Gladden River Gorge
Sound. Roaring sound. The narrow canyon echoes with the rushing cataracts, and the air is filled with light spray. Only a narrow space separates sheer walls of sandstone from the north bank of the Gladden river. At one point a small stream comes in from a side canyon to the north, but it is shallow enough to be forded easily.
The canyon is so narrow it is possible to see only a little way ahead; overhead the precipices frame a narrow slot of sky. The surface of the stream down in its bed is visible as a bare whiteness below the path, which is hard underfoot.
As hot as it has been on the plains and in the river bottoms, it has been raining nearly constantly here in the highlands. Far above, a thin line of grey sky cuts through the darkness of the canyon. Sheer rock walls rise at the edge of the narrow path, rain trickling down over moss-slippery edges; rivulets of miniature rivers rushing along the path itself. Half stone, half clay, it is extremely slippery. On the right, not so far below anymore as it used to be, a swollen stream roars angrily on its way to the sea. Lothdaimoth's head is bowed, dark hair plastered to his skull. One hand trails along the cliff edge. Finally, he has slung his bow across his back - the need for hands more important just now than weapons. "Be careful!" The words are shouted, but still difficult to hear over the combined thunder of rain and creek.
Caelwen's every footstep is timid, accompanied by the fervent press of her hand to the cliff face. She, too, has her staff finally put away, caught in her pack and occasionally knocking against the stone, a sound soon lost in the roar of water. Head down, hair soaked auburn, skin red beneath the multiplying freckles, her eyes fly to Lothdaimoth at his shout, as though uncertain if he has spoken or not. A pause, and her lips move in some reply, utterly destroyed in the din. Her gaze roams.. then suddenly return to the Counsel. Her high call is better heard now. "I think the creek is rising!" She creeps closer to him.
Lothdaimoth nods shortly. A glance is spared to the raging waters, and he stops, palm flat against rock. Ahead, the narrow pathway twists around a bulge in the canyon wall. He edges around a little, slowly. Behind them, the canyon drops rapidly - their entry point already lost from view. A wrinkle of frown pinches black eyebrows together... "I think it is better to go on. We are more than half way up. If I am remembering aright..." Just in front of him, a smaller creeklet swirls across the stone. And carefully, feeling for every step, he starts on again.
Caelwen pats Lothdaimoth's shoulder with her free hand before he starts again. She attempts no reply, but waits a brief moment before continuing herself, casting a new glare up at the sky and earning a raindrop in her eye for it. She steps forth, half-slipping on a mud patch, but catches herself against the wall. A gasping moment of fright, and she creeps forth again.
The meager light filtering down from the drowning sky dims. Barely loud enough to be heard above the all-encompassing din, comes a crack. And then a different thunder. Rain-sogged soil loosens, a few pebbles bounce off stone walls; and a tree, struck by lightning in some past age and weakened, begins to topple. Lothdaimoth's eyes are fixed intently on the treacherous pathway that winds ever upwards, only occasionally flicking towards the ever-rising creek, and this second peril goes unnoticed for a time.
And in that fleeting glance cast skyward, a darker shadow may be glimpsed against the inky sky. Only a fleeting image however, a silhouette which fades from sight in an instant. Perhaps but a trick of the light amidst the raindrops...
But the younger cousin, weak in the nobler blood of the Grey-Elves but rich in the Nandor's gifts, halts and looks up. "Lothdaimoth!" she squeals, and abandons her clutch of the wall to reach with both hands for the Counsel's pack. This she gives a hard tug backwards, throwing her weight into it and jepordizing her own balance.
Feet slip uncontrollably at the unexpected jerk, and Lothdaimoth's fingers dig into the wall. Futilely, it seems for all this accomplishes is to leave a trail of scratch marks behind. The other arm windmills frantically, but also to no avail - with a heavy thud, he lands on his back and corkscrews down and back, finally coming to a stop. His legs hang precariously out over the drop to the creekbed, his head is wedged against an outcropping of rock. And blood trickles from a cut high on one temple.
Crashing downwards, the tree brings more dirt and rocks in its wake. A small cascade of muddy stones pile themselves on top of the fallen counsel's face and chest, slithering off a second later. With a rush of wind, the trunk bounces off of the path bare inches from his feet and plummets into the raging water below.
Once more reappearing over the edge of the cliff above, the shadow in the rain actually slips over the precipice, and begins to work its way slowly down the rock face up ahead. No sound of hail or greeting can be heard over the torrent of water and wind, though a sharp eye would note a familiar grey rope betwixt the figure's dark hands.
But Caelwen has no time to notice ropes or shadows or anything now, for Lothdaimoth comes falling at her, knocking the already-misbalanced Cennan completely off her feet. The slickened clay of her craft becomes her enemy, slipping her backwards and headfirst down the path as her fingers scrabble and her form dredges in mud. The path curves, but she doesn't and flies out into the rain-choked space above the creek. A loud shriek of terror is quickly silenced by a splash, the latter sound mingling with the din of the storm.
For a little while, she is swallowed by the dirty water. Then, a bit downstream, a bulge forms, and the gleaming surface is shattered by a gasping, choking face. Caelwen halts there, caught by something as the water pours around her, frequently splashing into her open mouth. And the swollen creek is still rising.
And neither is the climber noticed by Lothdaimoth, first that he is dizzied by the blow to his head, and second that Caelwen's scream drives all other thought from his mind. Struggling to get up without sliding any further down himself, he at last makes it to his knees. Horrified eyes are riveted on the creek so far below, and its infinitely precious captive. Hands slowed by cold and an odd swirling before his gaze, fumble for the rope at his waist. The anguish on his face tells the tale of thoughts: too slow! But at last the rope is freed and he feels sluggishly for a rock to tie it to. The trickle of blood down his cheek smears with rainwater, making it impossible to tell just how much there is - or how deep the cut.
All at once, the world seems to still as if holding its breath, and out into
the suddenly muted backdrop cries a voice as a terrible thunder - one word
only, but more intense than any thrilling verse. "CAELWEN!" It is Erinstar,
soft-spoken and reserved, though neither of these does he portray now.
Sparing no time for thought, but springing into action immediately instead, his
left hand intertwines swiftly into the length of hithlain in a makeshift loop
as he simply leaps backwards from the cliff face into a reckless free-fall.
Past the ridge where Lothdaimoth lies he flies, arcing subtly as the rope
begins to straighten, swinging down towards Caelwen at a haphazard angle.
Still, such risks are not taken without price, and even as he begins to near
the water on his path, the canyon narrows and the Herald's margin for error
grows too thin. A muted crunch is nearly lost upon the cacophony of nature's
fury, and the fool hero rebounds from the jagged canyon wall with a gasp of
shock of pain, cut short abruptly as he plunges into the river at last and is
dragged through the torrent towards the flailing potter with only minimal
control.
Caelwen's face, small and pale and upturned, is frequently swamped by dirty
wavelets and pounded on by the unrelenting storm. She coughs and gasps, sucking
desperately at air whenever the chance is given to her. Her bright eyes are
terror-stricken, pointed at the sky but unseeing, and briefly focus without
comprehension on the Herald's form when he flies over her. Her ears are
underwater; it is doubtful she heard his cry or anything else, save for the
rush of the creek.
A shadow moves across the path, grows larger and abruptly turns into a flying
Herald. Complete bewilderment freezes Lothdaimoth in place, only his eyes move
to follow this unexpected apparition until it too disappears into the creek.
But it is only a brief pause before his hands begin to move again, testing his
chosen rock and tying the rope securely around it. A tug for stability, the
other end wrapped around his chest; and he begins his own descent. Much slower,
and under his own control (mostly at least), he slips and slides down the rocky
wall, muddy hands clenched on the thin grey line.
Reaching the roiling waters at last, Lothdaimoth stops, feet braced against the
rock, to look behind him. Long minutes pass as he searches the muddy creek for
Erinstar and Caelwen, but finally blurry eyes focus on a bobbing figure. And he
carefully makes his way along the boulders that used to tower above the water
but now are nearly covered by froth and swirling mud.
Gritting his teeth as he pulls himself up over the surface of the raging
waters, Erinstar emerges with barely enough time to push off a jutting spire of
rock towards Caelwen, narrowly missing a second collision as he tightens his
grip on the straining hithlain in determination. The river begins to part as he
nears the floundering maiden however, split by the submerged outcropping upon
which she is snagged. For a moment it seems as if the Aracarach will be swept
right past, but at the last second his free hand darts out and just manages to
grab hold of the quarterstaff still clinging across her back and pull himself
in to brace upon the stone itself. Shouting incoherently over the raging
current, he makes to tie the rope around her waist while struggling to maintain
his precarious hold upon the mutual anchor with a planted boot.
Caelwen's head does not turn, but she still seems to know when Erinstar nears
her. Beneath the water, her arms fight the current, an incoherant cry of pain
lost to the noise. Her hands find him, and both tangle fistfuls of his tunic.
She clings to him with a panic-driven strong grip. Terror washes off her like
waves of heat from an oven.
Now and then a hand is lifted to Lothdaimoth's head, and he stops, swaying a
bit. Still, while the drama continues behind him, he has managed to work his
way along the shore until he is actually a little downstream of the other two.
From the end of the rope, he unwraps several yards before tying a firm knot
that will leave his arms free. A few swings for momentum, and the rope is sent
flying through space towards Erinstar with naught but a hoarse wordless shout
to accompany it.
Cringing as Caelwen jars his fractured rib-cage, Erinstar nevertheless remains
intent upon his task. Finally managing to secure the line around her, he wraps
one arm around her torso and dives underneath the waves once more to free her
legs with as much haste as he dares. Once pulled free, he surges up from
beneath the waves and pushes off towards the bank where Lothdaimoth lies in
wait, grasping at the second rope with his free hand as he struggles to swim
against the rush of water under so much weight and pressure...
The rope tightens with a jerk as it takes the weight of bodies; and Lothdaimoth
gasps as it cuts into his middle. Both hands curl around the line and leaning a
bit forward, he creates enough slack to wrap it around one and begin to pull.
The rain pours down relentlessly, filling the air with nearly as much water as
is in the creekbed. And still pulling with all his strength, the counsel braces
both booted feet against a rock and leans backward. The rising waters snatch at
his legs, swirling up to his knees.
Caelwen only reluctantly reluctantly releases Erinstar's tunic to allow him to
free her legs, then flails for him again as she is suddenly free. She pulls
herself close to him, and after a moment of confusion, begins to kick alongside
to help swim, her face a mask of pain. Struggling against the pressure of the
waves, the stone wall coming closer.. The rope suddenly tightens, and they
swing to the bank. The Cennan finally releases the Herald to grasp at the
stones, body trailing behind her still.
The rope slackens and almost immediately the water grabs it and whirls it
downstream. Ignoring it, Lothdaimoth crouches down and reaches out for
Caelwen's hand. The line around his chest goes taut, creaking a little as it
takes much of his weight, but finely wrought elven rope will not break under
this slight strain. Of more danger is that he might slip again on the uncertain
footing of loose pebbles and slimy stone. When his cousin is safely atop the
rock, and clinging to the rope, he turns to aid the Herald.
With the final reserves of strength and stamina spent just to reach the river's
rising edge amidst the relentless battering of the rapids and the weight of
both armoured bodies, Erinstar finally looses his grip upon both lady and line
as soon as she is taken into the Counsel's hold lest he drag them all assunder.
Stormy eyes meet with Lothdaimoth's for but a shattered second, unspoken words
written amidst their clouded depths, and then he is gone. Only white foam
remains, flecks of crimson lost swiftly upon the waves as the dark figure of
the Lady's Herald is carried away by the unforgiving Gladden. It thus that the
proclaimed Hand of Fate falls unto its own, and the destiny of the Deathless
lies once again in the hands of Mandos. Only time and prayers will tell the
difference now...
Caelwen just huddles atop the boulder, head bowed, breath shallow and careful.
She turns, late, and flails toward the Herald when he slips, a pained cry
hurling from between her lips. She nearly slips away again, but halts her slide
with her hands scraping on stone. She stares numbly at the spot in the
swirling, swollen waters where Erinstar /should/ be, and finally turns to
Lothdaimoth with a sob wrenching her throat, eyes wild.
The Herald looses his grip, being pulled away by the hungry waters just as
Lothdaimoth reaches a hand to grasp his. This second blow is almost too much,
and he rocks back on his heels as if the shock is actually physical. When he
straightens, he seems shrunken, older in more ways than one. Anguish flickers
in dark eyes, deepening the haggard lines of his white face. Staring helplessly
downstream, his gaze jerks from water to rock to wall. But here the stream
widens, or the canyon narrows, for the boulders that have brought him safe thus
far disappear. From sheer rock wall to sheer rock wall, the creek boils and
whirls - there is no passing. Finally, he turns to Caelwen. "We must climb up.
There is no other way. Then..." His voice catches raggedly and he swallows,
eyes closing for a moment. "Then we can .." But he cannot continue. Instead, he
takes a single watery step towards his cousin and wraps his arms about her.
Caelwen's arms, covered in rent cloth and flesh mildly rent beneath, wind
around Lothdaimoth. As she has done so often before, she presses her eyes to
his shoulder and sobs, rain running down her skin and tears wetting her
cousin's raiment. Her weeping is an odd mixture of shallow, careful breathing,
shrieks of pain and wails of heartbreak. "I am sorry!" Her words bubble wetly.
His own arms tighten around her thin shoulders, and resting his cheek against
sodden copper hair, Lothdaimoth shuts his eyes. A single tear seeps between
closed eyelids and trickles down his cheek, lost at once among the raindrops
that wet his skin. It is long before he can speak, and then he says no more
than, "Twas not your fault". And putting her gently from him, he turns blindly
towards the rope.
Caelwen's lips move in speech when she is placed away from Lothdaimoth, but too
quiet to hear. Her hands begin a ginger exploration of her own torso, and she
sobs anew when she touches her ribs. She straightens to follow him, and the
cousins continue on their nightmarish journey.