Disclaimer: I do not own the Silmarillion, The Unfinished Tales, The Children of Húrin, The History of Middle-earth volumes or any other source of information from which I drew my ideas.
"…and when Glóredhel Hador's daughter learned of them fall of Haldir she grieved and died…But Rían went to the Haudh-en-Nirnaeth and laid herself down there, and died…Morwen Eledhwen remained in Hithlum, silent in grief." – The Departure of Túrin, the Children of Húrin
It was as Glóredhel wife of Haldir wandered through the woods of Brethil when it seemed to the people of Haleth that her eyes were glazed, her white raiment a dull grey, and her golden hair gleamed no longer in the sun. The rims of her eyes were red with tears and grievance for her lord's death and she no longer held a desire for life.
"Whither do you go lady? Whither do you flee in this dark hour, when all are grieving and filled with dread?" they cried as she passed their households.
But she would turn her head to them and say, "Where should I flee as you say, on this day of doom? My lord is dead and the Houses of Haleth and Hador my father are doubtless to fall soon, as the House of Bëor failed. Whither should I flee? Soon the world shall fall to darkness and ruin, and I despair for all who live in those days! But I forebode that I shall not be one of the luckless and unhappy, for my life is now tribute to Haldir my lord."
She fled from that place in all haste, weeping upon her aimless road, for the love of between her and Haldir had been great. By chance it seemed she found herself under a great beech upon a tall hill, where she had plighted her troth to Haldir many years before.
There Glóredhel laid herself down and remembered the long hours she had spent under the tree with her lord in the green springs and summers of Brethil. And then she thought of now, when the naked trees shook in the cold northern wind, and all seemed under darkness. She wept no more, and thought ahead, to when she might see again Haldir her beloved, meeting him beyond the Outer Sea. Now she had reflected upon all: past, present, and future.
She leaned her head upon the trunk of the beech, and she closed her eyes to the world and her heart failed. Thus she died.
The dust choked her. Her lungs and nostrils were filled with it, and when her lips parted to cry the sand stifled her voice. Yet she dared to lift her eyes to the Great Mound. And not heeding the sand that dried her throat, she wailed with dread.
Before the eyes of Rían was the Haudh-en-Nirnaeth; and that was a terrible sight. Many feet high it was, and the green grass had not yet grown upon it, the reek of death was about it, and it was crowned with crows and birds of carrion. The armor of the dead reflected the dim sunlight, and it gleamed as a beacon.
Already weak with the recent birth of her son, all strength now seemed to leave her, and she sank to her knees. Her eyes turned from the resting place of Huor her husband and looked upon the black and treacherous peaks of Thangorodrim. Then she dared to cry aloud, "How cruel you are Morgoth! You seek to destroy the Houses of the Edain, now you shall have one less to worry your mind upon!" Yet if Morgoth heard her words he paid no heed to them. And rising from her knees, Rían walked towards the Great Mound, where now rested the Edain and Eldar of the North.
As she neared the vast mound of bodies, the crows cried aloud, as if in mockery it seemed to her, and venomous serpents slithered beneath her bare feet. A harsh wind blew from the north, carrying frigid air, and all was silent as Rían daughter of Belegund and wife of Huor kneeled before the Haudh-en-Nirnaeth.
Again her voice rose in a wail of sorrow, and she wept, for the death and ruin before seemed incalculable. "O where are you Huor, dear lord? How shall I find you among the masses of the slain and the dead? But should I try, dear beloved? I have wearied of the world." And the birds of carrion fled from the sound of her voice.
No answer came to her, nor had she expected one. Now she wept and the full bitterness of widowhood took Rían in the middle of Anfauglith, before Thangorodrim and the eyes of Morgoth. Now she laid herself down at the foot of the Great Mound and her eyes saw the light of the world no more. Thus she died.
Morwen Eledhwen let her eyes wander to the north-east, to Angband, where now sat Húrin her husband. No tear she had yet shed in the time that Húrin had ridden away, and her cousin Rían had fled into the wild. Grief had taken Morwen for though she had lied to Rían concerning the fate of Húrin and Huor, she knew in her heart that none would return from that dreadful battle.
But Morwen would not mourn, at least, not in front of the household. In her heart she kept her secrets and grievances, hidden from all, save a few of the faithful and guarded tongue, such as Aerin the kinswoman of her husband and son.
A wind gusted from the north, and her body was chilled as her heart. She stood in the courtyard of the house of Húrin, and she wished to see the great sands of Anfauglith the dry, so that she might glimpse far off Thangorodrim, where she thought her husband was now entrapped.
What should the forlorn and lonely do in the dark hours of the world? How should she act? Her mind turned to Túrin and her yet unborn child. Now bitterness and doubt filled her mind once more. Where should the son of Húrin flee? He could not stay here in Hithlum, for Morwen could no longer hold the Swarthy Men from the house of her husband much longer. If they were to find Túrin, there was no doubt in her mind that he would be made a thrall to Brodda, or be put to death as the true heir of the land.
Never had Morwen expressed sadness or fear in front of anyone, not to Túrin or any who remained now in this household. But how could one stand against the unending night of Morgoth? Now she dwelt in his land, and from there she could not escape. Here and now she felt fear.
Greatly she had loved Húrin for many years, and greatly he had loved her back. To none would she reveal grief, save Húrin alone. And deeply had she mourned his passing into Angband, but in silence. And now she bowed her head and let herself weep, in the quiet of the empty courtyard. Yes, she would grieve her husband, but she would not die.
A/N: So, this is the first part of a series I'm planning, which will probably range around thirty chapters. Each chapter's length will span from one hundred words to around two or three thousand. Half-elven will be included in the story, as well as a few Númenóreans tales, perhaps.
Reviews are held with high respect and are greatly appreciated! Constructive criticism is most welcome!