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Old 09-24-2004, 09:03 AM   #292
Mithadan
Spirit of Mist
 
Join Date: Jul 2000
Location: Tol Eressea
Posts: 3,310
Mithadan is a guest at the Prancing Pony.Mithadan is a guest at the Prancing Pony.
A brisk breeze carried particles of sand and grit through the air. To Baran, it seemed that most of the dust lodged itself in his beard and hair. He scratched at his chin and growled an oath under his breath. The night air had been soothing at first, but as the heat rose, he became increasingly uncomfortable. "How can men live in places such as this?" he muttered under his breath. As they moved away from the sea, the land grew increasingly barren and had an unsavory look, at least to the Beorning. But at least they were no longer at sea.

The trip down the river Anduin demonstrated quickly that Baran possessed not seafaring skills of any sort. After several abortive attempts to assist the sailors with the rigging and the sails, baran had been relegated to lesser duties, such as mopping the deck (the crew had insisted upon calling it "swabbing") and moving the heavy stones in the cargo holds to adjust the ballast. But soon even these simple duties were beyond him. For they emerged from the mouths of the Anduin and took to the seas in their journey south.

The sea! He recalled the Elves of Rivendell singing songs about the sea. It had sounded exciting and romantic to the Beorning. But once they had taken to the waves, Baran began to feel strange. It was as if his eyes could not focus properly and his feet would not stay steady beneath him. He felt as if there was constant motion, challanging his sense of balance... and soon his balance lost. Worse yet, his balance was soon followed by his lunch... and his dinner... and the next morning's breakfast.

"Fix your eyes on a set point on the horizon," advised one of the sailors as Baran had staggered by on his way to the rail. "Breathe steadily and deeply. It will pass." But it did not. Baran spent days on end doing little but leaning on (or over) the rail or lying in his darkened cabin with his forearm over his eyes. He had little to drink but water and less to eat. Piosenniel became concerned that he would be little more than a weakling and a burden when they reached land. She did not have to worry long.

One evening, he staggered down the hall outside the kitchen (they insisted on calling it the "galley") when a sailor had stopped him with a cup of beer in his hand. "No sea legs, eh?" the sailor cackled. "Well make sure you steer clear of my cabin. Wouldn't want you to have to clean more than you already have to." Baran had stopped in his tracks and growled beep in his throat, his eyes fixing on the sailor. "Whew," his tormentor continued with a wave of his hand. "Stay clear of me as well. You smell worse than the harbor at low tide..." Faragaer had happened by at just that moment, to the sailor's good fortune, for Baran had grasped him by his collar and lifted him into the air.

"Please," laughed Faragaer. "If you don't like my crewman, please don't harm him. We may have need of him someday if only for shark's bait." He glared at the flailing crewman as Baran dropped him none too gently to the deck. "Come!" Faragaer continued. "I will try and help." He escorted Baran into the galley and sat him at a table. The crewmen nearby slid away, seeing the color of the Beorning's face. But Faragaer tore off a crust of bread and handed it to Baran. "Bread only," he warned. "No butter or honey and no meats, at least for now. Chew slowly and thoroughly and wash it down with water." Baran looked dubious, but nibbled at the bread. "That's right," said Faragaer. "Now look at my face as you eat. Look at nothing else." The Beorning chewed and swallowed. For a moment, he seemed to turn green, but then he took another bite and chewed grimly.

The remainder of the trip had not been as bad, but Baran stayed below decks most of the time, shunning the sight of the constantly moving waves. When they reached their anchorage and the skiffs were lowered, he was the first aboard. He had crawled up onto the shore and laid down on the ground with his arms spread wide. "Thank the Valar..." he said and many other blessings besides. That night he had eaten like.... well, like a bear, until Piosenniel warned him not to empty their packs on his first night ashore. "Ashore," he liked the sound of that word....
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