The storm raged along the coastline, whipping up waves larger than that of a building. Rocks were torn from the peninsula; booming and cracking noises were heard as they crashed into the sea. Tons of sand was torn away from the shoreline; trees were ripped out from the ground. Roofs were torn away from buildings as the many accessories of maritime life were blown away in the large gale-force winds.
Away, in the distance, just south-west of the island, Tolfalas, a fleet of Corsair ships were blown off course; dragged further westward into unchartered waters. People screamed with fright down below in the hull of the ships - slaves and prisoners of raiding parties. Men were thrown overboard as waves forced their way on deck, taking all in its path. The ships were dragged further and further westward, past the centre of the Bay. Their attempt of raiding Belfalas had been postponed, their plan in shatters.
...
The fierce storm had caused immense damage to Dol Amroth and its surrounding area. People roamed the streets, salvaging all they could find. They had batten down the ship's hatches at dock, but it did not stop the forceful winds from doing damage. They had lost at least five ships. Another dozen had their sails torn, the main and foremasts snapped in half. Over half of the galleys had been breached with water; men were hurrying about, attempting to prevent any galleys from sinking.
It had been the last thing they needed. Imrahil stood with his father at one of the docks harbouring their military vessels. Five ships were beyond repair, another seven needed serious fixing to the masts, the yards, and booms. They had a long job ahead of them, and their plans of sailing out within the week were behind them.
"It will take at least seven days to repair," Imrahil said to his father. "We have poles in storage, but we will have to get the lumbers working out in the forest. Our supply will dwindle quickly."
Adrahil nodded, watching several sailors detaching sails. "Hopefully the Corsair fleet was destroyed."
"We will not know for certain until we receive word from Captain Alagosson."
"That will not arrive for a couple of days yet," Adrahil replied. "Until then, I want you to overlook the repairs of our fleet. I want every ship able, do you understand?"
Imrahil hesitated. "Five are in need to rebuilding; it will take months for that to happen."
"They are the only ones I will exclude. The rest must be seaworthy as soon as possible." Adrahil turned and left for the palace with his escort.
The days to follow proved tiresome. Every evening Imrahil would retire to his chambers exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open. It was not only physically straining, but mentally as well. The streets of Dol Amroth were crowded with hungry people. Adrahil spent most of his days in the city hall, going over petitions for houses to be rebuilt, sorting out food supplies, and finding temporary accommodation for the homeless. As each day passed, it became frequently harder to handle all the commotion. A large list of names was nailed to the city hall doors, of those still missing and presumed dead. It was going to be difficult to find those bodies, and then find someone to identify them correctly.
The storm did not reach Minas Tirith; the steward sent ships of supplies to aid his greatest ally. When they arrived, people flocked to the trading dock in hope of receiving food. If the situation did not settle, Imrahil would have to deal with a riot. He, Agoron, and Lord Toven – who had travelled from Linhir to assist in the repairs – stood before the frantic crowd with a dozen knights. The young prince signed off the trading documents before boarding the first ship. It was full of grains, fruit, and vegetables. The next was full of livestock, while the third had linen, clothing, and medical supplies. Lord Toven and Agoron had managed to line the crowd into three – very uneven – lines. People were standing on their toes trying to get a glimpse of the goods that were being unloaded. It was not a quick process. Toven and Agoron boarded a ship each and the three men had to sort out how much supplies were able to be handed out straight away. Most had to be kept in reserve.
It had all ended rather well, with only a few people spoiling it. Livestock was handed out to the farmers to replenish their lands, while the city dwellers were given meats. Fruit and vegetables were as evenly as possible given out, while the grains were only given to each family by the scoop full. The linen and clothing was not as popular, but was handed out nonetheless. Finally, the medicine was given to the physicians of the city to help cure those still seriously ill. It had been a long and hectic day unloading those ships, and Imrahil felt more than relieved that it was all over.
Now he needed to turn his attention to preparing for his campaign. Word was now out that the fleet was being assembled, and the people were not happy about it. Protesters rallied outside the city hall where their ruling prince currently worked. Barriers had to be placed around the military docks to prevent people from throwing rocks and debris at the workmen. It was such irrational behaviour, and Imrahil felt disappointed in his people. Word had arrived from Tolfalas that the Corsairs fleet had been shifted westward further out the Bay. But their determination was their strong point, and they were continuing north-east towards the coastline. The people knew this, and yet they still disapproved. If Imrahil and his companions did not defend their coastline, then there would be more suffering and more plundering; more lives taken unnecessarily.
"It is because we are using up so many resources," Toven said, late one afternoon as he, Agoron and Imrahil sat on the deck of the Admiral Ship.
"They still need to understand this campaign is for the best," Imrahil replied, carving up an apple to eat. "I wish they would comprehend the danger of this oncoming fleet."
"People of common birth do not comprehend these sorts of matters," Agoron said. "I, of all people know this. My father was nothing more than the master of his own house. He had no title and no prospects. Only the noble are educated in a way that makes them understand the politics and necessitates of defending ones land. It may be hard to understand this, but the common people care more about the food on their table than the land they live in. Food will get them by, and what happens to the land is not of their concern, as long as it does not interfere with their daily lives."
"Then they should be better educated," Imrahil declared.
Toven raised an eyebrow. "And how will that come to pass? Will you overlook the commons education?"
"It will be one of my many plans when I become the ruling prince," Imrahil answered. "I don't want them to have an enhanced education, just to understand us better, but to provide them with a broader understanding of the world we live in, and the dangers we must face."
"It will cost a lot of money," Toven stated.
"I know, but it will be worth it in the end when the people are better educated," Imrahil stated. "And who knows, perhaps we will find a scholar amongst them."
"Only the Valar will know."
...
It was less than a week after that the seaward tower rang. Corsair ships were on the horizon and yet the entire fleet was not ready. Imrahil raced down to the stables and mounted his horse, Belan. He rode to the docks with haste and swan knights prepared themselves, placing on their armour, and sharpening their swords, testing their bows strength. As Imrahil dismounted from his horse, he ran over to Agoron who was already on the four-masted ship's deck at the ship's wheel.
"Only four ships have been spotted so far," Imrahil said, coming to his side. "I presume the fleet has broken apart, planning on targeting different areas." Agoron removed himself from the captain's position and allowed Imrahil to take control of the rudder. "Lord Toven is leading a small convoy to the small bay area of Linhir. I have my uncle and Lord Glamrion heading north to guard Cobas Haven, and finally, I want you and Lord Aduialon to follow me from a reasonable distance. Stay on our western flank, for I have a feeling the main contingent will by coming from the west."
Agoron slapped Imrahil on the back. "You're already doing me proud." He grinned. "How many ships are ready to set sail?"
"Just over half of our fleet." Imrahil shared a worried look with Agoron. "I have no fear on the matter; if the Corsairs have broken up, then they will be no match to us. I only fear them rallied together."
Agoron saluted his prince and left the quarterdeck. A man ascended the narrow stairs and bowed. "I am Lord Doben, son of Lord Glamrion."
"Have you come to serve under me?" Imrahil asked, not particular caring about the man.
"I am here to be your mariner," Doben replied, holding out a compass for his prince to see. "You navigator."
"I know what a mariner is," Imrahil answered, his brow raised. "Set yourself up over there." He pointed to an old wooden table at the end of the bridge."
The accommodation ladder was hauled up the side of the ship and stored away as the ship sailed out of dock and into open waters. Dol Amroth glistened into the distance; Imrahil saluted his city, swearing a silent oath not to return until all the Corsair ships in the Bay were destroyed.
"Such a beauty," Doben commented from behind his prince. "I have always enjoyed visiting the city. It is a rare treat for those who live in nearby towns."
"How does Uilben fair?" Imrahil asked, turning the wheel slightly.
"Very well, thank you, my lord," Doben answered. "Cobas Haven has been peaceful these past years. The town has been flourishing, and we have had no trouble with the taxes, or farming as we have had in the past."
"The drought we suffered many years ago caused much trouble in Belfalas," Imrahil answered. "I was only a child at the time, but I do remember my grandfather agonizing over dwindling water supplies. People were actually drinking seawater when they knew full well it would make them sick."
Doben chuckled. "Who has never drunk seawater?"
Imrahil gave Doben an amused look. "Childhood had its many experiences."
Sir Cebedir – Imrahil's second cousin on his mother's side and mayor of the town, Tarnost – stepped up onto the bridge and saluted his prince. "I have just overlooked the stocking of the armament, and the ballistas are being loaded on the decks."
Imrahil looked below. Seamen were rolling six ballistas, three to each side. It was their most formidable weapon against the Corsairs in open-sea. It was used to hurl long, heavy arrows at enemy ships, piercing their hulls, or hitting their crewmembers. The ballista was their only real weapon they had in open waters. They also had the swan knights, who were renowned for their skill with the bow; they also had to be trained in speed.
"You have done well, Sir Cebedir," Imrahil said, placing his hand on the man's shoulder. "I was in such a hurry that I did not appoint a First Mate; you have earned the title... for now. Continue your good effort, and I shall enlist you into the fleet for further service."
Cebedir bowed. "My lord is too generous."
Imrahil turned back to the wheel. "Go and make sure there is no chafing on any of the lines or sails; if so, retrieve the chafing gear and have the boatswain clean them."
Imrahil inhaled the salty sea air. Dol Amroth was now far into the distance as they sailed south. The enemy ships that had been spotted had passed in the distance, heading northeast to Cobas Haven. He trusted his uncle to keep the Haven safe; they had ten ships to rival the corsairs four. Imrahil wanted to find the main fleet, which was still probably stationed out in open-waters. It was how the Corsairs worked. They had a position where they eventually re-grouped and counted their spoils. On most occasions - with the threat of being attacked - this position was set further out west to avoid being detected. Imrahil was sure to give them a surprise; he had fifteen ships under his command, while Agoron had another twelve. Back in Dol Amroth another twenty ships were being loaded, and were due to set sail in the days to follow.
Imrahil turned to Doben. "We must start to flank as fast we can muster."
Doben was hovering over a map with his sextant. "By my estimation, I imagine the main Corsair fleet would be here." He was pointing at an area of sea, exactly west from the cape of Belfalas. "If we sail at full speed, we should reach there by noon tomorrow."
Imrahil nodded and turned around. "Sir Cebedir!"
His second cousin came onto the bridge and saluted. "Take the wheel, but do not try to over-reach our course."
The young prince had been sailing for several hours without a break. He headed down to his cabin, where the ship's cabin boy was waiting to serve him. "Bring me food and ale." He collapsed onto the cot, rubbing his face. The salt air had made him tired, and his face felt oily. He sat up and shifted over to the basin where fresh water was waiting. He pulled off his tunic and splashed the water over his face, his neck, and his chest. He picked up a cloth and dunked it into the water, squeezing it so it ran down his back. He already felt refreshed.
The cabin boy returned with a tray of food and a mug of ale. He dismissed the boy and sat at the table, savouring the smell of hot soup and bread. A sailor's meal; you could never expect a freshly cooked meal on a long voyage. It was a simplicity that Imrahil enjoyed as a sailor. He was not treated as a the same type of prince he was treated back in Dol Amroth. The men under his command onboard showed him respect as they would show any commander. Other than that, they rarely gave him any other sort of special treatment. He did not dress to impress, he was not cautious on how much ale he drank with his friends. There was no formality out in the open-sea, and Imrahil loved it. You could be anyone you wanted; sometimes the young prince even pretended that he was not a prince, but a simple sailor who had the luxury of sailing the seas.
Imrahil fell asleep and dreamt of the raging sea, as it had been during the great storm. A great wave crashed against the rocky peninsula, and then the sky cleared; Imrahil found himself on the shoreline. Everything was calm and peaceful. He heard a woman's laughter coming from a cave behind him. He approached the cave; the laughter continued. He saw her - tall, slim, and dark brown hair that fell in waves. She was smiling at him, waiting at the foot of the cave. She held out her hand, he took it, but did not feel her touch. She brought herself into his arms, staring deeply into his grey eyes. She leaned up and brushed her lips against his ears. "Pelargir." She went to kiss him, but the dream ended before their lips connected.
Imrahil opened his eyes, staring at the wooden ceiling above him. The creaking ship was all he heard, but that voice... it still rang in his ears. Pelargir... "Pelargir," Imrahil repeated to himself, trying to make sense of it. He groaned, feeling himself aroused by the dream. Damn his manhood! He sat up, wanting to throw cold water all over his body. That sounded like an idea. He had dreamt of women before, but this one seemed more... unapproachable, more poised by the way she stood. He shook his head, thinking he was a fool to become infatuated by a woman his mind had made up.
After a few hours sleep, Imrahil relieved Cebedir of his duty and took the wheel. Their header had changed, and Cebedir had no choice but to change course to a less desirable one. Imrahil turned the wheel, trying to position his ship to a more favourable lift.
"We are under way," Imrahil said to Doben behind him. The sails flapped in the strong wind that had picked up their ship. Not far in the distance behind him, Imrahil saw Agoron's convoy making a similar change.
"With this strong wind, our waypoint may be closer than I first estimated," Doben said, coming to Imrahil's side.
"How much closer?" Imrahil asked, scanning the horizon before him.
"Mid-morning at the earliest," Doben guessed, giving Imrahil a half-shrug. "With the winds changing, it is hard to give a solid estimation."
"Set a watch on deck," Imrahil said, descending the stairs. "Ring the bell every four hours for change of roster. The moment the Corsairs are detected, beat the drums." Imrahil walked up to Cebedir. "Hoist the flags and send a message to Agoron's convoy to be on alert."
The sun was setting and the breeze turned crisp. Imrahil stood on the bow of the ship with his cloak wrapped around him. It was becoming darker by the minute. All the lamps and lighting on deck had to be doused in order for them to remain stealthy in uncertain waters. The last thing the prince wanted was a night attack; they were most unpredictable. Imrahil scanned the sky; stars were appearing like diamonds on deep blue satin of a woman's gown. They twinkled, showing specks of different colours; red, purple, green. So beautiful, Imrahil thought. So untouched by evil. A place where all would seek out serenity.
By morning, the bell had rung once more for the change of watchmen. Imrahil had woken minutes after dawn and had watched the sunrise from the deck. Away in the distance, his sisters would still be sleeping in their warm beds. His father would be awake, going over the endless papers that passed through his office. The business of the fiefdom never rests – that is what this father had told him before he had set sail. It still did not sound appealing to him, and part of him wished that he were a younger brother to an elder one. Why could not one of his sisters have been born a man? Why did all the responsibility have to fall into his unexperienced hands? They would become experienced one day; Imrahil knew that. But for now, all he wanted to do was sail and explore the seas. It was a leisure most of the men of his land took for granted and Imrahil envied them.
The drums began to beat. Imrahil stood at the wheel with Doben and Cebedir at his side. "Dead ahead," Doben said, pointing at the horizon in front of them.
"Have the deck supervisor prepare all the ballistas," Imrahil said, descending the stairs two at a time. "Cebedir, have the ship make its own way while all the men prepare for battle stations."
Imrahil came into his cabin and quickly began placing his armour on with the assistance of the cabin boy. The drums were still beating, and many booted men were heard passing the cabin on the deck. Imrahil left his cabin and unsheathed his sword. He ascended the stairs to the bridge and took his position at the railing overlooking the deck.
"How many?" Imrahil asked Cebedir.
"I count sixteen approaching, but there could be more past the horizon," he answered.
A message had been sent to Agoron's convoy, and both commanders had combined their fleet. Agoron's convoy covered the right and left wings, while Imrahil's was centred, with a line of ships covering their defences in case any enemy vessel snuck pass.
"Seaworthy men!" Imrahil shouted to the knights below. "Remember what we fight for! Remember who we are; we are swan knights worthy to defend what we hold most dear to our hearts! Will we allow these brigand pirates to take what is ours?"
"Nay!" they all shouted, raising their helmets or swords in the air.
"Will we let them pass without a fight?"
"Nay!"
"Take your positions, archers at the ready!" Imrahil sheathed his sword and walked over to the wheel.
"I am going to overbear these Corsairs," Imrahil declared, turning the wheel. "If we steal the wind from their sails, they will lack behind, become slow. We are on the windward position; they are sailing against the wind. The luck is on our side."
Agoron's western convoy broke off and began following a small contingent of corsairs attempting to make a run for it. "What is our plan of approach?" Cebedir asked.
"Club hauling," Imrahil said, not exactly thinking it through.
"My prince?"
Imrahil turned to his second cousin. "Set the sails to maximum speed, and when I give the order drop one of our anchors so we can turn abruptly and attack side on, but only do this after we have broken through their first line."
"Which ships do we pass?" Doben asked, buckling his sword around his waist.
"Those two." Imrahil pointed at the two closest ships only a few hundred metres ahead.
"Archers, prepare to fire!" Cebedir ordered. The archers had taken their positions on both sides of the deck, some stationed behind the ballistas to fire them.
Two hundred metres, one-fifty metres... they were drawing closer. Doben had his bow drawn as he stood on the bridge. "I bet I can hit their captain."
"Ten crowns you succeed," Imrahil said, drawing his own bow.
Doben grinned. "I'll give you ten crowns if you beat me to it." They shook hands, chuckling.
Fifty metres, thirty metres, ten metres. "Hold," Cebedir shouted, raising his hand to give the order. "Fire!"
Dozens of arrows were shot from the ship, while an equal amount was shot from the Corsairs. An arrow from a ballista tore through the hull of the ship; water began to pour through the hole. Shouts and curses were heard as men were shot on both sides. Imrahil aimed his bow at the Corsair with the heaviest amount of beads, shells, and other ornaments draped over his shoulders. An arrow hit him in the stomach, causing him to topple over in pain. Imrahil lowered his bow, having not fired the shot. Doben was grinning broadly at his success. Imrahil smirked and raised his bow, firing the arrow into the captain's shoulder. "I am not going to allow you to cause him all the pain!"
The ship sailed past the first line. "Now, Cebedir!" Imrahil shouted, watching the anchor drop into the blue water. The ship made a sharp jolt, and all aboard fell over, or clung to something for support. Imrahil held onto the railing and the ship turn sharply and swiftly. The force was great, and the water below turned into white foam from the sudden movement. The ship creaked, leaning over to one side, threatening to capsize. Fortunately – to Imrahil's immense relief – the ship tilted upright once more, and the ballistas were rolled back into position.
"Prepare to fire on my command," Imrahil shouted, gaining his posture. He drew out his sword and moved to the deck below. "Have the ropes ready." He was intending on boarding the enemy ships surrounding them.
"Fire those ballistas at their hulls, I want as many vessels sunk as possible," Imrahil ordered to one of his knights. "Prepared to board!"
Imrahil swung onto the closest Corsair ship with ease, his men following suite. They were met with fierce oppression. The Corsairs slashed, grabbed, kicked, and punched; it was quite barbaric in Imrahil's opinion. They had no style to their fighting, no honour. As he fought, he caught glimpses of other enemy vessels being boarded, a few of his own having been boarded by the Corsairs themselves. It was a classic sea battle, but the victor would claim their glory in the long minutes that passed. Imrahil ran his sword through the last surviving Corsair onboard. He fell to the ground, gasping his final breath as blood drizzled out. Imrahil frowned at the sight; battles could never be written poetically in his opinion.
They had won, or at least won the battle. There were still other enemy convoys to be found in the Bay. Imrahil took off his helmet and wiped his sweaty, dirt sodden face. He wiped his sword clean before sheathing it once more.
"My lord," a knight called, coming on deck from the hull below, "we have found prisoners."
Imrahil nodded. "Break the locks and bring them up on deck. I am sure the other vessels will have their fair share of prisoners and stolen goods. Have a plank placed between the ships and transport the people over."
The young prince was amazed at how much goods the Corsairs were able to steal. What sort of men could take what was not theirs? Imrahil could not comprehend it. He sat at the table in his cabin and went over the list of goods they had retrieved. Chests of jewels, clothing; silk and damask, books – he did not know the Corsair's could read – fine cutlery, herbs and spices, even livestock and horses. All had been safely retrieved along with all the prisoners who were now classed as refugees. Some, Imrahil had gathered, were from western Gondor. A few of the elderly had asked if they knew what was happening in Belfalas, or Anfalas. Imrahil could not give them any answers.
What intrigued Imrahil the most was Doben. He was a young man, full of great opportunity. He was also a Lord of Gondor, and was expected to be infatuated with pretty woman in colourful gowns and fine jewels. Well, not this time. Doben sat on deck with his arm wrapped around a young woman whose clothes were tattered, and her face covered with smudges. Her hair needed a good brush too, Imrahil thought. As he approached them, Doben stood proudly.
"What is her name?" Imrahil asked taking a glimpse of her over Doben's back.
"Miss Alagwen," he replied.
"Miss?" Imrahil repeated. "She is not of nobility."
Doben shook his head. "She does not have to be, does she?"
Imrahil placed his hands before him in a friendly gesture. "Please, my friend, I have no quarrel with you on the matter. I like you, Doben, but if your intentions are to dally with her, I would strongly advise not to; she has been through enough already."
"I do not want to dally with her," Doben answered. "All I am doing is comforting her while she waits to be treated in the sickbay."
"How badly hurt is she?"
"Nothing too physical," Doben replied. "Mostly scratches, but I think the main problem is trauma."
Imrahil nodded. "Very well. Agoron's convoy is heading further west to make sure there are no more remaining Corsairs. We will make for port so these people can see land again. Then we will set sail once more."
Imrahil turned to the deck supervisor. "Weigh the anchor! We make for Dol Amroth."
Character reference:
Prince Adrahil – Imrahil's father, current ruling Prince of Dol Amroth
Lord Agoron – Imrahil's mentor, best friend. Also Finduilas' first love interest and ideal candidate for marriage.
Lord Toven – Younger brother to Lord Tarondor: Lord of Linhir
Lord Glamrion – Lord of the town Uilben
Lord Doben – Lord Glamrion's son and heir
Lord Aduialon – Lord Glamrion's younger brother
Sir Cebedir – Imrahil's second cousin on his mother's side
Miss Alagwen – A common woman found among the prisoner's onboard a Corsair ship.
Belan – Imrahil's horse