Of Beren and Lúthien: The Complete Tale of “The Lay of Leithian” by LuthienHuan

Chapter 11 Of Friendships and Sacrifice

Finrod fulfills his oath; Beren saved by Lúthien and their newest best friend.

Meanwhile, in Sauron’s pit, blood thickly covers the floor, and the carnage of ten elves lies all about. At this moment, Beren has his eyes closed as tears run down his cheeks. He opens his eyes to Felagund’s voice.

“My friend, Beren, I know that at this moment you are blaming yourself for their deaths, but you should not. If anyone is to blame, it is I; for I asked for their aid. It is my hope they are all fondly remembered. Hmm, it is strange indeed that within my whole kingdom, there were only ten who honored their oaths to me.”

“Having feathered and furry friends doesn't seem so bad now,” said Beren.

“I have learned there are no set rules of true friendship. Two legs or four; nose, beak or snout; whether beautiful or not so; Elf or Man or Dwarf; the only part that counts is the heart. You have a good one, son of Barahir; for you are a descendent of Bëor, one of the first Men I knew. His heart was true, serving me faithfully for forty-four years until his death. He was eager to learn, eager to teach and the best friend I ever had. Had he the life of the Eldar, he would be with me in this pit today. My mourning of his death was long. Not just my heart did his death break, but nearly all in my kingdom. I’ve tried to tell Thingol how good Men can be, but he listens not. When Bëor died of old age, something we Elves will not have to face until after tens of thousands of years, I learned then that friendships and oaths should never be taken for granted. Don’t ever take a friend for granted, Beren. And never make an oath unless you’re willing to fulfill it until your life’s end.”

“I was always scared to become friends with people because everyone I ever loved are now gone, except, of course, for Lúthien and you. To tell you the truth, I’m scared to love Lúthien.”

“Never fear to love. Passing up love is passing up joy. Everyone has a right to feel joy; be he Elf, Man or Dwarf. Even beasts seek joy and companionship, except maybe those created by Morgoth. But whether it is ignorance or blindness or merely being prejudice, it is he who holds to those qualities who misses out on love or a good friend; one such as you.”

“What do you mean? I’ve literally fed you to the wolves.”

“Take my words: one day, Thingol will love you, and he will feel no shame in professing that love or his foolishness for his blindness.”

They hear a grunt and see another pair of werewolf’s eyes in the doorway. It begins walking slowly toward Beren. Felagund is heard straining and chanting. With a loud cry he breaks his bonds.

“Felagund!” Beren shouted. “Stay! Stay where you are! Felagund!”

As the werewolf leaps for Beren, Felagund collides with it in midair. They fall onto the ground and into the blood with a sliding splash and fight in front of Beren, while he continues shouting for Felagund, who at this moment seems to be pinned underneath the beast. The Elven king bites the werewolf’s throat, ripping a large chunk out of its neck with his teeth. It screams in pain before falling lifeless atop Felagund.

“Felagund!” Beren again shouts. “Felagund!”

“You need not shout; I’m right in front of you,” Felagund quietly said in a slurred mumble. 

“Are you hurt?” Beren asked.

Felagund strains to push the beast off of him. He rises holding both forearms against his stomach, and then he spits the large chunk he ripped from the werewolf’s neck onto the ground before replying, “If I am, I’m too tired to feel it.”

He uses one hand to pull the shackle pins and release Beren. Felagund then falls forward into Beren’s arms holding his stomach again with both forearms. Beren catches him and carefully sits down, placing Felagund’s head in his lap.

“My friend, move your arms; let me see your belly,” said Beren, who instantly begins to weep after Felagund moves his arms. Some innards stick out from three large gaping claw wounds streaming with blood. Beren begins to gently rock him. “Oh, no!”

After rocking him several seconds, Beren stops but continues to weep openly. He then looks down into Felagund’s eyes. Several of his tears have fallen on Felagund’s face. Felagund slowly reaches up and wipes a tear from Beren’s cheek; the Elf warmly smiles.

“Mourn not much,” he said. “I am honored to die for one of Bëor’s people…”

“I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have come to Nargothrond,” Beren said.

“…very honored to die for you, Beren. Who knew it would be in a Tower I built?”

Beren whimpers as he unsuccessfully tries to control his crying. Felagund continues smiling and says, “I go now to my long rest in the timeless halls beyond the seas and the Mountains of Aman. It will be long before I am seen among the Noldor again; and it may be that we may not meet a second time in death or life, for the fates of our kindreds are apart. Farewell, Beren son of Barahir, kinsman of Bëor. Farewell.”

“Felagund?… Felagund?!”

Beren again gently rocks him and continues to weep. Looking once more at Felagund’s face, Beren sees something of a smile and that a peacefulness has come over it.