A Deed Unforgiven by LadySternchen  

Flashback- Dior

A bit of a time-lapse here. So between the last chapter and this flashback, Morgoth has been claiming Beleriand with only Gondolin and a few scattered settlements of Men remaining. Beren and Lúthien have lead the survivors of Nargothrond together with Dior and Nimloth in a half-nomadic lifestyle. But now, Beren's days are drawing to a close, and Dior has to face taking leadership from him.

The air within the small makeshift hut was spent, yet Dior did not dare to leave the door open, if door the tied-together branches could indeed be called. It kept his father warm, however, and that was at the moment all that counted.

“I have been wondering the same thing.” his mother said, without taking her eyes off the gem that gleamed in her hand.

Dior inwardly cringed. He hated it when she did this, when his mind was so completely open to her that she could answer his unvoiced questions.

That, too, did not slip her notice.

“Don’t think so loudly, then. I learned to shield my thoughts when I was about Elwing’s age.”

Dior huffed. Of course. Not even bright and unearthly Lúthien c ould have had so much control over her mind as a babe in arms. He drew breath to tell her so, but the words caught in his throat as his father coughed wheezily, and Dior hastened to put the cup of water to his cracked lips. His mother  smiled gratefully.

She looked so very worn. Dior  had never seen her look so tired in all his life.

“You should rest, Naneth. I can take over for a while.”

“No. This is my part. I took this cup when it was filled to the brim with the sweetness of a love in spring, and now I shall faithfully drink the bitter portion of it as well. I want to be with your father. And besides, you have your own family to care for, and a difficult journey to prepare.”

Panic flared within Dior. The journey. He so dreaded it, feared it almost as much as his father’s declining health

“I cannot do this. And Adar will recover, there are only a couple more weeks left until spring comes, and then…”

“I hope so. And yet you cannot escape your father’s mortality any more than I can. It is you who must lead these people to safety. This is your cup. Don’t fret,” she added even as she mopped his father’s brow “You are of a noble heritage, a scion of the most renowned house of the Edain, and of one of the venerable houses of the Eldar, tracing back to those who awoke first by the waters of Cuivénen. And that is not even to speak of the fact that through my mother, you have a place amongst the Divine as well. You will find your strength when you need it, Dior.”

He nodded, more to appease his mother than because he really believed her. What did blood count when he was simply too inexperienced to lead?

To his great surprise, a wry smile lit Lúthien’s face once more.

“You remind me very much of my father sometimes, and not only in looks. You know the stories, you know he was one of the leaders of the Eldar when they left the shores of their awakening to travel west. Oh, we, my friends and cousins and I, pestered him to tell us of the Great Journey, which we understood to have been a marvellous adventure. Only he told the tale like a hare might tell the story of how sheer luck saved him from a wolf’s mow. Yes, it was true that he failed in his initial mission, but given that he managed to marry a Maia and found and rule a kingdom that would stand for thousands of years, he might have boasted. A little bit at least. But he never did.”

There was a sizeable lump in Dior’s throat now. Oh, how he would have wanted his grandfather to live, and not only because he somehow always idolised him. No, had Elu Thingol not fallen, he would never have had to deal with all that mess.

By his mother’s sorrowful sigh, he knew that he had once again failed to hide his thoughts from her.

“I wished he had lived, too. He would have loved you dearly, and would have been very touched by you naming your children after him.”

Dior thought about his mother’s words long after he had returned to Nimloth and the children. Was it true? Had his grandfather felt just as hopeless, just as frustrated with a task that seemed undoable? Just as…scared? Had he felt like a useless child then, too? And much though he pitied himself at the moment, Dior had to admit that compared to the task of leading hundreds of Elves through all of Middle-Earth, the journey they were about to make to the Falas looked very accomplishable. So perhaps he would still manage to do his family proud. He would quit like that.