A Deed Unforgiven by LadySternchen  

---

Chapter 18- Thônwen

---

Thônwen’s arms ached, now that her bow hung loosely at her side, more than they had ached in the many endless years of battle, when the singing of her bowstring had so often been the only music amongst the screeching of all the fell things that Angband had regurgitated. She had been an archer ever, and well trained in both hunt and combat, but the endless fighting had taken its toll, and in the end left even her muscles sore with the strain. She should really be rejoicing, then, that the battle was over at long last.

Only she was not glad. Not at all.

She let here gaze wander over the lands that had been her home for all her adult life, the lands where she had sealed the bond with her beloved, where she had borne, raised and lost their son, where she had been chief among the hunters and healers at the same time, where she had been viewed as a bit of an oddity for it. Here, she had lived out the happiest times of her life and the worst. She had known Beleriand so well.

Now, however, even her keen eyes could not discern more than a few landmarks, which should really have been easy, high up on the hilltop as she was. Not even the sea gave direction any more, as it had broken into the land in so many places, whereas fires burned in others, fires that sprang from the earth itself. Where fire touched water, steams and vapours rose, hiding what recognisable landscapes might still have been there to glimpse. Thônwen thought she might prefer it this way, with what had once been fair Beleriand shrouded in mist as in a winding sheet. She felt no desire whatsoever to see more of the destruction than she had to. Far on the horizon, the ships of Círdan were moored alongside those of their sundered kin, proud, great vessels that bore the form of swans, waiting to take them all home at last.

Home…

She knew how she should feel, knew that she ought to be happy now that they would complete the journey at last. The journey they had set out to make from the shores of their awakening, their hearts filled to the brim with the youthful desire for adventures, unaware that Ages would pass ere its completion, that kingdoms would be formed and broken broken again before they set foot in Aman. And yet, now that this final part of their journey west was but a heartbeat away, she felt nothing but bereavement. Those sailors and archer that had come to aid them in their battle against Morgoth had become strangers to her; even Olwë himself, whom she had known so well, and loved, and who was her brother-in-law after all. If only it could feel like that.

In truth, she might well have joined Amdir or Oropher and their handful of followers, who refused once again the invitation to Valinor, and planned instead to travel east. Had she chosen only with herself in mind, she would have passed east over the mountains with them, back to the lands that had once spawned her. She was, after all, member of the High House of the Lindi, and would surely find an abode with them again. Or else she might have stayed with her grandson and his wife, who had already made it very clear that there was no ship that would carry them west, and that they planned to join Gil-galad and aid him in the building of his realm. Not that she fooled herself into assuming that Galadriel would ever be content to live under another’s rule for long, but it sounded like a fair plan for now.

But Thônwen could not choose only for herself. Elmo was beside himself with joy at seeing Olwë again, and besides, there in Aman, they would in time be reunited with Galadhon as well. And no love for either land or kin would ever keep her from her husband and son. She would allow herself to grieve for the home she had lost, and then move on with a lighter heart.
Only she had to ensure her company first. That, after all, was why she had come hither, waiting, watching. It felt remarkably like lying in wait on a hunt. Thônwen chuckled at the thought. Bird-hunt indeed.

If Thônwe had to leave the lands that she had borne such love for behind, then she would not do so without her sister-in-law, her dearest, most beloved friend. And it was for precisely her that Thônwen now waited as twilight fell around her. It had for so long been their time to meet, the time of the singing of the birds, that Melian and Elu had once called the mingling of the light, and that now under the new sun, they called dawn and dusk.

It had been an evening not at all unlike tonight’s, that Thônwen had last said goodbye to Melian by the shores of the sea, both their hearts heavy with grief then. She had held her sister-in-law in her arms for a long while by the edge of that cliff, before Melian had stepped back and let herself fall, giving her body to the sea, thus freeing her spirit. Thônwen had known perfectly well that that was going to happen, had known that it was meaningless, that Melian could not die however much she tried, but still it had made her blood run cold to see Melian fall, see her body being swallowed by the raging waves. It felt so wrong to lose a loved one, and not being able to bury their body. The fact that it had been the same with Galadhon only made things worse. All the happier she had been to learn that Melian had come back to Middle-Earth amidst the mighty host of the Valar, even though her sister-in-law had evaded her through all the long years of battle. It mattered not. Sooner or later, Thônwen knew, the time of their reunion would come, so she was patient -which should be acknowledged, she found, as patience had never been one of her virtues- and waited each dusk for her friend to appear.

A flock of birds landed in the bushes that stood a few steps away, startling Thônwen out of her thoughts. She narrowed her eyes, squinting at the birds.

“Well met, dear friends.” she said “Not many birds still remain here in these lands. Are you leaving now, and just stopped on your way to bid an Elf goodbye? Or could it be that one of you is indeed not a bird?

“Why are you so certain that I would indeed take the form of a bird?” a soft voice asked behind her, making Thônwen spin around and almost topple over her own feet.

Finally.

Her heart wanted to leap from her chest in joy as she looked at last upon Melian, who was clad in a very simply tunic that was clearly meant to be worn under armour, her black curls braided straight back without any adornment in it at all. It was a very unfamiliar sight, but one no less endearing for it. But she would not let Melian know that just yet. Not after her friend had played hide-and-seek with her for decades. Not after she had made her talk to more birds than she could count.

Instead of flinging herself at her sister-in-law, therefore, Thônwen crossed her arms before her chest and scowled.

“Long time no see. And don’t even start playing games with me, and asking me why I would look for you in birds. Have I not known you long enough?”

“Aye, and that is why you should know that though I only wear my physical form now, I still am bound to its appearance. Maiar cannot involve themselves so deeply with the Children without being then bound to one appearance.”

Oh, Melian could be haughty if she wanted to, there was no doubt about it, but so could Thônwen. And she would not loose this private little battle of wills and laugh first.

“And it is not so that you are bound also deeply to your birds? So, have you or have you not been fluttering around Beleriand as a songbird whenever you did not fight?”

Melian rolled her eyes.

“Maybe. Once or twice at most.”

“You are an abysmal liar, Melian of Eglador. Abysmal.”

The two stood gazing at each other some more, then Melian started giggling at last, and Thônwen followed suit, extremely pleased with herself for having held out. For the briefest moment, Thônwen wondered if she would indeed be able to hug Melian, given that she was not an incarnate being anymore, but that question was swiftly answered as both stumbled forward, and flung their arms around each other. It felt no different at all. Melian was still taller than her, still slighter in the absence of an archer’s muscles, still as breathtakingly beautiful as she had ever been, even though tears pearled from her eyes now like they did from Thônwen’s.

“I am sorry.” Melian whispered at last, her lips pressed against Thônwen’s hair “For keeping away for so long. But I could not face the fear of losing you, of seeing you fall.”

“I did not fall.”

“Clearly. But how was I to know that? And I could not have borne…”

Thônwen sighed. Little though she wanted to admit it, Melian had a point.

“Apology accepted.” she told her friend therefore “But Melian, how have you been faring? What are the plans of the Powers now?”

“The war is indeed won, and the host of the West is leaving these shores once more. You have been summoned to the havens, have you not?”

“Verily. But I could not go without having talked to you first. You will accompany us, will you not?”

Perhaps the plea in her voice had been more apparent than she had thought, for Melian at last stepped back, to eye Thônwen pityingly.

“Of course. Have you been worrying about that of all things?”

“Yes.”

She had not thought that it would be quite so hard to admit it, just how much she had feared leaving without Melian. Maybe she had never allowed herself to wholly appreciate just how empty, how lonely her life had been without her sister-in-law. Certainly, she had had Elmo, but some things were simply shared better with a friend -no, a sister- rather than a husband.

“Of course I am coming back with you. All my family is over there, all those I love. But I need to do some things before I leave, the first of which is learn what happened to… everyone.”

Thônwen felt herself stiffen in spite of herself. She hated to ask the question she was about to ask, but there was no use in beating about the bush.

“Do… do you know about Lúthien?”

Melian nodded, new tears welling in her eyes. Thônwen was relieved nonetheless. She would have been loathe to break the news of her daughter’s death to Melian.

“I know the agony you are in. Oh Melian, I know so well. But our Lúthien did deeds of outstanding valour, and she was happy until the very end. You must be so proud of her.”

“That I am. But…”

“…but it does not ease the grief, I know. She should be here, as should her son. But you will meet her once more, in time. Hold onto that. ’tis the only comfort there can be.”

Melian, however, shook her head, raising her face to the heavens in a futile attempt to stem her tears. Thônwen felt like a stake of ice were driven through her heart at the sight. Something was wrong, and she surely must learn now what.

“I will not. We will not… meet her again. She persuaded Námo to… to let her go with her beloved, go beyond the confines of Arda. Lúthien is…gone. She is truly dead.”

Thônwen felt as though she were falling, and for a moment was on the verge of shouting out, sure that a crevice was opening below their feet, ready to swallow them. But there was no crevice, the ground beneath them unchanged. Still the rushing feeling remained, rendering Thônwen utterly speechless, and even had it been otherwise, what words could there be that were not empty, that did not fall short of the terror that was thundering through her? The grief of an Elven mother she knew well, but this? She had no words to even name the pain that Melian was now subject to. As it was, Thônwen’s heart ached enough for losing her niece for good, and trying to imagine how Melian must feel as Lúthien’s mother… no, try as she might, she could not do that.

Still Thônwen wrapped her arms once more around Melian and cradled her softly, quite like she had done at their parting.

“I am so, so sorry, I truly had no idea. We were worried, Elmo and I, when we learnt of her falling in love with a Mortal, worried how she would cope after his death. It was not even a surprise when Nimloth bore us witness on her dying breath of Lúthien passing out of grief hours after Beren, but I never thought… oh Melian. And then I could not even keep my stupid mouth shut.”

“Don’t talk of yourself like that. How on earth were you supposed to have known? No Elf did what Lúthien did before, after all. Maybe we should have expected it. She was never, ah, fond of rules of any kind. And I think I could learn to live with my own grief, someday. After all, she was happy, as you said, and is spared the eternal years of grief that would otherwise have awaited her. But I fear so much for Elu. What if he can never overcome that grief? What if losing Lúthien proves too much for him to overcome, after all that he has been through? What if it it all robs him of the strength to heal and in time return from Mandos? I cannot bear to lose him for good as well.”

Thônwen knew not what to say, how to reassure Melian. Not when her fears were so very real. It was almost a relief when Melian asked her about the rest of the family, gruesome though talking of yet more deaths was.

“Daeron is dead, too, as is Galathil and Nimloth and her little sons of course. The remaining family is safe. Círdan kept us well. Though Celeborn will not come with us to Aman. His wife is not prepared to return to her home just yet.”

Melian nodded, wiping her streaming eyes.

“As long as he is happy. I got to know Galadriel during battle. If anyone can make Celeborn prosper, it is her.”

“Agreed.” Thônwen sniffed.

Silence fell between them for a while, then Melian straightened up again, holding Thônwen at arm’s length.

“You must make your way to havens soon, lest you be cut off by the sea or some new fiery chasm. I shall meet you there very soon.”

“Why not come with me now?”

Thônwen knew not where the childish desire for company came from all of a sudden. After all, Melian could take on a bird’s appearance if she wanted to, and fly over the lands even as they sank beneath the ocean. Yet still…

“I will be there, I promise. But as I said, l have an errand to fulfil still. You see, my dear kinsman…” she positively spat the word, disgust etched onto her face “…still evades capture, as he has done before, thinking himself clever. Someone has to go and track him down and drag him before Eönwë’s feet, where he belongs. I volunteered gladly. I still have a bone -or rather a song- to pick still with dear Mairon.”