[Arvedui III]

The sea was a very reflective thing, Telson decided. Well, it was a very reflective thing when it wasn't making him sick, anyway.

Now the undisputed (and self-proclaimed) master of the medicinal uses of licorice, the sea had stopped being such a force of vengeance upon him for one unspeakable evil or another, and started to be something that just was. Most of his assimilation towards it happened on the night after the battle. He had not bothered going to Sedal for his hurts, Telson knew enough about battle surgeons to understand that a minor, if rather itchy, flesh wound like his would only waste the man's time; And so instead he had sat, hunched quietly behind a port catapult nursing the burning cut with only the sea for company all that sleepless night. Afterward, it reminded him of his first day in the dessert during his service at Poros, where he hated the heat and the sand with an abiding passion. But, in time he came to accept that it would always be as it was. It did not change the fact that it was, but his anger towards it had more or less turned into minor annoyance. And here, he chided himself, was the central lesson.

Nothing would change for him, not the sea nor the heat of the sands. He would have to change.

And so he had, becoming a little more competent on ship. But alas, even as he accomplished this, Avershire noticed. Avershire noticed, and then promptly stuck Telson on a watch. It was enough to brake a man's heart. Part of the reason he had not yet drowned himself was because he actually could sleep for more than four hours at a time, and now the gift was taken away from him because of the captain's bad temper. Telson could only weather the bad fortune as only he knew how: With as much logic, perspective (and pandering) as he could muster. By now most of the crew on his watch knew enough to leave him and his licorice be -although he had finally given Callath and Calnan their original shares- and as to the watches themselves...Well, Lolliway also knew enough about him to recognize which tasks he could preform and which he would inevitably botch.

So the watches were not that bad at all.

After just coming off a rather unproductive four hours spent on lookout, Telson saw Callath's back coming out of Sedal's ward. Ahh, paying a call on Thrann, then. Admirable way to spend an off-watch, young sir, but for myself I choose sleep. Wearing a pleasantly-guilty smile, Telson turned to go, but then his thoughts fell on the stablehand's friend. He knew Devon had been injured, but how badly he had not bothered to find out. The only two times he was ever in a sickward were not experiences he could remember with any fondness. So he continued walking away, gnashing his teeth as went, knowing full well that his conscience would get the better of him.
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The sickroom smelled, very predicably, of sweat, flesh, and stink. No surgeon, save maybe King Elessar, had the skill or the power over Athelas for the place to have any other odor. Suddenly, he was quite content with his night behind the catapult, and felt a wave of pity for Sedal, though he guessed the man was callous to his work by now. He frowned at the half-score or so wounded, swaying with the ship in their hammocks, languishing, he supposed, in their own private hells. But he was here to find one particular hell, namely Devon Thrann's.

Thankfully, it did not take long, and indeed the surprised expression Thrann gave him was quite satisfying. So was the baffled, "Telson, what are you doing here?" Devon gave him as a greeting as Telson sat down on the stool he presumed Callath had left. "I swore to serve the true Kingsmen in Umbar, did I not?" He said with a smile, then more seriously, "How do you fare, Devon?"

"Well enough" He answered casually, but Telson could see the lie behind his eyes just as clearly as the splint on his arm, and guessed the cause of both.

"It's a handy little wound." Telson agreed, trying to hid his dismay that the boy was so pale. "You can still get a reasonable amount of sleep in a soft hammock every night."

"Avershire put you on watch and watch?" Devon asked, smiling sympathetically.

"Cranky old loon said he'd had enough of me and my seedy army ways." Telson nodded and grimaced. "Probably thinks I'm responsible for what happened to that corsair ship." At this Devon laugh, a little.

"Not that they deserve anything less," He continued, trying to weave a path to what he really wanted to say to the boy, if he was right about his wound. "At any rate, I just wanted to give my congratulations, young master Thrann." He winked mischievously. "Shoulder wounds are some of the best, less of course they take the nerve with it."

Devon winced as though he had struck him. "It did...take the nerve with it, as a matter of fact." He said in a quiet, halting voice.

"Oh." Telson said in embarrassment, even though he had already known something of the kind had happened. "Are you to lose it entirely then?"

"No. It will just be...slower than it used to." Devon answered, looking away.

Telson nodded quietly, then finally found some proper words. It would mean losing some of his ‘air of mystery' that he had with his three young allies, but still, Telson was glad to speak. "Well, there's no shame in that. I had a friend once while I was still on active, Southron blade cut his arm. Just nicked it between his armor, but the edge was poisoned, and after the surgeons were through with him he couldn't even lift an arming sword. The muckitymucks in command couldn't transfer him even if they wanted to, so he either had to find another way to fight or be mustered out of the service."

He glanced down at Devon, who had turned back to look at him in mingled curiosity and irritation, then continued, rather liking the nostalgia.

"Well, he wouldn't have that, so he learned how to use a short sword in the two week grace period he was given. I spared with him, damn fine soldier."

"What happened to him?" Devon asked, still torn between being interested and depressed, it seemed.

"He died in his first action after being returned to active duty." Telson said pleasantly, enjoying a little too much the shocked look on Thrann's face. "But the point is," He continued, "He worked around the system to serve his country, and took most of the Haradic raiders his patrol encountered with him. I carry his swords still."

Thrann looked, for the first time, inscrutable. So Telson merely smiled knowingly and drew the blade buckled on his right, propping it up against the beam near Devon's hammock. "Amrothos." He said, touching the wear-worn hilt, and then walked back onto the deck, certain that now he could enjoy his licorice in some kind of peace.