In An Age Before – Part 185
Now to the south in the realm of Gondor during the last three weeks of Nínui, arrangements were finalized for the withdrawal of troops from the many barracks, outposts, and fortifications within the kingdom. These would be the fifty thousand warriors sent north to fulfill the treaty of aid with Arthedain, and many were the soldiers who put themselves forward by volunteering to their sergeants, and lieutenants. Some sought to honor the duty they felt to the greater culture of the Dúnedain, some craved adventure and glory in strange lands, whilst others simply longed for a change of scenery. For whate'er reasons, o'er seventy-five thousands volunteered themselves, leaving the officers with their pick of who to send forth, and who to retain in the ranks at home.
By month's end those choices had been made, the rosters filled, and the companies mustered, each 'neath a first or second lieutenant, depending on their captain's needs, the demands of their regular postings, or simple whim. Only the company of Prince Eärnur required no choices. By the king's order, all would sail. So in far-flung barracks 'cross the realm of Gondor, soldiers prepared for duty with the expeditionary force that would sail in mid-Gwaeron.
In the port cities of Pelargir upon Anduin, and at Linhir and Belfalas on the southern coast, captains of ships readied their vessels and crews. Sails and lines were inspected, cloth mended, and ropes tarred, or replaced. Decks were scrubbed clean with holystones and seawater, hulls scraped and painted, and spars varnished. Stores were taken on and the barrels for fresh water meticulously cleaned. The preparations were the same whether the vessel was a troop transport, cargo ship, or a man 'o war, for all would share equally in the demands imposed by the sea. No captain, be he the commander of a barge, a scouting schooner, or a full-rigged frigate, would have skimped on his arrangements. Aside from their pride in a naval tradition stretching back five thousand years to Númenor, 'twas a bitter truth that upon the water any problem was compounded, and this every captain knew.
In warehouses adjacent to the quays, tons of foodstuffs, animal fodders, armaments, and 'aught else required for an army going to war were accumulated from the corners of the realm. Somewhat further inland, barns, stables, and paddocks grew filled with livestock, poultry, and the draft animals for the supply wagons. Set aside were the finer stables to house the warhorses, whilst close by stood the barracks of the cavalry. As the month of Gwaeron opened, the streets of port cities and seaside towns o'erflowed with soldiers, knights, and sailors.
One further point merits mention in the planning of King Eärnil's deployment, and this was the inevitable ratio of 'tooth to tail'. To support the actions of fifty thousand warriors were another sixty-five thousand authorized non-combatants. Foremost were the marines and sailors of the king's ships, none of whom were expected to be deployed in battles on land. Their count was twenty thousands. Another forty-five thousands directly supported the army. These were the grooms and squires of the knights, the quartermasters, the butchers, the cooks and their assistants, the launderers, tailors, barbers, surgeons, dentists, herbalists, foragers, ferriers, armorers, leather workers, ditch diggers, personal servants, and scribes, to name a few. There were also some fifteen thousands of unauthorized non-combatants, including the ubiquitous knaves, scoundrels, con artists, gamblers, pickpockets, moneylenders, thieves, doxies, and harlots who followed the army and navy. These latter categories provided their own transportation as a business investment, creating a flotsam of small and questionable vessels that followed the military ships. On land, they would form their own wagon train and pitch their own encampments, much like a dark carnival or a mobile slum. Many amongst the good citizens of Gondor would applaud their absence.
On the first day of Gwaeron, Círdan's mariners sailed from the Gulf of Lhûn. They rounded the headland of Forlindon and turned northwest, running up the coast and then turning north. 'Twas the same route that Captain Gwávílron had sailed in 1534, when he had conveyed Helluin and Beinvír to Tol Fuin in His Majesty's sloop of war Núra Lúne Eari. Now when the Elvish ship Nennores¹ came to the westernmost point of Forlindon the next evening, they turned north-northeast, for thereafter their course would pass to the east of Himring. The northerly winter winds were stronger than when Núra Lúne Eari had sailed, but still Círdan's mariners made good headway. On 3 Gwaeron they passed Himring and continued, bearing increasingly east as they followed the coast. Inland, the mass of the Ered Luin was vaguely visible as a shadow on the verge of sight 'cross the dark waters. Nennores held that course throughout the day, and in the morn of the 4th, rounded the headland and turned east into the Ice Bay of Forochel. ¹(Nennores, Wave runner (f.)= nen(water) noro-(v. run) -es(fem. obj. suff n. on v.) Sindarin)
The bay appeared a scene of chaos and Captain Maicheneb¹ shook his head at the sight of it. The winter wind blew cold and hard 'cross the water from the Cape of Forochel and the Northern Wastes. Foam capped chop drove rafts of drift ice to and fro, some as big as farmers' fields. The water itself moved as if 'twas slower and thicker than the sea was meant to be, its supercooled surface rimed with grease ice. The scene was horrifying to the Elves. With a bit more cold, the sluggish surface would coagulate into pack ice, and the winds could drive it into sheets. Given time, such conditions could entrap a ship and eventually crush its hull. The northern winds alone threatened to drive them onto the southern shores. All they could do was stand off a prudent distance from the coast, keep to the open leads, dodge the ice floes, and begin their search. ¹(Maicheneb, Sharp-eye Sindarin)
At the Lossoth camp, on the morn of 1 Gwaeron after he had traded in thought with Helluin through the palantír the night before, King Arvedui and his Men eagerly began their search for driftwood. This they gathered in a heap 'nigh their snow shelter. When all that they could dig from the snowy strand and drag back had been collected, they went inland from the shore, and there uprooted 'aught of plant matter they could find. In the afternoon, when the pile of fuel had already grown large enough to be remarkable to the Lossoth, Tulukaruq came and sought the king.
"A'ridoo, was'll this?" He asked, whilst making a sweeping gesture encompassing the heap of driftwood.
"Ahh, Tooloocrak. We must build a beacon fire and keep it alight. A ship is to come for our rescue," Arvedui told him.
The idea of a fire burning continuously outdoors was alarming to the Snowman, a flagrant waste of a precious and vital resource.
"Come soon?" The Losdír asked hopefully.
"In two days, or maybe three. We shan't light the beacon 'til the day after tomorrow," the king said, hoping to placate his host.
Tulukaruq nodded, praying that the ship came sooner rather than later, ere every scrap of wood on the beach was burnt and his people would have to move. He shook his head, and with much muttering in his native tongue, retreated back inside his snow shelter.
In the evening of 3 Gwaeron, the king and his Men piled branches and kindling, and with much difficulty, lit a fire on the beach. They had been forced to stack blocks of snow on the windward side just to get their kindling to catch, but once the blaze was established, they moved the blocks to the westward side, to form a shelter for those who would tend the fire. One at a time, the five Dúnedain would keep watch, assuring that their beacon remained lit and hoping to sight a ship.
During the early hours of that night, the remaining four brought their gathered fuel to the fire, heaping it behind the windbreak where t'would be in easy reach of the beacon tender. Then they went to their rest with many prayers to the Valar.
By shifts, the soldiers and their king took turns tending the beacon. No larger than a modest campfire, in the darkness of the northern night, absent any light save Ithil and the stars, it seemed blindingly bright, visible for many miles. Upon the water, no moon-lit glow on sails or glimmer of ship's lamps was seen that night, though not for lack of vigilant searching. The Elvish ship was still running up the west coast of Lindon, making its way towards the mouth of the Bay of Forochel.
Their watch had continued unbroken through the night, and with the dawn of the 4th, still no ship had been sighted. The beacon fire continued to burn, though with the day its light was barely to be marked. To make more visible their beacon, they tossed onto the fire clumps of freeze-dried moss. This produced a column of white smoke and steam that went up to the heavens, blown sharply inland by the constant wind.
From time to time during the 4th, Tulukaruq and the people of his hunting camp came to watch the curious goings-on, standing 'nigh for a time and then withdrawing, shaking their heads in disapproval and grumbling. Hour after hour, they marked the combustion of many days worth of precious fuel as their strange guests fed the flames, created smoke, and stared out to sea. Most doubted if 'aught would come of it, and they made the mental preparations to uproot their camp.
Now that day passed to evening and darkness fell. The Dúnedain were still hopeful, as it had been but four days since their talk with Helluin in the palantír. They prepared for a second night of feeding their beacon fire and keeping watch on the sea. Thus, the early hours of the night passed, and the hour of midnight drew 'nigh.
Annuiél was two hours into his three-hour watch, and by Ithil's slow progress he deemed that midnight was still an hour away. He stood and stamped his feet, then tossed another branch onto the fire and warmed his hands o'er the flickering flames. Finally, he turned away and let his eyes grow accustomed to the dark once more. The sea was endless from his point of view, the wind unrelenting, and the cold utterly miserable. A glance up at the sky revealed the stars and the strange wavering curtains of light that sometimes appeared in that northern land. Down again he cast his eyes, watching as the light of some stars bobbed amidst the chop. They were blue and white and green.
In the next moment, he was shouting and throwing wood on the fire, building it up higher than e'er aforetime. As the flames caught and the beacon flared, he stood before it leaping and waving his arms. After a few minutes more, he was sure. 'Twas definitely a ship, not some phantasm of his desires, or a trick of the eye.
Summoned by the excitement of his voice, Barasron and the king crawled forth from their snow shelter. With two more pairs of eyes, even the possibility that 'twas a fabrication of his fatigue was refuted. They too saw the running lights of a ship. Arvedui grabbed a flaming branch from the fire and waved it o'erhead.
Soon, Talagant and Nohadan joined them, and after further observation, they agreed that the lights indeed signified a ship. Another ten minutes passed and with even greater joy, they agreed that it had turned towards them. They threw yet more wood on the fire and waved burning brands o'erhead, whooping and hollering the whole time.
Their raucous behavior brought forth the Lossoth, first children and then their parents, with Tulukaruq amongst them. They marveled that the gaunt and starving Men could create such discord and expend so much energy. Focused thus on the Dúnedain and blinded by the fire, they marked not the distant lights of the ship.
Now the Elvish mariners had marked the flames even ere Annuiél had seen their lamps. 'Twas the only flame they had seen on the coast throughout their voyage. The sailors turned Nennores towards the beacon and shortly later, saw it increase in brightness. Soon they marked some flames waving back and forth, their movement too irregular to be a natural occurrence. They maintained their course, dodging floating ice and steering through leads of open water. 'Twas slower than a direct course would have been, but they had to mind the wind and the danger of being driven aground, for in such violent conditions, no chance had they of sounding for depth. Even so, their progress was constant, and though it took o'er an hour to cover that league of water, eventually they stood off the coast and saw the king and his four companions dancing and waving flaming brands as they called out 'cross the waves. Daring to approach no closer than four furlongs from shore, they launched a longboat with six of their crew at the oars.
King Arvedui and his soldiers were jubilant, and the king came to Tulukaruq and snatched him up in a bear hug that utterly terrified the Losdír. He lifted the shorter Man full off his feet and swung him 'round in circles, chortling and laughing. By then, the Lossoth had marked the ship, a wholly unnatural construct that may or may not have been a phantasm from some spirit world. In spite of the appearance of it, most of the Lossoth still deemed that the five Dúnedain had succumbed to snow madness and they shied away from them lest they be infected as well. The behavior of the king was all the proof they required.
Now the Elves came to the edge of the shore ice and there they could row no further. They were still o'er two furlongs from the king's camp, and they called out at the top of their lungs to the Men ashore. In spite of the howling wind, they were eventually heard and understood by Arvedui's Men. 'Twas Talagant who came to the king and offered his tidings. They would have to walk far out onto the ice to reach the Elves.
Sobered by this news, King Arvedui finally released Tulukaruq from his bear hug and the Losdír quickly stepped back to a safe distance.
"We are saved and shall be away," Arvedui told the northern hunter. "As promised, thou hast now an axe, a shovel, and a pick of Dwarvish steel, and of course our remaining wood for your fires."
Tulukaruq was only too happy to have the tools, for such implements were beyond price as his people had little metal of any kind. Such tools would be passed down through many generations. He smiled broadly at the king, just as happy to have him and his Men taking their leave as he was to have their tools.
"'Tis one last favor we would ask of thee, noble Tooloocrak, ere thou art done with us," the king said. The Losdír groaned into the fur of his hood. "Pray could thou convey us hence upon thy dog sleds?"
There were few things the Snowman could think of that he was less inclined to do. Sledding out onto the shore ice in the dead of night was hazardous, and yet… If t'would ensure that the Dúnedain would truly take their leave, 'twas well worth the danger. Finally, he nodded 'yea' and called for several hunters, explaining in their native tongue what was required and why. The Men grumbled and cursed, but hitched their dog teams to their sleds anyway.
Eventually, the Dúnedain were driven by sled out so close as the Lossoth dared to come 'nigh the edge of the shore ice. There they bid the king and his soldiers farewell, though not without some last warnings. Seeing the ship close up was terrifying enough, and the Elves looked just plain wrong to them. No good could come of such an outlandish endeavor.
"A'ridoo. Do not mount on this sea monster!" Tulukaruq warned the king. "If they have them, let the seamen bring us food and other things that we need, and you may stay here till the Witch King goes home. For in summer his power wanes; but now his breath is deadly, and his cold arm is long."¹ ¹(Quote taken verbatim from LotR, App A, pg 1018. T'would seem the Losdír's Westron was greatly improved in the Red Book translation.)
Tulukaruq was consumed by his superstitions, the king thought, and yet in that moment, Arvedui felt that the old Dwarf mining tools they had found were insufficient thanks for having literally saved their lives. Though aforetime, the Losdír had been unimpressed with the offer of the broaches, he wanted to give the Man something more, something that perhaps would provide him with wealth that he would value and that Arvedui could not now provide. Fair was fair, after all.
From the first finger of his left hand, he slid an heirloom ring, and taking it, he placed it on Tulukaruq's palm and closed the Man's hand 'round it.
"This is a thing of worth beyond your reckoning. For its ancientry alone," the king said. "It has no power, save the esteem in which those hold it who love my house. It will not help you, but if ever you are in need, my kin will ransom it with great store of all that you desire."¹ ¹(Quote taken verbatim from LotR, App A, pg 1018.)
Tulukaruq looked for a moment at the ring, and finally he shoved it into a pocket of his coat. If he could get no food from the sailors, he might still recoup some benefit in the future. Then again, 'twas not in his nature to count on 'aught save the ice, the cold, and maybe a seal or smallish whale on the end of his harpoon. With a last nod to the king and a fearful look at the scary Elves and their doomed sea monster, he turned his sled for the shore and ne'er looked back. His hunters followed him, even more thankful than he to be away.
Thereafter, the king and his Men slipped and skidded the last hundred yards 'cross the ice to the longboat, and they happily leapt the narrow gap from the ice to the gunwales, rocking the boat and terrifying the sailors. Straightaway, the Elves rowed back to the ship where Captain Maicheneb welcomed the king and bid the Dúnedain repair to the galley, there to warm themselves beside the cook fire and sup on wine and the ship's fare. The starving Men fairly leapt down the stairs to the lower deck, happy to gorge on 'aught that was offered.
Now as lore has told, King Arvedui, his soldiers, the rescue ship Nennores, Captain Maicheneb and the Elvish mariners indeed failed to sail away into the sunset, and no good or happy ending came of their outlandish endeavor. As with much that civilized Men regard as primitive or superstitious, the Lossoth's fear of the Witch King, the weather, and the inherent danger of sailing the bay in a winter storm were all founded on practical experience and observation. 'Twas just their terminology that reduced the import of their advice and led King Arvedui to scoff at their fears and warnings, alas.
After stowing the longboat, Nennores got under way and the Elves followed the open leads to begin their return voyage to Mithlond. The route was indirect, especially at the start, for the leads opened and closed at random with the movements of the floe ice, and the wind that drove it to and fro as it howled. The sailing was harrowing to the mariners, and e'er they sought ways to distance their vessel from the hazard of the shore. They fought the wind, the fickle and shifting eddies and currents, and the bobbing drift ice. All this was the province of the captain and his crew, whilst Arvedui and his soldiers basked in the warmth of the galley stove and scarfed down cheese, ship biscuits, wine, dry-cured sausages, black pudding, and fruits preserved in syrup.
Soon the warmth, the wine, and their full bellies took their toll and the Dúnedain felt drowsy. For the first time in a year, they believed themselves safe, and in a few days they would rejoin their people in Lindon. Arvedui gave thanks to the Valar for the coming reunion with his wife and children, whilst his Men looked forward to meeting again with their comrades and friends. Even the rocking of the hull seemed conducive to sleep, and one by one, the Men laid their heads on the tabletop and dozed off sitting on the benches in the galley.
Up on the weather deck, the Elvish sailors were fighting for their lives and the preservation of their ship. The wind seemed but to strengthen as the hours of darkness passed. The chop grew in height and all felt the temperature dropping. The air was laden with moisture, and for people who had seen centuries of weather, they knew it portended snow. 'Round the ship the leads opened and closed as if to foil all their attempts to find a course to safety, and the wind too seemed eager to stay their progress. The setting of the sails and the shifting of the rudder were constant as the captain sought for a course, only to be foiled time and time again as leads of open water closed, forcing him to turn aside. All too soon, drift ice bumped against the hull and the anticipated snow began to fall.
The conditions only worsened with each passing moment it seemed. Soon the Nennores was being tossed upon the chop and rolling waves began to form. 'Twas all that Captain Maicheneb could do to keep her bow pointed into the wind lest they be washed broadside and rolled by the growing waves. He found he could no longer concern himself with avoiding the drift ice, and his orders merely sought to maintain a course away from the coast by tacking into the wind. Alas, the action of the waves forced him to tack frequently and through a narrow angle, making forward progress slow and laborious. The order to tack and swing the sail from port to starboard and back again came frequently as the danger of swamping increased, and with each passage through the 'head to wind' point of sail, the Nennores lost steerage. Then the waves would try to turn her keel broadside to the wind. As the storm continued, the captain was increasingly forced to walk a tightrope 'twixt pinching his tacks and being forced to turn and run before a following sea, eventually to be driven aground. He shook his head and ground his teeth. Unless he could ride out the storm soon, the Nennores would be lost.
Now whether 'twas indeed the long arm of the Witch King's malice as the Lossoth believed, or simply the harsh weather of the north, the storm increased in its violence. Snow fell in a blizzard that left visibility at but thirty yards. Soon, with each tack, Nennores's bow shoved aside drift ice that was being driven towards the shore. Leads of open water closed, and no course could be chosen. The conditions forced all adjustments for the ship. Captain Maicheneb could but order increasingly desperate measures in hopes of preserving his craft intact, yet he knew that if the sea continued to increase in hostility, 'twas but a matter of time ere he failed. He deemed that when the drift ice hobbled his ability to tack, he would be at the mercy of the wind, either to founder, or to be crushed.
Despite the toss of the storm, the howling of the wind, the impacts of the drift ice against the hull, and the cries of the mariners, King Arvedui and his soldiers woke not. Months of fatigue and hunger demanded rest for as many hours as might be possible. They knew 'naught of the impending doom that closed 'round their escape vessel as the ship struggled in the storm's frigid clutches. Indeed little did they know of seamanship, yet all knew the hopelessness of a prey animal as hunters closed in 'round it. Perhaps a boar, ringed by hungry Men with spears and beset by hounds felt the failing of its hope as all chance of escape vanished. So too knew the captain and his sailors on the deck o'erhead.
Now 'twas in the fourth hour past midnight and with dawn still hours away that ill chance caused a fatal mistake. The wind had begun shifting a couple points to either side of the north, making more hazardous the captain's task of keeping his ship's bow to windward. As the crew reached the furthest extent of their tack to starboard, the wind shifted. Suddenly they were no longer a prudent three points ahead to port, but rather three points broad to port. Then the wind howled and ere the captain could issue orders for compensation, they were fully abeam.
Caught with her port side wholly exposed to the wind, the Nennores heeled o'er to an alarming thirty degrees and slammed broadside into the floe ice with the starboard side of her hull. She was blown southward, her hull compacting the drift ice 'til she was wedged tight against the ice pack on her starboard side. Floating ice was driven and compacted against her port side, well up 'neath her exposed waterline, and was eventually forced all the way down to her keel. Buoyancy caused the accumulated ice to rise, and the Elvish ship was lifted higher than her center of gravity would have allowed in free water. Nennores lay tilted towards her starboard side, half atop a shifting pack of ice.
Captain Maicheneb heaved a sigh of resignation whilst his crew panicked. 'Twas 'naught that he could do save wait, for lifted thus and trapped amidst the ice, his vessel could make no headway in any direction. He ordered the sail furled and the spars secured.
Within the next hour, an ominous creaking and an occasional sharp crack increased the anxiety of the crew. The hull was 'neath the constant pressure of tons of ice, and the wind continued to drive more against their port side. In truth, though they knew the sailing characteristics of their ship well, they knew not how strong she ultimately was. They all felt the jeopardy of their situation, but none could predict 'aught of their chances for escape or survival. Because of the poorness of their visibility, they knew not even how far off shore they lay, nor in what direction they had come from the Lossoth camp.
'Round dawn, of 5 Gwaeron, after a particularly sharp crack resounded through the Nennores' timbers, Captain Maicheneb went below. There he found King Arvedui, Annuiél, Barasron, Nohadan, and Talagant still besotted by their fatigue, sound asleep on the benches, their arms and heads laying flat upon the long table that ran the length of the galley. He could hardly believe it, despite knowing of the ordeal that the Dúnedain had endured for the past year. To an Elf, the sleep of mortals had ne'er seemed so strange. His ship was slowly being crushed amidst the ice and they had remained unconscious through it all. The hull groaned as the pressure on the planks increased by yet another degree. Knowing not what else to do, he reached out and shook the king's shoulder.
"Leave me be, I pray thee," the Man muttered in a sleep dulled voice. He did not move.
The captain shook his head and shook Arvedui's shoulder again, more violently this time. After some further effort, he finally rousted the king.
With a groan, the son of Araphant slowly raised his head. His eyes were bleary; a trail of spittle oozed from the corner of his mouth and down through his beard to his chin, and the wood grain of the tabletop had impressed itself in the flesh of his cheek. Through matted hair, he gaped at the captain, uncomprehending, then hawked to clear the phlegm from his throat, ere asking, "Are we in Lindon then?"
Captain Maicheneb stared at him, and for a moment, he recalled his memories of Círdan's realm of the Falas in Beleriand. Some of the Atani had been rescued from the Sack of Avernien, and even in those days, they had conducted themselves more nobly than the deposed King of Arthedain who sat before him trying to accommodate the list of the ship's deck. Finally, he banished his memories and answered.
"Nay, my lord, we have not yet come to Lindon. Our ship is aground upon the ice in the midst of a storm, and we can but await the end, either the weather clearing and resuming our voyage, or to be crushed on the ice and drowned. I offer my apologies if our fate be the latter, but at least a death by freezing is an easier death than many, for the water is so cold as to still the heart in moments."
At first, King Arvedui simply nodded to the captain, who was watching his reaction closely. In the next moment, King Arvedui's eyes shot open as the captain's words registered. Shock transformed his face and his mouth opened wide in an 'O'. Then he lurched to his feet, but with Nennores' hull at an angle of thirty degrees, he fell backwards o'er the bench and rolled head o'er heels, to wind up in a heap against the starboard wall of the galley. There he struggled to orient himself whilst blubbering incoherencies. Captain Maicheneb shook his head dismay.
Eventually King Arvedui seemed to recover somewhat of himself. He tried to stand, failed to achieve his balance, and crashed down again onto his hands and knees. Finally, the King of Arthedain crawled up the tilted deck, grasped the bench, and hauled himself upright with great difficulty. The captain was quite glad that the ship's furnishings were soundly nailed to the deck.
"Thou hast said our plight is dire, lord captain?" He asked.
With a groan, Maicheneb repeated his earlier words, though this time he marked that they were received clearly as the king harkened to him with a waking mind. Immediately the Man thanked him and began to rouse his companions. The captain left him to it, and returned to the weather deck for to maintain a watch on the storm and the condition of his ship.
Little changed o'er the next hour. The wind continued to blow, the snow fell unabated, and the slow crushing of Nennores' hull proceeded as waves piled more and more drift ice against her port side. The ominous creaking continued, accompanied by the occasional sharp crack. The increasing daylight illuminated the catastrophe and made clear the gravity of their plight. Nennores was not going anywhere, whilst the storm seemed to delight in their helplessness. Still they were unable to ascertain their position relative to the coast, and even the sharp eyes of the Elvish mariners were foiled by the curtains of snow.
The king and his Men appeared in the hatchway, peeping out from the ship ladder at the tilt of the weather deck, and the gale. The railings were rimed with ice and snow lay in heaps on the deck planks with paths tracing the circulation of the sailors as they went about their tasks. In the stern, Captain Maicheneb and his officers stood watch 'nigh the wheel, but none of the mariners could do 'aught save monitor the slow destruction of their vessel. The king and the captain traded a glance, and the captain shook his head. There was 'naught to be done save keep hope.
Back to the galley the Dúnedain returned. If the Elvish mariners could do 'naught, there was 'naught that they could contribute. Now though, sleep was out of the question. Having awakened to such a pass, they were far too concerned to do 'aught save worry and sip wine. With each crack of the timbers, they held their breath lest it be the last and the hull split asunder. They gripped their sword hilts for comfort, and Arvedui shouldered his travel bag in which rested the palantíri. Together they waited, saying little, each consumed by his own thoughts.
'Round the third hour past dawn, the storm seemed to weaken. The snowfall slowed and the wind diminished slightly. The cold remained. Captain Maicheneb and his sailors took hope. Perhaps Nennores would yet survive. They had scarcely thought this when a huge gust blasted the ship as if t'were a final exhalation from the north. It drove the snow hard into their faces where it struck their skin, stinging like a hundred bees, yet worse was in the offing.
Already heeled o'er on her starboard side, the masts were tilted far from vertical, leaving their weight cantilevered and off balance. The scant thickness of the spars, furled sheets, and yards provided enough resistance for the wind to snap the mainmast, and it fell with a crash that shook the hull and left the weather deck entangled in rope and sailcloth. Nennores gave a lurch, righting herself a few degrees with the absence of the cantilevered weight of the mast. Elves scrambled to free themselves from the web of lines, whilst below deck the Dúnedain jerked their heads up in alarm.
Now something should be said of the construction of the ship. To stabilize such tall structures of wood, the bases of the masts ended not at the surface of the weather deck, but rather ran down through the lower deck to rest on a socketed step of solid wood attached directly to the ship's keel. Some of the audible creaking heard aforetime had been the wind action on the masts above decks stressing these attachments. When the strain of the windblast finally caused the mainmast to snap, it wrenched the step block and freed it from the keel. That violent detachment changed the stresses in the hull. It loosened the bottom joints of the closest ribs, and in so doing, shifted the planks attached to them. Gaps opened 'twixt the lowest course of planks and the keel that no caulking could fill. The hull lost its watertight seal, and with it went a good part of its buoyancy. Now Nennores was 'naught but a deadweight resting atop the ice and water, and so she began to sink. Freezing seawater gushed in and began to fill the space 'neath the floor of the lower deck.
It took some minutes ere water seeped 'twixt the planks of the galley floor, and only then was it marked by the king and his soldiers. The full import of that water was not clear to them, but it could not be a good sign, and so King Arvedui climbed the ladder to the hatchway and sought for the captain.
Above decks, Nennores was a scene of crises with sailors hastening as fast as they could to cut their ship free of the fallen mast. The hull was still resting at a hazardous angle, making all movement difficult on the ice-slicked deck. Scant attention was paid to the king. Finally, he caught sight of Captain Maicheneb shouting orders from the stern watch station.
It seemed to take fore'er to catch the ellon's attention. Repeatedly Arvedui shouted and called the captain's name. O'er the howl of the wind and amidst so much activity, whatsoe'er he might have to say was deemed of little import by those sailors who actually heard him, and none were inclined to hearken. 'Twas upon his errand that they found themselves in such dire straits.
Eventually though, the captain did mark the king and his desperate shouts, and with effort, he came to the hatchway.
"Lord Captain, we are taking on water," the king shouted o'er the wind. "The galley grows awash."
Captain Maicheneb stared at him in alarm for a moment ere pushing past him and leaping down the ladder. He charged to the galley, finding the Dúnedain gathered outside. Inside, the floor was well 'nigh covered in water, deeper towards the stern where Nennores sat lower on the ice. The water gushed up through the cracks 'twixt the planks as if 'twas 'neath pressure from below. By this, he knew the keel was already submerged 'neath a fathom of water. With a groan, he turned from the sight in time to feel the hull sink a few inches into the ice.
"Prepare thy Men to abandon ship," he told the king.
With that, he passed them and climbed the ladder in haste to the weather deck. There he bid his sailors to abandon their labors with the rigging and the mast.
"We are sinking. Nennores is lost," he told them. "Gather the survival gear and lower the boats. Abandon ship."
'Round him the crew stared in mortal fear. Then they felt a greater drop as the hull sank yet further and they surged into motion. Some went to the forward hatch and hauled up the packs of foods and heavy cloaks stowed in the forward hold. Some swung the longboats o'er the side and lowered them with pulleys and ropes. Others cut lengths from the fallen lines, for e'er was rope better to have than not. During that time, the Dúnedain came up on deck. They wound up gathering on the starboard side against the icy rail, alternately looking o'er the side to the pack ice, and observing the preparations of the Elvish sailors.
The Elves had begun to lower their supplies into the longboats when the Nennores gave a huge screech and slid to port, coming almost upright from her prior starboard list. She promptly sank an alarming fathom into the water. All on deck lost their footing and scrambled on hands and knees to recover.
The wind continued to gust, and with a well 'nigh cynical glee, it drove the floe ice hard against the port side of the hull. At last the stress Nennores had resisted for hours became too great. A loud crack was heard. Then all aboard marked the change in the hull's shape. Deck boards splintered and heaved skyward as the ship's beams broke. The gunwales narrowed and Nennores sank at a sickening pace, her sides collapsing into a misshapen remnant of her once proud lines. Then a geyser of water leapt from the hatchway, drenching those standing 'nigh in ice water. The foremast toppled, its weight dragging the hull yet further out of shape.
Nennores went 'neath the ice with remarkable speed. Once begun, the destruction of the vessel accelerated as cause promoted cause and all of her construction failed. For a few desperate moments, Men and Elves splashed and cried out in terror, yet one by one, they were swiftly silenced by the bone chilling cold of the water. King Arvedui was dragged down by the weight of his soaked garments and the travel bag in which the Palantíri of Annúminas and Amon Sûl rested, their combined weight, two and one half stone¹. His final thoughts were of regret and loss, not for the kingdom or the throne, but for his wife and children. Then the last king was gone. ¹(35 pounds; 1 stone = 14lbs)
To Be Continued