[Hiriel]

Ink slunk down the fleshy canals of fingerprints as Lord Azaryan finally shook off his cousin and retired to his cabin to attend the state business that had been forced on him ere the Flame and Fortune set sail. Crinkled, tense ledgers, maps, and memorandums sprawled across his desk, and if looks could kill, Captain Rakin’s ship would be aflame. Azaryan felt the hairs on his back wilt slightly as old debts to Haradwaith, some local holdups in the courts, a conscription problem clawed for his attention and Sangalazin’s bountiful morning wasted into true afternoon. Only the first item was truly important. Most of the ships being fitted in his harbors had started their life thanks the coffers of the desert clans, who were know clamoring for repayment and spoils. Thus, Pelargir.

There were some times when he wished, at the very least, that Sangalazin had beat him into the world. Duties of administration worked in much the same manner as a shattering rain, he found. It brought out the ache in his old wounds. Feeling his head begin to swell, Azaryan quit the cabin, oddly twitchy and impotent since the ship he paced was not under his direct care. His frown firmly entrenched, clearing his throat with a coarse “Ha’hrmph” at intervals when the sound would startle members of the on-watch as he passed, Azaryan watched the calm waves of the Anduin’s mouth with a quiet sense of helplessness.

Just as he was about to return to the his cabin, perhaps to tackle the courts or perhaps to glare at maps of Harlond, Rakin and his boatswain climbed out from the hold, tugging behind a bound Southron slave towards the captain’s cabin. Ahh, the incident belowdecks from the dawn, he thought, nodding in slow sagacity to the man’s back. “A word, Captain,” He called and enjoyed Rakin’s look of surprise when he tensed and turned around. “My lord?” His reply was respectful, if restrained. “Is that the slave responsible?” Azaryan gestured at the thing doubled over and breathing heavily under the hard grip of Rakin’s boatswain. “Aye, my lord.” The captain’s voice even further bridled, Rakin seemed to be searching his face for something, approbation or curiosity or disapproval. Azaryan allowed a flickering grin to dart across his face when the captain found nothing.

“You will deal with it privately and as you see fit, of course.” Azaryan broke the silence smoothly. “Yes, my lord, I plan on –“ Rakin started, but Azaryan held up his hand. “Tis your affair, not mine, Captain. But my advice to you is this,” He knelt down to the level of the slave and gripped its bescared cheekbones to turn it to face him. The strength in his hand, or the weakness of the slave’s current state, startled the thing and brooked no resistance. “Deal with this not just in private. If I were this ship’s captain, I would bring the lot of the wretches chained ondeck, flog one to death in front of them all, and quarter it. Leave the limbs tacked inside the slave decks as a reminder. It need not even be the one at fault. They must needs learn that disobedience,” And here he spoke to the shivering creature beneath his grip more than to Rakin, “will hurt not only the impudent, but also the innocent.”

Straitening up, he released the slave and turned to face the master, whose short frown showed he was not keen to make an example of his own property. “I will consider your wisdom, my lord.” “Do.” The Lord of Umbar nodded in stern condescension. “There will be fresh slaves aplenty at Pelargir, and soft farmers make good dociles.” Rakin merely forced a quiet, “Indeed, my lord,” and with a bow continued on his way. Azaryan was beginning to like the young captain, so clearly bristling with aggravation at a higher power holidaying in the world he ruled. Perhaps he would find a way to keep himself busy after all.