Come Together, Broken Things, and Grow by UnicornsInSpace  

506 of the First Age – The Havens of Sirion

         All of the Havens were a bustle with the arrival of all of the refugees from Doriath. Apparently, the Fëanorians had come and sacked it after the flight of Melian, killing Dior and Nimloth, and attempting to murder Elwing and the two young princes as well. Meleth tried to walk around to help, but it made it twice as hard to have to explain to everyone that she was not a Fëanorian, despite her looks. Idril must have seen her struggling because she came up to her and asked if she wanted to take a break.

“There are some people I think you should meet,” Idril said to Meleth. “Nobles from King Dior’s court. There are multiple Peredhil among them.”

         “How lovely. It will be nice to have other Peredhil around.”

         “It will indeed. It will be nice for Eärendil, I think, to see you and him are not the only Peredhil around.”

         “I certainly agree.”

         They walked up the pathway to the hall where Idril held her court. It was paved with hewn stones fitted together in the fashion of the courtyard of Gondolin, although it was not with the same type of white marble that their city had been made of. It was a fine building, considering their circumstances, made with timber from Nimbrethil. There were carvings and reliefs along the walls, and columns of Elves and Humans surviving together. A flag with Idril’s sigil was hung along the top, with Tuor, Meleth, Galdor, and Egalmoth’s sigils hung on flags below it. Inside the building, there were many people - none of whom Meleth recognized, but some whom she could make good guesses about.

         A young Peredhel girl being attended by multiple nobles was one such person. She was no older than three or four, and had brown skin and black hair that sparkled as if with starlight. Her eyes were grey and deep, filled to the brim with as many stars as the night sky. She could be none other than Princess Elwing, King Dior’s daughter. Idril introduced her as such.

         “Tuor and I are adopting her and her brothers, if they can be found,” Idril continued. “If anyone living knows how to raise a Peredhel, it would be us.”

Of the nobles attending to her, there was an Elven lord with tan skin and silver hair who wore a forest green robe embellished with tree embroidery. Next to him was an Elven woman with olive skin and brown hair. She held a small boy, who had her coloring, against her hips. Idril introduced them.

         “This is Lord Oropher, his wife, Lady Celeblassil, who is also the sister of Queen Nimloth, and their son, Thranduil.”

         Oropher bowed, and Celeblassil curtsied as much as she could holding her child.

         “A pleasure to meet you,” Meleth curtsied at both of them as Idril introduced her.

“And this is Lady Meleth, my dear cousin who is only Fëanorian by blood, and was raised in Brethil by my Aunt Aredhel and Lady Haleth of the Haladin.”

         “Good to meet you,” Oropher said.

         “Glad to make your acquaintance,” Celeblassil told her. “The Haladin are good warriors and a fine people.”

         “Thank you,” Meleth responded.

         “My cousin here is the best fighter of the Gondolindrim,” Idril bragged.

         “You know I would disagree with that.” Meleth pulled playfully on Idril’s sleeve.

         “But I will say it anyway.” Idril smiled at her.

         With that, they moved on to the next person.

         “Lady Niënor of the House of Hador, and her son, Mabelen,” Idril introduced her.

Niënor was a tall, human woman with golden hair braided in an Elvish fashion that Meleth had seen Galadriel wear before. She wore an elaborate Doriathrin robe of deep red wool with silver embroidery along the hems and cuffs. Her son was young, no older than seven or maybe eight, with brown skin, raven black hair, and Peredhel ears that pointed slightly out from his hair. He clung to the side of his mother’s robe with his small hands.

         “Glad to meet you, Lady Niënor.”

         “The pleasure is all ours.” Niënor curtsied to her, then turning to Idril, she said: “We thank you very much for the opportunity of a fresh start here in the Havens.”

         “Of course. I would do nothing less for my husband’s kin,” Idril replied.

         “My mother and husband have come as well, but she was too exhausted from the journey and needed rest. My husband went with her to help.”

“That is no problem at all - I know how elderly she is.”

         Next, Idril turned to an Elven woman standing next to Niënor. She had tan skin, and a golden circlet on a shimmering blonde head of hair, braided in a fashion somewhat similar to the Haladin. Her dress was highly embroidered blue satin with lace peeking out from under her sleeves and along the neckline.

         “This is Princess Finduilas of Nargothrond, one of our Arafinwëan relations, and Lady Niënor’s wife,” Idril said, turning to Meleth, and introducing her the same way she introduced Meleth to the others.

         “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Princess.” Meleth curtsied towards her.

         “The same to you, Lady Meleth.” Finduilas curtsied in return. “You grew up in Brethil? I lived there for a short time with my husband. It was a lovely forest, and the people were very welcoming.”

         “Yes, the people are very kind,” Meleth was about to ask about the husband Finduilas had mentioned when Idril broke in with another question.

         “Speaking of family, Finduilas, where is your daughter?”

         Finduilas’s eyes went wide and she looked around quickly, before placing a hand on her face and exhaling deeply.

         “She ran away again.” Finduilas sighed. “She always does that when she is upset. And she has been very upset since we left Doriath.”

         “Oh dear! And after we told her not to! She is too headstrong,” Niënor said. “Do not let Mama know. She will go into a fit and try to find her, and she shouldn’t do that at her age. Especially after all the commotion of the past few days.”

         “Very true. We must find Radariel before your mother finds out,” Finduilas added.

         “I can help,” Meleth offered her hand, “What does she look like?”

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          Meleth found the little girl curled up in an alcove. Her small head was resting on her knees, her dark hair once done in an intricate braid, now spilled over her knees in controlled chaos. She was hugging her knees tight to her chest, the sides of her mouth turned down in the midst of some unhappy thought. She raised her head slightly when she saw Meleth, and her eyes widened in horror.

          “I’m not a Fëanorian,” Meleth said, knowing the girl was probably scared by her Fëanorian looks, “I was raised by Lady Aredhel.”

          “Your father was a human?” the girl’s frightened look was gone, and was suddenly interested.

          “No, my mother was a human. My father was an elf. But he did not raise me- Lady Aredhel adopted me when she married my mother.”

          What little enthusiasm the girl had died at Meleth’s answer. Her head fell back to her knees and she looked away and stared solemnly in the distance.

          “So you’re a peredhel, too?” Meleth tried to reignite the conversation.

          “Yes,” the girl responded. She did not even look up at Meleth as she answered.

          “What’s your name?” Meleth tried again.

          “Radariel. Yours?”

          “Mae govannen, Radariel. My name is Meleth.” Meleth curtsied towards the girl. She was about to ask about Radariel’s father when she felt Idril’s voice pour gently into her mind.

          Have any luck, cousin? Idril asked.

          Yes, I found her. Meleth thought back. In an alcove near the smithy on the Southern side.

          Good. I will let Finduilas know at once. Idril’s presence drained out of her mind after the quick response.

          Not long after, a Doriathrin elf with brown skin and black hair walked around the corner to them. He wore metal armor emblazoned with Dior’s sigil and had a sword at his side.

          “There you are, i mhell nín,” He said warmly, “We have been looking all over for you.”

          “Uncle Mablung!” Radariel said. She got up onto her feet to greet him.

          “Your mother was very worried.”

          “I’m sorry, uncle. I didn’t mean to make her worry, I just didn’t want to…” her voice trailed off and she paused, looking off into the distance again.

          “Want to what?” He kindly prodded for a response. She looked back at him for a moment and then down at the ground.

          “I didn’t want to cause any more trouble. Hurt anyone. I thought it was my fault Doriath fell… because… you know.”

          “That was no fault of yours, i mhell nín,” Mablung walked over to her and kneeled down, rubbing her shoulder, “That was the fault of the Fëanorians. You had no part in it.”

          “Okay, if you say so,” she replied, but she did not sound convinced.

          Then he turned to Meleth.

          “Thank you very much, Lady Meleth, for finding her, it was very much appreciated.” He told her.

          “It was no problem at all,” Meleth said, “I was glad to help. I know what it feels like to be the new person in town. How did you know I had found her?”

          “My wife Niënor told me. Said Finduilas told her through ósanwe.”

          “That makes sense.”

          He turned back to Radariel.

          “Now let’s get you home before your Anneth finds out you left.”

          “Yes, uncle.”

---

          Meleth and Mablung brought Radariel back to the group, and Finduilas’s face lit up to see her daughter safe again. Morwen was also glad to see Radariel. She took her on her knee and kissed her forehead. Not long after, another peredhel arrived in the havens. She had dark, curly hair and wore a green cloak with the sigil of Finarfin as a clasp. She was carrying one child, and the other was holding onto her cloak. She placed the one child on the ground. There was a great celebration. Elwing ran forth and hugged them.

          “Thank Varda, I knew you could do it!” Finduilas ran up to her and embraced her tightly.

          “Of course, dear cousin, of course.”

          Morwen walked up to them.

          “Aelind, this is my mother-in-law, Morwen Eledhwen,” Finduilas said, turning to Morwen. “This is my cousin Aelind, my uncle Aegnor’s daughter. We lived together at Rivil’s Well for a while.”

          “Thank you, dear, we are already acquainted,” Morwen said.

          “Morwen, Lord Baragund’s daughter?” Aelind asked.

          “The very same,” Morwen nodded.

          “Dear cousin, it’s so great to see you again!” Aelind was filled with delight and her face lit up with joy. “You were such a cute little thing, always running around outside, stealing berries from the garden. And look at you now! So lovely, and a grandmother as well!”

          “Thank you,” Morwen said.

          “You never told me you knew my cousin, Finduilas!” Aelind joked with her. “How did you meet?”

          “She came to us one day from Brethil, heavily pregnant and grief stricken, but resolute,” Niënor supplied.

          “My husband had just died, and of course this was after the Fall of Nargothrond…” Finduilas paused for a second in her telling before continuing, “But I was determined to live for my daughter.”

          “We took her in, of course, we could do nothing less,” was Morwen’s statement, plain and matter-of-fact. “Niënor knew her and knew she had good character.”

          “And my husband, Mablung, gave his blessing for her to marry me as well,” Niënor smiled as she turned her eyes towards Finduilas.

          “How did you meet your husband, Niënor?” Aelind asked.

          “Well, I had gone with Mama, Mablung, and some others to find my brother, who had run away from Doriath. I was separated from the group, and… well, when I returned to Doriath, I found Mablung had been searching high and low for me.” Niënor beamed, “He visited me every day at the Healing Houses and we fell in love.” 

          “How lovely.” Aelind’s heart warmed at this.

          “Queen Melian told him to always put his family first, and that is what he has always done. When we heard the dwarves were coming, I told him Finduilas and I could hide the house with our magic, and he could go protect the treasury. But he was set on staying to protect us, because of what Queen Melian had told him.”

          “He sounds like a wonderful husband.”

          “He is.”

          “And what of your brother?” Aelind asked, she was going to continue with, “Did you find him?” but she saw Morwen’s expression grow sorrowful and Finduilas’s eyes went wide for a moment.

          “Oh, he died.” Niënor spoke as if she was explaining the weather or some other mundane, everyday thing, instead of what must have been a tragic loss. “The Haladin found his body covered in blood next to Glaurung’s severed head. His husband, Beleg Cúthalion, was holding him and died shortly after of grief.”

          “But that is enough of that,” Morwen interrupted, “There are children present. Aelind, catch us up on your life? How are you and your surviving brother faring?”

          “Nengelion? Yes, he is still with my aunt and uncle,” Aelind said, “We are living with the Nandor, the people of my Uncle Celeborn’s mother, on the other side of the Misty Mountains. Nen will be very excited to hear I ran into you all.”

          “He was such a dear boy. How long will you be staying?” Finduilas asked.

          “Not very long. I must be going soon, since my job here is done.” Aelind gestured towards Eluréd and Elurín, who were now playing with Elwing.

          “Well, you must give your brother our love when you return,” Morwen patted her shoulder.

          “I most definitely will.”

Chapter End Notes

There is no official word for grandmother in Sindarin, but I saw Saelind in the SWG discord use the word “anadar” for grandfather, so I made “ananeth” for grandmother, and then shortened it to “anneth” because I feel that kind of shortening would happen, especially with a little kid saying it a lot.

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506 of the First Age – The Havens of Sirion

The celebration for the return of Eluréd and Elurín was immense. There was no fine wine or honeyed bread, but the people made up for it with their high spirits. The melodious sound of elven singing filled the air, along with the rhythmic sound of human feet as they danced along the wooden floors.

        “So, how did you two meet?” Finduilas asked Idril, “I thought Gondolin was closed off to everyone but the Gondolindrim?”

        “Long story short, Tuor was chosen by Ulmo to be his messenger to my father, and this is why he was let into Gondolin,” Idril said, “We met in Atar’s court, as he was a special guest.”

        “A lovely story,” Finduilas said.

        “That is not dissimilar to how Mablung and I met,” Niënor said, “My mother and I were special guests of King Thingol. However, Mablung and I never interacted before our minor catastrophe.”

        “Minor catastrophe?” Idril said, “How intriguing. Would you mind explaining further?”

        “Not at all. Mama had gone with a few elves, Mablung included, to find my brother. I had snuck in, disguised, but they found me out and left me. Then who should come up to me, but Glaurung the dragon! I closed my mind from ósanwe at once, just like Queen Melian had taught me, and shot him in the eye with my bow. Beleg Cúthalion had taught me archery, of course. Glaurung started wailing and blowing out fire, so I jumped into the Teiglin. I broke my arm and hurt my leg, unfortunately, but I managed to get onto dry land somewhere downstream and scramble under some brambles for cover. And who should find me, but my own brother! It was strangely lucky.”

        “May I tell the next part of it?” Mablung asked.

        “Go ahead,” Niënor said.

        “Meanwhile,” Mablung said, “We get back to the hill where we left her, and she is gone. The place is scorched, too, it was a whole mess. So, we go around like crazy looking for her- and no one can find her anywhere. We thought she was dead for sure. But then we get word from Brethil a few days later that she was found, and that Beleg should come to Ephel Brandir to find her. Now, this was very odd. Queen Melian told him he would like the journey, though, so he obliged. Kind Beleg, heeds more to his heart than to his wisdom, but luckily he listened to Queen Melian. You know he almost went to rescue Túrin from Morgoth with Eöl’s cursed sword Anglachel? That could’ve been bad. Luckily, Queen Melian was able to talk him out of it… anyway, we receive word later that Beleg is staying in Brethil.”

        “Beleg was so flustered to see Túrin again,” Finduilas said, “It grew awkward very quickly when he found out Túrin and I were married, but I told Beleg we could share.”

        “And when you came to us in Doriath after… you know… it was so bittersweet.” Niënor said, “I was sad to hear of my brother and Beleg’s passing, but you and Radariel brought us so much joy.”

        “She is a dear. Quite a handful, too.” Finduilas smiled. “Looks like she is getting along with Lady Meleth, though. How wonderful.”

---

        As Meleth was taking a break from dancing, and went to get some juice for herself, she noticed Radariel sitting off to the side with a morose look on her face.

        “Radariel, is something wrong?” Meleth asked.

        Radariel made no response. Meleth followed Radariel’s line of sight and saw that she was watching as Elwing and her brothers danced together.

        “Would you like to dance with them? I am sure they would not mind if you asked.” Meleth tried again.

        “No.” Radariel said, looking away from the siblings dancing. She sighed and buried her head in her knees for a moment. When Meleth did not leave, she looked up at her, and then looked away again.

        “I… I’m afraid they’ll be hurt because of me.” Radariel’s voice was sullen. “Because of what Ada did.”

        “What did your Ada do?” Meleth could not help but asking, the words fell out of her mouth before she knew it.

        Radariel looked at her again, and her dark eyes were somehow even more filled with sorrow.

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495 of the First Age – Forest of Brethil

         The forest was uneasy. Finduilas could feel it deep in her bones- there were no birds singing, no small creatures scurrying, and the trees whispered dark words of orcs and elves lying dead along the Teiglin.

         “Danger, danger,” they said, “The creature with fire comes, the elf kingdom has fallen, dead bodies lie scattered along the river, beware, beware…”

         Her anger and sorrow threatened to overcome her, and she took in a sharp breath.

         “Where is Túrin?” She asked them, “Is he alive? I must know.”

         A chilling breeze blew through the forest, cutting straight through her silk dresses, making the leaves rustle and branches sway. After a moment, the trees spoke to her.

         “He wanders far. Walks away from the orcs and fire creature… careful, careful…”

         Her anger burned hot within her.

         “Please, I must find him. I must know.”

         Another moment of perfect silence, and then,

         “Very well. Protect yourself, be wary, wary…” and then the trees were guiding her to the spot he was last seen. She treaded silently through the forest as it led her along a path, over fallen branches and dead leaves. At last, a tree bid her to look to her right. She saw a glimmer of sunlight on something metal, and looking closer recognized it as the Dragon Helm of Dor-lómin. Túrin. She thanked the trees profusely, and they responded with another warning.

         She stormed angrily towards him, meaning to berate him for letting the orcs drag her away while she screamed for his help, but he did not respond at all when she called his name.

Maybe it was too far away for him to hear her with his human ears. She got closer, and called his name again. No answer. She noticed then that he was plodding along as if dazed, not his normal, confident gait. She took his hand in hers. He stopped immediately, but did nothing else. Turning him toward her, she looked up into his gorgeous, dark eyes and saw they were glassy. Covered by some fog, he stared far away, and did not respond to anything she said. Glaurung had put a spell on him. No wonder he did not answer her calls of anguish, he had been put under a spell by one of Morgoth’s dragons. Her anger dissipated and she focused on lifting the spell from her beloved.

         She took the dragon helm from his head, placing it on the ground beside them. Closing his eyes gently, she took a deep breath, and kept her hand hovering over his face.

She spoke of things hidden being found, of fog lifting, of glass clearing. A deep gasp broke through her chanting and Túrin grabbed her by the arms suddenly. She lowered her hand from his face and his grip on her softened. His eyes were no longer cloudy, but clear- clear, bright, and very confused.

         “Finduilas?” he asked.

         “Yes,” she responded.

         “What happened? The last thing I remember was… was…”

         “Glaurung? He put a spell on you.”

         “Of course he did.”

         “You just stood there while I was carried away by orcs, screaming for your help.”

         “Finduilas, I am so sorry, please forgive me. I didn’t know what was happening-”

         “I forgive you. Are you okay?”

         “Am I okay? Are you okay?! You just said you got dragged away by orcs! How did you escape?”

         “I used magic I learned from my aunt. Aunt Galadriel always told me I have to know how to protect myself in case the men in my life fail me. So she taught me all sorts of magic that she learned from Queen Melian. After the orcs captured me, I waited until they were distracted and I used my magic to escape. I freed the other prisoners, and we destroyed them.”

         “I really underestimated you.”

         “Yes, yes you did.”

         “How did you find me?”

         “The trees led me to you. And before you ask, I lifted the spell with magic from my aunt.”

         “Gwindor was right about you.”

         Finduilas laughed fondly.

         “What did dear Gwindor say about me?”

         “He said only you could save me from Morgoth’s curse.”

         “Well, I don’t know about that, but Glaurung’s spell was sure easy to lift. Now let’s get going to Doriath.”

         She turned towards the east, but he stood still and did not move with her.

         “Are you coming?” She asked him.

         “I do not wish to return to Doriath.” He told her.

         “Why not? King Thingol is your foster father.”

         “I accidentally chased this guy Saeros to his death because he taunted me for being human and insulted my people…”

         “King Thingol would surely forgive you if he knew the circumstances.”

         “I… I still do not wish to return.”

         “Very well, then. How about we join the Haladin of Brethil?”

         “I would be amenable to that.” He said, “But you can go to Doriath if you want. You don’t need to stay with me.”

         “Yes, I do.” She took his hand, “If you are okay with that.”

         “After what you did today, of course.” He squeezed her hand. “It could have been worse.”

         He picked up the dragon helm with his free hand, and they walked through Brethil together towards the Haladin’s settlement of Ephel Brandir.

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495 of the First Age – Ephel Brandir

            The showed the dragon helm to the Haladin guards that they met as they approached Ephel Brandir, and they were allowed entry. The went to see Brandir, the lord of the Haladin, and he gave them a generous living with a nice (for the Haladin) house to live in. They had been staying there a few days, when Finduilas saw Túrin come in carrying a tall, injured woman.

            “Who is this?” Finduilas asked him.

            “I found her under some brambles and she was badly injured. Thought I could bring her home and we could help her. She reminds me of my sister.” He told her, going into another room the lay her down. Finduilas followed him.

            “My love, please ask me next time before bringing a strange woman into the house from the woods.”

            “I can do that,”

            “Not every strange woman from the woods will be as good as Melian.”

            Túrin laughed boisterously at the joke.

            “Point taken, meldanya,” He said, kissing her quickly on the lips.

            “In the meantime, I will do some elvish healing on her.”

            “Fine with me.”

            “What is her name?”

            “I forgot to ask.”

            “My love,” Finduilas looked at him in consternation.

            “I was flustered.”

            She hardened her gaze for a moment and then sighed.

            “Very well, I will ask what her name is when she wakes.” Finduilas said, “But at least get a name next time.”

            “Very well.”

            Túrin left the room to do other things. Finduilas sat at the woman’s bedside, singing a song of healing while holding her hands above the woman’s wounds. There was a broken arm, an injured leg, scratches everywhere. She really was quite beautiful, even while this badly wounded. The woman gasped as she awoke, and tried to sit up, but Finduilas had to keep her lying down.

            “Relax, you are safe here in my house.” Finduilas told her.

            She laid back down.

            “Thank you very much…. You are an elf.” The woman responded.

            “Yes.”

            “Am I back in Doriath, then?”

            “No, you are in Ephel Brandir.”

            “But I thought only humans lived there.”

            “Everyone other than me is a human. I thought only elves lived in Doriath.”

            “My mother and I are special guests of King Thingol.”

            “What is your name?”

            “Niënor. Daughter of Húrin Thalion and Morwen Eledhwen.”

            “My love? Come here!” Finduilas at once yelled to Túrin.

            He came quickly and poked his head into the room.

            “What is it?” He asked, his brow worried.

            “There’s a reason she reminded you of your sister,” Finduilas said, “She is your sister.”

            “I did something lucky on accident?!”

            “It appears so.”

            “Eru, Manwë, and Varda, that is amazing!” He crossed the room quickly with his large strides and embraced Finduilas, kissing her once again. She placed her hand on his face, cupping his cheek. Niënor coughed purposefully and they broke apart.

            “Sorry. That has literally never happened to me before,” He said, letting go of Finduilas. “So, what are you doing here? I thought you died in Dor-lómin?”

            “No,” Niënor told him, “We were cut off by Morgoth’s forces. We came as soon as we could to Doriath, but you were gone. When refugees from Nargothrond told Mama you were in Nargothrond, she convinced King Thingol to let her go to find you (with help). I went in disguise. She was not leaving without me. They figured me out and left me on a hilltop, and who should find me but Glaurung himself. Well, I shot him in the face with an arrow and dove into the Tieglin, and then scrambled under some brambles to hide, where you found me. Now we can go home to Doriath together. We can be a family, with Mama. Your wife can come, too, of course. King Thingol forgives you.”

            “I will not return to Doriath.”

            “Why not? I told you King Thingol forgives you. He wants you to come back.”

            They started talking in Taliska, and Finduilas tuned them out. After a bit of this, Túrin walked out.             She got up to follow him, and heard him heading for the front door.

            “Pardon me, Lady Niënor,” Finduilas curtsied, and left.

            Right as he touched the doorknob, she walked up to him.

            “What happened?” She pressed, gently.

            “I will send for an elf from Doriath to take her home. But I will not follow. You may go, too, if you wish.”

            “No,” Finduilas said, “I stay with you. I am your wife, after all.”

            He smiled at that.

            “Thank you,” he said, kissing her forehead.

--

            A few days later there came a knock at the door of their home, and a servant boy went to open it. Niënor was still resting from her ordeal, and so only Finduilas and Túrin were in the parlor. It was a warm day, with sunlight streaming in through the window, as Finduilas quietly embroidered and Túrin starred through the window, brooding. A young servant boy entered the room, followed by a familiar elf.

            “Beleg Cúthalion, my lord,” the boy introduced him. 

            Túrin’s eyes shot up. Beleg had black hair, free flowing, except for a few small braids, but untangled. The vest he wore was leather with Melian’s sigil pressed into it. He also wore cotton pants, blue as the water of Esgalduin, and red leather boots. There was a bow of black yew slung over his shoulder. Although his eyes did not shine with the light of the trees, they did sparkle as he looked upon Túrin.

            “Túrin,” Beleg said. He said it so softly and with such a tenderness that there could be no mistaking the romantic nature of their relationship. He began to walk towards Túrin. Túrin was at war with himself- he clearly wanted to walk forward and embrace Beleg, but he also did not want to hurt Finduilas. 

            “Mablung told me to come here,” Beleg continued, “but he did not tell me-“ Beleg stopped, seeing the pain on Túrin’s face. Looking down at Túrin’s hand, he saw a new ring there. Turning to Finduilas, he saw in her eyes that she was married, and that she wore a matching ring on her finger. His fond smile drained into a look of sheer embarrassment.

            He was about to apologize, when Finduilas simply put aside her embroidery and got up.

            “We can share him, if that suits you,” Finduilas told him. Beleg nodded, stunned.

            Walking over to Túrin, and placing a hand on his cheek, she added, “As long as you never leave me.” 

            “Never, my love,” Túrin said, kissing her.

            “Well then,” Finduilas went back to gather her embroidery and headed to the door. Her silk dress shimmered and flowed like water as she turned, “I’ll leave you to it.”

            “Thank you very much.” Beleg blurted.

            She only smiled in response.

            As soon as she had shut the door, Beleg ran to Túrin and threw his arms around his neck, standing up on his toes to kiss him. Túrin embraced Beleg tightly, and picked him up. He carried him to a chair and sat down. They kissed deeply and fervently until they were gasping for breath, and they broke apart only for air. They did not go far, only touching foreheads. Neither wanted to leave the warmth of their lover’s arms, after being parted so long. Beleg placed his head on Túrin’s shoulder, and his hand on Túrin’s heart, like he had done so many times before.

            “I am so glad to hear you survived the Fall of Nargothrond,” Beleg said into Túrin’s neck, punctuating his words with a kiss.

            “Me, too, if only so I could see you again,” Túrin ran his hands reverently through Beleg’s silky hair, “What did you do after we parted? After you saved me from Morgoth’s orcs?”

            “I went back to Doriath, returned the sword I borrowed to King Thingol, and told him that you had been saved, but did not wish to return. I know you still do not wish to return, but I do not wish to part with you again.”

            “With Finduilas’s permission, you could live with us?”

            “I would like that very much.”

            Finduilas gave her hearty consent on the same terms. As soon as Niënor was awake, Beleg sent word to Mablung and she was brought back to Doriath to be healed. Beleg lived in Brethil with Finduilas and Túrin as his husband for many months. Finduilas became pregnant, and there was much rejoicing over the occasion. It was a girl, she could feel it was a girl, and Túrin was overjoyed.

---

            However, one fateful day, Túrin went out hunting with Beleg, and Finduilas had a horrible feeling about it. She sat and embroidered. She was heavily pregnant, and she wanted to stay away from any dangerous activities like hunting. Suddenly, the trees began to rustle, and they began to beckon her, beg her to follow them.

            “It is urgent,” they told her. “Follow us, come quickly, it is urgent.”

            She followed them quickly, a pit growing in her stomach the closer she got. When the trees opened up to the scene, her worst fears were realized. Túrin laid with a mortal wound in Beleg’s arms, next to the beheaded body of Glaurung.

            “I tried to save him,” Beleg sobbed.

            Finduilas put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

            “You did your best,” She told him.

            Getting down as far as she could, she placed a hand on Túrin’s face.

            “Namarië, my beloved.” She rubbed his cheek, and he leaned into the touch.

            “Tell our daughter I love her,” He said.

            “I will.”

            Then she felt his fëa leave his body. Beleg wailed, and his fëa followed. She returned to Ephel Brandir, and told Lord Brandir of what had occurred. They were given a Haladin funeral. The two bodies were buried together with Belthronding, their names on the same grave marker. Lord Brandir gave Finduilas the Dragon Helm.

            “For the child, in case it’s a boy,” he said.

            “Thank you, but it’s a girl,” Finduilas told him. She took it anyway, and placed it on Túrin and Beleg’s gravemarker.

            She left for Doriath not long after.

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538 of the First Age – The Havens of Sirion

            Maedhros saw a woman sat on a horse, alone on the crest of a hill near the Havens. She had a face like Morwen Eledhwen in her youth, solemn and hauntingly beautiful, but the light of the Eldar shone from it. The sun sparkled as it hit her dark hair. It was braided in an elaborate Telerin fashion with pearls and seashells woven into it, tucked behind ears that were rounded to a point. There was something of Huor and Húrin in her form and build, and yet it also had all the grace and elegance of the House of Finarfin. Anger and passion burned in her dark eyes.

This must be Finduilas’s peredhel, he thought.

He had heard she married Húrin's son Túrin after Nargothrond’s fall and had a daughter by him. And somehow they had ended up here.

            “How dare you come here, to massacre your own kin, in the last haven of elven-kind east of the sea?” the peredhel woman growled. “Who knew even you could stoop so low?”

            “We have come only to claim what is rightfully ours.” Maedhros said.

            After all those Union meetings he spent with Húrin, he certainly never expected to become a villain to the noble lord’s granddaughter. That showed just how far he had fallen.

            “You come to kill, pillage, and plunder. I will not let you.” She shot back. Her voice grew and she spoke again. “Challenge me and face the wrath of all the elves and humans who you would wrong!”

            Her voice pierced the air and sent a rush of terror through the ranks of Fëanorian soldiers. She raised her sword.

            “FOR QUEEN ELWING!” She bellowed.

            Her eyes burned like fire and she gleamed like starlight. The call sent some of the troops scattering, turning tail and running away like madness had taken over them.

            “No, come back!! COME BACK!!” Maedhros yelled.

            None of those that bolted listened. There must have been some spell in her voice that compelled them- he knew that Káno’s music could have a similar effect. Those that stayed charged her, but were shot with arrows from unseen archers, or caught in battle by warriors coming out of hidden places. The side of her mouth quirked up in a wry smile. He was knocked off his horse, and when he looked back, she was gone.

            He crested the hill on foot, and tried to follow her, but she was far too fast for him on horseback. Out of the corner of his eye, there was a flash of auburn hair not unlike his own. It had disappeared behind a wall. He ran in the direction, fast as he could, until he cleared the wall and saw her clearly before him with his elven eyes.

            It was his niece. Moryo’s peredhel. It hit Maedhros now, as it had the first time he saw her, just how much Meleth looked like his mother. Her large frame and auburn hair. His caring, wise, Ammë. She knew chasing the Silmarils would only lead them to ruin, and loudly proclaimed it. If only they had listened. He was beyond the point of no return now, having slaughtered so many, and led almost all his brothers to their deaths. His niece had clearly inherited his Ammë’s sense. She stood resolutely between him and Elwing’s boys. They were some distance off, but not too far for them to speak.

            “You are better than this, uncle!” She beseeched him.

            “Am I really, though?” He snarked. 

             “Leave them be, they are only children!” 

            So this is what she thought of him? Of course after living so long in Gondolin, and among the Doriathrim, she would assume the worst of him.

            “I only want the Silmaril.”

            “They do not have it, uncle. Leave them be.”

            Maedhros was struggling for an answer to that, when something large slammed him into the ground. His armor clanged against itself as the earth crumpled beneath his large frame. His sword was thrown from his hand. He looked up and saw a large falcon grabbing Elwing’s boys in its talons and taking off. It looked at him with glowing, starry eyes. One of Dior’s boys. He felt the pressure release from his back, and turned to see another giant falcon fly over to Meleth and grab her. She sheathed her sword and looked back at him with anger and sorrow. Or maybe it was disappointment he saw in his niece’s eyes. He would be disappointed with himself, too. Did she know how reluctant Moryo was to attack Doriath, which she must know led to his death? If so, it would give her even the more reason to think poorly of his character. This was his lot in life. Reduced to a murderer too vile for even his own family to trust.

            He did not know how long it was after that until he heard a familiar voice in his ear.

            “Nelyo?” Maglor was approaching him tentatively from behind.

            “Yes, háno?” Maedhros responded, realizing then that he was still lying with his body splayed across the ground. “I am unharmed, just thrown to the ground.”

            “Good, very good…” He knew from Maglor’s tone that something he did not like had happened.

            “What is it?”

            “Queen Elwing flew over the sea with the Silmaril. She turned into a seabird. I saw it myself.”

            He sat up and said nothing.

            “Good. At least it cannot compel us anymore,” Maedhros said at length, “Pull back all the troops and retreat.”

            “Right at once, háno.”

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             Radariel kept riding until she saw her mother and cousin near the sea. The sun glittered on the waves, rolling and churning angrily at the Fëanorians for spilling innocent blood yet again. Mabelen was the very picture of Mablung, with brown skin and black, straight hair. One thing he did inherit from his Niënor was her height, towering over most people that he was in a room with. He perked up from a solemn expression when he caught sight of her in the distance, and Finduilas smiled widely as her daughter rode up to them.

            “Radariel!” Mabelen embraced her tightly as soon as she had dismounted, “I was so worried.”

            “Mabelen! Glad to be back!” Radariel hugged him tightly. They had grown up more or less as siblings, even though they were cousins, and were therefore very close. She let go and turned to her mother.

             “Naneth, the spell you taught me worked perfectly! They ran away like scared children!” Radariel said.

             “Very good. So happy to hear it.” Finduilas replied.

            She pulled her daughter into her arms and held her closely. If there was anyone who knew how horrid it was to lose a loved one, it was her, having lost almost every family member in her life with few exceptions. Given Túrin’s history, she was worried that Radariel would also suffer a tragic death in battle. She taught her everything she knew to protect herself with. Magic, combat, advice, you name it- and sent her daughter to fight with her blessing, knowing she would have gone with or without it. It seemed that fate had spared them this time. 

            “Maedhros tried to make it over to me and fight me, but I did not engage. I thought he would catch me, but I got out of there, just like you said to do.”

            “Very nice! I am proud of you, i vell nín.”

            “Thanks, Naneth. Where is Queen Elwing?” Radariel asked.

            “She is flying across the sea to find Eärendil.” Mabelen said, “Maglor came from a separate direction, and there was no other way to keep the nauglimir from them.”

            “Will we ever see her again?” Radariel asked.

            “Not for a while, I think,” Finduilas put a hand on Radariel’s shoulder, “But remember, i vell nín, Eru always makes good things come out of hardships.”

            “Yes, Naneth. Perhaps Queen Elwing can help Lord Eärendil make it to Aman at last.”

            “Yes, that would be wonderful.“

            “Do you think they will see their parents again?” Mabelen asked, “Or my parents again?”

            “Perhaps. That would definitely be good coming out of tragedy,” was Finduilas’s answer.

            Tuor and Idril had sailed for Valinor just a month after Eärendil and Elwing’s wedding, and Niënor and Mablung had gone with them. Mablung did not want to leave Middle Earth, but he was persuaded by the possibility of Niënor gaining immortality and being able to live forever with him. He could have chosen between Middle Earth or his wife, and he chose his wife, just like Queen Melian had told him to do. Mabelen did not go with them. He wished to stay with Finduilas and Radariel, and was deeply in love with Thranduil, who was staying. Thranduil returned his affections. Although they said nothing of it to others, everyone knew anyway.

            “The road goes ever on, as they say.” Finduilas continued.

            “And ours leads us to the Isle of Balar,” Radariel looked out over the sea.

            “Yes, let’s make our way to the inlet, so we can be on a ship when the sea clears.”

            The three of them mounted their horses and made their way towards the shore.

—

            Radariel survives the War of Wrath and goes with Finduilas to Valinor, and is summoned to Tirion by Finarfin. He tells her to seek out a small cabin on the northern edge of the forest. There is someone there she should meet. She meets Beleg and Túrin, who is very emotional about meeting her. He says Morgoth’s curse was lifted upon his death and Mandos let him stay in Valinor because he married Beleg, but also so he could meet her.

Mabelen and Thranduil get married. Nellas volunteers as the surrogate for the couple’s child, Legolas. He is born in the early 3^rd Age, after the overthrow of Sauron and the halls in Northern Mirkwood are constructed.

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             Radariel survives the War of Wrath and goes with Finduilas to Valinor, and is summoned to Tirion by Finarfin. He tells her to seek out a small cabin on the northern edge of the forest. There is someone there she should meet.

            Radariel saw an elf with dark hair and red shoes fletching arrows outside the cabin. As she approached, he looked up at her, and his eyes went wide. He stopped, the half-fletched arrow falling to the ground. The look seemed to say that he knew her, even if she did not know him.

            “My love!” The elf yelled towards the cabin in Sindarin, “Come quickly!”

            “My apologies, but have we met?” She asked.

            “Not exactly,” the elf replied.

            A man walked out of the cabin, and he bore a striking resemblance to her and her grandmother Morwen. He was tall, with dark hair, dark eyes, and even a similar facial structure. She was struck speechless.

            “Is it her?” He asked the elf, and then turning to her, “Are you Princess Finduilas’s daughter?”

            Everything clicked together in her mind. This must be her father, Túrin, and his husband, Beleg. Her mother and grandmother had told her a good many stories about them, since they died before she was born.

            “Yes. Are you my Ada?” She asked.

            “Yes, I am, Túrin is my name, and this is my husband, Beleg. But you probably know our names already.” He moved towards her to embrace her, but she took a step backwards unconsciously.

Her first thought was that she wanted to avoid the úmarth, but then she remembered he had been cleansed of it.

            “If you’re worried about the úmarth- the Valar purified me of it before I was reembodied here. They wouldn’t let me into Valinor otherwise.”

            “Yes, my apologies.” She surged forward and hugged him tightly. “I’m so happy for you, Ada. Everyone told me how you suffered.”

            “Yes, it’s all over now. Beleg and I have a very happy life in our cottage.” He hugged her in return and kissed her forehead.  

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