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Gwindor returns Anglachel to Túrin by the healing waters of Eithel Ivrin.

An illustration of Chapter 1 from Stars Above, Voice Within commissioned for the incredibly talented @anattmar

Original prompt by @arofili for @tolkienrsb. Fic snippet below the cut.

Drawn by an unseeable force, Túrin knelt and drank from the water, feeling it slide down his dry throat like a healing liquor. It spread through his body, nurturing him, breathing life into his heart. 

Warm tears welled in his eyes and ran down his face, eager to dive into the icy pool. Túrin cast himself down, surrendering to Ivrin and allowing her to envelop his body. She received all his sorrows gladly, and they swelled her clear waters all the more. 

He sat and dug his fingers into the smooth pebbles, finally setting his voice free. His song told of Beleg and their love, the home that was no longer theirs, the rich woods and the steep hills they walked together, and Belthronding and Anglachel, also. 

The blade heard Túrin’s voice and joined him in song. It wept for its own pain, mourning the hands of its creator as it did for Beleg, who had carried it in friendship. 

Túrin sang and sang, again and again, each verse louder than the last, heedless of peril. Until his voice was utterly spent, and the wells of his eyes were depleted. He felt as light as the sunset leaves floating down the streams. 

‘Welcome back,’ the elf stated simply when the singing ceased. His face remained as grim as it had been, but his shoulders seemed to ease somewhat. ‘This is a strange blade, unlike any I have seen in Middle-earth. It mourns for Beleg even as you do.’

from Stars Above, Voice Within