For one who had lived so close to the sea, Lethril knew very little of sailing. Ships were known to him – his father had described them, and he had seen woodcuts, but they were nothing compared to the very real ship of captain Harkal. The first thing Lethirl noticed about it was that it was never absolutely still. Even here, in the calm waters of the harbour, it rocked gently, making Lethril sway on his feet.
The crew was five men strong, including Lethril himself and the captain. The first mate was a sullen, quiet man of maybe forty years. He busied himself with planning routes and pouring over maps, and barely glanced up with Lethril was introduced to him. The first mate shared a cabin with two others, both deck hands, but of a higher rank than Lethril. Lethril slept in the kitchen. The first deck hand, and the most superior, was called Kerhal, and kept close to the first mate's side. The other was only a couple of years older than Lethril, and his name was Delwyn. Lethril did not quite know what to make of him. He was always talking, and waving his thin, bony arms about animatedly. He had round, bulgy eyes, made even more prominent by his thin face and hollow cheeks. There was something about him that Lethril did not life, but he put his doubts aside when Delwyn seemed truly interested in Lethril – and for someone who had spent most of his life alone, attention was something new, overwhelming and flattering.
Lethril's tasks, when explained, sounded manageable, if not easy. The deck was to be scrubbed every morning, to wash away the salt residue from the spray of the sea. The crew had one meal at night, and breakfast before returning to shore. If the journey was longer, Lethril was to cook and serve three meals a day. He answered to all the crew, and was to obey their commands.
The time was no right to set sail, for the tide was tugging at the ship. Lethril helped Delwyn pull up the anchor, and then watched in amazement as the four men hoisted the sails, making the ship seem even larger and prouder. Within minutes, they were floating quietly out of the harbour alongside dozens of other ships and boats.
As soon as they reached open water, the rocking motion intensified, and Lethril started to feel sick. He had not eaten anything since the cream and bread at the inn, and all day, he had been too fascinated by everything around the harbour to think about food, but now he felt his stomach contract in cramps. He staggered to the railing for something to hold on to, but the horizon, barely visible in the half-light of dusk, went up and down before his eyes. Nothing was still, and the steady, swaying motions eventually made Lethril retch, but his belly was empty, and only a little sour fluid dripped from his mouth into the foaming sea. Some way away stood Delwyn, laughing.
'Can't handle a little breeze?' he said, sniggering.
'When will it stop?' moaned Lethril.
'Not before we reach Tolfalas,' said Delwyn.
Rather unfortunately, this Lethril's first journey was a relatively long one. With good winds, it would take them three days to reach the island of Tolfalas, that stood in the waters where the Anduin met the sea. However, once they had crossed the bay that separated Dol Amroth from the peninsula of Belfalas, they followed the coastline, and the waves were calmer. Still, Lethril found it difficult to sleep and fulfilled his duties pale-faced and drawn. It took him three whole days before he could keep down the food he cooked. On the evening of that second day, his step had finally fallen into the rhythm of the sea, and at long last some colour returned to his cheeks and he stood at the prow of the ship as they approached Tolfalas.
The ship's load consisted of only a couple of sacks of what seemed to be goods of metal, but the buyer – a positively sneaky looking man in Lethril's eyes – paid handsomely, and the captain announced that a celebration was due. To Lethril, their way of celebrating was odd, at first. They simply sat down in an inn near the harbour and started drinking. Not merrily, but with determination. After a few drinks, it started to make sense. Everything seemed to be just as it should. His insides warmed slowly, and the room seemed to acquire a golden glow, radiating from within himself. Delwyn appeared agitated, more fidgety than ever, but Lethril simply smiled, feeling truly content.
The captain began reminiscing of times fled, and before long, the talk turned to the War.
'Of course, I was only nine or ten at the time,' said Harkal, 'but I still remember the disappointment. A couple of years more, and I too would have marched East.'
'My grandfather fought and died,' said Delwyn and spat on the floor.
There were nods and murmurs all around the table. Every member of the crew had lost a loved one. Lethril, however, remained quiet.
'What about you, Lethril?' asked Delwyn then, turning his bloodshot eyes to the new recruit.
'My father survived the War,' he replied evenly. It was not exactly a lie, and he knew anything was better than the truth.
'He's a very lucky man,' said the captain and nodded gravely.
Delwyn watched Letrhil with suspicious eyes, and Lethril almost started wondering whether he could somehow tell he was not saying everything. At that moment, the captain had a word with a barmaid, and soon, five very small silver cups were brought in, each containing clear liquid. At first, Lethril thought it was water, but as soon as he downed the contents of the cup – quickly, in the fashion of his fellow sailors – his throat burned. He coughed a great many times, and felt his eyes tearing. It was like drinking peppercorns, he thought, or perhaps fire, if it could take liquid form. Delwyn slapped him roughly on the back and laughed.
'We'll make a man of the sea out of you yet,' he said, drunkenly spraying Letrhril with saliva.
He did not mind, for by now, the spirit was coursing through his blood, making him now hot, now cold, making his head swim. Much of the night passed in a blur. Time seemed to have a life of its own, speeding up and slowing down. Then everything changed, for suddenly, Delwyn stood up and punched a man at the next table.
Immediately, Lethril's head cleared, but as he stood up, he was unsteady and the room started spinning. He made it to a wall and sank against it, watching in horror as the blows fell between Delwyn and the other man. Soon, friends of the stranger started to get involved, and before long, the incident had turned into a fully-fledged brawl. Chairs were flying, and so were teeth. Panic-stricken, Lethril crawled to the door, managed to push it open and fell out into the muddy street. Not knowing what else to do, he started running towards the ship, but his gait was unsteady and he could not see too well.
Eventually, he found the right ship and somehow made it across the narrow plank from the quayside. The images of men in rage, bleeding from the nose and the mouth, swinging their fists blindly filled his mind. He felt sick to his stomach, and before he could even crawl to the railing, vomit was gushing down the front of his tunic and onto the deck. When the blackness closed in on him, it was a sweet release, a state of nothingness and a dreamless sleep.
He woke to find himself being carried by two men. The first mate had hold of his legs, and he could hear Delwyn chattering madly behind him. The grey light of dawn showed an overcast sky.
'Time to clean up, friend,' said the first mate grimly.
Lethril did not understand, and certainly did not have the time to ponder the words, for an instant later, he was swung a couple of times from side to side, then sent flying through the air. Flailing his arms wildly about him, he searched for something to keep hold of, but they had thrown him far out over the deep waters of the harbour. The shock of the cold sea punched the air out of his chest, but the next breath he took filled his lungs with brackish water. He tried waving his arms about, but sank like a stone towards the bottom. A second felt like eternity. He was no longer cold, or worried. Then strong arms embraced him, pulled him up to the surface.
Spluttering, trying to breathe normally, Lethril thought to himself that drowning had been better than being saved. Now he was cold, and his chest ached. Over to his left, the captain was shouting at the rest of the crew.
'What were you thinking? Did I not tell you he was no sailor?'
'He needed a bath, captain. Not to mention needing to learn how to swim,' said Delwyn.
'Shut your mouth! Don't think I don't know mockery when I see it! Delwyn, you will take over his chores for today. Letrhil, you can warm yourself in the kitchen.'
'It was only a bit of fun,' said Delwyn with a grin, while gutting a fish. Lethril eyed him suspiciously, a blanket around his shoulders. 'Besides, it serves you right for being a coward and abandoning the crew.'
'It is my choice whether to fight or not,' said Lethril quietly.
'You won't get many friends that way.'
After a day of rest, Lethril resumed his tasks aboard the ship, but he was quiet and kept out of the way of the others. The captain regarded him with pity, and knew that it would take a while before he was accepted by the others. He had seen it many times, but for Lethril, who had not, it was difficult.
On the morning they sailed into Dol Amroth again, Lethril sat on the railing at the prow of the ship, wondering if life would always be like this. Delwyn joined him, quiet for once, and they watched the bustle of the harbour as the first mate and Kerhal the deckhand threw the ropes towards the quay. Suddenly, Lethril spotted a familiar face in the crowd.
'Nella,' he said aloud.
Delwyn followed his gaze.
'You know her?' he asked.
'Yes. She is my friend,' answered Lethril, and then, seeing the impressed look on Delwyn's face, added, 'and a friend I like to kiss once in a while.'
With that, he took a great leap from the ship's side to the shore and started pushing his way through the crowd.
'Nella!' he shouted.
She turned around, saw his face and then turned around again. Then Letrhil saw that she was holding a young man by the arm. He turned around and glanced at Lethril.
'Do you know him, Nella?' he asked the girl.
'No,' she said nervously.
'He seems to know you.'
'He might know my name, but I don't know his. Come, let's go somewhere else.'
With that, she steered away from him, leaving him shocked and shamed. Slowly, he made his way back to the ship. Still standing at the prow, Delwyn was laughing loudly.
'And she likes to kiss others, once in a while,' he said gleefully.
Lethril said nothing. He wanted the waters to engulf him once again, wanted to sink through the very rock he was standing on, to forget and begin over again.