companions determined the crossing would be safest in numbers, so as they might aid one another at need. They entered the water, which was still warm from the late summer sun and began the swim.
Arbogast and Esgalwen, burdened as they were, still swam the Dusky though the current carried them downstream. It was the Noldo who faltered. In his weary state, Morirúsë began to weaken midway across and the brown waters covered him over. The Elf was certain there was a voice in the gurgling water calling to him. Deep and low, but not clear in the words - was it Elvish that he heard? Was it the call of the Vala, Ulmo, telling him it was time to return to the lands in the West?
Even as his arms failed him and his legs knotted from overuse, Morirúsë resigned himself to the call of the water and the power it had over them all. But then, great arms reached under his arms and his head was suddenly back in the air. He gulped in the sweet breaths, even as he coughed and sputtered out water. Grimbeorn's deep voice was calling him, "Morirúsë! Elf! Do you hear me? I have you...just let me carry you. Do not fight me."
In moments, the Noldo and Beorning felt the muddy bottom under foot. The two scrambled to the river's edge and both lay panting in the mud and weeds.
Due to Grimbeorn's and Morirúsë weakened roll, I have the above narrative...add to it as you will.