But the watch of the great Eagles was now redoubled, and they marked Húrin well, far below, forlorn in the fading light; and straightway Thorondor himself, since the tidings seemed great, brought word to Turgon. But Turgon said: ‘Does Morgoth sleep? You were mistaken.’
‘Not so,’ said Thorondor. ‘If the Eagles of Manwë were wont to err thus, then long ago, lord, your hiding would have been in vain.’
‘Then your words bode ill,’ said Turgon; ‘for they can bear but one meaning. Even Húrin Thalion has surrendered to the will of Morgoth. My heart is shut.’
But when Thorondor was gone, Turgon sat long in thought, and he was troubled, remembering the deeds of Húrin of Dor-lómin; and he opened his heart, and sent to the Eagles to seek for Húrin, and to bring him if they might to Gondolin. But it was too late, and they never saw him again in light or in shadow. For Húrin stood in despair before the silent cliffs of the Echoriath, and the westering sun, piercing the clouds, stained his white hair with red.
Then he cried aloud in the wilderness, heedless of any ears, and he cursed the pitiless land; and standing at last upon a high rock he looked towards Gondolin and called in a great voice: ‘Turgon, Turgon, remember the Fen of Serech! O Turgon, will you not hear in your hidden halls?’ But there was no sound save the wind in the dry grasses. ‘Even so they hissed in Serech at the sunset,’ he said; and as he spoke the sun went behind the Mountains of Shadow, and a darkness fell about him, and the wind ceased, and there was silence in the waste.
—J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, “Of the Ruin of Doriath”
