Like a hurricane! (September 3010) {Open}

Laughter resounded immediately from the room, and Narbeleth's lips curled to a smile as well as she pushed the water and storm drenched hair from her eyes. My, but that had been invigorating! If only it were not so dangerous, she thought she might feel an autumn breeze like that against her again. Now it dulled, though she still felt wind streaming and whistling through the cracks around the door.

“Yes, thank the Valar, indeed. Now! Who are you, woman?”

“I'm dreadfully sorry to intrude,” she glanced in at the laughing man, and then noted the two others looking at her as she stood dripping in the doorway. They looked a rough bunch, though then the sea men often did, as they worked hard hours and long days. Fisherman, she presumed from the things scattered about the room. Sea implements, rope, and old sail scattered about.

“I was making for home but the wind was throwing me back, I was afraid I would have been tossed from the city walls in this weather. Have you ever felt such a storm? Oh... well, I suppose you have.” She laughed. The giggling man was amusing to her, and seemed to be having a fine time. “Narbeleth, daughter of Faelon,” she offered a strange curtsey, for here garments were sodden and she was dripping. “But they call me Beleth,” she glanced back toward the laughing man. “And those of good humor call me Bel. I hope you don't mind, my Lords, if I stop and wait it out for a time here. I did not realize how strong the winds could gust!”

“Are you fisherman? I hope your boat is tied tight today. Or tonight, perhaps, I cannot even tell what time has passed, it is so dark outside. Do you mind if I sit by your fire?” She hesitated in the doorway, yet, for she did not wish to soil the room by bringing half the ocean in upon her dress, though it also appeared as if the room had not been cleaned in some time as it was. She presumed, fisherman did not have much time on land for such matters as cleaning, and she did not blame them.

One of the fisherman pressed forward with a cup of wine to her hands, and she raised an eyebrow lightly, wondering at it. Though, of course they had likely not time to draw water at the various springs that ran through the city before the storm raged, if they had been fumbling with their boats, and the wine would help to warm her in this bitter weather. “Thank you,” she mumbled, taking a sip.

“You are more than welcomed to sit by it. Do not be shy. You can say we are fisherman, but I'm afraid that today we have not caught a single thing. "
Yes we have, Ragnar!"

“Oh, I don't doubt the fishing was scarce in this weather. The wind has been raging all morning and tossing the whitecaps wild! I saw all the boats retreating from the harbor earlier, and some came ahead of the storm yesterday...” Though she looked towards the lankier laughing man curiously, “What did you happen to catch?”

Narbeleth moved to the fire in relief when she was beckoned, for the wind was whistling and screaming through the cracks in the doorway. She took to the chair that the man had placed before the fire and seated herself, the puddle now dripping around the legs of the stool, and she crossed her arms in front of her awkwardly in her state, and fidgeted uncomfortably on the chair. The men seemed dry before her; they must have had the sense to come indoors before the storm, though all the better for them; fishermen lived such a rough life; it was good they could have a bit of dryness and stay out of the weather.

“Wouldn't want you to catch such a cold. Now, can you tell us a bit about yourself Bel? Have you lived here for long?”

Narbeleth shook her head, “Oh, no, I haven't truly. Only the past year… I lived in Minas Tirith all my life until then. But my family has dwelled in Dol Amroth long years.” Her eyes flickered to the front door warily. It was rattling in the wind on rusty hinges, and overhead the wind seemed to pick up further. It gave her a slight unease, and she wondered if even the stone building would hold against such a treacherous force. “We never had such storms inland. Only the grey clouds in the east above the Shadow Mountains; such thunder and lightning storms would come quickly over the city; but not the circling sideways winds. The sea seemed to pull out before my eyes this morning and I wondered at the stillness,” she rambled onward.

“Perhaps it's why I haven't met you on the wharfs before now; have you been docked elsewhere. I usually buy my fish from Hûben and his wife at the market. Do you sell to him? And what are your names, Master Fishermen?”

The men were certainly speaking in riddles and mystery about their catch. Perhaps it was some kind of trade secret. Or moreso, a simple joke between friends. It troubled Narbeleth none; it meant they had spirits of good humor, which was something she vastly adored, and she smiled at their answer.

Braesi came with a woolen blanket, and Narbeleth sighed as it came about her in warmth, helping her along with the fire to feel much better already. The blanket blocked the

“Then you have never been at sea, have you? We have seen many of storms, but this one I am certain, tops them all. Such strong winds I never thought deemed possible! Nearly took us under today.”

“I cannot imagine being out in winds such as these,” she shook her head. “I've only been up and down the coast with my husband in our little sailing skiff, but never far out to sea. Perhaps some day. My Uncle has promised to take us out on one of his ships when the weather is fair again. I doubt not til next spring. I would not wish to venture out in autumn gale nor hurricane.”

The men went back and forth in rapid banter, and Narbeleth laughed after them, missing words here and there for the screaming and howling of the winds outside, and sipping upon her wine, which was beginning to warm her from the inside out.

"I see you're trying to butter me up, Ragnar. Come now! You know people would forget a face like this."
"I think no one could forget you, for you are the one who made our boat! As crazy as you are, you've done more than I could imagine."

This was surprising! Narbeleth pulled the blanket more tightly about her shoulders and almost rose from her seat in excitement.

“A shipwright of Rohan!” she exclaimed looking to Calder, though it did begin to dawn on her that the names of the men were not in proper Sindarin nor Westron. Rohirric men, indeed; she noted the lighter color of Ragnar's hair in the dim room.

“I've never heard of this… only the tales of the horsemen therof. Have you learned to sail on the seas of grasses? Where did you learn such trade? Have you long been a builder?” Her questions flowed; she could not help herself for being curious, and it was indeed an interesting topic of conversation to distract her from the screaming of the winds.

“My Uncle? He is Linnon, son of Calaeron,” Narbeleth offered briefly. It was not often she chose to speak on the position her family took in the city of Dol Amroth, yet her Grandfather Calaeron was a high ranking and decorated Knight of the Prince's court, and Linnon, her uncle, was the Principle Shipwright of the Prince's fleet, as well as the designer of many merchant vessels. Both names were well known in the region. “He has a… small fleet of his own,” she stated, not wishing to sound as if it were anything special. In truth, Linnon merely sold the ships. He did have few, though his wealth lay in craft and design of them. He knew the old ways of design which were well sought after, passed down through the true blooded Numenoreans.

“Oh. You make your own tools?” she smiled to Calder. “I've been learning such as well. It is no mind,” she added to Ragnar, for Narbeleth was not a women to faint at men's talk. “My husband is a blacksmith, and he's been teaching me some of the trade, though I usually just pump the bellows and help with the finishing work, I've… well I've been helping him on his orders when I get a chance, though mostly for fun, when he's all caught up. I'm much slower than he pounding the hammer. He's strong as a bear. I suppose it comes with lifting the anvil and the mallet so often,” she laughed lightly.

“If you men need some new gaff's for your boat, you should come down to his shop when the weather lets. In White Town, it's called The Quarry. The fisherman he's sold to say the hooks never break; only come back for new handles when they wear down.” Narbeleth prattled on, as uncomfortable as she was to speak upon the standing of her Uncle and Grandfather in the city, for she did not wish to seem to the fisherfolk as if she thought herself above them in anyway, she had no trouble in speaking on her husband the blacksmith. He and his father were well known for their work, though of the common working class afterall, and Narbeleth minded it none. Life had been much simpler.

Calder continued to speak on their homelands, stating that the two men were from Rohan, though he was not, and she was just about to ask from where Calder hailed, though Ragnar cut her off mid-thought.

“Is it dying down?” she listened closely, though it still seemed to howl louder than any storm she had heard. Surely the fisherman would know their storms though, and so she believed them, and sipped at her drink. The sooner the storm let, the sooner she would be able to stop intruding on these men; however jolly they seemed, and seek out her husband. She knew he would be worried that she had set out on a day like today.

“Have you ever been caught in one like it?” she chanced to ask. “While you were on the sea?”