seeming stupor, and left with a sound that sounded suspiciously like a squeak.

Bemused, Elladan shook his head, but he started eating the stew, a warm and rich concoction of fish and herbs that were distinctly Gondorian. Events like this had happened more frequently in the last couple of days as the sailors had seemingly forgotten their suspicion of Elrohir and him overnight and had replaced it with a strange curiosity and, in some cases, a frantic hero worship.

Callon clasped him on the shoulder, eliciting a wave of pain that only reminded Elladan that he should not be up on deck yet. It was just as well that Elrohir was not around, he figured, as he tried to suppress the signs of his discomfort.

"You had better get used to it - seamen are strange folk." Callon said. "They saw you do battle with the wraith on the shore, break up that storm that was upon us."

"Still their sudden change of heart is disconcerting."

"Well, someone might have been around to whisper the right words at the right time. Nudging them to consider the benefits of elven magic on their side."

Elladan was not sure how to feel about that, this redirection of superstitions, rather than their honest eradication. But Callon was practically beaming with self-satisfaction and it was probably the best they could hope for under the circumstances. He inclined his head obligingly, acknowledging the captain's masterful play of tactics. "We are in your debt, Captain Callon."

The man waved the words away. "No, this mission relies on clear-headedness and unity. We cannot let ourselves be divided by petty prejudice. What is more," and he turned to face Elladan, suddenly serious, "You did save us. You and your brother. That ... thing that hunted us – no mortal man could have faced it."

Elladan winced at the memory of the ring wraith, of the fear he had felt when he had found Elrohir facing the beast alone, losing. The thought of his brother, of the terror of his own narrow escape from the morgul blade, brought a pang of guilt. Elrohir would not be pleased with him ignoring his advice and leaving the sickbay. And while his twin was sure to understand his need for movement and fresh air eventually, Elladan did not look forward to the lecture that was sure to precede it.

"Thorongil!"

As if his very thoughts had conjured him, Elrohir suddenly appeared below on the main deck. He seemed agitated as he called again for their younger brother and for a moment irritation flashed through Elladan; surely his twin was not going to Aragorn over his "disappearance" and "ignoring of sound medical advice". But when Elrohir turned and their gazes met, it became very clear that Elrohir's frenzy had very little to do with Elladan's absence.

Gingerly placing the bowl of half eaten stew on the gunwale, Elladan hissed at the way the move pulled at his stitches. Once again, he was very grateful for the fact that Elrohir was otherwise occupied. Aragorn had joined his twin on the main deck and Elrohir pointed out over the waters to their port side. Their words were too far away, caught by the wind as they were to be understood. But following his twin's gesture, Elladan froze.

Dust was rising in great plumes over the desert. Riders - and very many of them from the looks of it, their garb was the dark red leather of Umbar with black plumes on their helms. They were riding due south, and the trail of billowing sand they left behind showed that they had come from the coast.

There could be only one reason for their sudden haste – they had spotted the Gondorian fleet.

-o0o-

A/N: This feels a bit like a filler - as we and our intrepid heroes remind ourselves that they are still on their way to Umbar :D And as usual, things are not quite as smooth as they could be. Still, this was quite fun to write and it was nice to have Callon do something nice and "sea smart" for once.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and as always would love to hear your thoughts!