[Durelin]

Vrór

Vrór had been convinced that he had been responsible for securing the death of the entire Fellowship of the Fourth Age when he and Carl first came upon the obstacle they had not anticipated in their tunnel. It was thick and rocky, and most likely partly supported the tunnel – even if they could bring it down, they did not want to risk it. For several moments, it was if all the dirt and rock surrounding the Dwarf and Hobbit were pressing in on them, and would soon suffocate the two. They were trapped. They all were, not just the two in the tunnel.

But then Carl cried out. Vrór felt his heart could have burst with shock from the cry, but the Hobbit had good news for them: he had found a way to get through. But that way meant going in blind. He would have to actually submerge himself in the creek, and swim under the rock to reach whatever lay beyond. They hoped only the captives would be waiting for them, but there was no way to be sure. Vrór voiced his concern and cautioned Carl, but before the Dwarf could do a thing the Hobbit had plunged into the dark water, into the unknown.

Vrór swallowed, his eyes wide, taking in Carl’s bravery and finding it difficult to absorb. The Dwarf started to reach for his axe, having stuffed his tools in his belt again, and he drew the weapon to hold it along with the torch. Should he follow him? Would the Hobbit bring the captives back if he found them? Would the captives be able to make it? Would Vrór even be able to make it to the other side if he needed to?

He certainly wasn’t interested in swimming, or trying to fit through tight spaces, and managing both at once seemed near impossible for him.

The Dwarf strained his ears, his body rigidly still, listening, waiting for any sign that Carl had made it, somehow, to the other side. The moments of silence dragged on too long for Vrór’s liking, and then he heard some splashing he thought was separate from the usual sounds of the creek.

“Carl,” he said with a whisper. “Carl?” he repeated as much louder as he could risk.

His ears attuned to any sounds around him, he noticed something strange about the sounds coming from the outside of the cave. He could hear a voice, and it was neither Lindir’s nor Dorran’s.

“Carl?” he muttered frantically.

His last attempt was swallowed up by a huge explosion, which resulted in dirt and dust dislodging itself from the roof and sides of the tunnel. Vrór did his best to muffle a few coughs. Now he was completely disoriented. Behind him, their guards had been found, and before him, a wall of stone and earth blocked his path and his vision, and he had lost his companion to behind that obstacle. And somewhere nearby, something had exploded! Were the others alright? Or were they the source of that literally ground-shaking event?

Did the enemy know they were underground? Were they trying to collapse the tunnel?!

He had to get out of here…

But he could not abandon Carl, even if he went to the aid of Dorran and the Elf. Those two could hold their own, he was certain, but against how many men? Should he stay here and guard Carl’s back should the two fall? Or…should he take the plunge?

If there were someone waiting for him and Carl in the pit, then the Hobbit would need help much more than Lindir and Dorran did. Having balanced the torch in between edges of rock that poked out from the wall of the tunnel, he took off his belt and his boots, glad that he had chosen not to wear his mail. Leaving behind his hammer was painful, but he knew it had to be done. He would not risk leaving his axe behind, though. He might need it.

After taking a deep breath and one last attempt to calm his nerves, Vrór had to all but convince himself that there was a mob of Orcs behind him ready to gut him in order for him to plunge into the water, his hands immediately searching for the hole. He pushed himself through, his legs kicking, and splashing more water than he should have. Already he had forgotten to keep things quite above the surface of the water. Wriggling his way around, unable to breath, everything dark and murky, with frigid water all around him, he had some trouble telling up from down. He felt panic tighten in his throat, which only made his body want to breath normally all the more. But he tried to keep his focus, not wanting to panic.

For a moment he seemed trapped again, and for a second he was convinced he would have a watery grave. There had to be a way out! He frantically searched around him, wide-eyed, even though the water discomforted his eyes. Then there was a gleam of something, somewhere above him, and he forced himself up toward it. Water found its way into anywhere…and he had only to follow it out. He hoped.

Straining his lungs a few more seconds, he broke the surface of the water, emerging on to solid ground almost immediately. He spluttered a bit, and shook his head back and forth to throw the water from him. It was hopeless, as his mass of hair and beard was of course completely soaked. Then, remembering suddenly where he was, Vrór raised his axe and peered ahead of him, wiping water from his eyes with his other hand.

The sight before him gladdened him, and brought a smile to his face, but he stopped himself from letting out a laugh. There was Carl, wet but safe, and another, a boy. Scanning the rest of the pit, though, his grin was wiped from his face when he saw a girl lying nearby, still as death. For a moment his heart was seized with fear, and the emotion loosened its grip only slightly after he looked closely and saw the rising and falling of her chest.

Realizing how difficult the situation was, and how tricky it would be to try and get all four of them back the way they came, Vrór would have felt embarrassed in any other situation. But now he was just too frightened. And he knew there was no time for explanations, for excuses.

Climbing out slowly and carefully, taking things an inch at a time, not wanting to make any noise, he attempted to try and stay near the ‘entrance’ back into the tunnel, and kept himself hunched over to remain under small outcroppings around it, though he also tried to move closer to Carl.

“Do you think they can make it back the way we came?” he whispered. He glanced at the girl in particular, though he also noted the boy’s youth with great pain.

Could any of them make it back that way?

“Dorran and Lindir have run in to some trouble, I think, but…I’d say we have a better chance of it out there than…” he gestured up above them, knowing no more explanation was needed. Luckily, after tackling that struggle with water, Vrór was feeling a little more certain that he would in some way get out of this mess alive. And he knew he would make sure the others did…somehow.