[Dunwen]

The gulls cried as they danced with stretched wings among the wind-filled sails above Nimir’s head. The Ráca was underway. He was truly going to war; there was no turning back. At least he felt a bit less alone now. Two other strays from the Ráca had barely made it onboard before it slipped smoothly out of its berth after the King’s flagship. Nimir had congratulated them on their safe return with a hesitant smile; he knew them by sight as more experienced soldiers than he was, although they were not above him in rank.

One of the two, Curamir, had made a friendly reply and introduced himself and his companion, Lingwë. Before long the three young men were swapping stories about their backgrounds. It turned out that Nimir wasn’t the only soldier who was unfamiliar with ships. Curamir had never set foot on one before coming to the Ráca , either. The slightly fish-faced Lingwë, on the other hand, was familiar with ships and claimed to be a good swimmer as well. Both Curamir and Lingwë had had at least two years of training compared to Nimir's scant months of basic drill, and both bore swords. Nimir would have been tongue-tied in the face of such experience, had it not been for a chance reference to one of his brothers’ more annoying habits. It turned out that Lingwë also had an irritating older brother also. Curamir said only that he had no brothers or sisters.

Nimir was glad of a chance to finally become better acquainted with some of his fellow soldiers. Inevitably he asked what they were all thinking. “How long before we’re in a battle?”

Curamir speculated that there would some attempt at negotiating first. Nimir brushed such a paltry thought aside. “Negotiate with the Corsairs? King Telumehtar would never do that! Not after all their attacks on Gondor over the years.” His normally friendly eyes snapped with anger at the idea. “The size of this fleet means he's going to war, and I hope I can shoot down a dozen Corsairs myself.” Seeing the startled expressions on his companions’ faces, he took a breath to calm himself. “Sorry,” he apologized. “My father was killed when Corsairs raided our village.” He couldn’t bear to mention the loss of his sister at the same time, even after all these years. He forced himself to smile and ask if it was true that the ship’s Cook used rats in the stew.

Curamir and Lingwë laughed and the conversation turned to the long list of unappetizing foods that were reputed to be served to the sailors and soldiers on Gondor’s ships. As the other two talked, Nimir gazed at the sun-glittered waters of the Anduin as the Ráca sped south. His village was a half-day’s walk northwest of the great delta at Anduin’s mouth. He wondered if they would go by any part of the river he knew. Unlikely, he decided. He wondered if he would ever see his home again, but mentally shook himself out of such dark thoughts. ‘We’re on the best ships and we have King Telumehtar. I have my bow. I'll get back all right.'