The Archer's Triangle by Tehta

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Chapter 3

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Beleg had just begun re-fletching the last of his recovered arrows when the birdsong coming from the tree at his back ceased. Someone was approaching the clearing. The ever-present sound of windblown branches had been joined by more regular noises: footsteps in the undergrowth, the muted clink of metal, the rustle of leaves as they resettled in the wake of a moving creature. Several of the hunters Beleg knew were as loud as this, but only one walked with such impatience. Beleg bent over his work and smiled to himself as he awaited the inevitable abrupt greeting.

"Beleg!"

"Greetings, Túrin." Beleg smoothed the flight and laid the finished arrow aside before looking up. "Spending the night at the lodge, are you?"

"I suppose so."

Beleg was not surprised: courtiers like Saeros, used to dwelling in caves, tended to prefer lodges to camping under the open sky. Still, there were complications. "But what about privacy? You know, Túrin, I can get out of your way easily enough, but I know of five or six other people staying here tonight. Perhaps I could try to organize a nighttime exercise? Maybe a contest, play on their competitive instincts..."

"Oh, do not bother."

The relief this statement brought Beleg caught him off guard. "What do you mean?" he asked, now noticing the tension in Túrin's broad shoulders, in the set of his lips. "Have you lost interest in Saeros' advances?"

Túrin smiled as if at a private jest. "I suppose one could say that."

"And what else could one say?"

"Well, for one..." Túrin took off his pack and dropped it on the ground, then crouched down beside it; beside Beleg. "One could say you gave me some bad advice." His closeness, and the uncertainty in his eyes, softened the blunt words.

"Because I suggested that you try someone so..." Beleg wanted to say 'ill-favoured,' perhaps even 'inferior to yourself,' since this inequality had struck him when he had imagined the two of them together. He settled on the more neutral, "Someone you do not find physically appealing?"

"No, because you suggested the whole idea, without considering that not all Elves are as accepting of Men as yourself."

"You are right. I did not think." Beleg felt ashamed. How could he have forgotten all the fuss some people had made over the whole Beren business? "In my defence, this has not been a problem—has it?—since the King adopted you—and anyway Saeros did ask you."

"I rather suspect he asked me precisely because the King has adopted me." Túrin winced, but before Beleg could offer comfort, he continued, "He wanted to talk *politics*."

"Ah." Beleg winced back. "My sympathies. But, then... He clearly wants to befriend you. Perhaps, in time—"

"No." Túrin's fist tightened around the straps of his pack. "He called it bestiality."

Such an insult would mean a great deal to one so quick to take offence and who, moreover, was just the sort to spend his journey to the lodge brooding. Though Beleg was of a different temper, he felt his anger stirring to meet Túrin's. But that would do neither of them much good; he concentrated on speaking in a soothing tone.

"He probably picked that up from his cousin Daeron, who used to say it about Beren. Still, I am surprised to hear anyone say it now that Beren has demonstrated so clearly the worth of Men. No doubt Saeros speaks out of a sense of family—"

"Saeros said you went hunting with Beren."

"Yes, I did. You know that: you must remember my tale of the Hunt of the Wolf?" The child Túrin had enjoyed that story greatly; perhaps more hunt-talk would distract him now. "I think it prompted you to start asking hunters to cut open the stomachs of their kills. I seem to recall that you said deer had the most intere—"

"Is that what Saeros meant, then, the Hunt of the Wolf? You did not... go hunting privately, as well?"

"No, he preferred—" Beleg noticed Túrin's raised eyebrows. "Wait. Was that supposed to be a suggestive question?"

"Maybe." Túrin lowered his brows. "You seem rather shocked by the idea."

"I am, a bit. You see, that would have been wrong. He was Lúthien's."

"Lúthien's?" Anger returned to Túrin's voice. "Her pet human, you mean? I thought you said— You Elves are all the same." He clutched his pack as if preparing to rise, and glared at Beleg: the pain Saeros' words had caused him was right there in his eyes.

"No, we are not." Beleg grabbed Túrin's elbows, to keep him in place. "I do not feel as Saeros did, I promise. All I meant is that, by the time I met Beren, he and Lúthien belonged to each other; loved each other in a way at least as strong as any formal marriage bond."

"The King did not believe so."

"He did not want to believe it. Not because he thought it would be bestiality—it would be strange for him to object to mixed unions on principle—but because he did not want to lose his daughter. He respects Men, as do I, and as does almost everyone else."

Túrin did not look convinced.

"Look, Túrin," said Beleg. "Has anyone other than Saeros ever been so rude to you?"

"No, I admit I have not heard many insults. But I have felt... I cannot explain it. Few here are as welcoming as you."

Beleg smiled. "Well, you know what they say. One true shot is worth a hundred near misses; so it is with friends. Of whom you have several, even apart from—"

"You should come hunting with me." This time, Túrin's eyebrows were not doing anything suggestive: they were drawn over eyes that were staring at Beleg with an alarming intensity that made his meaning quite clear.

A joke. Beleg needed a joke, something to diffuse the situation. Of course, many would be amused by the idea of someone of his age and dignity sporting with a youth, but to Beleg himself the image felt too real, too plausible, to laugh at. He focused on not leaning forward, and said, "I am too old."

"You do not seem so old to me." Túrin raised his hands and clasped Beleg's elbows, so that their arms were locked together. "Beleg, I do not know what to say, or do, here. I would try to... to seduce you, only... Well, that is the issue, isn't it? I have no idea how seduction works. So I appeal to you as a friend: please, at least tell me—show me—how I should proceed with others."

Put like that, it seemed like such a simple and reasonable request, but the way it made Beleg's blood pound in his ears, nearly drowning out thought, suggested that it had the potential to get complicated. However, Beleg reasoned, noticing the problem was a good sign: it meant that he was still rational. He decided to go with his instincts.

"All right," he said.

Túrin grinned—a surprise, for he rarely smiled. "Tomorrow?"

Beleg nodded, and wondered whether Mablung would be among those who might laugh.