Here's our results for the Children of Hurin fanfiction contest! As it turned out, we have one entry, so a poll isn't really necessary
<b>Nauriel Rochnur</b>
“Faelivrin” A voice behind me murmured. I started. Long had it been since I heard that name. I turned, expecting to see a wraith, a memory of long ago which haunted me frequently. Little did I expect that wraith to be real, or to look so wraith-like. But real it was. Gwindor, whom I thought to be dead, was standing behind me. How different he looked! When I knew his he was tall and proud, with a radiant face, but now he was withered and haunched, like an aged mortal. I embraced him, repeating his name to myself. He called me by my true name, Findulas. I cried, brushing away both his tears and mine. “Long have you been away,” I said softly. “I did not think I would ever see you again.” He a comforting hand through my hair, soomthing it into place, and I saw that he was maimed; the hand of his left arm was cut off at the wrist. He caught my glance, and hid it from view as if ashamed. It was then that I figured his fate, enthrallment under Morgoth.
It was Mormegil, a dark haired man who arrived with Gwindor, who confirmed my suspicions. He was a man of few words, but what he did speak was bold and true, and he drew my attention. Often in his precence I would find myself thinking of Beren and Luthien, but though he enjoyed my company, he did not share my love.
Gwindor too shared my love, though I wished I could give it all to him, for he would return it. I pitied him more than anything, for his enslavement had changed him, so he was like a once great statue thrown to ruins on the ground. I comforted as I could, but little did it seem to help. Mormegil had replaced him in the eyes of the king my father (for Mormegil was skilled in tactics) , and maimed as he was my Gwindor was unfit to fight. A jealousy I saw in him, and I began to avoid him, for the confliction in my mind was great.
Thus later Gwindor confronted me, saying “A sadness is come over you, and too often now I miss you, and begin to guess that you are avoiding me. Since you tell me not the cause I must guess. Findulas, let no grief lie between us, for Morgoth has laid my life in ruin, still you I love. But go wither love leads you; for I am become unfit to wed you; and neither my prowess nor my counsel have any honour.” I was saddened and wept, for though I knew his feelings it pained me to hear them spoken. “Weep not yet” He said softly. “But beware lest you have cause. Not fitting is it that the elder children should wed the younger; nor is it wise, for they are brief, and soon pass, to leave us widowed while the world lasts. This man is not Beren. A doom lies on him. His true name is Turin, son of Hurin Thalion, whom Morgoth has captured and, and cursed all his kin. Doubt not the power of Morgoth! Look what it was done to me.”
I rose to my feet, my heart full of sorrow and remorse. “Your eyes are dimmed, Gwindor.” I said. “You do not see or understand what has come to pass. I love you Gwindor, and I am ashamed that I do not love you more, but have taken a love even greater from which I cannot escape-I did not seek it! And I long to put it aside. But if I have pity for your hurts, have pity for mine. Turin loves me not, nor will.”
“Then why does he seek you out, and sit long with you, and come away glad?”
I had thought long and hard on this before, and the answer came easily. “Because he also needs solace. But he loves me not. He holds me in awe, as if I were a mother or queen, but it is not love.” I fled in tears, leaving Gwindor alone.
Turin noted my sadness, for I would sometimes weep and not tell him why. He was gentle to me, and though I longed for him he treated me as one who needed healing, not love.
Finally, one when he spoke more gently to me than before, and tenderly took my hand, I could bare it no more. “Mormegil, why do you hide your name from me? Had I known who you were, I would have not honoured you less.” At that instant his eyes pierced mine, I could tell I struck him to the heart.
“Then who do you make me be?” He asked casually, but I could see he hid anger.
I faced the storm of his face, and answered “Turin, son of Hurin, captain of the north.” He rose at once and exited the room in a rage, though I did not know why.
Thus for a week’s time he was reclusive and of an ill mood, but times heals, and this minor injury was soon passed. But he had not the time for me, for he was made captain of all the forces of Nargothrond. His aim was to build our army and lay siege to Morgoth and his warriors. It was ill fated that they attacked us first.
The warriors of Morgoth did not come quietly. They stormed the castled, overwhelming our forces. I sat in my chamber, hearing every yell, every cry of death. It drew ever nearer, until there was no doubt that they had entered the city. I was so frightened I could barely draw breath, but when orcs entered my chamber I fought wildly, like a trapped animal. My struggles were in vain, and I was subdued and forced into the streets along with all the other women and children the orcs would find. I looked around uncontrollably. Where was help? Where were the warriors of the once mighty Nargothrond? Turin I saw alone, for though his face was covered in a helm, none but him could look so tall and fierce. I called out to him, but he did not answer. He was staring at a dragon so vast and terrible its very presence seemed to be a poison that choked me with fear. Thus I was forced to march with all the other captives, driven by orcs and other cruel beats.
A week passed in this manner. Every day we were driven on by pain and fear, hoping for rest but praying we would not reach our destination, which we all new to be enthrallment. Many of us wept, myself included, but I also took it upon myself to look after those around me. I was Findulas, daughter of Orodreth, king of Nargothrond. The people looked to me for guidance, and often I would lead them in song. It was this song, I believe, that drew men to us. My people and I were of the first born, with keener ears than our captors, and heard their oncoming much sooner. Thus when the orcs were assailed, we were not surprised. I looked vainly for Turin, who I thought would be there, but I could see him not. A women beside me screamed; and orc had cut her down. Did they find it necessary to kill us now that their defeat was upon them? I was disgusted, and picking up a sword engaged the orc nearest to me. But I was untrained, and immediately orc ran his spear through my chest. Such agony as I cannot describe bloomed in my breast, taking over all my senses. I would have fallen to the ground, had the spear not also pierced a tree behind me. Thus I stood, held to the tree like a pinned bug until the orcs were defeated and men rushed to my side. They thought me dead, until I spoke. “Mormegil. Tell the Mormegil that Findulas is here” The effort it took to speak these last words was great, and I could breath no more. I hoped they were honour my plee, and tell Turin of me. Darkness spread over my vision, and it seemed as those I heard Gwindor calling to me.
