The Eagles bring Húrin and Huor to Gondolin and then back to their kin a
year later. Maeglin has a lot of complicated feelings about that,
especially when it comes to the latter.
The last time the Eagles had come so close, they had delivered the crushed body of the fallen High King, your grandfather. This time, they carry two living people. Two boys of the Edain, of the House of Hador. You have not watched their arrival, busy
in your workshop as usual for that time of day. A servant is sent to
summon you to the Palace because of the occasion, and you hear further
rumours from Salgant and Penlod on the way.
When you arrive in your uncle’s throne room, the audience is just beginning. The
two boys are standing in the middle of the hall, already clean and
dressed in Gondolindrim clothes. King Turgon must have formally welcomed
them already. It seems that Idril was the one who had led them inside
and introduced them, as she is currently standing next to them.
“… everything will be alright, you’re safe now and all of us will treat
you as honoured guests,” you hear her say as you come closer. “And I shall pray to the Valar for the safety of your kin, as well.”
She is smiling at them and has put her hand on the younger one’s shoulder.
It reminds you of the time shortly after your own arrival, when she had
acted similarly towards yourself. You have remembered that kindness
whenever you doubted how much she truly liked you, or if you even had a
place in Gondolin. It irks you to see that she would apparently treat
anyone she regarded as in need of help the same, though you tell
yourself that such thoughts are below you. Naturally, Idril would be
kind and generous to anyone. That’s what makes her the great lady she is.
You nod in her direction when she catches your eye, then take
your place among the other court members and continue to observe the
Edain. They are looking around in awe, the younger one more obviously
than the older, who at least manages to thank Turgon and Idril, but both
are clearly amazed by the beauty around them. One of the courtiers
whispers their names – Húrin and Huor of Dor-Lómin – to you.
Meanwhile, your uncle starts to explain what they need to know about the city and their stay in it.
“Gondolin, or Ondolindë in Quenya, was built with security in mind. Though our
walls are strong, the best insurance is our secrecy. I do not believe
that either of you would ever consciously reveal its existence or
location to the Enemy – and yet, I must tell you that by our laws you may not leave.”
You can see the exact moment their joy fades. The older of the two, Húrin, takes no more than a second to arrange his face into something that is clearly meant to be a blank
expression, yet fails to hide how tense he feels now. You would not be
surprised if he were already planning how to address this matter later.
“I understand, my lord and king. My brother and I will respect your
decision,” he says for now, though it’s obvious he doesn’t understand at
all. Huor, a child still, does not even try to hide his shock.
Suddenly, you feel sympathy for them; for all they claim to have fought Orcs in
battle, they are mere boys, being told they will never see their family
again… Their short lives must make it all worse. If nothing changes
within the next few decades, it will be too late for them.
But it is necessary for the safety of the city, and the needs of the many must
be prioritized before the needs of the few. You squash whatever you were
feeling. Your sympathy or pity will not help them. Your uncle won’t
change his mind about the law, nor should he have to. Thinking about the
impossible is useless, you know that from experience, and entertaining
this particular line of thought would only lead you to waste your time
on might-have-beens again.
The boys are ushered away to their guest-rooms. The more you consider it, the more disagreeable does Huor’s open-mouthed dismay seem to you. His older brother had to nudge him just to get him to say some words of gratitude to Turgon.
They ought to be happy to be here. The life standard and the opportunities are bound to be better than where they’re from, you tell yourself. And there’s two of them, so it’s not like they will be all that lonely even if they fail to fit in with everyone else. If they are wise, they’ll see the benefits soon.
Less than a year later, the friendships they have struck with all the
important people and the fervent way they talk of the war outside bear
fruit. Turgon still says that letting them leave is „not a decision to
be made lightly“, but you suspect that it is a decision he will soon make.
The unfairness of it is making you seethe. You cloak
yourself in righteous words about the security risk, the laws and the
precedent it would set, and many listen. But there are enough people –
Idril among them – who are certain that Húrin and Huor are trustworthy
enough to ignore the potential problems their loyalty couldn’t remove.
Such as the fact that their people are bound to wonder where they were.
More so if they return having obviously spent all this time among Elves
they won’t talk about, than if they never do. The more you think about
it, the more good reasons there are to protest against their leaving.
For a while that even keeps you from thinking about why this particular
injustice hurts so much. But in the end, there is nothing you can do
when Turgon lets them go with his blessing. Even their vows, despite
allaying most of the security concerns, are no balm to you.
How can he just- the law should be the same for everyone- why couldn’t he, back then- what if he had…
All the might-have-beens are on your mind once again.
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