Chapter 73: Growing strong my son

[General POV]

-Unknown Location, Third Age-

"Your presence indicates that the prophecy has changed. Be grateful, for the great and benevolent Eru has allowed a change in your destiny. But do not celebrate, mortal, for now, there must be balance," a deep voice filled with majesty resonated from the depths of the place, a location that exuded both death and peace.

This place was the final destination for all who dwelt in Arda, the great creation of Eru, the place of eternal rest, governed by Vala Mandos, the guardian of the Houses of the Dead and the summoner of the spirits of the slain. He forgets nothing; he knows all things that will be, except only those that lie within the freedom of Ilúvatar.

His silver-white hair cascaded like a waterfall over his shoulders, and his dark royal robe accentuated his glorious figure. A breastplate of the finest silver metal covered his chest. His very presence radiated divinity.

Seated on his throne, he gazed down at the small figure kneeling at his feet, his divine eyes, those with which he could see the future, as permitted by Eru's grace, looking with grandeur upon the human who had been allowed to enter his domain in flesh and bone.

"Manwë granted you the grace to tread this sacred land, Nienna has wept tears pleading for mercy on your soul, and Varda has guided you to find your answer. Speak, Túrin Turambar, what answer have you sought here?" demanded Vala Mandos. Yes, the mortal in his presence was Túrin, son of Húrin and Morwen, as well as the partner of Tindómiel and father of Aldril.

"Great Vala Mandos, my fate is one of doom; Morgoth's curse has befallen me. My unborn son will be cursed, awaiting misfortune and death. I have come to beg for mercy," Túrin spoke, his voice breaking as he imagined his son, his blood, cursed by the malice Morgoth had cast upon the line of Húrin.

"The fate of your son is uncertain, Túrin Turambar. The grace of Eru allows me to see only what he wills, but the decision you make today will weigh heavily on the uncertain future of your son," Mandos explained.

The fact that Eru did not allow him to see the future of Túrin's son meant that the boy had a crucial role in the unfolding events in Arda. Depending on Túrin's decision, Mandos might or might not be able to glimpse fragments of the future.

"I will accept any risk if it means my son can be born free of the curse I have carried through the ages," Túrin declared. He had only Tindómiel and his unborn son left. His sister had embraced the rest of death years ago, as had his parents and his best friend, Beleg.

He was willing to pay any price to ensure his family's well-being. Unbeknownst to him, Tindómiel's condition had worsened due to the pregnancy and the dark magic still lingering in her wound. However, she was a strong woman and didn't want to worry her partner, especially since they had already said their goodbyes.

Both knew that the price for removing Morgoth's curse would be great, and Tindómiel speculated on what Túrin might give in return. For that reason, she did not prevent his departure—it was all for the sake of their unborn child.

Mandos observed him with scrutinizing eyes. Ages ago, Eärendil, son of Tuor, had stepped onto this holy land seeking forgiveness and support from the Valar in the fight against Morgoth.

Mandos was intrigued by the creations of the great Eru. His curiosity had been piqued by Eärendil's boldness back then, and now he wished to see if this human would display the same courage as that half-elf.

"Your life is the price that will balance what has been written. The curse will be lifted, but you must remain here forever. You will not be resurrected in the final battle, when the chains that imprison the darkness are broken. Your son will take your place in the fight," Mandos stated, his eyes expectant for Túrin's response.

Túrin, with his head bowed, opened his eyes in amazement and fear. He didn't fully understand what Vala Mandos meant by the final battle, but he sensed it was the last battle against Morgoth if the unleashed evil was any indication.

Taking a deep breath, Túrin stood and looked Mandos directly in the eye. Determination was etched on his face, and there was no hesitation in his gaze. "I accept, if it means my son will grow up free from this curse."

Mandos fixed his divine gaze on Túrin. The human had shown no regret. He could feel the depth of Túrin's love; it was strong, and from that, he was not afraid to sacrifice himself for the future of his lineage. It was an act that captivated Mandos, helping him understand why the great Eru held humans in such high regard. After all, only they could have descendants with the Elves.

A thunderous noise shook the halls of his domain. His powerful, divine figure rose from the throne, his immense size leaving Túrin breathless. With a grace befitting his divinity, he descended until he stood beside Túrin.

"Come, son of Húrin, you will be the only human whom I personally will guide to eternal rest. Your role has ended; now your son will lead the final battle. The Dagor Dagorath is no longer your concern. You can now rest from your long years filled with pain."

Túrin offered no resistance. He didn't know what the Dagor Dagorath was, but it didn't matter. His son would now be free from the cursed fate of his lineage. He could depart in peace, knowing he had finally freed the line of Húrin. The rest was no longer in his hands; now, his son would have to forge his own future.

And so, the legend of Túrin Turambar found his long-sought rest. He did not worry for his son, knowing his beloved Tindómiel would care for him, and was certain that Finduilas would leave Lothlórien to be with his son. He knew she had always loved him, though he had not returned her feelings.

"I hope you grow strong, that the grace of the Valar protects you, my dear son, my dear Aldril."

-Unknown Location, Valinor, Present Day-

Luxurious tapestries adorned the rooms, their distinctive embroidered images telling the history of all that had transpired in Middle-earth, from the creation of Arda to the day-to-day events. Everything was woven into these beautiful fabrics.

"Hm" "Hm"

A soft melody was being hummed by a peerless beauty, an elf whose hair was as unique as her beauty. Silvery, like moonlight, it fell to her waist, an extremely rare trait among those created by the grace of Eru.

"Míriel, what story are you weaving?" asked a soft, melodic voice. A head of black hair contrasted with the silver locks of the one called Míriel. Black and silver, like the starry night created by Vala Varda.

Míriel, whom Tindómiel had interrupted, was the first wife of the Noldor king Finwë, as well as the mother of Fëanor. After her death, she was resurrected and put into the service of Vala Vairë, the wife of Vala Mandos, a Valar responsible for weaving the history of all that had occurred. The halls of Mandos were woven with stories by her hand.

Tindómiel, as the only woman with the grace and blessing of Vala Varda, had earned the favor of all the Valier (all the female Valar). This allowed her to enter the domain of these Valier. On her first visit to Vairë, she met Míriel, with whom she quickly formed a friendship.

With a soft, delicate voice like a flower, Míriel stopped weaving and looked up at Tindómiel. With a warm smile, she shifted so Tindómiel could see the tapestry.

"This time, it's your son. Vala Vairë wove it, and I am just adding it to the hall," she explained.

Tindómiel's eyes widened in surprise. She quickly examined the tapestry. There, wielding two swords that she instantly recognized, was a strikingly handsome half-elf, the resemblance to his father and Túrin unmistakable. His eyes, despite being mere embroidery, shone with a soft honey-colored glow, a clear trait he inherited from her.

Tindómiel gazed lovingly at the representation of her son. With a gentle movement of her hand, she caressed the tapestry, touching it delicately.

This was her son. The first time she saw his woven representation, she went mad with longing, desperately wanting to leave Valinor.

However, Manwë had not allowed it, as it was not yet time. Still, he had permitted her grandmother to raise her son, for which she was grateful, though also disappointed. She longed to embrace and shower her son with love.

Since then, she had visited, hoping to find more stories of her son. She stopped gazing at his figure, now focusing on what he was facing. She could see it, her son stood atop a structure, facing the cowardly dragon that had once fled from her. They were locked in a stare-down.

A city in flames served as their battlefield. The swords that had belonged to her and her partner were now wielded by her son. It was a spectacular sight. Without a doubt, Tindómiel was proud. She had no fear that her son would lose. After all, he was her son and had her talent, so a mere lizard wouldn't be an obstacle.

It was disappointing that this was all that was woven, there was no continuation, a sign that her son was currently fighting. With a smile, she closed her eyes and murmured, "I know you'll win, my dear Aldril. May Varda's grace protect you."

-A Few Weeks Earlier-

Despite Bombur's loss, the group resumed their journey. Now, fulfilling the promise they had made to Bombur had been added to their objectives. It had been about half an hour since they left that place behind. The river that traversed the elven territory led them to a vast lake.

There, a vessel awaited them. It wasn't an elvish boat, but rather the boat of a human, who was busy collecting fish. This sight seemed to infuriate Thorin, who had expected to have their own boat ready. However, Tauriel's words quickly eased his anger.

"We don't have boats, as the goods are left here at the dock," she explained to Aldril, who also looked puzzled. Tauriel's explanation made sense to him. It wasn't surprising, after all, the Silvan Elves of Thranduil wouldn't venture into human cities. Perhaps they had once allied against Sauron, but those humans were mostly Númenóreans.

"Very well, let's approach," Thorin said with a hint of reluctance in his voice.

The boatman, noticing them approach, stopped loading his catch and turned to them, asking, "Do you need something?" He looked a bit puzzled; it was an unusual sight to see. After all, dwarves, a human, and an elf together was a rare combination.

"Yes, I am Thorin Oakenshield, and this is my company. We were wondering if you could take us to Esgaroth," Thorin replied. They were already familiar with the city from their prior research. There were still a few days left until Durin's Day, so their best bet was to pass through this city to reach Erebor faster.

The boatman nodded in understanding. It wasn't uncommon for dwarves to visit Esgaroth; sometimes they ventured to Erebor, only to return disappointed, as there was no entrance to be found. Moreover, the dragon that still resided within inspired fear in those who tried to enter, so he found it not at all strange that this group of dwarves would ask to be taken to Esgaroth.

"Pleasure to meet you, Thorin Oakenshield. I am Bard, and I can take you there for a few silver coins," Bard said, seizing the opportunity to earn some money. After all, he had to take care of his three children.

"Bard," Aldril murmured, a smile forming on his face.

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Nasty orcs! here you have your chapter, the next chapters will be faster because I want to advance the plot.

Psdt: My damn back hurts!

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