Hier, mit dir im Dämmerlicht by daughterofshadows

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Hier, mit dir im Dämmerlicht

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The door to the bridge hissed quietly when Túrin pushed it open.

Stars were twinkling beyond the window, but the room itself was dim. Lalaith had re-routed most of their emergency power to the medbay, where his mother and aunt were busy patching up all those who had been injured when the flare hit the ship and fried most of their electronics. Túrin had been there as well until Morwen had kicked him out.

“Go and get into someone else’s way for a while! Your crew will be fine”, she had said and, well, Túrin knew better then to disagree with her. So, he had left and gone to the bridge.

Sitting in the pilot’s chair, Beleg kept watch in the grey twilight of the single emergency light still flickering above them.

Túrin dropped into the chair next to him.

“Lalaith is confident she’ll have things up and running again in about half an hour. Apparently, we were lucky, because ‘This ship is so old, it short-circuited before being hit by a star flare’ so all the systems were already down anyway. Or at least that’s what Lalaith said.”

Beleg hummed and Túrin stared at the maps and charts spread out before him. Nienor’s workstation was as meticulous as always.

He tapped his finger on an empty point of space near Doriath. The planet, that was, not the space station.

“It reminds me of one of the first missions we’ve ever gone on together. Do you remember? We were stuck in our quarters for hours until they got the problem fixed and the doors opened again.”

This time, Beleg laughed.

“I remember. Captain Greymantle was furious. I was sure he’d tear Mablung’s head right off for it. Luckily, he didn’t. And it never happened again.”

 

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An ominous ‘sssssssssss’ like the sound of falling sand was their first sign that something was wrong. Then the lights cut out, plunging the room into darkness.

Túrin jumped and tugged down his shirt with more force then necessary. “Is this a situation where we report to our emergency stations?” he asked, running a hand through his hair and beard to give them at least the pretence of complying to uniform standards of kempt-ness. If he started off his first proper assignment with an emergency, he should at least make an effort to avoid running into even more trouble. It would find him soon enough.

His bunk mate, a grim-faced Doriathrim native by the name of Beleg, whom he first had met planet-side a few years ago, nodded, but when he tried to open the door, it would not budge.

Even when the lights came back on and power returned to the ship, the doors remained locked.

Instead, the intercom came to life.

“Attention please, this is your Chief Engineer Mablung speaking. Someone” —Mablung’s tone of voice suggested he knew exactly who it was —“has fucked up the program dealing with all door locking mechanisms on this ship. We are working hard to get it repaired, but until then you will have to remain wherever you are. Please be patient and we’ll have you out of your rooms in no time.”

“I guess we won’t be reporting to emergency stations then”, Túrin commented and let himself fall back onto his bed.

Beleg shot him a dirty look. “It’s not funny.”

Túrin grinned. “Oh, but it kind of is. Nana will say my bad luck follows me even into space when she hears about this.”

He turned towards the other man. “And besides, Mablung is an excellent engineer. I’m sure we’ll be out of here in no time, just like he said.”

“I know, I know. It’s just… Argh. This entire week has been terrible. And it feels like this is the climax it’s all been building up to.” Beleg sat down with a sigh. Then he added, “Nellas is marrying her weirdo boyfriend.”

Túrin frowned. “I thought you liked Galdor?”

He had never met the diplomat that Nellas had fallen in love with after he stumbled into her garden on accident, but both Beleg and Mablung always spoke fondly of him.

“I do! That doesn’t mean he isn’t a weirdo and I wish she wouldn’t marry someone from Valinor of all places. Valinor!”

Túrin, who had never quite understood the intricacies of that particular rivalry, said nothing.

 

“Do you ever think about marriage? Getting married yourself, I mean.”

A moment of silence. Then:

“Nah. I like being on my own. That entire romance thing isn’t really my cup of tea, y’know?”

“Mine either.”

 

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That day had been the start of one of the most important friendships in Túrin’s life. One that lasted far beyond his placement with the Marchwardens.

These days they hunted slavers together, looking for the one that had taken Túrin’s father above all.

They were both still unmarried and as happy about it as they were back then.

Life was good.

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Chapter End Notes

Taking name suggestions for Túrin's ship, because it's making a return soon