Categories > Books > Lord of the Rings
Sons of Hador
1 reviewThird companion story of the Laurëlumenyárë Tales. Húrin and Huor find themselves in an unexpected, new place.
0Boring
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make nothing financially off of this story. Everything belongs to Tolkien.
Author's Note: The title reflects that Húrin and Huor are sons of the House of Hador (their grandfather's house) rather than the literal meaning of being a father son relationship, which would rather have been relating to Gador.
Sons of Hador
Everything was soft.
To Húrin, it was strange to find himself in this place separated from the world he knew. Gondolin, the Hidden City of the elves, kept him and his brother safely between its walls. As the eagles had brought them out of the fog, Húrin had spotted the bright jewel of the city standing beautifully against the mountains and green valley floor. It was awe-inspiring to see and nothing they had seen before could compare.
The elves had been so kind and accommodating to them and even King Turgon accepted them gladly. Quickly they had been whisked away after being greeted. The seamstresses had given them clothing of the finest silk and fabrics. Next, they ate with the King and his family with so much food that it would have been considered a feast back in Brethil. Now, they lay in separate beds with feathered pillows and fluffed comforters along with satin linens. Such luxury they had not expected nor seen before.
Despite feeling exhaustion trying to drown his mind into slumber, Húrin could not seem to fall asleep. He was not certain if it was because he was unaccustomed to such comforts. He was used to the mattress of the hard ground beneath him or the thing padding of furs that was his bedding at home, but this was wholly different for him.
"Húrin?"
Sitting up in bed, the eldest of the two brothers glanced across the dark room.
"What is it, Huor?"
"I cannot sleep," the young teen commented. "I feel tired but it does not seem to matter."
"I know," Húrin said with a heavy sigh then silence followed for a few minutes.
"What do you think is happening at home?" Huor asked. "Do you think they are all right?"
"Our uncle's troops were not far away," Húrin said, staring now at the ceiling. "Brethil was safe even if our own soldiers were killed."
"What do you think we should do?" his brother asked. "Will we go home?"
"I don't know," Húrin said truthfully. "It may be best for us to let things be."
"I like it here," Huor said on the verge of a yawn. "Maybe we can stay... just for a while."
"It is not safe yet to leave," Húrin said, starting to finally feel his eyelids grow heavy. "We can ... wait."
As he finally fell into his dreams, all Húrin could think of was how the softness truly was not all that bad.
Author's Note: The title reflects that Húrin and Huor are sons of the House of Hador (their grandfather's house) rather than the literal meaning of being a father son relationship, which would rather have been relating to Gador.
Sons of Hador
Everything was soft.
To Húrin, it was strange to find himself in this place separated from the world he knew. Gondolin, the Hidden City of the elves, kept him and his brother safely between its walls. As the eagles had brought them out of the fog, Húrin had spotted the bright jewel of the city standing beautifully against the mountains and green valley floor. It was awe-inspiring to see and nothing they had seen before could compare.
The elves had been so kind and accommodating to them and even King Turgon accepted them gladly. Quickly they had been whisked away after being greeted. The seamstresses had given them clothing of the finest silk and fabrics. Next, they ate with the King and his family with so much food that it would have been considered a feast back in Brethil. Now, they lay in separate beds with feathered pillows and fluffed comforters along with satin linens. Such luxury they had not expected nor seen before.
Despite feeling exhaustion trying to drown his mind into slumber, Húrin could not seem to fall asleep. He was not certain if it was because he was unaccustomed to such comforts. He was used to the mattress of the hard ground beneath him or the thing padding of furs that was his bedding at home, but this was wholly different for him.
"Húrin?"
Sitting up in bed, the eldest of the two brothers glanced across the dark room.
"What is it, Huor?"
"I cannot sleep," the young teen commented. "I feel tired but it does not seem to matter."
"I know," Húrin said with a heavy sigh then silence followed for a few minutes.
"What do you think is happening at home?" Huor asked. "Do you think they are all right?"
"Our uncle's troops were not far away," Húrin said, staring now at the ceiling. "Brethil was safe even if our own soldiers were killed."
"What do you think we should do?" his brother asked. "Will we go home?"
"I don't know," Húrin said truthfully. "It may be best for us to let things be."
"I like it here," Huor said on the verge of a yawn. "Maybe we can stay... just for a while."
"It is not safe yet to leave," Húrin said, starting to finally feel his eyelids grow heavy. "We can ... wait."
As he finally fell into his dreams, all Húrin could think of was how the softness truly was not all that bad.
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