Story: Requiem

[clotho123.livejournal.com]

Title: Requiem
Rating: General
Summary: Turgon reflects after his father's death.  
Note: This short was meant to be for Fingolfin month but ended as a bit of a Turgon character study.  Turgon is not one of my favourites, but I find writing this has made me a little more sympathetic towards him.

We buried my father outside the city.

 

The city wept: my daughter, the lords, even Maeglin, who had never known my father, had tears in his eyes. They wept for my father, and I think that they should have sung of him more often. There will be songs now, I am sure, but did he not deserve them in his life?

 

But does that matter beside my own failures?

 

I think on my withdrawal, from Beleriand, from my kin. I wished to keep my followers safe, but did I not know it must have hurt him? I think how I did not even tell him when Aredhel died (but was that not my cowardice, my fear to break the news?) I think of my anger, not open defiance but evident to him, when he reconciled with Feanor’s line (should I have no say? Who else of our house had lost as I had?); then when he called Thingol overlord for the sake of peace.

 

I though he had no pride. Should I not have thought of how he put his pride aside? Should I not have admired him then, as greatly as I did upon the Ice, when his strength led us on. Is it not more noble to put the greater good ahead of one’s own wishes, as he did when he held out the hand of peace to his brother? A king myself, now I understand the greatness of kingship in him.

 

Most of all I think on how I failed him at the last. On how when the eagles brought word of his wish for a great assault on Angband I held my hand, I stood aside. Of how, even when Beleriand was in flame I held aloof.

 

I did it for my people, to keep them safe. Surely he would have understood that? He loved the Noldor, all of them, even those that followed his half-brother. Surely he would understand that I acted for the best for those who follow me.

 

Yet as I stand by the green mound that is his tomb I know that will not be enough. I think on my brother, on whom it now falls to lead our folk. We were not alike, never close. In my heart I felt myself the more like our father and resented the suspicion that he loved my brother best. But I have stood now by my father’s broken body, and thought that might have been avoided had I joined the war. My father might live if I had put love of him first, or love of all our folk before love of a few. As he did, as he always did. I think of his courage in facing Morgoth, beyond hope, and know myself shamed. 

 

Now the Doom has fallen on him, who accepted it willingly to bring what aid he could to a lost folk, and there is nothing I can do save as he would have wished. If Fingon asks for my help I will come.