An Honest Fisherman

He had never seen the Anduin before. No more than the clear silver stripe running off in the distance from the walls of the seventh tier of Minas Tirith. Now that Osgiliath was fallen, Pelargir was the greatest Port City on the Anduin, and the nearest to Minas Tirith, though they were over a week out from the city. The river's expanse was vast. Land could hardly been seen on the far shore, but the clear waters were dotted with ships and sails of all types.

Faelon had found himself wandering down one of the docks, in awe at the ships great and small. They had stopped an an inn in the city, and Mother had convinced the cook at the inn to let her make the supper herself, and to use their kitchen for baking for the next leg of their journey. Meleth had expressed a want for the fresh fish, so Faeldor had taken his little brother down to the wharfs to find the best and freshest that he might. It was only when Faeldor had taken too long deciding that Faelon had found himself drawn to a public dock jutting out into the river. Men moved up and down, taking wares in carts to and from to their ships, arriving and departing in brief stops. There was so much activity and motion.

“Looking for someone?” a bright eyed, tall man asked suddenly, stooping down to look the boy in the eye.

“No, I was just looking at the boats. I've never seen ships before,” Faelon answered pleasantly.

“Are you by yourself?” the man asked.

“My brother's up there on the wharf,” Faelon pointed. It was quite a long way off. “Looking for some fish to buy for Mother.”

“Ah,” the man flashed him a smile. He had a tooth of gold at the front of his grin, and Faelon was quite in awe by it. “So you've never seen a ship before? Here's mine,” he pointed to a beautiful, large vessel.

“Oh, it looks a fine one!” Faelon exclaimed.

“Do you want to come look at it? Come on, it's fine,” he smiled, taking the boy by the hand and leading him toward the plank.

“Are you a fisherman?” Faelon asked, looking for the netting and tackle hooks, though he saw none.

“No, this is a merchant vessel,” the tall man released Faelon and crossed the plank, jumping down onto the deck. Other men were rushing about, working ropes and sails, and an older man approached. The tall man gave him a nod, then looked back to Faelon. “Do you want to see the Captain's cabin? I'll show you the helm and let you give the ship's wheel a spin.”

“You're the Captain?” Faelon asked. He started, taking a careful step onto the gangplank.

It was then that another man grabbed him by the back of the tunic, stilling him in his movements. He was tall and thick, black haired, black bearded, and his skin was brown. He was the darkest man that Faelon had evers seen. The speech was quick and slurred. “He don't wanna see yers. He's cominta see mine, right boy? I'll take ye aboard. Ye've only a few minutes though before my crew sets out. Gonna be a sailor someday, eh?” The man clamped down on Faelon's arm with a large hand and moved him forcefully off down the docks.

“I don't… I don't know...” the little boy said worriedly as the man steered him toward a dilapidated ship and lifted him to carry him across the gangplank. “Hey, put me down!” Faelon shouted, his voice wavering.

“Sure ye do,” the man pressed him forward, paying the protests no mind. “Where's yer Pa?” he asked the boy before setting him down on deck.

“My Father is dead. I'm here with my brother… and my Mother's at the inn.” The boy tried to turn back but the big man was too much for him, urging him onward.

“Where are you sailing?” Faelon asked curiously.

“Off the coasts of Umbar.”

Faelon gasped. The man was blocking his escape back down the gangplank. “Are you a Corsair?” he asked quickly, fear rising in his voice.

“Hah!” the laughter was deep. “Do ye see the black and red sails of my ship?”

Faelon looked up to see the white sails billowing as the men began to loose their ropes and set to go.

“We're a fishing vessel,” he added. “But you shouldn't be so trusting here at these docks. Is that yer brother?” He pointed toward the curly haired man doing a swift jog down the docks, looking this way and that as he passed by each boat.

Faelon looked and saw his brother's bearded face. “Faeldor!” he called waving.

“Hey! That's my brother!” Faeldor called as he approached the vessel. “What do you think you're doing with him there?”

“Givin' him a snack,” the man answered gruffly, pressing a canister of salted fish and crackers at the boy. Faelon's grey eyes shot nervously up to him. “What are you doing up there without him?” he called back.

“Trying to buy fish at the docks, and he wandered off on me.” Faeldor edged to the gangplank of the ship, and started to board.

“Y'know where he wandered?” the man asked grimly.

“They were showing me their merchant ship, and he pulled me off and dragged me here and carried me on,” Faelon complained, crossing the wooden deck quickly to stand behind his brother.

“That merchant ship?” the man pointed toward a ship that had the sails flying and the oars rowing to take them back to the river. “I'd bet you half a bar of gold them men be slavers. I've seen the likes o' those on the seas many times. I pulled yer brother off'n their boat.”

He looked from Faeldor, back to Faelon. “Never know where the slavers might turn up on the coasts. They'd lure a strong young one like ye quick. Sell ye for a pretty gold coin, they would. Someone'd buy ye and maybe tryta sell ye back to yer family fer two coins if they could… or maybe just set ye to work on one o' them Corsair ships. If ye gone in that cabin o' theirs, ye wouldn'ta come out til ye reached the port of Umbar. I can promise ye that.”

Faeldor's face paled as he looked back to the men standing on the quarterdeck of the departing ship, then to the ruddy fisherman standing in front of him.

“I'm just an honest fisherman. But I can tell ye two ain't from 'round here.” The man pointed at Faeldor with a thick finger. “Ye best keep a watch on yer little brother.” And he pointed back to Faelon. “And ye best stay with yer family, an' not wander onto any strange decks. Don't matter now nice the men look. Ye never know.”

Faeldor shot a look down to Faelon, and the boy looked back to him with a similar expression.

“If ye want ter come fishin', stay right there, but if not, ye better head back for yer fish.

Faelon started back to the main dock, and Faeldor turned and followed. “Try the fish, boy. It's good. Salted it myself,” the bearded man laughed. “And ye ask for Haarith's fish at the wharf,” he looked pointedly to Faeldor. “Freshest ye'll find. Ye may not like the looks 'o me, but I'll tell ye I'm an honest fisherman.”

Faeldor paused, unsure what to say, and even as he did so the ropes were being pulled, and the fishing ship was shifting out toward the river. “Thank you,” Faeldor called back to the man.

“Tell yer mam ye met a man o' Umbar, boys. Though I ain't a Corsair. My Pa was though.”

The two brothers stood wordlessly for some time as they watched the fishing vessel sail away, heading back out to sea.

“Do not wander again,” Faeldor finally chastised.

“I won't,” Faelon answered quickly.