Dream of the Black Sword by Flora-lass

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Chapter 3

Will Gwindor's dream come true?

For the Birthday Bash word prompts 'awake', 'embrace' and 'deluge'.

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Gwindor watched in awe as Beleg silently shot wolf after wolf. He had not truly believed they could win their way into the Orc camp, but now Beleg turned and beckoned. Gwindor followed him, drawing alongside as they caught sight of a slumped figure tied to a tree. 

Dark as it was, Gwindor could clearly see that this was the one Beleg sought; every part of him conveyed grief, relief and love. They cut him loose and bore him away, as Gwindor wished fervently for greater strength and the use of both hands. 

The storm-clouds gathered, and fate was strong.

 

When they reached the thicket of thorn trees high above the camp, it was clear that Gwindor could go no further without rest. They carefully laid the still unconscious Túrin on the ground, in as sheltered a spot as they could find, and Gwindor sank down nearby, Thunder rumbled overhead. Beleg gazed at Túrin, hardly daring to believe that he was not badly hurt, but hating the fetters that bound him. Without further thought, he drew Anglachel.

Then came a dreadful flash of lightning. And Gwindor screamed.

Beleg started in alarm, and let the sword fall back.

Túrin seemed undisturbed, so after a last, longing glance at him, Beleg hastened to where Gwindor sat, apparently cowering in terror.

‘What is it?’ he asked, anxiously. ‘Is it the storm that troubles you?’

Gwindor shook his head, for the moment unable to speak. Beleg held his shoulders, as he trembled violently and fought for breath, until eventually he gasped: ‘The sword!’ And he shrank into Beleg's embrace, just as a frightened child might have done.

Beleg held Gwindor and thought of Túrin, whom he had once comforted thus when they had first met - and so seldom since, for all that Túrin had needed it. Perhaps this time he might allow himself that solace. Beleg watched Túrin through the lightning-flashes, yearning to rouse him and set him free. 

But Gwindor was recovering now. He sat back and stared at Beleg, his expression almost fierce. ‘That is the sword of my dream!’ he cried. ‘A black sword gleaming with a pale fire! I did not fully remember how it looked, until I saw it again. It would have killed you!’

Beleg stared at him, not understanding. ‘I am sorry for what I have put you through,’ he said. ‘I should not have involved you in this rescue, it was too much to ask…’

‘It was not!’ Gwindor would have shouted, had his voice not been exhausted by the scream. ‘I was meant to be here, I know it! And without my dream, you would be dead!’

‘What - what do you mean?’ Beleg asked, bewildered.

‘There is malice in that sword. And in his hands, it will terrify the enemy - and all the more so, now that this evil has been averted.’

Gwindor took a deep breath, and continued more calmly. ‘I remember my dream more clearly now. He and the sword became one - as indeed they almost will, in truth, for I foresee that you will give the sword to him. But as soon as you had cut his bonds, he would have awoken in terror and leapt up and slain you with it! And the remainder of his life would have been blighted by your death.’

Gwindor laid his good hand on Beleg's arm. Beleg could feel himself shaking now, as much as Gwindor had been. ‘I know you are desperate to free him,’ Gwindor said, ‘and who could blame you? But I beg you, do not approach him with such a weapon until he is fully awake, and knows you.’

Beleg gave a great sigh, at last comprehending. ‘My love has overcome my wisdom, as ever with him. With anyone else I would have known this well. But I could not bear to think of his torment, or see him so restrained…’

‘Sing to him, as you sang to me,’ Gwindor said. ‘Sit by him if you must, so he may hear you above the noise of this storm. But leave the sword in my keeping, at a safe distance. I will not fear it now.’

‘But I must not sing of Menegroth, for that would not please him…’ Beleg said faintly, trying to collect his thoughts.

‘Sing of your deeds together, and the songs you sang with your companions when times were good. This, in your voice, will surely reach him best.’

Beleg nodded, and then asked, in sudden concern, ‘But - are you well? I owe you my life, it seems!’

‘I am as well as may be, now that you are safe. And all I have done is scream, and dream - but it was enough, the Valar be thanked! And I even begin to feel something in my left arm, although not yet my hand. Now go and sing, for this mortal for whom you would risk all!’

Beleg slowly got to his feet, but hesitated. ‘We will see you safe to Nargothrond,’ he said. ‘You have my word on that.’

‘I will be very glad of your company for part of the way,’ Gwindor answered. ‘and I will never forget how you have cared for me. But my dream warns me that your friend should not enter my city. I believe things will go better for us all if he does not. I am sorry…’

‘I understand,’ Beleg assured him. ‘After what has taken place here, how could I not trust your wisdom in this? And in any case, I may at last persuade him to return with me to Doriath.’

So Beleg sang again, as Gwindor guarded Anglachel, and the rain fell in torrents. Túrin was slow to wake, however, and several hours passed, during which the Orcs fled the storm in fear and did not seek their escaped prisoner. 

When morning came, the storm abated at last, and Túrin stirred and cried out in alarm. But then his eyes opened and met Beleg's, and his face softened with an incredulous joy.

‘Beleg?’ he croaked. ‘I was certain you were dead, and I lost all will to live. But the Orcs would not slay me…‘

‘I live, dear one,’ Beleg whispered. ‘And the Orcs are gone, and you are free of them. We will fight side by side again.’

‘...and then I heard you singing, and I knew it must be a dream - and I did not wish to wake for fear of never hearing your voice again…’

Beleg laughed, through his tears. ‘Oh, Túrin, you were ever contrary! Here I have been, singing for hours in the rain in the hope of waking you, only to find that you wished to remain asleep! But, do you truly believe it is I? For I must cut your bonds with Anglachel, and first you must be sure that I do not mean you harm.’ 

‘I know you are Beleg,’ said Túrin, ‘for who else would go to such lengths to rescue me as you must have done? But if you would prove it, beyond all doubt…’

‘Only tell me how, and I will do it.’

‘Then - kiss me?’

Beleg gazed at him, with longing. ‘I should not, while you are yet bound. But once you are free, I will do so - oh, how gladly!’

‘Do it now,’ Túrin urged. ‘Please, do this for me now, and let it be proof of the trust between us.’

So Beleg kissed Túrin, and it was Life rather than Death which flowed between them that day. And thus was Morgoth's curse deflected, for a time.

But Beleg could not linger, for he had work to do. Wiping his eyes, he turned towards Gwindor, who rose and handed Anglachel to him.

‘He knows you now, I think?’ Gwindor said kindly, with a smile which Beleg rejoiced to see. ‘But you must still take care, my friend. Hold firm, and weep no more until it is done.’

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Chapter End Notes

(The kiss is inspired by the early version of the tale, in which Túrin kisses Beleg after his death).