Lost Laughter

Turin wandered back upstairs with a sigh. It had only been a week since he had been allowed to rise from bed, and he was still weak from his illness. Mother and Father had told him to go and change into his new black shirt and trousers, as he had to attend Lalaith's buri- as he would have to go outside later. (He would not think about why, and he was not going to watch Lalaith- Urwen- the body be buried.). So he did not need to don the hated black mourning clothes as he wasn't going to the funeral, but his mind would not settle, and he did not know what to do with himself. He sat on his bed for a while, reading an old storybook. It was a collection of tales of Valinor, told to their people by the Eldar, this book having been written and illustrated for children. It was (had been) Lalaith's favourite. Turin opened the book randomly.

'And the days in Aman were marked by the flowering and fading of the Two Trees, golden Laurelin and silver Telperion, in the days before the Sun and Moon.'

Turin stared at the colourful image, painted on the opposite page. Lalaith had loved this story...

"Turin, do we have gold an' silver treeth like that?" She lisped, giggling, snuggled up next to him as he read to her.

He looked down at her, smiling at her three-year-old silliness. "No, Lalaith. Those trees were for the Elves. We get to have the Sun and Moon instead."

"Oh." Her blue eyes widened. "That's good. I like Sun and Moon."

Turin ruffled her golden curls. "So do I."

"But where'd treeth go?"

"I don't know." He looked through the next pages of the book. "It doesn't say."

Lalaith beamed suddenly, her smile making Turin grin too. "Maybe treeths turn into Sun and Moon!"

"Maybe! We'll have to ask Papa and Mama later." He offered her the book. "You pick the next story."

"Yay!" Lalaith hugged Turin. "You best bwother ever!"

Turin's eyes stung and he tossed the book aside, not caring that it landed page down on the floor. He was never going to look at that book again. He was too old for children's stories.

He stormed from the room, fighting back tears. "It's not fair! Why can't she come back? Why does she have to be dead?"

He marched back towards the stairs, intending to run outside, to the woods and stay there until supper. Then he wouldn't have to say goodbye to his sister forever. He could keep pretending that Lalaith could come back.

As he descended the first stair, a flash of color caught his eye, and he froze.

Lalaith's room.

The doorhandle had one of her hair ribbons tied on it. The yellow one that she always called gold, that she pretended was a crown when she wore it. Why was it still there? Turin remembered tying it there before taking her to play outside, for the last time, before they had both gotten ill...

"But I want to wear it, Turin!"

"You can't, Lalaith." He looked down at her seriously. "It will get dirty outside, and you could even lose it." It was just a hair ribbon, of course, but Lalaith loved it so much that losing it would upset her, and he hated seeing her cry.

"But..." her lip wobbled.

"Look!" Turin took it from her and wrapped it round her bedroom doorhandle, tying it there. "We can leave it here where it's safe, it will make sure no-one goes in your room, then, when you come back, you can wear it for the rest of the day if you want."

"Yes!" Lalaith leaped up, laughing gaily, clapping, before reaching her arms to Turin. "Carry me outside!"

He grinned, kneeling, so she could clamber onto his back, holding her tightly as he walked downstairs very carefully, then running outdoors as soon as they were back on solid floor, Lalaith shrieking and giggling that she was going to make flower crowns for Mama, Papa and Turin today. "And I going to read you a story tonight, Turin! All by mysewf!"

Turin yanked the yellow ribbon from the doorhandle, never wanting to see it again. It seemed to mock him. Why should something Lalaith had loved so much still be here when she never would be again?!

The ribbon tore in his hand. Turin stared at the tattered scrap mutely. It was frayed, ruined. It would never be as it was. Never be an imaginary princess' crown that Lalaith delighted in. It was a torn piece of limp yellow fabric with no purpose.

Turin fell to his knees, tears now streaming openly down his face. He stayed there, form shuddering with silent sobs, until his father came looking.

Hurin regarded his weeping son gravely. He had intended to see if Turin needed help readying himself for Lalaith's funeral, but now, wearing the 'correct' garb no longer seemed to matter. The boy was only five and had lost his only true friend.

Wordlessly, he lifted Turin into his embrace, carrying him downstairs, letting him cry it out. Morwen would not approve of such a blatant emotional display, but right now, that did not matter. He himself- and Morwen- had to try and appear strong for their people as they buried their daughter. Better to let Turin act out the anguish and pain they all felt, safe in his father's arms, than to let no feeling show at all.

He kept his son in his arms as they headed to the clearing that would be Lalaith's grave. Turin did not look up or speak as they joined Morwen at the graveside, but his tears had ceased.

Hurin slid his free hand into his wife's as the speakers he had chosen began recalling their memories of precious Lalaith, and her blessed life, cut too short.

Hurin let tears fall as the service continued and the small coffin was buried. Morwen's face was blank and still as if carven from granite. Turin, having finally raised his head, bore an expression as lifeless as his mother's.

Hurin felt something inside him die as the grave was finished. Lalaith's death had apparently ended Turin's joy in life also.

Would his house never know the laughter of a child again?