Title: Leavetaking
Characters: Morwen, Túrin, OC
Prompt: 011. should I bite my tongue, until blood soaks my shirt; we'll never fall apart, tell me why this hurts so much
Summary: Morwen after Túrin's departure.
Author's Notes: Damn bunnies, breed and multiply and remind me that I should write more fic. I got Unfinished Tales for Christmas, so that should keep them happy. Morwen and Túrin belong to Tolkien, but Saeleth belongs to me, and her name ('wise-woman') comes from Real Elvish. Valar bless you, Real Elvish.
And I totally love using archaic words like 'westering' in fics.
Now Túrin was made ready for the journey, and he bade farewell to his mother, and departed in secret with his two companions. But when they bade Túrin turn and look back upon the house of his father, then the anguish of parting smote him like a sword, and he cried: 'Morwen, Morwen, when shall I see you again?' But Morwen standing on her threshold heard the echo of that cry in the wooded hills, and she clutched the post of the door so that her fingers were torn.
- Unfinished Tales
She stood so still upon the threshold that I half-believed her spirit had left her body to walk with her son. Túrin had departed by the light of the westering sun, but she had made no move to go inside after he disappeared into the woodland. Such a time couldn't be easy for her, after watching her husband ride to war and hearing nothing of him since. But she wouldn't send her son so far away, on a dangerous road, and not believe she was doing what was best for him.
I did not want to disturb her, but it was almost full night, and it wasn't healthy for her or her unborn child to stand in the chill – there are wild beasts in the woods, and worse closer to home. 'My lady,' I said, and she turned her head toward me slightly. 'My lady, please come inside. There's dangers in the woods.'
'And my son is in the woods too, Saeleth. With the dangers.' She suddenly seemed weary, and swung the door closed behind her. She examined the fingers of her right hand, and I saw dried blood where she had grasped the door-post so hard that she drew blood. She allowed me to lead her to the fire, where I cleaned her fingers and drew out the splinters, and she seemed to compose herself again. Since then her hand has healed, and she busies herself preparing for her child, but sometimes I see her glance towards the mountains for a moment, as if in memory.