Archive of Our Own ^beta

Author's note: Many thanks to redbootsindoriath for this post about Anglachel/Gurthang colour(s)!

It was a great part of inspiration for this story.

And now we can begin!

Look up at dusk, the other one had said.

And indeed, intrigued by this short notice, Túrin was prepared to do that. He chose a spot on the soft slope leading from his home down to the orchard, and waited.

How many times had he watched this particular scenery? It would be futile to count. It had been years since he first saw this place and felt enchanted.

Tall mountains with snowy tops on one side, a glittering lake on the other, and mild, grassy hills in between.

And far in the distance, the whole countryside shrinking into a single strip rising up, higher and higher, an endless row of continents and seas coming one after another, to finally dissolve in the blue depths of the sky. That was the Ring of Arda Healed, so immense, unimaginable, encircling the Land of Light – the land of the renewed Trees and the Seat of the Valar.

Túrin knew he would never get tired of a sight such as this, it would never cease to impress and amaze him, even though he had been there, at its birth.

There were flashes of memories of it, but he was unable to recognize anything tangible in them. They were rather ideas and feelings than concrete shapes. The other one had once disclosed to Túrin that it was because his spirit was now again one with a mortal body, and thus limited by its ability to perceive and recall experience.

But Túrin had merely shrugged to that. There was nothing to regret, really. All he could see and hear and feel in the present time was overwhelming enough.

Sometimes, during the warm seasons, he went out in the night, and tried to study the Ring of Arda more closely, looking for the fabled shining cities where Men of the later ages were supposed to reside. One time he had been sure he recognized something – a glittering structure in the dark. He had asked if it was real, and the other one confirmed it. He had even let Túrin see these strange lands through his eyes – the tall buildings and lights, and life moving fast all around. Those people even had aircraft of their own design... Perhaps they could come to visit one day?

Most likely not, the other one had thought. They'd sooner leave the Ring of Arda itself, and try to reach the more distant realms of the Eä.

Well, may they be safe on these travels, Túrin had thought back. He was curious about these other worlds, too, but did not wish to be there in person, not really. They were wondrous and beautiful, indeed, but hostile to life, as the other one had told him and let him see.

To be sure, Túrin would rather prefer to stay alive for some time now, as he was given yet another chance. The previous lifetimes had been too short and too miserable for his liking. This time he wished to live with a purpose – but with the kind that would also bring him joy.

After all, some would say he had managed to make amends. Some would say he had earned it.

Tired. He feels so incredibly tired. There's nothing but exhaustion when Túrin finally lifts his trembling arms up in the air, barely holding the sword steady. But he has to do this. He owes it to everyone, to himself, to the other one lying on the ground – shrouded in darkness and writhing with pain, but not yet completely helpless.

He has to do this, Túrin knows that. There is no other way. One blackened hand goes up, trying to grab him by the throat, but the descending blade is quicker. It breaks through the palm, and Túrin makes sure to put all his weight behind it as it strikes the other one's chest. And there it is, the blade runs through the cruel heart, and the eyes on the ground look at him, filled with shock mixed with despair.

But... What is this? This expression is unexpected. It should not be there.

Then, darkness. It explodes from the other one's heart, gushing out in every direction, taking everything with it. Sheer blaze of light follows, and it glares and burns. Túrin merely watches his skin, flesh and bones being melted away. He thinks he hears himself shriek, but only for a moment. As soon as he realizes what has happened, it is over.

The light in front of him shines so mildly. It is weak and fragile. Hurt. And there's nothing else. All that ever existed before, is gone.

Another light appears. Strong and full of joy. It radiates gratitude towards what once was called Túrin. It embraces the weak light carefully, and they both rise up. It is all so slow and soft and delicate, heart-breaking to witness.

Túrin starts to panic, he does not wish to remain alone. But then he senses them all. Everyone who has ever lived since the Beginning until the End.

A voice is heard by his whole being.

“Come, brave child. Don't be afraid. Now we'll sing.”

No, Túrin did not remember anything of the Second Music. Sometimes a familiar feeling struck his heart, but it was nothing he could ever describe with words.

But to be sure, he remembered most of what followed, however strange it now appeared to him.

Outlines of mountains in the distance. Endless fields of waving grass. Trees and bushes here and there. A fresh wind against his face. But otherwise, there is nothing, no one else.

But the moment Túrin looks up, something starts to take shape before him.

A sword.

He knows it well, as if it were a part of his soul. But it is different now: Milky-white and silver, the hilt inlaid with gold. It hovers and gleams there in the air, solid and stable. No one holds it, no one visible.

He raises his hand, still unsure and reluctant. There is no need for a weapon in this new world, is it? He does not want it back. He had enough.

“Túrin, may I keep it?” a voice asks. It comes from nowhere around - he hears it from the inside.

“Yes.” he says. It is the only answer he can think of. “Keep it.”

“Thank you,” comes the reply. And with it something even stranger. It comes to life from the air, takes form around the sword. It looks... Like a human heart, just much bigger. It finally engulfs the sword's blade, making it an integral part of itself, and starts beating. But before Túrin can fully think about how this can work, it gets shielded by a massive ribcage. Then the giant body is finally covered in pale skin and silvery grey robes.

This person looks familiar, too. Túrin knows him well, almost as if he has been a part of his soul all this time. But he is different now.

The other one's face is peaceful as it turns to look around and up to the cloudy sky. The soft wind blows long dark strands of hair from his brow. A deep breath.

He has a pair of wings, the other one. They are not white, but all shades of brown and grey. A creamy-white feather here and there. Altogether, he reminds Túrin of an overgrown owl.

The other one chuckles and gazes back down at Túrin. „Come, let's get you something to eat.”

Túrin had to smile, too. Now and then, he would return to those memories, trying to figure out the meaning of his very first hours and days on the surface of Arda Healed.

The newly formed world had seemed empty back then, apart from the magnificent landscapes and dreamy night sky sceneries. But even if there had been just the two of them – Túrin and the other one – it had not felt lonely at all. There always had been a strange, unknown anticipation in the air that something was about to come.

They had travelled in silence most of the time, and whenever they had wished to convey something to one another, they spoke in thoughts and feelings. Quick and convenient.

Only once Túrin asked a question aloud, that day the rain had caught them in the open.

They sit on a rock protruding from a mountain slope, and watch the quick streams of water running down around them. As the other one extends one of his large wings to shield Túrin from the hammering raindrops, said human suddenly looks up – at the chest where the heart with the sword is hidden.

“It hurts, doesn't it?”

The other one gives Túrin a mere sideways glance, their eyes do not make real contact. “Not as much as it would within the previous creation.”

“Truly?”

“It lets me live.” The other one cuts any further questions. “It's a small price to pay, trust me.” He says and frowns as he observes the foot of the hill. “We should reconsider the descent for today. It's going to be muddy down there.”

To be sure, Túrin would never let the other one carry him, anywhere, anyway. He made that clear on the first day.

“Huh,” the human says. And that is it.

They had spent the rest of the journey in silence again, peacefully admiring the forests and mighty mountains in the light; and marvelling at the magnificent sights in the sky during the night.

The other one would usually gaze at the stars with unperturbed focus and non-blinking eyes. He would frown lightly from time to time, or his lips would quirk, as if he were devising plans with the celestial bodies themselves.

Túrin would always stay somewhere near, if not right beside the other one, discovering the objects of the renewed universe on his own, or through the other one's eyes. He would just stare and wonder, until his eyes dried out and weariness overcame his consciousness. Then he would just fall asleep in the soft grass and dream about a faint little light shining at him from the distance.

That dream keeps returning. A little light, flickering in between the trees, or just above the grass blades, or there, over a lake... It starts to occupy Túrin's thoughts even during the daytime. He shares images of it with the other one's mind, but to no avail.

The other one merely smiles. He does not need to say the words, Túrin understands he should just wait.

And wait he does.

One day, they leave the tall mountain range behind them, and take a rest under a tree upon a grassy hill. It's an apple tree, and there seems to be more of them down the slope. Further in the distance the terrain descends towards a great lake.

Túrin feels a questioning thought from the other one – the creature wants to know if Túrin likes it here. Túrin in turn shares his enchantment with the place.

The other one says nothing to that. He just nods his head and then thinks they should go and see the lake.

And there, upon the lakeshore, Túrin had found his little light. It had been still hidden in Nienor's womb, but this time, it had been allowed to grow. It had not ended buried under wild, cold waters.

The whole family had been there, and Túrin could hardly tell how many times they embraced each other, how many tears of joy had been shed.

It had taken him some time before he noticed another giant creature, tall, silent and waiting upon the water's edge, their shiny white hair waving softly in the wind, their fair face full of anticipation.

More than one family reunion had been witnessed by the lake on that day.

The moment the other one comes close enough, Manwë takes him in his arms and holds him close. The other one returns the embrace after a moment of reluctance, but with equal force and eagerness. They continue to stand like that until the evening, shrouded in two pairs of wings, peaceful and timeless, as if carved out of stone.

It is only when Túrin lights a fire and Nienor with Morwen start preparing roast fish when Manwë and his brother approach them.

“Túrin and Nienor, the decision how to live your lives is left in your hands. Choose on your own whether to remain brother and sister, or husband and wife.” The white-winged Vala says. “Anyway you choose, I wish you happiness and joy, to you and your beloved.”

“Farewell, Túrin.” The other one says without really speaking, and only Túrin can hear him in his mind (or so he thinks). “This is the last time you see me in this world. You may still reach my thoughts, though, or look through my eyes, if you wish. Anytime.

Túrin, however, feels lost. He does not know what to say.

“Don't trouble yourself,” the other one thinks again. “You are not expected to say anything. Thank you for bringing me back to my brother.”

Túrin closes his eyes and nods silently. He looks up then. “Thank you for...”

But the two tall figures are gone.

They had never really talked about it, Túrin and Nienor. There had never been an official, solemn proclamation. However, Túrin had never again approached Nienor as a husband, so sister and brother they remained.

But that did not mean there was less love or care between them.

He would talk each evening to Nienor's growing belly, telling legends and stories to the unborn child. He would hold Nienor in his arms and kiss her on her hair or brow so many times each day.

He cries tears of sheer joy when he holds his daughter in his hands for the first time.

Nienor asks him if he wants to name the child. And of course, Túrin would love to. He has been thinking about it for so long, either quietly on his own, or together with Nienor; they have actually found many candidates, but now...

A memory comes to his mind. He recalls how this little girl used to appear to him back then, during his journey with the other one. She would be present in all his dreams – as a little light shining from afar. Like a stray star on the surface of Arda.

“Silevril.” he says with an unshaken certainty.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he is also quite sure he hears the other one chuckle.

The blaze of the Land of Light had already begun to dim, as the Trees were going to rest, and the shadow of the night-time was taking over. And the closer the twilight was, the more at peace Túrin felt. In the end, he realized his eyes were closing. Could it be he had forgotten about the promised night sky spectacle?

“Dad!” A young girl's voice woke him up from his daydreaming. It was her, his light, his only child, the most precious of creations on the surface of Arda Healed.

She was running up the hill, with a basket full of apples in one hand and the hem of her skirt in the other, her long, raven-dark curls flying in the wind.

Everyone kept saying she was his exact copy, just with softer features and with blue-grey eyes full of wonder and joy.

“Is anything happening yet?” she was shouting merrily over her heavy breathing.

“Nothing that I know of.” he replied with equal intensity, watching her run with a mild concern. “Slowly, child, no need to hurry. The night sky won't run away.”

The girl appeared to have taken no notice of the advice though. “Whoa...!” She blurted just a few steps away from Túrin, catching one rather fidgety apple in mid-air. “Yeah, I know.” she breathed out with a wide, partly apologetic smile, returned the fruit back to the basket and plumped down beside her frowning parent.

“So, any news on what we are supposed to see tonight?”

“No.” Túrin replied in a much milder voice than he originally intended.

“Did you try to ask for any clues...?”

“Of course I did. He remains secretive though.”

“But how long are we supposed to wait?”

“I don't know, Sil! If the wait is too long for you, why don't you go and help your mother?”

“Why, she sent me here.” the girl replied, a feeling of injustice perceptible in her tone. “Besides...” there she stopped abruptly, and stared down the slope, shielding her sight from the fading, but still present daylight.

“What?” Túrin wished to continue, but any further questions were silenced by his daughter's squeak of surprise and joy.

“Beleg!” She cried out and darted down the hill.

Watching the scene before him, said elf came to a halt and assumed a firm stance, waiting for the collision with Silevril's eager display of happiness. Still, they almost tipped over as she threw her arms around the elf's neck. Beleg held her tight, too, and they spun around a few times to prevent the fall, laughing all the while.

Túrin watched it all with keen eyes. He had to smile at his daughter's youthful enthusiasm. This was one of Beleg's shorter journeys, he had been away barely two weeks. Compared to his several other travels that had usually taken him a year's time, this was nothing.

And yet Silevril was so delighted to see him again.

Soft footsteps roused Túrin from his thoughts.

He gave his sister a quick glance, a warm smile and a nod of his head, too, but he could not really tear his eyes off his daughter frolicking with his best friend.

Nienor sat down beside him with a contented sigh. She laughed softly, watching the same scene.

“Hmm.” She said then, embracing her bent knees. “How long until they realize...”

“Realize?” Túrin asked, completely oblivious of the previous statement's meaning at first. But then: “Hm.” He huffed.

No, his 'hm' was not nearly as thoughtful as Nienor's.

Suddenly he felt there was something unnerving about the way Silevril welcomed Beleg back. Apparently, times were changing. Could it be that Túrin had not yet realized just how much taller his daughter became? Not until now? And not just taller, but older. More mature.

But no, there was nothing to realize yet, quite obviously. Silevril was still his beloved, precious child. And Beleg was still his friend, the best Túrin could ever have wished for. His friend. End of story.

Finally, Túrin jumped to his feet, too. After all, not only his daughter was eager to meet one silver-haired elf.

The Land of Light waned still, shining weaker and weaker with each breath taken, and the light of the stars was slowly beginning to manifest itself. At first, there were just a few of them, the most prominent and radiant. But as everything was getting darker, thousands of other, tinier lights were coming to life, too.

They were all seated around Túrin – his closest family, his everything. Beleg right beside him; Silevril huddled together with Lalaith just before them, and Nienor with Morwen and Húrin further down the slope.

Nienor was engaged in a very quiet conversation with the parents. Sil and Lalaith whispered something to one another every now and then, often with a smile or a hushed giggle, while the man and the elf remained quiet.

Once in a while Silevril would take a look over her shoulder, and most of the times those glances were addressed to her father. Sometimes though, her eyes would linger on their elven friend, and the way she smiled while doing that unsettled Túrin, again.

But maybe it was mere imagination; maybe he should stop overthinking this. And maybe he should just stop thinking about it altogether, as either way, there was nothing he could possibly change.

Sudden sighs of disbelief and astonishment brought him back to earth – and back to the starry sky the next instant.

The view was becoming clearer and clearer as they beheld it.

The familiar Milky Trail sprawled across the sky in its usual, dazzling manner. However, that was not all.

Tonight, there was something more. A giant elliptical shape, shining, glittering, notably in its brilliant core. A whirlwind of shimmering dust, silver and gold and black.

“Unbelievable.” breathed Nienor. “Looks like a cloud but...”

“Made of stars.” Silevril filled in. “Like the Milky Trail.”

Could it be true? Túrin wondered silently. All those dusty structures, could they truly be swarms of stars?

The answer was soon at hand as the other one let Túrin see through his eyes.

Amazement took over the human as he watched thousands, myriads of stars on their graceful, spiralling journey around the radiant core, each of them keeping their own, wondrous worlds... yet none like Arda Healed.

Now focusing on the centre, the other one's sight unveiled that secret place, too.

Shrouded in pure, blinding light so strong no mortal flesh could survive, lay a dark jewel, so dark and dense it was bending even the starshine, wrapping itself in it.

“This...” said Túrin, unable to find words. “What... What is it? What is inside?”

“No one knows.“ The other one replied, probably with a shrug. „Not even Varda, and she has made multitude of these. She says she made them in my likeness.”

“But that's no longer quite accurate, is it?” Túrin thought as memories of a sword being incorporated into a beating heart came into his mind. And memories of what followed came next.

“I guess not.” the other one acknowledged after a silent moment, and they both just continued gazing at the whirling light, and into the unknown, unfathomable darkness.

The question of what might be withheld behind these black walls still lingered inside Túrin's mind. The other one was aware of it and gave it another thought, too. “I guess my brother knows. He has always known, after all. All this time.”

Hearing these words, Túrin suddenly realized all the encircling light he had previously thought was static, was in fact in constant motion – motion so fast no human eye could truly follow. But like this, he could.

He also thought he understood the meaning of what the other one had just voiced, but was not certain enough.

“Look,” said the other one then, and the whole view before them retreated into far distance in an instant. Millions of stars followed, dashing forward, passing them by in swarms, until they left the giant star cloud itself. Túrin still kept admiring its greatness and brilliance, until the moment he felt he should tear his sight of it and look elsewhere.

And indeed, they were very faint and almost imperceptible at first, but then he could tell them apart from the dark, endless space around. Filaments of glowing matter, entangled into brighter bundles here and there.

“Aulë, Manwë and I, we have prepared foundations for other such star clouds within the Eä. Varda is now lighting up the stars within. We still continue. There seem to be no boundaries.”

Before he could reconsider, Túrin heard himself say: “That should keep you busy for some time, right?” Well, this certainly was not the thing he wished to convey, Túrin realized as he suddenly felt a strange pang. Thus, as he watched the endless maze of starshine, he added: “I mean, you all seem to have a lot to do then. And you and your brother have now enough time to make up for the past. All the ages to come.”

“As you say, child of Húrin.” The other one agreed. A simple statement, but thousands of other words waited beyond – their gravity could not be missed. But they were words one did not really need to say.

So, the other one continued: “Now, there's one last thing I would like you to see. Over there,” he said and the view spun. Normally it would make Túrin feel dizzy, but not here, not now.

Another star cloud came into view, smaller than the previous one, but beautifully shaped and coloured, sculpted with love.

“Home to Arda Healed.”

“Our home.” Túrin breathed.

Then he heard: “Time to return.”

And before he could possibly protest, there was the familiar, soft grass underneath him again. He felt the chilly breeze on his face, he heard the rustle of trees down the hill. He saw the magnificent view in the night sky above.

But he heard some other noises, too.

They were sitting right beside him, and were talking quietly, nearly whispering.

Túrin chose to remain motionless, though, not to reveal he was back and listening. First, he recognized Beleg.

“After all, you two could go with me, if you wish.” the elf was saying.

“Truly?” Silevril beamed, her sweet voice breaking through the quiet of the night. “I mean,” she added quickly, forcing her tone to lower again, “hopefully dad will agree.”

“I'm sure he will.” Beleg replied, definitely with a little smile. “It's past time for him to go on an adventure again.”

Túrin almost leapt up with an answer, but was able to overcome this initial urge and think twice. Well, his elven friend was right, was he not? It always came naturally to Túrin to wish for nothing else than to stay here, in the circle of his family, focusing fully just on his new life.

But the question should be: How? How could he still claim Beleg as his best friend after having overlooked him for so long? No wonder the elf had begun discovering what he was looking for in Silevril – in her eagerness to dart into the unknown, to run into the wild and start right where Túrin and Beleg had once ended.

Then Túrin heard his daughter say: “Yeah, I know, but...”

“But you seem to forget, Sil,” he cut in, finally joining the discussion, “that your father had once been notorious for making reckless decisions.”

But as for reckless decisions, this was not the case, Túrin thought to himself as he watched Silevril's radiant smile under the sky full of stars. No, this decision was made quickly, but based on a much-needed realization.

Túrin now saw that he merely wished to enjoy the presence of these two, his most beloved, to the fullest. He wished to be close to them before time steps forward again; before a breaking point is reached and the two realize they do not need Túrin's company quite as much as they used to.

“Dad!” Silevril exclaimed again, and leapt towards him to throw her arms around his neck. “But just to make sure... am I allowed to go with you?” Clearly, she had to say it.

“Of course you are.” Túrin murmured into her curly hair, very much like his own.

And he knew all was well, indeed.

(Spock's Beard - At the End of the Day)