Noble Injuries
Hurin Thalion shifted from foot to food as he waited for his audience with King Fingon, tapping his fingers against his thigh. Whatever was causing the delay? Huor gave him a pointed look and a small gesture to use the chairs provided. Hurin rolled his eyes, but complied.
Just then, Norgalad, Fingon's steward, slipped out through the door to the audience chamber. Hurin jumped to his feet, while Huor rose a little more slowly to his.
"I'm very sorry, my lords," Norgalad said, "but there has been an unexpected development, and the King is not available today. Would it be possible for you to see him tomorrow? Rooms and entertainment will be provided while you are here."
Hurin frowned slightly. "What happened? Nothing terrible, I hope?"
The steward winced. "No, he should be fine by tomorrow."
"He's hurt?" asked Huor.
"How did Morgoth manage to get an assassin into Barad Eithel, of all places?" demanded Hurin.
The steward blinked. "What assassin?"
"The one who injured him?" said Hurin.
The steward smiled suddenly. "No, no, he tripped on his state robes, and fell down the dais steps. He's sprained his ankle, and broken his wrist."
"He what?" said Hurin. He shook his head. I thought elves were supposed to be graceful. "Never mind. I suppose everyone is clumsy occasionally. We can wait till tomorrow."
A/N: Given how long they live, the House of Finwe really ought to suffer more in the way of non-heroic injuries and deaths than canon would suggest.