Faramir Fiction Archive

Naval Training (NC-17)

Written by Nerey Camille

18 October 2013 | 8901 words | Work in Progress

The boatswain was coming fast towards them. Éomer made a dash for the stairs. One glance around assured Nargorn that everything was secured; he then knelt at the side of the injured man and ascertained that he was not dead, only unconscious.

“Call Findegil,” he said briefly.

“Here he comes, sir,” said Faramir, as Éomer preceded the healer on the deck.

Findegil was a shrewd, even-tempered man. As soon as he saw him, Nargorn’s tense face showed relief. He ordered some men to assist the healer in carrying Boron below, then turned to Faramir.

“You did well,” he said, eyeing him sharply for a moment, “and I shall take care to inform the captain. But you,” he added, looking at Éomer with disgust, “are the most worthless, incapable, disgraceful landsman I ever saw. What your people were thinking when they sent you here, I am sure I don’t know.” His voice grew louder with every sentence. “Men ten times your worth are kept out of this ship so that there is room for you, Lord Éomer of Rohan; so that you should have the luxury of learning a craft you will never need nor master. That much I have endured. But that better men than you,” he was shouting now, “should be injured by your fault – for that I will make you pay dearly. You will remain below for the next ten days, except when you are on watch. Though I shall endeavour to keep you from any task in which you might cause serious damage, you had better refrain from making any mistake while I am watching you. In addition to your usual duties, you shall find time to clean the deck all by yourself every morning, so that other men can rest. Thus you shall atone for the extra load of work that your incompetence and Boron’s injury are to give the rest of the crew. And to help you remember to pay attention when you are handling a sail, you shall receive ten strokes of the whip.”

Éomer’s face had become as white as the sails. Faramir could not believe his ears. He spoke before the knot tightening in his throat prevented him.

“My lord, surely Lord Éomer’s mistake does not justify a whipping…”

Nargorn rounded on him at once.

“Are you questioning my judgement, midshipman?”

“No – I mean…” The honest answer was “Yes”, but naval discipline was severe. No man might question the decisions of a superior officer, not even the son of the Steward. Except that this was a case of flagrant injustice.

“Better so. You are a fine officer, Faramir, do not let this brat spoil you. Lord Éomer, since that is how you like to be called – another ten strokes of the whip for trying to influence your shipmate into pampering you.”

Faramir gaped. Éomer was looking at him with eyes that were half-pleading, half-reproaching. He closed his mouth.

Faramir had been right. There was so much to learn. Éomer had never been much of a scholar – people in Rohan did not study, they just practiced. Songs and legends were about all the theoretical knowledge they had. But here in Gondor – there were lessons on Gilgondor every day, difficult calculations to make, lots of abstract concepts to grasp. And all the technical words were in their own speech that was unfamiliar to him. They talked in the Common Language, the only one they all understood, but neither him nor the others were used to communicate complex thoughts in that tongue. It tired Éomer to speak it all day – and he knew that the others reverted to Gondorian whenever he was out of earshot.

It was hard to understand commands given at short notice and indistinctly more often than not. Almost as hard as to obey them. Just as he had feared, being on a ship was nothing like riding a horse. He felt clumsy, as he never had in Rohan; and not only did he feel it, he knew he was. During the first weeks it was one mistake after another: knots done incorrectly, so that they slipped or were impossible to untie; pulling the wrong line or not making it fast in its rightful place; storing gear where it did not belong and not remembering where it was afterwards. By the Valar, he could hardly find his own way under the ship the first few days.

The men were patient. They didn’t scold him, even if they shouted sometimes, for urgency, when his error came at a particularly critical moment. Afterwards they showed him how to do it correctly, again and again. They seemed to understand – all except Nargorn.

The boatswain had started making his life difficult on the very first day, and had continued ever since. The violent reprimands in front of everyone were humiliating enough, but they were not the worst of it. Éomer soon learned that there was an infinite number of ways for an officer to make a subordinate miserable on a ship, and Nargorn seemed to know them all. Serving the captain’s dinner below the deck when he was turning green from seasickness; emptying the bilge in rough weather, down where it stank and there was no light and the ship jumped like a wild horse; having to wake every half hour to ring the ship’s bell after a long day’s work: it was all exactly calculated to make him feel weak, aching and terribly afraid that he might not be able to fulfil his duty. And then…

It would have been very difficult to bear but for Faramir. Being almost as new to sea life as he was, the young man could very well relate to Éomer’s difficulties. And he stood by his side with a sense of comradeship that Éomer could only define as “whatever may come”. Quietly, but attentively, he ensured that Éomer didn’t fall short of what was expected of him. Sometimes he would whisper a word of encouragement at the precise moment when Éomer felt he couldn’t carry on; sometimes he would show an interesting sight to distract the youth from sleepiness or sickness. Most invaluably, he often stayed awake out of hours trying to knock some of the hardest concepts into Éomer’s head, searching relentlessly for the simplest way to explain them so that the boy would be able to understand and remember. The truth was, he often managed to make Éomer’s head ache, but the Rohir was grateful all the same. The effort showed that Faramir cared – and it felt so good to have a friend to go through hell with you.

Sometimes they discussed Nargorn’s behaviour. They heartily agreed that it was unfair – but why he would adopt it, neither could tell. The boatswain had always been strict, but just, Faramir said; and Éomer soon appreciated his equity towards the other men. He was the only exception.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

Enjoyed this story? Then be sure to let the author know by posting a comment at https://www.faramirfiction.com/fiction/naval-training. Positive feedback is what keeps authors writing more stories!