Realizations Part 3
Turin walked through a deserted plaza on his way to his meeting with Finduilas in the garden. For a moment, he stopped to look at the brilliant stars overhead. No matter how many times he saw them, they still filled him with amazement. And they reminded him of Beleg. A sharp pain that shouldn't have been there shot through the region of his chest and at the same time all he could think of were the pain and fear clouded moments, the worst moments of his life that suddenly became horribly clear when he saw the deathly still body of his teacher and dearest friend.
"No!" someone shouted, stirred Turin out of his reverie. It sounded like when he had shouted 'No', out of loss and not understanding, but at the same time, terrible understanding. Except that this had not been as loud, or as sorrowful, he thought, and it wasn't his voice. He looked around the almost empty square. A figure bent over by some terrible grief sat on a bench. Turin knew who it was and quickly walked over.
"Gwindor, are you to rights?" he asked, worried for his friend. Gwindor took his hands away from his face and straightened up. He looked around.
"I am fine Turin," he said too quickly, sounding resentful. Turin raised an eyebrow, both not believing him and wondering what the resentful tone was for.
"Do you need a healer?" he asked. Gwindor gave him a twisted smile, as if to say 'You know nothing', then his expression changed, became sad.
"There is no cure, mellon, save perhaps time, and that may be no cure." Turin thought he understood. He could only imagine- and he didn't want to imagine- what happened to Gwindor during his captivity in the mines. He needed time to recover from it, most importantly in his mind. Beleg had told him though men or elves might finish a battle unscathed or close to it, some may have been hurt in a deeper way, one that was harder to cure. He had no advice on the subject, only that everyone was different and nothing was a certain cure. Turin felt uncomfortably helpless to help the friend who had cared for him when he could not care for himself and wanted to die.
"Shall I see you home?" he asked. It was a small thing, but it was something. He knew the answer though, before the words were out of Gwindor's mouth.
"No," Gwindor said, managing a small smile as he stood. "I'm not a child. If I do not know my way home, then I am a poor guide!" Turin smiled back, a smile took no words and was rarely misinterpreted. He started walking again. "Where do you go?" Gwindor asked. Turin half turned.
"To see Finduilas, she asked me to meet her in the garden," he replied and continued on his way, still wondering what on Arda it was that Finduilas so urgently wanted to talk about.
Turin walked through a deserted plaza on his way to his meeting with Finduilas in the garden. For a moment, he stopped to look at the brilliant stars overhead. No matter how many times he saw them, they still filled him with amazement. And they reminded him of Beleg. A sharp pain that shouldn't have been there shot through the region of his chest and at the same time all he could think of were the pain and fear clouded moments, the worst moments of his life that suddenly became horribly clear when he saw the deathly still body of his teacher and dearest friend.
"No!" someone shouted, stirred Turin out of his reverie. It sounded like when he had shouted 'No', out of loss and not understanding, but at the same time, terrible understanding. Except that this had not been as loud, or as sorrowful, he thought, and it wasn't his voice. He looked around the almost empty square. A figure bent over by some terrible grief sat on a bench. Turin knew who it was and quickly walked over.
"Gwindor, are you to rights?" he asked, worried for his friend. Gwindor took his hands away from his face and straightened up. He looked around.
"I am fine Turin," he said too quickly, sounding resentful. Turin raised an eyebrow, both not believing him and wondering what the resentful tone was for.
"Do you need a healer?" he asked. Gwindor gave him a twisted smile, as if to say 'You know nothing', then his expression changed, became sad.
"There is no cure, mellon, save perhaps time, and that may be no cure." Turin thought he understood. He could only imagine- and he didn't want to imagine- what happened to Gwindor during his captivity in the mines. He needed time to recover from it, most importantly in his mind. Beleg had told him though men or elves might finish a battle unscathed or close to it, some may have been hurt in a deeper way, one that was harder to cure. He had no advice on the subject, only that everyone was different and nothing was a certain cure. Turin felt uncomfortably helpless to help the friend who had cared for him when he could not care for himself and wanted to die.
"Shall I see you home?" he asked. It was a small thing, but it was something. He knew the answer though, before the words were out of Gwindor's mouth.
"No," Gwindor said, managing a small smile as he stood. "I'm not a child. If I do not know my way home, then I am a poor guide!" Turin smiled back, a smile took no words and was rarely misinterpreted. He started walking again. "Where do you go?" Gwindor asked. Turin half turned.
"To see Finduilas, she asked me to meet her in the garden," he replied and continued on his way, still wondering what on Arda it was that Finduilas so urgently wanted to talk about.
