Larotir awoke to the gentle rocking of the ship. It wasn't as bad as he had thought it would be, but then they were probably just on open ocean, nothing to worry about unless a storm developed.
Yawning, Larotir slowly sat up and stretched. The ship's rocking made him want to go back to sleep, but he'd never hear the end of it if he spent the entire journey on the water asleep in his cabin.
Larotir pulled on a decent looking outfit and went out into the hallway which there seemed to be countless doorways off of, leading to cabins. As he strolled around the boar, Larotir noticed that he got odd looks from some of the crew, as if he were somewhere he wasn't supposed to be. Well, he was Lord Heir. There were few places he wasn't allowed to be.
As he climbed the stairway to the deck, Larotir could smell the crisp clear smell of ocean. The breeze ruffled his hair and, for a moment, Larotir felt more at home on the ship he feared than he ever had at the Hold he knew like the back of his hand.
Larotir wandered aimlessly around the spacious deck, examining all the parts of the ship, not knowing what most of them were but interested and curious nonetheless. What made him more curious was the looks that got increasingly more annoyed and more frequent. Didn't these people know who he was? What was he doing that was so bad?
The answer came quite suddenly when a man with Captain's knots came striding angrily up to him. "What are you doing away from the helm?" the Captain bellowed, eyes snapping with rage.
"Away from the helm?" Larotir asked. Why was he supposed to be at the helm? He searched his mind frantically for anything his father had said that might explain it but couldn't find any reason.
"Don't try to play dumb with me boy," the Captain snapped with such fierceness that it took all of Larotir's will-power not to take a step back. "You were assigned to stay at that post for the entire journey and you'd better have a sharding good reason why you're not!"
"Sir, I think you've mistaken me for someone else," Larotir said in the calmest voice he could manage. He wished he could have thrown a few punches, but if there was one thing he'd taken from his father's endless lectures was that the worst way to handle an angry person was to show your own anger.
"Wherry-dung," the Captain growled. "And you know it! How dare you lie to me, you insolent brat! I don't know why I trusted you at the helm, but I'll never make that mistake again. For now, however, you're needed there, come on." The Captain grabbed Larotir's wrist and began dragging him towards the bow -or was it the stern?- of the ship. The front, whatever the special name was for it.
Larotir, his patience for being calm about the sistutaion quickly running out, wrenched his wrist fromt he man's grasp. "With all due respect, Captain, I think you're still mistaking me for someone else."
The Captain turned to face him. "You're certainly feeling daring today, aren't you? Fine. Suppose you're not who I know you are. How are you going to prove it?"
"Well for one thing, I'm not a seacrafter. I'm Larotir, Lord Holder Tagri's son. I guess we didn't meet when I boarded..." Larotir's voice trailed off as he saw that the Captain was chuckling.
"You think I don't know my own son?" the Captain chuckled. "That's a good one. Come on Casan, let's get you back to the helm and relieve whatever poor cabin boy you've got working there in your place. I'll think up your punishment later."
Since the Captain was obviously going to be convinced of his identity, Larotir allowed himself to be dragged to the helmsman's little booth at the front of the ship...