#just before the good old pc gets into evendim

[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.