Aerin and Broddun by Himring

Part III: It Ends in Fire

After Turin and Asgon have left, Aerin sets fire to Brodda's hall.

The men were dead, like Sador, or gone, like Asgon. It was the women and the children who gathered around Aerin, looking for guidance where surely there could be none, for all guidance was now proved vain. But she did not hesitate and sent them for brushwood and kindling and they hastened to fetch all they could find and pile it against the walls of Brodda's hall and the high fence of the thralls' compound. With rakes and pitchforks, they tore down what they could reach of the thatching and scattered it. Those who were weaker, the young or the very old, poured on tallow and oil and threw on top anything they could find that might make the fire catch more easily and burn more fiercely once it caught.

The women and children worked speedily and efficiently, asking few questions of Aerin. Instead, almost as if out of habit, they looked to one of the older girls, a short stocky girl with honey-coloured braids who seemed to have taken charge and, in a husky but resonant voice, gave directions to anyone who was briefly at a loss, returning to her own task with undiminished energy.

The girl's family was related to Aerin on the mother's side. In years gone by, Aerin had kept as much distance between them as she could. No need to alert the Easterlings to the fact that Indor's daughter had a mother as well as a father. Aerin had not wanted any closer or more personal hostages held by the Easterlings against her good behaviour; it was more than enough that her entire nation was held hostage, as it was. So she had studiously ignored her mother's second cousin and, when her cousin's daughter grew up, she had secretly rejoiced that the girl was strong and healthy and not pretty—for those were all qualities that helped ensure survival in the harsh conditions of life in Dor-lomin under the tyranny of the Easterlings—but rarely even exchanged a word with her.

Now Aerin was surprised by the girl's air of authority and quick wits, but gratefully welcomed her competent assistance. She herself worked among the rest as best she could. And then they were ready. They set fire in all four corners of the new wooden hall Brodda had been so proud of and in many other places, along the walls and the fence and among the thralls' huts.

Flames leapt up, licking hungrily at the logs of the buildings, and spread. Aerin watched only to make sure that the fire had well and truly caught; then she turned to the women and children and spoke to them.

'Now scatter,' she said.

It was the best chance she could offer them. The smoke of the fire would alert the Easterlings more quickly, perhaps, but as there were no near neighbours, with any luck the burning would consume most of the evidence of what had happened here before any of them could get here. It would also destroy her carefully kept household records. The thralls' huts, being most flammable, would burn right down to the ground. The Easterlings would suspect much, but have few hard facts to go on, and they could not know how many had escaped alive. There was no road to freedom for this remnant of her people but, scattering, they might be taken in by others of their kind, singly here and there. They would be harder to trace and at least some might escape retribution.

They looked at her and at each other, the old, the women and the children. A nod here and there, as they understood her intention—and already they were beginning to disperse, some of them leaving at a run, although it was doubtful that they could sustain it for long. Unlike the rest, the girl with the honey-coloured braids stood her ground. Instead, she took a step forward towards Aerin.

'But, lady, you are coming with us!' she said.

'No', said Aerin.

'But...!' the girl protested, wide-eyed. She suddenly looked much younger and a great deal more scared.

'When I told Turin I was too old and too weak to survive in the wilderness, I was not lying or exaggerating', Aerin explained quietly. 'I'm not strong enough to lead the life of a fugitive. Nor could I easily be hidden anywhere. I am too well known among the Easterlings.'

Aerin locked her knees tight and stilled her hands so they would not be seen to tremble. She looked at the girl, her second cousin once removed--so brave and sturdy, even in her fear. Such a lovely strong jaw. If it had been permitted to her to have a daughter...

Oh, she loved this girl with all her heart. It was a pity that she could not recall her name. It was age that did it and terror and exhaustion, clouding her brain, hiding her young cousin's name from her because for so long she had not dared to speak it. She leaned forward, reached out and pushed at the girl's shoulder.

'Go', she said. 'Go, you. You must take over now, girl. Go quickly.'

The girl stood as if rooted to the spot; then, with one painful, rending sob, she tore herself away and ran after the others, towards the forest. Aerin looked on until she disappeared. Behind her, flames crackled and hissed. Aerin felt the heat rise at her back.

She walked around the burning hall to the main entrance and went inside. Already the smoke had seeped in and hung among the rafters. She slowly moved in the direction of the dais, threading her way among overturned tables and the dead bodies of Edain and Easterlings, people she had known.

She had been going to fetch Brodda's great axe from his chamber—the one he had not had to hand because he had been killed unexpectedly at his own dinner table. She had been thinking of making a last stand with it in the doorway of the burning hall when the Easterlings arrived on the scene. Not that she was much of a fighter, but every moment they lost killing her would be a moment gained for Turin and Asgon on their way to the mountains and, if she managed to kill even one Easterling, it would be one less on their trail...

But when she reached the place where Broddun had fallen, knife in hand, sprawling among the wreckage, the spurious strength that Aerin's fury and her determination had lent her suddenly deserted her completely. Her legs began to tremble so hard that she abruptly sat down where she stood. Her back ached violently and there was an equally fierce pain at the back of her head. Her arms felt as if she could not lift a feather. It had been foolish to imagine she could wield a battle-axe. And it was hard that she and her sister-in-law should die fighting on opposite sides after they had been good friends and allies for such a long time...

There had been grey in Aerin's hair for years now. She had never quite recovered her full strength after her miscarriage. There still had been the occasional beating from Brodda, too...

Turin... She rather thought she had saved his life in the melee in the hall, although she doubted he had realized. Arrogant. Accusing her of cowardice. And, yes, she had always been afraid of large dogs, still was, couldn't help it. But she had certainly intercepted that blow at his back with her tray, a blow that might have got to him otherwise. It would have to do...

'I'm sorry, Morwen...'

But even Morwen could not ask for more of her than this.

The smoke was growing thicker. It was dark in the hall and very hot and it was getting quite hard to breathe. Aerin crawled over and tucked Broddun's skirt down over her knees. Then, because, there was nothing else left to do, she reached out and took Broddun's hand. The knife dropped to the floor. Aerin gently held Broddun's lifeless half-curled fingers.

'I'm glad I knew you, Broddun.'

Chapter End Notes

Canon implies that it was Aerin who set Brodda's hall on fire and that she died there, although it's not explicitly stated as a fact in the text of Children of Hurin and the Unfinished Tales and I'm not aware that Tolkien spells it out anywhere else.

(This is the end more or less as I had originally planned it, although I had abandoned the idea of writing it down for a while, when the drabble sequence took me in unexpected directions.)