Castamir's Heir

Inglor sat on the floor of the ship's cabin, his legs stretched before him, and sang a quiet lament to entertain himself. Aranruth, wrapped in a cloth, was stowed beneath the captain's bed. The sword that Haleth had been carrying rested on the floor beside him. They would both be going into the Uttermost West.

Haleth had found them passage on a low, sleek, trading vessel. The captain, a dark-skinned, widely grinning trader from far Harad, had a set of sparkling gold teeth. He had rented his cramped but well appointed cabin to them for the voyage north.

"Don't you know any happy songs?" Haleth asked sleepily from the berth.

"You're awake. How is the wound?" Inglor answered her question with another question.

"Sore," Haleth said, wincing slightly as she pulled herself up to sit.

"You should rest. It will heal more quickly that way."

"Don't worry, Inglor," she said. "It's not as if there's much else to do in here. Except..." She looked at the elf and quickly looked away. "...talk."

The captain had politely requested that they stay belowdecks as much as possible. Inglor assumed it was to keep them out of sight in case they came across the Corsairs. The situation suited him quite well as it meant that Haleth had no choice but to rest and allow herself to heal.

"That and tend your wounds," Inglor said lightly as he seated himself on the edge of the narrow bed.

"They're' fine," Haleth said automatically.

"Of course they are," he said soothingly. "I just want to look at them."

Haleth reflexively pulled away from him and almost immediately bumped her head on the corner of the low ceiling.

"And now you've got a new one," he said, his voice bubbling with laughter as Haleth gingerly rubbed her bruised head.

"You're dangerous," Haleth grumbled as Inglor gently probed her wounded collarbone with his fingertips. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to not wince.

"Yes," he agreed calmly as he finished his examination. "So are you."

"I guess I did inflict more damage this time," Haleth said. "And had more damage inflicted upon me."

She frowned at her bandages. "I was careless," she said accusingly.

"The other sword, do you know whose it was?" Inglor asked to distract her.

"No," Haleth admitted. "Though I think it belonged to one Fëanor's followers."

Inglor paused, his eyes became clouded with sorrow. "It did," he said softly.

Haleth watched him in silence. Knowing that he was in need of comfort, but not quite understanding why, she placed her hand upon his arm. He grasped her hand so tightly that she gasped. He quickly relaxed his grip.

"Which one?" she asked.

"Which one what?" Inglor asked.

"To which one of Fëanor's followers did the sword belong?"

Inglor leant forward to that his forehead rested against Haleth's so that their faces were inchs apart.

"I think it's best not to say. It doesn't really matter as you can't keep it."

"If you think it best," Haleth whispered, too taken aback by his physical proximity to argue.

They remained that way, their heads bent together, sitting upon the trader captain's narrow berth. The only motion was the gentle rocking of the boat upon the arms of the sea.

Then Inglor reached behind Haleth and fluffed the pillow.

"You should rest," he said softly as he drew away from her.

"That's all I've been doing the entire trip," she grumbled as she lay back. "I'm bored."

"I could tell you a story," Inglor volunteered.

"I'd prefer a song," Haleth said. "Something happy."

Inglor laughed. It sounded like the clear ringing of silver bells. Then he began a merry tune while Haleth tapped her fingers in accompaniment.


The End