Narn Gil-galad by Earonn

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Chapter 6: Túrin Mormegil

 

Curtsy: to this ominous Person who made the beta-reading *gives the ominous person manymany orc-cookies*

Dedicated: To Bladorthin who discussed events and characters with me. Hope you feel better soon!

A/N:

Lalaith: Curufin is moved by your sympathy! ;)

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VI Túrin Mormegil

The sun was already low, when Gwindor and Túrin reached the hidden stronghold. The rush of the Narog at their left rang loudly in Túrin's ears, but for Gwindor it was the song of home.

After they had entered the dwelling and the central gate had closed behind them, the guardians cut off their bounds. "Any attempt to escape or to fight would be in vain, for never you would pass the gates of Nargothrond alive", the leader of the doorkeepers said with a warning in his eyes.

Then the two companions, elf and Man, were led into the throne hall to receive the King's judgement.

Túrin was filled with astonishment as he entered the great hall. In Menegroth he last had seen such craftsmanship and so many noble folk assembled, and never would he have imagined such beauty and splendour to exist outside of Doriath. The halls of Nargothrond were propped by many elaborate carved pillars, sometimes intricate as branched twigs, and all around fine woven tapestries hung. Many of the blue-shining Fëanorian lamps, which until now he had only known from hearsay, enlightened the hall. He slowed and stepped aside to have a closer look at one of them, but the guard behind him laid a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him forward. All he could make out was a gleaming crystal hanging in a fine chain net (1). And in spite of all this splendour Nargothrond didn't give a neither flamboyant nor lofty impression and it could be easily forgotten that the fortress was carved deeply in the sandstone of the High Faroth.

The Noldor, who made up a considerable part of the people, to him seemed stronger built than the Sindar of Doriath, haughty and self-confident they were, and the memory of grief and battle was in their eyes. And though they hadn't lost the Eldar's gracefulness, their appearance was more grim and determined. Túrin's heart grew heavy since he knew the elves of Nargothrond never made open battle. He was sure they would have won great fame. Many of them still had the radiance of Valinor in their grey eyes, and in their keen faces was written the wisdom of those who had beheld the Valar.

The room was crowded with laughing and talking elves. Scarcely anybody paid any attention to them, for in their worn clothes they looked like border guards who had returned after long months of duty to the stronghold. And Túrin, dark-haired, fair-skinned and with his face of incredible beauty didn't differ noticeably from the Noldor.

In front of them on a gallery the black basalt throne of stood, and there Orodreth was awaiting them. Túrin possessed a proud heart, yet he felt reverential timidity before the King, who appeared stately and wise. In Doriath he had heard much about the lords of this realm who were kin to Thingol, and he knew that the fair-haired elf there on the throne was one of the greatest loremasters of the Noldor, maybe even of all Eldar.

When they had almost reached the lowest step of the gallery, Túrin noticed Gwindor staring continuously sideways. As he followed the elf's gaze he noticed a golden-haired elf maid sitting in a corner, clad in light green, who listened with a content smile to another girl's song while braiding the dark long hair of an elf sitting beside her. He also wore green, but of a subdued shade. It was a gesture of familiar affection and Túrin assumed him to be her spouse.

"This is Finduilas, the King's daughter", Gwindor explained in a low voice and Túrin noticed his gaze becoming wistful and yearning. Nothing more was said, so eventually he asked about the other elf's identity.

Gwindor turned away from her and looked at him. "Gil Galad, her brother."

The children of Orodreth, however, didn't notice the new arrivals at once, for so absorbed they were in the song.

Gwindor stepped before the King and greeted him respectfully, and when Orodreth asked him for his name, he sighed deeply.

"My lord, once this was my home, but then I fell into Morgoth's hands and only recently could escape from the mines of Angband."

Orodreth searchingly observed him. "So tell us your name and that of your companion, for he is one of the Edain and no one here seems to know you."

Instead of an answer to the King, Gwindor moved to his children and bowed to Finduilas.

"Greetings to you, my lady. Maybe you will remember me, for often I've thought of you and never lost the memory of your loveliness, not even in my darkest hours."

The siblings turned and looked at him. Gil Galad didn't recognise Gwindor, but the hands of the elf princess stopped motionless in her brother's dark hair, until he turned his head and looked at her questioningly.

The daughter of Orodreth rose and approached the bent and so terribly changed elf. Long she studied him, and then she laid a gentle hand at his cheek and stroke it with the back of her slender fingers. He could feel them tremble against his skin.

"Long you've been lost, Gwindor. We thought you dead." Her voice faltered and she fell silent, but tears ran down her face.

"Faelivrin!" Gwindor whispered and reached out with his hand to wipe off these tears, but when he saw it, worn and scarred against Finduilas' smooth white skin, the contrast was unbearable to him and he hastily pulled it back. Finduilas, however, looked at him in astonishment, since she didn't understand this behaviour.

Her beautiful eyes passed towards Túrin. "Please, tell us who accompanies you. For he seems to be one of the Houses of the Elf-friends."

But Túrin didn't wish his true name to become known, and he called himself Agarwaen son of Úmarth, the Bloodstained, son of Ill-fate. The elves around murmured when they heard this dark name, carried by a man who in spite of his youth seemed hardly less dark himself with his black hair, the huge black sword at his side and the memory of great grief in his eyes.

Helegethir exchanged a quick glance with Orodreth. They didn't need any words to understand each other in this matter, and after the King granted his permission with a little nod, she rose from her spouse's side and came down the steps until she stood in front of Gwindor and Túrin. In her hair the small silver circlet which announced her rank glimmered by the light of the Fëanorian lamps.

"So be welcomed, Gwindor son of Guilin and Agarwaen of the Edain. It's obvious that long and hard troubles lie behind you and that you've suffered a lot. Now rest and find healing from your sorrow. Nargothrond grants you stay."

Thus Gwindor returned to his old home and for his sake the elves also accepted Túrin. During this evening they sat in the Great Hall until well past midnight, and they listened to the songs and tales. And when Finduilas sang, for the first time since many years her songs were happy again. Often her brother accompanied her, for as all descendants of Finarfin they were talented singers and her voices splendidly complemented each other.

But Gwindor observed the daughter of the King with an earnest look on his aged face. In the horrible times of his captivity only her picture in his mind had been comfort and support to him. All the time he had believed that if only he could see her again, his life would be filled with joy anew.

Now, however, as he had Finduilas right before his eyes, as she even gave him affectionate glances here and there or touched him lovingly, her beauty only caused him hurt. For it made all the more visible, how much he himself had changed. The clear sound of her voice reminded him that his own had become harsh in the smoke of the forges of Angband, her graceful shape was unbearable in comparison with his own, bent from hard work. And when Gil Galad sat down beside him and told him quietly about her sorrow and her grief and how she nearly abandoned life for his sake, this only caused a painful awareness that he, who really should have known better, had let himself be carried away by his feelings and thus had brought shame on himself and even worse: death and slavery upon his men.

There was nothing about Finduilas he did not love and nothing that did not cause him pain.

When the elves retired late at night, Gil Galad decided his sister needed some conversation. As expected, he found her in her room. Its pale-coloured furniture still reminded him of all the days and nights he had spent here in nearly agonising fear for her life.

She sat at her desk, pen and ink ready, but the sheet still blank. Her look was directed to the stars outside the window and she didn't turn to identify her late visitor. There was no necessity to do so.

He moved behind her and stroked her silky hair.

"And? Are you happy?"

Finduilas didn't answer at once, and when eventually she did it became clear that her thoughts had been far away.

"Yes...Yes, I am, 'Ellach." She knew he wouldn't believe her, he could read her behaviour and voice too well, so she went on "It's a little overwhelming for me and I have to get my feelings clear in my mind. For so long I've deemed him dead and now...I just need some time."

With this he contented himself, though he had the impression that his little sister was less confused but rather worried.

As he had been granted stay by the King and the Queen and furthermore as a friend of Gwindor, Túrin was kindly accepted among the elves. Sympathetically they listened to his story as far as he was willing to share it. On purpose he was vague with the details, lest neither his name nor his descent became known. But at least it became clear to his hosts that without any doubt he must have lived with elves for a long time, and since in Nargothrond the name of Beleg Cúthalion was well known, many supposed that he'd been in Doriath. No one asked him for more, since he obviously didn't want to talk about it, but due to his bearing, his manner of speech and customs which he had adopted in Doriath during his youth they called him Adanedhel, 'Elf-Man'.

And it became apparent to the elves that he was a brave man who had accomplished many great deeds. In awe they looked at his sword which had turned black and blunt and like him seemed to grieve for Beleg whom Túrin had slain unintentionally. Not much was commonly known about how Gwindor and Túrin had met, nor had Gwindor told anyone except the King why it was that he had brought his companion to Nargothrond.

"It would be a shame if this sword was never used in battle again," Gildor Inglorion remarked while balancing Túrin's sword in his hand. "It's a wonderful weapon and it fits perfectly to your height and strength. Why don't you ask the master smith Celebrimbor to forge it anew?"

And Túrin, anxious to take revenge for Beleg's death, gladly accepted this advice. The next day he visited Celebrimbor in his smithy.

The son of Curufin examined the black, blunt sword for a long time, weighed it and seized it up with his eyes. In the end he bowed in respect.

"Greater a master than I was he who forged this. It's no surprise, Adanedhel, that your weapon has its own will even though a dark one. I will make it anew if that is its wish."

And in this moment an expectant shiver ran through the black blade.

Three days and three nights Celebrimbor worked on the sword. Again and again he stopped and just listened to the silent whisper of the blade, inaudible and without words, but filled with deep feelings of hate, belligerence and bloodthirsty pride.

At the evening of the fourth day he brought the freshly sharpened weapon into the Great Hall, and in full view he passed it to Túrin.

The blade was black as it had been before, but its edges now shone with a pale bluish light. The young Adan took the weapon and admired the reflection of the candlelight on it and solemnly he gave Celebrimbor his thanks.

Thereafter he brought it to Orodreth and laid it down at the King's feet. And he asked the son of Angrod to accept him as his vassal.

"For the High King Fingon to whom my father swore his oath of allegiance is no longer and Turgon's whereabouts unknown. Furthermore it's my wish to serve and defend Nargothrond which accepted me and became my new home."

His words were well chosen and both proud and respectful to the King, so the elves looked with high regard at Túrin, who in this moment appeared as one of the noblest of the Noldor. Orodreth granted the young man his request, and as a sign of this he passed back the sword to him.

Túrin looked down at the blade. "Anglachel, Shining Star of Iron, has been your name, but now you should receive a new one. Gurthang I call you, Iron of Death, and no foe facing you shall withstand your power."

Thus Túrin's sword Anglachel was reforged, with all the skill of Celebrimbor, the master smith of Nargothrond. And after this was done he longed to wield it in battle once more. Therefore he went out with the guards who protected the realm. Several months he accompanied them, but when he returned his mood was dark.

"Why don't you fight in open battle as is fitting?” he asked Gwindor when they sat together with some other elves, among them also Gil Galad and Finduilas, in the Great Hall. "Your warriors don't lack courage nor skill nor good weapons, why don't you attack the orcs and chase them back to the pits whence they came crawling?"

The assembled elves were silent for a moment. Then Gil Galad answered "Because it wouldn't be wise to do so. You're right, we could inflict greater harm on them, but this could also betray us to Morgoth. The secrecy of Nargothrond is our best defence."

"But if the orcs forge ahead deeper and deeper into your realm, they will find this place sooner or later. And what about all the others living in Beleriand? You expel the orcs from your realm, but then they just plague other regions. You pass the danger to others and yet I remember well the hard countermeasures you threatened with in the reverse case."

He abruptly fell silent and blushed as if he had given away more than was his intention.

Gil Galad gave him a questioning look while pushing a dark strand out of his face. "What are you talking about?"

Pretending calmness Túrin said "Once I was a follower of the Two Captains. I do know that King Orodreth strictly forbade us to retreat into the area of Nargothrond or to drive the orcs in that direction."

Finduilas faced Túrin intensely. The Adan fascinated her. Different to the elves and yet similar. Some time had passed since she last saw one of the Secondborn, nonetheless she recognised part of the truth he tried to withhold.

"You didn't only belong to them, Adanedhel. You are one of the Two Captains, aren't you?"

"Dor-Cúarthol - the Land of Helm and Bow", Gwindor pensively murmured. "Recently I heard stories about it. Yes, that's possible. Beleg had been a master with the bow."

He gave Túrin a inquiring look, but the such observed didn't avert his gaze from Finduilas.

"Lady, don't ask anymore, I beg. An unfortunate destiny lies behind me and I don't want to burden your spirit with the sorrows of my past."

Orodreth's daughter nodded in silence to indicate her consent, but she continued studying Túrin with a searching glance.

The young Adan took a deep breath and faced the surrounding elves one by one.

"As I said, Nargothrond drives away the danger instead of putting an end on it. Why don't the sentinels hunt them down before they get an opportunity to inflict any harm?"

"And as I said, it serves the realm's protection", Gil Galad answered.

Túrin looked straight into the face of the King's son. "And does it also serve your protection, to hurt travellers, even kill some of them, as I was told, only because they have unknowingly crossed the realm's borders?"

"Yes", Gil Galad said plainly, but his unease was apparent.

"But they don't have any chance! They even don't know that they're entering forbidden territory and they don't get any opportunity to defend themselves. They simply are killed. Where's the difference to what had happened in Alqualondë?"

The elves stiffened and an uncomfortable tension arose. In spite of all their own unease about the things happening at the realm's borders, none of them would ever have uttered such words.

"The defence strategy of Nargothrond", Gil Galad slowly said in a quiet but distinct and determined voice, "is stated by King Orodreth. By none other."

"I have no intention to question the lord of Nargothrond. Neither do I want to interfere with his business. But you're his son and surely you also don't like what's happening here?"

'You don't know at all', Gil Galad thought, 'how very often I've discussed this topic with my father. How often he rebuked me because I just ordered travellers to leave the realm immediately. Travellers, who mostly were Men coming from the south-east and on the way to their kin in Dor-Lómin, pitiful ill-equipped and not even knowing whose territory they just had entered. How often I was scolded because I gave them guidance to safer paths.'

"Isn't it strange", Orodreth had said on one of these occasions, "that the son of the King seemingly doesn't know the realm's frontiers, neither the laws according to which he shall treat those who pass them without our permission?"

Gil Galad propped his elbows on his knees, folded his hands and laid his head upon them, while watching the glass of wine in front of him pensively.

"No", he finally answered hesitatingly on Túrin's question. "But likewise I won't take any advantage of my kinship to him, as Celegorm and Curufin did with his friendship. The King shall make his decisions free, on the basis of conviction, not for any other reason."

Túrin shook his head, but for now he didn't say more about this topic.

Instead he went to battle against the orcs again and again, and after some time the young Adan had won the confidence of King Orodreth. His advice counted for much, since he was clever and a skilled warrior. Merciless against the enemy as well as against himself he chased the creatures of Morgoth back to the North and soon his fame and news of his deeds spread out across the whole of Beleriand. But still his true name was unknown and the elves called him Mormegil, the Black Sword of Nargothrond. Even in Gondolin and Doriath was heard of him, but Thingol couldn't suspect that Mormegil was his foster-son Túrin.

And far away behind the pinnacles of the Crissaegrim, in the deeply concealed, safe valley of Gondolin, Maeglin, nephew of the High King Turgon, heard the rumours and he easily could guess what sword it was, defending Nargothrond that courageously. Though he couldn't imagine how it should have found its way into that realm. And he looked down at his own sword Anguirel, the sister-sword of Anglachel which he always wore at his side and wished he could likewise go to war against the orcs.

Finduilas was deeply impressed with Túrin's bravery. She might be of delicate features, but she was of high courage and could handle bow and sword better than many of the Eldar. She admired and envied her aunt Galadriel (2) and her cousin Aredhel Ar-Feiniel. Admired them for their abilities in hunting and fighting, envied them because their talents were accepted, while she was seldom allowed to prove her skills.

The less she understood why her brother didn't face their enemies more openly, and this was one of the few things in which she wasn't of same mind with him.

Túrin on the other hand in her opinion fought as it should be, and she felt pride whenever she heard news of his brave deeds. She also understood better than most his restlessness and his longing to stop the secret fight and to drive out the orcs of West-Beleriand.

"I would I had a brother so valiant"(3) she once said to Túrin, for sometimes the calmness of her elder brother indeed in her eyes rather seemed to be hesitation than wisdom.

Some years went by and in this time Túrin reached his maturity. Gil Galad spent much time in his company, initially because they both were close friends of Gwindor, but in course of time the King's son came to esteem the Adan, regardless of his gloomy mind. He felt pity for Túrin due to the pain and the expulsion he had suffered, and when the young man told him about his sister Lalaith and her early death - for she had died at the age of three from a plague - and what she had meant to him, Gil Galad could understand him only the better. So he tried to bring some joy into Túrin's life and also asked Finduilas to take care of him.

But there was another grief in Nargothrond. Gwindor couldn't get over his failure in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. For he had himself allowed to be overwhelmed by his fury when the orcs brought his brother Gelmir forward, for whose sake alone he had come. They had tortured Gelmir and blinded him, and in front of the assembled army of the elves they cut off his feet and hands and at last his head. And filled with blind wrath he rashly attacked, slew the heralds who had killed his brother and rode far behind the enemy's front lines, until he reached the gates of Angband where he was cut off the main host... and where in the end he was taken captive.

The fate of all those who had left Nargothrond with him trusting on his leadership would have weighed heavily enough on Gwindor. But later he was told how his attack had moved the whole host of the Noldor prematurely. And he feared the whole battle wouldn't have come to such a horrible end if only he hadn't followed his anger. Even the reports of Ulfang and his men's treachery didn't comfort him.

His guilty conscience tortured him day and night, and he considered himself not longer worthy of Finduilas, after he had brought death upon so many of her people.

Moreover he was well aware how much he outwardly had changed. Gwindor never had been self-absorbed, but now he deemed himself too ugly and unsavoury to be loved by the beautiful daughter of the king.

'Faelivrin I've called you, the shimmer on the waters of Ivrin, Finduilas my love,' he thought sadly. 'How could I be able to condemn you to look day by day at my destroyed body, even to touch it? How could I display your beauty side by side with what I have become?'

Such he brooded often and inwardly writhed in his agony. And he retreated from Finduilas, to spare her his sight and because her beauty and innocence only increased his consciousness of his inner and outer ugliness.

Finduilas, however, didn't know anything of his thoughts. She was still willing to bestow Gwindor with her love again and to renew what once bound them. For she saw in him the man she once loved and would have been the last to blame him for loving his brother. And the terrible changes of his body filled her with sympathy, not with disgust.

So she couldn't understand why he retreated from her. But she feared, Morgoth might have done more than only maim her beloved in body, but also eliminated his love to her, and that the elf only treated her kindly out of the memory of past times, maybe even only wanted to save her pain.

And in this time, when a renewing of her bond maybe still have been possible, Gwindor avoided Finduilas and she feared any conversation with him. So time went on and the bond was not renewed.

Gil Galad noticed that his sister and her former beloved weren't together as often and didn't treat each other as affectionately as should happen by rights. At first he waited patiently, but in the end he came to Finduilas and asked her about her sorrow with Gwindor.

"So long we all - you and I and our parents - have hoped for his return. I assumed that now he came back you both would be glad and not be separated one single moment. But instead I get the impression that you even avoid each other. What has happened, 'Las?"

They sat together in the garden of Nargothrond, just at the same fountain where long ago Gil Galad and Celebrimbor admitted their father's faults to each other. Finduilas wore a white gown, shimmering in the twilight - for outside the dwelling the sun had already set behind the precipices of the High Faroth - and her fair hair was like silver.

'Our people might have called me its star,' Gil Galad thought, 'but if I'm our people's star, she's mine.'

Finduilas sat on the edge of the fountain and thoughtlessly bound a garland of ivy in her slender hands.

"I can't explain it", she eventually answered her brother. "I don't know what happened. All I know is that I don't feel as attached to Gwindor as I should by rights. In those days,  when we heard about his death, when I'd been so terrible ill...I was torn by my inner conflicts, 'Ellach. On the one hand I didn't want to live without Gwindor, on the other hand I couldn't leave my family behind. It went on and on, and I didn't know what to do."

The garland was finished. She looked at it shortly, then he laid it beside her on the edge of the fountain, all but forgotten.

"And then, suddenly I could remove myself from him. The grief was still there, but I knew which direction my fëa did...want to take. Do you understand what I mean?"

He laid a finger on her wrist, stroking it lightly and calming. "I think so, yes."

Finduilas turned her hand until she could intertwine her fingers with her brother's. "I think, 'Ellach, at that time my fëa had been held between two bonds, the one to you and the one to Gwindor. And both were tearing at me in different directions. I couldn't move until one bond broke. Such it feels, brother. As if the bond once connecting me with Gwindor has broken."

She looked at their folded hands, while Gil Galad closely observed her profile.

“But if it's broken it can be made anew, can't it?," he finally asked.

She sighed. "Just that's what I don't know. But presently it does not feel like that."

"Do you want to remake it?"

She looked up to him. "Of course I do! He's precious to me, just - just nothing more than that. Imagine you would wake up one morning and feel no love for our mother anymore. You know who she is, what you owe to her, you even like her and know that you should love her as your mother...but the love simply isn't there anymore and you also don't know where you could find it."

Gil Galad stroked a strayed strand of hair back over his sister's shoulder, at the same time smiling reassuringly to her.

"That indeed would be horrible, but little one, at the moment he's been with us since a short time ago only. You and Gwindor needed a long time to find each other, now give your love some time again. You both had to learn to be without the other; maybe this cannot be undone quickly."

"By all Valar I hope you're right," she sighed.

"That I do. Am I not your big brother? And absolutely ignorant regarding this topic? For this reason alone you should trust my words."

No grief in this world could stand against her beloved brother trying to force a smile from her. Finduilas laughed a little, turned to him and cuddled herself against Gil Galad's warm and familiar body. Here at least all was as it ever had been. The warmth, the smell, the manner he laid his arms around her. However great the uproar in her heart might be, here all was save and calm. And Finduilas gratefully took his comfort.

Gil Galad felt her hair on his cheek, her heartbeat, her slow breathing. All was familiar; all was as it always had been. She had a sorrow, so he took care of her. As it should be.

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Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Fëanorian lamps: a description of these lamps is to be found in the 'Unfinished Tales', I. , 'Of Tuor and his Coming to Gondolin', Annotation 8.

(2) Aunt Galadriel: I do know that Galadriel is Finduilas' and Gil Galad's great-aunt, but since due to the long life someone easily could have a great-great-great-and so on-aunt I think it easier to ignore all the "greats" unless necessary.

(3) "I would I had a brother so valiant": cited from 'Unfinished Tales, II. 'Narn I Hîn Húrin', appendix. The conversation between Finduilas and Túrin, in which this sentence was spoken, most likely has been developed at a time when Gil Galad just for a moment wasn't Orodreth's son, but I couldn't resist the challenge to include it in this story...