The Fosterling Prince Arrives by Kaylee Arafinwiel

Chapter 1

The young Mortal, flanked by his aging servants, was marked long ere he approached Melian’s Girdle. How not, with the Elves on watch, and Beleg to guide them to the border outpost? Beleg retreated, calling for food, medicine and blankets – the three were given leave to rest and heal before they were introduced to Mablung of the Heavy Hand, chief of Thingol’s wardens.

When it was clear that the visitors were no longer like to starve or die of cold, Mablung spoke. “Hail, son of Húrin, and your companions also,” he said. “What do ye here so far from your own lands?”

Túrin stared straight ahead, though he was not yet chest-height on the Elf. “My naneth has taught me to keep my own counsel, lord,” he replied stiffly.

Beleg dropped down lightly from the trees, laughing at Mablung. “A fine thing,” he agreed, “but no lord is Mablung. We are but humble wardens.”

“There is nothing humble about me,” Mablung retorted. “Still, have ye no answer for me, kin of Húrin?”

“Lady Morwen has sent us to guide her heir to the Fenced Realm,” replied Gethron. “We are to speak our case to Aran Thingol, Lord of Beleriand.”

“I have no doubt his Majesty will receive the son of Húrin Thalion,” Mablung said, “but you must come blindly, and trust to our folk to keep your safety until you stand before our king. Is that acceptable to you?”

“It is,” Grithnir replied, before Túrin could make answer, and so the three were blindfolded, then put in a horse-drawn cart and taken along the Elf-path. They stopped every so often to eat and sleep, and to take care of personal needs, but overall, they were making good time.

 Túrin accustomed himself to the darkness. It was a friendly darkness, surrounded by the sound of Elven laughter and song. The nine-year-old began asking questions, learning the poetry and songs being sung around him, and slowly, inexplicably, the knot in the bottom of his stomach began to loosen. Maybe the King would accept him, after all.

Maybe…

The hand to remove the blindfold from Túrin’s face was slender and soft, not much larger than the boy’s own. He blinked, glad that darkness still reigned so he might accustom his eyes better, and under the fullness of the Moon’s soft light he beheld her for the first time – the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, other than his own mother. Túrin blushed.

“Hail, Child of Men,” she greeted him, smiling sweetly, “I am Nellas, handmaid to our Queen. She bids you come to her.”

“M-my name is Túrin, son of Húrin Thalion, and Prince of Dor-lómin,” he said.

“Come then, Highness,” Nellas said gently, “and let their Majesties greet you properly.”

Túrin swallowed, but followed Nellas through the cavernous halls of Menegroth, lit by flickering torches that threw sparkling light on the gem-rich walls. They passed gardens of flowers grown in caves open to the heavens, and equally vibrant flowers and vines of stone carved in the imitation of such. Birds sang, and stone fountains warbled. Túrin’s eyes were hungry as his gaze devoured each and every luxury. And still, Nellas led him on.

Finally, they reached the throne room, one of the central caverns of Menegroth, where all the court was assembled. Elu, the Greycloak, sat resplendent on his throne with his queen beside him, and she it was who caught Túrin’s eye. If he had thought Nellas more beautiful than his mother (a traitorous thought in itself) he had to think Melian outshone even her. It was almost too much for the boy to take in. He could not love her as he loved his dearest mother, but he thought perhaps he could stay, just to admire her.
“Túrin, Prince of Dor-lómin,” Melian said softly. “We have been long in friendship with your House from afar.”

The boy bowed awkwardly. When he straightened, he saw one of Elu’s councillors eyeing him with a stern look. The Elf bent to whisper something in the King’s ear, and Elu brushed him aside.

“We are pleased to have thee in Our court, son of Dor-lómin,” Elu said formally. “We hope thou wilt be happy here, learning much from Us, and Our folk.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Túrin replied.

“We have placed thee, and thy servants in the family wing,” Elu said. “Thou hast taken a long journey, Child; go to thy rest and be refreshed. Tomorrow is soon enough for thy new life to begin.”

Túrin bowed again, and Melian rose from her throne, coming to take the boy by the hand. “Come, ion nin,” she said gently, “I will see thee to thy rest.”

Tears pricked Túrin’s eyes, but he blinked them away hastily and followed the Queen. As she saw him tucked into the softest, largest bed he’d ever slept in (he was sure dearest Mother could sleep in it with him), he asked, “Who was that elf who spoke to the King, your Majesty?”

“That elf, ion-nin,” Melian said softly, “was Saeros.”

Túrin nodded, then yawned. In half a minute, he was asleep.

Chapter End Notes

Gethron and Grithnir are Turin's servants, named so in (I believe) the Children of Hurin. I couldn't find them in the character list.