Chapter Summary:

Author's Notes: Due to the dangerous situation Silmarien finds herself in, the rating will be upped to PG-13. Consider this your warning for violence and mild to moderate sensuality.

Mercury Gray had a hand in helping me with this chapter, as I had been going through some rocky spots and didn't really have any ideas until I talked to her. Thank you, Merc, for all you've done!

Shout outs:

Terreis – Now I know what to send you for Christmas, Terreis! And I'm glad you like my story. I hope you continue to like it!

Mercury Gray – You do mean chimney, right?

Electric Fire – Mari can take care of herself, up to a certain point. Barahir will make sure to deal with the pirates accordingly.

Mariette – Lothiriel's not really the type of girl to go and kick ass. But her brother is! And Ranger is going to get another chance at that damned pirate who bruised him up and took Mari away. Darn tootin'!

Lindele - How will they find her? Read on, my faithful minion...I mean cough

Roisin Dubh - Yes, precious...a test of cunning. The Raven against the Corsair...I wonder who will win? And yes, I take offense easily. I had no qualms sending Justso to Freddie. Freddie said he actually tasted like burnt French fries...hmmm...

Imp2 – Yay! My good old friend from the CoE days. Yes, I have improved, because I've practiced! So glad you enjoy it!

Shin-chan - ...what are you doing to me?!

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Sarka stood at the stern of the ship, simply looking at the open sea. Looking, but not seeing. The sun shone in the midmorning, dancing on the rippling waves, and Sarka was not dazzled by the sight of it as he usually was. His mind was on his prisoner, who was in repose in his cabin.

She claimed to be Lothiriel. After her small burst of boldness, she had reverted back to being the submissive girl he had remembered. But, there was something different. Sarka mused on what it could be. Was it the way she walked? The way she held herself? Could be. Or it could be the way she spoke. There was a flavor there that the Corsair captain couldn't quite fully connect with Dol Amroth. She said all the right things, but her manner of speech, her dialect, was different from what he remembered the Swan Lords had. There was something with more power, more resistance. There was a certain defiance in the young girl. Masked, maybe, but somewhat recognizable.

Sarka snorted, and then sighed. He hadn't seen the Princess of Dol Amroth in several years. Even if she had grown into a bold young woman, there wasn't the awe-inspiring grace that spoke of the high lineage her people boasted of. They were a line of pretenders, in Sarka's mind, claiming to be descendants of Elves, that cursed race with bright and keen eyes.

The girl that now rested in the captain's cabin wasn't tall enough, not fair enough, not...intelligent enough to claim that royal lineage. Sarka hated the people of Dol Amroth. He hated Elves more, because they could see past his lies and into his dark soul. It unnerved him. There was something about the girl, however, that made her dangerous. He couldn't put his finger on it. She didn't have enough elf-blood in her veins to be Lothiriel, but there was something in her eyes. Something that seemed as if she were daring him to do his worst...daring him to harm her, as if she knew she weren't important enough for it to matter. It seemed she had no fear of him - if she did fear Sarka and his crew, she hid it extremely well.

Was she from Dol Amroth? If she was not Lothiriel, perhaps a servant? A pretender? Sarka decided to test her, and ordered that food be brought to his cabin. "I shall dine with our princess," he said, his fearsome grin spreading over his face.

Sarka unlocked his cabin and came in. The girl had been sitting on a stuffed chair, and rose at his appearance. Her long fingers were rebraiding her hair, and were nearly finished. She left the rest of it unbraided.

Sarka bowed, this time with no hint of mockery. "My lady," he said. The test began.

Silmarien inclined her head with an irritated air, as if he had interrupted her. "What is it you want of me, captain?" she asked.

"Merely to dine with you, if you would allow me," he replied, watching her like a hawk, though he masked it with a crooked smile.

She hesitated. "The vessel is thine, and I am your prisoner. Who am I to deny the captain his meal?"

"Oh come now," Sarka grinned fully. "I am not an evil man."

"There would be those who would dispute that claim."

Sarka advanced to the table and drew out a chair, offering it to her to sit in. She paused, considering his offer, and then gathered up her skirts so that she could sit properly and with comfort. As Sarka drew away, he watched as she draped her belled sleeves over the arms of the chair.

To say she is a servant would be a lie, he mused. She is too practiced with her luxurious garments to be a servant.

At that, several men of his crew came in, bearing stolen food upon stolen silver, setting the table with the grace and poise of an orc.

"You keep a bountiful table, captain," Mari said disdainfully. "All taken from the poor souls who were not fortunate enough to escape, I assume."

"Food is food," he grunted, watching her as she was presented with each dish. Sarka was intrigued when she didn't reach for anything. "Is it not to your liking, princess?"

He looked closely. She was hungry. She had to be...yes, the slight longing in her eyes told Sarka that she was starving. But a resolution clouded it over.

"I will not eat a meal stolen from one who should have had it," she said defiantly.

"Suit yourself, my lady Lothiriel," he said, grinning at her ferociously. It unnerved her, he could see, but she still held her ground.

Ergot was one of the men who brought in food. Sarka glanced at him, a signal between the two. Ergot poured a goblet of wine and pulled a very small vial from within his garments. Uncorking it quietly behind the princess' chair, he poured three drops of it into the goblet and set it before her with a dirty smile.

"You must be terribly thirsty, my lady," Sarka said. "Please take at last one drink of the wine. To refresh yourself."

Ergot had just served his captain a goblet of wine. Silmarien watched as he downed a gulp, and figured the wine to be relatively safe to drink. Gingerly, she took a small drink,

Sarka smiled behind a clump of bread he was eating. Ergot smiled as well, and left, knowing his captain would prefer to be alone when he unmasked her, if she wasn't Lothiriel.

"My men treated you with respect, I hope," the Corsair captain said calmly.

"Aside from the blow to my face that I received, they treated me well," Mari replied, suddenly feeling very tired.

"And the wine? Is it to your satisfaction?"

Silmarien blinked like an owl in the daylight. She couldn't focus. Her eyesight was becoming blurred. Had she been awake too long? Mari stood, not knowing and quite frankly, did not care that she nearly knocked over her chair.

"I think it best that you leave, captain," she said in little more than a whisper as her hand passed over her eyes.

Sarka stood immediately and rushed toward her. Ergot had obviously used one of the more powerful narcotics from Harad. He hoped that it would suit his purpose.

Silmarien fell into his arms, unaware of anything around her anymore. Her eyelids drooped heavily as she began to mutter nonsense. Sarka listened close, in case she let slip anything which concerned who she was.

He carried her over to the bed and threw her upon it like a rag doll. He climbed over her, his knees on either side of her hips. Sarka watched her face, and hissed commands at her as if she could obey them, or even hear his voice.

She cried out every now and again. Sharp, but not loud enough to cause alarm to his crew.

"Run, Lothiriel!"

Sarka gripped her waist, squeezing hard enough to cause pain and leave marks. She felt it and cried out again, this time calling for someone whom Sarka knew did not live within Dol Amroth.

"Boromir!"

An evil light sprang into his eyes. So, who was she? Growing frustrated, he dug his fingers further into her side. "Who are you, woman!"

She seemed to her his angry hiss and amazingly, complied to his demand.

"Greetings, I am Silmarien. My father is Steward."

Steward! The Steward of Gondor! Her brothers were Boromir and Faramir, captains of his enemy soldiers!

"Clever girl, that you deceive me!" Sarka growled. He would take revenge on her body as she lay senseless beneath him.

Nearly tearing her hem, he pulled it up and began to unbuckle his belt. Should she live to marry, her husband would be disappointed.

"Captain! Boat sighted at the coast!"

Sarka's head snapped toward the door, from whence the voice of his first mate came, along with urgent poundings on the wood. His gaze shifted from the door to Silmarien and back. Growling in anger, he buckled his belt back.

"You are fortunate," he muttered hatefully. "But you are not free yet!"

With that, he left her to receive the gold that was surely coming to him.

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