poor hurin!

There is an understated quality to the prose here, that adds to the bleakness of the time and situation. It's such a heavy subject, as well, but your narration doesn't fall into that angst trap, instead weaving atmosphere with clever descriptions ("long before the words tumbled from the messenger’s chapped and thirsty lips") and careful introspection ("They stopped to rest the horses, and he wondered where he had gone wrong").

In short: I *love* your style. I would like to copy it. *g*

I'm hard pressed to point to any one thing in particular because it feels like everything comes together so nicely. The characterisations are just perfect - Hurin's battle-weary man-of-the-world almost hurts, and his foreboding of Lalaith's death being an omen to come... eek. :( You capture the emotions of the tragedy very well. I can't imagine it would be easy to write about parents who are on the verge of losing a child, but you've done it here with such delicate, balanced care that just feels *right* - " ‘This should not be happening,’ he said quietly." - my compliments!

That last scene, with the three of them together, broke my heart. That last line - oh my. It takes a while to sink in, almost, and it's a quiet sort of punch-in-the-gut, as it is with death.

I'm really glad I read this story - very well done!