Part 15: Sailor’s Hornpipe

The sun was shining on the Western coast of the Eastern Kingdom. A nice stiff breeze made the water ripple and played with the flag on the stern of a small sailing vessel that made its way along the coast, the wind coming in from the starboard side, over the ocean, all the way from Kalimdor. Captain Andral Fairbreeze was at the helm, but to be honest, this wind was so perfect that he hardly had to touch it. The ship would find its way, gently rolling on the waves. The Captain’s eyes were on the sea ahead, and a blissful smile was on his weathered face. The only slight discord in this otherwise perfect picture was one of the landcrawlers hanging over the side, trying to throw up from an empty stomach. Next to the Captain stood the Lieutenant, one hand on the railing. He was showing good taste by quietly taking in the beauty of the sea, and not spoiling the mood with unnecessary talk. The sea was perfect, the sail was perfectly trimmed, and crew and passengers were dotted on the deck, either doing rope-work or simply enjoying the sunshine. All was right with the world.


Selena was sitting on a crate, leaning against the fo’c’sle, looking up at the bridge. He wasn’t even looking in her direction. Was he avoiding her gaze? Why? Selena sighed. She was out of his class, out of his league, not to be considered. There wasn’t a thing she could do about that, but by the Light, what difference did it make? She… Selena looked at her feet. What use was it? He didn’t want her.

“Greetings, fair lady.”

Selena looked round, to see Kuryon Swellrider standing next to her. Now this Elf would probably try it on with Lady Jaina Proudmoore herself, should she find herself on board. Observe and learn, Lieutenant.

“How is it, that one so beautiful can look so sad?”

Selena laughed. “I’ll wager you say that to all the girls.”

“Oh, to capture that smile,” said Kuryon. “I wish I were a painter of renown, so I could paint your image, golden hair, eyes of a shade of blue which no name would do justice. Painstakingly to capture each and every spot on your face, in its right and proper place. It would be the work of years, but they would be years of pure bliss!”

With a big grin, Selena dredged the memory and the vocabulary of some of the more trashy books she’d borrowed from the maids at the Caer without her father’s knowledge.

“Oh Sir, surely you jest. Did I not see you speak as ardently to our brave pikeman? I fear you speak as fairly to any girl. Am I to be one of your many conquests?”

Kuryon clutched his chest.

“You wound me, fair lady. Other women, and I weep having to refer to them in the same terms as you, may be diamonds, but you, you are the Sun! Oh to burn in the radiance of your body! It would be my finest hour, though it be my last.”

Um… right. What was the proper translation for ‘bugger off?’ Words like ‘my heart belongs to another’ sprang to mind, where ‘if you think you’re going to see me with my clothes off you’ve got another thing coming’ probably wouldn’t do.

“Excuse me?”

Selena took a quick breath. Joseph was standing next to Kuryon. On his face was that specific calm look that very clearly said that violence, of course, was out of the question, as it could only lead to people getting hurt. Selena’s heart was beating faster, and she didn’t even try to hide the look on her face.

Kuryon turned to Joseph Smith, with a polite nod.


“I believe the captain thinks your skills are most efficiently used at the helm aft, and I agree with him, as you are definitely a bit for’ard.”

Kuryon looked quickly from Smitty to Selena, muttered “Aye, Sir” and went aft. Selena gave the Lieutenant her best damsel-in-distress smile.

“Thank you, Joseph. It’s good to see you do care for me.”

“My orders are to bring you safe, sound and whole back to the castle, Lady Selena.”

Selena looked sadly at Joseph. “Are your orders really the only reason why you’re taking care of me?”

Smitty looked away for a moment. Then, he looked back into Selena’s eyes.

“I am a soldier, Lady Selena. I defend those who cannot defend themselves. Civilians unskilled in fighting. My leaders. I offer myself as a weapon for them to use as they see fit, because I have the skills to do so, and to use them is my purpose in life. At this moment, it is my duty to keep you safe from marauding Undead and forward Night-elves. I will do what I must to do that duty.”

Smitty turned round, and went aft to join the Captain on the bridge.

Kuryon finished coiling up a rope, and hung it on one of the clamps. He walked up to Smitty.

“I do offer my most humble apologies, Lieutenant, for my impertinence towards Lady Selena.”

Smitty gave him a look, then looked South again.

“I did not know that she was yours,” said Kuryon, “Otherwise, I would never have spoken as I did.”

Smitty slowly turned his eyes to Kuryon.

“She is not mine,” he said.

“Tea’s hot! Get it while you can!”

Everyone who didn’t have any pressing duties wandered down amidships, where Freja Ravenwing put down the large teapot on the deck, next to a bucket full of mugs.

“Any milk?” said Selena.

Freja gave her a strange look. “Milk? I’m afraid not. Goes off in two days. Have some tea instead.”

Selena blinked. Ah. Night-elves. She sipped some tea without milk. Mint. Oh well, it’ll do. She saw Hieronimo standing at the railing, looking out to sea, grabbed another mug, filled it from the teapot and brought it over to her.


Selena pushed the tea mug into Hieronimo’s hands.

“There’s no milk, but it’s Night-elf tea. ‘s Not bad. And it’s hot.”

“Don’t like tea much anyway,” said Hieronimo.

“Don’t you mean Night-elves?”

Hieronimo tried some of the tea, and said nothing.

“We’re going to be on this ship for just a few more days, you know. You could try talking to them.”

Hieronimo looked over her shoulder. Filyen was sitting on the deck, long legs stretched out in front of her, head leaning back against the mast. Freja handed her a mug of tea, and she smiled her thanks.

“Can’t sleep. I sleep right next to them.”

Selena stared. “Oh come on. Surely, they don’t?”

“Not so far,” said Hieronimo.

“Are you sure you aren’t worrying a bit too much? At all? Who cares what they do anyway?”


“Look, you silly woman. Have you even talked to them? They’re nice.”

They looked over. Berrin was telling Freja about one of his fishing trips as a boy. Berrin held his arms out to show how big the trout was, and Freja kindly helped him with her much longer arms. Everybody was laughing. Selena put her arm round Hieronimo’s shoulder, and dragged her over. Hieronimo sat down on the deck, clutching her tea. Selena sat down next to her.

Filyen looked up. “Are we missing someone?”

“Our Brian Miss,” said Swordsman Alan. “He’s taken ill with the waves, and is lying sick abed below decks.”

“What, still?”

She got up, and went below decks. Slight groaning sounds led her to one of the hammocks, where Brian Rhodes lay ill. Someone had put a bucket next to him. He’d used it. Not quite as well as one could want. Filyen put a hand on his shoulder.

“How are you, Soldier?”

Brian looked up. “I’m dying, Miss. The White Lady beckons, and soon I must follow.” Another fit of retching took him, and Filyen quickly held the bucket in front of him. Brian wiped his mouth, lay back and closed his eyes.

“Oh we can’t have this.”

Filyen walked out, taking the disgusting bucket with her. She tossed the bucket over board, holding on to the rope, and pulled it up. Then, she went to her own bunk and found a bottle. She returned to the stricken soldier.

“Hey. Drink this.”

It took a bit of doing, but finally, she got him to drink a few sips of potion. He blinked, and somehow forced himself to drink a bit more.

“There. Can’t have a promising military career cut short by sea-sickness.”

Brian looked up into Filyen’s eyes.

“Thank you Miss, but I fear it is too late for me.”

“Have faith, Soldier.”


“But what is it that worries you? Is it the difference in size? I assure you, true beauty cannot be measured in hands, or inches.”

Berrin quietly nudged Freja with his elbow.

“That girl is not old enough for that kind o’thing. If he puts a finger on ‘er…”

Freja sighed. “Don’t worry. There’s never any danger of that. He’s all talk, but…”

“Bugger off!” Hieronimo glared at Kuryon.

“Ah,” said Freja. “There. All solved. It does help to have a frank talk, doesn’t it?”

“Aye it does,” said Berrin, satisfied.

Kuryon hung his head, turned towards Sandra Pike, who was sitting on his other side. He opened his mouth to say something.

“Any port in a storm, Sailor?” Pikeman Pike gave him a steady look with eyes made of steel. “Do feel free to tell me just how pretty I am. You’ve told everyone else. Is it my turn now?”

Kuryon sadly turned his eyes away. Freja chuckled.


Cullan somewhat unsteadily walked to the front of the boat, to find Nægling staring out over the sea, and handed her a mug of strong, hot mint tea.

“It is teatime amidships, Sister.”

“Thank you,” said Nægling, accepting her tea and tasting it.

“They seem to be enjoying themselves.”

“Able Seaman Swellrider enjoys telling ladies how beautiful they are,” said Nægling. “I’m sure my turn will come eventually.”

Cullan stared out over the sea, stretching out in front of the ship. The ship was finding its way along the green coast.

“I have seen you fight, Sister. I assure you, for my part, you have nothing to fear even from the young Night-elf.”

“Thank you. In your more ‘Bloody Mary’ persona, you are quite a capable fighter yourself.”

“In Gilnean rhyming slang,” said Cullan. “I am a church. Church organ… I never knew anyone outside Gilneas knew of it. But then again, my knowledge fails beyond the Wall.”

Nægling said nothing.

“What is the City of Stormwind like?”

“Busy. Large. Rich. A skilled household servant need not fear for lack of employment there. Nor a Rogue.”

Cullan took a deep breath of fresh sea air.

“I will never return to that sort of life,” he said. “That way lies madness. The laws of that world are harsher even than those that are in the light of day.”

“They are?”

“One woman was beaten to death, for revealing secrets.”

“Treason is punishable by death,” said Nægling. “Even among Paladins.”

“These were no secrets of war. They were… embarrassing truths. Depravities.”

“Perhaps the truth is a powerful weapon in such places.”

“True,” said Cullan. “It could ruin a Lord. Ruin a business that had existed for nearly a century.”

Nægling studied Cullan’s face, the unemotional mask he used to hide himself from the world. He was well used to it, living in a world where only his labour was desired. He was a tool, a pair of capable hands. His personality, his self was so unimportant that his masters hardly ever realised it was there. Nobody knew his feelings. Showing them was not helpful, so he never did. The only hint that there might be something amiss, was the mask itself.

“It is a violent place,” said Cullan. “People go about their business, up in the light, and never even notice that they are in a warzone. The canals of Gilneas take the casualties of war, and carry them to the sea, with no-one the wiser. I am glad to be away from it.” He looked at Nægling. “If Stormwind has such an under-world, Sister, please don’t tell me. I do not wish to know.”


“By the Light Everlasting! The dead are walking among us!” Swordsman Gerald pointed a trembling finger. “He lives… again!”

“It’s over! I am cured!” Swordsman Brian Rhodes put his hand on his stomach. “It is gone!”

Sailor Filyen Mistgaze, who had been up on the bridge, came walking down the stairs. Brian Rhodes ran towards her, wrapped his arms round her and pulled her to him.

“Thank you, Miss. Thank you. You have cured me.”

Filyen, who was a full head taller than Swordsman Rhodes, looked down and searched his face for any ulterior motives he might have for laying his head to rest upon her rather nice bosom. There didn’t seem to be any except the sheer joy of not throwing up every five minutes.

There was a shout from the Captain, who was leaning on the railing to the bridge, a little grin on his face.

“Mistgaze! You know the rules. No fraternising with the cargo!”

Filyen looked up at her Captain. “Can’t help it Sir. Saw him hanging over the side the other day and passion just took over.”

Swordsman Rhodes looked up to her with tears in his eyes.

“Thank you, Miss. Your potion has saved me.”

“Hold on,” said Filyen. She disappeared below decks for a moment, to return carrying a bucket and a brush. She stood before Swordsman Rhodes.

“Behold. Here are the Chalice of Cleansing, and the Staff of Ablution. They are used thusly: Toss the Chalice over the wall, being sure to hold on to the rope, that it may be filled with the Home of Neptulon. Then pour it upon the deck and apply the Staff. And keep on scrubbing until this deck is fit for our Blessed Lady Herself to walk upon.”

Swordsman Rhodes looked from Filyen’s face to the brush and bucket in his hands. He turned round to the side.

“Wait,” said Filyen. “If you’re hungry, see Freja first.”

Swordsman Rhodes made off towards the kitchen. Kuryon walked up, and frowned at Filyen.

“Potion? What potion?”

Filyen shrugged. “Genièvre and lemon. Nothing special.”

Sandra Pike grinned. “He was feeling ill, and a cute chick came to him, and gave him his medicine. Would have been a bit rude not to get better.”

Swordsman Gerald put a hand on his stomach. “I don’t feel so good.”

Selena stepped into the galley, and knocked on the doorframe. Freja looked up from her work.

“Young lady? How may I help you?”

Selena looked uneasy, half considering making something up, but the problem was starting to get pressing.

“Um, are there any, uh, places where…”

Freja’s eyes gleamed at the child of hardly twenty summers.

“Aft below,” she said, with a wink. “In Common, they call it the poop deck. Such a charming language, Common.”

“Uh, yeah. Been there. Lovely and cool about the nethers. But it’s been a few days since I last, uh, had a bath.” Selena looked pleadingly at Freja. “What do you do?”

Freja resisted the temptation to say that Night-elves were naturally clean creatures who did not need to bathe.

“Well, when it’s just the five of us, we drop the sail, drop the anchor, strip off and jump into the sea. We’ve been together for more than twenty years. There isn’t much left that we haven’t seen each other do.”

“Ah,” said Selena. In the great collection of plans, this did not seem like one of the good ones.

“But when we have passengers, they usually take buckets of water ahead of the fo’c’sle. Ask Filyen for some soap that works with sea water, and tell the men to stay aft for a while.”


Selena did a lap of the ship, rounding up all the women: Pikeman Pike, Nægling, Filyen. Freja had washed recently in the galley, which was the Cook’s privilege, which left only…

“I’m fine,” said Hieronimo.

“Not on yer life,” said Selena. “We all sleep within two feet of each other. Get yourself over here.”

Hieronimo allowed herself to be moved for’ard, grumbling about hygiene being all well and good but you could exaggerate it.

The ladies gathered in front of the fo’c’sle. The fo’c’sle on a ship is a deck, raised somewhat above the main deck. On the Aviana’s Wingbeat, it had the crew quarters underneath, or when there were as many passengers as there were now, a few extra hammocks were hung up there. Selena loved her hammock. Once you managed to get in, which was no small feat on a moving ship, it was amazingly comfortable, and it rocked gently with the movements of the ship.

The girls started taking their clothes off and pulling up buckets of water, when there was someone whistling a soldier’s tune above them, to the sound of a scrubbing brush.

Sandra Pike, who still had her shirt on, stuck a head above the deck, and scowled. She dropped back down.

“It’s Swordsman Stanley Gerrald. Ever hopeful, the git. I’m still decent. Want me to have a quick word with the LT?”

“Goodness, no,” said Filyen. “Mustn’t bother the superior officers with such things. Hang on.”

She leaped lightly up, grabbed the forestay and pulled herself up hand over hand, then swung back and landed, barefoot, on the deck. She stood in front of Swordsman Stanley Gerald wearing nothing but a wavering smile, hand on her hip.

“Um, soldier?” Filyen bit her lip. “I’ve noticed you staring at my breasts. I was just wondering.” She looked into Stanley’s eyes. “Is there anything wrong with them?”

Stanley was too busy staring with his mouth hanging open to answer for a few moments. Then he quickly shook his head.

“No Miss. Nono. There’s, um… They’re absolutely fine.”

Filyen beamed at him. “Oh thank you. I’ve been so worried.” She bent over a bit closer.

“I think you missed a spot somewhere amidships. I’m afraid poor Brian was a bit slow getting to the railing.”

Stanley saluted, remembered that this was a civilian, and dropped his arm.

“I’ll see to it immediately, Miss.” He ran. Filyen dropped back down on the foredeck, an evil grin on her face. Pikeman Pike had collapsed in a little heap laughing.

“That was commendably efficient,” said Nægling. She took off her robes. Everyone quickly looked away, but she didn’t seem to notice.

The girls spent half an hour pouring sea water over each other, and the grime of a week on board was washed away. Then, they took turns sticking their heads in a bucket of soapy water. Selena was helping Nægling by gently pouring water over her head, trying not to stare at her scars.

“Say, Sandra. There aren’t any girls’ changing rooms or bath rooms at the Caer, are there?”

“Nope,” said Sandra. “We’re all one happy family.”

“So how do you do that, then?”

Sandra shrugged. “We’re not men and women there. We’re all soldiers. Boys don’t stare, and girls don’t parade their tits about.”

“Hm. So what was he doing up there, then?”

“Dunno. Maybe he wanted to know what an Elf or Dwarf looks like.”

“Always happy to help,” said Filyen, brightly.

Nægling’s hair was done. Next up was Hieronimo. Filyen ran her hand through Hieronimo’s long, blonde hair.

“Oh you’ve got lovely hair,” said Filyen. “Just gone a bit dry. Needs a bit of oil afterwards. Let me get you some soap.”

Hieronimo looked round, eyes burning.

“Do you mind? Keep yer hands to yerself!”

A sudden hush descended on the foredeck. Filyen stared at the dwarf girl, muttered an apology, put on her clothes, and left for the bridge.

Selena glowered at Hieronimo.

“Now what by the flaming hells was that good for?”

“Bloody mistake coming here in the first place,” said Hieronimo. She pulled her clothes on and stomped off.


Filyen was leaning on the aft railing, staring at the wake. Selena came up next to her, and put a hand on her shoulder. Filyen sighed.

“What have I done to offend her?”

Selena shook her head. “Nothing. You’ve done nothing wrong. You were just being nice. It’s just…”

“What did she think I’d do?”

Selena took a deep breath. “Well, you Elves have a bit of a reputation among the Dwarves. And Humans.”


“Well, for being a bit, um… loose. A bit wild.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s heard that there’s Elf girls who like other Elf girls.”

Filyen said nothing. Her eyes settled on Selena.

“In… bed,” said Selena, looking away.

“Yes. There are. What’s that got to do with it?”

“Well, Dwarves don’t do that. Also, you Elves can have lots of boyfriends at the same time. Dwarves don’t do that either.”

“Did she think I was going to seduce her?”

“Don’t think she really thought that, it’s just that the idea gives her the squicks. So she jumped and snapped.”

Filyen took a deep breath, slowly let it escape. “I don’t even look for girls. I have a boyfriend in Auberdine, and someone in Rut’theran village. He’s mostly away, though. Fiery nights whenever we both happen to be in port at the same time.”

“So you’ve never even done it with a girl. Oh great. What a bloody mess.” Selena looked into Filyen’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m one hundred and forty years old,” said Filyen. “Of course, I’ve made love to a woman. You live, things happen. I was going through a bad patch. She gave me cups of tea, listened to my tales of woe, gave me lots of hugs, took me to bed, and made love to me, and she was lovely. That doesn’t mean I want to jump Dwarf girls.”

“She’s not a bad girl,” said Selena. “She just…”

“She’s a passenger,” said Filyen, with a shrug. “We don’t have to be friends. But I move round a lot, so if she wants to be on the other side of the ship from me, then she’s going to be very busy.”

“Lieutenant Smith? A word, please.”

Smitty walked up to the bridge, to find an unknown Elf standing next to the Captain. Dorian Graycloud was at the helm, looking slightly more grim than usual.

“Allow me to introduce Druid Absynthus of the Cenarion Circle,” said the Captain.

Smitty and the tall Elf shook hands, muttering little polite phrases.

“Were you always on board, Sir? If so…”

“No, Lieutenant. I came here on my own wings.” Absynthus’ eyes wrinkled in a private joke. “One fair day, I will manage to explain to Shan’do Bearwalker the difference between a Druid and a carrier pigeon. Until that day, I travel the skies of Azeroth, looking for battle-ready ships.”

“Such as Aviana’s Wingbeat,” said the Captain.

“I thought this was a cargo ship,” said Smitty.

“Usually, yes,” said the Captain. “But we can carry troops, and we do have some modest firepower. We may not have big scary teeth, but we are fast. And now, we have received orders from High Command to make for Teldrassil.”

Smitty looked at the Captain. “Does this mean we have to get off the ship?”

The captain rubbed the stubble on his chin, making a grating sound.

“If you want to, we can go ashore, and set you down there, but I wouldn’t recommend it. It would be a long journey on foot, through possibly unsafe lands. I suggest that you stay on board till Auberdine or Rut’theran Village, and take one of the fast ferries to Stormwind. That should take no more than a week or two. Still quicker than walking.”

“Well, in that case, we’ll be happy to enjoy your hospitality a bit longer,” said Smitty, speaking, as he well knew, for probably less than half of the people that were currently his responsibility. Never mind. Completely ignoring the wishes of your charges was what being an officer was all about.

The Captain turned to Absynthus.

“Will you be staying on board tonight? I’m sure we can have another hammock strung up somewhere.”

“I can’t, Captain. There should be another Night-elf vessel some fifty miles to our North. I should be able to find them before it gets dark. And then… the next ship.”

“At least have something to eat. I can have our cook prepare you something while you rest.”

Absynthus looked towards the North, then back at the captain.

“Druid Absynthus, our cook is very good. If you do not sample her work, she will be most disappointed.”

Absynthus grinned. “You talked me into it, Captain.”


The whole crew had come above decks to watch Absynthus change into a bird and fly off. He sailed round, flew past them, then set off to the North. The Captain walked up the stairs to the bridge.

“Miss Mistgaze! Mr. Swellrider! Mrs. Ravenwing! We’re raising the yard, we’ll be over starboard a long time. Mr. Graycloud, I’ll take the helm. Please assist the ladies on the royal halyard.”

Aviana’s Wingbeat, like many Night-elf ships, was a lateen-rigged ship. That meant that her single mainsail was hanging from a long yard, which in turn was attached to the mast in the middle, like a giant letter T, with one end pulled down to the bow of the ship and the other end sticking high into the air, pointing backwards. At the time Absynthus took his leave, Aviana’s Wingbeat had been on the starboard tack, leaning over port, with the wind blowing towards shore. That was going to change, and the wind would be coming from the other side of the ship. That meant that, unless they did something, the sail would be pressing against the mast, which sailors of lateen rigged ships refer to as the ‘bad tack’. If you were doing a lot of maneuvering, wind never coming from the same side for more than ten minutes, such as when you were working your way up a river against the wind, that didn’t matter much. If on the other hand the ship would be on the bad tack for almost the whole of the trip, most sailors, and certainly Captain Andral, found it hurt their eyes. Also, the sail didn’t work quite as well. So, they would raise the yard-arm of their sail to a vertical position, move it round the mast and lower it again on the other side. The sail would be free, and Aviana’s Wingbeat would look her very best.

Captain Andral Fairbreeze pushed the ship into the wind, sail flapping loudly. Dorian, Freja and Filyen hauled on the halyard, ‘rope’ to the landcrawlers, that raised the yard, while Kuryon untied the sheet that held the yard in place at the bow of the ship. As the yard-arm rose, Kuryon guided it towards the mast, and finally round it. Then, he let it out again on the other side of the mast while the others slowly released the halyard, lowering the yard-arm till Kuryon could tie it off at the bow. The whole operation had taken less than ten minutes, though Aviana’s Wingbeat was still lying with her head in the wind. Kuryon ran from the bows of the ship to the bridge, and joined the Captain at the helm. Together, they gave it a mighty heave, and Aviana’s Wingbeat slowly turned away from the wind. The wind fell in her sail, and slowly, slowly, she began to pick up speed, heading away from shore. Kuryon walked to the railing of the bridge, leaned on it and grinned.

“Remember, ladies. We make this look easy.”

Freja drew her sleeve across her forehead. “He only says that because we do all the hard work.”

Captain Andral Fairbreeze went below to do arcane things with a compass and ruler. He walked back up to the bridge.

“North by North-west if you please, Helmsman. We’ll be passing North of Kul’tiras.”

“Aye-aye Sir,” said Dorian Graycloud.

With a Western wind filling her sail, Aviana’s Wingbeat sailed for Teldrassil.

Kuryon lay in his hammock. The old girl heeled over starboard, which was his favourite, as his hammock tended to bump into the wall otherwise. He looked round the crew’s quarters. Everyone was asleep. When he knew that nobody was watching him, he pulled a gold chain from below his shirt. At the end of the chain was a small gold medallion. In the flickering light of one of the ship’s lamps, he spun the medallion round, round, turning left, then right. He didn’t need to open it to look at the two faces inside. One would never change again, indelible, etched into his memory. The other face would be resembling it more and more with each passing day.

Namarié, Draniel,” he whispered. “Elune A’dore, Syndrien.”

Without another word, Kuryon put away his medallion, closed his eyes, and slept.


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