The Eyes and Ears of Melkor by Chilled in Hithlum

Chapter 8 The Fell Beast and The Fell Winter

The autumn came in cold that year and throughout the previous summer the Orc muster waited impatiently; they had long been ready for battle but no order to advance came from Angband, and as yet there was no sign of Glaurung.  Hurin combed the Orbs for news but all he saw in those days, as the icy wind bit, were jaded Orcs with no sport or routine activities in far off outposts.  The day came at last when the Dragon awoke and Hurin's Orb began to vibrate to point where he thought that it would come free of its holders.  The golden swirls inside the Orb shone white and converged into two glowing and pulsating spots of light.  Suddenly the light propelled outwards in straight beams and entered Hurin's eyes; the intensity of the pain caused Hurin to scream aloud and he became as one blinded, and a searing whiteness filled the inside of his head.  The remote voice of Glaurung echoed inside Hurin's head as if it spoke within the vastness of an empty cavern, and said "Hail Hurin, I am impressed that you can withstand me, now I will say well met; I told you some months ago that my eyes were infinity more effective than bare stone and they can see far deeper than any others.  Know this!  Your Orb is now subject to my vision and whenever I am awake your being shall be mine; you shall see as I do, you shall know my thought, whatever sustains me shall sustain you, but I shall not break your spirit for that pleasure belongs to Our Lord, Melkor.  I say ‘Our Lord' because you will feel my reverence for him, whether or not you would choose to, and you shall feel my pleasure even when I hurt the innocent and destroy all the lands that you deem fair.  Only when I rest shall you be free in mind and able to contemplate what I have shown you, and only then will your Orb operate in its usual manner; yet when I awake you shall know again the pain of my rousing.  All this shall happen as long as I live or until my master and I release you, be it permanent or temporary; so I say to you now, Hurin, Son of Galdor and Father of Turin, BEHOLD!"  

It appeared to Hurin that his field of vision had widened exponentially and it seemed as though he could see out from his temples; yet all the while he still only regarded the Orb, but via his senses he perceived so much more.  Hurin felt the Dragon's anger surge within him as he passed out of Angband and across the Anfauglith, Dragon-Fire burnt at his throat as the enormous reptile despoiled the Vales of Sirion about Ered Wethrin and the Eithel Ivrin.  Hurin dizzied with the rushing of Glaurung's adrenaline when he led the Orcs into the Guarded Plain; and his heart laughed as the scouts of Nargothrond lit beacons to announce their coming, for Hurin-Glaurung knew the hour of devastation had come.  Glaurung's attention switched to another Orb and Hurin witnessed the riding forth of Orodreth with the Mormegil on his right side; Hurin saw one that he recognised riding on the King's left, it was Gwindor, but he now looked as an aged and careworn man and not the grand valiant who was the first one to ride out to meet his enemies at the Nirnaeth.  Glaurung made straightway for the Bridge of Nargothrond; but his mind constantly focussed on the coming battle with Orodreth and the Orcs and this was all that Hurin saw, but whilst the Dragon's attention was diverted he recovered a semblance of his own senses again.  Hurin felt his own anguish at the slaying of Orodreth and the mortal wounding of Gwindor, and pride filled him as he observed the heroism in battle of his son Turin, the Mormegil.  The Orb bearer must have been slain because Hurin's vision blurred with a flying and tumbling motion, and the scene settled anew at the edge of the forest beyond the battlefield.  A figure carrying a body in his arms came into view and Hurin looked again on the face of his son for the first time since the rescue at Anfauglith.  He had reached his full manhood, but Hurin saw the same boyish expression of tear-stained compassion and empathy as Turin lay the dying Gwindor on the ground.  Hurin heard Gwindor telling Turin to leave him to die because his hurts were too deep to heal, he heard Gwindor bemoan Turin's pride and folly and he berated him for bringing ruin on Nargothrond; Gwindor told Turin that, though he loved him, he regretted aiding in his rescue and bringing him to his home because he was robbed of the love of Finduilas, Orodreth's daughter.  And with his last words Gwindor said, "Haste you now to Nargothrond, and save Finduilas; she alone stands between you and your doom.  If you fail her, it shall not fail to find you. Farewell!"

As Turin turned to flight the blinding whiteness filled Hurin's head and he was once more under the jurisdiction of the Dragon; he felt a greedy longing as Glaurung surveyed the riches of Orodreth's halls and Hurin smacked his lips.  The remnant of Nargothrond fought courageously to save their home but these were for the most part artisans, women and children; and they had few defenders about them.  Their defiance was short lived and those that were not slain were set in bonds and linked in a train to be taken into thraldom, and Finduilas was among them.  As the captives were readied the noise of battle amplified outside and Glaurung stepped forth; he cleared the dead and dying from his path with his fore-claws and came out onto the bridge.  Its architect charged at him in hot wrath, hewing down foes as he came; Turin bore his sword, Gurthang, aloft and sprung towards Glaurung, but the Dragon set his eye on him and Turin stood frozen, even as a statue in the great Elven halls.  Contempt spited Hurin's fear as his son watched helplessly immobile when the prisoners went by under the whips of the Orcs, and Hurin laughed at the desperate cries of Finduilas as she passed her unrequited beloved.  Glaurung spoke in the same twisted fashion to Turin as he did to his father earlier that year; he called him ‘Captain Foolhardy' and mocked the over-proud leadership of his armies, and he shamed him in manner as he did Hurin regarding his kin.  By Glaurung's design, Hurin's contempt for his evil and ungrateful son deepened to hatred as the Dragon withdrew his eye; and he wanted to see Turin burn as he attacked again.  But Glaurung withheld his blast and told Turin to hurry if he could to Dor-Lomin and redress the hurts of his mother and sister, and warned him not to spurn this gift of freedom.  So it was that Turin sped on his fool's errand and he entirely deserted Finduilas in her hour of need; Hurin sensed Glaurung's contentment at a job completed, and fire filled his throat again as the Dragon routed the plundering Orcs.  All that could flee from his fury went on heedlessly before the bridge was broken and cast down into the river.  Finally Hurin felt release when at last Glaurung heaped together the hoard of Nargothrond about him in its deepest halls and went to sleep amid the hill of treasure.

Hurin sat dejected and heartbroken on lonely Thangorodhrim; he stared unthinking at the Orb for now it was still and vacant, and all that it showed was his distorted reflection and he despised it.  Hurin hung his head trying to fathom how he could feel what he did and he could not even guess how he would cope with his remorse, "That evil must have always been inside me," he said as he wept.  As though answering his tears with a malicious taunt; the freezing wind caught the ferocious laughter of Morgoth and lashed at him as would a thrall-master in the mines below.  Hurin took the hurt deep into his core and began to despair; eventually he feel into a dreamless sleep whilst driving sleet beat him throughout the night and into the next morning, he awoke early in the midst of the lessening downpour but the rain could not wash away his misery and he sobbed all the more bitterly.  The shower died away as Hurin remained soaking but drained of woe and mechanically he gazed into the Orb; he heard the sound of tramping feet, rough voices and the cracking of whips, the scene unfolded to show the northward march of the Nargothrond hostages.  Hurin found his vision and hearing to be far sharper and much clearer than ever before as he watched their slow unhindered progress through the decimated lands, he saw further too and perceived the otherwise unnoticed scouts surveying the slave party afar off in the Forest of Brethil.  Hurin wondered much at his new abilities and supposed them to be the after-effects of his encounter with Glaurung, for indeed they were, and he felt sure they would diminish but he was wrong.  For many long hours more the prisoners were driven mercilessly along the old road to the Crossings of Teiglin and through the Eaves of Brethil; even amid the coarse din and chatter, Hurin could hear the whispered plans of the Men of Brethil.  They resolved to ambush the Orcs, in vengeance of their fallen lord, and rescue the captured Elves of Nargothrond.  Unfortunately their stroke fell too early and the Orcs turned on the Elves and slew them; alas for poor Finduilas for she was their chief prize, an Orc captain thrust her against a tree and run her through with a spear, although before he could flee a Brethil arrow caught his jugular and he spewed black blood ere he died.  The Orb bearer bolted but Hurin heard Finduilas' dying words, "Tell the Mormegil that Finduilas is here;" and Hurin's blood ran chill when he remembered the last words of Gwindor and he feared that calamity would forever stalk his son. 

The first snow of winter fell that night, it came heavy and silent spreading southward across Beleriand.  The next day Hurin was grateful for the hot slops sent by the Orcs but the bird did not return for the food bag because of the cold; nevertheless a kindly whirlwind took it up and dropped it at the mine entrance, thus he did not go hungry thereafter and Hurin praised Manwe.  During that day nobody went abroad and the Orb was a whiteout so it happened that Hurin looked out towards his homelands in profound longing; however, that night a great fire rose up and he took it for a beacon but he soon descried that it came from Dor-Lomin and there were no beacons in that part of Hithlum that he knew of, he took to his Orb but it remained dormant and Hurin could not tell if the flames boded good or ill.  The morning after Hurin bent his will on the Orb, determining it towards Dor-Lomin, and soon enough he heard the prattle of gossip-mongering Orcs outside the burnt remnant of Brodda and Aerin's home.

"... What, you missed it?" said the first voice, "it was madness, dead bodies all over the place."

"I heard it was ‘Her Ladyship' as burned down the hall, through having had enough of her husband," said a second Orc. 

"Not quite," said a third, as charred remains came into Hurin's view, "she done it because an intruding man murdered that Brodda, right where he was sat as I understand, so she reckoned that Lorgan would be set on punishing her household for what that man did and she beat the Easters to it by doing herself in, is what I heard."

The second Orc said, "What man?" 

The third Orc beckoned the other two closer and said quietly, "Son of ‘Witch Wife' as lived next door," pointing towards Morwen's now derelict house, "apparently he threw Brodda headlong cross his board and broke his neck.  Seems he was looking for the witch and her waif but they have long gone, they say she went to stay with that King Thingy across the mountains, you know, where the magic trees lay beneath the spiders pass."

"How come there was all them dead Easters and thralls as I saw in heaps across the hall?" asked the first.

"Apparently the thralls grew some backbone and attacked the other Easters as they set about Brodda's killer.  Course they only had dinner knifes and such while the Easters had their weapons, but still the thralls took a few out and the witch's son done the rest in a maddened rage.  Tell you what, them thralls is going to pay heavy for what went on because some helped the man escape to the Wethrin Mountains and that Lorgan is mighty angry," concluded the third.

An Orc captain angrily bade them to get on with the work of clearing the debris and Hurin shook his head in disbelief at the news of the death of another one of his kin.  He damned the curse of Morgoth and the lies of Glaurung; moreover, in his heart Hurin rebuked his son for the rash anger that left devastation in his wake, and he lamented Turin's reckless folly and ill fortune.

Throughout the ‘Fell Winter' the squalling winds blew ever the harshest about Thangorodhrim and the whiteness flurried from its peaks and drifted out as a speckled banner so that it looked like a flag of truce.  None but Hurin witnessed this ironic spectacle for nobody could endeavour so far no north in such wicked weather; the residents of Angband wisely stayed within its confines, and even the Eagles remained in their eyries.  Now amid all this compunction it chanced that after another week Hurin would come upon something to warm his frozen existence and cheer his sorrowing heart.  Now, when a portable Orb was not being used to send reports the bearer would carry the device on his belt in a leather container or it hung there by a net, and the one that Hurin looked upon this day was conveyed by the latter.  He saw a regiment of Orcs patrolling the byways about the Vale of Sirion that became alerted to an unknown presence about them.  They were commanded to disperse, and to hunt and kill whatever moved in the vicinity and so the chase was on.  Thus it happened that the Orc bearer's group blundered through the broken scrubs and undergrowth about the slopes of the roadside.  Among the snow and bracken Hurin saw two blurred grey shapes as the hunters passed by; Hurin shouted "Wait!" and the image inside his Orb stopped dead and he was amazed, he said "Go back!" and the images reversed in the same sequence that Hurin had just seen.  When he the grey forms came into view Hurin halted the images and before his mistrusting eyes he looked upon Tuor and Voronwe in hooded mantles hiding from the Orcs.  He stared dumbstruck on this static picture for a few moments until he realised that he could betray them and willed the Orb to show events in real time, and Hurin was surprised at how far ahead the Orcs had pushed on ahead of their quarry.  He was delighted to see his nephew alive and astounded that Voronwe had returned from what seemed to be a doomed voyage; his head flooded with many unanswerable questions and he whiled away many a frosty day pondering what happy chance brought them together.  Hurin regained new optimism for he knew that the travellers fared close to the realm of Gondolin, although he still knew not the exact location of Turgon‘s kingdom; and he prayed that the Lords of the West had bestowed Voronwe and Tuor with some means of salvation for the oppressed folk of Beleriand against Morgoth, or at the least sent them thither with a message of hope.