#Bronagir

[a-lonely-dunedain]

The kinship house @hallothere and I are decorating for our rangers is coming together nicely!

...thanks to a little mooching from our rich alts, that is

[hallothere]

16 for bronagir 👀

16. Wish

The Last Bridge felt exposed, vulnerable in every way he'd been taught to quantify. He supposed it must've been the might of Arnor or Cardolan or even Rhudaur of old that kept brigands and snipers from assailing it. Perhaps now it was... perhaps not the threat, but the power of Elrond of Rivendell that kept the passage safe.

The Trollshaws were a wild place. Untamed somewhat- and unforgotten by most- but wild in the way of dangers and secrets. There were many a tale that had origins in this place. Trolls, naturally, but other strange creatures as well haunted the fireside stories of minstrels and captains alike. Culang liked to spin yarns. He had quite a few to weave ere Bronagir set out on his journey.

Mudfoot was a stout horse and a staunch companion. His origins were humble in name and lineage, but he was a good horse and Bronagir would accept to slight against him. Many a time his own mother had named him Mud-foot in his youth for tracking 'all strains of the earth' through her house. Now, when given a brown horse with browner socks, Bronagir knew what he ought to do.

"I name him Mudfoot," he said to Nat, "so that my mother will be forced to choose another epithet, lest she confuse us."

Yet his heart was filled in melancholy; for Mudfoot meant travel, and travel what his heart desired least.

He left behind his post (though not without leave, and with a mission besides) and friends, and some... Tinnudir had grown dear to him. It might not be very Ranger-like of him, but he felt he belonged in a place called Home. A place he could dwell, yes, but defend also. A place he could nurture. Like many Rangers before him, his heart ached for the days of Kings. The days of purpose bestowed by hand and with aim, not mantle taken up in memory and mourning.

He and Mudfoot found the signs and the trail that would take them south. Calenglad had messages, and in his fey mood sent Bronagir with them. Wroth was his captain and urgent was his charge.

"Why not send Ringlor the swift...?" He mused, mostly to himself though Mudfoot shook out his mane.

On the southern road, he passed the camp at Gaerond and his thoughts wandered to Esteldin, to his mother and sister who would like as anything be headed this way next. The North Downs grew dangerous, as did much of the North.

And yet his heart did not ache for Esteldin. It was his only wish, in fact, to return to the isle on the lake and to sink his cares into the waters his people loved.

[poetry-draws]

Run from your problems and they'll catch you, bite off more than you can chew and you might choke

OCs Miranwin & Bronagir feat. their current existential crises

[hallothere]

55 for... bronagir and/or 1d4 rangers?

Had to go find my d4

55 Silence

Most tidings had been glad. Many were beyond their wildest dreams. Tales of their sister-land of old, fortresses, strongholds, armies vast beyond count and people with stranger sorts than the waking mind could conjure.

The cairn was tall. The company was solemn. Wet leaves had been cleared from the site, the grass trimmed to a respectful measure, and logs hewn for a pyre of their own.

It fell to Daerdan, voice broken, to complete the rite.

The heralds of all the news- good and ill- had kin within the Wardens. Techeron and Lothrandir were happy returns, each bearing a portion of Orchalwë's weight. Radanir he knew as well, more by tale than anything, and stood in the ranks with Laegeneth, Branadir, and Celegdes.

Orchalwë was to set the final stone upon the cairn. He bore it as the weight of the Keep, a thousand-fold its weight with the memory it meant to them. He fell, huddled at the foot of it, and wept. The Wardens wept with him.

And once the sun had set, Evendim rang with still, placid silence.

[hallothere]

if you want to take ocs for bingo, can i ask about bronagir?

he's a goofy little fella. he's got no bones, he's an intern, he just wanted to go study Arnorian craftworks in Annuminas

[hallothere]

well I anticipate you getting some angsty ones, so for the wellbeing of our guys I'm just gonna sliiiiide 34 (Trust/Comfort/Safety) in here. heck why not a 79 (hugs) and 57 (rescue) while we're at it

T-T-T-TRIPLE COMBOOOOO (34, 79, 57)

(technically in compliance. this one is a little violent and near-death-y with a side of made-up Ranger surgery so. be warnéd)

Baugarch was dead, to begin with.

The warg-father, minion of sorcerers, and fell-guardian of the Blackwolds was finished.

And so was Ningeryn, daughter of Nirondil, Ranger of the Dunedain. She lay under the corpse, still holding one sword in her hand as it pierced the heart of her enemy. The other was lodged in the beast's back. Not enough to have killed it the first time.

It hurt too much to cry properly so she let the tears stream down her face. Her first assignment... and her last. At least she'd done it. At least she'd found the warg, even if she didn't have enough time to track it to its den, or warn Andreg. She was supposed to get backup before she faced the beast in combat. She hadn't had enough time.

The warg was now too heavy to lift. She tried, but she was well and fully pinned. She'd scared birds in the otherwise silent Chetwood when she cried out. It wasn't how she wanted to die, in the silent, empty forest. Alone. She tried to put a brave face on it. At least she'd done a good turn for the people of Combe, Archet, and the surrounding towns. Farmers wouldn't get eaten. Woodsmen neither.

And she'd put down the sorcerer's beast. The minion of the one that took Amdir from them. And Mundol and Toradan. And Reniolind... Reniolind had been her friend, and they'd ensorceled Amdir until he'd been stolen from them completely. Until he couldn't see friend and foe.

The tears came faster now that she thought of her friend. She'd die not far from him, maybe have her name etched next to his. But she'd wanted to live. She'd wanted to avenge him as she could, and keep the lands they'd promised to watch over safe. But she'd lashed out too hotly. Swung her swords with no thought of defense, only destroying the warg that represented everything horrible in Breeland.

Everything became dimmer for a bit. She wasn't sure how much later it had been when a horse whinnied in protest. Boots crunched in the leaf litter and then Baugarch's corpse lurched on top of her. She cried out again. The dead warg rolled into the grass and a blurry face filled up her vision.

"Ningeryn! Hang on. Hang on..." It was Andreg! He'd made it... She never thought anyone would. "You had to go and challenge the beast yourself..."

But the rescue had come too late. She squeezed his arm once and all went dark.

-------------------------------

Ningeryn woke up screaming. She hadn't meant to, but the warg was clawing her again and that had already killed her once. She didn't want to do it again.

"Help her, Amlan!"

But that was Saeradan, and Saeradan would rather die than let her get torn to shreds. Well, if he could help it. And if Amlan was there too, they would be more than a match for some scruffy warg of Angmar.

On instinct she pressed her shoulders and head into the surface she was laying on. Wood. A floor maybe. There were hands on her arms, and she could feel them wavering as if they were actively afraid they'd hurt her. Someone was laying across her legs with equal hesitation. Saeradan needed her not to kick and roll. She would do it- anything- for him.

Ningeryn reached out for a hand and found one quickly. Heedless of the fact that there were bones under the skin, she squeezed it for all she was worth.

"Ningeryn?" It was Amlan this time. Sounding pained. Likely, his were the bones being reduced to dust. "Can you hear me?"

She nodded. It was all the motion she could stand, rigid and tensed against the pain as she was.

"Can you drink something? Saeradan can't stop now, you've lost too much blood. You were asleep before, but now--"

Now she knew. They were trying to save her. Ningeryn had fought to be here, in Bree, in the ranks of the Rangers. She would fight, but not fight Amlan and Saeradan and Andreg. That warg wouldn't kill her twice.

She managed to nod again, and to swallow something sweet and heavy. It went down bitterly, but it stayed down. Saeradan was muttering something soothing as he went to apply a different salve over what she presumed was a section he'd already sewn. Or, just maybe hot lava, as something like liquid flame touched an open cut and she screamed again.

She held Amlan's hand until it went dark once more.

-------------

Next she awoke, she was in the middle of drinking something freezing. She sputtered and that lit a fire in her torso. It was dulled, red embers maybe, but it was still there and it still hurt. The drink had been moved and someone was drying her face with a towel.

"You're safe. You're in Saeradan's house. It's me, Andreg, and you've been asleep for almost a day. Nestadam is on her way from Nen Harn, and she'll be here soon."

Ningeryn didn't respond as gently and eloquently. "Whahappen?" Her mouth felt dry- probably the reason for the offered drink- and she felt like her head was wrapped in wool.

"Do you remember anything? What was the last thing we talked about?"

She wanted to curse his protocol and his probing questions. But, she was still leaned up against him where he'd helped her to drink and she was very comfortable. One arm hugged supportively around her shoulders, the other lost to the void or possibly still holding the towel. Ningeryn was unfortunately familiar with being nursemaided, but it was still a safe feeling. A good feeling.

"I killed it," she said at last, "I killed that warg."

Andreg sighed. "Without backup. What possessed you--"

"Don't rile her up, Andreg." That was Saeradan. All gentle admonishment. "You think she hasn't learned her lesson?"

The hand she could feel tightened around her shoulder. "No, of course not." Not a true retort. Andreg was uncommonly quiet. But she was sure about why now, as she was coming out of the fog. He'd even warned her about it before she left. He couldn't lose another of them so soon. Not after Reniolind.

"I'm fine." Ningeryn said. If she sounded sure enough she might convince them both. "I'm tired, and it does hurt a little, but I'm fine."

"No you're not."

Aha. Two voices in tandem. Ningeryn let herself smile. Oh she was fine now, and she was sure they'd make certain of it.

[hallothere]

Bronagir: we're doing great! no crazy adventures! we almost died once or twice but that's ok, we're keeping it low-key--

Ningeryn, blissfully unaware of the Protagonist Vibes about to hit her over the head like a hammer: yeah! go team!

[hallothere]

3, 31, 33

3. Does your character prefer to work in silence or with noise and of what kind?

I don't think Throwan minds either way! He's used to working in mostly communal forge setups (however practical or impractical that might be) (Dorigol, somewhat ironically, adapted to identical conditions)

Very few of the rest of my characters have a 'job' that I've come up with yet. Unless you count 'Grandma' in which case, yes, Punciella likes to bake in relative quiet?

31. How much does your character care about their appearance?

*I* care about their little outfits more than I should probably but.

Throwan, Miranwin, Punciella, Cirdegos: A fair bit

Bronagir, Ningeryn, Dorigol, Hendraen: as long as I'm dressed and clean

Maegov: ...huh?

33. Does your character like math? How good are they at it?

Dorigol forgot more about mathematical theory than I will ever know. Throwan's fine at it. Miranwin hates it. Bronagir and Ningeryn try to learn geometry to calculate heights (survivable). Punciella is a natural and probably a genius but she only cares about measurements, weights, and fractions as they pertain to commerce and daily life (cooking). She has no practical use for anything else

[hallothere]

101, 104, 130?

101. Which character is The Most dramatic?

Bregadir by a country mile. Makes being the Mysterious Raven Trainer TM his whole personality for a bit

104. Do any of your characters have pottery as a hobby?

Not that I'm aware of, though Bronagir wanted to study pottery in Evendim. He ends up. well. not doing that

130. Do you have any characters who are retired?

Throwan was retired! Recently, as a matter of fact. He used to be mine foreman and retired slightly early due to extenuating Skorgrim weirdness. Punciella is also retired, except she's also a fulltime grandma

[hallothere]

9, 57 & 96!! :D

9. Could your character win an arm wrestling competition? How well would they do?

Bronagir would lose. He would get intimidated by his opponent and lose.

Most everyone else would win

57. Do any of your characters consistently wear hats?

Throwan! basically constantly

96. Which character is The Proudest ™ of their kids?

Also Throwan! He's the only one I know is a parent.

[hallothere]

[poses dramatically]

[....how do you get down?]

[hallothere]

some things about the quick post office

That’s Just Eregion, but why do you have a whole lamp-post indoors????

and

I’ve Seen This Patch Note Before

[hallothere]

it’s him! Bronagir the absolutely hapless Dunedan. he doesn’t know what he’s doing and neither do i.

we ran Great Barrow and somebody found a polite way to tell me hunter oils are A Thing and i should probably get some. also were very [nods understandingly] when i was surprised my icons changed! 10/10, would embarrass myself in a classic instance with again

[hallothere]

Bronagir -- The Cooler Bronagir

[hallothere]

Anniversary keg at a trick or treating house dumped my level 17 in THE EASTFOLD with no travel skills ready RIP Bronagir you’ll be missed

[hallothere]

Tears of Nenuial

The sequel to This

They had blown the bridge a week ago. Orchalwë had been lost in a dark mood ever since. It seemed like a last-ditch effort after the evacuation, but a necessary one. Of course on the bright side, it was harder for bloodthirsty brigands and Angmarim holdouts to gain a foothold on the island of Tinnudir now. Unfortunately that hadn’t stopped them from trying. 

Tirnedhruith brought his sword down hard over the top of an Angmarim crossbow, shattering it. He likely did the same to the weilder’s arms, but Bronagir wasn’t much worried. He was busy with his own errand: taking a modified hatchet (he and some of the newer hands all called it ‘Boat-ender’) to the sides of the Angmarim rowboats. Once they drove off the invasion party, the tide would drag the boats out and sink them. It would weaken the enemy forces and stave off a new landing as well.

But Boat-ender wasn’t just for punching holes in wood. A war cry behind him let Bronagir know the main force had been repelled. It sounded like they were very angry their retreat was being hindered too. He spun around, swinging the broader edge of the weapon into the nearest attacker. Only the pair of them had gone around enemy lines to sabotage the retreat, but the Keep was sending help right behind them. It wasn’t long before Orchalwë, Baidhrien, and Astuil brought the chase party to rout the Angmarim. 

Ningeryn was with them and she soon drew up to Bronagir’s side with a sword and shield of her own. She’d been training with Tirnedhruith and, as far as any of the rest of them could tell, had made a new friend. 

“Couldn’t stand missing a fight, Bronny?”

“All’s well, Ninny.” Had they not been fighting for their lives, he imagined the retribution for that would have been swift. “There’s not a boat left that will hold them long.”

They fought together under the darkening sky, heedless of the weather that was no doubt being remarked upon all over Evendim. The rain battered them and their enemies alike. Dark clouds blocked out much of the remaining light. But there were more pressing concerns. Whatever else could be said about them, the Angmarim knew how to demand attention. The pair of defenders were hard pressed to fend off the landing party, but with the support of the Keep’s reinforcements there was really only one outcome to be had. 

“Retreat!” One of the Angmarim Captains called. The rest were swift to follow him. They boarded the least damaged boats and made for shore. Only a few holdouts tried to change their fortunes but they were outnumbered now. At last the Wardens could relax. The moderate rain was on their side and had worked its way up into a proper downpour as they watched the invaders go-

“Down!” Astuil shouted and shoved Orchalwë aside. The young Rangers near the water ducked. An Angmarim crossbow bolt split the air where Bronagir and Ningeryn had been. They heard Astuil cry out once more, but the sound was drowned in a crack of thunder. Bronagir stood as soon as he deemed it safe and found Astuil clutching his shoulder. He staggered and dropped to a knee on the waterline as Tirnedhruith and Orchalwë swarmed him. 

Baidhrien approached Bronagir and Ningeryn looking anxious, like they all must. She hollered over the wind. “Hurry you two, they won’t try another attack while it pours like this.” As she herded them away she smiled grimly. “They’ll be lucky if those boats make it to shore with the work you did on them. Good job, Bronagir.”

He was about to say something in kind when the wind picked up to gale force. His cloak was whipped back and his hood was flung from his head. Ningeryn’s too. Bronagir checked over his shoulder at the others to find Tirnedhruith and Orchalwë hefting a limp Astuil between them. It seemed he was more seriously wounded than he had looked. But, injured or no, none of them would do well to stay out here in the storm. 

The defenders made their way back to the Keep as quickly as they could. Baidhrien ran ahead to let the Keep know they had injured while Bronagir and Ningeryn tried to stay on their feet. Their boots squelched and stuck in the pathway mud while the wind tried to topple them. By the time they reached the Keep, the storm raged so fiercely not even the awning was enough to keep them dry. 

“Are you injured?” Uiriel shouted from the door. 

“Not us!” Bronagir replied pointing behind him. “It’s Astuil! He was hit by a crossbow bolt in the retreat.” He explained as best as he could while they were ushered indoors. “He collapsed but Orchalwë and Tirnedhruith have him!”

Uiriel waved them on and they ventured into the inner chamber to divest themselves of the most sopping outerwear. The Keep was quiet as the tombs of Annuminas, save for the rumbling shudder that came with each roll of thunder. Most of the island had been evacuated, save those best suited to fight. It wasn’t so much the forces of Angmar they had to worry about, though they were opportunists and had been trouble today. No, the main threat was from the number of tomb robbers that had appeared almost in force. Out of nowhere, scores of brigands had descended on the city that had been near empty when Calenglad’s group departed. 

“It seems we will not catch a break.” Ningeryn was trying to wring out her cloak beside him. It made a terrible squelching noise and water pattered everywhere. “First the ambush, then the raid, and now the storm! It seems all forces conspire against us today.”

The Keep shook with another roll of thunder as Bronagir stooped to remove his boots. Even with the reduced number of sentries after the evacuation, they were well equipped to watch for any enemies foolhardy enough to brave this weather. 

“I see it as a boon!” he said, fighting his waterlogged laces, “For no one is attacking us now. In fact, the rain may flood the rowboats faster, and the Angmarim will have to swim for a change.”

Bronagir cast a speedy glance at Ningeryn’s face but it was luckily full of mirth. “It’s been a long time coming it has! See how they like the fury of the lake.” Neither of them could quite laugh at the sentiment, but the mood was brighter than it had been earlier. The main room of the Keep was empty, still, but over the roll of thunder he could hear shouting from other corridors. 

“That will be Orchalwë.” he said, forcing the leather to stop suctioning his shoulders, “I swear, he is louder every day. I do not know how he does it.”

“Nor do I.” Ningeryn replied from around the cords of her vambrace. They were proving to be difficult to undo wet, and she had been forced to use her teeth in the attempt. “But if his socks are wetter than mine- and those three were out there longer than us- I would be yelling too.” With an exclamation of triumph, she pulled the vambrace free from her arm and let it fall to the ground. 

When it splashed instead of clattered, they both froze. So caught up in the lull had they been, that they had not noticed the inner Keep was flooding. The water had risen steadily while they joked, undetected by numbed feet. Ningeryn’s socks were the least of their troubles, now that the water reached mid-calf. 

“What is this! We… we have to get to higher ground!”

“What of the others? Astuil- he can hardly swim in his condition!”

As one, they returned to the main doors of the Keep. Each taking a ring, they pulled on the door with all their might. It did not budge.

“It’s stuck!” Bronagir cried. Something ice cold bubbled like a spring in his chest. “We’re trapped!”

Ningeryn took one of his hands and held it tight. “We’re not trapped! We’ll go upstairs and wait it out. Come on!” She dragged him away from the door, sloshing through the water that was nearly to their knees. Bronagir couldn’t fathom how this had happened so quickly. It had not been long since they’d been sprinting through the rain and mud. Now the Keep was flooded. 

They had made it halfway to the western staircase when pounding on the door froze them in their tracks. 

“Someone’s out there!” He found his feet hesitant to move one way or the other. “We… the door is stuck-”

“Maybe not against all three of us!” Ningeryn’s voice shook, though she had been doing a very good job of pretending to be calm. “We have to try.”

They sloshed back to the main door to the Keep, and the pounding hadn’t ceased. In fact, it seemed as if whoever was on the other side was attempting to ram the door down. With shouts of encouragement, Ningeryn and Bronagir each took a ring again and heaved on the door with all their might. Another blow forced the door open and they both fell back into the water with the suddenness of it. 

“Tirnedhruith!” 

The colossal guardian’s face was stricken, and he winced as he stooped to haul them both from the water. Bronagir could see he looked as tired as the rest, damp with rain, and was still wearing the tunic still marked by Astuil’s blood. More alarming was the state of the flooding in the hall behind him. 

“The roof!” he bellowed, dragging them both towards him, “Move!”

They did not need additional persuasion. Even wading almost waist-deep in water- and swimming where the stairs dipped low- neither of them hesitated in Tirnedhruith’s wake. When he reached the staircase they sought, he pulled Ningeryn and then Bronagir up. 

“Where are the others?” Ningeryn asked as she glanced back to the still-rising pool of black water. 

“Up.” the big Ranger supplied, herding them forward again, “They are all there. Hurry!”

Bronagir did not need to be told twice. He took the stairs two at a time, barefoot but just behind Ningeryn as they left the waterlogged Keep and made their way out onto the roof. 

Wind whistled through the spires behind them as Tirnedhruith made sure the hatch door was propped open. In the shadow of the east tower, all the Rangers of Tinnudir huddled together. Cúlith helped them out of the passage and into the open air. He was dressed for the weather and had likely been on sentry duty when the evacuation began. Bronagir figured as much, for others looked as if they had just been pulled from their beds. The previous watch was in various states of dishevelment, and Arfirion was here in his long nightshirt. Soaked to the bone, he continued his animated discussion with Orchalwë just outside the passage. 

“It was a vision!” he nearly had to yell over the wind, “Clouds in the east but no rain, an army vast and waving like the sea!” Tirnedhruith was guiding them forward again, but Bronagir caught the last of something troublesome: “-the flood sweeps over Annuminas like the great wave!”

They were brought to the wall of the east tower, and Nadfaron handed over a cloak from where he was huddled with Ringlor and Forchon. Tirnedhruith intercepted it and positioned himself so he could hold it around the three of them. Bronagir did not like the fact that he had never seen the guardian look so… afraid. But the roof was crowded with fearful faces. None in Tinnudir ever thought they should see waves the height of the Keep-

He shut his eyes as the rolling water crashed against the side of the tower. The roof was pelted with spray, and Ningeryn’s hand found his as a shout of surprise rose among them. Waves were churning mere feet below the edge of the roof. Not to be outdone, the sky cracked with thunder and lightning. The rain poured ever on. Wailing winds whipped the water across the stone and slapped the evacuees all at once. 

“I- I bet you don’t get storms like this in Esteldin!” Ningeryn nearly had to shout next to his ear, but it was a welcome distraction. He was sure he was squeezing her hand as hard as he could. 

“Never!” Brongair managed, “The odd blizzard. But this-...” He trailed off as he spotted Uiriel holding onto Astuil protectively. There was little shelter for him despite their best efforts. If he was badly injured, there was a good chance he would not weather the storm. 

“It’s unnatural.” Ningeryn said more quietly. She shifted closer as Tirnedhruith tried in vain to keep the driving rain out. “If Arfirion had a dream, and this is some device of the enemy-”

Lightning flashed to the south, illuminating the spires of Annuminas in the gloom. Like an anguished howl the wind changed direction and seemed to rush at the hills overlooking the city. Trees were no doubt cracking under the onslaught, but those on the island of Tinnudir were buried under the waves. 

Another crest surged over the lip of the roof and spilled out onto the white stone. Cries of fear and dismay echoed off the wall. Tirnedhruith dropped the pretense of being a weather shield and they all held each other tightly. There was maybe another half-flight of stairs in the north tower, but after that only a ladder rose to the top and spires. They were out of places to run. 

“At least Ost Forod is in the hills!” Ningeryn tried to sound brave, though Bronagir wouldn’t begrudge her fear in the face of this storm. He was nearly too terrified for words himself. “And the Watchfort… Even if the Lune should flood as well, they would be out of reach!”

Even as she spoke of home, his thoughts roved back to Esteldin. He hoped the city stood strong against the tide of Angmar, and once again he found himself wishing Calenglad and the others were still here. Culang would know of another storm they had weathered, Calatherdir would have given them a better cloak or rigged something up with the boats. 

Unbidden, Bronagir thought of his brothers and sister back home. He wondered if any of them could swim. 

Another shout rippled down the line as their legs were wet afresh by another wave. If the water rose any higher they would be swept away. Even Orchalwë and Arfirion had regrouped with the rest. Calenglad’s stormy lieutenant was with Uiriel, curled over her patient in a futile gesture of protection. Lightning flashed once more, and he wondered. Astuil had been spared the horror of the storm, but could he tell Orchalwë and Uiriel were there? That they cared for him enough to try, like a child fighting the tide for a sandcastle, to protect him from nature itself?

“I… am glad you are with me!” The words tumbled out of his mouth unexpectedly. He was not the bravest of Rangers, but once Bronagir started he could not stop. “If we are to end here… I would not part with you both even to save myself! More than the spoils of Annuminas I treasure having known you!”

Water poured from head to face to head as Tirnedhruith tried to curl in on them. The pair held on all the tighter in return. 

“I have no brothers, or sisters.” Ningeryn cried, “But I have not once longed for them since we met!”

“Then be my sister!” Bronagir yelled back, a little hysterically. “My mother would welcome another daughter with joy, and Gaelwen would spoil you like her own child.” There was salt in the water that streamed down his face now. “You will never have a moment’s peace there! We will love you until you are sick to death of us-” His throat finally closed at the thought of home. Ningeryn choked on a sob of her own but helped him to hide his tears on her shoulder. 

They were nearly no longer sitting as Tirnedhriuth held them both closer. “I have no children of my own.” He bared his heart to them and to the wind. Were the circumstances less dire, Bronagir might have wondered how a man of few words found so many to pour out. “I have a brother and sister-in-law, frightfully young and much loved. I have a niece-” the word cracked under the weight of the storm yet Tirnedhruith carried on, “-I would have loved to meet.”

“Then be our brother too!” Both Ningeryn’s suddenness and boldness surprised him, but when Bronagir picked up his head it was in agreement. Her face was only inches from both theirs, yet she shouted over the wind and over the terror in their hearts. “You already keep us out of trouble, help our hurts, and spoil us more than we deserve!”

At this Bronagir had to give them both a skeptical look. To his surprise, the big guardian laughed and Ningeryn pressed her point. 

“Well, you spoil me! I’ve not seen you let anyone else skip polishing the training armor!” Despite being the shortest of the three she could hug them both with a strength that must squeeze but would never hurt. “We are family now! Nothing- not the storm, or even death itself- will stop me from loving you!”

The wind reached a fever pitch overhead and water finally began to run over the side of the roof. Tirnedhruith looked at them both with watery eyes and a tight smile. 

“Then I am glad we are family. And…” Tirnedhruith sounded pained, “…though I mourn the time we did not have, the bond was- and is- precious to me.”

Bronagir did not know how Tirnedhruith could face the end so bravely. Here he sat in rising water, speaking words of love as his new brother and sister stayed close. His own face was wet with tears and rain. The lake had come for them too. 

Then with a great roar the water flew back. The dark waves fled from the Keep, piling back into a swirling wall. Trees appeared stripped of leaves and branches. All around them the water circled until it surrounded the Keep like the unnatural eye of the storm. The wind screamed out in agony. Rain continued to pelt the Rangers and the rooftop, but they were all too stunned by the sight before them to move. 

Out of the writhing mass of water stepped a colossus. At first the giant appeared as if made of water itself, then gradually began to take shape. Bronagir’s eyes were wide, and he heard Ningeryn gasp as trickling rain became a veil, and cascading water shimmered down like fabric to the natural surface of the lake. 

Gwindeth, Lady of Nenuial, towered over them in all her might. 

Her gaze swept the rooftop and she let out a cry of anguish that whipped the wind back into a frenzy. A shout drew Bronagir’s attention, and he turned in time to see Astuil ripped away by a rogue wave. Orchalwë’s never-failing lungs carried a scream over the wind, but in the space of another lighting flash Astuil was cradled in Gwindeth’s hands. 

“So fragile,” her voice rolled across the roof with thunder, “the lives of Men. So short and wracked with pain, enduring it and bringing it upon others. It does me naught but harm to suffer you.”

Her statement was punctuated by another flash of lighting. Yet somehow, despite all the supporting signs, Bronagir found himself doubting her words. As he looked upon the towering form of Gwindeth, holding Astuil like a wounded bird, he could not believe her. The wind was still battering the trees and the sides of the Keep, but the roof remained mostly clear. Castoff droplets from the swirling lake fell upon them more than the rain now. Most perplexingly of all, he did not even feel as soaked as he had moments before.

This was not the vengeance of a wronged spirit. He saw the wrath of the storm, yes, but he also saw sorrow. Maybe there was some truth to her assessment of pain. Yet another character shone through as she brushed a gentle finger over the Ranger cradled in her palm. There was  Gwonil’s Emmelîn. 

She turned back toward the rooftop. Once more, her eyes roved across the Rangers huddled there. Bronagir found himself holding his breath as her gaze passed over him and his newest family. 

At last she spoke again. “Today you are all I have left of him.” The wall of water roiled behind her but did not fall. “Remember him, children of his heart. Know as long as the waters of Nenuial stand... I will be your protector in his stead.”

With this, Gwindeth bent down and lowered Astuil onto the rooftop. Uiriel- who could wait no longer- ran forward, only to find him sitting upright and clutching at his head as if dizzy. Bronagir looked on at the Lady of Nenuial in amazement. She backed away, still gazing on them with some fondness as well as tears in her eyes. Then the tall waters of the Lake closed around her. She was gone. 

Before anyone- save Orchalwë, who had stumbled to Uiriel’s side- found the courage to move, the waters of the Lake began to act. The wall surrounding Tinnudir churned and surged in mass, gathering the south. Arfirion’s words rang in the back of Bronagir’s mind as a wave taller than anything he had ever seen raced away. Through the wrath of the storm he did not see it make landfall. Rain pelted down once more, but the Lake around Tinnudir was eerily calm. 

“Back inside!” Orchalwë ordered, somewhat hoarsely. “Everyone down the stairs! The flood has ended.”

This time, Bronagir and Ningeryn were able to find their feet more quickly. They helped Tirnedhruith up and moved as one towards the hatch. Together, Rangers of Tinnudir made their way down the stairs and back into the heart of the Keep. What they found inside was utter chaos.

Books, papers, furniture, and belongings were strewn across the main room, likely dropped where they lay by the floodwaters. Astuil was trying to despair over the state of some loose papers, but Uiriel had practically wrestled him into a chair for inspection. Bronagir bent to pick up a leaf, only to find the parchment was bone dry. He flipped it over. Even the writing had been preserved, not so much as a letter lost in the flood. 

The others were discovering this as well, marveling at the state of things when the door banged open again. Orchalwë had joined them at last. He looked like the rest of them felt, and it was a sorry state of affairs indeed. Yet, they had come through it alive, and that was something to celebrate. Still, their Lieutenant did not look at all as if he wished to break into song. 

“We… owe our lives to the grief of Gwindeth,” he began, “and the tears of Nenuial. I do not believe another attack will come this night. Keep watch if you cannot sleep, but…” Orchalwë trailed off as his own watery gaze swept the room. “Stay together. Do not leave. Rest awhile, for we have had a victory today.”

He pulled Arfirion and Baidhrien aside and they hurried off towards the barracks. Cúlith appropriated what blankets, rugs, and cloaks had been scattered in the flood and was now redistributing them. He handed the last to Forchon, who brought Cúlith and cloak both to the ground. It was time to rest. Orchalwë’s orders. 

Bronagir sat heavily on the ground and was soon joined by Ningeryn and Tirnedhruith. They were one among many small and tired clumps of defenders. Before long, someone got a fire going in the great fireplace, and Orchalwë’s group returned with as many pillows and bedrolls as they could carry. Ningeryn settled Tirnedhruith in the middle of the three of them before getting comfortable in her own bedroll. 

“Calenglad always said Gwindeth was kind, and caring.” She said with a yawn. “Maybe she was right… it might be too sad coming out of the Rushingdale, seeing Annuminas and Evendim like this when she remembers how it was before.”

“I heard him mention once that Elendil was dear to her.” Tirnedhruith spoke up. “And that she mourned him a long time, might still.”

“That must be what she meant. Children of Elendil’s heart, no doubt. Oh…” Bronagir could see Ningeryn burrow deeper in her roll with a shiver. “It might hurt her to see us. If we’re children of his heart, and remind her of him, now that he’s gone.”

Tirnedhruith hummed some sort of agreement, and Bronagir rolled over to press his back up against his warm new brother. He did wonder about Gwindeth, and Elendil, and the fate of Annuminas. Perhaps she did not destroy the city with her wave like Numenor of old. She might have cleaned the city, and the hillsides. She might have, in her wrath, brought the Angmarim and tomb robbers within to ruin. 

Bronagir shivered too, at the thought. But the world seemed a little lighter tonight, less gripped by evil. And it was only a week until April. Perhaps it would be warmer then.