Carmina Brethilia by Robinka

I lament Fortune's blows

"Nothing compares to your fingers, Cúthalion." Mablung winced as he pulled up his leggings and laced them back.

"Don't repeat that too loudly." Beleg discarded bloodied bandages by throwing them into the hearth. He rinsed his hands in a bowl of warm water and dried them with a clean cloth. "I have enough to deal with, mind you. Now," he patted Mablung's back, "I'll give you some ointment, and you'll be as good as new in a handful of days. Just don't stretch your... schedule, will you?"

"Aye, Captain!" Mablung groaned. "Thank you for stitching my arse. I have no need for another," he winked, "hole there."

Beleg laughed, shook his head, and stood up. He reached into his bag, rummaged through the contents and retrieved a small, round box, then set it on the table.

"Now," he pointed a finger at Mablung, "apply this two times a day. Or have someone else do it, your choice. Gently!"

Throwing the bag onto his shoulder, he gave Mablung a nod by way of good-bye and, seen to the door by Mablung's broad grin, he left his friend's lodging, to which Mablung himself referred as modest, but comfortable. As he stood on the threshold, Beleg again shook his head, chuckling, and went to his own temporary quarters at a slow pace.

Mablung was lucky, Beleg thought, he might have had a hole in his back, not a shallow wound just a two-hand distance below. Beleg smirked, but was relieved that it was indeed a scratch. Well, maybe not so, but still Mablung was nowhere near passing to the Halls – of which Beleg had a firm impression upon receiving the news of Mablung's wound. He suspected that his friend had exaggerated the severity of the injury deliberately. Mablung had made a great show of his distress upon his arrival, but despite the pretense, Beleg hadn't truly been irritated. After all he had been Mablung's brother-in-arms and friend for a longer time than the two of them cared to assess. He would have been upset if Mablung hadn't sent word and was seriously harmed.

Beleg sighed as he strode along the dimly lit corridor. In the distance, voices rang, announcing that he wouldn't have a peaceful evening.

"Damnation." He grunted. Quickening his pace upon hearing his name several times, he soon came into view of a group of his subordinates. Among them, he saw two of the palace guards and two Men, unfamiliar but possibly here in seek of help, he decided, noting their tired and dirty faces that bore such looks that Beleg could define as 'worn-out' – equally as their attire. Yes, they were exhausted, but they also looked about in haste as if anxious.

"Captain, there is an urgent matter to discuss, and the king needs your presence," one of the wardens confirmed what Beleg had already guessed.

"Aye," he only said and adjusted the bag that hung from his shoulder. There would be a plenty of evenings for relaxation in the future. For now, duty called, and Beleg – willing, but not overly happy – was going to answer.

Uneasy sits the king

Thingol sat at his huge desk covered with maps, scrolls and pieces of parchment. When Beleg had appeared in the doorway, announced by the manservant, the king beckoned to him without a word. Beleg entered and completed a bow, courteous, but not too deep. Well mannered didn't mean boot licking.

"Men out of Brethil brought word of an imminent danger swarming out of the North," Thingol muttered.

Beleg cocked his ears.

"Do you wish me to set out?"

A flash of Thingol's eyes from among the hanging strands of his silvery blond mane answered his question, and Beleg had no need for more confirmation.

The king straightened his back and sat deeper in his chair. Beleg nodded when invited to join him at the desk, across from Thingol. The monarch clapped his hands. Soon, the manservant brought what Beleg had craved for the entire afternoon – a carafe with ruby liquor, and placed two glasses on an uncovered area on the desktop. The king thanked him and gestured for Beleg to help himself to the wine.

"Advise me, Beleg," Thingol requested, when they looked at one another from above the rims of their respective spectacles. "Should I say yes, or should I say no?"

"It depends, your majesty," Beleg responded with a smirk, "to whom, and upon what burning matter you so desire my judgment."

"You old bastard!" Thingol admonished him with a theatrical gesture, then put his hand to his forehead, kneading it with his fingers.

"No time for jesting, though. I hear a hoard of orcs," Thingol pretended to spit on the floor, "heads toward our western borders, leaving but debris and carcasses. In Brethil, the folk of Haleth have found themselves in dire need of our help. What say you, hunter?"

"Tempting, my lord." Beleg absorbed the information in a flash and began planning his departure. "What force can you spare me?"

"Some nine hundred men, maybe more," Thingol replied, rubbing his hands together as he put the glass aside.

"And with my wardens, that would make a thousand men."

"Good, good. Leave none alive, Beleg, none of those mongrels of Mor-," the king coughed into his curled palm, "-goth."

"I shall do as you say, your majesty," Beleg agreed, his mind set on scheduling what should be done. "Mablung unfortunately is not going to accompany me, nor is he able to take up any duties for a few days, I'm afraid."

"How so?" Thingol sounded genuinely concerned. "What happened?"

"Minor injury, but he must stay at home." Abed preferably, lazy arse, Beleg added silently.

"I see." Thingol nodded. "I'll have someone wish him a quick recovery in my stead."

Beleg smiled. Most likely, that wish would be personified by a pretty maid with a flask of the finest vintage out of Ossiriand. Thingol was a connoisseur and knew how to trade, and how to flatter, Beleg inclined his head and closed his eyes. Mablung would be glad to receive the gift, if only the inanimate part of it, and he would forget about the literal pain in his arse. If Beleg could spare a bit of time before he led his troops to the woods of Brethil, he would check on Mablung again and make sure some of the delicacies from the royal kitchens were included in the king's 'recovery gift' as well. Some of the staff proved to be talented in pastry cooking and conjured such tidbits that thinking of them alone made one's mouth water.

"I shall depart as soon as I can," Beleg offered, not that Thingol needed his assurance, but he had to shake himself out of daydreaming about clever hands of a certain maiden who was one of the pastry chefs and whose lips were – as Beleg had often sampled – sweeter than ripe wild strawberries. That ought to wait until he came back... Sure as Melian's girdle. When he had his mind free from his current burden.

"Excellent." Thingol affirmed. "Good fortune, Cúthalion."

When a boy with a maiden

Mablung envied Beleg, as Beleg judged by his friend's furrowed brow and thinned lips, but a bottle of wine and a good chunk of roast venison with apples and cranberry sauce improved his mood enough to keep himself from snarling at Beleg when he had passed the news about his task.

After leaving his chamber, Beleg went to the kitchens to order provisions be prepared for his mission. There, he found Miniel as he could expect. She immediately guessed that something was brewing, before he could even open his mouth to say his greetings and Beleg, having estimated his needed food supplies, beckoned for her to go outside. She nodded, wiped her hands against her apron, took it off and hung it on a hook in the door, caring little for the meaningful smiles of the other women present.

"Where are you going this time?" Miniel asked quietly. "Worry me."

"Miniel." Beleg wanted his look to mean 'no moaning'. "Orc-harvest in Brethil."

"Soon?"

"Tonight."

She acknowledged by looking away, then straight into his eyes as she raised her head. Her eyes shone.

"I'll be waiting."

"I know."

She always did, Beleg thought. And she never complained, in truth. Those looks she sometimes sent him, those words she might have said, but always held her tongue on, weren't meant to stab. They came out of concern, longing to see him well and in one piece. Perhaps, out of love too, but neither of them had ever expressed that in words. Care, joy of being together, yes, but if Beleg was to give their relationship a deeper thought, he couldn't recall either of them mentioning love.

Miniel walked beside him, her face clouded, her hands fumbling with a loose end of her gown's lace. Beleg couldn't help taking her by the hand. She looked up and smiled in response.

"Will I get a kiss before I go?" he asked.

"It depends where," she teased, then became serious. "You know you always will."

Suddenly touched, Beleg lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss on the inside of her thumb. Miniel held her breath, then made them both halt their steps, stood on her tiptoes, and whispered, "Don't be gone long, Beleg," against his mouth, before she caught his lower lip between her teeth and sucked it lightly.

Come, come, do not let me die

The chilly air clung to the skin at dawn, and the weak sun couldn't chase away the cold. Beleg looked back over his shoulder, then pulled the hood of his mantle onto his forehead as he pushed through the thick brushwood, heading westward. His wardens followed in his wake, a group that he had chosen to accompany him to the Haladin's settlement, where he expected to find the elders of that folk, gather information and then determine their plan. Scouts had gone roaming, squads marched on to their appointed posts, and Beleg set his mind at ease for a while.

The trees murmured, bidding them welcome by spreading their branches and rustling their leaves joyfully. Their energy was warming, their soughing speech hopeful, and Beleg glanced up at the green-grey sky, smiling. He thanked the forest and strode as fast as he could, wading in the shrubbery. Then, he readjusted the bow and the quiver on his back.

He had already considered a few ways of how they – his wardens, Thingol's soldiers, and the Haladin – might play this game, should they be willing to fight. His own and Thingol's men, he was certain of their conviction, but what of the Haladin? Tough folk, they were, even if mortal and prone to swift death. Moreover, their guardianship of Brethil had seasoned these men into hardened warriors, yet they weren't as barbaric as some other mortal tribes. His own folk held them in high esteem, and even the Gelydh acknowledged them as capable, which was a rare thing for the folk, who doled out their respect grudgingly.

Beleg allowed himself to smile grimly. He thought about Mablung and the look on his face when they had shaken their hands in farewell. It was Mablung's luck, or his bad luck, that they wouldn't be fighting side by side this time. Surely, his friend would make up for it did a chance come. Beleg didn't feel sorry for leaving Mablung behind this time. His friend could always play chess with Miniel. Frankly, Beleg didn't care for the game, he had neither the patience nor mind for it. He was therefore no match for Miniel, at least in that specific area. Mablung on the other hand could sit all day long bent above the board and analyzing strategies. Only now, he couldn't sit, Beleg sneered, but then smacked himself mentally for that.

Shaking his head, he focused back on his surroundings. The wisps of fog that blanketed the undergrowth began rising, wrapping the squad of wardens in a chilling shawl. Beleg slowed his pace and listened to the pulse of the forest. Amid the breathing of the wildlife, he could recognize the alien sounds of a mortal settlement, like false notes in a once perfect score. Nonsense, he thought as he drove those oppressive thoughts away. He was here to aid these people, not to patronize them.

As soon as the wardens emerged into the clearing at the foot of Amon Obel, dogs began barking inside the palisade alerting everyone to their presence, and the gate guards gestured to one another, assessing the host's arrival. A hawk's shriek pierced the air; Beleg answered the signal, putting his hand to his mouth and whistling in a manner of a blackbird. The guard shrilled a 'hawkish' response and Beleg continued marching toward the lower gate.

He led his squad through the passage, along the bridge over the ditch where sharpened pales stood out, through the wooden gateway under the watchtower, straight onto the yard. A wide, stone roadway spiraled up the hill to the upper gate. Alongside, cottages and barns sat, smoke rose from fireplaces, and people – stopping in their chores – watched the wardens with caution. Children had no reluctance, as ever, and ran onto the yard after a moment of scare and surprise. They circled Beleg's men, walking along with them, sending gap-toothed smiles all over the Edhil and whispering to each other, "Fair Folk! The Fair Folk have come!" among giggles and punches. As they climbed up the hill and passed through the gateway, they came up onto another yard, smaller and tidier, with a well in the middle.

"Cúthalion!"

Beleg turned his attention away from the children that gathered around him to the largest household – there, in the doorway stood the man that had called him.

"Our request has been granted!" the man called out and stepped onto the yard. "Welcome!"

With his arms open, he walked over to Beleg, who smiled and grasped the man's shoulders.

"And look who's come with aid? Cúthalion himself!" the man exclaimed. "The orcs will shit themselves!"

"Halmir!" Beleg chuckled and drew the man into a firm hug. "I'm only a modest border guard."

"There, there!" Halmir gripped Beleg's arms. "Modest border guard my arse! Come! Please, my friends, be welcome and rest. There's fresh water in the well, there's last autumn's ale in the cellar and freshly baked bread in the kitchens. I'll make sure you have everything you need."

Beleg gestured for his squad to settle on the yard, near the well, its swoop soon creaked under the heaviness of the bucket. Halmir led Beleg into his hall, issuing commands to his household as they went, ordering servants to bring food and beer for the wardens. As they stepped inside, over the high threshold into the dim hearth hall, Beleg looked around and nodded his greetings to the few young men and women who raised their heads from their tasks as he walked past them. They watched him, the innocent curiosity of the children suddenly replaced by eyes huge as mill-wheels, lashes batting, and the licking of lips, which made Beleg smirk. They always did this, he thought, always undressed him with their eyes, him or other men and women of the Grey Folk. Sometimes there would be a performance: flexing of young muscles and shaking long hair about, a bait for him to pluck and play with. A privilege of adolescence, he mused. Soon they would find out how swift and illusive it was. Even more so, in their case, he sighed inaudibly, when he considered the short lives of these folk.

"Please, sit," Halmir said, inviting Beleg to a seat at the table. "Let us break our fast."

"Thank you." Beleg put his bow, quiver and mantle aside on the bench.

"How many of you have come?" Halmir asked.

"A thousand axes," Beleg answered. "And my bow." He patted the wooden, black curve of the weapon.

Halmir grinned. He then rubbed his hands together, pulled a plate with bread, smoked lard and pickled cucumber closer to him and tore a handful of the bread. A maid brought two large, damp tankards of wheat beer, not overly strong, Beleg noticed when he allowed himself a generous gulp, but promising refreshment to satiate the thirst. Beleg took out a lembas from the inside pocket in his leather vest. He broke it into two pieces and munched on a chunk.

"Beleg, you are offending me," Halmir remarked, pointing at the waybread, then at his own food. "I insist."

"All right, you old rat," Beleg said, chuckling. "I'll save the lembas for my way back to the marches." He put the pieces back into the cloth in which they had been wrapped, and hid it in the pocket. The maid came back with a plate for him, setting a jar of honey and another plate with cheese on the tabletop. She flashed a smile at Beleg and went away, hips swaying, her fair braid brushing against her behind. Beleg glanced at Halmir, whose eyes saw the girl to the doorway. Then the man turned back to his meal and Beleg.

"Ah, them lasses, firm as turnips," he mumbled, making Beleg's brow move up. "Don't mind me," Halmir added. "I'm an old rat indeed, but harmless."

"Not to the orcs, though."

"True, true, my friend. Help yourself." He gestured toward the food. Beleg thanked him before biting into a slice of bread, onto which he had spread the cheese. Goat cheese seasoned with marjoram and garlic, he thought, not bad.

"Your scouts," Beleg asked, "what did they find out?"

Halmir's mischievous demeanor changed and the merry twinkle Beleg had seen in his eyes just a moment before vanished as Halmir resumed the information gathered by his men. Beleg nodded as he ate slowly, venturing a question now and then. Halmir finished his meal and drained his tankard.

"My son and his men should be here shortly," Halmir said and suggested a refill of the ale. "Then we will decide what to do."

Beleg accepted both of Halmir's offers.

No straight path

When the warriors appeared subsequently in the doorway some time later, Beleg had finished eating and he swept his forearm over the tabletop to remove the crumbles of bread. He set the dishes aside and spread out the map that he took out of the inside pocket in his vest. Halmir invited his men to sit at the table and clapped his hands for the servants to bring more ale and take away the dishes. Soon, a few more people came in, among them Haldir, Halmir's son. He greeted Beleg with a hearty handshake. The other warriors, especially the young ones, seemed intimidated at first. Their reluctance faded when the discussion began and the ale started to flow in their veins, warming their faces. The prospect of wasting the orcs heated their blood too. Beleg smiled at their eagerness with approval. He looked around, noticing a few children that clustered together outside the small window, trying to take a peek inside the hall, curious as always. Nothing would drive them away now, he thought and turned to the gathered men.

"Our posts are aware of the imminent danger," Beleg said as his finger followed the line of the Hidden Kingdom's northern marches on the map. "Our northern marches are prepared, as ever. Then, we tripled the number of the marchwardens along Mindeb. Some of them will foray into Dimbar if need be. Now, we are here," he tapped the map where the hill of Amon Obel was drawn with red ink in the midst of sketched trees, "and the orcs, I hear, come down from the North along the river of Sirion, is that so?"

"That's what we know," Halmir's son, answered. "They take their time, of course, ravaging everything that moves as they go. Burning to the bare ground. They are slow."

A heavy silence fell, Beleg could only hear a few flies buzzing under the candles set on a crossbeam that hung from the roof.

"My men doubled the outposts in Nivrim as well. They will know of every move of the enemy, if the orcs come that far," Beleg assured the men sitting at the table, then he sat back and leaned against the backrest of the bench. "But let's not think about the worst possible outcome. Thingol's warriors have gone to hide deep in the woods along the river. They are waiting for our call. My squad is at your command, Halmir."

"Thank you, Cúthalion," the older man replied. "Before we reinforced the posts at the ford of the Teiglin, I ensured each and every hamlet in these woods was warned. Our folk have either stayed on their land, but hunkered down in hiding, or they have come here. There is enough room for refugees, and we are well stocked. Still there are plenty who refused, and I fear for them."

"They won't come, reluctant to leave behind everything they have even though that may cost them their lives," Haldir commented. "You know that, father."

Haldir tangled his fingers in his beard, the other men sat in silence. Halmir's face took on a grim but determined expression.

"Gentlemen, we simply have to rout the orcs, force them out of Brethil so they or their damned offspring will never come back from the North, or better yet, drown them all in the river," Halmir decreed. "We must make sure that there is no way for them to escape alive from here. Right, Beleg?"

"I agree," Beleg said. "My men's axes are sharp, waiting for the orcs' necks."

"Good."

Haldir beckoned a maid to fetch his sister-sons. She went away, hurrying outside Halmir's household, and Beleg looked back at his companions and would be brother-in-arms at the table. Among them, Halmir was the oldest, with his beard and hair almost grey, but lively and jovial as he sipped the ale and chewed on a piece of dried venison. Haldir, his son, was a man in his ripe years, sturdy and strong, his voice firm and commanding. His eyes bore gentleness though that Beleg could clearly see and knew that a kind heart hid beneath the thick wool of Haldir's garb. When the fair-haired youths came in, bowing before the gathering and glancing askance at Beleg, Haldir ruffled the younger's hair with a fatherly affection and patted the elder's arm.

"My boys, sit with us and open your ears," he said. "Things of great import are going to be discussed, and I wish you listen and learn."

The two boys nodded solemnly, but the light in their eyes was eager as they sat on the bench beside their uncle. Beleg crossed his arms over his chest. Although there were young women and men among his own troops, they were adults by any standards, mortal or Firstborn, and he wasn't too fond of the idea of sending children to war. The younger lad, Huor, was merely a child, though of course if anyone asked him, he would firmly state he was a grown man. The older, Húrin, yes, he was old enough to wield a sword, and he did successfully – as far as Beleg could recall. Still, war wasn't a walk in the woods in the spring. War was gutting, breaking, all manner of bloody work. War meant fright and terror, broken bodies and torn spirits – nothing to do for children and their innocence. On the other hand, should the orcs come upon the settlements, there would be no time for thinking twice. Kill or be killed – or worse. Hands and hearts couldn't flinch then, Beleg was well aware, no matter to whom they belonged, to the old or the young. He sighed, letting his head fall a little and his mind ramble on children and war. It never seemed a promising combination. Either mortal or Firstborn, children shouldn't be pushed into battle too soon, he thought. But, some parents decided otherwise regardless of the consequences.

Miniel's father, who had been Beleg's fellow warden, used to say that Beleriand wasn't a place for the weak. Either in spirit, or in flesh. Weaklings, Híthoron had said, were a burden, prone to pass to the Halls or beyond the circles of Arda in a blink of an eye. Therefore, his little twin daughters had undergone a training intended for the wardens even though they hadn't been too willing. He was right, in a way, but Beleg couldn't help having an impression that Híthoron had pushed the girls to their limits when they were too young. Beleg, who had earned his high rank long before the sun had first appeared on the firmament, couldn't agree with such methods, but he had no real say when it came to judging someone who was a parent. He had often calmed the more mouthy and rebellious Miniel and placated her sister, drying her relentless tears. Why children were drawn to him like moths to a flame, he couldn't tell, but having no progeny himself, he had often surprised other people with his way with the young.

Unfortunately, Híthoron had joined those underestimated weak sooner than he had ever expected – Beleg remembered that day as if it were yesterday. How Miniel's mother had railed and cursed, even the toughest warriors' ears had withered at her ferocity. But then, he had found out then whose sharp tongue Miniel had inherited.

Miniel, he thought and smiled.

"Our guest seems bored," Halmir called out. "There, Cúthalion, lack of sleep at home? Something we weren't told about, eh?" He winked roguishly.

Beleg laughed. Still, revealing his private life before the men wasn't something he would go for, after all it was his life. He clapped his hands on his thighs and straightened up, and then reached for his tankard.

"Friends, let me just say that I am an extremely busy Edhel." He looked around. "But I'm not sleepy. Just planning the best possible way for us to get rid of the orcs."

The men nodded while Beleg sipped the ale and listened to them exchange their concepts of how their joint forces should attack the orcs. They gesticulated and conducted their conversation louder and louder, until Halmir banged the table with his fist. Beleg smiled mildly, one corner of his mouth moved up.

"We need surprise as our assistance," Beleg stated. He noticed their surprise at his words and grinned. "My point is: we will let them enter Brethil, if they follow Sirion for a few miles downstream and then we will push them toward the river from their right, flanking them if they try to escape back north. That way, we will have enough time to regroup in the forest if they – as you pointed out, Haldir – were slow. But," Beleg drew a breath, "we mustn't underestimate them. They aren't mindless."

"They're but beasts!" some of the younger men shouted.

"Their speech might be foul, but they have brains that allow them to think, believe me."

"So what would you have us do?" Haldir queried as he silenced the hasty warriors.

"What if they press for the ford of the Teiglin?" Beleg asked.

"They know that the forest isn't their friend. If they are clever enough, they would turn to the right," Halmir supplied, nodding at Beleg.

Crying out, the most impatient of the men leaped up from their seats. "We shouldn't let them!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Therefore we must prevent them from doing so. We must hurry and surprise them as far north as we can," Beleg concluded. "I shall send word to my troops right away."

"Aye!" Voices resounded. "Aye, Cúthalion! Well said!"

"Let us not tarry further," Haldir added. "We set out immediately. Huor, Húrin," he turned to his nephews, "off you go! We are leaving!"

The men rushed out of the hall, leaving Halmir and Beleg to prepare specific orders for their troops. Soon, the call to muster up could be heard outside. Beleg nodded to Halmir, took his bow and left to join his wardens on the yard.

Everywhere the forest is in bloom

"It's a woman!" Huor whispered to his older brother, forgetting to keep his voice as quiet as possible. Everyone in a close proximity heard him, including the female warden in question. Beleg shook his head and decided to let that remark pass unanswered. The warden could reply with no assistance from him, but she was smarter than that, Beleg knew, and she only sent Huor a mildly irritated look, rolling her eyes when she glanced at Beleg, which made him chuckle. Poor boy, Beleg thought, a pair of breasts, full underneath a simple grey shirt, must have surprised him. His brother wasn't as astounded, though he observed Súllinn with the interest of a young buck. Súllinn noticed that, too, her lips made a small smile of appreciation that lasted less than a breath, and then her face became a mask of indifference. She was a warrior who didn't need to prove anything to anyone.

As they marched on, leaving the Haladin's settlement behind their backs, Beleg noticed that Huor furtively looked over his shoulder. Perhaps, the boy wasn't really prepared for this, regardless of his apparent eagerness, Beleg mused, and even his brother's presence might not lessen the fear of what was to come, intensified by the surroundings: between the giant trees, under their thick foliage, and behind mossy trunks, shadows lurked. Roots – twisted and slippery – made perfect traps for the unwary, and the sun could barely penetrate through the dense green canopy. Beleg inhaled deeply and pressed on, minding his steps, then looked around at his wardens and the Haladin.

Their faces were grim, eyes set on the trees. Or probably their focus was on the battle to come, Beleg wondered. Most likely, on both, he almost slapped his forehead at his stupid thoughts. On the other hand, what to think about to help push away the unpleasant thoughts of the impending confrontation? Beleg remembered delicious food, a fire roaring in the hearth on a rainy and cold evening, when one wouldn't poke their head outside for any reason; other people would recall mead glittering in a chalice; some of them would think of a beloved woman's limbs tightly pressed to one's body, slick from sweat and lust; yet another one would remember listening to the heartbeat of an unborn child. Pondering these distractions served well enough to forget about the upcoming gore, Beleg concluded and let his thoughts wander as he walked through the forest.

Some of his daily chores seemed tedious from time to time, but in the grand scheme he would never feel tired of them, with perhaps the exception of Daeron's insistence that he listen to a yet another unfinished canto, he chuckled under his breath. Beleg was an inept rhymer, everyone in Menegroth knew that. He didn't care for flowery speech, tra-la-la-leeing in front of an enchanted – truly or falsely – crowd, confabulating and mixing up facts with myths, poorly pulled off.

Miniel had snorted at him a little when he confessed his impatience with Daeron's supplications for critique, but then, she wasn't too fond of lyrical poetry either. When she didn't work in the kitchens, she usually spent her free time in the king's study or in the library sorting out scrolls and cataloging maps. She often had her fingers marked with ink, he smiled fondly, sometimes she had black spots on her sleeves or even or her face. She joked that those were a new kind of freckles – Ephediles scriptoris – which she had discovered and thus her name would be forever included in the annals of Beleriand. Beleg had agreed with her opinion, stating that her discovery was a reason to celebrate, which she wholeheartedly supported. Later, when they rested in each other's arms, Miniel remarked that he should visit the library more often.

"I will," Beleg had promised her. "These scrolls provide a comfortable bedding." And he had received a playful punch in his chest.

Miniel could always find an interesting read for him. Beleg turned his thoughts to the latest book he had read, authored by Finrod Felagund, that compared weaponry and warfare habits preferred by the Gelydh to the ones of the Naugrim and the Eglath. It was well-researched and presented accurate illustrations, thanks to Finrod having dwelt in Menegroth for a time so that he could observe the smiths and armorers. Wisely, the Golodh hadn't decreed whose traditions were better, a sound diplomatic tactic. It always depended on the circumstances, Beleg mused, walking on by the trees.

"Beleg?"

Beleg shook off his thoughts. "Yes, Súllinn?"

"A scout has arrived." She was grinning as if she won a prize, her hand clenched on the axe's handle, her brown eyes narrowed.

"Fetch him."

"Aye, Captain."

Beleg turned on his heels as he left his position in the advance party. The men continued to move forward at a steady pace while Beleg made his way back toward the rear of the company. One man outpaced the others, running up to Beleg as swift as a hare escaping the bloodhounds. Beleg greeted him with a short nod, and the scout rushed with his report.

"The orcs left the valley of Sirion," Brandor said. "Indeed, on their way southward, they head south-west, to the river of Teiglin."

"How many?" Beleg queried.

"Approximately several thousand of heads, five or six," Brandor answered. "As our scouts could roughly estimate the host."

"I see," Beleg nodded and kneaded his forehead as he and Brandor resumed walking side by side. "Some of them maraud around, seeking goods, slaves and victims for their vicious doings."

Beleg kept nodding as Brandor related the news. It turned out the orcs weren't as slow as Haldir had predicted. They seemed more disciplined as they entered the woods, in the area of the ford of Brithiach, didn't flood the land as they used to, only pressed south-west, setting fire in each settlement, hut, and cottage as they went.

"People of the Haladin tribes, those from small villages and hamlets deep in the forest, escaped eastward, deeper into the woods," Brandor continued, managing to keep his voice steady. "In the direction of the hill of Amon Obel generally, but some of them, blind in their hurry, even reaching Sirion, as the orcs swarm out of the North."

"I feared there might be as many of the orcs." Beleg looked at Brandor and sighed. "A hundred of them smell bad to me, but I've had this creeping feeling that we need to prepare for more. Well," he said, linking his hands on his back, "what you said seems a correct headcount to me. Not that it improves my mood."

"You may be right, Captain," Brandor admitted. "Perhaps we need captives to confirm our information?"

"We may not have enough time for that," Beleg answered. "On the other hand, taking a captive or two might serve us well."

"They may have sent scouts, too," Brandor suggested, "as they are now closer to the ford of Teiglin."

"All right, then. Take a few men and go, Brandor." Beleg nodded. "Good fortune."

The warden sped off into the forest. Looking over his shoulder, Beleg followed him with his gaze for a moment, until Brandor disappeared between the trunks, then he strode forward fast to catch up with the head of the company.

In bitterness and rage

Beleg didn't have to wait long for the opportunity to ask an orc a few questions. Brandor and three other scouts had encountered a small marauding party in a burned settlement that had consisted of four poor huts. The people who had dwelt there were slain. Later the wardens had found their bodies in a well, but they found one survivor, too. The orcs had abducted the young woman and her grandmother. The elderly mortal couldn't run as fast as her offenders would have liked for their cruel sport, so they had beheaded her, while they shrieked and laughed at her granddaughter's terror. The younger – a girl that had barely blossomed into womanhood, could only regret that the orcs hadn't slain her as quickly. When Brandor and the wardens had intervened, the orcs had finished raping her, all five of them as she had related, trembling and crying.

"Ate Gran's leg, them d-d-did," she whispered to Beleg.

She clutched her torn gown with both hands and didn't allow even Súllinn to wash her face, nor would she speak about the violence any longer. Súllinn gave her water and food and watched her for a time, and said she should take the girl aside to examine her injuries, that is, if the girl would let her. Beleg agreed and commenced the task of obtaining information from the two orcs Brandor had taken captive.

"They won't tell you anything," Súllinn added, pointing at the two creatures that knelt before them, disarmed and bound, but their eyes darting about, filled with hate and anger. "Good that Brandor found the girl, but these two are as useful as the last winter's snow."

"Súllinn, please," Beleg forced through his gritted teeth.

"Aye, Captain."

Then, he turned to the orcs.

"Where were you going?"

They answered with what sounded like the croaks of crows, Beleg couldn't say if it was laughter or actual speech, but he repeated his question. As he looked around, he could see that he drew the whole company's attention.

"Ain't tell ye nothin', elf!" The orc spat a gobbet of bloody saliva at Beleg's feet.

Beleg remained calm and studied the creature's face, its crimson eyes, full of menace, and bald skull, and every wrinkle on the orc's face seemed a mockery of the human race to him.

"You will live, if you do," Beleg answered.

"Fuck you!"

"Oh, I'm sure you'd be glad to do so," Beleg crouched in front of the creature and drew a knife from the scabbard attached to his belt, "wouldn't you now?"

The orc screeched when Beleg ran the knife close to the creature's face then pressed the blade further, cutting the black temple down to the bony cheek; the other one laughed maniacally at his fellow's expense.

"Yes, you would arse-fuck me, then rip me open and eat my heart," Beleg seethed. "If only I'd let you, you who are less worthy than a single hair from Bauglir's balls." He moved forward, grabbed the remnants of the orc's hair at the nape and pulled backward. "Speak, or I'll hang you by your own guts."

"No!"

"Speak!" Beleg pulled more forcefully.

"Down..." the orc mumbled when the point of the knife came close to his eye, "...down to flowing water, past witched woods."

"How many of you?"

"Don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Looooaaaaaaaaaaaaaadssssss!" the orc howled.

"Fine! Bloody stinker!" Beleg tossed the orc aside and strode away to keep himself from drawing the knife through the orc's throat. Brandor walked over and placed a hand on Beleg's shoulder while Beleg stopped abruptly and drew his fingers through his hair.

"Nothing?" Brandor asked.

"Not much," Beleg said. "Súllinn was damn right. Besides, Halmir's men already grind their teeth at seeing them here."

"What are you going to do?"

"Let them go."

"You can't, Beleg, you know it!" Brandor lowered his voice. "Have you forgotten what they did to that poor girl?"

"No, I haven't." Beleg didn't feel like arguing, but Brandor's accusing look and stinging words irked him. He shrugged the warden's hand from his shoulder. "Fetch Súllinn!"

"Aye," Brandor answered, flinching before he took a step. His hesitation clear, he moved away, and Beleg returned to the orcs.

"Get up!"

The orcs stared at him unmoving, until he kicked one of them in the ribs. They rose from their knees and stood shaking. Having sheathed his knife that now hung from the belt on his back, Beleg reached into the pocket in his vest and took out a pair of leather gloves, the fingertips of which were cut away. He put them on and saw Súllinn approach him, her face white, lips pursed, and brows drawn together.

"You need me, Captain?" she asked formally.

"Yes. And my bow."

"Aye."

Súllinn was close to rage, that much he could tell. She wasn't the sort who screamed, cried, pulled at her hair or threw objects about in anger. Instead, in the midst of wrath, she remained calm and spoke quietly, with only the twitching of the left corner of her mouth revealing the fury that seethed beneath the surface. When she appeared next to Beleg with Belthronding and another bow in her hands, a full quiver on her back, he saw that twitch, but he knew she could keep herself in firm check, as she usually did.

"How is she, the girl?" Beleg asked quietly when they forced the orcs to turn and made them go forward.

"Bites on her breasts, her left ear nearly bitten off, scratches on her belly and thighs, sprained ankle," Súllinn counted on her fingers, never averting her eyes from the orcs. "Bruises and minor cuts on her head and neck."

"Go on," Beleg issued in a gentle tone when she fell silent.

"She told me she was innocent before they did that to her," she said. "Didn't let me tend to her, though."

"She will, soon, probably."

"Somehow, I don't think so, Beleg."

Veiled in obscurity

"Beleg, we should finish them off," Súllinn said through her teeth, hissing when he shook his head in denial. She glared at the orcs for a moment, her brows furrowed, before looking back at him, and he noticed that her gaze became even more insistent.

"I'm not a butcher," he answered. "I'm not going to send arrows into their backs in front of my men and the Haladin."

Súllinn smacked her tongue with a disapproving tsk-tsk. Beleg glowered at her. It was a pose on his part, he thought, he would rather kill the orcs without further ado and throw their bodies into some hole in the forest, but he wouldn't do it. Not now, when Haldir's nephews were around watching him. Súllinn notched an arrow onto the bowstring and drew it.

"The men care little," she said as if reading his mind. "As for the boys, well, they need to grow up."

"Súllinn, stop trying my limits!"

"They seem to have shrunk of late," she commented and urged the orcs forward. "Go, you reeking sods! Move!"

There, he thought, Súllinn of course had to have the last word, and as usual she was right, or close to being so. Damn, he sucked in a hissing intake of air, making the woman glance at him. Now, she, too, knew that he thought she was right, and only his so-called moral standards wouldn't let him kill the orcs in public. He felt suspended between revenge and rightness while he gripped his fingers around the bow as he walked on, piercing the orcs' backs with his gaze, if not his arrows. For now, he thought surly.

"How is Miniel?" Súllinn asked suddenly. Beleg turned to her with his mouth open.

"W-w-what?"

"You heard me," she answered.

"But why Miniel?"

"I haven't seen her for a time. I have often wondered how she fares," Súllinn went on.

"The last I looked," Beleg began, then shook his head violently. "Wait, wait! What kind of question was that, Súllinn?"

She stopped, for a moment shorter than an exhalation lowered her bow and turned to him slightly. In the same instance, Beleg understood what was going on. She did it deliberately. The orcs smelled their chance – even if only a weak opportunity to save themselves while the two of them were arguing. The one closer to Súllinn turned back in a flash and flung himself forward, aiming at Súllinn's chest to throw the woman off her balance. The other, an eye's blink later, screeching, darted forward, advancing with only his rotten fangs as a weapon. Beleg stepped back and swung his bow against the creature's leg. When the orc collapsed, he dropped the bow, took a vice-like grip of the orc's head and twisted. The bones creaked as the neck went limp. The orc's body slumped to the ground. Beleg looked up at Súllinn.

"What the..." he barked, then cut short the reprimand that was about to roll off his tongue. After all, Súllinn's idea spared him from his predicament of releasing the captives. After all, again, the orcs weren't executed. Not precisely. Beleg turned his head several times, seeing the other orc with Súllinn's arrow's feathers sticking out of his mouth.

"There," she said as she tucked the bow under her arm and wiped her hands against her leggings. "Congratulations on the job well done."

"Don't expect me to thank you." Beleg grunted.

"Don't fret."

He was about to open his mouth and growl at the woman, a stinging reply that would show her place in the line, but in the end, he resigned himself to let her win this one; he waved his hand dismissively. It would do no good to argue with her. Beleg turned on his heels and walked away, leaving the carcasses for the wildlife to feast on. Worms for worms, he thought pushing through the thicket, with Súllinn in his wake. As he strode through the forest, his irritation dissipated, and when they reached the main forces of the joint troops, his mind was calm and clear again. Súllinn placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I hope you bear no grudge," she half asked, half stated.

"None at all, Súllinn," Beleg answered. "I wouldn't hear the end of Mablung's lecture if I did."

She pouted, in a totally-un-Súllinn-like manner, which made Beleg chuckle, but he knew he had hit the mark. Warg's eye, he thought, and turned his head to Súllinn. Her eyes narrowed instantly.

"Do you know something that I'm unaware of?" she inquired, her fingertips stroked the curve of her bow as she caught up with his steps.

"No."

"Beleg?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't I believe you?" she queried with merriment.

"How would I know?" he replied with a question. "Do I reside in your head."

"Allfather forbid!" Súllinn protested, shaking her head. "One person there is enough."

"Beleg! Súllinn!" Húrin shouted and ran to them.

They met halfway. The grave look on the young man's face boded ill.

"That poor girl..." he said, fisting both hands at his sides, "forced a knife into her own heart."

Were the world all mine

"You were right, Cúthalion," Halmir said as they sat side by side. "It was unlikely for them to keep banging on Doriath's gates since the girdle wouldn't let them in anyway. You were so right, they didn't want to wander aimlessly in the forest, having huts and wild bee-yards as their conquests. Instead, they seek the ford of the Teiglin."

Beleg was nodding, but he didn't really feel any better because of the fact that he was right.

"We are going to cut them off," he answered.

Halmir agreed with a grunt. His son remained silent, though his brows met and indicated that he was curious as to what Beleg was going to say. The three of them had placed themselves under the branches of a huge beech, having ordered their men to cease marching and the scouts – to continue wandering to find any useful source of information. That short break in their trek north-west served as a time for council before the battle. Although some of the Edhil and Edain roamed in the surroundings, Huor and Húrin sat down beside their uncle and chewed pieces of dried meat, while others lay or sat on the grass, talking quietly or singing. Súllinn came to sit next to Beleg and began sharpening her axe, even though, Beleg was sure, the weapon didn't need any maintenance at the moment. She drew her hair behind her ears, propped the axe against her bent leg and, whistling a soft tune, she slowly sharpened the broad blade.

"How many people have joined us, Haldir?" Beleg asked.

"Some seven to eight dozen, I believe," the man replied, never averting his eyes from Súllinn. Beleg glanced at her and almost shook his finger at her for providing a show in front of the men, distracting them, but he restrained himself.

"Very well," Beleg said, leaning back against the beech, "here is what I think we should do. We meet the orcs halfway to the Ford of Brithiach, where the road south runs through a ravine, enclosed between high slopes. We let them in," he looked into Halmir's approving eyes, "then Súllinn and half of the wardens will cut them off without making themselves seen. Does everyone follow me?"

"Aye!" the men called out. Even Húrin joined his voice to theirs; Huor only opened his mouth and nodded.

"Aye, Cúthalion," Súllinn replied, without a look up from her task, without ceasing her movements.

"Now, Halmir and the warriors of Thingol will take up the position along one side of the ravine." He gestured toward Halmir. "Haldir and your archers – you should gather those folk that have joined our forces recently – you will get the other side. The two of you will attack from the flanks once the ravine is closed and the tide of the orcs meander inside. Is that understood? You understand, too, boys?"

Haldir's nephews nodded vigorously. Both had flushed faces, and Beleg would bet they were eagerly looking forward to hearing their names mentioned now and their assigned tasks.

"Good."

"What about the way out of the ravine?" Haldir asked.

"Brandor and his squad of the wardens will make sure no one passes through," Beleg answered.

"Let us not tarry further," Halmir said as he rose. "We should be there on the morrow. As for you two," he turned to the youths, "you will go with the lady Súllinn, if she permits."

"The lady permits," Súllinn answered and showed her flawlessly white teeth in a grin that soon turned wicked as she put aside her axe. "And what about you, Cúthalion? What task does your plan leave for you?" she queried as she stood up and stretched her arms above her head.

Her hair, shaken loose, caught the rays of the sun and glimmered with copper light. Just like Miniel's, Beleg thought, though the other woman kept her hair short, uncommonly for the womenfolk of the Eglath. Miniel's hair reached her jaw line, and if her tresses grew longer, she would cut them. She usually wore them loose, plaiting tiny braids to keep the strands from her face only for special occasions. Beleg had heard the story of how her hair had once caught fire from the stove and burned down to the bare skin of her scalp, though he had never asked her to tell him the details of the accident. Everyone in Menegroth got accustomed to the short-haired woman, including him, even though Miniel's sister had tried to talk her out of that decision. Miniel was also stubborn. Just as Súllinn is, he thought, looking at the woman.

"I, my dear Súllinn," Beleg responded with a devilish smile, "will make the orcs run straight into our welcoming blades."

Chapter End Notes

All titles are borrowed or derived from the English translation of "Carmina Burana".

Translations:

Carmina Brethilia [Latin] – songs of Brethil
Ephediles scriptoris [Latin] – scribe's freckles
Golodh, Gelydh [Sindarin] – Noldo, Noldor
Edhel, Edhil [Sindarin] – elf, elves
Eglath [Sindarin] – the Forsaken People (here as a synonym of the Grey Elves).
Edain [Sindarin] – Men, allies of the Elves.

The book by Finrod Felagund that Beleg mentioned isn't my idea. It's borrowed from the story "Catharsis" by Inglor.

May our critics be confounded

“Everyone knows their tasks. It is time for us to go,” Halmir said. “Beleg, Súllinn.” He nodded by way of goodbye and motioned for the rest of the company to get up from the mossy ground as well.

“Beleg.” Súllinn sat down on her calves and leaned backward onto her heels to look up at him. “If he,” with her head, she pointed at the man that had just stood up and left the two of them under the branches of the beech, “thinks that those two lads will be safer with me because I am a woman, he is sorely mistaken.” She turned away from Beleg, pausing for a moment. “The younger one is frightened,” she said quietly. “It is not surprising, though. This is going to be a slaughter.”

“I believe he does,” Beleg answered. “He thinks you will take care of them.”

“They will need to watch their backs on their own because I may not have enough eyes to do so,” Súllinn replied. “I am not their nursemaid.”

“Do you know me so little?” Beleg asked.

Súllinn turned back to him and stared, her face stilled between a pout and a glare, while her brows couldn’t seem to decide whether to stay together in a line or to fly up her forehead.

“Are we playing riddles? How nice,” she quipped. “Fashionable entertainment before the battle, that is what we need badly.”

“Hold your snake of a tongue,” he admonished her, then winked. “I meant no offense, Súllinn, my sister-in-arms. Since when have I started to belittle you in any aspect of our tedious lives of border guards?”

“You never have, as far as my poor memory can serve me,” she answered.

“There. I have no intention to do so in the future, mind you. I would never have thought that you should be the boys’ nursemaid, nor would have I sent you to guard their backs only because you are a woman. I have never let anyone believe that you might be a lesser warrior because of your being a female.”

“Nay, Captain. That's true.”

“Halmir meant no harm to you, I should think, however he probably doesn’t share my opinion on how good a warrior a woman can be,” Beleg stated and added with a sigh. “The times of the lady Haleth are long gone.”

“He would not have trusted me that much and pushed those lads under my wings that quickly if he had known I am one of the Gelydh, in part,” Súllinn added. “Which literally made me an assassin of kin in the viewpoint of many even before I was born.”

She observed Beleg from beneath her drawn brows, but he had no reply. She saluted with a short movement of her head and without further ado, she left him, twirling her axe in her right hand as she went.

Beleg sighed again. Súllinn was exaggerating a bit, he mused, because the Haladin, even if aware of the rifts and conflicts between the Fair Folk, cared little in the advent of such a trying hardship as they were about to face. One axe still meant one axe, no matter who wielded it in their aid.

He could recall some of the gossip that had revolved around the Thousand Caves when Súllinn's mother had given birth to her firstborn and only daughter. Her mother had departed Doriath a few years afterward, and no one had heard from her since. She had left a letter to Súllinn revealing her daughter's heritage, and a few clues, but not the actual name of her father. The rumor among Beleg's people was that he had been Maedhros Fëanorion himself, hence the shade of Súllinn's hair and her fair complexion. Beleg had never given that topic too much thought, even though he had personally seen the eldest son of Fëanor enter the woods of Doriath in the disguise of a messenger bearing a letter from the High Prince Nelyafinwë Maitimo to the High King Elu Thingol of the Thousand Caves. Whoever had sired Súllinn, it was her mother's business, he thought, and Súllinn's too, though she had never seemed too interested in finding that out. She had always had other things to care about.

“We both are fatherless,” Beleg muttered under his breath as he picked up a small stone and tossed it in his hand several times.

But, her statement proved to be a somewhat bitter realization. Súllinn seldom brought up the question of her heritage in general conversation and it was no longer a cause and fuel of debates among the folk of the Thousand Caves because she was a reputable warrior and an independent persona. Yet sometimes she herself recalled that shadow, and it arose like a beast that lifted its filthy head from its lair. No one thought her untrustworthy, at least none that Beleg knew of. If people entertained gossip among themselves, it was their own foolish business, he thought as he slowly walked away from the huge beech as the quiet rustle of its leaves seemed to murmur a farewell and wish good luck to Beleg. Súllinn wouldn't burden him with her insecurities, if she had them anyway, which Beleg wasn’t really sure about, now when the battle approached quickly as the day waned. Different tasks awaited them. As far as he was concerned, all illegitimate heirs to the line of Fëanor must be set aside to wait for a better time to reveal their deeply hidden secrets.

On the broad road I move along

Shadows crept between the trees.

In the dimness of the forest, intensified by the rapidly waning day, people were moving in the thicket without unnecessary words. The chill of the late hour broke through the garb and seeped into the bones. Beleg drew the hood of his mantle deeper onto his head and wrapped the fabric around him as he crossed his arms over his chest. He walked, observing his men and the Haladin as they progressed in their march. He was reviewing the plan in his head, over and over again, analyzing every possibility that might occur.

The ravine, through which the road out of the north continued southward, wasn't wide. Rarely, there was enough width for three to four horses going side by side because roots and boulders didn't share their space between the high slopes easily. The ground wasn't stable either. There were also those times when roaring spring water ravaged the ravine, uncovering the bones of the earth and the tangled roots of the trees that stood proud above.

There was no moon in the sky.

Mist arose, and when Beleg stepped into a small clearing, he raised his head to the sky. A fluttering of a bat's wings whispered through the claw-like branches. Beleg watched the creature as it flew in hasty, seemingly chaotic circles, but he knew better – the bat had a purpose. The animal was hunting. Beleg smiled to himself and retreated back between the trees.

The silhouettes of the forest soldiers quickly became shadowy, then vanished in the dark. As swiftly as they could, they pressed northward, and Beleg rejoiced because the wind blew from the north, adding to their advantage. His smile turned into a devious smirk.

Later, the joint forces started splitting apart to take up their assigned positions. Beleg summoned Brandor.

“Captain!” Brandor briskly walked over to him and saluted.

“I'm going to sting the orcs a little bit,” Beleg said, lowering his voice. “They will think I'm alone and if everything goes well, they will be meeting our welcoming gathering soon. Of course, our arms will be open.” Beleg waggled his brows and Brandor smirked. Then, he grew serious.

“Everyone knows what they are doing, I hope?” There was a good dose of assurance in his question and as Brandor nodded solemnly, Beleg didn't have to ask twice.

“What are your orders, Captain?”

“Check all the positions. Then sit quietly and wait. Let's hope for a steady northern wind, so they won't be alerted too early by our scent,” Beleg answered. “Prepare a rope for me, I think I'm going to be needing one once they pursue me.”

Brandor was nodding as Beleg went on.

“Axes already sharp?”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Very well then.” Beleg sighed and looked at the sky. Then, he inhaled deeply through his nose. “Let's hope that soon we will be warming our hands at the fireplaces at home instead of having our arses freeze in the bushes.”

Brandor sniggered as Beleg winked. Then, Beleg gave Brandor a solid grab on his arm.

“Tell Súllinn, 'I'll be back',” Beleg told him as he turned on his heel and adjusted his bow at his back.

“I will. Good fortune, Captain.”

“Be well, Brandor.”

Then, Beleg ran.

I am with you even when apart

The bowstring thrummed quietly. The fingers, partly clad in the leather of a glove, were trembling almost invisibly while pulling it, until they stopped brushing the dark strand of hair tucked behind the ear. The tremble faded.

Closing his left eye, Beleg focused on the distant target, holding his breath for one brief moment. He felt the muscles of his arm transmitting their power to the strained bowstring, then he made one slight move.

The arrow whizzed, piercing the chilly air.

“Yes!” Beleg muttered when shrieks arose. While the first orc bent backward and fell, Beleg quickly drew another arrow from the quiver on his back and notched it on the bowstring. He aimed, less carefully than before, and released it. The shot was true. More shrieking answered his attack, and Beleg reached for another arrow, repeating the process. Once more he drew back his bow, aiming in a different direction, then quickly, he turned on his heels and ran.

He could no longer wait because the orcs, after their initial shock, were on their way after him, just as he had calculated. But he was alone, and they were grouped, swarming out of the forest with yells, howls, and screeches. He ran, his bow in his grasp and his quiver on his back with the remaining arrows jostling inside. He was much faster than the orcs, a fact he had quickly noticed when he had first met the host of Morgoth head-on. This was his advantage. Every so often he would stop, reach for an arrow and send it mercilessly into their ranks. He did this with a grin, both trying to fuel their desire to chase and destroy him, and to decrease their number, if only by a few. He would play 'cat and mouse' with them, stinging them with his arrows until he ran out. Finally, only Dailir remained in his otherwise empty quiver. Beleg grabbed his bow tightly in his hand and quickened his pace, careful not to miss the mouth of the ravine where the ambush was set, awaiting the orcs. He knew, even if he saw no one, that his people, his wardens, Thingol's soldiers, and the Haladin plus their allies, waited there, impatient to bathe their weapons in the dark blood of the orcs.

He knew it also, because the forest was breathing with hatred toward the dark horde, and had done so since he had first set foot on the mossy ground. He could feel it the entire time, and he realized, as he had many, many times before, that he wasn't alone in his mad run. He had powerful spectators supporting him.

The woods could hinder those who weren't welcome. The trees' roots could extend higher from the ground and the tangle of the brambles and bushes could suddenly grow dense to the point of being suffocating. The tree branches were unyielding and hard, and could bash an unwary head like a mace. The very stones themselves could become more slippery, and treacherous; they could suddenly roll out from underneath a foot, almost seemingly on a whim. Beleg knew all that. The forest was usually patient and could bear much offense and violence directed toward it. But when that patience reached its limits, the forest was an unforgiving enemy.

Beleg was counting on that now, and he wasn't mistaken. An ominous murmur began to build above his head, sounding a dreadful note. He smiled wickedly just as he stopped at the mouth of the ravine.

His wardens under Súllinn's command should be just as close as an arm's length, but he didn't give any indication of knowing that. He darted inside the ravine and jumped over a boulder that blocked his way.

Soon, he saw a rope hanging from the top of the cliff. Beleg slung his bow onto his back and grabbed the rope just as the first group of orcs entered the ravine, searching for him. He grinned again. So far his plan had gone smoothly and by the numbers.

O friends, amuse yourselves

“We're lucky the wind's been blowing away from them toward us,” one of the Haladin warriors remarked to another once Beleg climbed up the rope and set foot on the top of the ravine's wall, crouching between the tangled roots of the trees that grew at the edge. “They can't smell us yet.”

“Lucky?” Muttered yet another bearded warrior. “They smell like...” He made a face.

Beleg wanted to chuckle, but quieted them down with a quick gesture of his hand and he thought of several terms to describe the horrific odor of their enemy. He also wanted to tell the men that they had smelled nothing yet, but knew it would sound patronizing, so he chose to stay silent, knowing that they were seasoned warriors, shaped by the hardships of Brethil and the constant threat from the North.

Hidden behind the roots and the mound of soil atop the wall of the ravine, the forest soldiers stilled themselves. The enemy was fast approaching with shrieks and wails, and the wind carried, along with the sounds, the sweet and sour stench of rotten meat, stifling and scratching throats raw. Beleg nodded to the warriors that were close to him. He indicated the nearest tree with a motion of his chin, silently moving to climb up the trunk, having left his bow and quiver on the ground. The warriors nodded, acknowledging his intention, and he began climbing up the side of the tree that faced away from the gorge below.

Once up the huge trunk, Beleg carefully draped himself over an overhanging branch and looked around. Down below, the stream of the orcs meandered in the ravine seeming aimless; Beleg narrowed his eyes and the black horde blended into one snake of creatures, clumsy and somewhat hilarious in a demonic way, but deadly and dangerous. To Beleg's right, the Haladin and the allies lay in waiting. On the other side of the ravine, Beleg saw Halmir's grey head nod to him from underneath the cover of branches. Everything was ready.

Beleg looked in the direction where, far away from him, he expected Brandor to stay ensconced with some of the squad of wardens. He couldn't see them, but knew they were where they should be. To his left, at the rear end of the ravine, Súllinn's group remained out of sight, quiet as a mouse.

Beleg sent a warm thought over toward all of his warriors, the Edain, the Grey Folk, his fellow wardens, Thingol's soldiers, and to all those who had joined them having escaped from the huts and hamlets in the woods of Brethil.

Then, he gave the sign to start the battle.

There no one is in fear of death

At first, nothing seemed to happen.

Archers stepped up onto both sides of the ravine near the edge, making sure they were where the ground was solid or built up by rocks. They drew their bowstrings, aiming downward. They stood still, and when Beleg gave the signal, they released the bowstrings as one. The two edges of the ravine spat rows of arrows down into the cleft, and after less than a breath, a deafening shriek arose from the depths and the stream of orcs began to surge in both directions. They tried to escape, but the archers let loose another batch of arrows, then another one, and another one, each round causing new howls to sound from the ravine. Beleg climbed down the tree and looked into the ravine as he stood on the rock at the edge. Down below him, the swarm of orcs boiled, yelled, and died under the arrows of the Haladin and Thingol's soldiers. Beleg smiled, moving back behind the line of the archers and he carefully assessed the positions of his troops. He picked up his bow and quiver and ran toward the head of the ravine. It was time for Brandor and Súllinn to show up to prevent the orcs from running away and escaping the ambush.

“Let loose!” Haldir shouted as Beleg breezed past him.

The row of the archers released another batch of arrows.

Toward the southern mouth of the ravine, the archers had less work to do and they didn't have to continuously send arrow after arrow. Beleg stopped at a trunk of a broken tree that lay close to the edge and he jumped onto it to take a look below. Only a few orcs were still running south. A lot of carcasses covered the rocky ground, and the Haladin could have some fun with aiming at those who were still running forward in an attempt to escape. Beleg reached over his shoulder and removed his bow, then stuck Dailir onto the bowstring. Pulling the string taught, he directed the arrowhead at a running orc, held his breath for a moment and loosed the arrow.

“Warg's eye,” he hissed when the orc tumbled down with a yelp, the arrow sticking from his throat.

“Keep on watching the bottom of the ravine,” Beleg said to no one in particular after killing another orc with a dagger he had retrieved from the leather scabbard attached to his belt and resetting his bow onto his back again.

“As few as possible can slip past you. None would be ideal.” Many heads nodded in agreement, and Beleg continued toward Brandor's position.

Yet, he was no fool. He couldn't be certain that the entire outcome would go according to plan. Beleg expected some bumps on the road and while he proceeded to where Brandor's squad was located, he estimated the chances that the orcs could get out of the trap. He trusted Brandor as much as he trusted Súllinn, he wouldn't have ordered them to guard both entrances to the ravine had he not trusted them. Súllinn would never leave it, not while the last orc still breathed. She would personally see to it that the monster stopped breathing. Brandor was loyal to a fault; trustworthy and smart, so Beleg wasn't afraid he would let him down. Actually, Beleg thought as he halted and perused the ravine below once more from a good vantage point, Súllinn was charged with the more difficult task. Brandor could now sit and wait. Súllinn, Beleg knew, was bracing herself for a tidal wave of orcs to crash back at her squad's positions.

So far, so good. He jumped toward the bushes growing alongside the top of the ravine's wall to his right. A shrill cry of a robin answered him after he had whistled the password. The guard saluted him as Beleg moved to stand eye to eye with Brandor.

“Captain,” Brandor greeted him.

“Brandor, are you bored to death?” Beleg snickered. His wardens laughed. Brandor solemnly nodded, but grinned like a lunatic.

“All is prepared, but it looks like that welcoming committee farther up the ravine is doing its job too well.” Brandor nearly pouted. “No one can pass.”

The wardens murmured their agreement with their commander. Beleg took off his bow and quiver and set them aside. One of the wardens gave him a huge axe with an oaken haft. Beleg weighed it in his hand, ran a careful fingertip close to the sharp edge, and smiled.

“Let's have some fun, gentlemen, shall we?”

Brandor grinned again, and the wardens tightened their grips on their weapons. Beleg turned on his heels and took a position alongside the other wardens. Brandor was muttering something about 'orc harvesting' and 'scythes', making Beleg smile.

Indeed, a long while had passed with them occupied with nothing but staring at the darkening path heading out of the ravine. They kept their eyes locked on the mouth of the ravine, ears keenly following every noise that reached them from the inside and from the tops of the walls.

Beleg once again ascertained their positions. The squad of his wardens hid alongside both sides of the road out of the ravine. Brandor lay in wait opposite to him. On his signal they would step out and close the road. Beleg would let Brandor call them to attack. He counted his breaths, in and out, in and out, in and out, slowing his heartbeat and focusing on the task ahead of him. Everyone around him did the same. Beleg looked up at the sky and heard shrieks blasting toward them. The orcs had finally come.

There were six of them running toward their freedom, armed with scimitars and short swords. They were too focused on escape, too blind to see anything or anyone around them. Brandor let them come close, just at an arm's length, then he cried out.

“Charge!”

Beleg loomed out of the bushes, crashing with an approaching orc. He swung his axe at the orc's neck. The monster never knew who or what had killed him as his head fell to the ground. Blood gushed out of the open throat. Beleg had already skipped aside and ducked under a swing of the black machete that swished by, a hairsbreadth from his head. He lunged upward with his axe cutting off the arm that held the machete, then his next blow cleaved the ugly head in two. He straightened and looked around. The squad had taken up their positions back in the bushes.

After a handful or so successful jabs at the escaping enemies, the pile of the orcs' carcasses distinctly grew in size, and Beleg decided to check the lines on the other side of the ravine.

“That went beautifully,” he murmured under his breath, then to Brandor and the few wardens that stood near him, he said, “Keep up the good work. Good fortune, Brandor and comrades.”

Brandor only nodded.

Swept away

To an unskilled eye, unaccustomed to seeing all the twists and turns a battle could take, it might have seemed as if everything was over now. But, it was far from that.

Beleg had left Brandor's squad at their appointed posts, as the warriors awaited more orcs to run toward them. He began climbing the slope, following an elusive path as it wound upward between the bushes and rocks. He listened carefully to the sounds that reached him from below, from the increasing depth of the ravine as the main road dropped to its bottom, and from ahead of him where the Haladin, under Halmir's command, were routing the orcs. When he ran toward the first warriors in line, he took a quick look into the meandering ravine.

“Them sods,” one of the burly men muttered and aimed his bow at an orc that climbed up the other side of the ravine.

In a short moment, the arrow was sticking out between the orcs' shoulder blades, and the beast fell to the bottom with a howl.

“Some of them indeed have brains,” the warrior in question commented as Beleg praised the shot.

“Yes,” Beleg agreed, “some are cleverer than others. But, do not underestimate them as a whole. Look!”

The man followed Beleg's hand that pointed at some of the orcs hiding behind the boulders, under the roots, fusing themselves with the slope of the ravine, and aiming their crossbows at the attackers high above them. Others crawled to avoid the arrows and rocks thrown when the archers ran out of arrows and weren't provided with more yet. They picked up any useful mean to pelt at the enemy.

Beleg nodded at the warriors and turned to leave the top of the ravine and follow the path leading to the place where he expected Súllinn and her squad to be. He heard the shrieks and noises, yells and curses flying above the ravine and smirked as he jogged down the slope and found the path. In some places, it disappeared in the thicket, wound between the trees, then appeared back seemingly out of nowhere. There were many paths like this in the woods, treacherous sometimes, leading to the shrubbery so thick that hardly anyone could enter – only the wildlife could penetrate it.

Once Beleg was halfway toward the northern mouth of the ravine, he heard someone breathe rapidly and, no, Beleg wasn't mistaken, weep. He stopped and looked around cautiously, cocking his ears. Then, he spotted twigs move and as he quietly approached, he could hear a rapid heartbeat, sniffs and choking. Someone was crying there. He crouched and slowly pushed the leaves and twigs of the bushes out of the way.

“Ah!” The boy exclaimed from the start and moved away, but he recognized Beleg.

Beleg recognized Huor.

“Young Huor,” Beleg asked with a smile, “what has happened?”

“N-n-n-nothing.” He sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve, then he looked up at Beleg with his round, terrified eyes. “I'm fine.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I am not.”

Ah, yes, he wasn't crying, of course. Beleg smiled again and moved to sit beside Huor.

“Does your brother know where you are?”

“I told him I was going to go pee,” the boy answered, then sighed.

“I'm scared,” he whispered.

“It's no disgrace, mind you,” Beleg assured him. “I would be, if I were you.”

“So you won't laugh at me?” the boy asked. “It's silly, but when I saw and heard the orcs...”

“Huor,” Beleg reached out and put a finger under the boy's chin to make him look up, “you are a brave man. Yes, a man, not a child. Children don't go to war.”

Huor tried to smile.

“Everyone can be scared,” Beleg went on. “There are an awful lot of orcs down there. They are filthy, murderous, they stink, and think about nothing else but how to take your life away. I can understand why you are scared, young Huor. I would never have laughed at you because of that. You are a young warrior and you haven't seen much death in your short life.”

“No, I have not.”

“Now,” Beleg got up to his feet and held out his hand to Huor, “dry your eyes, brother-in-arms, and let's find your squad. I won't tell anyone about what transpired here.”

Huor nodded and scrambled to his feet, too.

“Besides, do you know what wise men say?” Beleg continued as they proceeded to the outpost. “Sometimes it's better to be a coward for a moment than a dead body for the rest of your life.”

Huor chuckled and swept his fingertips across his face repeatedly to dry the tears that remained there.

Fortune, to thy cruel pleasure I bare my back

When Beleg and Huor were nearing their destination, from the direction where the squad under Súllinn's command was located came the noise of a skirmish, and it became clear to Beleg that the orcs had turned this way to escape from the trap of the ravine. The mouth of the ravine must be disgorging them in dozens by now, he thought and pushed Huor behind his back with one sweeping motion of his arm.

“Draw your sword, brave Huor,” Beleg ordered glancing down over his shoulder and was pleasantly surprised that the scare that had eaten the boy up seemed to have gone. A short sword glittered in Huor's hand already. “Very good.”

Beleg focused on the sounds ahead of them. Amid the shouting, growling and yells, he could clearly hear Súllinn issue commands, and he smiled evilly as he and Huor emerged from the bushes, straight into the line of the wardens that stood against the orcish inflow. Súllinn noticed them and nodded almost imperceptibly, then she gestured with her hand and cried out a command to her left for the warriors there to take up flanking positions. Húrin was on the other side of the exit from the ravine, fighting his way in the mass of fleeing orcs with the rabid flashes of his sword. That one, Beleg knew, was about to become a great swordsman.

The orcs seemed to be running blind and mad. Some of them didn't even seem to notice the forest soldiers that slayed them one by one, with their blades whirling in the air, sending blood and bits of flesh all around the fighters. Súllinn quickly looked around herself and raised her left hand. The warriors charged, pushing the orcs back into the ravine, going deep into the black tide like a razor. Its cuts were marked by a rapidly increasing body count as the orcs fell one after another, screeching their fear and hate at the tops of their lungs and flailing their arms about.

Beleg could step aside and only observe, inwardly congratulating and praising the individual warriors, but he jumped into the middle of the fight and picked up a deadly looking scimitar, holding it in his left hand. Thus armed, he struck at the orcs like an avalanche, hacking to the left and to the right, aiming his axe and scimitar at nothing particular in the dark crowd because every slash came out true. Nothing was off target. Heads became open, limbs – hewed away, and Beleg realized that the stream had lessened as the orcs started climbing up the slope of the ravine using this way as an attempt to bypass the battle.

Súllinn shouted.

On her signal, from the tops of the ravines, the Haladin and Thingol's soldiers began descending, keeping the orcs at bay. Swords flew, axes glimmered, and the enemy fell backward.

Several times the orcs crawled out of the ravine in their desperate need to run away, and Beleg's contingent under Súllinn's command pushed them back into the depths. They attempted to climb, they attempted to fight back, and they were stabbed and slain, pierced by arrows or hit by the rocks and stones thrown down from the upper slopes of the ravine. The crowd undulated like tall grass on the steppes that bent under the strokes of wind. Beleg lowered his axe and threw away the scimitar, then wiped his hand against his hip. He observed everything, sweeping his gaze along the entire battlefield. He noticed Súllinn's chestnut mane flowing as it danced to her swift movements. He spotted Húrin as the youth beheaded a furiously retreating orc with an outcry of triumph. He saw his troops move backward into the thicket to wait through and waylay if need be. He noted that Huor was wiping his sword against his equally dirty tunic. Beleg smiled at him when Huor noticed Beleg. The boy nodded.

Beleg turned to walk toward the path up to the slope of the ravine to check his other troops.

The battle raged on inside the ravine as the orcs pressed back and forth toward either of the ends of the gorge, dying under the arrows or even stones flung with slingshots. Beleg inspected the side of the ravine, taking a glimpse downward from time to time and sending more men toward the ends because the mass of the dead bodies down there clearly indicated that the orcs were on their way to annihilation. That was his main goal, he grinned.

As the warriors relocated and the day slowly waned, Beleg found himself near the posts where Brandor's squad fought. He also met Haldir there, with a few dozens of his warriors and Thingol's soldiers who had come here to reinforce Brandor's group. Another group of orcs had been mercilessly slain, and their fresh blood covered the soil, black puddles scattered all around. Brandor had already stopped counting the bodies.

“Does it really matter how many of them lie here?” He shrugged when Beleg had asked why. Beleg nodded, he couldn't see any reason either.

Just as Beleg was issuing orders for Brandor and Haldir and discussing their subsequent duties with them, from the northern mouth of the ravine, through the mass of the dead orcs a messenger came out rampaging, breathless for a moment when he stopped.

“Súllinn's in trouble!” he rasped. “She's been cut off. Many dead.”

Beleg felt a bile rising in his throat at the first words of the messenger. The man breathed heavily and pressed the palm of his hand to his ribs, but Beleg only thanked him and commanded for one of his wardens to give him water. With that done, he returned to Brandor and Haldir.

“I need to run,” he said quickly, “start pressing toward the depth of the ravine. Leave none alive, Brandor. And you, Haldir, send your men back up the slope so that they continue from there. Then, follow me.”

Both of them nodded, and Beleg wasted no more time. Súllinn needed his help, and she needed it now!

On his way back, he looked over his shoulder and shouted to Brandor, “Join me when you can!”

Brandor acknowledged.

Beleg darted forward, into the darkening depth of the ravine, with his heart coming up to his throat. Now, he was chasing the orcs, and the situation had turned upside down since the time when the host of the orcs had been following him into the trap. Radically so. The orcs that remained in the ravine were almost all dead or dying. Beleg didn't have the time to spare on those who had survived. If any of them crossed his way, they received a furious kick of his foot or a quick blast of his fist. Only a handful of times, Beleg used his axe to aid him.

He came to a full stop for only one moment when he recognized his faithful, ever-returning arrow Dailir protruding from one of the carcasses. He pulled it roughly from the corpse and hid it under a rock.

Jumping up, he began leaping from one boulder to another and dancing between the dead, or almost dead, and was nearing the mouth of the ravine. Here, he halted for a moment and then continued, directing his steps to the ford of Brithiach. With a growing fear, he counted more and more fallen Haladin and his own soldiers. But, he saw neither Súllinn nor Haldir's sister-sons among the bodies that neatly covered the ground.

Further and further toward the riverbank, there were more orcs scattered on the undergrowth, and then Beleg heard Súllinn. Although he should be happy and relieved, as he came to a halt and saw the outcome in front of his eyes, he felt his hair rising at his nape. Then, he ran forth.

Fate crushes the brave

“RUUUUNNN!!!” Súllinn bellowed, pushing Húrin and Huor into the thick line of bushes behind her.

When Beleg was halfway over to them, cutting his way through the orcs and swinging his axe left and right, both boys had already disappeared from his sight. Súllinn was now left alone between them and the charging orcs, standing tall and slender like an ash-tree, with an axe in one of her hands and a dagger in the other. Beleg sped up.

“This!” she cried out and slashed an orc through the head. “And this! Oh, you, come on! Come on, filth! Fight!” Her arms were working without a pause. “You too! Come on! Whoreson!!!”

Blood covered her jerkin as it splashed from under the blows of her axe. Having noted a few gashes and blood seeping through Súllinn's clothes, though she didn't seem to notice them, Beleg divided his attention between her and the orcs that surrounded him. He held his axe in both hands and slowed down, aiming with more precision. Not twice, nor thrice did his axe fall, but with each stroke it dealt death, crushing a skull or cutting off a limb, drinking in the dark blood greedily. The blade was covered in it, in bits of flesh, and still he kept on striking. A throat here, a back there. Once an orc jumped at him from the left, Beleg parried the blow of a scimitar, hooked the blade with the lower point of his axe, pulled it, and caught the hilt of the scimitar into his hand. Then, he bashed the orc in the head with his forehead, drew the scimitar into the beast's legs, chopping them off at the knees. The orc wailed. A deathblow fell a moment after. Then, Beleg raised his head to check the battlefield.

“Come back, you fucker!” Súllinn shouted and back-stabbed a retreating, weaponless orc. That monster howled as he tumbled to the ground with his arms raised to the sky.

Yet, they were still coming in handfuls out of the direction of the main battle. Beleg finally fought his way over to Súllinn, wading knee-deep through the carnage. He took his combat stance back to back with her. She pressed herself to him, trustingly, and braced herself for more orcs.

“I knew you'd come,” Súllinn rasped. “Thank fuck!”

“You're welcome.”

She pressed herself further into his body and stilled her movements. Beleg balanced the axe in his hands and struck an orc straight in the head splitting it in two along with the helmet. The brain tissue sprang from beneath his blade.

“Where in the pits of Angband are they coming from?” Súllinn yelled as she beheaded another orc.

“There exactly!” Beleg agreed. “We need to push them from the river.”

“Toward the ravine. Yes!” She cried out in pure anger. Beleg looked briefly over his shoulder.

“Are you all right back there?”

“YES!!!” she shouted again, slashing another orc in the lower abdomen.

“Do you think that the boys have had enough time?” he gritted through his clenched teeth as a black creature tried to reach his right leg with his sword. He kicked the offender in the midsection with a upward kick and the orc's body made an arc in the air.

“Yes.” She seemed to stop for a moment. “I shall go looking for Huor and Húrin later.”

“Certainly.”

“Some of those sods have slipped past us!” Súllinn surged forward, having unglued herself from Beleg's back.

“Súllinn! Leave them!” Beleg ordered, lowering his axe toward another black head. “I can hear their aid already approaching.”

Immediately, she moved to stand alongside him and they charged, pushing the orcs back from the river, decreasing their numbers one by one, bathing in their blood. Beleg glanced at Súllinn, gave her a furtive nod, and she acknowledged, pivoted on her heel and brought her axe across in a blow that killed two orcs at once. Beleg used his elbow against the head of another one and struck. Súllinn followed suit.

As more orcs emerged pressing for the riverbank, Beleg heard, amid the noise of their skirmish, their own aid coming too. The Haladin, led by a charging Haldir, barreled onto the clearing. With a furious cry, Haldir attacked the orcs like a bear, roaring and waving an axe in circles over his head. And yet more heads rolled onto the ground.

Beleg and Súllinn stopped in their sheer effort and looked back at the bushes that neatly coated the riverbank. Although the orcs had penetrated the shrubbery, having escaped past the two of them, Beleg noticed an odd mist arising from the area of the river.

“Súllinn!” He urged her as he nodded toward the riverbank.

She bounded a few leaps toward the mist, chasing the orcs as she ran, exterminating them with a deadly precision. Beleg followed in her wake, until the water blocked their way. Súllinn looked around, Beleg had been already pointing at the shallow water, when a figure leaped out of the thicket, aiming at Súllinn. She dodged gracefully, but slipped on the damp grass. Beleg lunged forward, managed to push Súllinn out of the orc's way, yet the beast completed a slash against her chest. The tip of his short sword tore the fabric of her clothing and drew blood.

She cried out and swayed under the strength of a subsequent blow that she parried.

Beleg heard something behind his back and only cast half a glance, when Súllinn howled from pain.

Almost petrified from fear, then rage, Beleg noted that she bent backward, in a motion that was ridiculously slower than the previous swiftness she had fought with, as she clutched a bloodied shred of her left hand to her chest, her eyes rolling back inside her head.

The orc was preparing to strike again, but Beleg, seeing red from fury, hammered him in the temple with his gloved fist, then pulled his scimitar and tossed it in his hand. He hacked a downward slash, going up, splitting the beast in two from his crotch up to his leather-clad chest. The monster didn't even blink when his viscera toppled to the ground, followed by the rest of the castrated orc.

“Beleg...”

Curled on the ground, Súllinn was whispering, her lips white, her eyes closed, and sweat pearling on her forehead. Beleg knelt beside her and examined her forearm. Her hand was nearly cut off, and he would have to quickly finish the slaughterer's job. He winced at the thought, but did it with a swift hand, immediately pressing his fingers to the wound and looking around for a suitable dressing.

“Beleg, I'm sorry.”

“Shhh.”

“I'm sorry. I failed them.” She was going even whiter and Beleg knew that with her precious blood her life was slipping away from his grasp. He had to staunch the bleeding.

“I failed you...” She began trembling.

“Stay with me, Súllinn,” he commanded in a harsh tone. “Stay with me, warden. That's an order.”

He curled his fingers around the stump of her forearm and squeezed.

“Stay with me, Súllinn,” he repeated and, frantic, searched for something to bind her wrist. He tore a bit of her shirt using his other hand and teeth, wrapping her wrist with it tightly and knotting it. This would have to do until he could find something better.

Hail, o world, so reach in joys

“Over here!” Beleg shouted and waved to Brandor and Haldir who had been calling out his and Súllinn's names. “Over here!”

They came running to his side and took in the sight of the slain orcs all around, their blood staining the greenness of the grass. Beleg was still kneeling next to Súllinn's prone body, and Brandor dropped to his knees beside him as well. He had brought Belthronding with him, but now set it aside, assessing the situation with a quick, inclusive glance. He sighed. Súllinn's breathing was coming faint and shallow, her face was white, the darker casts under her eyes starkly contrasted with the paleness of her skin. Brandor's lips thinned and he set his jaw firmly.

“It's over.”

“Yes.” Beleg looked away. “She thinks she failed them.”

“Why?”

“Because she let the orcs come close and cut her party of a few warriors off. Everyone, save her and the boys, were slain. She urged Haldir's sister-sons to run and then stood alone against the orcs until I came to her side. And then, I couldn't prevent the injuries she received, even though the tide of the orcs had lessened bit by bit.”

“Don't take the blame upon yourself, Beleg.”

“I do not. I'm merely stating the fact.”

“Yes. Right.” Brandor shrugged.

“We need to take the wounded and the dead to the village atop Amon Obel,” Haldir said from behind their backs. “The battle is almost over; there is nothing for us to do here any longer, save for looking for my nephews.”

“Aye,” Brandor agreed. “Captain, I will see to that.”

“Thank you.”

“What shall we do with the carcasses?” Haldir asked.

“Leave them for the wolves, ravens and crows?” Beleg joined in with a question.

“If it were up to me,” Brandor added, “I would throw them all into the ravine and somehow bury them there, securing both openings. But that is not for me to decide.”

“I should go retrieve Dailir first, then,” Beleg remarked dryly.

“We will think about it later,” Haldir answered as he folded his arms over his chest, bloodied and dirty, and yet not appearing tired, as if he hadn't just been in a fierce battle. “For now, my men need to make stretchers to carry those who have to be carried. I have sent out scouts to find my sister-sons. Let us hope they bring good news.” He was turning on his heel. “You are welcome to stay with us, in my home, as long as you need. Beleg, Brandor, I will take my leave now.”

“I should get going too,” Brandor said quietly when Haldir had disappeared from their sight. “I have a certain job to do. Do you need anything else?”

“No.” Beleg shook his head. “But send a messenger to Thingol to Menegroth. Also, tell Mablung of Súllinn's tidings, and tell Miniel that I will come back to her in one piece.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Thank you, Brandor.”

“I will send a stretcher.”

Beleg only nodded and recommenced tending to Súllinn's wounds using the remainder of his linen shirt he had already torn apart.

Later, his wardens came over to him carrying a stretcher. Carefully, they placed the injured woman, still unconscious, on it and joined the main forces of the Haladin. The warriors, victorious and tired, longing for their homes, began marching back to the hill of Amon Obel, carrying their fallen comrades and the wounded, leaving the ravine full of orc-filth behind them. The black wave out of the North was stemmed, although Beleg suspected it was not for long. Morgoth would never leave them be, as long as he existed.

Beleg drove away that thought as he walked beside Súllinn's stretcher. For now, he had other worries, and maybe later – joys, the first and foremost of them being whether she could live to make it to the Haladin's village. He had to see to that.

Robbed of all my glory

It was nearing dawn over the hill of Amon Obel. The first roosters started to crow in the Haladin's village, their voices clear outside the cottage where Beleg had been watching the sleeping Súllinn. He looked at the small window to notice the darkness dissipate and the light shyly knock at the window frame. Beleg yawned and shook his head even though he hadn't allowed himself to sleep. Then, he rubbed his eyes and yawned again. The fatigue of the past days had crept into his bones, but he shook it off and glanced at Súllinn. She looked peaceful and didn't resemble the furious warrior that had nearly lost her life. As he got up from the chair and pressed his lips to her forehead, he noted that her fever had lessened and her skin wasn't scorching any longer. Súllinn was a fighter, and it seemed to Beleg that this time she would prevail against her illness and live to lick her wounds. Maybe not quickly, but soon.

Beleg drank a bit of water and took out a bit of lembas from the inside pocket in his tunic. He began munching on it, still watching Súllinn from the chair into which he had returned. As soon as he finished, he dusted off his hands against his clothes and stilled himself in his seat.

Outside, the dawn was breaking.

After more time, spent silently in the growing light, Beleg checked the dressing on Súllinn's wounds and was pleased to see that the bleeding had stopped. There was no fresh blood on the pieces of fabric covering a deep gash on her right thigh nor on a smaller bandage on her right arm. The smaller scratches and cuts weren't life-threatening, and the slash across her chest had ceased leaking blood as well.

“It's good to see you follow orders, Súllinn, even if unconscious,” Beleg muttered as he inspected her wounds. He lifted the stump of her left forearm a bit to wrap more bandages over it.

It was heartbreaking to see her like this, maimed and battered, but Beleg didn't let himself fall into pitying her. She didn't need it. She needed care and peace, but not his pity.

After a time, Beleg heard footsteps walking over to the door and soon Haldir quietly came in and nodded at Beleg as he neared the bed where Súllinn lay.

Haldir stepped to the other side of the bed.

“Is she any better?” he asked, concerned.

“I think so, yes.” Beleg looked at him intently. “The fever has lessened. Her breath is even and her skin not as hot as yesterday. I keep faith that Súllinn will recover.”

“She fought bravely,” Haldir stated.

Beleg cringed inwardly and strove to keep his mouth shut. A stinging reply would be the last thing Haldir needed, since his family was now going through a tough time and tragedy had fallen upon them. Indeed, had it not been for Súllinn's reckless bravery and subsequent pain, Haldir's nephews would have been slain without mercy.

“Aye,” Beleg commented nodding, “that she did.”

“She is an extraordinary woman,” Haldir went on.

“Aye,” Beleg agreed. “She is.”

“I...” Haldir apparently wanted to say something more, but he only tangled his fingers in his beard and said nothing. Beleg averted his eyes from him and watched Súllinn.

“She is strong and brave, just like the lady Haleth was,” Haldir said, and Beleg thought that it was the greatest compliment any woman could hear from a man of the Haladin. He didn't respond save for nodding and turning back to Haldir.

“I will take my leave now. You can stay here with her as long as it's needed, and your wardens are most welcome within our modest dwellings,” Haldir told Beleg by way of goodbye. He left the cottage, passing by Brandor who had just walked in.

“Captain,” he greeted Beleg. “Everything is ready as you ordered. A messenger has been sent to Menegroth. We are ready to leave.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Brandor.”

“I'll leave a few wardens with you and Súllinn.”

Beleg was about to tell the younger warden that it would be unnecessary and all of the wardens deserved to go back home to rest and see their families. Yet, he didn't do it, because Brandor assured him that the wardens wanted to say and keep guard.

Súllinn was the most grievously injured out of the entire Doriath squad. There were two dozens of casualties among the marchwardens, and they were beyond any aid. They had been arranged side by side in a grave that had been prepared at the foot of the hill. Haldir had promised a gravestone would be placed on the burial place and the names of the forest soldiers sleeping underneath would be carved into it. Those who were less seriously wounded could travel back to Menegroth, Beleg knew that well. He assigned a handful of his comrades to stay in the Haladin's settlement, and then checked Súllinn's body heat once again, noticing nothing alarming in the temperature. He went outside with Brandor to bid his warriors farewell.

As the day rolled on, Beleg frequently checked on Súllinn and he became sure that her condition was stable. She was tough, and he didn't fear what the upcoming night would bring. He allowed himself a short nap seated in the chair beside her bed, a quick stroll around the wide yard, and a visit to his wardens' temporary quarter. They were given food and ale, and they busied themselves by helping the Haladin with some occasional chores.

When Beleg returned to the cottage, he saw the senior of the clan lean against the frame of the closed door. He flinched for a mere blink of an eye, then he walked over to Halmir.

“Don't be so sour, Beleg.” Halmir opened his arms and gave him a fatherly grab on both shoulders. Beleg smiled, because Halmir, being a patriarch of his folk, couldn't fall out of his usual role and treated him – an ageless Sinda, no less – in the same fashion as he treated his young warriors. It was heart warming, if not a little funny.

“I'm not sour,” he answered. “I'm merely concerned.”

“If you are concerned about our attitude toward yourself and the Grey Folk, know that we are forever grateful and bear no ill will. I shall personally see to it that a letter of gratitude is sent to Menegroth.” Halmir paused. “You hold no blame for our loss, and I pray to the Powers to keep the two boys safe. We have to believe that they will come back to us safe and sound one day.”

All the time, when Halmir was speaking, Beleg was silent. He didn't require any real kind of assurance from the Haladin, though he had to admit he felt better. He only nodded.

“Come to the common room to dine with us,” Halmir finally offered. “I will send someone to watch the lady Súllinn in your stead.”

No fetters, no locks hold me

In the middle of the night, Beleg awoke from his reverie with a snap of his head toward Súllinn's bed.

“Beleg?” she whispered, her voice trembling, yet not very weak.

“Yes, Súllinn.” He leaned from his chair toward her and knelt next to the bed. “I'm here, my dear.”

“Where are we?” She kept on looking at the ceiling.

“In the Haladin's settlement, on the top of Amon Obel.”

“What happened?”

“We won.”

She smiled. In the faint light of the candle, her pale complexion took on an odd shade, and the shadow on the wall behind the top of the bed became somewhat foreboding. Beleg had to chase away thoughts that suddenly crept up and down his spine with a shiver.

“I knew it,” she whispered and reached out to him. With her chopped forearm. Beleg moved his gaze away from her and set his jaw firmly. Then he held out his own hand and took a tender hold of Súllinn's bandaged forearm.

“We kicked their arses, didn't we?”

“Yes. We very much did.”

“I lost my hand?”

It was only a half-question.

“Don't honey-coat things for me, Beleg. Did I lose my hand?” she insisted and tried to pull her forearm out of his grasp when it had tightened.

“Yes.” He let go of her.

Súllinn pulled her injured forearm up to her eyes.

“Shit.”

It was all she could say to sum it up. Beleg saw tears in her eyes for a brief moment.

“I won't be able to draw a bowstring.”

“I'm sorry, Súl.”

“You haven't used that name in ages,” she replied and put her forearm back into his hand. “What do you think you're sorry for?”

All that Beleg wanted to shout out was that he was sorry that he had sent her to take up that damned position at the northern end of the ravine, and that she had had to stand against the whole backslash of the orcs piling onto her shoulders. But, he didn't say it. He knew it would hurt her more than the actual blow that had cut her hand off.

“I'd never wished to see you in such a condition,” he whispered.

“I'll manage. Help me up.”

“Not so fast.”

“What? Are you my father now?” she asked.

He only grinned and tenderly pulled her up supporting her shoulders and back with his forearm and rearranging her pillow so that she could lay a little higher.

“The fever is gone now,” he informed Súllinn as he checked her temperature. “Care for some water, maybe?”

“Yes, a little bit.”

After she had drunk a little water, she asked Beleg to help her relieve herself. With only a tiny hint of embarrassment, she let him arrange that for her and undress her, then he turned away to the doorway to let her have a moment of intimacy.

“I guess I'm a father figure to you now, aren't I?” Beleg asked when he heard that she had finished. He helped her back into her clothes and saw to it that her dressings properly covered her wounds.

“You see, I often wondered what he might tell me if we ever met, but now...” She looked at Beleg. “Who would want a maimed daughter?”

“What would you tell him?” Beleg asked as he sat on the bed beside Súllinn.

“That I wished to love him. But, I never had a chance.” She laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. “I will get some sleep now, Captain.”

“Good idea.”

“Thank you, Beleg.”

“You are very welcome, my dear.”

“Good night.”

“Your father would be proud of you, Súllinn,” Beleg whispered against her forehead as he pressed a gentle kiss over her brow. “Sleep and get well. The whole world is watching and waiting for you.”

“I don't need...” She smiled and drifted off to sleep without finishing what she had started to say.

Day and night and all the world

Toward morning, Súllinn started moaning from pain. Beleg woke her and bade her drink a few sips of a herbal draught that contained an extract of poppy seeds. She then fell asleep, without further sounds of discomfort or pain, so Beleg sat back in his chair and pondered a short nap as well.

Yet, when his eyes closed his mind flew toward the events of the past days and gory images filled his thoughts, he brutally shook himself awake again. It was a struggle he couldn't win, though, and soon his head dropped onto his chest and he dozed off.

A long time later, Beleg jumped up in the chair, and his instinct told him to automatically feel for his sword on his left side. He found nothing and as he looked toward the opening door, his alert peaked. Then he gradually calmed down and cooled his features. When the door swung open, however, he could only see bright daylight flood the doorway and standing in the midst of it was a figure, dark against the light that invaded the room. Then, the figure rushed inside, and Beleg recognized, with relief, his forever brother-in-arms – Mablung, who only halted for a moment and clasped Beleg's arms in a bear hug. Beleg answered in a similar manner.

The messenger had reached Menegroth, Beleg realized with another wave of relief washing over him. Miniel wouldn't be as worried about his well-being now.

“Are you still in pain?” Beleg asked. Mablung winced as he stepped back.

“Screw the pain.” Mablung shrugged. “You know where I have it.”

“Too well.” Beleg winked and laughed, too loudly, he rebuked himself in a moment. He was so happy to see Mablung that he forgot to keep quiet. Mablung put his finger against his lips.

“How is she?”

“Weak. She lost a lot of blood,” Beleg answered as they both turned to the bed.

“Not only blood, as far as I can see,” Mablung stated and his face became a mask of grimness. Beleg glanced at his friend's hands that balled into fists and he placed his own palm on Mablung's shoulder.

“Yes. An orcish scimitar's bloody work,” Beleg said. “I gutted the reeking whoreson with it myself, but the revenge was futile, as folk say. I managed to tend to her wounds as best as I could. I stitched them and secured the stump of her forearm. She was feverish for a while, but the threat has passed now. I think she will recover, at least physically, in a few handfuls of days. Súllinn is a tough nut to crush.” Beleg stopped speaking and cast a glance at Súllinn's pale face. “I shall leave you alone with her, if you want. Call me if you need me, I'll be outside at the well.”

Mablung nodded.

Beleg watched him with a wistful look on his face when Mablung walked over to the bed and dropped to his knees. Mablung reached for Súllinn's shortened forearm and held it to his lips, and then Beleg left, having turned to the door and heard something that sounded akin to 'my whole world', yet he refused to eavesdrop. He stepped outside into the light of day and inhaled deeply as he looked around, then up at the sun, and smiled.

Broadly.

The End

Chapter End Notes

All titles are borrowed or derived from the English translation of "Carmina Burana".

Translations:

Gelydh [Sindarin] – Noldor

Nelyafinwë Maitimo [Quenya] – Maedhros

Edain [Sindarin] – Men, allies of the Elves.

By mentioning Maedhros as an emissary to Doriath, I"m referring to my story The Good, the Bad, and the Queen. As for Beleg being fatherless, I follow the idea of him being one of the unbegotten elves.

There. Only two and a half years after the first chapter, but it's done. Thank you for reading, and I sincerely hope you liked it.