A Foretelling of Blood by Kaylee Arafinwiel

A Foretelling of Blood

In mine and Emma's 'verse, Oropher is the great-grandson of Elmo, brother to Elu Thingol. Our OCs, his father, Celepharn, and grandfather, Gwathion, aren't mentioned in this fic, but Gwathion is the younger brother of Galadhon (Tolkien's canon son for Elmo, and Celeborn's father). So our Oropher is first cousin once removed to Celeborn, and at this time in the First Age (FA 480), almost five hundred years old in our timeline. I've never done anything with Oropher and Túrin before (this is the first time I've written Túrin before at *all* that I can think of), but I think our Oropher would probably spend time with his uncle's human son and look after him, as at this point he has no wife or heirs of his own to worry over.

“That is not your blood, is it?” Oropher reached out and wiped it from the young Man’s cheek.

Túrin shook his head. “No, my lord,” he said quietly. “Saeros and I had another argument, and we came to blows.”

Oropher grimaced. Saeros was one of the most hot-headed of his uncle’s counsellors, and one of the most vocal about Elu Thingol’s adopted son. He failed to see why Aran Thingol did not simply replace Saeros with someone less…volatile, but that was the King’s prerogative, not his own. “Again?” he questioned gently, trying not to sound like he was patronising the Mortal boy. At sixteen summers, Túrin had dwelt in Menegroth seven years, and was swiftly nearing manhood. He was a more than fair swordsman already, much to Saeros’ displeasure. The two were always crossing swords, now that Túrin was allowed to carry his sword with him.

“Again,” Túrin muttered. “What does it matter that I am a human? I am just as good as any Elf at swordplay, and I will make my father’s House proud of me. I will be a great warrior some day. Nothing Saeros says can stop me from believing that.”

“I believe it,” Oropher agreed. “You will do your family proud, Túrin. We hold your kindred in high honour within this wood, even if Saeros himself does not. He will merely have to learn better manners.” Before Túrin decides to give him lessons, Oropher added silently.

“I hope he will cease to trouble me, my lord. I cannot hold back my anger at these insults forever. Some day, they must be answered,” Túrin said.

Oropher said nothing, but a river of blood seemed to pass before his eyes. He firmly reminded himself that foretelling was not one of his talents! At least, he hoped not.