The battle was drawing to a bloody close just as a stormy dawn began to bring much needed light to the basalt black waters off of Anfalas...thin and weak as the winter light was.
Two corsair sloops, weathered wood red as blood, lay broken on the jagged rocks of the coast, driven ashore by sharp sailing on the part of the single Gondorian patrol frigate, the azure blue pennants of Dol Amroth now smoldering along it's masts, whipped by the gale. The screams of men and carrion birds mingled as the fires, the rocks and the freezing water worked in concert to drag the dead down to their sorry fates, pirate and sailor alike.
Standing on the deck of the badly listing frigate, one booted foot up on the balustrade, Xanderian of Belfalas watched the tragic spectacle with a leaden eye. Long years of war and merciless destruction had blown out even what small flame of mercy had once burned in her breast. Too much blood...precious blood lost to care what blood now followed it. Tasting the spray of the sea took her mind back to blood of the past, and she gripped the hilt of SilverWand all the tighter. She spat, whispering beneath her breath, "..and Elbereth be damned."
The frigate and it's complement of Swan Knights had been sent forth into the rising storm, against regulation, to respond to a private Gondorian vessel in distress, it's pennants difficult to make out from even the watchtowers of Dol Amroth. Ordinarily a warship would never be risked in such a gale for a private concern, but the orders were clear and the only frigate available was sent forth. As the ship arrived at its destination, the Knights and archers found a well appointed yacht foundering under assault by two pirate corsairs, the flags of Tyree's Reavers flying boldly on the sloops. The yacht seemed abandoned now, the arrows of the Corsairs having swept the deck of crew and courtiers alike...just a ghost ship now but still a wealthy prize. Despite that fact, the battle had been brief and brutal, the Gondorian Captain skilfully using the storm and the rocks to even the odds. Several volleys of flaming arrows back and forth, and desperate attempt at boarding by the corsairs, repulsed at great price by the Swan Knights, the mast of the larger sloop splintering against the gale...and the battle was over.
Xandilif roused herself as a corsair tried to hold onto the edge of the frigates deck and pull himself to safety, the water below already red as the predators feasted. A boot to the face ended the vain hope, and the Banshee turned away to study the prize the corsairs had sought. The yacht was luxurious but not crass, expensive but not ostentatious. Strange. In her experience most of those lateborn the endless war had made wealthy wore enormous gilded codpieces and tried to speak bad Quenya with thick Pelargir accents. She walked past the few remaining unwounded Knights to get a better view of the yacht through the thick, stormy fog and acrid smoke, finally noting the ship's distress pennants, visible for the first time now that the battle was over.
"Strange..." mumbled the elf champion to herself and turned to one of the other Knights. "Faro, your folk are seafarers...am I too drunk, or do those pennants say nothing about no fecking corsairs?"
The dark haired Swan Knight wiped blood out of his eyes and peered. "You're right, Banshee...that ain't the flag for corsairs, nor even Southrons. That be the pennant for...Sea Monster?"
With a soft curse Xandilif drew SilverWand off her back just as the tentacle wrapped around Faro's midriff and squeezed, crushing the life from him within the armor and casting him silently into the deep. The frigate shook violently as more thick tentacles ripped bits from the already damaged hull, and water began to rush in freely. The captain yelled to crew and complement alike to abandon ship right before the spinning yardarm speared him through the chest and lifted him up into the rigging, his feet still kicking.
Xandilif cursed again, no longer softly, and pulled herself up into the rigging after the captain's corpse...running along one heavy spar and leaping into the misty air. A tentacle flailed towards her to be severed by SilverWand before she dropped and rolled onto the deck of the only ship still seaworthy...the prize yacht.
As the Kraken quite noisily crushed the frigate she had abandoned, the elleth noticed the ornate but still lethal Ballista set into the stern of the yacht. It was the only weapon that seemed to be on board, but the long iron arrows it fired rolled off the pitching deck, only two still in the case by the weapon. Clamoring to it, hands slick with blood and seawater, Xandilif loaded and cranked the weapon until the firing bolt snapped closed. Taking as careful an aim as she could as the Kraken began to surface looking for fresh prey, she thought to herself "For once it might not be bad to have the Monk around..." and fired. The iron arrow flew true if not altogether straight, and struck near the beast's great green eye, but failed to do much damage. The arrows were made for sport fishing, marlin and sunfish, not Kraken.
Xandilif cursed at the uselessness of it...but the blow had hurt the beast at least a little, for with a wet roar it pulled a drowned corsair from the water and hurled it at the Champion, who was nearly knocked into the sea by the impact, now tangled on the deck in the limbs of the dead man. Wrestling herself free, she noted the remains of the corsair's weapon was still clutched tight in one dead hand, a wicked iron mace with a broken haft.
Dragging herself up, the elleth could feel the Kraken slipping into position to wrap itself around the yacht, it's eye just above the surface. She knew she didn't have much time. Xandilif grabbed for the remaining iron arrow, and rammed it's point into the broken wood of the haft, securing the heavy spiked head of the weapon to the arrowhead.
Jury rigged missile jammed into the Ballista...cranked, loaded....aimed high to account for the weight. A blasphemous prayer, and the heavy weapon was away, striking the beast hard in its wide open eye. With a scream the Kraken recoiled as the mace cut deep, and with a rush of water over the deck of the yacht, sank down into the story sea. The beast was not dead, nor likely badly wounded...but the pain with the threat of more was enough to make it cut it's losses and be satisfied with the day's good hunting.
Pulling herself painfully to her feet, Xandilif looked about warily, SilverWand held high, until finally satisfied the Kraken was gone and the yacht was still sea worthy. In fact, it was the last vessel still above the depths, the two corsair sloops and the frigate long gone.
Wearily seeking out the wheelhouse, she came upon two ornate doors, both locked tightly. SilverWand made short work of the first door, and the Banshee noted with relief that within was clearly the apparatus to work the rudder and small sails, and it seemed to be in working order...but the champion could not help but wonder what was behind the other lock. Riches perhaps? Or better, grog? She could really use a grog.
Smashing the door open, her eyes quickly adjusted to the small cabin, meeting the solemn gaze of a small girl, hair the color of sunflowers, perhaps five years old, dressed in an expensive parody of a nautical uniform.
"Are you a corsair?" The girl asked calmly. "Are you going to kill me? If I paid you, would you carry me off and make me a pirate?"
Xandilif lowered SilverWand and just stared, unable to speak for a moment as memories battled in her mind...dispelling images and words from another time and from another little girl, searching for new words and finding few. "No...not a corsair...I..I am Xandilif."
The little girl nodded. "Hello Xandilif...that is a funny name for a first born. My name is Lothiriel. Are you going to take me home."
The name suddenly snapped the Elleth back to reality....and so much made sense now. The Princess, youngest child of Prince Imrahil. Surely the Azure Throne was currently in a panic. "Home? Yeah, I think I had better....don't you?"
The girl nodded sadly...."Yes, you must...but before you do...will you please talk to me?"
Xandilif stared, speechless again..."What?...just...talk? About what?"
The girl sat down in the middle of her dainty chamber, her booted feet drawn up under her. "Of anything, of everything, of nothing...of what you have seen, and done, and what you have heard from others. I have done nothing, and seen nothing, but I am a princess of the blood of kings, and shall never see or do ANYTHING and none will think that amiss. Please..I beg you Xandilif the Elf, let me do and see through you? Please...." And the blonde girl began to cry softly, soundlessly, while staring helplessly up at the Champion.
When the storm had passed enough for safe travel, at nearly midday the relief vessels arrived, yet Xandilif the Banshee, SilverWand's Slut, was still kneeling before Lothiriel of Dol Amroth as her attendants came to rescue her, speaking of all she had done, and all she had seen, and all that others had told her. Words, followed words, followed words.
And Xandilif, now knight extraordinary of the Princess Lothiriel of the Azure Sea, has been speaking to her Princess of anything, and everything, and nothing ever since.
