Dream of the Black Sword by Flora-lass

Chapter 2

In which Gwindor and Beleg talk about the people they love.

For the Birthday Bash prompts 'dialogue' and 'listen'.

Gwindor slept long, with no sign of nightmares, and Beleg was glad for him. But with every hour that passed, his fears for Túrin grew, and he despaired of ever seeing him alive again. 

‘He will find a way to escape, if anyone can,’ he told himself. ‘But in what state? If only I could keep him from Angband and not need to tend him as I have poor Gwindor here! And mortals are not made for such endurance…but he is not like other mortals…and I know I can do good here, and Túrin would have pity and would want me to…but oh, it is so hard not to be searching for him…’ And so his thoughts went in circles, until Gwindor finally stirred.

He was confused at first, and thought Beleg was Finrod - but calmly somehow, as though it were an ordinary time, before all their griefs had come upon them. He did not seem to be in pain, and Beleg hated to remind him of where they were and of how things stood. But at length he did so, and Gwindor appeared to shrink as the memory of his hurts returned to him. But he revived somewhat, once Beleg had again tended his arm and he had taken more lembas; and Beleg suggested he try to stand.

Gwindor managed this with little difficulty, but it seemed unlikely that he would yet be able to walk far. So Beleg advised him to sit for a while longer, and offered to do his hair.

‘It is not fit for you to touch,’ Gwindor sighed. ‘And I doubt it can ever be as it once was. When I think of how…’ His voice trailed off.

‘But I am a healer, and I believe it will help you,’ Beleg said. ‘Anyone who has been in Angband and escaped deserves all the care I can give, and there is no shame in needing it.’

Gwindor had not the energy to argue. He nodded silently, his face wretched, and Beleg carefully set to work. Gwindor's hair was indeed in a sorry state, and Beleg well knew how distressing this must be for him. At the same time, however, he thought of Túrin, whose hair he was so rarely allowed to tend - for Túrin had no wish to look any more like an Elf than he already did, and usually wanted nothing more than to tie it back out of the way. How Beleg longed to find him! - and feared he never would. But he also began to sense some easing of Gwindor's mood, and decided to encourage him to talk.

‘May I ask what you were about to say, just now? Were you perhaps thinking of someone who used to braid your hair - or admire it?’

‘It is hard to speak of her, though I long to,’ Gwindor said slowly, in a low voice. ‘I always felt unworthy of her (and now more than ever), yet somehow she returned my love. But I am become unfit to wed her…’

‘Say not so!’ Beleg said, and his heart ached for this once great lord of Nargothrond. ‘You will heal in time, and all the more with her help, I deem. If she is worthy of you, she will be proud! And she will have feared you dead, and will be overjoyed at your return.’

‘I do not dare to hope. And even if she were willing, I do not know what her father would say. For I was presumptuous enough to love Finduilas, the daughter of King Orodreth, whom I call Faelivrin…for her beauty is as the sunlight on the Pools, and her laughter is like the sound of the springs. And she loved to dance…would I ever be able to dance with her again, even if she wished me to?’

‘I beg you to have hope,’ Beleg said. ‘For the Pools bring healing, and I do not believe you named her in vain. And hope will sustain you as you journey home.’

‘It was because of her that I did not leave with my lord Finrod,’ Gwindor explained. ‘I would have gone with him, but he bade me stay and not break his niece's heart. Such guilt I felt, but relief also…and then I had no choice but to go to the Battle, and there I saw my poor brother…and I have surely broken her heart after all…’

For all Gwindor's grief, it seemed that Beleg's words, and his work, were having an effect. For as Beleg combed his hair and the braids slowly took shape, Gwindor sat up straighter and looked about him - and as he turned to the side, Beleg could see a new resolve on his face. Bur all the while, Beleg remembered Túrin in the hands of the Orcs, and considered what direction they might have taken, and which way he should go once he was free to seek him again.

And just as he came to a decision, they heard an unmistakable sound, and were forced to conceal themselves more deeply within the trees. But they had a clear view of the passing Orc-host - and there, among the many captives, was Túrin.

Beleg should have rejoiced that he was not yet in Angband - but somehow his heart misgave him, and his hands faltered as he put the finishing touches to Gwindor's hair.

‘That is the one I seek,’ he sighed. ‘You asked my reason for being here - and it is he, Túrin son of Húrin, Lord of Dor-lómin.’

Gwindor looked round at him in surprise. ‘Truly? More than ever do you remind me of my lord Finrod, if you have such care for one of the Secondborn. But your words fill me with dread, for it was rumoured in Angband that Húrin ever defies Morgoth, and his kin are thus ensnared. Tell me, if you would, how you come to be seeking him?’

So Beleg told of Túrin's coming to Doriath, and of all that had happened since. Gwindor had heard little news since his captivity, and he listened intently. But he did not miss what Beleg did not say, and at length he said:

‘I do not think you would have searched for so long, and endured so much, if you did not love him. Do I not strike near the truth?’

‘I wear my heart on my sleeve, it seems.’ Beleg had not realised how much he longed to speak of Túrin, but now the relief was overwhelming. ‘I know not how it came about, but I found that it hurt to be away from him, and I must always be searching until I found him again. He would rather we be apart than let go of his pride, but he seems glad when we are together…oh, how foolish this sounds!’ 

‘I fear for you, my friend,’ Gwindor said, sadly. ‘Seldom is it wise for one of the Eldar to love a mortal. For even were you to save him now, in a few short years he will be gone, and you would be left to grieve, with no hope of seeing him again until the end of the world. So my lord Finrod loved Béor, I believe. I am sorry…’

‘I know it well, but I cannot help my heart!’ Beleg cried, feeling his composure slipping away. ‘He would be lost to me already, were it not for his prowess with the sword, and that has not stopped me loving him! But now he is destined for Angband, and I can do no other than attempt to rescue him…’

Gwindor choked. ‘Do not go there, I beg you! It is better for one of you to be free, believe me.’

‘But how can I abandon him? I would rather share in his suffering…’

‘Listen to me!’ Gwindor urged. ‘As soon as your regard for one other became known, as it surely would, you would be kept apart out of spite at the very least. Or, as is more likely, each of you would be put to torment in full view of the other. It pains me to say this, but I have been there, and I know he will be better off without you.’

Gwindor spoke gently, but with certainty, and Beleg saw no reason to doubt him. And he knew what he must do.

‘Then I must save him before he reaches that dreadful place! It is the only way. But…’ Words failed him, as he fought back tears of despair.

‘But you are unwilling to abandon me?’ Gwindor asked, and Beleg nodded. ‘And yet you fear I would slow you down. I understand, my friend. But you are forgetting your own powers of healing, and the power of Queen Melian's lembas. I feel some strength returning, and I would not delay you further. I have said my piece; now let us go!’ 

‘I cannot ask this of you,’ Beleg said, unable to look at Gwindor and staring into the distance instead.

‘And you have not asked me. But I have my lamp, which will surely help us; and I believe I have some part to play in this endeavour, or we should not have met. For who am I to deny the bonds of love, or judge others for actions which seem rash?’

Chapter End Notes

Gwindor sometimes echoes Melian's words, without of course knowing he is doing so. I attribute this to his devout nature and the effect of the lembas.