#manthor

[helyannis]

‘Awake! Help is near’

Manthor and his men find Húrin

a tiny sketch for the Wanderings of Húrin

[arofili]

BREAKING NEWS: Dragon slain amid mass casualty event

by the Breaking News team at Dimbar Daily

(aka, my entry for Day 7: AU of @silmarillionepistolary week! also for @sallysavestheday who prompted me to write an obituary for Túrin, which turned into...this.)

~

2 days ago

The dragon known as Glaurung was found dead upon the banks of the River Teiglin by the gorge of Cabed-en-Aras. A massive wound to the creature’s stomach indicates the mortal blow was caused by a sword. Investigators are at the scene, searching for evidence of the dragonslayer.

2 days ago

Preliminary reports indicate that a Man known as Turambar set out from Brethil with two companions on a quest to slay the dragon yesterday evening. One of his companions, Dorlas, was spotted returning to Amon Obel some time before the dragon was sighted. It is not known if if Turambar and the other Man continued onward, but the dragon’s carcass is proof that their goal was achieved in some manner.

The name of Turambar’s second companion is Hunthor, according to sources in Brethil. The current location of Brethil’s lord, Brandir, is unknown, as is the location of Dorlas himself. Turambar and Hunthor are likewise unaccounted for.

1 day ago

More information has come to light regarding the death of the dragon Glaurung. The situation has evolved into a mass casualty event.

The bodies of Turambar, Dorlas, Hunthor, and Lord Brandir have been discovered at or near the banks of Teiglin. Hunthor’s cause of death appears to be blunt-force trauma to the head. The rest were slain by blows from one or more swords. Investigators have not ruled out murder-suicide. The slayer of the dragon remains unclear.

This morning

New details have been released in the case of the Teiglin mass casualty event.

The cause of death of Hunthor, one of Turambar’s companions, has been officially declared as “blunt-force trauma to the head by a falling rock.” No foul play is suspected.

The same cannot be said for the rest of the deceased...

CONTINUE READING ON AO3!

[outofangband]

Complex Trauma, Disability and The Trial of Húrin Thalion by Hardang of the Men of Brethil, Part One

Angband world building and complex trauma masterlist 

this was originally posted in October of 2021 but honestly my original posting was a mess and full of my ranting about Avranc so I've been trying to revise it for so long and finally! The next two parts should be revised but I will be reposting them later too

My new tag for the wanderings is 'tol acharn' because for some reason the original tag broke

So I go into how a complex trauma informed reading of The Wanderings of Húrin is both illuminating and extremely depressing in a couple of places and I wanted to go into the trial scene in more detail because it’s a prime example of the trends throughout the Wanderings, where Húrin is in this state of acute crisis and in so much pain (physically and psychologically) and is met with hostility and scorn (except from Manthor!)

I also want to draw attention to what descriptions we have of Húrin’s demeanor and mental state throughout these events. I’ve tried to find a balance between making inferences from the text and making assumptions based on prior knowledge of complex trauma.

and finally! this series will have discussion of ableism, improper use of manual and chemical restraints, denial of due process, dehumanizing language regarding mental illness and perceived mental illness, suicidal ideation, disordered eating after starvation and intentional antagonizing related to trauma also very brief mention of animal death depending on how literally you take Manthor’s badger comment  (all from canon)

(Húrin is found by Manthor and Avranc to Húrin and Manthor’s first conversation)

Page 275 Húrin is found in a half sleeping state shortly after Morwen’s death by Manthor and Avranc, the latter of whom suggests killing him. Manthor who seems to be the only person in this story with an ounce of compassion, is against this.

He won’t kill an old man in his sleep and he’s heard of Húrin’s deeds during the Nirnaeth too. Manthor wakes him and Húrin is immediately agitated and aggressive, drawing his weapon and accusing the two of attempting to kill him as well as of denying aid to Morwen though they do not know what he’s talking about. 

It’s important to note that Manthor wakes Húrin by kissing his hand as a gesture of respect and to get his attention which it does but also nearly kills the both of them as Húrin responds with obvious fear and mistrust. I think this is very significant but requires perhaps a separate area if anyone is interested

Note: I’ve shared a lot of thoughts on Morwen here and how much Húrin’s accusations are colored by his grief and Morgoth’s distortion but needless to say, the way he himself is treated clearly doesn’t make his worst fears seem less plausible. I’m not going to go too much into it here but I find it so devastating but also kind of poignant how Húrin’s suffering at the hands of the Haladin increase his worry for what Morwen might have suffered

Húrin also makes this fascinating accusation, in the throes of his half out of a nightmared state, saying “But (killing me) will not please your Dark Master, I think.” He’s clearly accusing them of being in liege with Morgoth but what’s more interesting is his claim that Morgoth wants him alive and perhaps considers his living necessary, something he will deny a few pages later.

Manthor does his best to assure Húrin that they have good intentions and offers him food and rest. He calms very slightly. 

Húrin claims he will be unable to rest but accepts the offer of food however is unable to eat it and chokes on it. This really bothers Avranc but Manthor views him with pity. Húrin agrees to go to the House of Hardang because he “has an errand” there.

Avranc tells the guards of Hardang about Húrin’s erratic behavior. The captain claims that Hardang wants Húrin as a prisoner. Manthor protests this but is told this is just what Hardang said. For the next several paragraphs a conversation between Avranc, Manthor and Hardang takes place in front of Húrin, about him.

From the beginning Avranc speaks about him in dehumanizing ways, (often literally, comparing him to animals and orcs), casting doubt on his sanity, and ordering him to be treated as one with no control or autonomy. This will get significantly worse as the chapter goes on

Avranc even comments “You bring your manners from Angband” to him. This just...hurts, not just for the insult but because it’s so close to awareness and yet he somehow misses it! Hardang sort of greets Húrin respectfully, asks him his purpose in these lands.  Húrin lashes out, accusing him of denying aid to Morwen (again, it is unclear to those around him what he speaks of) and throws a stool/chair at him. Hardang is struck in the face and though not greatly injured, promptly makes Húrin an official prisoner.  So they put him in chains around his wrists and neck and throw him in an isolated prison. This was perhaps where my anger was at its worst during this section 

Húrin who has been implied to be in pain, requiring a cane at times, can barely walk and Manthor has to aid him which causes Avranc to glare at him. 

He notably is also not fighting at this point! The text claims Húrin’s wrath had faded and I can only imagine/extrapolate other reasons behind his sudden resigned behavior, dissociation being one, especially considering this line “and (Húrin) made no more resistance for the wrath had run off of him, and he walked as one in a dream with his eyes closed.” (emphasis mine)

I don't think there's much need to explain here but being put in chains and isolated is clearly deeply upsetting to Húrin after he has spent decades trapped, in chains. Through the descriptions we can see his will and strength seem to leave him. I bring this up on the next part but there's something especially upsetting about it being used as retaliation, as a punishment and how that reflects the atmosphere of Angband in disturbing ways

. It’s also later revealed that Húrin actually heard Avranc talk of killing him in sleep, adding to his mistrust and hostility. Needless to say it’s not a stretch that his paranoia and fears induced by trauma are at a high point, at this point in the Wanderings, we’ve already seen that he’s prone to agitation especially when confronted and he believed too that Hardang had some responsibility in Morwen’s death. 

But I’m not the only one who is willing to make this argument for Húrin’s behavior! 

Manthor even says “So captain Avranc, things go well for you today! I have seen you at like sports before: goading an old badger and having him killed when he bites.”

Manthor too is thinking that Húrin’s behavior is at least in part the result of being put in an intentionally stressful or even triggering situation. He will continue to argue this as the chapter goes on, talking about how the way Húrin is treated (especially in the context of his recent release from Angband) is directly related to how he responds. 

Manthor is dismissed by Hardang and leaves, going instead to Húrin’s cell. As he leaves Avranc raises his bow to kill Manthor but Hardang stops him, saying “not yet”. Manthor does not notice though this is observed by others in the hall. It’s slightly unclear at this point how malicious Hardang is towards Húrin but Avranc is clearly very, arguing for his death multiple times. 

The guards at first deny Manthor entry but he points out that accused criminals are allowed a friend as counsel. The guards say that Húrin has no friends  (describing him as a wild man, not for the first time). Manthor says he has one and then says what I’ve been thinking this entire time!

“Why is the incomer in bondage? We do not bind old men and wanderers because they speak ill words when distraught.” (Emphasis mine)

There’s a slight back and forth with the guards and Manthor points out that Húrin is also imprisoned for his assault on Hardang who has an obvious a conflict of interest (“This one is imprisoned because of his assault upon Hardang and Hardang cannot judge his own cause”).

Manthor insists that Húrin be given the rights afforded to accused prisoners and says he doesn’t believe that Hardang himself gave the order for these to be denied. The guards confirm that it was not Hardang but Avranc who gave this order and Manthor says that Avranc was not in the position to give this order and finally the guards let him in. 

Húrin’s ankles are still chained and while he was given food, he has not eaten it. Manthor speaks respectfully to him and offers his friendship and counsel. Húrin at first denies this and says he has no (and does not wish for) friends in these lands. Manthor maintains that he is a friend and urges Húrin to take his counsel and says that there is still hope and that Húrin must not starve himself and thus slay himself.

The continued use of restraints here almost certainly has a negative impact on Húrin’s physical comfort as well, after so long of immobility.

 Húrin says he has no need of counsel and will not plead out his case and denies that he is starving himself for this reason. However he insists that he will kill himself rather than be put to death by Hardang or the men of Brethil. He grabs Manthor’s knife and sits back. Manthor who is apparently the most patient human in the legendarium says that Húrin could have had the blade had he asked and can keep it but urges him not to use it upon himself.

I’m not certain if this is deliberate but this scene has always reminded me of the Book of Lost Tales scene when Morwen demands a knife from Thingol for this same reason, to choose death over imprisonment

Manthor convinces him to eat though he has little to no food but Húrin then says “By your voice you have overcome me. Never since the Day of Dread have I heard any man’s voice so fair. Alas! Alas! it calls to my mind the voices in my father’s house, long ago when the shadow seemed far away.” 

One has to wonder at this point how long it’s been since anyone has spoken kindly to Húrin or even attempted a conversation with him that wasn’t taunting and threats. I talked about it briefly in my post about the very beginning of the wanderings as well as in my previous post about complex trauma in this chapter, but I just cannot overstate how profoundly damaging this sort of prolonged captivity and abuse is. How it effects you when you have no contact with anyone save for those who mean you harm for an extended period of time. 

Manthor will later state this directly too, during the trial! Húrin does act with aggression and mistrust and hostility but when treated with respect and compassion (and maybe some patience) he is far more willing to engage and is significantly less agitated. 

Manthor tells Húrin that he they do have distant kinship via Húrin’s mother. And tells Húrin not all the Edain are gone. Not all hearts are overshadowed. Húrin says that these people still obey Hardang in deeds of cruelty. 

Manthor says that grief has darkened Húrin’s eyes and says “Thou bringest a shadow with thee, Húrin Thalion, in which lesser shadows grow darker.” Húrin says he lived long in the Shadow but did not yield to it but that while grief has robbed him of his light he takes no part in the Shadow (of Morgoth). It’s very notable where ‘shadow’ is capitalized here and where it’s not. Manthor seems to be using a different understanding of shadow than Húrin is. 

(The referencing to shadow and darkness, sometimes capitalized, sometimes not reminds me a lot of Maedhros's testimony in Morgoth's Ring but that's a different discussion)

It’s also very interesting because when Manthor and Avranc first find Húrin he seems to acknowledge, albeit in a very disoriented state, that Morgoth wants him still alive.

Manthor warns Húrin that Morgoth has not forgotten him and there are evil times ahead. But while he maintains that there is hope, Húrin becomes greatly agitated at the mentions of Morgoth and refuses to talk more about this. Manthor stays with him and even convinces him to eat a bit more. 

We learn that the trial is set for the day after the next. 

Also maybe I’m biased but Avranc’s actions alone are like, more than enough justification for Húrin’s accusation in my opinion 

Next part (Manthor’s second and third visits, the start of the trial, the changing of the judge and the opening statement)

[gurguliare]

CONGRATS @vardasvapors​​ YOU’VE UNLOCKED UNASKED-FOR FOURTH OPTION ‘liveblog the entire Wanderings of Húrin, because I haven’t read it in nearly two years’

Twenty-eight years Hurin was captive in Angband, and at his release was in his sixtieth year, but great strength was in him still, in spite of the weight of his grief, for it suited the purpose of Morgoth that this should be so. He was sent under guard as far as the east-marches of Hithlum, and there he was let go free.

None that had known him [in] youth could mistake him still, though he had grown grim to look on: his hair and beard were white and long, but there was a fell light in his eyes. He walked unbowed, and yet carried a great black staff; but he was girt with his sword. Great wonder and dread fell on the land when it was noised in Hithlum that the Lord Hurin had returned. The Easterlings were dismayed, fearing that their Master would prove faithless again and give back the land to the Westrons, and that they would be enslaved in their turn. For watchmen had reported that Hurin came out of Angband.

'There was a great riding,' they said, 'of the black soldiers of Thangorodrim over the Anfauglith, and with them came this man, as one that was held in honour.'

Hey do you think the flamelike spirit that burns in Maedhros and makes him heal rapidly is ALSO a Morgoth bequest. Like does he heal super fast because his strength was of the ancient world or because Morgoth just unlocked that key in his genome before hanging him up on the wall and never got a chance to turn it off

...anyway how great is hot indelibly recognizable 60yo Húrin, forever. He has exactly his dashing younger self’s button nose.

Also I can’t believe he left Angband with an escort of hundreds of orc riders. After going into Angband still plastered in the orc hands he lopped off. Hey? Remember that? What’s up, Húrin? Do you think when they left him outside Dor-lomin one turned around and waved

Thus freedom only increased the bitterness of Hurin's heart; for even had he so wished, he could not have roused any rebellion against the new lords of the land. All the following that he gathered was a small company of the homeless men and outlaws chat lurked in the hills; but they had done no great deed against the Incomers since the passing of Turin, some five years before.

Of Turin's deeds in Brodda's hall Hurin now learned from the outlaws the true tale, and he looked on Asgon {3} and his men, and he said: 'Men are changed here. In thraldom they have found thrall hearts.'

God I just. cannot. believe. Hurin picks up the refugees that Turin fucking ditched in the mountains, and that they’ve now been downgraded from the bravest survivors of the Dor-lomin occupation to, meh, outlaws. No great deeds since Turin went off. Gotta love that Hurin’s-eye-view: well, what use to me?

'Fear not!' he said. 'I should have needed no companions, if I had come to fight with you. I am come only to take leave of the lord of the land. I have no liking for it any more, since you have defiled it. Hold it while you may, until your Master recalls you to the slave-tasks that fit you better.'

Then Lorgan was not ill-pleased to think that he would so soon and easily be rid of the fear of Hurin, without crossing the will of Angband; and he came forward.

'As you will, friend,' he said. 'I have done you no ill, and have let you be, and of this I hope you will bring a true tale, if you come again to the Master.'

Hurin eyed him in wrath. 'Friend me not, thrall and churl!' he said.

FB FRIEND REQUEST DECLINED. Also I love Lorgan, um, instantly recognizing the cocktail of tsundere threats characteristic of normal Angband introductions. sigh.

‘Fare you ill!'

'Tol acharn!' said Hurin. 'Vengeance comes. I am not the last of the Edain, whether I fare ill or well.' And with that he departed, and left the land of Hithlum.

HAHAHAHA I LOVE HURIN GETTING IT RIGHT... KIND OF... but unfortunately “I am not the last of the Edain, whether I fare ill or well” goes both ways. vengeance will come whatever happens to him but. whatever happens to him will still be awful and unchanged regardless of the survival of his peopleeeeee

[Some have said that] maybe he knew not that Glaurung was dead, and hoped in his heart distraught to take vengeance on this evil thing - for Morgoth would conceal the death of Glaurung, if he could, both because the loss was a grief to him and a hurt to his pride, and because (from Hurin especially) he would conceal all that was most valiant or successful of Turin's deeds. Yet this can scarce be so, since the death of Glaurung was so bound up with the death of his children and revelation of their evil case; while the rumour of the assault of Glaurung upon Brethil went far and wide. Certainly Morgoth fenced men in Hithlum, as he was able, and little news came to them of events in other lands; but so soon as Hurin passed southward or met any wanderers in the wild he would hear tidings of the battle in the ravine of Taiglin.

ahahahahahaha of course part of Húrin hopes that Glaurung survives. I mean I agree it makes no sense but: Of Course He Does. He’s Húrin Thalion, greatest warrior of the Edain! Why else was he released?

His heart is hot against Thingol. He passes it [Doriath] by and goes on to Nargothrond. Why? To seek news, plunder, --- he had been an admirer of Felagund.

w h a t  t h e  f u c k

Sorry nothing to say here just. AN ADMIRER OF FELAGUND? EXCUSE ME? OH MY GOD... DO YOU THINK TURGON TOLD HIM (EXPURGATED) STORIES

When Hurin stood again in the high places he descried far away amid the clouds the peaks of the Crisaegrim, and he remembered Turgon; and his heart desired to come again to the Hidden Realm, if he could, for there at least he would be remembered with honour. He had heard naught of the things that had come to pass in Gondolin, and knew not that Turgon now hardened his heart against wisdom and pity, and allowed no one either to enter or to go forth for any cause whatsoever. Therefore, unaware that all ways were shut beyond hope, he resolved to turn his steps towards the Crisaegrim; but he said nothing of his purpose to his companions, for he was still bound by his oath to reveal to no one that he knew even in what region Turgon abode.

Nonetheless he had need of help; for he had never lived in the wild, whereas the outlaws were long inured to the hard life of hunters and gatherers, and they brought with them such food as they could, though the Fell Winter had much diminished their store. Therefore Hurin said to them: 'We must leave this land now; for Lorgan will leave me in peace no longer. Let us go down into the vales of Sirion, where Spring has come at last!'

I love: Húrin constantly half-consciously aping ‘human capable of hope’ speech patterns just so he can better lie to people. He’s good at lying now. He spent thirty years thinking Morgoth’s hand-me-downs, why wouldn’t he be. Also I love how explicitly negative earlier drafts are about Gondolin and “at least he would be remembered with honor,” another relatively normal human desire among the many parading ostentatiously in Húrin’s surface thoughts, and I love Húrin not able to cook OR farm. Amazing. Sucks to have social stratification, huh, honey.

Also the fact that he has this company of people following him and then he just ditches them to go find Gondolin adds SO MUCH RICHNESS to his plea outside Gondolin? Like whoa oh oh I’m so alone in the world all have spurned me and btw I basically catfished six guys until THEY would teach me how to fish

'The old man's wits are wild. He speaks with strange voices to shadows in his sleep.'

'Little wonder if it were so,' said Asgon. 'But who else could stand as straight as he, after such woe? Nay, he is our right lord, do as he may, and I have sworn to follow him.'

'Even east over the ford?' said the others.

'Nay, there is small hope in that way,' said Asgon, 'and I do not think that Hurin will go far upon it. All we know of his purpose was to go soon to Brethil, and that he has an errand there. We are on the very border. Let us seek him there.'

'By whose leave?' said Ragnir. 'Men there do not love strangers.'

'Good men dwell there,' said Asgon, 'and the [Master >] Lord of Brethil is kin to our old lords.' Nonetheless the others were doubtful, for no tidings had come out of Brethil for some years. 'It may be ruled by Orcs for all we know,' they said.

'We shall soon find what way things go,' said Asgon. 'Orcs are little worse than Eastrons, I guess. If outlaws we must remain, I would rather lurk in the fair woods than in the cold hills.'

The Rohan/Lothlorien/Fangorn mix with Brethil is real intense, though I mostly feel the Rohan parallels. But I also like the reminder that the Hadorians and the people in Dor-lomin really have the most human-centric existence of any society in Beleriand. The Haladin don’t necessary have close ties to particular elves but they’re tangled up in Orcs and a front line of defense against Orcs from the moment of their introduction, and they therefore feel more meshed into the fantastic wild of Beleriand as a whole, whereas the Hadorians really, almost, sorta had a self-contained fortified society from which to look out at the uncanny world, for a while there. Anyway, then with “Orcs are little worse than Eastrons” you got that simultaneous tasty racism and hard-to-resist humanization of Orcs from back at the beginning of time before Species Divisions were formalized beyond hope of unlearning, so, \o_o/ I guess

'To those of proved faith,' said Hardang. 'To be Edain is not enough alone.'

[...]

'This is my judgement. Here Turin son of Hurin dwelt for a time, and he delivered the land from the Serpent of Angband. For this I give you your lives. But he scorned Brandir, right Chieftain of Brethil, and he slew him without justice or pity. Therefore I will not harbour you here.'

LOL REVERSE OF Húrin’s propaganda machine “I am not the last of the Edain, whether I fare ill or well.” idk that I have much to say about the completely unstable shifting identities here but <3

Asgon, therefore, turned and went back towards Brethil; and the others followed him, for he had a stout heart and men said that he was born with good luck.

[...]

'Well, thy luck has held,' said Ragnir, 'for at least we are not slain, though we came nigh it. Now what shall we do?’

Rasgir/Asgon is a good ship I hope they had a nice time being lost in the woods forever

Thus Turin was the second cousin of Brandir on the 'Hadorian' side, and he was also his second cousin on the Haladin side; while in the 'Beorian' line he was Brandir's second cousin once removed - a genealogical situation to delight the heart of Hamfast Gamgee. Pointing out these relationships in an isolated note of this time, my father observed that 'Turin would be more readily accepted by the Haladin when his true name and lineage were known or guessed', since he was akin to their lords in these ways.

I’m very ... Emotion ... about Brandir being this barely-tolerated lord, son of a Beorian mother with a great big polarizing Hadorian strain as well, alternately prized by the other anxious part-Hadorians and viewed as an outsider by scared, bitter Haladin rival branches. Do I headcanon that Beldis put him on the Wise track at all?? I don’t know! I think I do! I don’t think she was a Wise-woman though she probably just gave him like, five poison berries once and a pat on the head

The only obscure point concerns the failure of Asgon's party to encounter Hurin on his return. My father was in two minds about this. The rejected fourth paragraph in C (p. 267) shows him (having decided that Asgorn and his men were not imprisoned) taking the view that they were ejected from Brethil near the Crossings: it is 'the captain of the Taiglin-guard' who restores their weapons; and they remain lurking in that neighbourhood. Thus they missed Hurin, 'who entered out of Dimbar' (i.e. came into Brethil from the north after crossing the Brithiach, as Asgorn had done). Hurin, he wrote, must not enter Brethil at the Crossings and be found lying beside the Haud-en-Elleth (as the story was already in the draft manuscript).

But he at once, and understandably, thought better of this, and (in the fifth paragraph) retained the existing story that Hurin was found by the guards near the Crossings; he said now that Asgorn and his men were put out of Brethil in the same region as they entered, and that they lurked 'near the eaves in that region' - hence their failure to meet with Hurin. But in the replacement passage B 2 (p. 265) he has them decide not to stay near the north eaves of the forest, and they go down towards the Crossings.

Tbh this. impossible continuity fuckup is my FAVORITE and instantly enshrined as Fairy-tale Meaningful in my mind, for no particular reason. Hurin went to the Crossings! Asgorn and his men headed down to the Crossings! HURIN IS TAKEN CAPTIVE AND THEY NEVER MEET AGAIN. Thanks, Connie Willis.

...he halted and looked about him in little hope. He stood now at the foot of a great fall of stones beneath a sheer rock-wall, and he did not know that this was all that was now left to see of the old Way of Escape: the Dry River was blocked and the arched gate was buried.(28)

Then Hurin looked up to the grey sky, thinking that by fortune he might once more descry the Eagles, as he had done long ago in his youth.(29) But he saw only the shadows blown from the East, and clouds swirling about the inaccessible peaks; and wind hissed over the stones. But the watch of the Great Eagles was now redoubled, and they marked Hurin well, far below, forlorn in the failing light. And straightaway Sorontar himself, since the tidings seemed great, brought word to Turgon.

But Turgon said: 'Nay! This is past belief! Unless Morgoth sleeps. Ye were mistaken.'

Obviously this is all in the Silm-silm but man the... stereoscopic movement from Húrin staring up at the mountains from way down below the cloud layer TO THE EAGLES, watching from ABOVE the clouds, seeing everything illuminated. What the fuck. Also I love the repeated “Unless Morgoth sleeps” phrase, ha ha ha ha, like Morgoth is a dragon and Húrin is his FAVORITE goblet (tru)

As darkness fell Hurin stumbled from the stone, and fell, as one aswoon, into a deep sleep of grief. But in his sleep he heard the voice of Morwen lamenting, and often she spoke his name; and it seemed to him that her voice came out of Brethil.

//

The waters of Cabed Naeramarth roared on, but he heard no sound and saw nothing, and he felt nothing, for his heart was stone within him, and he thought that he would sit there until he too died.

But there came a chill wind that drove sharp rain into his face; and he was roused, and anger rose in him like smoke, mastering reason, so that all his desire was to seek vengeance for his wrongs and for the wrongs of his kin, accusing in his anguish all those who ever had dealings with them.

He arose and lifted Morwen up; and suddenly he knew that it was beyond his strength to bear her. He was hungry and old, and weary as winter. Slowly he laid her down again beside the standing stone. 'Lie there a little longer, Edelwen,' he said, 'until I return. Not even a wolf would do you more hurt. But the folk of this hard land shall rue the day that you died here!'

So of course the “anger rose in him like smoke, mastering reason” passage is the only rival for Fingolfin’s last ride in my affections, I should have listed it as an alternative because they really are just, The Two Favs, but anyway: other things I’m into here include the... kind of... the relatively innocent-seeming childlike oblivion of grief, interrupted by a perhaps braver (?) and more adult/heroic (??) impulse to answer Morwen’s call---his love! that takes priority!---and then the same process happening again after she dies, except now all that’s summoning him is his grief, and it’s soured completely in his absence. But like, the repeated habit of ‘shaking himself awake,’ the shape is the same, the feelings that fill it are the reverse

Also I can’t. can’t. BELIEVE the ... seamless transition from the factual, wrenching, sweet gallows humor of “Not even a wolf would do you more hurt” --- he’s looking at her, he’s flirting a little, he sees her clearly, she’s a corpse! --- STRAIGHT into “But the folk of this hard land shall rue the day that you died here.” He was calm for as long as he’s talking directly to his dead wife, it occurs to him he can hurt someone, it’s time to hurt someone. No one can hurt her now. What does that have to do with it? He wants to hurt someone!

'Shame upon you!' cried Manthor the captain, who coming behind had heard what they said. 'And upon you most, Avranc, young though you are! At least you have heard of the deeds of Hurin of Hithlum, or did you hold them only fireside fables? What is to be done, indeed! So, slay him in his sleep is your counsel. Out of hell comes the thought! '

'And so does he,' answered Avranc. 'If indeed he is Hurin. Who knows? '

'It can soon be known,' said Manthor; and coming to Hurin as he lay he knelt and raised his hand and kissed it. 'Awake!' he cried. 'Help is near. And if you are Hurin, there is no help that I would think enough.'

'And no help that he will not repay with evil,' said Avranc. 'He comes from Angband, I say.'

'What he may do is unknown,' said Manthor. 'What he has done we know, and our debt is unpaid.'

God Manthor you male feminist. I mean, uh, I, ‘out of hell comes the thought’ / ‘ and so does he’ put this on my .... portfolio website, also... the hand kiss.... the unintentional brain-cleaving accuracy of ‘and if you are Hurin, there is no help that I would think enough’ ... I do legit love What he may do is unknown. What he has done we know, and our debt is unpaid. Manthor is a good, rationalizing, sleazy kid who has already had TWO prophetic dreams :(

Then Manthor gave him a little bread and meat and water; but they seemed to choke him, and he spat them forth. 'How far is it to the house of your lord?' he asked. 'Until I have seen him the food that you denied to my beloved will not go down my throat.'

[Húrin after having his mouth scalded by a bite of lembas] ‘Hmm, must be because THINGOL and MELIAN mistreated my WIFE’

the food that you denied to my beloved. holy shit. he’s an evil slam poet.

Then he turned towards Hurin, who sat meanwhile bent on the low stool; his eyes were closed, and he seemed to take no heed of what was said.

LOVE HÚRIN’S FUCKING... SHITTY-ASS COMBINATION THEODEN-DENETHOR-GANDALF VIBE... WHATS UP. IM A HARMLESS OLD MAN. BUT I HATE YOU. BUT IM CRAZY MAGIC SO

Then Hurin looked at him and the wrath left his eyes; and together they drank and ate in silence. And when all was finished, Hurin said: 'By your voice you have overcome me. Never since the Day of Dread have I heard any man's voice so fair. Alas! alas! it calls to my mind the voices in my father's house, long ago when the shadow seemed far away.'

'That may well be,' said Manthor. 'Hiril my foremother was sister of thy mother, Hareth.'

'Then thou art both kin and friend,' said Hurin.

'But not I alone,' said Manthor. 'We are few and have little wealth, but we too are Edain, and bound by many ties to your people. Your name has long been held in honour here; but no news of your deeds would have reached us, if Haldir and Hundar had not marched to the Nirnaeth. There they fell, but three of their company returned, for they were succoured by Mablung of Doriath and healed of their wounds.’

1) Seriously the amount of time Húrin spends on offhand, awful, overwhelming flattery 2) I REMEMBER BEING EXACTLY AS WOWED BY THE MABLUNG CAMEO LAST TIME. “Oh, shit, they got healed by Doctor Who!” Fuck I just realized Mablung visited again ~2 weeks ago and probably talked to none of those people. Amazing.

Soon all the Moot-ring was filled. This was shaped as a great crescent, with seven tiers of turf-banks rising up from a smooth floor delved back into the hillside. A high fence was set all about it, and the only entry was by a heavy gate in the stockade that closed the open end of the crescent. In the middle of the lowest tier of seats was set the Angbor or Doom-rock, a great flat stone upon which the Halad (40) would sit. Those who were brought to judgement stood before the stone and faced the assembly.

... Then he stood facing the assembly and hallowed the Moot according to custom. First he named Manwe and Mandos, after the manner which the Edain had learned from the Eldar, and then, speaking the old tongue of the Folk which was now out of daily use, he declared that the Moot was duly set, being the three hundred and first Moot of Brethil, called to give judgement in a grave matter.

I don’t have anything to say about this it’s just the best and I regret not including it in my Nienor fic. Take me to turf ampitheater. Btw Niniel definitely spoke on that doom-rock right, that’s where she convinced the folk of Brethil to go rubberneck with her, right

also NAMED MANWE AND MANDOS AFTER THE MANNER WHICH THE EDAIN LEARNED FROM THE ELDAR and then goes straight to the old largely-ceremonial human language I. just. I love it so much. I love Beleriand.

The horn sounded twice, but for some time no one entered, and the sound of angry voices could be heard outside the fence. At length the gate was thrust open, and six men came in bearing Hurin between them.

'I am brought by violence and misuse,' he cried. 'I will not walk slave-fettered to any Moot upon earth, not though Elven-kings should sit there. And while I am bound thus I deny all authority and justice to your dooms.' But the men set him on the ground before the Stone and held him there by force.

Sorry I included a lot of Húrin quotes that I don’t even have anything to say about I Just... the vision... Húrin’s slightly fake flailing and perfect enunciation/projection techniques....

But when Hardang stepped down and Avranc came to the Stone there was a loud murmuring like the rumour of a coming storm. Avranc was a young man, not long wedded, and his youth was taken ill by all the elder headmen that sat there. And he was not loved for himself; for though he was bold, he was scornful, as was Dorlas his father before him. And dark tales were whispered concerning Dorlas; for though naught was known for certain, he was found slain far from the battle with Glaurung, and the reddened sword that lay by him had been the sword of Brandir.

But Avranc took no heed of the murmur, and bore himself airily, as if it were a light matter soon to be dealt with.

My secret favorite WoH thing is not even the Hurin garbage, it’s just the indiscriminate revengelike murder mystery consequences of Brandir’s death on This Entire Small Community. Also, Avranc is cute. Cuter than Dorlas because I cannot imagine Dorlas behind the bench in an Ace Attorney game. Pats.

‘We gave him food and he spat on it. I have seen Orcs do so, if any were fools enough to show them mercy.’

[vs Manthor:] ‘Yet as for despising our food: he took it from my hands, and he did not spit upon it. He spat it forth, for it choked him. Have you never, my masters, seen a man half-starved who could not swallow food in haste though he needed it? And this man was in great grief also and full of anger.’

Anyway okay I joked earlier but obviously the moment with Húrin spitting out the food/these successive interpretive frames are just... so... again like, this is as close as we get to textual acknowledgment of like... the HORROR of those scenes where Gollum is burned by the elf-rope and the moon, the fact that what’s spoken of in the abstract as a sure sign of evil reads on the page as just this terrible, wasteful injustice, that no one’s actively inflicting but that people have some duty to correct. And like. come on. the only explanation for orcish allergies that makes sense is that they’ve been deprived for so long that they just can’t handle [radiance/nutrients/silky touches of elf-hair]. Avranc and Manthor, I have great news, you think you’re making different arguments and through my sciences I have discovered, it’s ONE argument

'Prisoner, will you not speak?' said Avranc, and still Hurin gave no answer. 'So be it,' said Avranc. 'If he will not speak, not even to deny the charge, then there is no more to do. The charge is made good, and the one that is appointed to the Stone must propound to the Moot a penalty that seems just.'

But now Manthor stood up and said: ‘First he should at least be asked why he will not speak. And to that question reply may be made by his friend.'

'The question is put,' said Avranc with a shrug. 'If you know the answer give it.'

'Because he is fettered hand and foot,' said Manthor. 'Never before have we dragged to the Moot in fetters a man yet uncondemned. Still less one of the Edain whose name deserves honour, whatsoever may have happened since. Yes, "uncondemned" I say; for the accuser has left much unsaid that this Moot must hear before judgement is given.'

'But this is foolishness,' said Avranc. 'Adan or no, and whatever his name, the prisoner is ungovernable and malicious. The bonds are a needed precaution. Those who come near him must be protected from his violence.'

Sorry I just... really like Avranc...

Hmm I was going to put this observation somewhere else but I don’t really feel like attaching a quote: it is always soothing to me when Tolkien doesn’t quite know how to translate his ideas into an archaic register either. Like with the whole subplot of Hurin’s food being drugged. “IDK, HIS FOOD WAS DRUGGED.” Or when he tries to backdate idioms? “Third time shall thrive best!” mmhmmm

But the gathering and counting would take much time, and meanwhile Manthor saw that with each moment the mood of Hurin grew worse.

'There is another way more simple,' he said. 'There is no danger here to justify the bonds, and so think all who have used their voice. The Halad is in the Moot-ring, and he can remit his own order, if he will.'

'He will,' said Hardang, for it seemed to him that the mood of the assembly was restive, and he hoped by this stroke to regain its favour. 'Let the prisoner be released, and stand up before you!'

Hardang also a pretty great prototype of other doomed Tolkien politicians :[ from chilling in his chair with a bleeding headwound to bursting out petulantly about REMEMBER MY HEADWOUND? DO YOU THINK THIS IS A FANCY HAT? in court. He’s just... “trying his best”... I, too, suck at catering to the crowd while wishing to do nothing except cater to the crowd, Hardang.

'Ashamed ye may be. But this is not my charge. I do not ask that any in this land should match the son of Hurin in valour. But if I forgive those griefs, shall I forgive this? Hear me, Men of Brethil! There lies by the Standing Stone that you raised an old beggar-woman. Long she sat in your land, without fire, without food, without pity. Now she is dead. Dead. She was Morwen my wife. Morwen Edelwen, the lady elven-fair who bore Turin the slayer of Glaurung. She is dead.

[...]

Now Hardang was aghast at this turn, and his face went white with fear and amazement. But before he could speak, Hurin pointed a long hand at him. 'See!' he cried. 'There he stands with a sneer on his mouth! Does he deem himself safe? For I am robbed of my sword; and I am old and weary, he thinks. Nay, too often has he called me a wild man. He shall see one! Only hands, hands, are needed to wring his throat full of lies.'

With that Hurin left the Stone and strode towards Hardang; but he gave back before him, calling his household-men about him; and they drew off towards the gate. Thus it appeared to many that Hardang admitted his guilt, and they drew their weapons, and came down from the banks, crying out upon him.

Now there was peril of battle within the hallowed Ring. For others joined themselves to Hardang, some without love for him or his deeds, who nonetheless held to their loyalty and would at least defend him from violence, until he could answer before the Moot.

L M A O I JUST FUCKIN. THE NEGGING. “Not that I expected you to be braver than my son!” The as if just-remembered other detail: you killed my wife, though. Remember when you totally killed my wife, as I decided when I realized I needed someone to have killed her, because I wanted a reason to live? Remember that? Oh, okay, I’m walking forward now. No rush. I’m just briskly walking forward to strangle your leader. Everybody with m---oh look, he’s running away. After him! On your own time.

Now she is dead. Dead. She was Morwen my wife.

'Out of the dark days of our past it comes,' he said, 'before we turned our faces west. A shadow is upon us.' And he felt one lay a hand on his shoulder, and he turned and saw Hurin who stood behind him, with a grim face watching the kindling of the fires; and Hurin laughed.

'A strange folk are ye,' he said. 'Now cold, now hot. First wrath, then ruth. Under your chieftain's feet or at his throat. Down with Hardang! Up with Manthor! Wilt thou go up?'

'The Folk must choose,' said Manthor. 'And Hardang still lives.'

'Not for long, I hope,' said Hurin.

a. strange. folk. are ye. now cold. now hot. down with hardang! up with manthor! wilt thou go up? Hurin, I know you can’t, but listen to me, I have to ask: can you control your jollies for even a second. Until the house is ashes? If you recall, your wife is dead and not here and can’t unsmilingly appreciate your shit

'You are a mightier man than I, Hurin of Hithlum,' he said. 'I had such fear of your shadow that all wisdom and largesse forsook me. But now I do not think that any wisdom or mercy would have saved me from you, for you have none. You came to destroy me, and you at least have not denied it. But your last lie against me I cast back upon you ere I die. Never' - but with that blood gushed from his mouth, and he fell back, and said no more.

I know you haven’t read ASOIAF and you are the only person who might conceivably have scrolled this far down, but, god when people claim GRRM is more grimdark in his interest in deflating backhanded anticlimax than Tolkien, I ... I just...

‘I must go to the Field of the Worm and the Stone of the Hapless, where Morwen their mother lies untended. Will any come with me?'

Then ruth smote the hearts of those that heard him; and though some drew back in fear, many were willing to go, but among these there were more women than men.

<33 <3 they loved Nienor

But Hurin said: 'Nay, Nienor is not here, but it is fitter that she should lie here near her son than with any strangers. So she would have chosen.'

[...] But it is said that after that day fear left that place, though sorrow remained, and it was ever leafless and bare. But until the end of Beleriand women of Brethil would come with flowers in spring and berries in autumn and sing there a while of the Grey Lady who sought in vain for her son.

I have to single out every time someone mentions “Nienor is not there,” also the implication that obviously Morwen would MOST want to be buried where Nienor is, um, soothing to me. Personally. Not because I don’t care a ton about Morwen and Turin, it’s just, the Morwen-Nienor relationship is like... you know. Anyway I can’t believe how lovely and unqualified this is even though Brethil is on fire in another tab.

Now Manthor sat gasping with his back to a tree. 'It is a poor archer that will miss his mark at the third aim,' he said.

Hurin leaned on his staff and looked down at Manthor. 'But thou hast missed thy mark, kinsman,' he said. 'Thou hast been a valiant friend, and yet I think thou wert so hot in the cause for thyself also. Manthor would have sat more worthily in the chair of the Chieftains.'

'Thou hast a hard eye, Hurin, to pierce all hearts but thine own,' said Manthor.

THANKS HURIN. THANKS FOR THE SOFTWARE UPDATE. THANKS FOR RUNNING A DIAGNOSTIC ON THIS DECEASED MAN. great job leaning on your staff for effect, you maniac

‘...I would weep for thee, Manthor; for thou hast saved me from dishonour, and thou hadst love for my son.'

'Then, lord, use in peace the little more life that I have won for thee,' said Manthor. 'Do not bring your shadow upon others!'

'Why, must I not still walk in the world?' said Hurin. 'I will go on till the shadow overtakes me. Farewell!'

Final thoughts on Wanderings of Húrin: it’s super weird how Homer wrote the softcore flanderizing fix-it AU of Morwen/Húrin thousands of years before Morwen/Húrin ok ok it doesn’t actually bear that much resemblance to the Odyssey/the slaying of the suitors, I just think I’m funny

[faramir-boromir]

The History of Middle-earth \ House of Haleth Part II

After the death of Handir the Haladin dwindled and became more reclusive but survived on. They remained in their woods, occasionally ambushing Orcs at the Crossings. It was during the reign of Brandir that Túrin Turambar son of Húrin came to Brethil and became in all but name its leader, leading them in warfare in much the same manner as he had the elves of Nargothrond. Túrin's presence brought the dragon Glaurung to Brethil and though Túrin succeeded in slaying the beast, he slew Brandir in a rage as the final threads sparing him from his doom unravelled. Túrin's suicide ended that period in the history of the Haladin .But their dealings with Húrin and his cursed kin were not yet over for Húrin himself came among them after twenty eight years of captivity in Angband. Now a broken man he succeeded in sparking a civil war in the House of Haleth owing to his perception of the treatment of his wife whom he found at the grave of their children. Obel Halad was burnt and all potential heirs slain or driven away in the anarchy that followed. In that way did the House of Haleth cases to be in the year F.A. 500. The Drúedain who had dwelt in the forest of Brethil were reduced to a few families of mainly woman and children, who fled to the Mouths of Sirion.

[outofangband]

I reread this fic I wrote last December and noticed a bunch of little mistakes so I rewrote it with edits and additions because I’d been wanting to revisit it for awhile anyways

Angband World Building and Aftermath of Captivity Masterlist

Anyways, Húrin in Angband plus a new short epilogue in Brethil

Not super gory but warning for blood, torture, Morgoth being Morgoth, enforced nudity, and unreality. vague The Wanderings of Húrin related warnings for the epilogue

He had been strapped to this table through leather and metallic cords crossing over his wrists and ankles, pulling them taut for a long time. Certainly long enough to memorize the geography of the uneven wood beneath him. Húrin wondered how much was meant to deliberately cause discomfort to whatever unfortunate soul was restrained there or if the craftsmanship of the fortress was simply that poor. It was clearly an old table. He had earned a smack to the face for offering to fix one of the legs. Not that he was any master with woodwork of course but basic repair he could manage. Húrin wasn’t sure whether the orc who had struck him had completely understood his snipe, not all of them spoke the same tongues as him and several would punish him for opening his mouth at all.

“I thought you wished for me to speak!” he had exclaimed to one of the balrogs after they had discovered him coughing up blood following a particularly vicious beating.

Indeed there had been one instance when two demons had been subjecting him to various tormentsfor what must have been hours. Agitated and in agony, Húrin had kept up a steady stream of his own commentary, finally prompting one of them to attempt to force a metal device into his mouth before the other grabbed its companion’ arm

“You cannot gag it, we need it to talk!” They had snarled. There was a pause between the two.

Húrin had actually laughed though he had regretted it immediately as pain pierced his likely broken ribs. He imagined that they had not wanted to admit that there was no point in keeping his mouth free despite their torments.

The table beneath him did not allow for restful sleep. This Húrin was fairly sure was deliberate. The uneven bits dug into his already torn up back and muscles would start to seize up as soon as he had even begun to get comfortable enough to nod off. Consequently, he had been drifting in and out of a restless half sleep.

When he did sleep, His dreams were unusually mundane, inconsequential at home but wonderful heartaching blessings here.

He stood in the small chamber just beyond the main hall, listening to Sador discuss his work.

“I began the chair,” said Dream Sador, “But, Lord Húrin, I could not finish your instructions.” With an apologetic look he held up the scribbled notes Húrin had left for him. Dream Húrin had to squint to read them and even this was a challenge. He grinned sheepishly.

“Right, I can see why you might not have managed,” Húrin took the parchment with the messy writing back, “Hopefully it was nothing important.” He shouldn’t have written it in such a hurry. It probably was important

Dream Húrin glances down again at the notes. The words have shifted to formless scribbles like those made my a frustrated child. Dream Sador looks unbearably grim.

The door to the chamber opens.

Húrin jolted. He had already awoke several times to what he thought was the door opening only to find himself still alone. This time however, the sound had not been created by his mind.

Morgoth approached him at his typical leisurely pace. A facade of casualty that Húrin knew was at least in part to hide the injuries Lord Fingolfin had given him. The thought wasn’t a comfort exactly but it gave him strength to do the one thing he knew he had to; endure.

Not that there was an alternative

He wasn’t completely taken by his pride, he would not deny that the ‘sessions’ with Morgoth himself were worse than what he had to suffer from any of his servants.

The Vala did not speak as he looked to the other table in the room, the one Húrin was not currently chained to. That table held a number of unsavory instruments, ones Húrin had since learned required more precise handling than most of the orcs usually favored. When Morgoth turned to him however the man saw he was holding a simple blade.

“Have you come to bring me death?” Húrin asked lightly even as every fiber of his being wished to shut down while faced with the vile creature, “If it transpires that my kind face Lord Námo, should I deliver a message from you?”

Morgoth did not speak immediately. Húrin felt a shifting in the air, leaving him short of breath. He imagined the other was playing a similar game to him; schooling any reactions to a taunting mask but while Húrin was steeling himself against the instinctual horror, Morgoth was likely trying to resist the urge to kill him on the spot. Or maybe he was giving himself too much credit.

He opens his mouth to break the deeply tense, unpleasant silence that has fallen between them. But something slimy, oily fills suddenly his mouth and he gags on nothing. Morgoth watches him with satisfaction for a moment before the illusion breaks.

“Hush,” the monster finally spoke in an unnaturally soft tone that frightened Húrin far more than a roar of anger would have. Húrin was loath to obey but could not think of much to say in the eerie silence. Morgoth stood over him now. He was acutely aware of how small and fragile and naked he was under the light of the crown his captor perpetually wore. It was sense of vulnerability that went far beyond the inherent embarrassment of being nude in front of others, let alone one he so hated. Indeed he had never felt much embarrassment in his own nakedness before here.

Morgoth moved the knife between long fingers. Húrin watched it, almost mesmerized yet still missed the moment the blade was first brought to his skin. The cold he felt before the pain. It spread throughout the area, hardening in his empty stomach, becoming more acute with each dragging motion of the knife. The marks were not deep but they brought blood all the same and Húrin knew that the apparent lack of force put into them was deceptive. Whatever was made here would not fade for some time, if ever.

Perhaps worse than the pain from the knife was the fingers of Morgoth’s other hand splayed lightly just above where he worked with the blade. Any touch from the fiend was nigh unbearable.

Húrin tried at first to guess what it was the other was drawing. He was sure it was a deliberate design, some symbol like the foul brands he had already been given. But trying to put sense into the lines and curves as blood trickled down his chest soon made him dizzy and he gave up. He did not need to make himself any more vulnerable in Morgoth’s presence.

“Look,” Morgoth instructed in the same deceptively calm voice. Húrin was glad for the order because it was one he could plainly disobey. He did not look, gaze fixed upon the ceiling above him. Try as he might he could not stop himself shivering as Morgoth almost gently ran his fingers through the bloodied mess, resting just above his naval.

“Look. Surely the script is one you can read.”

So it was a word that had been carved. Húrin did not look.

The fingers that gripped his chin were familiar now. They tilted his face down to face the now finished mark. Húrin defied in the only way he could, closing his eyes. The soft laughter that caressed him then felt like poison in his blood.

Many years later

Brethil Forest

The wild man slept poorly, curled on the hard ground despite the cot in the corner. He spoke in his sleep too, harsh whispers the guards claimed were in orc tongue though Manthor knew they had not gotten close enough to make anything out. Dirty nails dug just below the ripped collar of his shapeless tunic, indenting into an old scar that stretched across his chest.

He is reluctant to wake him. If Húrin Thalion is deep enough in sleep that he does not jolt at Manthor’s presence in the doorway, Manthor feels he should leave him be though he doesn’t want the guards to be his only company upon waking. He settles onto the cot that Húrin has rejected. It is far from the finest of beds but surely a good deal more comfortable than the ground of the cell, or the hard earth they had first found him on. Casting a sharp look at the guards, Manthor waits for the man to awaken and watches blood pool beneath his fingers over the old carving.

(Author’s note: between this and Morwen’s ordeal in CYHAW and my other stuff, I apologize to the family as a whole)

Other author’s note: I hope this is ok! Let me know if you have feedback! I want to write disturbing things because I want to be a horror writer

[arofili]

three houses of the edain ➴ house of haleth ➴ headcanon disclaimer

          Hiril was the daughter of Halmir, and the sister of Haldir, Hundar, and Hareth. Alone of her siblings, she married within her House, wedding the Haladin hunter Enthor. Together they had one daughter, Meleth, who herself wed the warrior Agathor and bore him two sons, Hunthor and Manthor. Both Enthor and Agathor were slain in the Nírnaeth Arnœdiad, leaving Meleth to raise her children on her own.           When Glaurung came to Brethil, the great warrior known as Turambar asked for volunteers to accompany him on a quest to slay the dragon. At first only Dorlas stepped forth, and seeing the others hold back, he scorned them and demanded to know if none would take the place of the diminished Chieftain Brandir the Lame so that the House of Haleth would not be put to shame. It was Hunthor who rebuked Dorlas for his cruelty and volunteered in Brandir’s stead, following Turambar into danger.           Yet despite his harsh words, Dorlas soon proved cowardly and fled from the battle, leaving Hunthor and Turambar alone. They were nearing the belly of the beast when the heat and stench of the dragon caused Turambar to slip and nearly fall into the River Teiglin, but Hunthor seized him and saved his life. Turambar proclaimed him to be of great heart, but in that very moment a stone fell from the cliffside and struck Hunthor’s head, and he fell and was lost in the waters below. Hunthor’s death left his wife Himmeth a widow, and though his younger brother Manthor resolved to care for her, there was never love between them as there had been with her and Hunthor.           As both Brandir and Turambar perished on the day the dragon came, the leadership of the Haladin was now uncertain. An election was held between the two remaining heirs of Halmir: Manthor and Hardang, the grandson of Hundar. Though Manthor was the more popular choice, his claim was weaker as he was descended from the youngest of Halmir’s children who was also a woman, and thus Hardang rose to the Chieftainship he had long desired. Not wishing to anger those of his folk who would have preferred Manthor as a leader, Hardang promoted him to Captain of the Guards at the Crossings of Teiglin, a move which appeased Manthor for the time being.           Two years into Hardang’s rule, Manthor and his subordinates discovered Húrin Thalion at the Haudh-en-Elleth. Though there was some debate between them as to what they should do with the old man, Manthor woke him and offered him rest and food. When Húrin found he could not keep his food down, he agreed to go with the party to see the Chieftain.           Hardang was ill-pleased to see Húrin, and did not rise to greet him nor to offer him a chair, forcing the old man to sit on the ground. Only after Manthor rebuked him did Hardang grudgingly offer Húrin food and rest, and his weak courtesy so offended Húrin that he threw a stool at Hardang, cutting his head. Avranc, one of Hardang’s lackeys and the son of Dorlas, arrested and imprisoned him and advocated for his execution.           At this Manthor protested, having sympathy for Húrin, and quit Hardang’s service to summon the People of Haleth to a Folkmoot. That night he offered his aid to Húrin, winning his friendship, and discovered that Húrin’s food had been poisoned. The following morning, Húrin was put on trial for his assault of the Chieftain, but with Manthor’s support and counsel he won the Haladin over to his side.            Yet instead of justice being served, a riot broke out between the followers of Hardang and the followers of Manthor, culminating in the burning of the Hall of Chieftains, in which Hardang perished. Amid the chaos, Avranc shot twice at Manthor and missed both times. Manthor and Húrin escaped the ruins of Obel Halad, but before they could flee entirely Avranc fired an arrow a third time, killing Manthor. Thus ended the last of the Chieftains of the Haladin, and the ruin of the House of Haleth was completed.

[dragon-mirri]

Another style experiment, featuring my demon boy Manthor.