Signs of Autumn: Harvest and Mists
Title: Morgoth's Harvest; Memory
Author: Zdenka
Characters/Pairing: Húrin, Morgoth; implied Húrin/Morwen
Rating: T
Warnings: Nirnaeth Arnoediad, aftermath of battle violence, desecration of corpses, minor character death, Morgoth being Morgoth; Húrin's captivity
Book/Source: Silmarillion and Children of Húrin
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or setting and make no profit from them.
I don't know why my brain saw a happy prompt like harvest and went immediately to the grimmest situation possible, but there you go.
Morgoth's Harvest
They have bound Húrin fast to a tree. He watches the Orcs labor like ants, hauling the bodies of the slain into a great heap. The heads are piled to one side, their hair yellow as corn--a terrible harvest.
An Orc holds up one head by the hair. The face and beard are streaked with blood, the eyes open and staring.
“Is this thy brother?” Morgoth asks disdainfully. “There are so many.”
It is his cousin Indor, Aerin’s father. Húrin feels his heart burn within him. He remains grimly silent; it is all he can give the dead now.
~
Memory
There is mist here sometimes, among the black jagged rocks, and Húrin remembers Dor-lómin. He cannot close his eyes, or look away from what Morgoth wills him to see. But Morgoth cannot stop him from seeing also what his memory brings him.
He liked to go outside in the early morning, leaving the warmth of his bed where Morwen still slept, and watch the mist drifting in the hollows of the hills. The chill in the air was pleasant, and finally he would go back inside to the fire-warmed hall.
The cold has long settled into his bones. Húrin waits.
Author: Zdenka
Characters/Pairing: Húrin, Morgoth; implied Húrin/Morwen
Rating: T
Warnings: Nirnaeth Arnoediad, aftermath of battle violence, desecration of corpses, minor character death, Morgoth being Morgoth; Húrin's captivity
Book/Source: Silmarillion and Children of Húrin
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or setting and make no profit from them.
I don't know why my brain saw a happy prompt like harvest and went immediately to the grimmest situation possible, but there you go.
Morgoth's Harvest
They have bound Húrin fast to a tree. He watches the Orcs labor like ants, hauling the bodies of the slain into a great heap. The heads are piled to one side, their hair yellow as corn--a terrible harvest.
An Orc holds up one head by the hair. The face and beard are streaked with blood, the eyes open and staring.
“Is this thy brother?” Morgoth asks disdainfully. “There are so many.”
It is his cousin Indor, Aerin’s father. Húrin feels his heart burn within him. He remains grimly silent; it is all he can give the dead now.
~
Memory
There is mist here sometimes, among the black jagged rocks, and Húrin remembers Dor-lómin. He cannot close his eyes, or look away from what Morgoth wills him to see. But Morgoth cannot stop him from seeing also what his memory brings him.
He liked to go outside in the early morning, leaving the warmth of his bed where Morwen still slept, and watch the mist drifting in the hollows of the hills. The chill in the air was pleasant, and finally he would go back inside to the fire-warmed hall.
The cold has long settled into his bones. Húrin waits.