Follows from: https://laurelinarchives.org/node/54739 This is a quick little bit from a series I was asked to embark on to give insight into the character's background
Laicamiril awoke with a start in the small fishing boat. Above were a first sprinkling of stars. The unnatural storm clouds that had appeared over Ost in Edhil were here but tattered shreds and the menace was gone out of them. The baby was babbling quietly in his mother's arms as his father and the dwarf hauled at the oars. Alcarcala, the mother smiled wanly to see the other refugee at last awake from her long swoon. The sword she had born out of the dying city was in the bottom of the boat beside her. The dwarf had his own sword and Laicamiril felt they now had hope of reaching the Numenorean city that lay at the mouth of the Gwathlo. In Tharbad they could take ship to Mithlond, the mighty fortress city of Cirdan from which Gil Galad would surely send help.
Laicamiril sat up on her elbows and looked all about. “Where are we?”
Alcarcala's husband Oloscar, intent on his oar answered, “Far enough I hope. You slept long, lady. Are you much recovered?” Laicamiril nodded affirmation but took note that her question had not received a really meaningful answer.
“I will be alright. I'm not hurt. How long do you reckon it will take to reach Tharbad?” she asked, referring to the Numenorean castle town downriver.
The dwarf, looked back and scowled. “He can't tell you. We're lost,” he said with disgust. And looked back ahead as though to avoid striking up an old argument.
Oloscar grimaced at his rowing companion and spat back testily. “We're not entirely lost. Gwathlo is harder to find in this stretch is all. And it is night.”
“I thought you were a fisherman?” The dwarf, Ketil, laughed sarcastically. The baby began to cry and squirm. Alcarcil's frown seemed to dim the very stars. “Mind your tongue, dwarf!”
“Ketil sat upright and said “That's it. You two know so much you row.”
Alcarcil looked as thought she might give the dwarf a kick until Lacamiril cried out, “Peace! Give me the oar, Ketil. Sit and take your ease and we will work out way out of the marsh.”
Oloscar's wife and her short antagonist seemed mollified and she turned her attention to the little one, quieting him. Laicamiril took up Ketil's place taking a look around. She had copied out over a hundred maps of this region. None of them showed the kind of detail they needed but it was clear from memory that the marsh country was not very extensive. Three small tirbutaries from the east north-east. One from the west. She leaned over and examined the current. It was at that moment that Oloscar slumped onto her shoulder. She had no realized how badly hurt the elf had been. A horrific swelling over his left eye gave testament to a blunt trauma. They had not seen before and he had been too stoic to do other than enudure what he must for his family. She laid him gently at his wife's feet and was thankful the boat was long.
“No wonder he was lost. I'm astonished he was conscious as long as he was. Ketil, I'm afraid your break is at an end.
“Poor bastard,” Ketil answered, taking up his station once again. “Got any ideas?”
Laicamiril guided them by the stars and the strength of the current until they cleared the twist in the river. Once they made their way into the strong seaward current again, they saw enemy raiding parties several times on one bank or another. Though the orcs sent some darts aloft, none of them could manage the range.
By time the sky turned a dull orange in the east, they made out the bulk of the Numenorean fortress. After challenges and answers they were brought into the city walls and given quarters and their hurts healed.
