Book of Hours by heget

Alone of Hounds of the Land of Light

Huan

Huan does not admit to himself that of the reasons he hunts the wolves of Morgoth is to silence the voice of his litter-mate that couples with the self-doubt that lowers his proud tail and causes him to whine in the night.

He does not want to remember when his sister faced him on the other side of the arch into Alqualondë, her teeth barred like white sabers, her ears forward while Huan’s were pinned back, and every hound of Oromë on her side while not a single one beside Huan. When she used her own allotment of speech to denounce him as no better than a wolf of Melkor. That not only did he abandon the Valar for this rebellion, which she could learn to forgive, but that he was staying loyal to those that had the blood of the Children of Ilúvatar on their hands and felt no shame, desired no repentance for the vile infamy, who instead boasted of the great deeds of song they did and would do. Stiff-legged and snarling, the litter-sister of Huan asked if that was the songs he would now bay, if he knew his voice was only suited for Draugluin’s pack now. ‘Never do I wish to hear the echoes of your howls,’ had the Hound of Oromë told Huan, though their brothers whined and begged Huan to reconsider, to repent. But Huan was loyal, and adamant, and afraid to admit his choice was wrong.

So Huan hunts the wolves of Morgoth and silences the echo of his sister’s voice with every throat he rips, every hamstring of Draugluin’s pack he tears. As long as the only ones he hunts are wolves and servants of Morgoth, what does it matter his master, or the opinions of every one of his people, the pack, family, and master that he abandoned? This is what the Great Hound tells himself in the night, so that he may forget in the day.

Chapter End Notes

"Alone of hounds of the Land of Light when sons of Fëanor took flight and came into the North, he stayed beside his master. Every raid and every foray wild he shared, and into mortal battle dared. Often he saved his Elvish lord from Orc and wolf and leaping sword. A wolf-hound, tireless, grey and fierce he grew; his gleaming eyes would pierce all shadows and all mist, the scent moons old he found through fen and bent, through rustling leaves and dusty sand; all paths of wide Beleriand he knew. But wolves, he loved them best; he loved to find their throats and wrest their snarling lives and evil breath. Sauron’s packs him feared as Death." (The Lay of Leithian, Canto IX  27-50)