Hour of the Wolf by ElberethTheStarkindler

Finrod had been defeated.

Felagund, the Hewer of Caves, they called him, he thought bitterly, chains cutting into him. Only a hewer of failures was he. For what else had this expedition been but a failure?

He had known from the beginning that this journey was doomed, that only a madman or a son of Fëanor would seek to strip Morgoth Bauglir of one of the Silmarils, that it was likely he was walking into the gaping maws of death - yet he had been ruled by his honor. He had deemed it only right to fulfill the oath made to Barahir of the House of Bëor. And now he regretted it.

He had already failed in his battle of wills with Gorthaur.

He had already failed his men, their bodies strewn out before him.

He would fail Beren soon enough.

What kind of man was he, he wondered, that none of his companions should betray him. O! That they gave up their lives for one as unworthy as he!

He had failed miserably in his duties as liege and lord.

But then the werewolf came for Beren and he could fall to despair no longer. An overwhelming strength filled him and his mind could only repeat Beren! Beren! Beren! and his bonds sprung loose.

He wrestled with the werewolf with all his might, heedless of the harm that befell him. His hands and teeth his only weapons, the wounds upon him only growing in number, and yet Beren! Beren! Beren!

Though he could feel himself growing weaker, he knew he would be the victor of this battle. He must be the victor of this battle. So he put forth all his power and with the force of his body and mind, the wolf was slain.

Finrod fell to the floor and smiled. Beren was safe.

And so it was that the fëa of the most beloved of the house of Finwë answered the summons of the West.

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