Carmina Brethilia by Robinka

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Fortune, let us mourn together

Thus it was that the sons of Galdor were fostered in Brethil by Haldir their uncle, according to the custom of Men in that time; and they went both to that battle with the Orcs (…). But being with a company that was cut off from the rest they were pursued to the Ford of Brithiach (…).

[J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, “Of the ruin of Beleriand and the fall of Fingolfin”]

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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.