[Amanaduial the archer]

As the judge finally dismissed the court, Callath was one of the first out, battling his way through the suddenly oppressive court. The people he passed paid little attention: a tut here, a frown from there, as he elbowed his way through them. He was a mystery to these people, a contradiction within himself, a paradox: a boy who looked about seventeen or eighteen, his blonde hair flopping casually over a handsome face, no different from any other Gondorian youth really. But look closer: lean build, eyes made much older with anger and pain, marks made by ropes around his wrists and a deep, wide scar in the back of his hand, lashes across his cheek...these things marked him out as something different.

But what did they care? Callath finally got out and as the sea air hit him and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and relishing it's kind touch. The sea was something he had begun to understand...these people would never understand, just as they would never understand, or care, about the true nature of Jythralgo Doran, sea captain, corsair, and murderer of Callath's best friend...

"Callath!"

The stable boy turned to see Calnan hurrying towards him. Both of them were dressed at least partly in black, but not too formally: they had been at sea too long to take much care over the trial of a man they would both hate until the end of their days. Callath stopped walking and smiled bitterly at Calnan, but the older boy put a hand on his arm comfortingly. Callath looked away, closing his eyes against the brightness now pricking them.

"He will hang, Callath, you know he will hang. He will pay," Calnan said softly.

"Pay?!" Callath spat, angrily in reply. "How can he pay? He killed Marx, Avershire...Luc, and Devon - Calnan, he killed my best friend and...and..." he gulped and paused, then continued more quietly. "He cannot ever pay enough, and you know it. On that beach, I would have killed him with my own bare hands!" His voice had risen again until he was almost shouting, and a few people in the sober crowd spilling from the courtroom looked over at the boys. Calnan didn't say anything but rubbed Callath's arm gently, then embraced him for a second, both of them trying to take some respite.

After a moment, Callath released himself and wiped his eyes quickly, his chin held defiantly as he forced a smile. “Well, that’s it now. He will die for his crimes, even if not at my hand.” Turning to the side, he began to walk slowly, and Calnan continued beside him. The attaché didn’t speak, and for a few minutes they walked in silence, both drifting in the turbulent currents of their own thoughts. Both went to speak at the same time, but Calnan let Callath go first.

“How is Adeline?” he asked quietly. Calnan looked around, then his eyes returned to Callath’s and he sighed slightly, shaking his head a little.

“I…I honestly don’t know. It’s hard – you know, it always seemed obvious to me that she and Devon…well, you know, the way they felt about each other…” Calnan actually blushed here. Callath couldn’t help the brief burst of amusement that escaped him. “You could say that,” he laughed, shaking his hair back, his smile impish. Calnan grinned back, and for a moment, they were right back in the dusty loft above the stables, or sitting on the sea front, or resting between fencing duels in Devon’s home. Calnan continued. “I know – it seemed obvious to us, but-”

“-was it as obvious to them,” Callath finished for him. He shook his head, partly in happy reminiscence, partly in regret. “We’ll never know. I didn’t know Adeline as well as Devon, obviously, but...well, frankly, the boy’s a romantic, so the fact she stayed for so long must count for something pretty damn substantial,” he finished bluntly, grinning. Calnan smiled quietly, and Callath’s grin faded a little as he murmured an apology. “Damn sense of humour, I just can’t keep control of it…”

Calnan stopped suddenly, looking out across the sea, hands behind his back, looking suddenly even more deeply pensive and…well, business-like, Callath mused. Calnan had always seemed older, and been a closer friend of Devon than of Callath, being as they saw each other more often and Callath was not of the same station, but now Callath felt a sudden burst of friendship for the attaché. They had been through much together now, and shared the same surreal experiences that, in a few years, few would believe on retelling. Callath had been closer to others – Devon, Luc, Rilgari – but Calnan had come out of it with him. Luc and Devon were dead, Rilgari said he intended to go to sea once more, which left…

“What will you do now, Callath?”

Calnan addressed Callath whilst his eyes were on the sea and so the fact that his thoughts had so closely followed Callath’s made the younger blink in surprise. He came forward so he was beside Calnan, looking out to sea with him and digging his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers against the wind, the wind whipping his fair hair around his angular face.

“Would you go to sea again?” Calnan continued, then looked across at the other. “You know...I could see you as a captain.”

Callath snorted derisively. “I sincerely hope you’re jokin’, mate. You saw me in the first day or two, didn’t you? Brilliant captain I’d make, staggering around in the throes of sea-sickness at the start of each voyage.” He laughed, then shook his head. “No, ’way I see it, I’m not even eighteen yet and I’ve seen more action than many a pompous old ‘sailor. Besides, you saw me, Calnan, when I was fighting…” he hesitated suddenly, not sure whether to continue with what he had been about to say. The fact that he had been about to confess was that, actually, when he was fighting, he had enjoyed it. The power of the weapon, the thrill it sent through every nerve in your body…a battle rush was a very powerful drug, and the fact was that Callath knew he wouldn’t be able to get enough of it. As some got hooked on pipeweed, Callath would become hooked on battle.

Just like Doran.

Calnan was looking at him strangely and Callath glanced at the other quickly then shrugged, maybe over-nonchalantly. “Not yet, I think, Calnan. Not yet. Why, what about you?” he changed the subject rather smoothly to Calnan’s future. Looking at Calnan’s face, he guessed in an instant and grinned. Calnan frowned. “What?”

“I think we both know what you want to do?”

“What?!” Calnan was off-balance and rather confused now, but Callath shook his head mysteriously, gesturing for the other to go on. Calnan paused, then said, “I intend to return to Gondor, actually. You know, resume my job, my duties…my life, basically. I…wish to return to the White City.” He shrugged, and his over-casualness was spotted by Callath this time. He didn’t mock though, instead smiling softly. “I understand, Calnan. Stil, ‘ts a pity, you know. After…all this…” he stopped, looking out across the bay. Calnan paused, then continued.

“Actually…I was sort of wondering if you would come as well. You have not been to Gondor, have you? I should like you to see Minas Tirith, the city of Kings…would you join me, Callath?”

Callath paused for a moment, remembering Umbar, and the image of stable master Garth’s face conjured itself in front of his face. He almost visibly recoiled and shuddered. “I don’t suppose I’ve still got my old job – and sure, they have horses in Minas Tirith as well, right?” He winked and grasped Calnan’s hand firmly. “I’d be glad to join you, Calnan. Glad to.”