A Stowaway

Below Deck(#29443en)

The sounds of the open deeps, waves slapping against the wet wooden sides of the monstrous vessel, trail along the aisles, filling every crevice with the noise of their endless sorry. Afloat on a sea of tears, bled red with the wounds of many men, the oceans lament is unbroken by even the creaking of the boards.
Unbroken, save for the sound of a chittering rat somewhere near the casks of wine and foodstuffs, blaspheming the water's song with its insistent call. Even as you watch, another rodent scampers across the planks, going to join its fellow no doubt.

Ildamir begins to systematically search every area, compartment and space large enough to fit the smallest human beeing to find the unidentified person that lept down the hatch as he was going to seize him. At some occasions rats making sudden moves or squeels makes him jump and it is obvious that he doesn't like the wet humid environment nor the dirt and the darkness down here. He lits a lantern and keeps searching.

A angry swath of light cast by the lantern sends rodents of various sizes fleeing. A large rat, caught for a moment in the penetrating glare of reflected firelight, freezes for an instant. Then it sits up on its hind legs, its momentary surprise replaced by a red-eyed hiss. It turns and dashes off behind a crate to escape sight.

Seconds later, there is a thud from the direction of the rat's flight. A sound somewhere between the pounding of a mallet and snapping of a twig, altogether unpleasant.

Ildamir freezes and listens after the sound trying to locate exactly where it came from. He heads that direction carefully lightling the way before him. His gown of white reflects the light in a ghostly manner.

The lantern goes before Ildamir, paving the way with a flickering light, illuminating a most entertaining sight.

Behind two crates upon the ground a young boy sits, his scrawny legs spread out in front of him. He bare toes wiggle as he happily munches on a hunk of hard bread, his pale cheeks stuffed nearly to bursting on either side with his tongue pulling double-duty just to force each new mouthful back. In one hand he holds the long neck of a dark bottle of wine, the top freshly uncorked and dribbling fluid down one side, and in the other a dead rat, quite large. Its little forepaws twitch aimlessly but its beady eyes stare out without seeing, widening with each convulsive shudder.Other rats cluster around, contented with scraps and seeming like small lords in attendance of a mighty king, many making concilitory gestures, rising and then falling back to all fours.

Quite unabashed, the little rascal looks up into the oncoming light, eyes bright and expression bemused. "Aye there!" he mumbles through a smile. A hunk of bread tumbles down onto his shirt but he doesn't notice. He's too busy lifting the bottle in a salutory toast.

Ildamir stares in chock of what he see and his eyes flashes as the light of the lantern reflects in them. His gaze shifts between the boy and the rats and to the boy again clearly showing that he does not know what to think. After a while he get's his senses in line and asks, "Who are you.... And what in the name of the White tree is this?" His voice is harsh and stern, yet soft and clear.

"We're having us a royal feast!" the boy calls out in a voice muddled by interposing hunks of bread. He lifts the bottle higher in a triumphant gesture, sloshing a bit of wine out. It splashes down into the head of one obsequious little rodent, exacting a cry of irritated humiliation. The chitterings of his kin seem filled with amusement as the little beast rapidly paws at his face, rolling around on the deck.
"Ay, sorry lil' bugger," the youth says as he chokes down the bread. "Didn't mean it." Dropping his eyes to his side, he stares at the large dead rat mournfully. "Ol' Imrahil 'ere bit me, he did. Seemed a tad afright of something." Without another thought, he tosses the rat aside. "But that just means we have room for one more!" he says raising his eyes to the bewildered squire. "Take a seat next to Forlong there..." He points to a scampy rat, with fading grey hair and a huge belly, gnawing on a small bone. "Just push him over if he don't move. He can't get along too well now adays."

Ildamir looks at the rats and the boy in astonishment. "This is impossible!?" he speaks with broken voice. He takes a step back staring at the odd scene before him with growing fear.

A flash of vexation crosses the child's face, streaking his undernourished pallor with confusion, and insecurity. "What, ye don't like our fare?" he asks, setting the bottle down with a thump. "Can't find any better anywhere 'round this place." Almost immediately, he corrects himself. "'Cepting up at the marble house on the hill. I hear they eat pretty good there." Casting his eyes down to a piece of bread in his lap, he grows slightly sullen. He breaks off a piece and tosses it towards the rodents, watching them scramlbe for it. One bigger rat is hastily slapping the others aside, clutching greedily at the bread as he slaps the others away. "Ay, Boromir, let the other's have some," he comments, kicking out at the thuggish creature. "Ain't all yours, y'know."

Ildamir looks at the rats in disgust. He takes a step forth and with his foot he kicks at a few to keep them away from his path as he walks over to the boy and grabs him by his clothes and pulls him with him towrds the hatch and the ladder.

The wind is knocked out of the young boy as he is snatched up and he only manages with the selfless devotion of the poor to victuals to retain his grasp on the wine bottle. "Ay, put me down you big oaf!" he calls, stretching, trying to wrench himself free. "You've done stepped on poor Faramir! He ain't never done nothin' to you."

Upstairs to The Hyarmentir(#4957ae)

Ildamir climbs up the ladders dragging and pulling a boy with him. Well on the deck the boy is dragged by a firm grip of his clothes towards his Lords.

Helorondur sets down his wine glass and, without thinking about it, brings his hand to his sword-hilt. "What is this, squire?"

Gamin struggles with all the fierce tenacity of a drowning cat, kicking out and squirming this way and that, trying in vain to defeat the devastating grip of his captor. Through it all, he manages somehow to hold onto a bottle from below deck. "Ay, I told you to let me go. Put me down and give me a stick and I'll beat you proper, but it's beneath me to strike at you like this, it is. Le'me go, knave!"

Sirion looks calmly on at the struggle and says, "A stowaway it would seem."

Ildamir looks at the child with scorn in his face. "This boy is mad... He speaks and dines with the rats...." he looks up at his cousin with a spooked expression, "He held court with them Milord.... Called them by names of Gondorian Lords." he looks down at the boy again with his scornfilled eyes and drops him before Helorondur.

Sirion arches a brow, "I wonder which rat was the Bragollach?"

"Ay, yer the bastard who stomped on Faramir," the kid calls to Ildamir as he falls, landing on the deck with an unceremonious thud. Momentary surprise at his freedom silences him, but quick as a snake he's back on his feet, looking around him with bold caution.

Sirion says to Helorondur, "An well mannered in ettiquette it would seem as well."

Helorondur glances to Lord Sirion with a ... chuckle? He turns again to the urchin. "No where to run, child. Unless you can swim very well. Have you a name?" Helorondur looks more annoyed than concerned.

Gamin slides his eyes back and forth, trying to maintain a healthy, antagonistic caution that would suit any captive well. But the weight of his years is not yet heavy enough to keep his natural predilection for speaking concealed, and the wary look in his eyes sluffs off by rapid degrees as his tongue loosens. "Most people are just fond 'a saying 'Aye, you!'" he replies, gesturing wildly with his bottle. "But my me-ma calls me Gamin sometimes, but it ain't like I see 'er much, y'know?" He shrugs his shoulders, slouching a bit as he looks down at his feet, the light in
his eyes fading. "Call me what you'd like," he continues, they looks up smartly, his vigor returning. "I should like to be called 'Sir' though, if its no small matter to you. I figure its suits one of my stature, don'choo?"

Helorondur laughs at the boy's words. "Indeed, Sir Rat-lord the Bold!" Nay. Gamin you shall be. At least until you exit this vessel, whether to land or water I know not?" He turns to the others present, looking for their opinions.

"I can flap like a fish!" the boy chirps up, in a helpful manner, with a dash of pride. "I already had a dip this month and got clean well enough, tho', so I'd 'preciate it if you'd get set me down somewheres nice and dry, perhaps where there's some horses or such?"

Helorondur chuckles softly, this time keeping his gaze fixed on the young stowaway. "A dry place you shall find if you stop eating rats, and aid the galley-master to fix the meals. Else you'll need a set of gills. Do you know anything of scullery, boy?"