42. Five things... Túrin
Húrin slowly opened the bedroom door. Normally Lalaith shared with her brother, but Morwen had set up a cot in their own room, to keep an eye on the child overnight. She had laughed off his fear that she too might catch the pestilence.
"Half of Dor-lómin has fallen ill; where would I go to be safe?"
She had chased him out, though, not to disturb him when she got up.
Morwen slept on the ground beside the cot. Húrin tried to back out again, but a squeak from the door woke her.
"How is she?"
"Her fever has broken."
"She has come," Melian declared.
Túrin looked at her, and then at the entrance to the throne room.
"Not yet, child. It will be a day before she is here. Your sister is still very small, and they cannot travel very fast."
Túrin bit his lip. It had been months since he had seen his mother, and he missed her very much. He had never said so; he was a guest, and it was not polite to complain. Yet from queen Melian's look, he thought she knew, and from the wink she gave him, he knew she did not mind.
Three years of washing in ice-cold rivers. I need a bath, a hot bath. Túrin's stomach growled at the smell of food as he neared the hall. He hesitated, but walked on. As much as he wanted to eat, he wanted to be clean more.
Later, as he sat down with a full plate in front of him, enjoying the luxury of food he had not had to forage, kill, clean or cook himself, he was so at peace that he could even smile at that fool Saeros who sat opposite him. The Elf sneered in response, but said nothing.
"Too close," Gwindor whispered.
"On, then." Beleg replied.
Beleg did not know how much time passed, but they must be miles away from the Orcs. They were also soaked from the rain lashing down and Túrin was starting to stir, so he halted under the doubtful shelter of a tree. With Gwindor standing guard, Beleg softly placed a hand on Túrin's shoulder to bring him further out of his stupor. It was clear that the Orcs had used him badly, for when he first opened his eyes he tried to pull away, but then lightning flashed and he recognised Beleg.
"Bring this answer to Círdan," Orodreth said to the messengers. "I will heed the warning of the Lord of Waters; the bridge will be cast down."
Túrin said nothing, for it was clear that he would not be able to sway Orodreth now the lord of Nargothrond had made up his mind. Ever he chooses the cautious path, the easier path… the coward's path. And yet… Nargothrond stands, and its people are safe, and his bolder brothers have long since fallen. None of this caution was his way, but Túrin would abide by Orodreth's rule while he lived in Nargothrond.
Written for the July 2013 Nuzgûl of the Month: Happy Turin... either a moment somewhere in between all he suffers (and inflicts) in canon, or an AU in which his life is actually happy. Give the guy a break, make him smile!
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