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Amroth
Far, far away, he heard a voice calling. He could not reply.
"My lord."
He knew the voice... did he not? His hair strayed in the current, sometimes covering his eyes. He could see, dimly, but he could not breathe, could not move his arms or legs, could not turn his head. He was cold, very cold. He lay on the bottom, buried in mud, only his face showing.
"My lord."
I can hear you. Why can I not see you?
"I am here, my lord. I will not leave your side."
Erebemlin! Friend, why do my limbs move not?
"Courage, my lord. Courage. "
If he closed his eyes, the mud only grew colder. He stared, trapped and unmoving in the sucking grip of death. He longed to give in and die indeed, but the voice of his friend stayed him, and he listened again.
Beyond Erebemlin, he heard a thin sound... a mocking laugh. The warm south wind was somehow icy cold; he was drenched to the skin. The ship surged from the storm... he was stiff and unmoving and could not respond; he fell. He looked up through the water as he sank, and saw his love on the deck, and the mocking elf-sailor standing beside her.
He sank like a stone to the muddy bottom... cold, ice-cold mud. It wrapped around his feet, his body, sucking him down til only his face felt the current. His hair moved in the water, waving to and fro over his eyes.
"Courage, my king."
His lips tightened into a hard line. His will grasped Erebemlin's presence, and did not let go.
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