Title: A Song on the Wind

Author: Eryniel Alassë

Disclaimer: I do not, unfortunately, own the Silmarillion, nor any of J.R.R. Tolkien's other fabulous works. I am writing this for my own and others' enjoyment, and I will not gain any money from this story. I'm just a kid playing around in his endless sandbox of wonders.

Summary: At Amon Rûdh,Túrin's Gaurwaith are slaughtered by a party of Orcs lead to them by the traitorous Petty-dwarf Mîm. Both Beleg and Túrin are captured, and it seems that neither of them will make it out of this nightmare alive.

Rating: T (PG-13) for some implied violence and torture, and a character death.

Characters: Túrin Turambar, Beleg Cúthalion, Gwindor Guilinion of Nargothrond, and of course the infamous, omnipresent party of Orcs.

A/N: This story won't contain slash; I don't write anything of the sort. Any love mentioned between two males is meant the way Tolkien meant it: platonically. Thanks, and please don't interpret this story as anything different.

This story is dedicated to my dear friend VCalien2015, who first gave me the courage to post this. Hantalë, yelda medenya. :)

This story will contain frequent bits and pieces of pure Sindarin Elvish, sourced from Parf Edhellen. I swear upon Eru Ilúvatar that everything is accurate, else it wouldn't be in my story. Everything but the very common phrases will have translations directly after. However, I'd expect most Tolkien fans to at least have a cursory knowledge of Sindarin, even if it's not as detailed as my own.

I tried my best to make the facts of the story as close to canon as possible. You have no idea how long I've spent on researching and double-checking the facts of this story. So please, honor my hard work on my debut and leave a review on your way out. Even if the review is only to tell me that my writing is atrocious and deserves to be tossed into Orodruin, at least it'll mean that someone read it. I've never even read the Silmarillion, but I have probably spent somewhere approaching eight hours working on this story. So please, please humor me and give me some feedback. Thanks! :)

Enough blabbing! On with the story!

Chapter 1:

~Túrin~

Pain.

One wonders what use such a sensation could possibly have. Pain serves no purpose but to incapacitate and cripple, if you allow it to; yet there must have been some reason for Ilúvatar giving it to sentient beings.

It was an odd tendency of mine to allow my mind to wander and consider abstract questions and concepts to distract myself. Most of the time, this occurred to take my mind off something unpleasant, and my current circumstances were certainly no exception.

My bound wrists throbbed with every beat of my heart. The skin on them had long since been scraped away by the abrasive ropes that bound me to the tree. Orc ropes were a true masterpiece in their creators' eyes, interwoven with metal shards to create a coarse fiber that was the rough equivalent of the texture of broken glass.

But even that pain could not compete with the complaints of my body, nor the ache in my heart. My left ankle was badly sprained, perhaps broken; I had whip slashes all across my back; as well as too many bruises and scratches to count; and, judging by the sharp stabs of stabs of pain issuing from my torso every time I inhaled, I had several fractured or even shattered ribs.

My fëa was more damaged than my hröa could ever claim to be, however. The Orcs that had captured me had murdered the entire band of Gaurwaith I had lead, including my closest and oldest friend Beleg. They had stabbed him through the stomach and left him to die. As one of the Eldar, he was gifted with rapid healing abilities. But even an immortal could not survive such a grievous wound.

Beleg, my friend, I am so sorry. I only wish I could have said farewell, I thought, tears pricking my eyes. I had no doubt that soon I would die, once my identity as the son of Húrin was discovered.

The Orcs that had captured me took a perverse pleasure in beating me. They had whipped and kicked me until I hardly had any skin that was not decorated with a cut or bruise. "Thaur yrch," I muttered. "Foul Orcs." I took a strange sense of pride in the fact that the Orcs had not succeeded in making me cry out yet; I had more strength than that.

Despite all the wounds and aches in my body clamoring for my attention, exhaustion overtook me and my head drooped against my chest.

~Beleg~

"Leave the scum here. We can let the dwarf deal with him."

These words, accompanied by a grating chuckle, were the first things that greeted me upon my return to consciousness. Overall, it was one of the most unpleasant awakenings I had ever had the displeasure to experience. With at least ten thousand years behind me, that was truly saying something. To add to the unpleasantness, a burning pain assaulted my midsection, undoubtedly from a hefty laceration from an Orc's blade.

The voice came again: "Goshnagz, toss those ropes over here. This devil needs to be secured."

With a small groan, I forced my leaden eyelids open. A sneering, disfigured face filled my blurry vision. Damn, it had to be Orcs, didn't it?

"Ah, awake, are ye, scum? You won't be for much longer," the Orc taunted, drawing a notched, curved dagger from his belt and twirling it lightly between his mangled fingers. The monster seemed to be debating over which end to put to use. Almost reluctantly, he grasped the weapon's hilt backwards and brought the pommel crashing down upon my temple. The blinding impact send me spiraling into unconsciousness once more.

When I came around for the second time, I immediately tried to cover my face with my hands, for the mid-morning sun was directly in my eyes. My attempted movements were met with a sharp jerk of resistance from both wrists. Raising my head from my prone position, I took in my situation.

My hands were bound with heavy black ropes and stretched out to the sides; my booted feet secured in a similar fashion. None of the ropes had any give to them, nor did the knots relax in the slightest, no matter how hard I struggled.

My thoughts weren't truly on my situation, however. Rather, they were with the Gaurwaith with whom I had spent I had spent the better part of three years defending the Dor-Cúarthol... and the accursed Petty-Dwarf that had brought our bitterly purchased peace to a crashing end. I had warned Túrin repeatedly not to become too trusting with Mîm, but my dear headstrong friend had always been too obstinate for his own good.

Now, it appeared as if we were all going to die. Before being knocked unconcious for the first time in the battle field, I had seen my comrades-in-arms being taken off guard by the Orcs and slaughtered. It was highly unlikely that any of them had survived.

The one's passing that would cause me the most sorrow would be my friend Túrin, whom I had known since he was a mere nine years old. As he matured, he had found a special place in my heart, always being the first to greet me and the last to leave me in any circumstances we found ourselves. The idea of continuing without him was so dreadful that I quickly turned my mind from such thoughts.

A rustling from above me on the slope caused my heart to jump with the sudden adrenaline coursing through me. In my helpless current position, I would be far too easy prey for anyone intending harm. Before the source of the noise came into view, I had a sinking suspicion that I knew the culprit. The Orcs had mentioned leaving me behind to be dealt with by the dwarf, which could only be referring to Mîm.

True to my guess, the squat figure of the traitorous dwarf came into full view. Mîm's gnarled face was set in a delighted smirk. I only had to take a sole glance at his murderous eyes to know that he intended to kill me. Most likely, the process would not be quick one.

The dwarf circled me once, most likely admiring my current vulnerability. "Never thought that I would live to see the day that an elf died," Mîm said in an almost conversational tone. "Especially when I'm the one to cause it."

I gave him the iciest glare that I could muster, refusing to show any sign of the sick dread that was causing my heart to jump. "Badach na band, hên i Morgoth!" I spat at the stunted creature. ("Go to hell, spawn of Morgoth!")

Mîm clearly couldn't speak Sindarin, but the burning hatred in my tone gave him a shrewd guess as to my meaning. The dwarf's face darkened in rage, and he drew his double-bladed axe from his back. "I was considering letting you go quickly, elf," he said in a soft, seething tone, "but you are making this very difficult for yourself. Perhaps I should slice you up, bit by bit..." Mîm traced invisible lines in the air, mimicking the cutting of a loaf of bread, starting at my hand and ending at my shoulder.

My eyes widened in horror. My hands I valued more than any other part of my body, for I was an archer, and the loss of one would cause my remarkable skill to be for naught. I turned my face away, clenching my eyes shut, unwilling to see the axe descend.

Mîm's taunting voice floated to me. "Scared, elfling? It should only last an hour or two; nothing too terrible."

My head jerked back to face Mîm and my gaze locked on his, my eyes snapping fire at him. He may have been about to kill me, but I still possessed my pride. I was not going to give him the satisfaction of breaking me before my death.

Mîm scowled at me and raised his axe, aiming for my left hand. I shivered, staring wide-eyed at his blade, waiting for the blow to come.

A mighty roar split the air between us. A figure staggered up the steep incline, a bloodied sword in his hands. The man's clothing was blood-soaked and he swayed slightly before collecting himself and charging at Mîm, sword drawn back for a lethal swing. Mîm's face registered utter shock, and then the dwarf stumbled back to avoid the strike, which thudded into the earth at his feet. Then the traitor pelted for the trees, not even looking back. I curled my lip in contempt; the dwarf was a coward. He would never dare face a truly skilled opponent unless they were down and helpless.

My rescuer fell to his knees beside me, breathing heavily. He leaned over slightly, his sword falling from limp fingers. Both hands were clutched around his midsection, and dark blood welled between his fingers, indicating a grave, perhaps lethal wound. Then, I caught a glimpse of his face, and relief coursed through me as I recognized Andróg, one of the Gaurwaith of Túrin's band.

"Andróg?" I inquired softly, worried by his unresponsiveness.

Andróg stirred himself with a small groan, and, retrieving his sword, severed the bonds on my hands, allowing me to sit up. I yanked at the knots securing my ankles and tossed the offensive ropes aside. When Andróg fell to the side with a small cry, I grasped his shoulders and held him upright. Gently, I peeled his clenched hands away from his stomach, trying to glimpse his wound and judge its severity. Andróg batted my hands away weakly.

"No use… he wheezed. "Won't… make it."

I settled my arm around his shoulders to support him, lifting his chin so that his eyes met mine. "What of the others? Do any live?"

Andróg swallowed painfully and shook his head, a small movement to keep from sending the world spinning. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "We were the only ones… to survive."

My eyes closed in sorrow. Túrin, my dearest friend, was no more. The band of warriors who had become my brothers-in-arms had been slaughtered by the Orcs. I would never become accustomed to the terribly short lives that the Edain led.

Andróg gasped out painfully, "I don't have long… but I need to say that I am sorry… for distrusting you. I have been honored… to have fought by your side… my brother." His eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled softly and lay still.

My eyes pricked with tears as I laid Andróg down with his feet facing the west and the setting sun, towards the Halls of Mandos. "May your journey be swift, my friend," I choked out. "Find your peace at last."

I slowly stood, one hand clenched around my stomach and the deep wound inflicted there. It was going to need cleaning and a bandage, but first I had to find my pack and my weapons. And afterwards, I was going to scout out the battle site. A desperate hope still fluttered inside me, an unreasoning thought that perhaps someone, anyone had survived the fight with the Orcs. I couldn't bring myself to simply give up on my friends before I knew the truth.

§§§§§§

So that's the first chapter! What do you think, is it worth continuing? Assuming that the answer is yes, the next chapter should be up in about a week. However, if I get five or more reviews before then, I might just be persuaded to post it a little sooner...

Please review!

Take care, Eryn :)