Disclaimer: Not for profit. If it was, I could pay off bills and stuff. Also…severe liberty with the lamps. I've based it on a historic design I found, but being unable to see it in person, I've done the best I can to understand how it works. If I have done it wrong, I appreciate any correction.
Author's Note: Natural disasters and technology do not mix. Ergo, I have had to recover files. I have done so mostly successfully, but that plus other stuff means my writing is not necessarily in its original form/intent. I hope the rewrite is just as good as I had planned!
Warnings: AU. Boromir/OC. In this chapter, basic mention of wounds.
The Captain's Wife
The ocean is everywhere.
For a moment, I panic, recalling the dream; and I clutch at my dress reflexively. I know we are safe, for now, but my spirit recoils all the same, and it is the work of a moment or two before I regain my breath. Some wine to take off the edge? The snide voice again. I shake my head. Wine was definitely not on my list to drink, especially after the way I had to leave the City. A magic spell, perhaps? You are away from the Steward, now. I shake my head again, hard, and turn my attention to the view.
Glass panes, very expensively clear glass panes, allow us to see for many, many miles. Even in the murkiness of the morning, I am able to make out white foam and blue waves crashing against shiny black rocks, and what appears to be some large creature, dark grey, away from the current, in the deeper, calmer waters.
The view is magnificent, and I say so, though I do not know the creature.
"A whale – they are common further out. Not usually in this season, however; and not usually alone. It's happening more and more often, and when we see them, we usually get a beaching – that is, they get stuck on the sand - within a few days. Without the whales, the sea becomes out of balance." He slides a hand through rumpled hair, still frustrated. "We have tried examining the whales closely to see if we could determine what was wrong with them, but found nothing. They seem to be willingly beaching themselves, and for that we have no explanation other than possibly Sauron's malice."
"However, that is not your concern," and he blows out a sigh. "We are here for the lamps."
Indeed, the lamps: there are two, mounted sturdily to the floor, which itself is of a storm-colored metal. "Iron and steel, mixed together," says Erchirion, following my glance. "We needed something formidable to keep the lamps steady, for they are very heavy."
Copper bowls back the lamps; lenses, the prince calls them, and the lamps lower and raise through a hole in the bottom so they can be lit. The lamps are constructed of the same clear glass as the panes, and my hairline rises. "What expense," I murmur, awed.
"Worth it," he responds. "Our mariners, indeed, our tradesmen, deserve every precaution. How else do you think your Lady Herenya gets her things? Or your father?" He flashes me a teasing smile, and my heart flinches. Husband, I think. Will I see you again?
The prince shows me how Glandur, Caranion, and the other men who rotate through work the lanterns. With the wicks lit, they pull through the hole; and with each lamp lit, the light reflects brightly off the polished copper – I wince a little. Each lamp, Erchirion demonstrates, can rotate and thus flash according to the mariner code each sailor has learned. I will not need to learn the mariner's code, he says, laughing; "that is some years' work. You can learn the cry for help, instead."
He shows me how to turn and shield the lamps appropriately for the length of pauses. There's the 'help' signal that most mariners know for needing aid, and the response that says, 'message received, aid on its way'. I am fascinated; in my dream I had no such tools.
"What else can you say with the lamps?"
He winks, pulling an impish face. "Much, my lady." Faint lines around his eyes indicate he has not slept very long, if at all. Yet here he is, being mischievous with me as if we were in the palace. I try to meet his tone, humbled again at the sacrifice the family of Dol Amroth is making.
"Cheeky!"
As for my purpose, he explains, I am to monitor the wicks so they do not burn too low; and so then am I also to monitor the oil. Should a wick burn too low, it could scorch the lens. If the lens does scorch, I can summon either Glandur or Caranion or Erchirion, to remove the entirety of the lamp from its mount, to be taken apart, polished, and reassembled. While not a difficult process, it is lengthy, as it requires time away from watching, and could cost mariners the chance to dock safely. I will begin tomorrow, with the morning shift.
It is a lot of information to take in, so I am not surprised when Caranion calls up to us that it is already past the lunch hour. In the murk, it is difficult for me at least to tell how much time has passed.
"You will see," Prince Erchirion assures me. "As you adjust, you will be able to tell, like visiting anywhere else. Can you not, from the sounds at the City, when you need to return or leave?"
"Yes," I say, thoughtfully. Often, it was the hum of the assembled Markets of the Circles below, or soldiers leaving the taverns in the streets beneath the ramparts. If I was in the Houses, it was the older Matrons carrying the laundry in woven baskets to dry and hang, their laughter a cadence to their quiet steps.
The Halls are peaceful again.
I sigh in relief. A frenetic day: soldiers have been in and out of the Houses, owing to a skirmish not far from the City. Another rout of Orcs. They seem endless, the legions of Mordor. I have been here long enough Healer Suidan trusts me to do basic wound-work. Not serious wounds, such as gashes, but I can tie bandages and clean shallow cuts with spirits.
Today has proven the test, I think. Several men have come in requiring minor tending, shedding their armor in turns. They reek of damp sand and sweat, and some of them have come in swearing continuously. By the afternoon, the language no longer bothers me, nor the sweat. I lose track of how long I have been in attendance, tying cotton bandages, wiping blood from skin, comforting pain where expressed. I doubt even an Orc would have garnered my attention, so focused I become in tending to each man.
I finish winding the last circle of bandage around a young man's arm, who thanks me profusely. His hair flops around his eyes, eyes that look like the Anduin in the rain, a vibrant gray-green. His hands press warmly on mine, then he collects his armor and is gone.
A Matron stops by me, white veil tossed over her shoulder. Nightly rounds already! "Any laundry to collect here, my Lady?" she asks, courteously. She is much older than myself, but not stooping. Looking around, I see none. I have only the rag I used, and the bandage I wrapped on the soldier was the last of my supply. "Only this rag," I offer, and hand it over. It is dark, and only now I do realize it is dark with blood. I shiver.
She taps me, friendly-like, on the arm, and takes it from me deftly, turning to put it one of the woven baskets. I get a peek – much of the laundry is covered in grime and blood.
How much more, I wonder idly. How much more blood will the orcs of Mordor take from us?
"All will be well in time," she says, pats my face, and turns, the veil swinging in a quiet arc.
We climb down, the prince watching me carefully to ensure I do not fall from the ladder. I thank him for it as we find our way to the main room. It seems cheerier with all of us gathered briefly, and I am heartened by the company. I take the chair with the most cushions, most notably my favorite – the one Lothiriel has made.
We eat, and chat lightly, the conversation being mostly of different stories of the seas. Glandur, as he quickly eats his salted fish, relates his first time on a boat. "Threw up frontways and sideways!" He claims it was the pork he had that morning for breakfast, as he never has been sick since.
"Right you haven't," snorts Caranion. "I remember when just last week when…" but Erchirion nudges him in the side. "Perhaps not that story," I hear him whisper. Caranion clears his throat.
"I remember when I tried sailing my first boat. Took me two weeks to figure it out – and then my father told me I had been steering us in circles!"
I laugh. "That sounds like something my brother would have done – but on purpose."
"Brother?" Erchirion sits forward, suddenly interested. "You have never mentioned a brother before."
"He died of ague in the year –," I answer quietly, twisting a thread of the cushion. "I survived, but he did not."
A silence falls. Erchirion picks up the dishes, the earthen plates clacking a little. "A walk out of doors, my lady?" he asks. "Caranion and Glandur will return to their work, and you can tell me of your brother."
The two men take the order – for it was a dismissal, kindly as it was framed – and disappear. I meanwhile, step out into the fresh air to wait on the prince. To tell him of my brother is to tell him a little of my own history, and that is to tell him of why I agreed to marry Lord Boromir.