Hello people around the wolrd!
First of all I want to thank Celridel as a great beta. Also I want to thank Ducking Cute and d'elfe for their encouraging reviews.
I want to warn you that this chapter will be sad because one of the nicest (in my personal opinion) characters will... die.
Chapter 60: Remember, Remember
"'Turgon, Turgon, remember the Fens of Serech! O Turgon, will you not hear in your hidden halls?"
They stood above on the craggy bastions, their faces grim and chiseled from stone.
Below them, outside the silent cliffs of the Echoriath, stood Húrin, and he was old, withered, and grey, the Westering sun staining his white hair with blood. His great voice echoed, reverberating around the natural amphitheater, the echoes condemning ghosts. Remember the Fens, Remember the Fens, Turgon, Turgon, Remember the Fens of Serech!
But the only sound was the wind in the dried grasses, and the mournful rattling was carried up to the gates where the watchers stood. And then the sun set behind the Mountains of Shadow, and darkness fell, and the wind ceased, and there was silence in the waste.
"What is this, my Lord? Let him in!" Tuor said, his voice a constricted whisper. In the falling gloom, his blue eyes were made brighter by a sheen of tears.
Turgon shook his head slowly.
On the other side of the King Duilin spoke up. "My Lord, if he continues shouting like this the damage will be done."
"You cannot deny him aid!" Tuor broke in. "He sacrificed everything for you! Through some miracle, he is still alive and comes to the only place he has known peace and you deny him entry? Turgon, open the gates!"
"And if it is a trap?" Maeglin's voice came soft, and he emerged from the deeper shadows like a black cat. "The Unnamed One has a reason behind every movement. How can we be sure that the man has not led spies to this place, and they are waiting for us to reveal the city."
"It has been twenty-eight years since the Battle, and no one heard ought of him," Egalmoth said reluctantly.
"News come slowly to this city," Glorfindel returned. The pain and despair in Húrin's voice had sunk its teeth into his heart.
"Indeed," Galdor the Gentle agreed, eager to give others the benefit of the doubt. "He probably has been in hiding these years."
Maeglin's voice, dulcetly persuasive, overrode their arguments effortlessly. "Or as is more likely, he was taken prisoner by the Nameless One and corrupted and broken by black arts. Now he seeks to bring down the Wrath of the Dark One upon us."
"Turgon," Tuor said, turning to the King. His voice was raw and pleading. "Turgon, remember the Fens of Serech! My father and uncle sacrificed everything so Gondolin could remain one last bastion of hope. Hope for good, Turgon. And yet you leave this man to die? How could you let so many deaths go in vain?"
"I remember the Fens of Serech," the King said, and his voice was cold like a stab of ice. "I was there, Tuor, lest you forget. I fought at the Fens while you were still latched onto your mother's breast. I know the sacrifice. But I would rather have one man's blood on my hands, then be bathed in the blood a city."
"Maybe you will have the blood of all on your hands," Tuor said, his jaw set.
Turgon turned on his son-in-law like an enraged lion, and in the darkness, no one saw Maeglin's gloating, bitter smile. "I know what you would have me do, Ulmondil! You would have me take my people to the Havens, losing many along the way, and when we arrived, what then? Mourn there forever, a shadow-haunted people dropping vain tears in the thankless sea? I know of your sea-longing and I will not sacrifice Gondolin to it."
The King's anger dominated the walls like a change of light but Tuor did not shrink. "When does a fortress become a prison?" he demanded of the Elf-King. "None may go in or come out of this place. It is a pretty jail cell you made, Turgon, but a jail cell none the less."
"Do not forget that I took you in and made you a Lord. I doubt any jailkeeper would have given you such honors," Turgon said, his eyes glittering, radiating a huge and definite power. "And you may be a Lord, husband of my child and father of my grandchild, but I am your King, Master Tuor."
There was an icy silence, bitter as wormwood. At last, Tuor bowed slowly. "As you wish, my Lord," he said, and was gone down the stairs.
The stars were sharp and clear, the night long and cold under the heel of the Swordsman in the Sky, Menelvagor.
Turgon stood alone on the walls. The other Lords had left many hours ago, understanding their sovereign's desire to be alone. He found himself drifting through pools of sensation, three-dimensional cat cradles of unwanted remembrance. The screams of the dying blew a hurricane through his thoughts, and the wings of crows, so many they blackened the sky, flapped through his mind. He buried his head in his hands.
He had been battle-hardened by the time of Nírnaeth Arnoediad, but all who lived through that had been scarred. He could see the lingering shadows of war and death behind their eyes and knew he carried that aura too. There had been no welcoming feast or fanfare when his army returned, but Gondolin had mourned for a year, and even now, decades after, he still saw clusters of candles, burning in memory of the fallen.
Gondolin had survived through because the Men of Dor-lómin had sacrificed it all. And Húrin had been tortured for twenty-eight years, somehow surviving.
Turgon raised his head, looking at the stars. They seemed less sharp now, blurred and distorted as if he was viewing them through a prism. With a jolt, he realized he had been crying. He reached to wipe the tears away, but a voice stopped him.
"There is no shame in tears," Tuor said, standing beside Turgon and looking out.
"No shame," Turgon agreed, noting the telltale marks on the man's own face. "I only wish I could spare you them."
"And I you," Tuor said simply. He turned to face Turgon, and his eyes showed his untarnished spirit, which could only inspire love and allegiance. "If I had not had a wife and son within these walls, I would have joined my uncle, despite your orders."
"As you should have," Turgon returned, never taking his eyes off the night. "But you have a wife and child, so you stay."
"May I make a plea for Húrin?" Tuor asked.
"Yes. But what Maeglin said is what I will say."
"What Maeglin said is wrong," Tuor returned, knowing he was entering dangerous ground. Although he had joined the Council, Maeglin still had greater sway over the King, and overthrew each of Tuor's ideas, nipping them in the bud with chilling ease and accuracy.
The King turned and aimed his gaze at the man, his manner cooling, but Tuor dared to continue. "What would Maeglin say if that was his mother out there?"
"Aredhel was not captured by the Unnamed," Turgon replied, his words frigid and precise.
"No, my Lord, but both she and the Dark Elf were accepted into the city. And if you would show mercy to one like Eöl, where is the mercy of a man like Húrin?"
"Times have changed," Turgon replied, but he was thoughtful now.
"And they always will," Tuor continued. "My Lord, you are playing a dangerous game, and the stakes are inestimably high. All you can do is roll the dice and calculate what risks are worth taking."
This time a thin smile warmed Turgon's face. "You speak like a man who has been burned before, son."
"There is fire aplenty out there, more than enough to mark us all."
Turgon nodded slowly. "The hurts of this world run very deep. All I can do is pay my debt."
"Then you will bring him in?" Tuor asked, his eyes wide and solemn and trusting.
"Yes," Turgon said. "I will. Now go back to your wife and son. Give them my love-all of it."
When Tuor was gone, Turgon began the slow climb, scaling the craggy heights until he was Thorondor's Aerie. In the darkness, the roosting eagles were huge shadows, with glinting golden eyes and beaks. At Turgon's behest, they left their nest eagerly, beating wings stirring up a great wind. Yet even the keen-eyed Thorondor and his kin could not find Húrin, no matter how far they flew.
For Húrin had gone to find Morwen, and when Morwen was no more, he sought out the last thing he had, which was death. And like Niënor Níniel, the daughter he never saw, Húrin found his peace in the arms of water.
Glorfindel held up his jewel to the lamp, giving it one last careful appraisal. He wished Maeglin would bring some more lanterns in here, but, Glorfindel thought sourly, that would not sit right with his brooding, funereal appearance. He had been under Maeglin's grudging tutelage for several months now, and although he was no savant, he tried his best. Once his gift was finished, he intended to confess his love to the strange woman that had stolen his heart.
Soft footsteps made him turn. It was Maeglin, entering the forge grumbling to himself. It was rare for the Prince to talk, even to himself.
"Is something wrong?" Glorfindel asked him.
"Why the sudden interest, Glorfindel?" asked the Prince, annoyed. "Since when are my problems important to you?"
"Pardon my politeness," the half-Vanya retorted, offended at Maeglin's response. "But you are my teacher and helped me create my gift, so I was only trying to return the favor."
Maeglin looked down at the necklace Glorfindel was holding, one eyebrow lifted ever so little. Compared to his work, Glorfindel's necklace was an eyesore, lacking in beauty and creativity. But there was something imbued in it that Maeglin sensed and hated, as if the forger had poured his love in with the hot metal.
"Tell me, is it suitable?" Glorfindel asked, after a few minutes of holding the necklace up for the Prince's frigid scrutiny.
In Maeglin's opinion, the thing should be melted down and remade, but he only said, "I suppose. And you must polish it. Have you chosen a jewel?"
Glorfindel nodded, opening his other hand to reveal a set of exquisite emeralds, whose facets held both the rare dark green of pine and the sweeter color of newborn leaves.
Maeglin shrugged and turned to his worktable, and the Lords worked in silence. After a while, Glorfindel heard Maeglin hiss, uttering a spate of curses that made the other stop his work and look up in surprise.
"What is it?"
"Nothing," Maeglin growled, not turning away from his work.
"So that string of oaths was for nothing?"
"Do you have a problem with me speaking in my own forge, Lord Glorfindel?"
"No. But your evident ill temper is distracting. Are you bitter that the King went against you and sent for Húrin?"
"Húrin was gone," Maeglin retorted. "So, it is a null matter."
"It is not null to me. It was a cruel thing you did on the walls."
"It was a necessary thing. Understand the difference."
"No," Glorfindel returned. "It was cruel. And I do not understand why you spoke against Húrin but advocated for Laura."
Maeglin turned, and there was something in his eyes that set Glorfindel on edge. They were black, smoldering eyes, holding a dark eddying stream of hatred. Glorfindel knew that Laura had abruptly ended her friendship with Maeglin but had never given him specifics, and he wondered if this hatred was directed at Laura or Húrin and his kin.
"This is not the Council, Lord of Many Questions. This is where we work. So, finish your necklace or leave."
"I-" Glorfindel began, but without further ado, the Prince was gone.
Laura stood in front of the mound she had made in the spring, her arms crossed over her chest, her breath coming in hitches and gasps as she tried to control her emotions. The hardiest of autumn flowers bloomed one last time over the grave, reds and oranges, and dark purples. Then she gave up, and for the first time since she was a little girl, began to cry, in painful, lurching sobs.
Flashback
"What?!" Laura exclaimed in disbelief, shock, and outrage coloring her cheeks pink.
She had not seen Alassë for several days and had not seen her at the Market. After exhaustive searching, she had finally found the elleth and been stunned at her transformation. The bright, laughing girl she had known was gone, she was pale and faded, like a plucked flower. Laura had shepherded the elleth back to her house and sat her down in the garden before she was told the tragic story.
"Don't think about, Alassë," Laura said tenderly, trying to imitate the Sinda's warmth by putting a hand on her shoulder. "Life has so many good things for you. You Elves have immortality at your fingertips."
"No, Laura. You cannot understand when you have never had a broken heart."
"Maybe not, but I understand unrequited love," Laura said firmly.
A sparkle of interest rose in Alassë's exhausted eyes. "You?" she asked.
"I'm in love with Lord Glorfindel," Laura confessed. "But as you can guess, it's not requited."
For a moment, a shadow of Alassë's former self came and she hugged Laura impulsively. "Oh Laura, I am sorry. But at least you know your love is not requited. Maeglin made me believe he loved me. Then he broke my heart and ground it under his heel," she added bitterly.
Laura kept her arms around the elleth. "Alassë," she said softly. "Maeglin is in love with his cousin. That is his only love."
"So, I see. But he told me he 'believed' he loved me, he even kissed me. And then he turns on me! And he loves the Celebrindal! It seems we both will understand unreturned love," she added with a bitter satisfaction that Laura had never heard in her voice before.
"Then you won't go back to him?" Laura said, relieved. "That's a good decision, Alassë. Good for you."
"Why go back to Eöl's son?" she said, her voice falling small. "He is not twilight. He is the witching hour, no moon, and no stars."
"It's okay, Alassë," Laura said soothingly, standing up. "Maybe this is for the best. Come on, let's get your mind off it. Help me tend my garden."
Alassë shook her head, tears marking a trail down her cheeks, and Laura realized she had said the wrong thing, and winced. She crouched back down again, taking the Sinda's hands in her own, realizing how cold they were. "What is it, Alassë? You really like taking care of Nature. Let's forget Maeglin and focus on something worthwhile."
"What things?" asked Alassë between sobs. "What is worthwhile when I am destroyed inside?"
"Alassë, there is so much worthwhile," she began, but Alassë cut her off.
"Laura, you cannot understand! There is no color to life! I gave myself all to Maeglin, I saved no part, not even for myself. It is all gone. Laura, I have no love for life anymore. I...I want...I want to fade."
Laura felt the blood drain from her face. "Alassë, that's nonsense," she said, taking the Elf by the shoulders. "Don't play Juliet when your Romeo is a worthless, moody emo Elf. You're the best person I've ever met, and you're very strong-"
"No, Laura ... I don't want to know anything else about this life." Alassë rose and left, leaving Laura helpless, her hands dangling by her sides.
End of flashback
With eidetic clarity, Laura remembered her desperate search for Alassë. She had never found her, although she spent every spare scrap of time looking, oscillating between the Lesser Market and the Sinda's house, hoping she would catch the elleth coming or going.
She remembered the rising panic, fearing her friend had committed suicide. Finally realizing the elleth was not in Gondolin, she took Viento Nocturno, and spent her nights touring the Tumladen Valley. It was late one evening when her search finally paid off, and she saw a figure walking. Dismounting her mare and staying upwind to avoid detection, she came close enough to see it was Alassë.
She remembered her well. The Elf was wearing a simple gown of green, made all the greener by the way it contrasted with her pale gold hair, which was loose and fine, and adorned with a wreath of white flowers. There were no tears on her face anymore, but there was no laughter either, and no spark.
Flashback
'"Alassë?" she called softly.
Alassë did not turn, but she beckoned Laura, and the two walked in silence until they came to a small, enclosed meadow, where thousands of violets made a carpet for the gods. Violets flooded the ground in streams and torrents, eddying round the tree trunks, consolidating into pools, gushing out in a primal burst of beauty.
Alassë knelt, smiling up at Laura, a bitter, sad smile that did not sit well in Laura's heart. She plucked a violet and lightly bruised the petal, and from it came a scent almost unbearably sweet, elusive, and faint and achingly beautiful. "Is it not strange?" she said, although to Laura it seemed she was speaking to herself. "We are immortal and yet so fragile, our souls as delicate as this flower, that today is and tomorrow as disappeared. We are the morning lilies, flowers in folk-song."
"No, that's not true. You guys are tough."
Alassë twirled the violet stem between her pale fingers. "I am so glad that you and Glorfindel are good friends," she said dreamily. "I hope your love will be returned."
"Alassë, forget about Maeglin. He's not worth it," Laura returned.
In response, the elleth smiled such a smile that Laura felt shivers run all over her back, as she understood why the Sinda had gone to this lonely, beautiful place.
"Alassë-" she began, kneeling next to her.
"Hush," her friend said softly, putting her hand on Laura's lips. " I made my choice and I made it poorly. But this choice is for the best. It will bring me the peace I need. Remember me only in our best moments when we were happy together."
Alassë lay back among the flowers, her blond hair forming a nimbus around her head, and looked up at the stars.
"Are they not beautiful, Laura? They were the first thing our ancestors saw when they woke." She turned her head to the woman. "Do not be sad, Laura Kinney," she said sweetly. "Only promise me something. Go out into Tumladen with Lord Glorfindel and see the stars. You will both find the magic they have in them." She paused and took Laura's hand, saying in a barely audible voice, "You have been a good friend, Laura. Never forget that."
She smiled faintly, looked at the stars for one last minute, and then closed her eyes, never to open them again.
End of flashback
Laura had knelt by Alassë's side for hours, not knowing what to say or do. Finally, she began to shake Alassë, calling for her to wake up, but it was to no avail.
Dawn was breaking in the sky when she had, at last, laid the last piece of sod on, smoothing it tenderly into the barrow. She stared at it for a long time, the simple mound of earth, stones, and flowers that was Alassë's tomb, that sweet Sinda whose heart of gold Maeglin had broken.
She had clenched her fists, her claws coming out, vowing to be done with Maeglin. Whatever scraps of friendships still existed between them was now gone for good. She could not be friends with a murderer.
What do you think, guys?
