Dragon Deception by Mimi Lind

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Victorious

4. Victorious

Kill the dragon. Kill the dragon. Kill the dragon. Crouching under the sleeping monster’s belly, Túrin nearly gagged at the hideous reptile stench, but repeating the words to himself made him stay focused on the task at hand. 

Finally the opportunity had come. Tonight he would get his revenge; it was time to end the foe who had entered his mind, filled him with lies and almost ruined his chance at happiness.

Glaurung had left his lair and crawled towards Brethil, burning the lands as he went, and clearly intending to find and kill Túrin. Instead it would be the other way around, for the stupid beast had fallen asleep out here in the open, on the bank of the Teiglin. 

Foolish pride! Glaurung probably thought he was safe; that people wouldn’t dare come close. Well, unlike the men who had followed him, Túrin wasn’t so easily daunted. When they ran back home in fear, he alone had crawled under the dragon’s belly.

Finduilas’ parting words still echoed in his mind: Kill the dragon. She knew Glaurung had to die if there would ever be peace in the world – and in Túrin’s head. 

Now the moment was here. It was time to kill the dragon. 

Taking his anger, his fear and hatred, Túrin used it as a force to drive his black sword home, all the way to the hilt. 

The dragon roared in pain, writhing this way and that, and jumping away in a vain attempt to evade the piercing sword. He landed at the other side of the river with flames erupting all around him. A few more times he thrashed and spewed fire, but his movements got gradually slower, until he stopped altogether and fell down. With a deep shudder the great Glaurung became still.

Túrin stared at the huge form. Well. That had been easier than he thought! 

Swimming across with quick strokes, he went to take a look at the body of his defeated foe and retrieve his weapon. 

He climbed on top of the beast’s upturned belly, revelling in the sight of the monster splayed out on his back under him. Glaurung, father of dragons, lay defenceless and dead – or soon dead. 

Túrin couldn’t resist a final, gloating challenge: “Hail, worm of Morgoth, well met again,” he yelled, gripping the handle of the sword. “Die now and the darkness have you! Thus is Túrin son of Húrin avenged.” With that, he started pulling.

The sword was stuck hard into the scaly surface, and he had to use both feet as leverage. In a gush of black liquid the blade came loose at last, and Túrin fell down, clutching his stinging hand where the foul blood had burned him.

Something moved nearby, and without thinking he turned his head. Too late he realized he shouldn't have looked, for Glaurung’s eye was open, and his gaze was full of malice. 

A heavy blow struck Túrin’s mind, and all went dark.

oOo

Opening his eyes, Túrin sat up. His head felt clearer than it had for ages; ever since he had first met the dragon’s gaze outside Nargothrond. What had happened?

He looked at the enormous corpse beside him and felt a chill trickle down his spine. Glaurung was dead. The huge dragon was finally dead! That evil, stunning look before had just been a final trick, and as soon as Glaurung died Túrin had been freed from the enchantment.

He couldn’t resist spitting at the carcass, though he knew it was childish. “Take that, worm!”

Someone was sobbing nearby, and a male voice spoke soothingly. Turning around, he saw Neniel with Brandir’s arms around her. Strange. What was she doing here? Had she followed him despite his strict orders that she remained at home?

Neniel turned her head his way, and uttered a yelp of surprise. Then her face broke into a happy smile. “Túrin! I thought you were dead!” She tried to hug him.

“Nay, don’t do that.” Frowning, Túrin pushed her away. “You know I belong to another.” The young woman had become infatuated with him after his arrival in the village, so now Brandir loved Neniel, and she loved Túrin, and he was betrothed to Finduilas, and she kept postponing their wedding for some reason. Quite a mess, all of it.

“It’s not like that, stupid! I know who I am now; the dragon’s curse is gone at last. I’m Niënor. Your sister!”

Túrin stared at her. “But… She’s in Doriath. Or so I was told.” He hadn’t dared to go there and see for himself even after four years in the neighboring forest; the last time he was in Doriath he had killed an elf, and though Beleg had claimed the king had forgiven him, Túrin was too ashamed to return.

“I was, and Mother too, but then the dragon came and we heard rumors you were there. So when Captain Mablung went out to scout, we followed him. But the dragon’s eyes did something to me, and I lost my memory.” A thought seemed to strike her. “Thank the Valar you said no when I wanted to marry you! I’d have wed my own brother. Ugh!”

Túrin stared at her, trying to make sense of all that information. One thing was missing from her tale. “And our mother…?”

Niënor’s face fell. “We were separated. I don’t know what happened to her.”

Túrin set his jaw. “I’ll find her. I’ll make everything right, and find her.” 

“You will.” Niënor’s eyes gleamed. “The tales of your great deeds even reached us in far away Dor-lómin, and now you’ve killed an actual dragon single-handedly! You can do anything.” She turned to the carcass and kicked it. “Take that, dumb lizard! That’s what you get for trying to attack my big brother.”

A rare smile formed on his face; this was without doubt his sister. “Niënor. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Her responding grin threatened to cleave her face.

oOo

Túrin emptied his cup, feeling unusually content where he sat in the village feast area. He had eaten well and drunk his fill, and finally the dragon was completely gone from his mind. On his left, his sister was chatting amiably with Brandir, and the human leader looked happier than Túrin had ever seen him. Good for him. If someone deserved his sister, it was that man.

On his other side, Finduilas sat silent, regarding the dancing flames. Her hair gleamed like gold in the firelight, and her simple dress clung to her soft curves. She took a sip of mead, and his eyes were drawn to her pink lips.

It struck her how extraordinarily beautiful she was. With all the worries and troubles occupying his thoughts these past years, he had never really noticed that.

Before his inner eye, he saw himself removing that dress and placing her on his bed. She would look at him with the loving gaze she sometimes had, and stroke his beard and say he looked handsome in it. Then he would lay on top of her, and their lips would meet, and… 

Túrin felt blood rush to areas where it hadn’t been for quite some time. Damn. Why were they still only betrothed? He had asked her so many times, but she always wanted to wait. 

“Isn’t it finally the right time now?” he asked wearily. “The dragon’s dead, and my sister’s memory is restored, and when I brought word to Doriath of the death of Glaurung I was greeted personally by King Thingol and invited to live there. Isn’t this a good time to marry?”

Finduilas met his gaze, looking so deeply into his eyes that Túrin began to squirm uncomfortably where he sat. 

“This is the first time you have asked me this question because you want to wed me, not because you promised Gwindor,” she said at last. “The answer is aye. Aye, Túrin, this is a good time to marry.”

Bending towards him, she pressed her lips against his. 

Chapter End Notes

Ahh look at that... a *gasp!* happy Túrin?!! :)

In the Silmarillion version of these events, Finduilas was killed at the river crossing with the rest of the elf-maids. Niënor was therefore found by Túrin, and not knowing they were siblings they got married and she became pregnant with his child. When Túrin had killed Glaurung and Niënor’s memory returned, she realized all this, and in addition found him seemingly dead (because the dragon had dazed him) – so she jumped into the river where she and her unborn baby drowned. 

After Túrin had woken up Brandir tried to tell him this, but he didn’t believe it and killed the other. Later Túrin realized his mistake and threw himself on his sword and died. Then his mother came to his grave and died of grief there, and his father found her, got devastated, and threw himself into the ocean. But first he gave King Thingol a piece of jewellery which led to Doriath’s fall and to the third kinslaying, which had dire consequences for all of Middle-earth.

A horrible tragedy. Don't you agree everything would have been better with just a teeny bit of divine intervention? :)

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