Old Enemies and New Friends
Mood fouled at having been unable to turn Luna to his cause, Morgoth trod through the palace, escorted once again by the silent Night Guard, Midnight. Unexpectedly, it was the guardspony who broke the silence.
“I do not know who or what you are, but I would offer you my thanks, Lord Shadowfax.” he said suddenly.
Startled at this sudden change in the pony, Morgoth took a moment to respond. “I apologize, but I know not what I have done to earn thy gratitude.”
“The princess hasn’t once spoken of those events to anypony since her return,” Midnight explained. “She was too ashamed of it. She hasn’t even spoken to her sister about it, she was too afraid that Celestia would still be angry. I have no idea what it was that made her open up to you, but it is good that she did, the guilt was eating away at her.”
The two walked in silence for a little while, Morgoth mulling over what Midnight had said. Soon they reached the room that was to be Morgoth’s quarters while he stayed in the castle. He made to open the door when suddenly a thought struck him.
“How wouldst thou know of what words were had between myself and the princess?” he asked skeptically, turning back to the Night Guard.
Not surprisingly, he had once again vanished and Morgoth breathed a sigh of irritation. Just as he opened the door to the room he heard a whisper in the darkness.
“The shadows are not always empty.”
As he made his way into his room Morgoth realized that he had underestimated just how unnerving these ponies could be. And once again he found himself wishing there were more ponies like Midnight around. Taking the opportunity to take a look around his room, Morgoth grimaced. It was so ornate, so beautiful, so opulent. He hated every inch of it.
He walked over to the bed and cast a disapproving eye over it before reluctantly climbing into it. He’d have preferred to simply stay awake and read more within the library, but this was his second night without sleep and he found to his dismay that his new body was extremely prone to weariness. That was going to be the first thing he’d have to fix, time spent sleeping was time that he could have spent trying to figure out a way out of this mess. He laid down in the bed and, in spite of himself, found it ridiculously comfortable and was out in moments.
Morgoth finally stirred, glad to finally be done with that pointless sleeping business, and attempted to roll out of his bed. His attempt was met by the rattling of chains. His eyes shot open and he looked down to see he was not in a bed, but kneeling upon some floor and bound by chains that shone with a rainbow of colors. He felt panic rise in his chest, but it was quelled as he noticed one important detail: He was no longer a pony.
He knelt, clad once again in black armor as the Tyrant of Utumno, minus his crown of black iron. That was wrapped around his throat. He tried to look upon his surroundings, but all he could see was an endless darkness that was held at bay only by a shaft of light that bathed him alone within the blackness. For a time he simply knelt there, wondering. Then he heard a noise, as of steps upon stone, and he listened. Then he heard a voice.
“Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean.”
Morgoth listened, the voice seemed familiar to him.
“Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,”
He had heard this voice before, long ago and far away.
“Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,”
The words, too, were familiar. They carried the weight of a great doom about them.
“Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,”
It was so familiar, but it was as if there was some fog about his mind and he could not place it.
“Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,”
He saw a silhouette, the figure was just at the edge of the light.
“Dread nor danger, not Doom itself,”
It was tall, as a man was, but slim and fair as they were not.
“Shall defend him from Fëanáro, and Fëanáro’s kin,”
Morgoth’s eyes widened in recognition at the name, it was one he would never in all his years forget.
“Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,”
The figure stepped into the light, it was one of the Eldar, and the face was of one he thought long vanquished.
“Finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril.”
The elf kept walking towards him and Morgoth felt fear begin to creep into him.
“This swear we all…”
The elf walked right up to the kneeling Morgoth and loomed over him as a mountain in an ironic reversal of roles.
“Death we will deal him ere Day’s ending,”
Slowly he began to stoop down to look into Morgoth’s eyes.
“Woe unto world’s end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather!”
The Elda’s eyes were ablaze with madness, drunk with rage.
“To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth…”
Morgoth held the elf’s gaze, meeting his stare and pouring all of his malice into it.
“On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!"
The Elda and the Vala were both silent at the oath’s conclusion, each conveying as they could all of their hatred for the other. It was Morgoth who finally broke the silence.
“Fëanor,” he hissed.
“Morgoth,” snarled the elf.
A smile formed upon Morgoth’s lips. “That is the name thou hast so generously gifted me with. But I caution thee, use it not too often or thy hoarding may make it less satisfying for others.”
A mad smile came upon Fëanor’s own features. “Even now, though helpless, you think yourself so great. Were it that we all could see ourselves in the light you see yourself. Truly then the world would have no sadness!”
“Modesty serves no purpose, if one is great then let the world see it. But it is no wonder thou cannot see thyself in such a light; tell me, how many of thy kin do the Halls of Mandos now hold as a result of thy foolish oath?”
The grin dropped from Fëanor’s face, replaced by a mask of utter rage. “Not nearly as many as do your own damned abominations lie dead and gone! Even against my sons your great Valaraukar were as nothing! I know how you died, Black One! The Valar captured you, hiding like a rat in the mines of Angband while you begged them for mercy!”
Morgoth’s own anger was stoked by the elf’s words. “Thou darest mock one such as me, elf?”
“I do, jail-crow of Mandos!” he retorted.
“Kinslayer!” Morgoth roared back. “Thou hast stained the land, slain thy own kin, and still thou think thyself to be any better than the Black Foe of the World!”
Fëanor grabbed Morgoth’s collar and pulled him close so that their noses were nearly touching. When he spoke it was not a furious roar, but a deathly whisper that sent a chill up Morgoth’s spine.
“I know of your trial and what the Allfather wishes of you. Were it any but him to set this task before you I would think them mad. Yet for some reason I cannot fathom Eru still thinks you can be redeemed, and strangely enough I find myself hoping you can be. I hope that these creatures can help you, Morgoth, I hope they can teach you kindness and pity.”
Fëanor loosened his grip on Morgoth’s iron collar and let him move back a small ways before continuing. “And then I hope you look back upon your time in Arda and that the weight of the guilt crushes your black soul into nothing. There would be no more fitting an ending for one such as you.”
Fëanor let go of Morgoth and stood back up to once again look down upon him and after a moment turned and began to walk away.
“Is that all thou wouldst say?” taunted Morgoth, prompting Fëanor to halt. “So long has it been that time has kept us apart. I would think that there would be more words between two good friends such as us.”
The Elda spun on his heel and strode back towards Morgoth, drawing a sword from its place at his hip as he did. Suddenly Morgoth felt frightened at the sight of the furious elf bearing down upon him, sword in hand. As Fëanor reached Morgoth he raised the sword up and in spite of himself, Morgoth shut his eyes against the coming pain. He was surprised when he heard only the clang of metal against stone.
Hesitantly the Vala opened his eyes and looked at the ground to see the sword laying before him. He looked up at the elf in confusion.
“I’ve no love for you, but when the Allfather offered me this chance to aid you I happily took it.” Fëanor looked down at his blade “You have my sword, Morgoth, the wrath of the Noldor is yours to call upon in your times of need. But wield it carefully, for just as the fire might consume your enemies, it is fickle and may burn you just as readily.”
With finality, Fëanor turned again and began to walk away.
“And what will aiding me benefit thee?” called Morgoth after him. “Why wouldst thou aid thy most hated enemy?”
Without stopping, Fëanor called back to him. “For good or for ill, Morgoth, I will take part in your damned fate.”
Soon the sound of his footsteps faded away and Morgoth was left once again alone. It didn’t last long, however, and he heard more footsteps approaching him. He wondered if perhaps Fëanor was coming back, but there were too many steps sounding in the darkness for just the elf. It seemed he was in for a few visitors. Or perhaps, he realized with a pang of dread, a pony.
Before he had much chance to dwell on the dread of that horrible possibility, a voice rang out in the darkness. It was soft and sweet and sang a beautiful song and as he listened to it he lost all concept of time. As soon as each sweet word faded so too did it fade from his memory, yet still he could not stop listening. The song was so beautiful and, while he could not string the lyrics together into a story, he could tell it was a song of sadness and loss and love and laughter. So many unfamiliar and unwanted emotions played through his mind as the song went on and he only barely noticed that he had company in the ray of light.
All too quickly the song stopped and he found himself wishing it had not. Noticing his vision had become blurry he blinked his eyes and to his immense surprise found them wet. Looking at the ground he saw that it was wet with tears; at some point during the song he had begun crying. His face darkened with embarrassment and his jaw clenched in rage, he was the Black Foe of the World, he did not cry! He was shaken from his anger by a booming laughter.
Looking up he saw a man standing before him and laughing heartily and he felt his indignation grow. Slowly the man brought his laughter under control and looked upon Morgoth with a great smile that even seemed to fill his gaze.
“Such a sight I would have never thought I would find myself witness to!” he exclaimed. “But take heart, you are not the only one to be so affected by my love’s song. Even Mandos, grim and stoic as he is, was moved to tears by her lament when she sang for him in the halls of the dead.”
Morgoth eyed the two newcomers. One was a man and the other a fair elf maiden, though “fair” could hardly begin to describe one such as her. It was her beauty that brought the memory to Morgoth’s mind. The man was Beren and the Elda, Lúthien. The two thieves that had so brazenly stolen a Silmaril from his very crown as it rested upon his head.
“Tell me,” he said. “How so have I affected thee that thou wouldst come to visit me even after I have left Arda?”
Beren’s great smile only grew at Morgoth’s words. “Why, to thank you, of course!” he boomed.
Noticing that the man’s voice was free of sarcasm, Morgoth found himself wholly confused by the answer and could not find the words to adequately express it. Seeing his confusion Beren continued.
“Ah, I do not believe you know this story, I imagine you know us as only a troublesome pair of thieves!” he laughed. “If you had never stolen the Silmarils then my dear Lúthien’s father, Thingol, would never have found a task impossible enough to set as Lúthien’s bride-price. You see her father had very little love for me, thinking me to be unworthy of his daughter, and so did not wish us to marry. So he declared that he would only allow me to marry her if I were to bring him a Silmaril from your crown.”
Morgoth let out a rumbling growl. “Troublesome is too light a word for a pair such as thee.” he said. “Thou and thy damnable hound caused me much grief, slaying Draugluin and Carcharoth both, and so badly beating Sauron, even in his wolf form.”
The smile never left Beren’s face. “I truly hope you don’t take it personally, my friend. If Thingol had told me that I must swim across the sea to Valinor to marry her I would have.”
Lúthien then moved forward a pace, kneeling before Morgoth and placing a hand on his arm when she spoke. “I understand it was not your wish and that it brings you no joy to hear it, but you made our marriage possible. In thanks we pledge to help you in your coming trial in the hopes that someday when this is done you will go on to make others as happy as you made us. And perhaps you may even intend to when you do.” she finished with a smile.
Beren drew his own sword and placed it on the ground before Morgoth next to Fëanor’s blade. Lúthien then knelt down and, to Morgoth’s immense surprise, planted a kiss upon his brow. With a small smile she stood up and walked with Beren to the edge of the light.
“We will see you again soon, Morgoth!” called Beren jovially as the two walked away. “Ale’s on you, seeing as how you owe me a hand!”
This encounter had left Morgoth at a complete loss for words. He had been very sure that at no point in time had he ever been any manner of helpful during his time on Arda, but it would seem he’d slipped up at some point and accidentally gotten those two married.
That had been extremely unexpected, though. Gratitude was not something he’d ever really experienced and he’d not been prepared for it. It was a strange thing to think he’d ever done anything in his long life worth thanking him for.
More steps sounded in the distance and Morgoth prepared himself for what he was sure was to be yet another unpleasant encounter with his past.
Again the footsteps were many and he could not count them all. He took this as a bad sign, he didn’t want to deal with one visitor, let alone another pair of them. As the steps grew nearer he idly wondered who he would be visited by. So far each visit had brought only the most significant of the people he’d encountered in Arda, so the list was very short. Fortunately he wasn’t kept in suspense for very long.
A figure paused at the edge of the light and Morgoth could see that it was a man, though it was short. Another silhouette appeared at his side, standing easily a full head taller and built large as a warrior was. The first figure stepped forward and Morgoth could not stop the sharp intake of breath that came when he saw the man’s face. This was a man whose wrath Morgoth had more cause to fear than even Fëanor’s, and if the one accompanying him was who he thought him to be then he was sure this would be a very unpleasant encounter indeed.
The man was short and grizzled with faded golden hair that reached his shoulders and a similarly colored beard. His bright blue eyes were as chips of ice and scorn was written into every line in his haggard face. In his hand he held a great battle-axe stained black with troll blood.
The second stepped forward and Morgoth felt the beginnings of fear within him. He was tall and had long, dark hair that flowed past his shoulders and his eyes were a perfect match to his father’s, ice blue and smouldering with anger. In his hand was a sword that Morgoth paled to see. It was long and wicked and sharp, but the characteristic of its blade that bred the fear was its color. The blade was as black as his own armor and it pulsed with a malice to match his own. This was the black sword Gurthang, the very blade that was supposed to end his life and existence in Dagor Dagorath.
“How long has it been, I wonder?” asked the short one. “So long has it been since I was your humble guest, seated high upon Thangorodrim.”
“I could not tell thee, Húrin Thalion, for in truth even I know not how long it has been.” Morgoth replied.
“Ah, it is good to see that you still have memory of me. I had been worried that perhaps you had forgotten your old friend.” Húrin said, mirthlessly.
Morgoth smirked. “Oh trust me, my friend, it would be impossible for me to forget one such as thee.”
The second figure stalked forward angrily. “Do you think yourself funny, Black One?” he demanded. “I wonder how humorous you will sound with no tongue? It would be a pleasant sight to see you trying to spit your black curses without that serpent’s tongue of yours!”
“Such a fiery temper thou art possessed of, Túrin Turambar,” Morgoth sneered. “Were thou privy to the knowledge of the fate thou would have been possessed of had I not accepted this trial?”
Túrin made no response save to clench his jaw in anger.
“Thy sword was fated to pierce my own heart in the Battle of Battles, didst thou know this? Didst thou know that thou wouldst be the one to bring about my doom? Such anger thou must feel at having thy revenge stolen away.” he said with a grin, eliciting a growl from Túrin. “Art thou furious?”
Túrin started forward but his path was barred by his father’s arm.
“The memory of that curse has not left me, Morgoth.” Húrin said. “You lashed me to your iron mountain that I might watch your Doom ravage everything I ever held dear. Everything fell to the shadow of your thought and everything was as you said. We all died, cursing both life and death and without hope. But the Allfather has offered us this chance to take part in your destiny as payment for the sins of his son.”
“Why?” Morgoth demanded. “Why wouldst thou come to me? Why have all my enemies come to pledge me their aid? I can make no sense of it! Surely thou must have no love for me, what is it that would drive thee to aid thy greatest enemy?”
Túrin laughed. “Ever are the works of those of us who know pity strange and without sense to the pitiless man. But I must ask that you do not think me to be so honorable! I have come merely out of my own hubris, that if I shall not be the one to slay you then none shall have that pleasure!”
“You have brought ruin upon the house of Hador,” said Húrin. “And now the men of house Hador shall bring ruin upon the Black Foe. We shall aid your quest for redemption and bring Melkor back to the world.”
“Aye,” Túrin agreed. “To bring back Melkor from evil would be to utterly unmake Morgoth, and that is a more complete victory than I could ever achieve with Gurthang.”
Húrin stepped forward and laid his axe before Morgoth with the other weapons. “You’ve my axe, Bauglir. When all seems hopeless and lost and you stand alone and in need of friends, you need only call for them.”
Túrin strode up to Morgoth and brought his sword up under Morgoth’s chin. “But do not think this means that I’ve forgotten the damnable trick your dragon played on Niënor and I.” With a swift flick of his sword he scored a small gash beneath Morgoth’s left eye that lightly dripped blood in a parody of tears.
“That you might never forget the Tear Maiden.” he said with a scowl. He then laid his sword down next to his father’s axe. “In the end, when all was done, I stood alone and friendless. You will not have to, you shall have with you a league of friends for aid, do not forget it.”
Morgoth smirked. “Blessed am I to have friends such as thee, it spares me the trouble of needing enemies.”
Without warning the world began to fade and Morgoth could feel himself awakening from his dream.
“Farewell, Morgoth, I wish you luck.” said Túrin with a wave.
The last thing Morgoth beheld of his dream was the visage of Húrin as he spoke his words. “The night is dark and full of terrors, Morgoth, but the day shall come again.”
Morgoth slowly pried his eyes open, squinting against the light that flowed into the room. If those were what Luna considered to be pleasant dreams then it was no wonder the kingdom lived in fear of her. It was certainly enough to reinforce his desire to find a way to free himself of the need to sleep. After a few moments he managed to pull himself together and get out of bed and stumble across the room and out the door.
Making his way through the palace, he turned his thoughts to his dream. His greatest foes had come to him and pledged their help to him in the trial to come. Had the world gone mad? Surely he must have at the very least, he could think of no reason why any of them would desire to aid the very being that tried to annihilate their world. If this was anything to do with the lessons Eru wished him to learn then he wanted no part in them. Anything that bent one’s mind enough to cause them to offer aid to an enemy was something to be avoided at all costs.
As he turned down another hallway he paused. He suddenly realized that he had no idea where he was going and that he’d been groggily walking the palace in a complete daze. One more reason to never sleep again. Before he could seek out a guard for directions he was startled by the sizzle, flash, and pop of a teleportation spell discharge, ending with Celestia materializing before him.
“There you are!” she announced. “I’m glad I caught you before you left for Ponyville, I wanted to talk a little before you did. Would you like me to walk with you to the Friendship Express?”
Still half asleep, Morgoth tried to keep himself from swaying unsteadily enough to get out a few words. “Good morrow Celestia,” he mumbled. “Thy company would be most welcome on my journey through Canterlot.”
Celestia gave the swaying pony a quizzical look. “Are you quite alright, Melkor? You seem a little... out of it.”
“My apologies, dear sister,” he mumbled. “I find myself to be unused to sleep, little was my need for such things in Arda.”
Celestia let out a soft giggle. “Well get used to it, it’ll be happening a lot more often.”
Luckily for Morgoth he was colored pure white, so Celestia didn’t notice him pale further at the thought of doing all that again every single night.
Celestia gasped suddenly. “Oh my, are you alright Melkor?”
He looked at her quizzically. “I am well, Celestia. Why dost thou inquire?”
She pointed a hoof towards his face. “Your cheek.”
Morgoth ran a hoof over his cheek and froze in shock as he felt a small gash beneath his left eye. The exact spot where Túrin had cut him in his dream.
“T’is nothing, Celestia, it is merely the result of my own clumsiness as I searched for my room last eve.” he lied.
“It looks painful.” she said. “But if you’re sure you’re alright.”
Morgoth nodded. “Aye, t’is but a scratch. Now let us be on our way, that I might be done with this torture thou hast seen to set about me.”
“Oh don’t worry, it won’t be that bad, I might even go so far as to say that you may very well end up having a little fun.” Celestia said as she led Morgoth through the castle.
“Pray tell, sister, what is this ‘fun’ thou speakest of?” Morgoth asked.
Celestia just gave him a look and laughed. “Oh my, yes this is going to be very fun indeed.”
“Wouldst thou possibly wish to enlighten me on what trials I shall be facing under the... ‘tutelage’ of thy student? I would know what horrors thou hast asked I face.”
“I couldn’t say, it’s all up to Twilight and her friends. Though judging from the friendship reports she’s sent me since I sent her there I can tell you that life certainly won’t be boring in Ponyville.” she said.
Morgoth sighed and let the conversation fall away, simply resigned himself to burning that bridge once he got to it. He gazed about the marvelous city as he and Celestia traveled through it. He was pleased to note that the journey was much more enjoyable this time with Celestia, the ponies all seemed to part like a river about a rock before Celestia, many even dropped and bowed to her as they passed, this pleased Morgoth immensely.
And now that he was free of having to deal with the infuriating ponies of Canterlot he was free to take in the sights. Of course taking in the sights also involved much in depth imagining of the destruction of said sights. There were restaurants where ponies who appeared far too pleased with themselves sat and ate what he could only assume were delicacies for these creatures. There were clothing shops where ponies bought clothing of an almost ridiculous degree of opulence, he even saw a mare walking out in a dress completely encrusted with precious gemstones. He scoffed internally at the sight of the dress, the gems were dull and lifeless compared to those miniature stars crafted by the hand of Fëanor.
All said, the sightseeing did little more than stoke his hatred for the creatures and reinforce his desire to escape the confines of his new body that he might visit upon them the devastation these ponies so blatantly cried out to receive. He was brought out of his imaginings by the voice of Celestia in his ear.
“My apologies, Celestia, I found myself distracted by the sights of your city.” he said.
“It’s quite alright, Melkor. I just said that we’re here.”
And sure enough there they were, back at the station with the Friendship Express ready to bear him to Ponyville, and what he believed may very well be his doom.
“It has been good to see thee again, Celestia. I hope we may see each other again in my time here.” Morgoth said.
Celestia nodded.”I agree, it’s so good to have you here, do make sure you keep in touch. Twilight and her friends send me reports about their findings on friendship every so often, why don’t you send me a letter along with them?” she suggested. “It doesn’t have to be about friendship like theirs, but I would love to hear about how you progress in Ilúvatar’s trial.”
“Aye, I shall endeavor to write thee about my progress when I can. Now I bid thee farewell, Celestia, take care.” he said, making his way to the train.
“Goodbye Melkor!” she called after him. “Good luck! And remember to have a little fun!”
Morgoth boarded the train and braced himself for the coming days of torture. If Ilúvatar was simply trying to punish him, he imagined that it was most certainly working.
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Well that was a crazy few weeks. One friend is going away to Alaska for the summer so I set up a farewell party for him, another friend is moving to Boston, so I set up a party for him and spent like a week helping him move, and then work all day erry day. So here you are, my faithful readers, Morgoth makes some friends, enjoy!
547456
Smoke weed erryday
I couldn't pass up the opportunity.
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I would have been disappointed if you had, my friend, carry on.
547456
Planning parties for everyone hmmmm?
547456 Yeesh, you throw more parties than Pinkie.
“Art thou furious?”
I admit it. I laughed.
Your characterization of postmortem Hurin and Turin! Fills my heart and soul with so much joy, how shall I thank thee?
Here, have a song I listened to while reading this:
Dark Tranquillity - Freecard
I loved this chapter, but I can't wait to see his reaction to Pinkie's party.
Hi there. I found your story a good while ago and I just wanted to say that you are doing a great job of telling your story. I am such a Tolkien/LotR fan and it is just great to see a well-executed crossover. The premise of the story fit disturbingly well with both verses and I've got to say that your depiction of the great enemy is an interesting one, to say the least. Rock on in the name of the Allfather!
(And bring me more offerings of this delectable treat!)
PS: "Art thou furious?" has got to be my favourite version of the old adage.
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Thanks for the kind words, they really do mean a lot. Especially considering I saw the notification for your comment as my girlfriend was dragging me through a Forever 21, needless to say that was the pickup I needed to not throw myself from the nearest mall bench and hope to god it was high enough.
As for how I write Morgoth, it certainly is odd to write him, he's a being of absolute evil with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, which, as I'm sure you can imagine, makes trying to redeem him quite a task. The best I could do realistically was basically have him realize that there was next to nothing he could do in his current situation and decide to just go with the flow while trying to scheme his way out of it, while at the same time subjecting him to a near lethal amount of friendship exposure. But barring his reminiscing on his bromance with Sauron, he will be having no deep and meaningful thoughts without some serious outside influence.
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I do pride myself on coming up with realistic solutions to absurd problems; namely how I can believably toss an unrelated character into the FiM universe. "And suddenly a portal" just doesn't sit well with me.
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They were something of a challenge to write and I found myself going back near constantly to my copy of The Children of Húrin for inspiration. And that song is wonderful.
excellent chapter
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This is exactly the voice I had in mind for him when writing him. I've been listening to that album more or less non-stop since I started writing this.
I have never heard of "Silmarillion" in my entire life, but this looks cool.
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Morgoth just hates it when people are happy.
What will be Morgoths reaction when he finds out Saurons either dead or trapped in the void?... Which may be death XD
The scene with Fëanor is scary-awesome, as pretty much any scene with Fëanor should be. This was one of Tolkien's greatest and most morally-ambiguous characters -- at the start he wasn't evil at all, just headstrong, but he sank toward evil in his quest for vengeance. Being willing to deal with Morgoth on any terms other than blind hatred would be an important step in Fëanor.
The scene where Beren and Lúthien forgive Morgoth is incredibly touching, and I like the way you rendered their characters. Beren's sense of humor is quite canonical, as note the scene where he appears before Thingol "with a Silmaril in his hand," showing him the stump and smiling. As for Lúthien, she has all the charisma one would need to have to inspire Beren and enthrall Morgoth.
My version of Trixie Lulamoon has heard of Beren and Lúthien (as Braveheart and The Nightingale) from Wisedreamer, and she has adopted Lúthien as her personal model of heroism. Not that she totally lives up to the ideal, but she tries, which helps keep her from becoming an out-and-out villain.
In that same story, (An Extended Performance), the last chapter features Wisedreamer and Delver, who is quite famous under another name in The Lord of the Rings. Freed of the Ring's malign influence by the discarnation of both Ring and Delver, Delver is already redeemed by his role in its destruction, and is currently traveling with Wisedreamer, who has known him since he was a child in his last life.
The scene with Húrin and Túrin was excellent. You kept them both wholly in character -- Húrin's unshakeable morality and immense endurance of will, and Túrin's heroic nature but sometimes disastrously-violent hair-trigger temper (which causes him to come to grief more than once during his saga). And yeah ... the one thing Túrin would forgive least is how Morgoth's manipulation led him to marry his own sister.
(I'm thinking that he's not a big fan of Glaurung either, for the same reason, but then Túrin slew Glaurung, which had to have counted as getting revenge on him!)
♫ So don't fear the eyes of the dark lord ♪