~Aerneth gets a call from Thranduil and finds out what happened with Túrin and the dragon. Later, she decides to speak about her troubles for the first time.~

oOo

Therapy

River Narog, First Age 497

From her shelter behind a rock, Aerneth noticed Galadriel walking towards her with a determined look on her face. The ellith of the company were drying themselves after a cold bath in the river, but Aerneth had chosen a spot as far away from the others as possible.

"It has been weeks since we left and you have hardly said a word yet." Galadriel's eyes were unusually soft. "Do you not want to talk about it? It would make you feel better."

Aerneth dropped her gaze. She did not even want to think about the things that had happened recently, let alone speak of them.

"Keeping your sorrows locked inside will make everything worse." Galadriel moved closer.

"What could be worse than the fact that my husband will soon be killed by a dragon?" She clenched her jaws to hinder her lip from trembling.

"You know he may make it out of there before that happens, if it does at all. Melian saw Thingol wearing the Silmaril in a necklace, and then murdered – neither of those things has come to pass yet. The things you and I saw both did – exactly the way we saw them."

"I know. But..." Aerneth broke off. How could she explain to Galadriel that things would not be better even if Thranduil survived and they were rejoined? He would always be his father's son, and she would come second. After everything she went through to go to Doriath; the pain and fear she suffered in Nargothrond and at the hands of the orcs, the deaths she witnessed – all that, and Thranduil had still chosen Oropher over her.

"This is not only about the dragon, I think," said Galadriel. Her sharp eyes missed nothing. "Why don't you start at the beginning. You were very young when you met your husband, were you not? And I seem to remember he wasn't overly fond of you at that time."

Aerneth bit her lip. It was so tempting to reply, but also frightening. How could she ever look Galadriel in the eye again if she knew the humiliating truth? That Aerneth had coaxed Thranduil into marrying her before he was ready, and as a consequence his father hated her, and his mother took her own life. And then she made matters worse by joining the war against his will, kissing another elf, and saying those horrible things to Thranduil afterwards... 

No. Nobody could ever know.

"I have to go," she murmured, and hurried away to the other ellith.

oOo

The Mouths of Sirion, First Age 499

Two years had passed since her return home, and as usual, Aerneth did her best to keep away. Pushing her small canoe into the water, she paddled out into the bay, following the coastline west. It was an early morning, and the haven was nearly deserted, but she knew it would soon bustle with activity. When it did, she would be safe in her sheltered little creek.

Glancing across her shoulder, she regarded the piers, the swan ships, the white buildings and the river outlet. There was the Doriath enclave further inland, but apart from that, everything looked exactly as when she had left it. She was different, though. In the years she was gone, she had aged what felt like decades. And she no longer felt at home here.

Not that she had ever felt that this was home, really. Home was in Eglarest where she was born; in the beautiful city house that Morgoth's army had burned in the Fall of the Falas, and the little cottage where her mother had molded clay figures and painted lifelike sea drawings.

Nana. Home was with Nana...

Aerneth had almost reached her hideout, and turned from the open sea into a narrow slit between two steep cliffs. Their sheer, rough surfaces and the shadowy water below always reminded her of the Firth of Drengist where she had travelled with Arminas and Gelmir as Círdan's messenger that time – which had been one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen. This was a bleak copy, but she liked it a lot nonetheless.

About a hundred yards into the creek, she pulled the boat up on a calm little beach and made herself comfortable in the dry sand. It was so relaxing to listen to the rippling wavelets, the wind in the underbrush and the seafowl crying in the distance. Thank the Valar for this place!

Since her return here, Aerneth felt even less like she belonged in her father's house – a house where she now lived all alone. If Círdan had missed her or worried about her during her absence he had not shown it, and instead dumped everything in her lap and left as soon as he could. He was building a new, stronger city on the nearby Isle of Balar, and had seemed relieved to have someone to put in charge of the old colony. She was the leader of the Mouths of Sirion now.

Though she hated the responsibility, Aerneth agreed with the wisdom in her father's decision. The Isle of Balar was more remote, and much easier to defend.

If only ruling had been easier... There was so much to do, and so little time. The corn must be harvested and prepared, the lembas bread baked, fishing and hunting trips organised and protective walls maintained against spring floods in the river. She tried to delegate, but some things had to be taken care of by the leader in person. Especially the numerous disputes.

She blamed the immigrants for those, the Iathrim as they had begun to name themselves. During their journey from Doriath, Oropher's friend Amdír had seized leadership over the others, despite Celeborn's claim as King Thingol's relative. Most seemed happy with that; Amdír had been a trusted advisor to the king and had a knack for organisation and economy. Galadriel had been the most vocal opponent, but since her husband seemed not to care, the leadership went to the one who wanted it most.

Under Amdír, the immigrants had not just quietly settled there when they arrived, but instead demanded their own land and autonomy from Círdan's rule. This did not sit well with some of the remaining Falathrim, particularly since the Iathrim seemed more intent on taking than providing to the community at large, and the result was endless quarrels where Aerneth had to intervene and try to mediate. She was quite sick of it.

It was to get a break from the bickering and unrest that she had escaped today, despite how busy she was; living in Oropher's house had provided enough arguments to last her a lifetime. Maybe if she kept away, the people would solve their stupid fights themselves?

Sometimes she was almost glad that Oropher and Thranduil had not followed her. If it was this bad with only Amdír, what would it have been like if Oropher had led the Iathrim enclave? At other times she contemplated how things would have turned out if she had stayed; stayed to die in Doriath with her husband. Would that decision have healed the rift between them?

Perhaps.

What if she had made the wrong choice?

Sighing, Aerneth leaned back on the sand and gazed at the sky. Regrets and what-ifs were pointless. She had done what she did, and she could not go back in time and change that. Like Thranduil often said; it was what it was. She just had to accept it.

To clear her mind, she reached out mentally to the living things around her. It was a good distraction from all her problems and worries.

Letting herself submerge into almost a trance, Aerneth listened to the thoughts of the dry shrubs and tiny, purple flowers growing on the cliffs, the birds in the sky and a seal hunting nearby. How easy lives they had! She envied them.

oOo

She must have fallen asleep after a while, for the feeling of someone thinking her name woke her up abruptly. It was Thranduil! Blinking against the sun, now almost at its zenith, Aerneth urgently looked around for a smoother water surface than the sea. Worry welled up within her. Was this the time? Had the dragon come to Doriath?

A puddle of briny water would have to do. Wiping away slimy algae and tiny shrimps, Aerneth opened the connection.

Thranduil's face when it formed looked stiff and detached. Something horrible must have happened, but at least he was alive. She forced her heart to beat slower.

"Good afternoon, wife. I call to inform you that the dragon is dead. Your worry in that department was needless." His voice was cold and impassive.

Aerneth stared at him. Dead? Images formed unbidden in her mind; flames and smoke filling the halls of Nargothrond, screaming, panicking elves and swirling reptile eyes. With an effort, she forced the memories away.

"That's great," she managed to reply.

"Túrin slayed it. And then himself."

"What?" Túrin – killing himself? That seemed impossible. She remembered how proud and strong the young man had been, but then the dragon had bewitched him and tricked him. Could he have been so changed by the experience that he did not want to live anymore? "Tell me what happened from the beginning. Last time I saw Túrin he was on his way to his homeland, beguiled by the dragon."

"I don't really want to talk about it." Despite his glassy face, Thranduil's eyes were brimming with grief. He had loved that young man so much, and now he was gone. Dead.

Aerneth suddenly remembered something Galadriel had said on the journey south; that keeping sorrows to oneself would only make them worse. She had not quite believed it then, and remained silent about her own troubles – but somehow when it was not about herself she understood the wisdom in Galadriel's words.

"Please. Humour me," she coaxed.

Thranduil sighed, but obeyed. He told her that he had not had time to think much about Túrin or the dragon at first, for the city had been in an uproar and the king furious with the 'deserters', as he called the ones who had left with Aerneth. He had driven his march-wardens harder than ever, doubling the guards at the border and making them work long shifts. It was exhausting, but understandable too. With so many warriors gone, and a dragon and scores of orcs roaming freely at Nargothrond and the Guarded Plain, Doriath was no longer as safe as it had been.

After about a year of hard work, Captain Mablung got word that the dragon had left its lair in the ruins of Nargothrond and come to Brethil, and that it was going to kill a man living there – a man with a black sword. After discussing it with Thranduil, the two captains decided to go to Brethil and see if this mysterious man was who they suspected – namely Túrin.

They had almost reached the Crossings of Teiglin when they saw a man lying beside the river.

"I almost didn't recognise him," said Thranduil. "I had not seen Túrin for many years then, and the change was dreadful. His face had grown thin, almost bony, and he was covered in bruises like from a fist fight. His clothes were dirty and torn into shreds." Thranduil rubbed his forehead. "He said we had come too late, and that the dragon was dead already. Then he asked about his mother and sister, demanding that we said they were safe in Doriath. 'They are with you. I heard they are with you.' He repeated that even after we told him we had lost them."

Aerneth vaguely remembered that Morwen and Niënor had disappeared shortly before she left Doriath, but at that time she had not paid much attention to it. Her own problems had been dire enough.

"What happened to them after you lost them? Did they ever return?" she asked.

"Nay. But as we later learned from the Men of Brethil, Niënor wandered into their realm and was found there by Túrin, lying naked at Finduilas' burial mound."

"But then why did he ask about her?" Aerneth again forced away disturbing mental images; this time it was Finduilas' and the other ellith's corpses she saw.

"He didn't recognise her as his sister. They had never met, because he left his home before she was born, and when she came to Brethil the dragon had messed with her head and made her lose her memory. She couldn't even speak at first, they said." Thranduil drew a deep breath. "And this is the worst part. For... Apparently Túrin thought finding her was a sign. Finduilas had died on that hill because of his bad choices, and now another blonde girl was discovered at the same place. So he married her. Túrin married his sister."

"Oh no!"

"It gets worse."

Looking more stony and expressionless than ever, Thranduil related the rest of the tragedy. Túrin and Niënor had been married about a year when she became pregnant with his child. Not long after, the dragon went north, burning the Guarded Plain in its search for Túrin, so the young man decided it was time to kill his nemesis once and for all. Taking some men with him he left the forest.

On seeing the huge monster the others fled. Túrin continued alone and bravely smote the dragon with his black sword. Glaurung, however, was not so easily defeated. He clinged to life, thrashing and trembling wildly, spewing fire all around him. Struggling in his death throes he managed to paralyse Túrin with his foul gaze, and the man fell to the ground like dead.

Then Niënor came to look for Túrin and found his apparent corpse. But the dragon was still not dead. With his last breath, Glaurung cruelly restored her memory – exposing everything about who she was, and who Túrin was – and then, having fulfilled his evil mission from the Dark Lord Morgoth, he finally died.

Left was the poor girl, who looked with shock and disgust at her husband's body, who she now knew was her brother as well as the father of her unborn child. It was too much to bear. Before anyone could stop her she jumped into the river and drowned herself.

After waking up from his daze, Túrin returned to Brethil. The human leader there had witnessed the final encounter between Niënor and Glaurung, and now he tried to tell Túrin that his wife was dead and that she had been his sister.

Túrin didn't believe him, or didn't want to believe. In a fit of rage he killed the man, and then fled to Finduilas' grave – where Thranduil and Mablung had found him.

"Like I said before, he seemed very strange and almost desperate for information about his mother and sister. Of course, it was only afterwards we found out why." Thranduil's jaw set. "When Mablung told him how Niënor had followed us when we went to scout around Nargothrond that time, and how the dragon made her lose her mind and run away naked – then Túrin must have added two and two together and realised the man he killed had been right. So he started to laugh, a manic, frightening laugh, and cursed Mablung. He said lots of other strange things too. I cannot even remember it. And then he ran away. We followed him as best we could, though he ran like a wild beast, but we... were too slow. When we caught up with him he had thrown himself on that accursed black sword and was dead." Thranduil paused, and for a short moment his shield wavered.

"I'm so sorry..."

"We buried him right there, and the Men of Brethil helped. It was from them we found out the rest of the story I just told you." Abruptly, Thranduil changed the topic. "So. That was my news. How are things in the south?"

Aerneth felt numb. Despite Thranduil's mastery attempt at hiding it, she could see how much he was hurting. She wanted to console him but had no idea how. He was so far away.

"Come to me," she whispered impulsively.

Her words seemed to catch him off guard. Suddenly his eyes became misty and he turned his face away. "I cannot. You know I cannot..." His voice was muffled.

"Then how can I comfort you?"

He was silent for a long while before he replied unusually softly: "You already did. You listened."

oOo

When Aerneth returned to the settlement, her mind was a flurry of emotions. Thranduil had talked to her, shared his pain, and somehow that had helped. Perhaps Galadriel was right about not locking up your sorrows? Talk about it. It would make you feel better. Those had been her words.

Almost by their own volition, Aerneth's feet continued walking when she arrived at her lonely home. She would visit Galadriel and Celeborn tonight and see where that led her. Yes. She had never been to their house, though Galadriel had invited her several times. It was due time.

The Iathrim enclave was further inland than the Falathrim settlement. It was logical – the immigrants had lived in a forest, and though there were no trees here like the ones they had left, the marshy pine wood was closest to the kind of nature they were used to.

Lately they had built a fence to separate their part of the land from the Falathrim's, and to her surprise there was a guard at the gate today – one she knew well, at that.

"Amroth!" She nodded at him. "You have become a march-warden again, then?"

To his defense he looked a bit awkward when he saw her. "My adar thought we needed control over who comes and goes. I know it's rather silly, but..." He left the sentence hanging.

"... but you humour him. I understand." Aerneth felt a twinge of anger. Unlike Thranduil, Amroth had managed to persuade his father to leave Doriath, but there ended the differences. They both obeyed their fathers' whims in everything, even when they disagreed. They were loyal sons – in a bad way. "Can I enter, or is this part of the city closed for seafolk like me?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you can." Amroth stepped aside, and even bowed to her when she stomped past.

Still in a bad mood, Aerneth continued down the muddy path. She realised she had no idea which house was Galadriel's, but returning to the gate to ask Amroth was out of the question. Instead she spotted another of Thranduil's friends, an ellon named Medlin.

While Medlin led her to the right house, it struck Aerneth that Thranduil must be very lonely in Doriath. Amroth and Medlin had both come here, Beleg was dead, and now Túrin too. Had he any friends left there besides Mablung?

Well, she thought bitterly, at least he had his beloved father.

Galadriel's house was not big, but neat, and the pine boards still smelled of fresh resin. Behind it was a garden where a grass-like crop grew in dense clusters. As Aerneth came closer, she recognised the thick ears ripe with yellow corn.

So. Galadriel was making her own lembas now. Even in that, the Iathrim apparently wanted to be independent.

It was Galadriel who opened on Aerneth's knock, and her face immediately broke into a welcoming smile. "You came at last! And right in time for supper."

The meal was very different from any Aerneth had had before. Not the food – which was quite ordinary – but the polite, rather stiff conversation between the spouses. They spoke about the weather, the food, and the work still needed to be done on their house, with about the same warmth as two old, not very close acquaintances.

Afterwards, Galadriel took Aerneth's arm and led her on a tour around the house and garden. She proudly showed the corn field – apparently Queen Melian had given her the seeds – and a small shed which she had turned into a makeshift bakery. Behind it they passed through an opening in a hedge, which surrounded a secluded flower garden. A small stream had been led through it, and on a flat stone stood a silver bowl and a pitcher.

"How do you like my mirror?" Galadriel lovingly touched the shiny surface of the bowl.

"Beautiful. You use it for your visions?"

"Aye. And for communication, just like you. I still keep in touch with Lúthien and Melian." She sighed wistfully. "Oh, I miss them so much."

The two ellith sat down together on a bench between two rose bushes. It was late summer but a few flowers still remained on them, and together with a thicket of honeysuckle they emitted a lovely scent in the evening air. The only annoyance was the ever present mosquitoes who disturbed the peaceful ambience with their whiny song.

Galadriel put her arm around Aerneth and unexpectedly pulled her close. "I am glad that you came at last."

A bit baffled, Aerneth returned the hug. "I would have come sooner, but I have been busy running the colony and everything..."

"I know, I know. It is just... Well, you know how it is, being the odd one out. I am Noldor, and the more tight this community grows, the more an outsider I feel. Back in Doriath I was not the only one. There was Melian with her Maiar origin, and Lúthien, a half-Maia, and you from the Falas." A mosquito landed on her arm and she shooed it away. "I miss having friends like that."

Aerneth nodded; she knew all about not belonging. "Well, at least you have your husband," she said carefully, remembering the awkward meal they just shared.

Galadriel laughed. "Oh, him... Well, much as I love Cel, he is a bore. We do not have much in common."

Love? Did she really? Aerneth suddenly doubted that, but of course she could not say so.

"Besides, he is not home much," Galadriel continued. "Work, you know. He is in the team that irrigates the swampy parts of the colony, and recently he started a project to build houses on platforms to keep them off the mud there. The lack of wood in the area makes it challenging, however." She tried to swat another mosquito. "This is a horrible place, really, if you don't mind me saying so."

"I agree." Aerneth's words were heartfelt.

"When the war is over – let's move somewhere else," Galadriel suggested. "I am curious about the east. You know, across the mountains were our kind first awakened."

"Sure." She smiled wryly. "We just have to beat Morgoth. No problem."

"And his dragons." Galadriel turned serious again.

"One is down, at least." Aerneth shared the news she had got from Thranduil.

"So you spoke with your husband. That explains why you looked so morose when you came here." Her penetrating eyes landed on Aerneth, making her feel naked – like Galadriel could read her mind.

"I did." She decided to be open, for a change. "I hated to see how much he was hurting, so I told him to come here. But he refused again, of course."

"Of course?" she repeated. "You find it natural then, that an ellon would not want to be with his wife?"

"For him it is natural." Aerneth met the unwavering gaze in those clear, blue eyes. "You once asked me to tell you the whole story. Do you still want to hear it?"

"I still do." Galadriel pressed her arm encouragingly.

Aerneth drew a deep breath, bracing herself. She realised she had come here with the sole intention of finally getting everything off her chest. If it could ease the burden a little, then even admitting her own shortcomings would be worth it.

"I was just an elfling when I first met Thranduil..." she began.

oOo

The sun was long gone and the moon had taken its place on the sky when Aerneth finished. By then she had shed many tears, and even Galadriel had wiped her eyes once or twice, and in Aerneth's chest there was a strange emptiness. Like she had literally dug out parts of herself and thrown them away.

"This is a sad tale," Galadriel said after a moment of thoughtful silence. "You have been unlucky to be caught in that mess."

"I wasn't caught. I jumped into it with open eyes." Aerneth's voice was hoarse from all the talking. "I brought this on myself. My bad choices... my faithlessness."

Galadriel cupped Aerneth's cheek. "Nobody is flawless, but you are too cruel with yourself. You were young and in love; of course you did what you could to get your ellon." Her eyes grew distant. "Did I not do the same? I came alone to Doriath, just like you with the purpose to learn how to bake lembas. And then I met this handsome young prince... I did not wait to get to know him better. All I wanted–" She suddenly broke off and looked away. "You and I are more alike than you think."

"Do you regret it?"

"What is the point?" Galadriel made a wry face. "My marriage is comfortable and tranquil. We are a good team; we get along well. I cannot remember ever fighting with Cel, actually. But... I won't lie. There is no passion. And there are times when I wish... things were different."

"Passion. Well, there is no lack of that between Thranduil and I..."

"Perhaps that is part of your problem? You are too alike. Both are passionate souls with strong emotions, and strong wills. Love and hate are branches on the same tree – not far apart."

"Maybe."

"It is not only about the compatibility of the two of you, however. Your relationship may have been rushed, but what strikes me is what an unhealthy family you married into. I wonder how they managed to hide it so well – for, it must have been going one since before Thranduil was born. Perhaps even before then. Oropher's adar... I never liked him. He died in the first Battle of Beleriand, I recall."

"Unhealthy, how?"

"The controlling behaviour, the violence. And the guilt. Oropher plays on his son's love and sense of duty to fetter him to himself. You have described several times when Thranduil tried to get away, but every time he got pulled back and tied down even tighter."

"You mean when we moved to Eglarest?"

"That, and when he followed Túrin to live as an Outlaw. He used you and Túrin as means to break free of his adar's grasp, because in telling himself it was your idea he could ease his guilt about doing it."

"Are you saying he used me?" Aerneth frowned.

"I am sorry, but aye, I think he did."

"Nay. He loves me!"

"I am sure he does – or believes he does – but has he ever defended you against his adar? I mean, not physically, but verbally? When Oropher blamed you for something, did he ever take your part?"

Aerneth could not reply.

Galadriel nodded knowingly. "Growing up under the shadow of such an adar, Thranduil has learned to do what he must to protect himself. Maybe he will heal eventually, but not until he breaks completely with Oropher. And I don't think he ever will."

Mutely, Aerneth looked at her shaking hands in her lap. I don't think he ever will. She wanted to yell at Galadriel that she was making things up. Of course Thranduil would be free of his father eventually; he just needed more time. But even thinking the words felt like a lie.

I don't think he ever will.

"You should protect your heart. I see only sorrow in a future with him."

"You saw our future?" She glanced at the mirror.

"I meant figuratively; I cannot control what visions the mirror shows. But even if that were possible, and you looked into it – if you are completely honest with yourself, do you think you would see a happy ever after for you and Thranduil?"

Aerneth bit her trembling lip. "Only if he chooses me. If he leaves Oropher, then perhaps we can mend things..."

Galadriel's eyes filled with compassion. "If he leaves Oropher," she repeated. It was clear what she thought the odds were for that. "Perhaps living apart like this is not a bad thing," she added thoughtfully. "Perhaps it is a blessing."

❈ ❦ ❈

A/N:

The part of the Silmarillion where Túrin dies is so sad, and I think that's why this chapter took so long to write. I don't want him to die... I hate that so many bad things happen to him. So, instead of writing this chapter, I wrote a challenge for the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang, namely a short fix-it story for Túrin, Niënor and Finduilas. In my version, Finduilas manages to escape and survives, which changes canon a lot. The story's called Túrin and the Dragon, and you can find it in my short story collection Mimi's Middle-earth Tales.

Finally: To all who are still bearing with me and following this story despite the embarrassingly slow updates! A word of encouragement: If Aerneth could control the mirror, she would see a happy ever after in hers and Thranduil's future. Trust me! (I mean, who else? I'm the author)

Thanks a lot for your support, votes and comments. ♡

Image Credits:

Screenshot from The Witcher Season 2