Rated M for strong language, drug/alcohol use, violence, sexual themes/situations, and love triangles.
Laeron stood silent on the prowl of the Windrunner, holding on to one of the mast ropes for support as the long carrack listed this way and that, careful to avoid rocks and reefs as it neared the beach.
Once they settled into the shoals, the boatswain shouted a command and a swarm of men piled off the deck into the shallows, driving stakes into the sands and securing the boat to them with ropes. Starboard, the sailors off the great cog Lady Aselei we're doing the same for that battered vessel.
Once they were securely docked, the discipline born of necessity that had gripped them all, soldiers and sailors alike, these last few days broke down. Some men walked ashore and kissed the sand, others broke down and wept, still more prayed to whatever gods they thought might be listening. Laeron did not join them, Hiding his own sorrow behind a composed mask. "A king must be strong" he could almost hear his father saying, and so strong he was.
He was distracted from his reverie by the Runner's first mate, now captain, an older, balding man who'd spent his entire life at sea, explaining what needs be done to get their wounded vessels truly seaworthy again. It would be a weeks labor at least on repairs, and before that, the men would need food, rest, and fresh water.
"No reason to beg my leave, you have the command, Captain. I'd only get in your way." The prince answered, somewhat more harshly than intended, and the captain bowed low and set to bellowing orders, leaving his prince the his brooding.
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