[Lalwendë]

The dreamless darkness slowly subsided and Tarn awoke from the deep sleep he had fallen into. His eyes had been wiped clean of the blood which had streamed across them and set hard, but some of the congealed blood was still stuck to his eyelashes and he winced as he opened his eyelids. Automatically, he lifted his hand to his face to pick the bloody coating off and he let out a low, hissing gasp as he felt the pain searing across his chest.

He reached to touch the place where he had felt the pain, and found that his coat and layers of sweaters had been removed and replaced with a cotton shirt. He felt inside the shirt and found that his ribs had been tightly bandaged with strips of linen cloth. Who had done this? And where was he? A sense of panic rose and he almost screamed aloud with pain as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He looked about him and saw that he was in a small, low ceilinged cabin; he heard water and realised he must be on a ship.

Tarn’s eyes widened as the frightening thought came to him that the Elves may have taken him captive. Looking round, he saw a door, and it did not look locked. He had to get out of there, whatever the pain he might feel, whatever the cost to his strength. But he could not see his normal clothes, and in particular his coat, which contained his only weapon, the knife. He felt dizzy, but he could not give in and lie back down. From what he had heard, these Elves disappeared over the seas from time to time and were never heard of again. That was not going to happen to him, of this he was determined.

Putting his feet to the floor, he was relieved to find at least his boots had not been removed. He lifted up the mattress of the bunk he had been lying on, but his personal effects were not concealed under there. He scanned the room and could find no cubby holes. Then, bending down to examine some of the panelling, he stumbled giddily and crashed into the wall with a great racket.

“Ho! What’s going on in there?” boomed a loud voice. Angry footsteps came rapidly towards the door and then it was flung open. A large, bearded man with blackened, frostbitten fingers stood there, glaring at Tarn. “What are you doing, man? Are you a fool?” he roared.

“Regan!” gasped Tarn, clutching the edge of the bunk, to keep himself steady. “Where am I? I thought I was going off to some Elven prison. Am I on Marreth’s ship?”

“And where else might you be? “ said the man with a grim, short laugh. “Think Corsairs abandon their own do you?”

“But I…”

“Enough, you fool. You are one of our own, or so says I. A man who is decent enough to rescue me, I will make sure he gets the best of care. And besides, the Captain himself bore you back to shore, strapped over a barrel, like a bloody haunch of meat.”

Regan was bluff, but it was his way. Tarn appreciated and understood it. He was feeling pain, but no agony would grip him so hard that he could not still present himself as a tough and resilient man. Regan had bandaged and bathed Tarn himself, he saw it as a return of the favour, the right thing to do for a comrade in arms.

“You’ve a fair souvenir there,” said Regan, laughing grimly again. “Have you seen yourself?” Tarn had not seen the full extent of his injuries. He remembered the broken nose, and the cracked ribs, but the injuries inflicted by the maniacal bird had slipped from his mind, so delirious had he been during the attack.

“Follow me”, said Regan. He did not offer a helpful arm to Tarn, that would be going too far. But at least he walked slowly from the cabin and up the gangway towards the mess room. Once there, he pointed to a mirror on the wall, and Tarn, swallowing hard, looked up at his reflection nervously. He saw the bruises on his face first, but then turning slightly to one side, saw that a chunk of the top of his ear was missing, the gash crudely stitched together. He leaned forwards to take a closer look and examined himself as any dandy might examine himself in a new suit of clothes. A slight smile crept across his face.

“That’s a corker, aint it?” said Regan. “A real beauty”. Tarn laughed as hard as he could and agreed that it was a spectacular injury. The broken nose was nothing new, he’d snap it back in place when he had the nerve. But this, it was a truly impressive wound. He admired himself once more and sank down onto a bench as the pain surged through his ribs once more.