All That Is Gold by cuarthol

All That Is Gold

Níniel

Deep, gnawing hunger drove her, searching far from Cabed-en-Aras.  The people here had taken her in and treated her well, and she would not betray them, and so she went far from the stead seeking enough to fill.  As the child within grew, so too the emptiness that consumed her.

She tried to reason with Turambar - she was in no danger, though she could not tell him why.  Placating but false assurances she would not wander far did little to dissuade his worry but her stubbornness was a match for his own, and he did not prevail against it.

Once more, she told herself.  Only once more.

She gazed upon him in the darkness, starlight touching his features like kisses, and her body ached for the love of him.

Once more, she thought as she rose from the bed, a simple robe to wrap around her form.  Like an elf-child she was, leaving little trace of her passing, prints only forming in the softest mud.

None but the trees witnessed her passage, the hunger calling her on.

Túrin 

Túrin woke alone, the coldness he felt more than just the absence of his wife.  She had grown more restless of late, wandering in the forest; sometimes not returning until the stars were unchallenged in the sky and her bare feet were caked with mud and twigs.

Not until whispers of dragon sightings did he seek to hold her back from such dangerous excursions.  One might almost call it a fight as he pleaded with her to remain in Ephel Brandir, urging her to think of their unborn child.  But she would be neither commanded nor persuaded.

So it was when he woke without her, he felt the cold fingers of doom creeping through him.  None within the village could say they had seen her that morning, and few were willing to seek her for fear of finding worse.

He searched for her in vain until the shadows grew long through the forest.  Then, knowing that should he slay the dragon she at least might wander free once again, he gathered his valour and set forth.

Within the dark recesses of Cabed-en-Aras he waited until the great bulk of the dragon passed overhead.  Then he summoned all the strength of heart and body and thrust Gurthang deep into the beast’s belly.

Glaurung

A herd of cattle, a flock of sheep, even an unfortunate band of Orcs might sate, if not satisfy.  A sniff of the air, a flick of the tongue, Glaurung caught the promise of warm blood on the night wind.

Following the scent of wild musk, soon Glaurung discovered a slow moving herd of aurochs.  With but little effort, the gratification of a full belly brought a rare moment of contentment.

Surely now this would last long enough to bear this joyful burden.  Home, then: east.  East to the one who waited.  The chasm would prove little trouble to cross, rearing up on hind legs to cast across, the remaining bulk drawn afterward.

Too late the familiar scent reached Glaurung’s nose before a shriek spilled forth as the sword sunk deep.  Then, writhing and thrashing in agony upon the far side of the chasm, black blood spilled upon the ground.

Gurthang

Not easily did Túrin return across Cabed-en-Aras.  When he did so, by the silver light of the moon, he found in place of a golden dragon, golden-haired Níniel, pierced through her womb with the black sword.

“What wizardry is this?” Túrin cried, falling to his knees beside her.

Thereat Níniel stirred and opened her darkened eyes.  “Turambar.”  Her voice was faint, her head too heavy to lift, not even her arm could she stretch out to him but her hand only touching his.

“No, it was not thee that crossed o’er that chasm, not thee I pierced!” Túrin said.  “How came this to be?”

“It was I,” Níniel said, “even as I returned to thee.  But now from thee I am taken.”  She closed her eyes and her last breath left, and Níniel was no more.

Then Túrin cried, “Those whom I have loved, now thrice dead!  My doom completed by these cursed hands!”

Upon her lips he pressed a last kiss and wept.  Then, pulling her to his chest, he said, “Drink deep, Gurthang, and send me swiftly after.”

And Gurthang answered him, “May thy blood quell my hunger for retribution.  For innocent blood hast thou spilt: for Beleg, and not the least for Niënor, thy sister, and thy child unborn.”

Then Túrin’s knew at last the end of all his deeds and the evil he had wrought for the curse of Morgoth.  So he thrust through his sword so that they both lay dead upon it, for if she could not return he would follow.

Chapter End Notes

With thanks to Ettelenë and Melesta for their excellent suggestions!