#calengang

[hallothere]

@pursuer-of-hope​ your tag about Daerdan being Big Tall made me curious so for everyone here is an unedited, unfiltered, standing-right-next-to-him screenshot

DAERDAN THE TALL

[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.

[hallothere]

Depths of Evendim

This one is about, well, the pretty dark things that happen on the Docks in Annuminas. So warnings about bodies of water and drowning apply, though no one dies and nothing graphic is detailed!

Arms like a frog, legs walking backwards. Frog arms, backwards leg-

The spear butt found his shoulder again and forced him under. Bronagir barely had time to suck in a breath before the water had closed over him. His boots were waterlogged and even the light uniform of the Rangers was a hindrance. In fact, it was somewhat of an uphill battle to keep his head above the water- and that was before the Angmarim made things difficult. 

The shaft of the spear slipped away and Bronagir surfaced. He could hear the invaders laughing from somewhere up on the dock, but he couldn’t see them for the hood now suctioned to the upper half of his face. However at this stage he could little afford to try and remove it. Any energy not spent staying afloat would kill him faster. 

It had, perhaps, been shortsighted of him to come to Evendim without so much as a thought for the lake. Tinnudir was an island. Annuminas was half surrounded by water. It had only been when Arfirion mentioned swimming to Tyl Ruinen once a month that Bronagir had begun to worry. 

The nearest lake to Esteldín was practically in Bree, and while he had seen rivers a great many times, few of his kinsmen ever ventured in them! He knew how to fish and what to do in a flood (stay away!) but swimming had not been high on his list of priorities. Not until now. 

Calenglad had nearly managed to send him away with a stern look and a reminder that such trips to the islands were necessary. Bronagir was ashamed to admit he had gone more pale than was likely warranted, and begged his new leader to speak with him just a moment. Calenglad had quickly changed his tune. As it turned out, the swimming trips were a training exercise for new recruits, who for the most part had grown up in Ost Forod or on the banks of the Baranduin. They had boats, Calenglad had assured him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, and Bronagir could be taught soon. 

How happy he was to have learned. 

The spear struck the top of his head this time, and he was barely able to grab some air before the water took him again. These Angmarim… Bronagir realized quickly for all the peril they faced in Esteldín, they were well hidden. They had been safer than in any place except maybe the heart of the Shire. Annuminas was full of danger for him, the least of which stood above on the docks mocking him. 

This time, the spear butt found traction in the folds of his cloak, and the Angmarim held him down for longer than they had before. Bronagir could not fight the panic welling up inside him, and clawed for the surface. He tried to hit the spear shaft away, but the struggle only ended with an arm tangled in his cloak. Valuable time was lost untangling himself, and he bobbed further underneath the dark water. 

Apparently, this was too quick of an ending for the Angmarim. The spear lifted, and Bronagir was able to surface again. He tried to lean backwards a little, as Calenglad had taught him, but he did not want to risk making himself a larger target. 

It was draining him, treading water like this. Calenglad had not drilled him on endurance like the group swimming around Men Erain had done. Bronagir’s lesson had been in the shallows near to the bridge, close to the safety of the camp. 

“I will not have you lost to these waters.” Calenglad had said, “For long have the Dunedain trusted Nenuial, and long have we been protected.”

Bronagir had not felt calm in the water, but he had not felt wholly ill at ease. It felt like a risk, standing chest high in an ancient lake while Calenglad coaxed him to lean back until his feet left the floor. From there, he spent a great deal of time with one hand never leaving Calenglad’s arm, and the other frantically swatting water as if battling a swarm of flies. He learned his head was much like a lever, and how it leaned affected the rest of his body. He learned his lungs were his ally, and a greater lifting force than arm or leg when his energy was spent. 

Air felt like a luxury now. If he could ill afford spare movement he could even less take for granted a single breath. His legs moved back and forth mechanically from hours and hours of drills. His arms made the motions while his vision swam with him and his mind could not keep a steady grasp on him. 

The blunt end of the spear returned, and there was nothing Bronagir could do to fight it. 

His hood slipped free under the waves this time. He’d not had the wherewithal to close his eyes, though the lake was still deep as night. A bit of hazy light floated before him as they were both tossed around by the water. Bronagir had spent his strength fighting a different kind of battle than his brethren. He could only hope their casualties were few, and their own struggles won. 

Despite his wishes, air began to escape through his lips. The Angmarim still did not let up. They must have tired of him at last. Bronagir made a last feeble attempt to unpin himself, but the spear shaft held fast. 

I held out as long as I could Calenglad, he thought.

Bronagir couldn’t feel the spear shaft anymore, but he couldn’t feel much else either. The waves dappled in carefree light above his head. Panic rose with the escaping air in his chest, but there was naught to be done. 

But when all hope had gone, Bronagir’s waning awareness was drawn to a great disturbance next to him. Something hit the water and pushed him aside. And before he could be drawn further under, a pair of hands came up under his arms and thrust him to the surface. 

“Bronagir!”

The voice above him did not belong to any Angmarim. Bronagir gasped and struggled however feebly to keep his face above the surface. He was not clear enough to see, but as the waves rolled back and forth he could hear. 

“Quickly! Grab on! Bronagir-“

Something bumped his shoulder, and with renewed desperation he found the strength to grab it. Clinging tightly, Bronagir was hauled forward and upward until a pair of hands grabbed his tunic and hauled him onto the dock. 

“Careful, turn him. I’ll grab a blanket.”

The second voice seemed to come from farther away, but Bronagir did not have the energy to ponder it. He was being held and coaxed into spitting water. Each breath was more a series of coughs than anything else. His rescuer detached his cloak and flung it aside, evidenced by the lifted weight and squelching sound to his right. He was lying half in someone’s lap and whoever it was insisted on prodding his stomach as if to encourage him to spit up more of the lake. 

“Bronagir, can you hear me? Please, wake up- We need to move you at once. It’s not safe here.”

Weakly, Bronagir swatted the hand away. Of course it wasn’t safe here. He’d nearly just been drowned by Angmarim invaders. The understatement was enough to get him to open his eyes, and instead of the depths of the lake he found Orchalwë’s face staring back at him. 

“You are alive.” Was all the elder Ranger said for a long moment, before trying to help his young companion to his feet. Bronagir was unsteady, but he knew they had to flee. 

“Who… was it who jumped in after me?” He managed between coughs. It looked as if Orchalwë did not want to answer- or at least took issue with him trying to speak so soon- but eventually he responded. 

“Neither of us went in after you. One of the dead invaders fell off the dock, and Gwonil nearly dove in for you when you came back to the surface.”

Bronagir frowned but focused on Orchalwë’s brutal pace back to Gwonil’s boat. She was waiting for them both with a blanket, and pushed the craft off the dock once all were boarded. 

More puzzled than before, Bronagir let Orchalwë fuss over him as he tried to stay awake long enough to remember those last few moments underwater. 

“Someone was there…” he croaked from within his swaddling prison, “Someone lifted me to the surface. My strength was gone when you arrived. Had it not been for that help, you may not have pulled me living from the lake.”

Both Gwonil and Orchalwë looked at him curiously, their faces betraying very little in the flickering light of the boat lantern. Finally, after a long moment, Gwonil broke the silence. 

“Emmellîn.” She whispered to Orchalwë. “Though… though I thought she did not venture out from the Rushingdale.”

Bronagir blinked first at Gwonil and then at Orchalwë. He was fading fast, but felt owed an explanation. 

Orchalwë was the one to take mercy on him. “It is… what some of us call the Maiden of the Lake, Gwindeth, friend of Elendil and protector of these waters. I had heard she spoke sometimes to Calenglad, for he would visit her in Gwindethrond to talk of the distant past but-... Others have spoken of seeing her in storms, or when they met peril in the waters of Nenuial but came out unscathed.” He paused again. “They would not call her Emmellîn if she was too unkind or too distant. Calenglad always looked fondly upon the Lake.”

Of course, he had heard something of the Lady Gwindeth. But as much as he wanted to listen, to hear more of this strange Lady his kinsmen would liken to a mother, Bronagir instead fell shivering into the middle of the boat and knew no more. 

When he awoke, he was underwater again. It was dark, and the pressure on his chest gripped him. Bronagir thrashed and fought clawing for the surface-

Several pairs of hands had him, and they steadied him as he heaved up the nothing in his stomach. He was once more on dry land, not in the depths of the lake. Orchalwë was still there, and Gwonil, but so was Calenglad, and Cannasgam and Cannuion. It seemed he had come around not far from the dock at Tinnudir, in the middle of being moved to somewhere drier. 

“Bronagir-“ Calenglad gripped his arm and searched his face. “You… you are very lucky.”

It seemed a small statement after something that felt very big. Bronagir managed a laugh but he clung all the tighter to the closest arm in reach. 

“I… have the arms of a frog.” he joked with some effort, and coughed a good while afterward. “And now… the voice to match!”

It had rather the opposite effect from the one he’d hoped. Calenglad looked pained, and more aged now than he had when he’d discovered another recruit Nethryn had been lying about being even seventeen summers old-- and had in fact snuck away to join them. Bronagir’s false cheer faltered. Taking his arm up again, Calenglad directed them all to head to the Keep.

“You will all swim.” He said solemnly, after a long silence. “All who come to Evendim will swim, or I will teach them. From now on-“

One of Bronagir’s legs was very much asleep and he stumbled, nearly taking down Gwonil with him. Calenglad and Orchalwë practically carried him the rest of the way to the Keep, hearing no protest and making no delay. In short order, Bronagir was settled once more somewhere dry, having been relieved of his boots, his uniform, and even his knife. And undignified as it was, Uiriel propped him up against one wall, with pillows preventing his leaning in any direction. 

“You might have swallowed much more water than you know, or breathed it in and not coughed it all back up.” Uiriel said. “Tirnedhruith and I are going to watch you to make sure you do not drown out of water.”

Bronagir frowned. That was usually only a danger to children, who were fatigued more easily and slept more deeply. But he was in no state to protest. The things that had transpired before were catching up to him, and a chill deeper than the blankets could fight crept over him. 

“Sleep.” Uiriel said, taking pity on him. “Fight this no more. We will wake you.”

He slept soundly, and when he woke up once on his own Tirnedhruith was there. Many recruits were wary of the veteran Ranger on account of his size and his stern countenance. Even in the Keep, Tirnedhruith was primed to fight. Such was the way of the Dunedain. But after one glance at the ready arm and sturdy shield it held, Bronagir never felt more safe in all his life.  

Uiriel woke him again in what he assumed were the morning hours, though he could not tell from inside. He realized he was in the heart of the Keep, where they prepared in contingency for a siege on Tinnudir and where children preferred to shelter in times of storm. He did not see Tirnedhruith nearby, but found him after a moment tending to another pale and weary looking Ranger Bronagir recognized from Annuminas. 

This was one of Marshall Fimdir’s men- Firinhad- that he had been assigned to patrol with as a part of his training. Dínhaleth, their patrol leader, was there too and she looked as if she had swam from Annuminas herself. She was talking with Tirnedhruith and gesturing to Firinhad, who seemed to be on the verge of a faint. It was then Bronagir noticed the bloodied bandages.

“Bronagir, eyes here.” Uiriel blocked the rest of the room from his sight and forced him to look at her. She studied his face for a moment, then held up a finger. “Follow this with your eyes. Don’t look anywhere else if you can help it.”

Frowning, Bronagir complied. Uiriel moved her hand around and he was able to track it easily. He was fairly sure he had not been hit on the head at any time recently. Yet Uiriel carried on as if he’d been bludgeoned, checking under his hair for bumps and squinting at him intently. 

“Is something wrong?” Bronagir ventured. 

Uiriel pursed her lips. “Orchalwë wishes to conduct a debriefing when you are well enough to speak. He was concerned you had sustained a head injury and asked to make sure you were not suffering from that as well.” 

Bronagir felt the ghost of an Angmarim spear on the crown of his head and shuddered. But he took a deep breath and looked back to Uiriel. “No, from that at least I was spared. If my clothes are dry I feel I am well enough to speak to Orchalwë. Else, I shall take this blanket as my cloak and parade around like a wandering shade.”

That got the desired laugh as Uiriel was reassured of his condition. “Tirnedhruith set them by the fire, and they are not only dry but warm as well.” The smile that broadened on her face was infectious. “But I would have told you otherwise had you been concussed.”

“Lying to your patients now? Egads, Healer, such treachery!” Bronagir’s joke was marred by another cough and he found his chest sorer than he remembered it being. Uiriel’s scrutinizing gaze was back on him now, but Bronagir waved a leaden arm. “Truly I am better, if not fully well.” When Uiriel did not relent, he tried again, “And I swear upon the walls of Esteldín I will tell you if I discover so much as a bruise or a splinter.” 

With a sigh, the healer stood and went to retrieve his things. Bronagir took a moment to lie there and breathe. Calenglad was right, he had been extremely lucky. Had he not quailed at the thought of swimming to Tyl Ruinen, he would be dead. He would not have survived nearly long enough for Orchalwë and Gwonil to rescue him. Idly, he wondered if he might have still been rescued by the Lady of Nenuial, even if he’d regarded her watery domain with such ignorance. 

Uiriel returned with his things and switched posts with Tirnedhruith for a moment in case he needed assistance in dressing. Tirnedhruith in turn helped him to stand and handed him things as needed. In truth, Bronagir felt well enough to go now, but his silent warden scrutinized him almost as intently as Uiriel had. 

“Before I go-” Bronagir interjected, “-I did swear a solemn oath to Uiriel. I found two bruises.” Tirnedhruith’s face did not change but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes. “And I would not leave without informing her of them.”

Methodically, he pulled on the neck of his shirt to reveal a coin-sized spot on his chest below the shoulder. “From the spear, I think. Luckily the Angmarim don’t know which is the sharp end.”

Tirnedhruith did not find this jest nearly as funny, and Bronagir was quick to abandon the whole pretense. When the glare did not lift, he remembered he had mentioned two bruises and supposed he was expected to declare the second before being allowed to leave. He hiked up his left sleeve to expose his bicep and mumbled, “Landed on a stone.”

It was a tense moment before Tirnedhruith nodded. Feeling ever more like a prisoner rather than a patient, Bronagir was steered by the shoulder away from his bedroll and into the meeting room. Orchalwë was not yet there, though Uiriel had gone ahead of him and was reporting something to Gwonil who looked pained. 

“Dínhaleth had grave news, but nothing as bad as you had feared. The docks were not overrun, though she fears they might try something like this again. She said the patrol was able to rescue all the others, even Ningeryn. Wounded as he was, Firinhad knew how to revive her.” 

Uiriel stopped as soon as she realized who it was in the room with them, and Bronagir felt he had heard more than he was meant to. Ningeryn was one of the other recruits in his patrol, and he had not seen her since they had been separated. Luckily, Uiriel was saved any kind of diversion as Orchalwë joined them. 

“Bronagir! You are recovered then?” He asked this more to Tirnedhruith and Uiriel, but seemed satisfied overall. Tirnedhruith did go so far as to steer his ever-embarrassed charge to a chair before leaving with Uiriel. Now, it was just Bronagir, Gwonil, and Orchalwë. The debrief could begin. 

He supposed he might as well get straight to the point and eliminate any awkwardness. “We were on patrol near the Port, scouting between the Port itself and the Gate of Adannon. Dínhaleth had orders to make sure the Angmarim hadn’t made as heavy landfall as they appeared to, and to burn any boats we discovered.”

This much they probably both knew, but he would tell it as it occurred and leave as few questions as possible. “Dínhaleth split the group. I went with Ningeryn and Firinhad to the northwest, where we did find and burn a rowboat. Firinhad asked me to double back along our trail to fetch some rope so we could cross another section of ruins. On the way back I… ran afoul of an Angmarim scout who had snuck up behind us. I dispatched him, but before he fell, he grabbed onto me and upset my balance so that I… tumbled down the hill and into the midst of his own patrol.”

Ashamed as he was to admit this, neither Orchalwë or Gwonil regarded him with a chastising look. “And then you were captured?” Orchalwë pressed gently after a moment. 

Bronagir took a breath. “Yes. Three of them grabbed me and, when I would not talk, marched me to their own rowboat and made for the docks. There were others there, and dark things of which you are no doubt aware. I thought I was being brought for questioning, but they cut my bonds and pushed me into the lake. You… well, you arrived for the rest.”

“Yes.” Gwonil replied quietly. Her fists were clenched and Orchalwë looked slightly ill at the memory. Bronagir supposed he must be luckier than they imagined. For all the terror he had experienced, he had not witnessed his kinsman succumb to the lake. That… that would have been harder for him to bear than the weight of the Angmarim spear. 

The room had fallen silent again. Bronagir nearly lost his nerve, but he was burning to know what disaster had befallen the rest of his patrol. 

“Ningeryn and Firinhad… were they captured as well?”

Orchalwë’s sigh sparked his panic afresh. “Yes. Firinhad told us much of it. When you did not return, he and Ningeryn followed your trail to the shore. They did not double back for Dínhaleth, but scouted the docks in a stolen rowboat.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I cannot disparage their efforts, for they slew many invaders and enabled us to retake lost ground. But Firinhad was wounded and Ningeryn nearly drowned. We came to rescue you while Dínhaleth and the rest of your patrol sought after them. They arrived in Tinnudir just behind us.”

Bronagir swallowed thickly. “And Ningeryn? I saw Firinhad talking but did not see any sign-”

Gwonil cut in. “She will recover. Firinhad needed to push water from her lungs, and she will take more time to rest than you will.”

He didn’t miss the order for future rest, but said nothing. Even though the circumstances had been out of his control, he had put his commanders through enough already. Orchalwë in particular looked as if he had not slept all night and Gwonil was still tense. A surge of apprehension came over Bronagir without warning and he took a breath to try and dispel it. Unfortunately, the source of his agony was misunderstood. 

“You are not yet well.” The legs of Orchalwë’s chair scraped across the stone floor as he jumped to his feet. “I will help you back downstairs. You must rest-”

Hastily Bronagir shook his head. “No, no- I am… Orchalwë, I am ashamed. I could not have bested three Angmarim that took me by surprise, but… But had I not been captured, my patrol would not have suffered thus.”

Orchalwë did not sit, but rounded the table to stand by Bronagir’s chair. “Battle is never easy and the aftermath even less so. Though you are right that you are not to blame, and we can still count ourselves fortunate that you all survived.”

With that, the debrief was swiftly concluded so that Orchalwë could march Bronagir back downstairs. He supposed that the extra precautions were unwarranted, but all of them had been shaken. The cruelty of the enemy was known to them, yet the events of last night were more harrowing than any he had witnessed here.

Tirnedhruith was waiting downstairs and accepted his duties as warden again eagerly. Bronagir was turned over and put up mock protest to assure them their fears were unwarranted. 

“Really,” he said, trying to find balance between reassurance and an insistance that would not draw Tirnedhruith’s ire, “I have come through it mostly unscathed.” He stopped his protest short when he saw Calenglad had returned, and was at Firinhad’s bedside. Ah. They had incurred the worry of their leader, which was to be feared as much as his wrath. The anger of Calenglad boded ill for their enemies and promised swift action from the master strategist. But his concern was all-consuming. He could turn his analytical mind to the problem, but the worry would not abate as swiftly as his rage would. As long as the issue remained, Calenglad could not rest easy. 

“You care not for me, to deliver me back into this.” Bronagir murmured to his ever-present warden. He thought he saw the corner of Tirnedhruith’s mouth twitch, but the dour expression was cemented again before he could be sure. Either way, he was made to sit back down. Again, Bronagir was called to mutter “Traitor” as Tirnedhruith made off with his boots. 

He did not have to wait long for Calenglad to venture over. It looked as if Firinhad had fallen asleep at last, and Dínhaleth had taken up a post at his bedside. With everything in hand, their leader was free to seek out the initial casualty. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Bronagir knew he had to be honest but did not want to burden Calenglad any more than he already had. “Much better. I am tired, of course, but Gwonil and Orchalwë have sent me back to rest. I am sure it will go away in no time at all.” He was careful not to try another jest, not with the look on Calenglad’s face. There was some plot, some scheme of concern cooking, and Bronagir needed to survive that as well. 

“Very good.” Calenglad said at last. “Orchalwë was worried you had hit your head. He said when they pulled you from the water, you were not speaking sense.” When he was met with an expectant look, Bronagir realized that was more a question than a statement. 

“Oh… Oh well I… I thought someone had jumped in and helped me to the surface. Orchalwë said neither of them jumped in after me, and Gwonil thought it might have… been… the Lady of Nenuial.” he finished quietly. 

Calenglad’s face remained frozen and completely unreadable. Bronagir was worried he was about to call for Uiriel or Tirnedhruith, when Calenglad exhaled deeply. “I see.”

There had to be more to it than that, but when nothing else was forthcoming, Bronagir was left with more questions than before. Had it really happened as he remembered? Did the others think him mad? Calenglad, at least, was not insisting he be checked for another head wound. Though it was a long time again before his leader spoke.

“I would not ask you to do this now, or too soon, but it would be best for you to train with Calatherdir. He is one of the strongest swimmers I know, and he has offered to help others in the past. Please-” Calenglad raised a hand, “-do not think this a punishment. It would be best if-... I need everyone to do this.” 

Bronagir understood. “Of- of course. I will make sure to… set up something when I see him next.” 

Calenglad smiled back at him, more grateful than pleased, before he stood. “Thank you, Bronagir. I will let you rest, though it brings me joy to see you well.”

And with that, he was alone a moment with his thoughts. Bronagir was determined more than ever he would learn to swim, rather than just tread water. In addition, it might be good to see if Ningeryn was given a similar task. No one had said as much, but he suspected she and Firinhad had nearly met an identical fate to his. Perhaps it would be easier to… overcome with an ally. They would no doubt be joined, and Bronagir felt buoyed at the prospect of training with his kin. There was strength as well as safety in numbers, and perhaps the sight of them all would ease Calenglad’s fears. 

Tirnedhruith came back to resume his silent watch. That was a comfort. Silent vigil was the way of the Dunedain and- as Gwonil and now Bronagir believed- that of their hidden allies. 

Should he ever meet Gwindeth- or Emmellîn- he would have to thank her.