I swim frantically towards shore, trying to cause the least amount of ripples to occur in the lake as possible. Though one of my shoulders hurts from the fall into the water, I grit my teeth and push on, determined to survive. I scramble my way up the steep, slippery embankment, my entire body soaked to the bone and dripping the frigid water everywhere.
I decide it best to simply discard my cloak, as it is now freezing instead of keeping me warm. I gently remove my only dagger from my boot; my sword, bow, and the rest of my knives must have fallen into the lake with me and remained there. It takes some time for my cold, half numb fingers to manipulate themselves around the hilt of the weapons; everything I do seems to take an eternity in itself. As soon as the dagger is gasped firmly in my left hand, I cast a furtive glance around me at my surroundings.
The mountains rest at my back, and on either side of me rises a thick, ancient forest with trees so old no one knows how long it has grown there. Kinjal, the other Riders, and the two remaining Balrogs are all down at the opposite end of the lake, which I stand parallel to, my feet resting at the edge of the precarious embankment. The Riders farther beyond all seem to be no more than a spot of color to my weak eyes from my location.
Every few moments I spot a bronze blur, wheeling higher up in the air than the rest. Kinjal still has not found me, and she only seems to be moving farther away with the passing time.
My gaze then travels down to Gothmog, his slimy, wormlike body slowly paddling its way back to shore. With the loss of his cloak of flame and shadow, he seems much smaller, but no less wicked.
The moment his gaze locks with mine, his speed increases. He swims toward the bank that I currently stand on as if the devil were chasing him, but even the frightening approach does not move me. I remain rooted to the spot, every inch of me having been exhausted in my desperate fight against drowning. Even though I do not move from my place at the very edge of the water, my legs shake, and the numbness from the cold only worsens it.
"I am going to die here." I think suddenly. I am going to die unable to move, unable to fight back in any way. Gothmog will tear me apart without a care, and then he will go back to Erebor and kill those I have tried so hard to keep safe.
Once again, the Duhului Drakai is helpless when she is needed most. It seems that fate has a cruel sense of humor when it comes to my life. At least this repeating cycle of those I care about dying while I am helpless will come to a close. I cannot hope to win when my bond with Kinjal refuses to work.
I almost slap myself at my own stupidity, but remember I hold a dagger in my hand at the last moment. My bond was severed with Kinjal because I am too scared to keep my mind calm and focused, so I just need to calm myself and I will be able to connect with her again! My whole thought process until now had been too worried about Gothmog to remember this crucial fact.
It proves a near impossible task to calm myself, as I Gothmog swimming towards me is clearly visible in my line of sight. Eventually, I have to close my eyes completely, blocking out every other sensation besides my mind probing in the dark for Kinjal.
At first there is nothing at all, only the darkness. Slowly though, a light tugging pulls at me, gently guiding my consciousness forward. The sensation increases, dragging me along faster and faster until I feel as though I am flying through the darkness. It stops suddenly, running me head on into a wall of warmth. It is not warm in the sense of the first days of summer, but rather of something familiar and comforting. The feeling envelopes me, until I am tingling head to toe with the sensation.
All at once it is as if a part of my mind has been opened up to access again. I can feel Kinjal's presence back in my own mind like it should be.
"Kinjal!" I cry with relief, pure joy flowing into my words.
"Pan! I am sorry I dropped you; where are you now? I cannot find you." Kinjal replies urgently, but I can hear the joy in her voice as well.
Being without her comforting presence in my mind, even for a short while, is like losing a piece of myself. I now understand why almost all Riders go insane if their dragons die and they live on; it is torture in the purest form to have part of yourself ripped away from you.
"We are on opposite sides of the lake, and Gothmog approaches me quickly. I am having trouble moving my legs, but it is not an injury, I think."
"Do not worry, I will be there soon. You will have to evade him until I arrive; be ready to jump."
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This chapter has yet to undergo editing.
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