Ardanion’s adolescent voice cracked as he laughed. “Th…three days!?”
His father nodded and, with a tight grin, waited for the boy’s chiding laughter to subside.
“Aye”, Cutch answered quietly, sending a mirthful glance at Teahesto, who sat with them in their small shipboard cabin. “It was not until the fourth day that I could finally keep anything down besides small amounts of water. Luckily, the rest of the crew were mostly sympathetic, except for Cory.”
“Mmm...”, Teahesto murmured, “Cory was the fellow you caught cheating your dwarf friends with crooked dice.”
“That’s the one. But you must understand that his derision was an attempt to distract others from the captain’s punishment on him. He had to wear a dress for a week….”
Again, the boy burst into teared laughter so infectious that Teahesto’s normally stoic, Elven demeanor could not suppress the hint of a grin. “A dress, you say?” the Elf asked.
“Aye”, Cutch shouted over Ardanion’s dramatic reaction, and then leaned forward to place a calming hand on the boy’s knee. “But not just any dress. The captain could be a thorny woman, and the dress she forced on him was tattered and unspeakably stained in unmentionable places. She told Cory that if he was going to act like a cheating harlot, he could look like one.”
Cutch and Teahesto watched Ardanion’s expression suddenly change from mirth to wide-eyed shock. The boy had rarely heard the word “harlot”, but even at the age of thirteen it’s meaning was clear enough. “That’s cruel…”, he muttered, his gaze darting between his father and the Elf, hoping for some sign of agreement.
Teahesto, brows lifted in disbelief, faced Cutch and leaned forward. “The captain was a woman…a mortal woman…?”
Cutch nodded first to the Elf, then answered his son. “Yes, well, a ship at sea is many things. A business, a home, and of course a place where the crew must get along and trust each other. A good captain maintains order in all these things. So, yes, the punishment was a bit outrageous, but there were far more severe captains than our Captain Khurhad. Some said that the corsair captains would cut off fingers for much less.”
Ardanion swallowed hard and one hand wrapped itself around the digits of the other as he continued to intently listen. Seeing his son’s worrisome face, Cutch patted him on the knee. “But she relented when we finally docked at Dol Amroth. That took us five days, and the crew was ready by then to get dockside and enjoy the city. Cory still had two days left on his punishment, and the captain told him he could either stay aboard for the remaining two days in his dress or change out to his regular clothes and spend all his time running errands with her. If she caught him shaming the ship again, she’d leave him behind with no coin when the ship sailed on. He took the latter course.”
The conversation stopped as the ship began a gentle rolling on waves from a deepening sea. Teahesto stood, stretched, and tilted his head toward the cabin door. Cutch rose to follow and, of course, Ardanion joined them as they stepped out onto the deck of the Gondorian trading ship. The father and son squinted against the bright sunlight.
The helmsman held the bow into the waves which gave way as the ship rose and fell through them, sea mist blending with the breeze sweeping across the deck. Cutch breathed in deeply and smiled at his son. “I never tire of the sea air”, he announced. For a while they stood, their legs learning the rhythm of the ship’s roll. After several minutes practice keeping their balance and peering at the receding Lindon coastline, Cutch continued his story.
“For the next two days, Captain Khurad took Cory and I both in tow as she navigated the city on a rented wagon. We delivered goods to her most favored customers, sought provisions for the ship, and watched her drum up new business. She was of uncommon height, with a gaunt but powerful frame, dark skin, and curly red hair. Reactions to her strikingly singular appearance did not dissuade her from engaging in trade. Many in the city already knew her, or of her, and her reputation for reliability preceded her. She used Cory and I, obedient young Westerners in her crew, as proof that she was solidly in charge and knew exactly what she was doing.”
“Interesting that a ship’s captain of Haradrim blood could do business in Dol Amroth, or anywhere in Gondor”, Teahesto said, inviting an explanation.
“The House of the Golden Crescent had an interesting legend”, Cutch answered, going on to summarize the trading house’s history stretching back into the Second Age and woven with the bloodlines of both Gondorian and Haradrim sailing families.
“But I thought those two countries hated each other”, Ardanion interjected.
“Lifelong sailors share something no matter what shores they hail from”, Cutch pointed out. “The land they truly love is the sea itself, and from that a common bond often forms. For a trading house, captains that can claim a blood tie to a more than one country have an edge in commerce. There were times when the two countries had peaceful enough relations to allow the House to prosper. When times were not so peaceful, they could still find plenty of smuggling opportunities on either shore. The affluent always want their exotic goods.”
The trio stood silently for a while, taking in the ship’s motion in the deepening sea, the brilliant clarity of the vast sky, and the sea-misted wind washing over them. Ardanion was keenly interested in the nimble crew carrying out their tasks. “How long does it take to learn sailing, Ada?”, he asked his father.
Cutch chuckled at his son’s question. “Perhaps a lifetime, at least for a mortal. The sea is ever changing and can offer sudden surprises to even the most experienced crew.”
“How long did you sail?”, the boy quickly followed up.
“About a year. Towards the end I could handle the rigging all right, and in calmer winds the captain would give me a turn at the helm, under her supervision, of course. My first duty was provisioning the ship when we made land, and, secondly, cooking for the crew when at sea.”
They fell back into silence and turned their attention to the amazing world through which the ship navigated towards a seemingly infinite horizon. The waves had continued to deepen, but the ship maintained its course, cutting through them with confidence, each cloud of mist tossed up from the bow was yet another celebration of a swell conquered.
Cutch cast a glance astern, seeing the ship’s wake spreading behind them and quickly dissipating in the waves. He thought of Seregrian, wondering how She truly felt about Cutch and their son taking this excursion. A fleeting fanciful image crossed his mind of Her bearing down on the ship, leaning forward and balanced on a wave of flame, fists on hips. Fierce Elven eyes glinted above a mirthless grin playing at one corner of Her mouth as She chased down Her errant Menfolk. He could not decide which would be more disquieting, the fairy tale image realized or the empty, indifferent distance swelling between their ship and Her.
