#nethraw

97. Reunion yeah this is fine i'm fine emotionally

Braigiar is first with the news. He and Bainfuir had managed to stick together the longest, sheltering with this outpost of dwarves and helping bolster their provisions when they might. Game was hard to procure in a land so poisoned by the machinations of the Witch King, but they were making the best of it.

So when news came across the Rammas, they made themselves ready.

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Nethraw was next. He stood up to his neck in mystery, trying if he might to untangle the web of history woven in this forgotten place. Not, certainly, forgotten by all who dwell here, but perhaps... unremembered. Unmarked-upon. Great were the songs and tales of warlords past. He had heard many and strove to put pen to them, to preserve them if the Iron Crown silenced the singers at last.

Someone had crossed that wall of death. Of songs and swords, this tale would not be lost.

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Esteldin heard after. Not one raven but two now stood in the survivor's ranks, with word of Corunir at least. Helegdir and Muiladan and Gwathryn stand ready, well before the order is given. Daervunn and Halbarad exchange a grimace, but now there is no stopping what's to come. There is a great need in Angmar, a need that involves more of their kin than the ones already trapped there.

The Rammas is breached, and the forces of the Iron Crown march across Eriador.

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Gath Forthnir is far to the north. There are a great many of the Lost Company- of Golodir's Company- therein, and they ache for news of their kin. They are given much in news and less in details, but it is clear that the time is coming. Their exile nears the end, but their duty still asks much of them.

Lorniel stands ready to break into Carn Dum, and with the power of the Watchers lessened, nothing will stand in her way.

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Areneth has the distinct privilege of greeting them first. Braigiar he picks up and strives to crush bone, for he knows how amusing it will be. Bainfuir gets a less... enthusiastic embrace, mainly so he's free to laugh.

Old Nethraw is warmly met, and far too much time is spent in the hearing of tales for his liking.

Muiladan surprises Areneth as the first back, and he has to fling his sword aside to avoid stabbing the kinsman that barrels into him like a charging bull. He's nearly knocked over, and Muiladan clings like a leech.

Corunir is next. Areneth's heart is heavy, leaden, in his chest. But the biggest hearts may be led by love to folly, and Areneth will bear him no judgement. His duty is to the door, and to the people within. Corunir is of their Company and permitted to pass. Still, the love of a kinsman found is not easily banished, and Areneth squeezes his hand tightly.

Lorniel's return snaps his heart like dried kindling. It writhes in the flame cast by the enemy and he is given no time, no information. Areneth guards the door and opens it hurriedly. Golodir, he almost does not recognize.

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Golodir returns once more a changed man. He mounts the hill with measured steps, but lighter than he had last been. There are words he should like to say to all within. There are words he dares not attempt.

But his door-warden helps steel him, as he always had. Areneth is steadfast, immovable, yet moved to duty and aid as he might. His embrace bolsters, and Golodir enters Gath Forthnir.

Braigiar has always been loud, and he is loud in rejoicing today. He has things to say about Golodir's looks, his facial hair, his dress sense, and Bainfuir coves a laugh when Golodir tells him his own hair is plenty grey.

Nethraw is always free with his opinion, and he is freely glad to see Golodir alive. Theirs is a longer meeting than Golodir wishes, if mostly for the way tears spring unexpectedly to his eyes. Nethraw, of all of them.

Muiladan and Gwathryn have letters and questions and stern words all mixed in between them. Golodir ruffles Muiladan's hair as he was once expected to, and they are at peace.

Corunir. If Nethraw was all joy, Corunir is all anguish. Guilt could be tolerated. Regret borne. But his heart will not accept the fear and he surges forward. Corunir will always be like a son to him. If he will stand by his choice to leave, he can not rage at Corunir for his choice to stay. The years have been too hard on them both.

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82. Buried/Caves/Underground in a shocking turn of events, the answer is not tur morva

"I'm terrified of tight spaces."

"Oh? I think my greatest fear is drowning. Or being murdered."

"That doesn't help."

"I tried." Nethraw shrugged- or tried to- but ended up shifting enough to rain dirt down the back of his collar. Culang's heart pounded like a village alarm bell against his folded arm. He'd tackled his kinsman when the earth split, and rolled them both into a yawning pit. Still, it could be worse. There were too many assembled at the end for someone to not have seen them disappear.

He could not do much to soothe Culang's panic. They were both pinned by debris, but not crushed. In fact, his cloak was providing one of them with cover from the raining dirt. But it did not comfort Culang much.

"I find I can muster some bravery in all situations but this." Indeed, he was trying to sound brave and doing well except the quaver on the last few words. "Here we are, so close to victory, and I'm going to die--"

"You're not going to die." Nethraw knew he was not helping now, but didn't have much else to try. His own body weight was making breathing harder for his poor kinsman. Short of dying and becoming deadweight he couldn't do a lot worse.

Nethraw tried to tilt his head forward and give his nose a little more room. "In fact, we're probably the first priority. Rescue the missing, tend to the wounded, then bury the dead. And I'm not much hurt if you're not much hurt."

Culang was quiet a little too long after that. Nethraw could feel him working up a breath to speak and wondered if this was more dire a scrape than he had thought.

"I... feel like I'm dying."

Was that the fear, then, talking? Nethraw frowned. "You sound like you're living. And feel like you're living, for whatever that's worth."

This time he felt Culang squirm a little before sucking in a breath. Was this his body trying to fight his reason and escape somehow?

"Nethraw... Nethraw, I'm crushed... My heart-- I'm going to burst!" He sounded much more panicked now. Those breaths were too shallow and too fast. Inwardly, Nethraw cursed. They were relatively safe, and within minutes of rescue. But Culang unconscious presented a greater risk. He would not have it. Not now, now that they were so close--

With tremendous effort, Nethraw pushed hard on the arm raised over his head. Dirt and ash flowed across his head and neck like water. After a moment, he was able to make space enough to move his other arm. He squeezed it up and across his chest until it found the space where his chin had been. Then, he pushed it down firmly to support the rest of him.

Now there was room. His chest and arms and back burned with the effort of it, but Culang had an inch and a half of freedom. It told him something else as well- that most of what covered them was loose earth, and that not deep. The thing over one of his legs and both of Culang's had also not come free, but the pressure in that quarter was less as well. It wasn't supported by their bodies, then. It would not come undone if they shifted.

Culang tried to curl inward, but still found himself hindered. Yet, Nethraw noticed, the breaths came at a slower rate. Not so hectic and wild.

"If I'm not making it better, you could always try to drown or murder me. Then we'd at least be in the same boat." For that, at least, he got a chuckle. "If you feel as if you've got enough room, try calling for help. I've got too much dirt in my mouth."

Culang took in such a breath that even suspended as he was- for the moment, at least- Nethraw felt it brush up against him. And then he bellowed. Louder and greater was the call than perhaps even the yell of his captain. Culang did not sound so stricken now. From under the shield of his kinsman, he could call for help.

He finished, panting a little for air, and they both waited. Quite sooner than they expected, they heard an answer. Only, it was no human voice that rallied to them now, baying as it bounded closer.

"Is that... a dog?"