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Free at Last
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Tuor shot away like a deer through the woods, away from the estate of Lorgan which had been his home for the past three years. The sun set as he raced along, and darkness fell over the woods. It was not long before he heard the barking of the master's hounds a ways behind, whom they had sent ahead in the hunt for him. He pushed himself even faster, speeding onward through the night. But the skies along the eastern mountains were beginning to lighten at the approaching dawn, when the dogs caught up to him. At that point he at last was growing weary of the chase, and stopped to catch his breath. The beasts finally reached him, but they gave no threat or aggression, for after the years of lavishing them with secret treats they favored him, and now sought only for the kindness and affection which they did not find in their masters. Tuor crouched down to greet them, and laughed softly as he fished a handful of dried meat from his pocket and distributed it to them.
"Off you go, my friends!" he said to them. "Go on now back to your masters." He gave a sharp whistle, gesturing the way they had come, and after a moment's pause for their grief at parting, they darted away toward home.
With a smirk he stood back up, and continued on. He felt confident to slow his pace now, alternating between speedy walking and a good jog, through the rest of that day as he veered eastward toward his childhood home. Evening came again, and now he was growing very weary. But he feared to stop, and slowing his pace a bit more he kept walking at a fast pace, on through another night. He was approaching the foothills of the Mithrim Mountains when at last his exhaustion overtook him, and he cast himself into a bank of leaves and promptly into a sound sleep.
Tuor had rested only a few hours when he woke again, stirred by the chill that set in at the coldest hour before dawn. He sat up in a start, looking warily from side to side for any signs of his enemies. But all was quiet, even the birds and other creatures that normally stirred at night. Even so, he jumped back up, and shortly resumed his flight. He kept on moving southeast through the woodlands for days, and when nightfall came he kept going, to cross the stretches of open fields by cover of night. When dawn approached he would find a thicket of brush in which to rest hidden, then resume his march again at sunset. In this manner he slowly made his way toward the range of mountains that ran alongside the lowlands of Hithlum to the east. Upon finally reaching the foothills, he followed the line of the mountains southward for a few nights more, until at last he came within sight of the fair lake tucked up into the broad valley between the Shadow Mountains and the Grey. It was a welcome and heartening sight, and he stopped to stare at it, stung with a flurry of bittersweet memories, and he sighed wistfully with relief at the joy of returning to it after three years of cruel captivity.
He came to the shores of the large lake, and stopped to wash himself up. He found that he felt quite at ease here, judging it in his heart to be safe, though he could not quite say why. Perhaps there were still elves left in these parts indeed, he thought to himself. Though it was still the bright of day, he decided to rest again, and found a little cove guarded by tall cliff walls, where he remembered his foster folk once taking him as a child. There was a little stone beach amid the boulders that could be reached only by scrambling along this precarious section of lake shore. No orc was likely to ever find him here, so at last he set down, gazing at the bright gleam of the water as he was warmed by the comfort of old memories, and finally he fell asleep.
Awakening in late afternoon, Tuor sat up and stared out at the pale purples and blues of the Gray Mountains reflected in the little rippling waves of the lake's peaceful surface. He remembered when his foster folk would bring him here as a child, and taught him to fish and to swim, and they would tell him stories of when they lived at ease by its shores, when the high elf king Fingolfin still ruled the region from his seat off to the north, and kept these lands protected. Tuor wished deeply that he had the power that king had wielded, and the hope that it could give him to wrest from his enemies the lands of his father's people. But that king was gone, perished in single combat with the Dark Ruler of Angband himself. What a spectacle that fight must have been! Most of the other high elves of his kingdom were gone now too - lost in the great battle in which his own father had also perished as he fought to defend the retreat of King Turgon, the elf king not lost in hiding.
Turgon. The name echoed around in his mind once he recalled it. His foster father Annael had told him Turgon would still be alive, behind the high walls of his hidden kingdom. Tuor's father gave his life to protect that elven king, surely King Turgon would hear his plea, and help retake these lands of his father's people? Surely Turgon would desire to avenge the fall of his own kin, Fingolfin the fallen elf king?
Tuor's thoughts continued to wander so as he got up from his little hiding spot and made his way back to his route along the shore. It had been a long time since he had last thought of Turgon, not since he was last with his foster folk. The years of toil in hopeless captivity had driven the name far from the front of his mind for a long time. But now it returned anew to occupy his thoughts, and his mind was filled with the question of where to find the lost elven king.
At last he came close to what he sought, high up in the hills of the mountains that rose up to tower over the western end of the lake. He knew the way, and soon enough had found the entrance to the caves in a narrow dell between a pair of spurs stretching out through the foothills, where a view could be found over the plains of Dor-lómin, the lands of his people now overtaken by the enemy's servants.
There was little hope to find anyone still here in the caves, but a part of him clung to it anyway, and he rushed up eagerly through the maze of boulders to the hidden entrance of his childhood home. The sun was waning in the western sky, and streamed in soft burnt orange rays through the opening in the stone walls of the hills. Finally passed through, and went inside.