The storm passed, three days after its coming, a brief and violent disturbance to the calm seas. With the weather now, Tindalma almost wished it would return.

They were in a dead sea. The doldrums. There was not a breath of wind to be found.

A day had passed, the sails hanging limp without a breeze to push them along.  They had tried rowing at first, but in the end had given up in favor of repairing the storm tossed ship.

The setting sun glared off the glass surface of the water, warming Tindalma's back as she sat on the deck, stitching a tear in the battered mainsail, facing away from the blinding light.

Even bound up, the canvas had sustained damage. Thinking back on the might of the storm sent a shiver down her spine. They hadn't sailed through a squall of that caliber since... she couldn't remember the last time. Usually storms like that did not arise so close to shore.

She had wished for adventure.

"Tindalma!" Aeaion hissed.

"Yes?"

"Could you pass me the other tub of sealant?"

She looked up from her stitches, raising one brow. Only his head was visible, peeping up over the outside of the ship. Now that he has caught her attention, he pointed to a lidded bucket a by the mast.

"Why whisper?"

"I don't want to disturb Mr. Mathematics over there." He tipped his head toward the sun side of the ship. Twisting around, she squinted at Faelon standing at the railing, sextant in hand, papers scattered about the deck at his feet.

"He's been standing there for hours."

"So he has," she mused, sliding her work off her lap and rising on stiff legs. After days in the rolling waves, the deck still felt as though it was swaying.

She set the bucket down and knelt at the edge of the ship beside her cousin. "How many days has it been since we left Alqualondë?"

"Well we haven't started scratching tallies in the mast yet. Five?" He shot her a grin and eased his way back down the side, slowly letting out his tether rope and taking the bucket with him.

"If you did, I'd throw you overboard. How's the hull?"

"A little battered," he admitted, scraping the caulk smooth over a gap between boards with a flat metal tool. "But she'll be alright."

"That's good to hear," she sighed.

"How about the sails?"

"Torn. But mendable. I'll be finished soon."

Silence fell, broken only by the lapping of the waves on the deck, and soft scraping of Aearion's tool.

"I suppose it is good luck that we ended up here after such a storm," he said at length, without a pause in his work. "Time to rest and repair."

"Hardly," she sniffed. "These dead winds can last for weeks. I don't fancy being stuck here for weeks, do you? We'll grow barnacles on the hull again."

"Forget I said that. Barnacles are a menace."

She laughed, pushing herself to her feet. "Then pray to the Valar that a wind comes soon. I'm going to check on Faelon."

Tindalma strolled to the opposite side of the deck, the sun touched wood warm on her bare feet. Faelon lowered the sextant as she approached, but did not turn, still staring out toward the horizon, brow creased.

"I don't understand," he murmured as she stopped at his shoulder.

"What is it?" She narrowed her eyes at the papers scattered about his feet. They all seemed to the have the same readings, as if he had taken their position multiple times and come to the same conclusion. One sheet of larger paper with the markings of a map lay half buried beneath the others. Crouching, she swept the others off and studied it with a frown, noting their intended course up the north coast. Judging by Faelon's face, they hadn't stayed to that course.

She looked up at her friend, who still remained silent, staring blankly at the sea. "Faelon?"

He pivoted to face her, his gait uneven, favoring his unbandaged leg. "We..." he paused, frowning in disbelief at the horizon. "We're off course. Very far."

"How far?"

"If I am correct," he began, frowning at a paper under his boot. "We've passed the Enchanted Isles."

"What?" She asked in disbelief. That was impossible. The Isles ran the entire length of Valinor like a shield. They were difficult enough to navigate in clear weather. But accidentally being blown through? Tindalma was lost for words for a moment.

Faelon only shook his head. Now she understood his rather excessive recalculations.

"We saw no land! In the storm? The islands are so tightly packed, how could we have slipped through without knowing? And how could a storm that large arise so near land?"

"I don't know," he said flatly. "It doesn't make any sense. I hope I'm just miscalculating."

"You never miscalculate."

"Well there's a first time for everything," he replied, glancing at her with a trace of a twinkle in his cool grey eyes.

"Not after this many checks," she said, waving a hand at the mess of paper.

He shook his head, having no answer. "I'll check the stars once the sun sets. Would you like help with the sails?"

She shrugged. "I'm nearly done as is. If I'm still working by the time you've filed these away, I wouldn't mind a hand."

He nodded and crouched to gather his calculations, but lurched off balance with a hiss of pain, barely catching himself from falling backward. Tindalma's brow knit as he eased himself down, injured leg splayed out of his way as he began to sweep the scattered papers into an orderly stack.

"Are you holding up alright?" she asked, kneeling beside him to examine the quick wrap Aearion had done.

"Well enough," he said stiffly, trying to ignore her as she bent his knee up and began to unwind the hashed fabric.

She gave an unconvinced hum, tugging away the last of the wrapping. The wound was deep, now that she could see it clearly without dark or rain to interfere. Aearion had wrapped it tightly and carefully however, and it had closed enough to stem most of the bleeding. "What exactly did you hit on the way off that cut so deep?"

He shrugged, tapping the ends of the stack on the deck to straighten them. "It happened too fast. I didn't even realize it was there until Aearion had pulled me up and I tried to stand."

"We'll cover it again. Did he clean it with anything?"

"Well, it was dunked in salt water, which was none too pleasant, but probably cleansing. He used alcohol. It's all we had," replied, sparing a glance at the gash in his leg.

"We weren't expecting injury."

"We weren't expecting a storm or a dead spot either." He looked up with a grin. "You asked for adventure."

"So I did," she agreed dryly. "I'm beginning to regret it."

~~~

Laid out on the deck beneath the stars, Tindalma and Aearion waited for Faelon's pacing to come to an end. Calm quiet hung over the surface of the water, broken only by his footsteps as he strode up and down the deck.

Beside her Aearion let out a sigh, ready for the third time to ask him what on Eru's good Earth he was doing, but before he could Faelon came to a stop.

"Finally found an angle that suits your fancy?" Aearion inquired, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Faelon ignored it, pivoting on his heel to face them. "Not in the slightest."

Aearion rolled over to his stomach, sitting half way up in curiosity. Tindalma sat up, turning to hear his verdict. After staring up at the stars for the past hour all that she had concluded was that they were not at home and no where near it. The constellations were foreign and the few she did recognize were pivoted to angles they should not be for where they thought they were.

"You see," Faelon began, plopping down beside them, unrolling the map in his hands. "If my calculations from the sun, and the positions of these stars are being interpreted correctly, it would place us here." He set a finger on a point on the map between them. There was a moment of silence.

"You mean to tell me," Aearion said softly, "That storm picked us up, pulled us through the entire belt of the Enchanted Isles, and deposited us in the middle of the ocean a hundred miles north of where we were supposed to be."

"Yes."

Aearion pursed his lips quietly. "Maybe I was wrong about the five days."

Faelon shook his head, rolling up the map. "No, you're right. Five days at sea, miles off course."

"Perhaps we should rest," Tindalma cut in. "We could use it. Besides, if this weather holds, we'll be here a while. May as well sleep away some of it."

The others agreed and one after the other made their way to the cabins below. Tindalma stayed for a while on deck, leaned back against the main mast. The way the star flecked sky reflected on the untouched mirror of the sea made it seem as if they rested in the sky itself, the little pin points of light floating all around. But she could not be peaceful.

To travel so far in so little time should've been impossible. She'd heard of sailors losing their way and track of time amid the Enchanted Isles. They were put there as a barrier to keep out enemies and Kin-slayers.

Kin-slayers.

The word struck ice through her blood and she stood quickly, feeling very alone all of a sudden.

The Noldor had been fenced out for their betrayal and murder of her kin, but they were not the only ones who shed blood that day.

Descending into the warm darkness of the hold and making her way to her small cabin, Tindalma tried to shake off the memories that followed her.

The way the arrow whistled as she let it fly, the string catching her hair as it zipped by. The solid thud of its lethal head meeting its target, piercing clothing and skin and flesh. Then the splash as the body fell back into the sea.

She threw back the coverlet over her narrow mattress and flopped down on it with a shudder, trying to relax, to banish the thoughts.

The Noldo's motionless face just beneath the surface of the waves. A haze of blood drifting past his lifeless open eyes as she leaned over the edge of the pier-

With a snarl of frustration, Tindalma threw back the thin blanket and sat up. So much for resting. Glancing back, her eye snagged on the sword resting against the wall. Slowly, she leaned out for it, pulling it back to lay across her lap. She unwrapped it in silence, staring down at the pale blue blade with hollow eyes.

Kin-slayer.

This blade killed my father, she reminded herself fiercely. I did it for my people.

Once again resolved, Tindalma tugged the cloth wrapping back over the cold metal. Returning it to its place against the wall, she banished the guilt, the pain, the fear, and closing her eyes, faded from consciousness.

~ ~ ~

Tindalma awoke with a jolt as the ship lurched forward. She let out a groan and rolled over to face the wall, wishing she could drift off again, but as she shut her eyes the bed rolled beneath her as a wave rocked the ship.

Then it struck her. Waves. Waves meant wind, which meant- Tindalma bolted upright, throwing off the coverlet and springing to her feet.

Faelon and Aearion were up, stumbling dazedly from their cabins as she darted by.

"Look alive, my friends. We're back on-" her voice died as she opened the hatch.

"What? Back on what?" Aearion asked from below. She did not respond, climbing slowly up the rest of the ladder and out onto the pitching deck.

Rain blew against her cheeks, cold and stinging, blown by an angry wind.

"Oh, you have got to be joking," Aearion muttered, climbing up behind her.

"Not a very amusing joke," Faelon said quietly.

"No. Indeed," she agreed, turning away and making for the tiller without another word. The morning sun could not even be seen through the descending mass of dark clouds closing in on them. It was still as dark as night.

Tindalma closed her fingers around the tiller, bracing for the new storm.