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tanaquificThese were written for Denise (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dkpalaska), who was a winning bidder on my offer of a series of five drabbles as part of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_pakistan. Thank you, Denise, for your generous donation!
Denise gave me several prompts. For the drabble series, I selected the prompt: one of Imrahil’s loves: boats. One of the many things I wondered about when rereading: Those lovely Elven boats from Lorien that the Fellowship used, with two of them left behind, hidden on either shore above Rauros. Did anyone ever find them? And what did they do with them? The title is taken from the Breton Fisherman's Prayer.
Thy Sea So Wide, My Boat So Small
He learned to sail almost ere he learned to walk, perched on his father's lap, his small hand over Adrahil's large one, imagining it was he who skilfully guided the tiller. His father would speak of sheets and lines, of how to reef and tack and gybe, of weather, current and tide.... To learn thus was no hardship; he was quickly master when more formal lessons came.
There were other, duller lessons: horsemanship; arms; tongues and scripts and histories of many lands. A dutiful student, Imrahil: only a little did he daydream of hours free and alone upon the water.
oOo
Oh, it doesn't look so bad....
Imrahil remembered his own foolish words as he fought to drop the torn sails. At his back, Aglahad wrestled the tiller to prevent them being turned beam-ends to the crashing waves.
But they'd had a rare free day to fish, and they were young and invincible, and the gathering clouds had been a long way out from shore....
Another gout of water sloshed into the boat. The sails finally tied down, Imrahil grabbed the bailer and prayed to the Valar for the chance to hear the tongue-lashing from his father he so richly deserved.
oOo
Imrahil had helped Thorongil assemble the fleet, recruiting the yachts and friends that, on high days and holidays in lighter times, raced each other just beyond the harbour wall. He suspected his father would have forbid him the venture, save the Steward had given Thorongil grudging leave, and Imrahil was a man full-grown. Besides, Imrahil's own beloved was flagship.
Only a quiet word before he departed, with a half-smile that recognised such requests count for little in the midst of action: Be not too rash, my son....
And now the small flotilla crept slowly, secretly, down the coast toward Umbar....
oOo
Feet planted firmly astride on the rolling deck, Imrahil admired his command. She was swift and sturdy, and everything about her ship-shape and Linhir-fashion, as the saying went. A ship to be proud of, as were all the Amroth fleet that endlessly patrolled the coasts.
The men who crewed her something to be proud of too: valiant in battle, whether with foes who would harry Gondor's coasts or the sea herself.
And yet, and yet—though he would not neglect his duty—Imrahil's heart longed for a small boat, his own small boat. Turning under his own hand, upon the Great Sea.
oOo
It was not a meet errand for a Prince, but Imrahil cared naught. His home was at peace, his new grandson visited—and this quest would lead him only a little further astray.
The craft was laid where the King had promised. Eagerly, Imrahil pulled away the concealing fern to reveal her graceful lines. Running an appreciative hand along her plank-sheer, he lifted a leaf-shaped blade from within and found it perfectly weighted....
The King had warned she was unhandy to those used to the craft of Men. Imrahil already knew there would be joy in learning to work her well.
dkpalaska), who was a winning bidder on my offer of a series of five drabbles as part of help_pakistan. Thank you, Denise, for your generous donation! Denise gave me several prompts. For the drabble series, I selected the prompt: one of Imrahil’s loves: boats. One of the many things I wondered about when rereading: Those lovely Elven boats from Lorien that the Fellowship used, with two of them left behind, hidden on either shore above Rauros. Did anyone ever find them? And what did they do with them? The title is taken from the Breton Fisherman's Prayer.
Thy Sea So Wide, My Boat So Small
He learned to sail almost ere he learned to walk, perched on his father's lap, his small hand over Adrahil's large one, imagining it was he who skilfully guided the tiller. His father would speak of sheets and lines, of how to reef and tack and gybe, of weather, current and tide.... To learn thus was no hardship; he was quickly master when more formal lessons came.
There were other, duller lessons: horsemanship; arms; tongues and scripts and histories of many lands. A dutiful student, Imrahil: only a little did he daydream of hours free and alone upon the water.
Oh, it doesn't look so bad....
Imrahil remembered his own foolish words as he fought to drop the torn sails. At his back, Aglahad wrestled the tiller to prevent them being turned beam-ends to the crashing waves.
But they'd had a rare free day to fish, and they were young and invincible, and the gathering clouds had been a long way out from shore....
Another gout of water sloshed into the boat. The sails finally tied down, Imrahil grabbed the bailer and prayed to the Valar for the chance to hear the tongue-lashing from his father he so richly deserved.
Imrahil had helped Thorongil assemble the fleet, recruiting the yachts and friends that, on high days and holidays in lighter times, raced each other just beyond the harbour wall. He suspected his father would have forbid him the venture, save the Steward had given Thorongil grudging leave, and Imrahil was a man full-grown. Besides, Imrahil's own beloved was flagship.
Only a quiet word before he departed, with a half-smile that recognised such requests count for little in the midst of action: Be not too rash, my son....
And now the small flotilla crept slowly, secretly, down the coast toward Umbar....
Feet planted firmly astride on the rolling deck, Imrahil admired his command. She was swift and sturdy, and everything about her ship-shape and Linhir-fashion, as the saying went. A ship to be proud of, as were all the Amroth fleet that endlessly patrolled the coasts.
The men who crewed her something to be proud of too: valiant in battle, whether with foes who would harry Gondor's coasts or the sea herself.
And yet, and yet—though he would not neglect his duty—Imrahil's heart longed for a small boat, his own small boat. Turning under his own hand, upon the Great Sea.
It was not a meet errand for a Prince, but Imrahil cared naught. His home was at peace, his new grandson visited—and this quest would lead him only a little further astray.
The craft was laid where the King had promised. Eagerly, Imrahil pulled away the concealing fern to reveal her graceful lines. Running an appreciative hand along her plank-sheer, he lifted a leaf-shaped blade from within and found it perfectly weighted....
The King had warned she was unhandy to those used to the craft of Men. Imrahil already knew there would be joy in learning to work her well.