A Deed Unforgiven by LadySternchen  

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Chapter 8- Beren

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“You will leave my realm, never to return. Death you deserve for your deeds, for treason against your king, who is now dead. But I will not lay hand on my kin, whatever your wrongs. ’Tis not the way of the house of Arafinwë, nor would my brother, who has welcomed you with open arms and housed you when you had nowhere else to go, have wanted me to. Yet punished you shall be nonetheless- you are therefore banished from Nargothrond henceforth, and all of your people who choose their loyalty to you over justice shall go with you. Those who wish to remain are to swear an oath of fealty to me and stand true to it for as long as their lives here fare. If they do so, their part in the grievances that separate us shall be forgiven as so far that it is my part to pardon them.”

A shiver ran down Beren’s spine. He did not know Orodreth as well as he had known Finrod, but all he had hitherto seen of him could easily be summed up under one word- gentle.

There was nothing gentle about the new king’s demeanour now, however. Instead, Orodreth stood proud and tall before his throne, dressed all in regal blue, the silver crown of Nargothrond gleaming upon his golden hair. He bore such resemblance to Finrod that Beren’s heart weighed heavily in his chest with the memories of his friend’s demise. No pain he had suffered during their adventure, not his torture in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, not even the agony of having his hand bitten off by a venomous monster, matched that of watching Finrod die in Lúthien’s arms.

Celegorm snarled:
“Your realm… did you not try to run from the crown as a hare from a wolf? And how would you defend your realm without mine and my brother’s men? You would stand no chance were I to rise against you. You are no king, Orodreth, you are a useless weakling.”

Beside him, Beren felt Lúthien bristle. He laid his hand soothingly on her arm, whispering:
“Don’t rise, my love. Let Orodreth manage that by himself, he will do so beautifully.”

Lúthien only grumbled, so Beren turned his attention back to Celegorm and Curufin just as the latter smiled at Orodreth, laying a placatory hand on Celegorm’s shoulder.

“Forgive my brother’s rashness, King Orodreth. You know how he gets. No, we will certainly not rise against you. But we also have no intentions of leaving Nargothrond. We made this our home, as did our men. You said you would not lay hands on us, cousin. Only what would you do then? Show us kinslayers how it is really done, I’m curious. How do you make someone see sense?”

Orodreth’s eyes seemed to burn.

“Out. Get out of Nargothrond or I will have you bodily thrown out. Rather unlordly, I would think.”

A deadly silence had fallen over the throne-hall of Nargothrond, with the cousins just glaring at each other for what seemed to Beren like an eternity. At long last, Curufin clicked his tongue in disgust, and when he spoke, it was in a voice as icy as the north-winds.

“Very well. We shall leave with our people, then.”

But nobody moved, not one of the Fëanorian soldiers stepped forth.

“So you would oust us…”

Celegrom took a few threatening steps towards the king, who did not move, nor show any sign of fear or apprehension, but only surveyed his cousin cooly. After a few more moments of just glaring at Orodreth, Celegorm turned and sought the gaze of Huan, who lay by Curufin’s feet. A low, mournful whine emerged from the great hound’s throat and he cocked his head a little, clearly questioning his master’s wordless command. Beren held his breath. He caught himself once again, like he had on multiple occasions lately,  regarding Huan as his own, though he knew of course how loyal the great hound was to Celegorm. Would he do his masters bidding and attack the King of Nargothrond? And would Celegorm truly dare to command it?

It appeared that he would, for a moment later he had ordered Huan to show Orodreth how much power he truly had. Huan, however, did not move but whimpered once more, and when Celegorm repeated his command, he sighed, rose, and limped over to where Beren and Lúthien stood, only to lie down again at their feet, hiding his nose under his paw. Pity flooded Beren’s heart, and he crouched down to stroke Huan’s fur consolingly, little though he could in truth do to assuage the hound’s grief.

Faithful Huan, he thought, you are truly pure of heart.

Celegorm looked ready to murder, and may in truth have done so had not Huan raised his head once more to let out a single low growl. That was all it needed to quell any such effort of Celegorm’s.

Curufin laughed coldly.

“Oh, we’re all being noble and gallant today, are we not? Be it. Hide in this hole if you like. Wait to be smoked out. Know just this- should you realise your mistake in due time, don’t waste your time with calling upon us. We do not help traitors!”

He looked at his son, who stood close to Orodreth.

“Come on!”

But Celebrimbor shook his head.

“No, Atar. I beg you to overthink your words and remain here with me, but if you will not do that, if you will not depart from your ways, then we must part, much though it grieves me. My loyalty lies with my king!”

Curufin’s face lost all its colour at his son’s words, but he stood his ground. Now, Beren could not exactly claim to have any friendly feelings towards the brothers, but he still pitied Curufin in this moment. Pitied him, and was also very impressed with his self-control, especially taking into account the fiery temperament of the house of Fëanor.

“Fine.” Curufin now hissed, and grabbing Celegorm by the arm left without another word.

It took the crowd a long time to dissolve, and it was not until it had that Lúthien actually managed to catch Orodreth’s eye. What thoughts passed between the cousins Beren could not tell, only that Orodreth retreated to his chambers with an almost imperceptible nod of his head that had obviously been an invitation for Lúthien to come along, for she followed suit. Beren had to hurry to keep up, an ominous feeling began to settle in his stomach. Even in the unlikely event that Nargothrond’s troubles had ended with the ousting of Fëanor’s sons, this feeling told him that for him and Lúthien, the trouble had only begun. His forebodings, of course, had little to do with the events of the past hour, but with the gem that lay hidden in a fur pouch against his chest. He could feel the warmth it emitted, and the slight pulsing, or vibrating, or whatever one might call it. It was a sensation he had never felt before, nor could he compare it to anything he had as yet experienced. It was as though the thing breathed.

Before he had too much time to ponder his thoughts, they had reached the king’s private chamber and were granted entry by the guards at a wave of Orodreth’s hand. The moment the door had closed behind them, all regal demeanour left Orodreth, and he turned to Lúthien with a look of anguish.

“Lúthien… ai, Lúthien, what have I done? I have sent my cousins away, my cousins who were our only hope of defending ourselves. I have even less idea of how to lead an army than Finrod had. How am I to protect my city should it come to the worst?”

Lúthien snorted.

“Trust me, Orodreth, you do not need them. I was not there, so maybe I missed things, but was it not them who drove Finrod out of his own kingdom? I would be glad to be rid of them if I were you, to be completely frank.”

“Well I am not. They are my cousins, I love them and they and their people have done a lot to enforce Nargothrond’s protections. I drove them out of my realm for what they did to Finrod, but before that…” He faltered, the sudden heat of his last words quickly fading, only to be replaced by an expression of utter hopelessness. “I do not blame you for seeing them the way you do, Lúthien. Chance be that your view of Curufin and Celegorm is indeed the more accurate one. I know how they seem, and do not assume that they have not angered me or Finrod with their arrogance and cruelty. Angrod for his part openly renounced them. But… you see, they were not always like this. You have never seen Celegorm hunt. He kills swiftly, so that his victims should suffer no fear or pain. He honours even the smallest creature. And Curufin, who in the blissful years had endless patience with Celebrimbor in the smithy so that the boy could learn, and test his strength… we were great friends, once. Before the Oath. Before they turned their swords against my own family. And still, I think that our grandfather would have wanted us to get along. He so tried, worked so hard to make everyone feel at home. The bickering and rivalry between my uncles hurt him deeply, and yet it never made him bitter. He welcomed us all with open arms, always. I… I miss him terribly, and should I meet him again one day, I should hope to do him proud.”

“I think you did today.” Lúthien replied gently “Not that I can claim to know much about Finwë, but from what I have been told about him, by someone who missed him no less than you do, though be it in a very different way, he would have been immeasurably proud of your deeds today. You proved that you are a king who is just, and gently, and powerful. And I tell you, you will find the strength you think you lack should need be. You will hold your own. And I think you may find that you have within your kingdom something that will enhance that strength.”

She nodded at Beren, who drew out the pouch and opened it, so that the light of the Silmaril filled the whole room.

Orodreth managed to stifle his scream of mingled terror and wonder, though with difficulty.

“What…” he stuttered “How? Lúthien, Beren, have you any idea… what have you done? Oh, by the Valar, what have you done?”

Had Orodreth not been an immortal elf, Beren might have feared that the king’s heart might stop beating out of shock. As it was, Orodreth swayed ominously, causing both Beren and Lúthien to hurtle forwards to steady him.

“Breathe for me, little cousin. It is quite alright. Morgoth will hardly step out of his fortress, will he?”

“N…no. Or at least I hope not. He has not done so since my uncle challenged him to his own destruction. But Lúthien… how could you? Have you any idea what might have happened had Curufin or Celegorm laid eyes on it? The oath… oh, you lucky fools have no idea.”

“You might have noticed that I am only showing you, and that I waited to do so until after the Fëanorians have left Nargothrond?”

But Orodreth still shook his head, looking very frightened.

“You have to give it to them. Well, not them, not Celegorm and Curufin, but to Maedhros.”

“Why would I do that? After all they have done? Beren and I got it.”

“It is their birthright, Lúthien. They are bound to it by the Oath they have sworn.”

Lúthien contemplated her cousin’s words for a bit, then said:

“Bound by the oath they gave to a father who would sacrifice every single one of them for  jewels? Who would lead them to peril, and see them slain? I think not. If they are haunted by the oath, it is because they themselves desire what Fëanor desired. Do not tell me that it was the oath that made them rob and murder my uncle’s people, do not tell me that you really want me to reward them for it by presenting them with the Silmaril Beren and I won a silver tablet. But alright, their birthright it is. And I will give it to them once they retrieved the other two jewels. I will not stand between them and the relieving of their oath. But until they have achieved that, I keep that one Silmaril as weregild for my -our- slain kin in Alqualondë. And besides, I have a feeling that this is how it should be.”

Orodreth grabbed Lúthien by the wrists, pleading now.

“You do not understand. That is what the Silmaril does. It makes you feel good. Of course it feels right to keep it. But as fair as those gems are, they trail behind them a track of blood and bitter grief.”

“I know that, and I swear I shall ever be wary of its powers. But through my mother, I am gifted with foresight, and even though I usually avoid to explore it I do know when doom is at work. Trust me, Orodreth- our retrieving the Silmaril will still play its role before the end.”

But something seemed to at last have snapped in Orodreth.

“You… you fools! You stand there, holding the jewel that has nothing to do with either of you, claiming that you know how our doom works. Were you there, Lúthien? Were you there as Lord Námo cursed us all? Were you there when we pulled Turgon out of the water and watched in horror as his clothes froze to his skin even as we tried to dry him? Have you heard him weep more bitterly than his little daughter for the loss of his wife? Oh, and that reminds me…” he added with an utterly mirthless snort of laughter “… Turgon does know aught of Ingoldo’s death yet. They were the closest of friends, once. Before they both chose to build their hidden cities.”

Tears now started to roll down his cheeks, but he angrily shook off the comforting hand that Lúthien had extended towards him.

“Ingoldo, my Ingoldo. Have you any idea how deeply we all loved him? He was the best, the kindest brother one could wish for. And you two, with your unutterable folly, have lured him to his death. You have brought this upon us all, and as if that is not enough, you chose to bring the accursed Silmaril to Nargothrond.”

“Orodreth…”

“No! Do not… you…”

His resentment rendered him momentarily speechless. When he finally did find words again, he added:

“And Aegnor? Did you learn nothing from his grief, and from that of Andreth? Need you mock them with your marriage that can end in naught but terrible grief?”

His last words were all but swallowed by his sobs, and now, finally, he allowed Lúthien to crouch down beside where he had sunken to the floor, and cradle him softly.

There was much that Beren would have liked to say to Orodreth, but all words must fall short of the remorse he felt, must sound but hollow excuses for what could not be excused.

“It is not so, Orodreth. Yes, I know that it is due to my hot-headedness that Finrod was driven to his death, and I sorely wish it was different. But I had my own reasons to seek revenge. I was prepared to die in Morgoth’s clutches, I was prepared to take it upon myself alone. I never thought my errand would ensnare anyone else in my doom, that it might claim another beloved life. For that, I can never be forgiven, nor should I be. I will readily suffer my guilt and your wrath, for it is only just.
But one thing I shall not bear- and that is the accusation that Beren and I would mock Aegnor with our marriage, for we would never. We both wept for their pain, for their parting. But it was Finrod’s dying wish that we should learn from their grief and not waste what might be blissful years, and his blessing hallowed our bond more than anything else. Do not think that we do not know that it is insensible. But love does not ask about what is sensible. And as a child of just such an insensible union myself, you’ll forgive me for listening to love rather than reason here.”