Chapter 3

Beleg bent his great bow and let an arrow fly into the forest. Though not as great as Belthronding which he had used to carry, the bow sped the arrow quickly to its target.

"Thou art still the most skillful archer I have ever seen," Túrin murmured, watching Beleg's hands upon the smooth wood. "If I had known in Doriath that my instructor had such a high value, I might have been less insolent."

Beleg strung two arrows to the string and quickly released them with a glimmer of humor in his eyes. "What became of the sullen boy thou used to be?"

Túrin's grey eyes flickered after the arrows. "I can still be sullen, can I not?" Beleg laughed. "I have less reason to smile than when I was thy glowering student," he added, and took the bow from Beleg. Upon seeing the Elf's sad expression, he grimaced. "And yet I find myself smiling nonetheless." He elbowed Beleg in the ribs and fired an arrow after the others. It fell wide of the mark amidst the leaves.

Beleg grinned. "Thou mayest be a great warrior, but archery—"
"Has never been my strength," Túrin groaned, and he suddenly pushed Beleg down on the grass. His mouth met the Elf's insistently, and Beleg eagerly wrapped his arms around him. He ran his tongue along Túrin's lip, and the mortal opened his mouth against it.

Then they were wrestling, and though Beleg made a valiant effort, Túrin ended up once more on top of him, panting.

Beleg heaved a sigh. "Not a fair competition."

Túrin grinned. "I thought it was fair."

The Elf smiled and lifted a hand to stroke Túrin's hair. "Fair indeed. Dost thou know how fair thou art?" he murmured earnestly. "For thy grey eyes, and dark hair, dark as the woods of Doriath—"

"Do not try to flatter thy way out," the man laughed, and pinned Beleg's wrist.

The Elf laughed. "And nigh as tangled!"

"Nay, go back to flattery!"

"Thou already knowest that thou art a great warrior," he murmured, pulling Túrin's head down so that he could brush his lips against the man's neck, "which means that thou art beautiful in form as well as face." He kissed Túrin's skin tenderly and the man released him to stroke his pale hair with a faint flush upon his face.

"What does it matter that I am a warrior?" he asked, standing up.

Beleg got to his feet. "Many would desire to be in my place, beside such a hero of men," he said with a bit of smugness, and pulled Túrin to him by the waist. He ran a hand over the mortal's chest and Túrin's eyes glinted with pride. But his look became distant and thoughtful as he looked at the Elf.

"Two great warriors have some chance against the might of the Dark Lord," he murmured. "And my heart aches for the revenge I swore under the lightning many years ago by the Ered Gorgoroth."

"I too," Beleg murmured, as he idly fiddled with the collar of the man's tunic. "Yet it is a wonder that Mablung gave me kindness as he did, for all others in this land think me to be a servant of the Dark Lord."

"Outcasts we may be, but our blades are sharp and our arrows as sure as they have ever been," Túrin spoke, and his eyes lit with old pain as he beheld Beleg.

"Aye," the Elf replied, and paused. He gently pressed his forehead against Túrin's. "Aye…Gladly would I follow thee again into battle, Túrin son of Hurin."

Túrin stroked Beleg's pointed ear and smiled grimly. "And honored would any warrior be to stand at thy side."

Túrin pushed Beleg over on the ground as they wrestled, his grey eyes keenly focused on the movements of the Elf. He studied Beleg for a moment and then seized him again, and from his arms Beleg found he could not move. How Beleg desired to completely surrender to Túrin then and counter his movements with a different touch. But he spoke, "Thou hast become even more skilled, my friend. Soon I will not ever be able to beat thee."

The mortal released him and sighed. "Then why have I not seen more of battle? If I am ready, I wish to do more than defend the borders, I—" He stopped, and breathed out hard.

Beleg looked down and cursed inwardly, for ever Túrin's thoughts turned to his fate. "Do not wish it upon thyself too soon," he spoke. Túrin stood and turned away angrily. Beleg reached a hand after him, but it closed on nothing. "I only…I do not want thee to be hurt, Túrin—"

"But thy words are like a sword through my heart!" Túrin cried, and Beleg jerked his hand away at the image. The image of Túrin, stabbed through the heart by Beleg's own blade—"For dost thou not know how much I desire to find renown and glory in battle? Dost thou not believe I shall become a great warrior?"

"Nay, of course I do, my friend!" Beleg cried. Túrin turned his sullen face away. "Thou shallt become the greatest warrior of Men," the Elf whispered, and felt his heart ache.

Túrin asked quietly, "Is that not a good fate?" but Beleg did not answer, and Túrin hung his head and did not look at his friend's face.

Mablung had returned to Thingol's court at Menegroth. He hurried to the side of the king. "My Lord!" he cried, "I have strange news. Beleg Cúthalion lives! For I saw him but a day past in the woods of Brethil wandering from long suffering."

But a shadow fell on Thingol's face and great worry was in his eyes. "Then thou hast been deceived by the Dark Lord," he spoke. "For he who used to be loyal is now in the service of the Enemy!"

Then Mablung stood in shock, for by chance word of Beleg's treason had not reached him alone as he stood watch in the darkening forest. "But how could he pass though Doriath if this is so?" he asked.

"As the Darkness grows it is harder for me to keep all those I would wish out," Melian said, and her eyes were distant. "Already it has begun, for the Dark Enemy's power is growing."

The gloom of doubt was cast on Mablung's heart, for he believed Thingol's words. Thus the shadow of Morgoth's lies reached even into the heart of the once untouchable wood, and on the horizon the downfall of that realm grew steadily nearer. But even for deception, misfortune, cruelty, shame and long suffering, the harvest of sorrow was not yet ready to be reaped.

Unbeknownst to Túrin Turambar, Hurin and Morwen still had lived while he stood upon Cabed-en-Aras. There the Lady of Dor-lómin came and perished by the rocky grave of her daughter and what she thought was the blood of her dead son. And Hurin was driven mad with grief. Still the curse of the House of Hurin was not complete.

"Tomorrow?"

"Aye." Túrin nodded.

They did speak more of it. Too long he felt they had already waited for his wounds to heal. It seemed that the dark waiting cloud beneath the sun had been lifted, but it was not so, for going to seek battle with Morgoth was not the doom which had been set out before them. Still the dark fate waited.

"Come," Túrin urged, pulling Beleg after him as he took of his tunic and flung it upon the bank of the river. They both felt that it was their last time in a world untroubled by the dark future, and in that at least they guessed right.

Beleg began to unclothe himself and watched, smiling, as Túrin jumped in the water. Untouched by worry the mortal seemed, but Beleg new better by the hard look in his eye when he caught it. Yet for a moment he seemed again a young man in the youth that he had never had.

Beleg waded into the water and leaned back to wash his hair in the stream. Gently a hand ran through it, and he looked back to see Túrin's face. The mortal man stroked his pale hair as it flowed in the stream, and touched his pointed ears. Gently he lifted up the Elf's face and pressed a single kiss to his lips.

Then he withdrew and leaned against a rock and watched his lover bathe. As old as the rocks Beleg seemed, and yet young, and the sun seemed to brighten as Beleg looked up and smiled at him. Túrin folded his arms and grinned at his friend. The tall Elf moved closer to him, the cool waters parting around his waist, and, tenderly embracing Túrin, he closed his fingers in the mortal's dark hair.

Time seemed to start again, for the calm was but the breath before the storm, and the river of fate could not be held back. Túrin spoke quietly, his eyes darkening to the grey of thunderclouds, "Always thou seemst to be somehow bound to me by some doom."

"Aye," replied Beleg, "For better or worse," and he kissed him intently. Then it began to rain, and they broke apart unwillingly in the sudden cold.

They became drenched even as they donned their clothes. As the sky darkened overhead, they returned to Amon Rûdh and found shelter against the rain. Tonight they risked a fire, for they did not fear their enemies. Quickly, with an urgency and longing he could not explain, for he knew dimly that time was running out, Beleg pulled away the cloth that clung to Túrin's wet skin. He embraced him again by the fire, and man kissed him hard and pulled him down with persistent strength to the stone floor.

Beleg opened his mouth to speak, but Túrin held up his hand. "Speak not of fate or darkness," he said in a low voice, "And let me deceive myself for one more night that I have not touched thee with my doom."

Beleg remained silent, and after a moment, he pressed his mouth back to Túrin's in assent. He closed his eyes as he felt the mortal's lips open for him. With great yearning he kissed Túrin and gently moved his lips to the side of his mouth and jaw. Túrin's arms closed around him and his hands grasped the long pale hair like a flame in the light of the fire. The blaze flickered over their united forms, and the color of it upon their skin was red as blood.

"Who is that I wonder?" Beleg pointed to the figure that approached Amon Rûdh. It was hooded and cloaked. "That is no orc."

"Nay," Túrin muttered as they peered between the leaves of a shielding tree. "We should depart swiftly, but my heart tells me we must learn the identity of this stranger, for I feel uneasy."

They crept closer to the dwelling they had only just abandoned. Suddenly the figure stopped and listened as if with Elven hearing. "Show thyself!" he cried, and they realized it was Mablung's face within the deep hood. Beleg leapt to his feet and rushed towards his old friend but stopped when Mablung took a hasty step back, for the shadow of Morgoth's deceit still between them.

"Mablung!" Túrin cried, standing beside Beleg, "Why dost thou shrink away if it is indeed us thou wast seeking?"

Mablung looked in dismay at the face of Túrin son of Hurin, so worn from care and suffering, and once more doubt fell on his heart, but this time it was doubt that Beleg could ever serve the Dark Enemy, for none of the House of Hurin would stand willingly beside a servant of the Dark Lord, nor would his old friend commit so great an evil, and yet it was believing this that had finally driven him from Doriath to seek them.

They embraced each other and Mablung explained the lies of Morgoth that had deceived even him for a while. He heard the long tale of Túrin son of Hurin and learned what great suffering had plagued Beleg ere he had caught sight of him wandering through the trees. And he wondered at Beleg's love for the mortal, for it was not common for Elves to wed the same sex, and yet perhaps he had always known that he saw more in the glance of his companion than friendship when Beleg beheld Túrin in those now distant days in the northern marches of the wood.

"I beg thee," Mablung spoke, for heart was pained by the great evil that had befallen his friends, "Come back to Doriath. There is no crime to be pardoned this time, for wrongly it is believed that thee, Beleg, served the Dark Enemy, as thou knowest."

Túrin's grey eyes regarded him solemnly. "Nay, there are many crimes, all mine, none Beleg's," he said. "I cannot return."

Beleg's look became distant. "It matters not," he murmured. "Perhaps we can redeem our crimes and alleged crimes by the road we have already chosen. For as we have told thee, my dear friend, we seek the Dark Enemy and nothing shall lead us hence!"

They were unmoved by his words, and at last Mablung relented, but told them he would travel a while with them. Túrin agreed and was glad, for long he had missed his friends of old in Doriath. Beleg again embraced his friend.

"Willt thou even be wedded?" Mablung asked him, holding him by the shoulder.

Beleg shook his head slightly. "After the customs of the Elves, we are already wedded, for we need no ceremony."[i]

"And will I ever get to ride into battle with thee again?" Mablung asked.

"Perhaps yet another time will come when we will fight beside each other," Beleg replied as he clasped Mablung's shoulder in return, and he knew not that he spoke truly.

They journeyed at last from the Land of Bow and Helm. It seemed to become darker, and the storm clouds that gathered overhead made their hearts heavy beneath the brooding silence. On they went, until they reached a lightly wooded place, where Beleg lifted his hand to signal a halt.

"Dost thou wish to stop here for the night?" Mablung asked.

Beleg's eyes sought to pierce the darkness. "Perhaps. But something worries me."

Túrin's hand strayed to the hilt of his sword. "What is it, Beleg?" The Elf remained silent. "Dost thou see anything?"

Beleg took a step forward quietly on the leaves and paused. "Nay, it is a sound that is carried to me on the air. I will go ahead to see what I can and come back as quickly as I may." He disappeared into the darkness and Túrin and Mablung remained in watchful silence until his return.

"There is a band of orcs not over a fourth of a league off," Beleg whispered when he reappeared.

"In this land we could easily lie in wait for them," Túrin murmured and gestured to the surroundings. "What thinkest thou?"

Mablung nodded. "Aye."

"Then we must be quick," Beleg replied, "Not to hide ourselves, but to strike when they come."

Before they parted in the growing shadow, Túrin quickly grasped Beleg's hand. Then like water, it slipped from the Elf's fingers. It began to rain, and darkness fell. They waited in apprehension, for the feeling of oncoming doom was suddenly thick about them as the impenetrable night.

Across the clearing, Beleg caught a glimpse of Túrin's shadowed face, and he could pretend for a moment that they were in Doriath in years now long past, for the mortal smiled for him, a grim smile, for Túrin was not in the habit of smiling often, nor ever was, but the light of bravery in his face stirred Beleg's heart as he put an arrow to the string.

Then fighting was upon them. Beleg bent his great bow as Mablung and Túrin drove through the line of orcs. Then he joined them when his quiver was spent, drawing Gurthang, who flashed like a black flame in the first blaze of lighting beside the other swords. The evil light poured down upon them and then vanished, plunging them into even deeper dark. Thunder roared in the night as Beleg stabbed his sword through his foes.

Mablung smote with his heavy hand the enemy as Túrin fought beside him with a fell light in his eyes. On the battle went. They were vastly outnumbered, but three great warriors felt no overwhelming fear at the odds. Yet something of greater evil than the orcs was afoot that night.

As Beleg fought in the darkness, the lighting came down again, and before him he saw an orc almost upon him. Quickly he drove his sword forward in the darkness whose distant ceiling was edged with horrid light like the spikes of the Dark Lord's crown.

Lighting flashed once more upon the clearing. And as the cold light poured down from the heavens, Beleg saw the form of him whom he had slain before him, and it was no orc, but Túrin, pierced by Gurthang, who glittered now, content at the blood that had been spilled. Beleg opened his mouth to cry out, but no sound came in the howling voice of the thunder like horrid laughter. He caught the falling warrior against his chest.

"Túrin!" he cried at last, and the word cracked with grief. Again and again he called his beloved friend's name, but the mortal's eyes were shut against the rain that poured down and the Elf's tears.

"I must go whither thou cannot follow," he thought he heard Túrin murmur, but the mortal's body was cold and lifeless as he pressed kisses to his brow, and his lips did not move anymore.

"Thou liest," Beleg spoke, "For when we seek revenge upon Morgoth we will stand together!" Then, blinded by maddening grief, he took up Gurthang once more and for a last time. Placing Túrin's hand upon the hilt beneath his own, he drove it straight through his heart, and at last the black blade was filled to the brim, and it shattered beneath him. He fell upon the body of his beloved, and so followed him to a second death.

Mablung fled in sorrow, and Túrin's wish was granted, that Beleg had slain him and not the reverse, for the force of Morgoth's malice could not be averted. Hurin's coming to Doriath afterwards would bring along with him the curse that would lead to its utter end. And when Melian's words finally reached Hurin's clouded mind, the man saw that his deeds had only aided Morgoth, and he cast himself into the sea, not knowing the real fate of his son and driven again to madness. For none would listen to the words of Mablung nor believe the story of Túrin and Beleg and of their love to which only now the words of Gwindor and Mablung could testify, both slain. For Mablung of the Heavy Hand fell also with the Kingdom of Doriath he had fought so long to protect, and saw never again his fair Elf maiden.

But Beleg's last words were also granted, for it is said that Beleg's spirit did not go to Mandos, but followed Túrin Turambar whither no one knows. At the end of time, it is said that Morgoth will fall by Túrin's own hand, for he is the son of the mightiest of mortal men, and by his side, as was his sworn promise, will stand Beleg Cúthalion with his great black yew bow. In Middle-earth before their fall and in Dagor Dagorath not yet come to pass renowned are the deeds, but there is no song or tale which contains all the grief.[ii]

Why did I write something this sad?! Well, I hope you enjoyed it. :) I wanted to keep it as a tragedy so that it fit well with The Children of Húrin, but allow Túrin and Beleg to be with each other and realize their love for each other before they died. And at least there is some justice in the prophecy about Dagor Dagorath. Now I think I'll go write some Haleth/Finduilas femslash. Because I can.

[i] Elves are married when they have sex. Practical!

[ii] This is a reference to Blind Guardian's song A Dark Passage, which in turn is a reference to a line in the Silmarillion after the death of the Two Trees: "Yet no song or tale could hold all the grief and terror that then befell."