Lothíriel surveyed the near empty deck in the fading twilight, fiddling with the leather necklace. Everything had been secured and checked at least twice, but Lothíriel couldn't settle down. Every nerve in her body stood alert in anticipation of the coming night. In preparation, everyone had donned their darkest clothing, tied back their hair with similar colored strips of cloth, and marked their faces with soot and kohl to hide the pale of their faces in the night. The Gwathren floated gently, hidden behind a large outcropping of rock from the island, its usual white sails exchanged for black.

"All's quiet, Cap'n mine," Gierolf said softly at her shoulder, his approach silenced by the fabric wrapped over his boots. They had muffled any sound they could according to Pelingildor's instruction. He'd proven quite the skillful and brilliant tactician once he'd accepted Lothíriel's plan to attack the supply ship. Lothíriel had a sneaking suspicion he'd thrown himself to the task as a way to ensure her safety, and so came up with a clever strategy to fill out her plan. Whatever the reason, the plan was sound. Magolon laid in wait on his longboat with Harthor, watching for the supply ship with the help of his birds of prey.

"Are you nervous, lass?" Gierolf asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. Lothíriel reached back and clasped it, taking a deep breath.

"Yes," she answered honestly. "This plan is sound, we have surprise and the night on our side, but I know things could easily go very wrong."

"Aye, Cap'n mine, such is war. But I know of no one more courageous than you. Not anyone could volunteer for such a job as this, let alone making hard decisions like planning a raid on your own. You're doing very well, Thíri. We're going to be alright. The Gwathren is a faithful ship. We will not fail."

"Thank you," Lothíriel said thickly, swallowing hard. Then she drew another deep breath and rolled her shoulders back. "And you're right. We will not fail," she swore.

A soft creak of the wooden deck was the only indication of Brégdan joining the two, and together they stood, stalwart and indomitable, waiting for night to fall completely and for the signal from Magolon.

Butterflies coiled in the pit of Lothíriel's belly as the night drew deeper. Clouds passed over the face of the moon, aiding their need for darkness. The muffled oars poised over the water, ready to drive the ship from behind its cover. A flash of silver wings shone on the deck and Lothíriel moved to the bulwark, peering out over the dark sea. Gierolf tossed the falcon a treat and it snatched from the air before returning to its master waiting across the gap. The signal had been given and received. Now they waited for Magolon's move. Lothíriel's eyes, blessed by her elven ancestry, found the corsair. Straining harder, she could hear orders to drop anchor and make ready for the night. A smile blossomed over her face, one born of delight as her enemy did exactly what she wanted, one more of bared teeth than actual joy. Brégdan's smile rose to match it as he too found the corsair rendered immobile by its own will.

"Béma's beard, Cap'n mine, you were right. They did drop anchor for the night. You're a devious schemer, Thíri," he whispered admiringly.

"Ic thancie the," Lothíriel thanked him in Rohirric, winking at him. Brégdan huffed a soft laugh, correcting her pronunciation slightly. But Lothíriel's mind wasn't on a lesson in Rohirric.

"Now for the waiting game," Lothíriel sighed, clenching her fists so that she wouldn't give in to the nervous tick of tapping her fingernails on the nearest surface or rubbing the leather necklace. Brégdan wordlessly took one of her hands and held it tight. He met her eyes when she looked at him, and she squeezed his hand in thanks. Gierolf's hand returned to her shoulder in solidarity.

Last night, Lothíriel and her officers had debated about when to strike. Lothíriel's original plan was to strike the moment they dropped anchor, while they were in the middle of preparations. But Magolon's falcon had been monitoring the corsair for several days, and had reported that for a corsair, it was largely unmanned. Pelingildor and Magolon surmised that the Corsairs planned to hide their ship and its supplies where the River Poros met the Anduin, where plenty of trees and bush could hide such a ship close to Pelargir. Thus, not many men were needed, since the mission would rely heavily on secrecy for success. Therefore, Pelingildor had argued, they could wait until most of the crew were asleep to strike. But Gierolf and Lothíriel didn't want to wait so long. The anticipation would wear out the crew, they'd rebutted. It was Magolon who'd created the compromise. He and Harthor, their archer, would wait on the opposite shoreline. They'd wait until there was only the night watchman on the deck, when the rest of the Corsairs had gone below decks to eat or sleep. Then they would strike.

"Cap'n mine? Can I ask why you volunteered for this? This privateering," Brégdan asked softly, after a moment of staring across the lapping waves. Lothíriel took her time in answering, turning her eyes heavenward.

"I had no right to do any less," Lothíriel answered in a low voice. "This - venture - it's simultaneously my greatest desire and my own self-inflicted punishment." Brégdan raised an eyebrow at her, unmoved by her flowery words. Lothíriel chuckled quietly and dropped the veneer. "I've always wanted to sail off on an adventure. My brothers always got to, and I'm as hearty a sailor as any of them. I wanted my turn. But my mother once taught me that like a rope, the many strands are strongest when given a purpose. So I waited for my adventure, knowing I needed a purpose to guide me. What right had I to just gallivant off to the farthest reaches of the land, when there was work to do? When war, true and actual warfare, broke out, I felt like my time had come. But I wasn't sure - and to this day, I'm still not entirely certain - if I'm worthy of this charge. My motivations aren't exactly pure. I love the feel of the salt spray and the freedom of the sea. But I am a Princess of Dol Amroth. And I will serve my city."

"You just wanted to be a pirate," Brégdan teased, winking at her.

Lothíriel gave him a wicked grin, but paused as a bright speck on the far shoreline of the gap caught her eye. Magolon and Harthor.

"Action stations," Lothíriel ordered, turning to Gierolf, who nodded to her and disappeared below decks while she and Brégdan drew their swords. Within moments, the Gwathren was underway, silent as the grave. Lothíriel watched as the Corsair on duty turned to face the fire Magolon had built on shore and then disappear from sight. She knew Harthor's arrow had found its mark. Still, no alarm was raised, and the Gwathren slipped closer and closer to the anchored ship, its customary black sail with a red star furled. She inhaled deeply.

"That's it, Cap'n mine," Brégdan approved, clapping her shoulder. He tilted her chin so she faced him. "Remember, cut straight through. To the heart. For Dol Amroth."

"For the world," Lothíriel agreed. This would be difficult, to kill a man. But these men intended to kill far more Gondorians than she intended to kill Corsairs, and this was what her duty was. To defend her home. At last, with one final sweep of the oars, they were alongside the other vessel. Pelingildor, Gierolf, Brégdan, and Galon were to board with her. Magolon and Harthor would continue to rain arrows upon any who rose to the deck, and Barthion and Therion would remain at the oars, being the strongest of the sailors. Khaatbaam would be ready to assist with injuries and navigation. Lothíriel turned to face the men who had joined her, men fast becoming like brothers to her. She nodded to Pelingildor, who at once boarded the other ship. The rest of the crew soon followed him, and she brought up the rear. On this point of the ambush, every single sailor would not budge. They would not let her be put in harm's way as much as they could help it.

Quietly, they eased over the wooden deck, tying the two ships together with a line. Two voices came from the captain's cabin, while below in the crew's quarters was much quieter. Pelingildor paused at the door of the captain's cabin and looked to her. She lifted her chin and he gave her a small smile of solidarity before he rammed down the door. Lothíriel couldn't see inside, as Galon immediately followed behind the Swan Knight. The cries of the men inside were soon silenced and Pelingildor and Galon retreated back to the deck with the rest of them.

"We must draw them out," Lothíriel whispered.

"Aye, Cap'n, we shall. Just give it a moment - undoubtedly someone heard the ruckus from these two," Galon answered, wiping his blade. Sure enough, as he had predicted, two heads soon emerged from the stairs leading down into the hold. Eyes grew wide as Brégdan and Gierolf seized them by the collars and made quick work of them. Lothíriel averted her eyes from the flashing blades. Galon and Pelingildor stepped up as the first and second mates hauled their kills over the side and dropped them into the water below.

"Four, plus the night watch man - that leaves seven more," Gierolf noted. "Cap'n mine, what's your next trick?"

"This," Lothíriel answered. She reached for a bucket lying nearby and eased over to the stairwell. Pelingildor stood ready to snatch her elbow as she peered over the hole. Her heart clenched and she half expected to see a dark face grinning up at her, but she saw nothing, so she released the bucket below. As she'd hoped, it clattered to the ground, but didn't make a resounding noise. Pelingildor at once drew her back behind him, and they backed away from the hole. Lothíriel knew that the men who'd be trying to sleep would be farther away from the captain's cabin and the stairwell, so her idea was to draw them out in manageable numbers.

However, she didn't anticipate the coil of rope lying in her path as she backed up. Eyes wide and arms windmilling, she tripped and crashed to the deck. The crew stared at her and she stared back for a heartbeat, before sudden movement below decks sent Gierolf to her side to help her up, Lothíriel scrambling to regain her footing. The pitching of the ship increased as men below and men above readied for battle. With a startling cry, the first few men climbed up from below, and launched themselves at Brégdan, Pelingildor, and Galon. A fourth charged Gierolf, who didn't so much as blink. Lothíriel had no time to watch her first mate shove his sword and his weight into his opponent for a man rose up to meet her. She clenched her jaw, but an arrow whizzed past her and into the man's heart.

She glanced at her crew once more. Brégdan had succeeded against his man, and was going to Pelingildor's aid, who seemed to have found the most skilled swordsman of the enemy crew. Galon seemed very close to killing his attacker, but was sporting a fresh cut. Gierolf was attacking the two newest enemies from the stairwell. Lothíriel narrowed her eyes as she counted, hand tightening on her sword. Arrows pierced the air, one finding a mark with a scream and the other hitting the rail. One unaccounted for. Surely there was no other way up to the deck, was there? A sound behind her had her tensing.

Lothíriel spun around to find a dark face leering at her. She shrieked and spun again, this time away from the lunging sword. She parried his next blow, gritting her teeth, and dancing away on her toes. Neither of them were expert swordsmen, she could tell, but his bulk made him slower than her. She needed to use that against him. Lothíriel's continual dodges and parries infuriated the man, but she wanted this to be over. She tuned out the sounds of the battle behind her and focused on finding her opening. She noticed that when she dodged left, his sword chased her and he overreached, giving her a moment of respite. When she dodged left again, she cast about for that traitorous rope that had given them all away. There. It only took one more lunge to position him where she wanted him. Dodge left. He overreached, and tripped on the coiled rope. Lothíriel spun and lunged. Both her and her opponent froze with her sword clean through his heart, eyes locked. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell back, nearly ripping the sword from her hands. Breathing hard from her exercise, Lothíriel trembled before turning to find the others. They were all staring at her, the remaining enemies killed.

"Thíri," Gierolf said gently, firmly. Lothíriel forced her eyes to meet his. "Clean your sword, Cap'n mine."

Automatically, she obeyed, wiping it on the clothes of the dead man. A hand clasping the gunwale with a smack caused a shriek to erupt from her throat, even as Magolon's face appeared over it as he hauled himself up. Lothíriel clapped a hand over her mouth as the crew tensed, before relaxing when they saw him. Magolon shot her a worried look.

"You alright, Captain?" he asked, going to her. Hand still covering her mouth, Lothíriel nodded, shoulders shaking.

"Brégdan, get her back to the Gwathren," Gierolf ordered, taking the situation well in hand. "Magolon, you and Galon dump these bodies over the side. Pelingildor, with me. Harthor! Restore the longboat to its place. Then come over here."

Lothíriel was only too content to let Bregdan sling an arm over her shoulders and turn her away from the messy deck.

Khaatbaam met them at the bulwark, scanning her form before doing the same to Bregdan.

"We're fine, Khaatbaam," Lothíriel said absently. The drain of adrenaline and the shock of her first kill was starting to make her head pound. Khaatbaam stopped searching for injuries, but examined her face shrewdly. Her eyes couldn't seem to focus and darted about the ship. The image of the dead man falling back replayed over and over in her mind. Dragnir began lighting the lanterns, bathing the deck of the ship in light while Lothíriel shivered.

"Captain, you'll forgive me if I think you're not in fighting shape in this moment," he replied, cocking an eyebrow. Brégdan snorted.

"If she had to, she could fight off another ship. But the first kill is always the strangest," he answered blithely.

"Ah," Khaatbaam nodded, taking Lothíriel's elbow and leading her further from the bulwark. He led her to a stool in the stern and knelt before her. Bregdan took up a place on her left, relaxed but ready.

"Kazi, look at me," Khaatbaam instructed gently, taking her hand. He waited until Lothíriel met his eyes before he continued. "My grandfather used to tell us stories of his homeland, Harad. It was a violent and ruthless childhood home, and he would always start his stories the same way. He would always say, 'listen, children, khumbula.'"

"Khumbula?" Lothíriel repeated in a small voice, trying to pay attention to what he was telling her. The sound of a sword piercing a heart grated on her ears faintly.

"Yebo, Kazi. It means remember. We remember those who have come before us, who have died at our hands or for our sakes. You did well, Kazi. Killing is not easy, nor should it ever be. But khumbula - remember why they died. To protect yourself and your people. And khumbula - remember your humanity, that killing may never be easy," Khaatbaam said, with all the wisdom of a sage storyteller. The lilt of his faint accent and music of his words centered Lothíriel and she was able at last to make her eyes bring her surroundings into clear focus.

"Khumbula," Lothíriel agreed, the color returning to her cheeks. "Thank you, Khaatbaam."

"It is my greatest pleasure, Kazi," Khaatbaam bowed, touching his forehead. He moved away back to the bulwark as the rest of the crew came back aboard the Gwathren. Lothíriel looked up at Brégdan, who cocked his head at her and gave her a crooked grin.

"Captain," called Harthor, beckoning her over. "There's something you should come see."

Lothíriel inhaled sharply through her nose and rose smoothly, rolling her shoulders back. She strode to the small huddle by the bulwark. Magolon remained on the enemy ship, holding a long piece of fabric in his hands. Khaatbaam started at her side.

"A flag!" he cried, reaching for the fabric. "This is the flag of Hassid, of the Sand Leopards tribe. It was my ancestors' rival tribe. The Haradrim are joining forces with the Corsairs!"

Pelingildor nodded grimly.

"Aye, they are. We found several Southrons among the dead. Captain, we need to inform your father and brothers. This alliance spells doom for Pelargir."

Lothíriel thought quickly, hand on her throat as she toyed with the necklace. The necklace!

"Rîlchon and Traston!" she called. While waiting for the brothers, she turned to Harthor and Galon. "Work with Magolon. Restore our supplies from their cargo. Boys," she said, as the men approached from below decks, "I want you and Magolon to sail this ship to Pelargir. They will need supplies. My brother Amrothos will be stationed along the Anduin. See if you can find him. Tell him, and only him, of all we have found. I do not think we can trust anyone in Pelargir," Lothíriel mused, mind racing. "I would bet my life there are spies aplenty there. Oh," Lothíriel said as a thought struck her, "Khaatbaam, doesn't your grandfather still live in Pelargir?"

"Aye, Kazi," Khaatbaam answered, looking up from the flag.

"Then you shall go with them. As my third mate, I leave you this charge. I believe your grandfather would have wisdom to share with us. I leave what you tell him to your discretion. But I think we'll need his advice in fighting this enemy in this way. Concerning the enemy ship, pretend that you will burn it. Do whatever it takes to make this story real. But secretly hide it. I have a suspicion we will need it before the end," Lothíriel speculated shrewdly. "And keep it secret from Amrothos, too. But you may tell your grandfather, if he has experience sailing with the Harad," she told Khaatbaam. He touched his brow in acknowledgment. "Be swift and safe, and may the Valar protect you."

"What will you do, Kazi?" Khaatbaam asked.

"We will return to Dol Amroth," Lothíriel answered decidedly. "I must deliver this news to my father personally. We must also repair the Gwathren. The wind is changing - I feel it in my bones. Something's coming."

With a nod, the crew moved into action. Pelingildor came to her side, looking down at her with an unreadable expression. Lothíriel blinked at him, suddenly realizing he probably wanted to say something to her about her first kill. That thought brought it all rushing back. She swallowed but met his eyes.

"I never wanted you to experience that," he said quietly. "And I know your brothers would be crushed to learn of this. But I believe your father would be proud that his flower is strong enough to bear thorns. Well done, Kazi."

"Kazi?" Brégdan repeated, leaning on the bulwark nearby. "That's what Khaatbaam calls her. Do you even know what it means?" he asked easily.

"I do," Pelingildor answered, his gaze never wavering on Lothíriel's face. "I asked him about it earlier."

He saluted Lothíriel with a touch of his knuckles to his brow and went to obey her orders.

"Well, so much for finding out what it means," Brégdan commented with a wry smirk.

"If it makes you feel better, I don't know what it means either," Lothíriel offered, leaning on her forearms on the bulwark next to him. "I assumed it was 'Captain' or something."

"Well, forgive me for not being so refined," Brégdan replied, thickening his Rohirric drawl purposefully, "But I will stick with 'Cap'n mine' like any other self respecting sailor."

Lothíriel chuckled at his words, and his flash of a smile in approval helped to continue soothing her ruffled spirit. She, Princess and Flower of the House of Dol Amroth, had killed a man, not in self defense, but in an actual assault. Well, she mused, rolling her shoulders back, it wasn't as if such a thing hadn't been prepared for. Lothíriel had been trained with a sword alongside her brothers, even if she hadn't always liked the conditioning she'd had to do.

"You know, I was fully prepared for you taking more time to get over the whole killing thing," Brégdan remarked mildly, leaning on the rail and gazing across the sea.

"'The whole killing thing' is not unknown to me," Lothíriel replied, although her usual bravado that would have accompanied such words was decidedly muted. She caught Brégdan's eye as he peered over his shoulder at her. "My mother used to say this all the time, every time my brothers asked to do something or I wanted to join them and my father objected. She would say, 'Life is short, and its shadows are long.' She would remind us that we needed to savor every moment but we also needed to be wise about the risks we took. We're fighting a very small part of a very large war, Brégdan. We don't have time for hesitation. All the same, I'm glad Khaatbaam taught me that word, khumbula. Even if he won't teach me the word kazi," she finished with a tease and a wink.

Brégdan gave a slight smile as he continued watching the crew carry out preparations to move out. "Well, then, Cap'n mine," he replied, "I suppose I'd better make sure they have everything ready." He touched his knuckles to his brow in salute to her before moving away. Lothíriel squared her shoulders. They needed to regroup with the fleet and see what her father needed next. It probably involved bringing troops or supplies to Pelargir, which had been her chief motive for saving the Corsair vessel. A deception was looking more and more certain, in her mind at least, as the last two skirmishes they'd partaken in belied a growing Corsair interest in Pelargir and the Anduin.

Never will they take it, Lothíriel vowed, gazing across the waves to the shadows of mountains beyond, Not so long as I draw breath.