Many Journeys by Elleth

Resolve

Thuringwethil meets Lúthien.

The sky stretched across the Vale of Sirion in the blue of Lúthien’s garments underneath her shadow-cloak. Thuringwethil’s gaze glanced off her more than once, seeking to follow her path over the ruined bridge and among the fallen stones to the foot of the crumbling tower, but again and again her eye slipped off the elf, as though Thuringwethil’s mind sought against her will to unsee her. Only by virtue of Lúthien’s swift, flitting movements, revealing a sliver of her face, a fair hand, a scrap of blue dress, a gleam of light from her eye, she was able to keep track.

The scent of spring-flowers wafted to her window, too early for the season and absurd to the extreme in a place of filth and corruption that housed only a dwindling band Orcs dwelling in terror of her. With good reason, for wounded in the collapse of the tower, a wing shattered and her iron claws blunted by clawing slowly from a collapsed dungeon, she hungered for nourishment to strengthen her again… and Orcs made poor fare, their taste dulled and impotent with corruption.

A Maia’s daughter, capable of humbling even her master into screeching flight… whatever errand led her to Tol-in-Gaurhoth for the second time, she would not conclude it without giving something in return.

Thuringwethil smiled, and turned from the window to descend. Her fangs at least had remained sharp.