Written In Blood by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

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        Written In Blood

 

 

Some days after the marriage of Aragorn and Arwen, Glorfindel sought out Aragorn, and led him out onto the high terrace. They sat on a carved stone bench and looked out over the sunlit vale of Anduin. The river sparkled, craft of all sizes moved through the water, and everywhere the colours of the King fluttered and snapped in the fresh breeze. A page came after them and held a tray out, they took a goblet each and the page bowed and left them. 

 Glorfindel held up his goblet, the stem was of mithril, wrought as a tree, the bowl held by the wreathing branches. The juice of crushed rasperries made the glass glow in the bright morning light. He sipped and smiled, the highlands were marvellous for raspberries, that subtle, smoky, woodland taste that was missing from the sweeter fruits of the south.

 

 'Speak, Glorfindel ! Even now, with everything that I have ever wanted mine at last, you still make me anxious. What have you to say to me ?' 

Glorfindel looked at him with a brief smile and then sighed as one who braces themself for an unpleasant task. 'Have no fear, my old friend, I see no clouds on the horizon. It is the past of which I wish to speak. There is a detail, an untold story, written in no book nor scroll of lore in all the libraries of Imladris.'

 

Aragorn opened his mouth then closed it again and looked seriously at Glorfindel. Glorfindel stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles and sighed again 'It concerns Húrin, and Turgon. It  was in the time when the Enemy released Húrin, to savour Húrin's anguish, that Húrin made his way to Gondolin. But the gate was broken and sealed and none answered the pleas of the desperate Húrin.

  The eagles came to Turgon offering to bear Húrin to the city, but the heart of Turgon was cold with dread and distrust and he would not permit the rescue. I was there.' 

 

 Glorfindel shifted, then drew his legs back and leaned his elbows on his knees, staring back across the abyss of time. 'I was there and I did nothing for Húrin, who saved my Lord Turgon at the Fen of Serech. 

 And Húrin screamed and cursed us and beat upon the grim rock wall in the cold grey desolation but no help came. 

 No help came. 

 Húrin then built a great fire, and prepared charcoal and strove to write his curses on the sheer face of the cliff. But the rock was smooth as polished marble and his charcoal left no trace. 

 He laughed then, fey and fearful laughter, and tears unnoticed soaked into his thin grey beard.' 

 

 Glorfindel paused and looked down at the stone slabs beneath his feet 'So Húrin sharpened his dagger, opened his vein and wrote on the stone with his own blood.'

 

  Aragorn was silent for a while, then finally, his voice hoarse and hesitant, he asked 'What...what did he write ?'

 

 Glorfindel turned and looked sombrely at Aragorn 'His own name. In his own blood.' He sighed again. 'I know it is only a detail, but such a- such an anguished cry deserves to be heard. Turgon, as you will know, is the great-grandfather of Lord Elrond. And Húrin is his great uncle.

 

 I have never asked him about this, nor was it I who gave him the news. But now that your blood will be joined with theirs, it is best that you know what is written there.'

 

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Chapter End Notes

er, its the same, but polished up a bit...