This story has many flashbacks. Rated T for implied sex, very implied torture (thanks Morgoth), suicide, incest, blood and any other things you would expect in a story about the characters of the Children of Húrin. It is an alternate version of the Túrin story in keeping with the tragic tone and themes of self-fulfilling prophecies, curses, Dooooom, and more fun things of that nature. Also I decided that Morgoth created homophobia lol. Footnotes mostly used to point out Tolkien quotes or give information based on the source material.
Of Túrin and Beleg
The cold light that followed the thunderclap poured down from the heavens, and Túrin saw the form of him whom he had slain before him, and it was no orc, but Beleg, pierced by his own sword Anglachel, who now lay with bitter malice in Túrin's hand. Túrin wept and cast himself upon the form of the Elf, the sword forgotten at his side, and his bonds that were now cut. He clutched Beleg's lifeless hand and pressed kisses to his brow. Again and again he called his beloved friend's name, but Beleg's eyes were shut against the rain that poured down and the man's tears. Túrin pressed a kiss to Beleg's lips in farewell, not even perceiving how great the love was that he carried in his heart.[i] The cold lips of Beleg Cúthalion cut him to the core like a knife.
The warnings of Gwindor could not move him for a time, and lost he appeared, as if in a daze over Beleg's fallen body. Grey mists moved about him and covered his eyes, and only wrath would part them. He looked up to the dark sky and cursed Fate through his grief.
"Morgoth!" he cried, "I would that thou had devised it so that he had slain me, and not caused me to do this evil deed! How cruel is Fate that he most beloved should die by my own misguided hand? I shall have revenge upon thee, even if by it I come to my own death!"
As orcs drew near, drawn by his fell cries, he took up Anglachel. Again the lightning flashed upon the Mountains of Terror. A dark rage burned in Túrin's eyes and he cried with fury as he ran towards his enemies. The piles of dead grew around him until he and Gwindor were driven back and forced to flee. But Anglachel was not quenched.
Tears of anger and sorrow ran down Túrin's face, but when they ceased, he was silent and cold as if under an evil spell. He followed Gwindor wordlessly as they journeyed south from Taur-nu-Fuin between the shadows of the pines. He slept little and murmured in his sleep. Gwindor offered Túrin food, but the man refused it angrily and remained silent, and for many days they continued thus. At last they came to the Pools of Ivrin below Mountains of Shadow and Túrin slept fitfully upon the ground. His thoughts were filled with a great darkness and the haze of dreams, for the spell of grief was still upon him.
Through the gloom he saw the tall form of a man or Elf approach, and he saw that his face was dark with grief and pain. He heard Beleg's voice and immediately recognized the figure to be the same, so changed was he by despair that Túrin's eyes had not at first seen the face of his old companion. Still fair Beleg looked, and yet his eyes were dark as he took Túrin's hands behind him and bound them tightly.
"All that is touched by thy hand is touched too by thy doom, and so destroyed, Túrin son of Hurin," Beleg whispered. And Túrin understood that if he were to touch Beleg, the dream would end. He gazed with longing at Beleg's face.
The Elf reached out a hand to stroke Túrin's brow, and the man leaned into it and closed his eyes. He felt the dream of Beleg lift his chin gently. Then Beleg's lips pressed against his, and Túrin finally understood what his heart desired and would only now show him in sleep. He opened his mouth and kissed Beleg fiercely as the Elf pressed him down on his back.
"Beleg," he pleaded, not knowing for what he begged, whether it was for his beloved friend to return to him from death, or for himself to have known of his love in the forest of Doriath when it seemed no doom had been laid yet upon him. He knew with the clarity of dreaming that he loved Beleg more than any other, and cursed himself and rued the day that he had refused Beleg returning to Doriath. Nor would the Elf now ever know of his love, or return it.
The dream of Beleg replied to his plea by kissing his neck and undoing the fastenings of his tunic. He pressed his lips to Túrin's bared chest. The man leaned forward and pressed his lips to Elf's pale tawny hair. Beleg looked up and met Túrin's lips again, more urgently, and never had Túrin known such pleasure and pain as now for the loss and touch of the one whom he so loved.
"Túrin, my beloved," Beleg whispered sadly, "thou knowest I would follow thee even to a second death."
He kissed Túrin's mouth for the third time and the man moaned under his gentle caresses. Beleg made love to Túrin then under the clouded skies of the Pools of Ivrin, and knew that Túrin returned his love, for he was not of the making of Túrin's dreams, but Beleg Cúthalion, returned as it seemed from death by Túrin's hand.
For Morgoth had perceived from afar the son of Hurin's love for Beleg the Elf as he knelt to kiss his slain comrade, and a dark plan had awoken in his heart.
But Beleg was not killed, and had fall under a swoon and responded not to Túrin's cries by some witchcraft. Then the fated kiss Túrin pressed to his mouth, and Beleg felt the phantom of it upon his cold lips, and clung to the memory waking in the dark hell of Angband where only Túrin's vanished touch was a safeguard against pain. There he witnessed endless torture as Túrin stumbled through the dark woods haunted with the grief of his death, be it in error.
As he lay upon the cold stone floor of his prison, wracked with pain, Beleg slipped into dreams and memories from a life that was now past.
In the northern marches of Doriath he had first loved Túrin. He remembered the look in the mortal's grey eyes as they gazed through the woods at their outpost. So bright and strong Túrin had seemed, just come to manhood, and Beleg could not imagine that one day the flame of life in Túrin's eyes would be choked out.
"Why didst thou follow me, Beleg?" Túrin asked.
The Elf turned aside. "For my love for thee, son of Hurin, I would follow thee even to death." But for some reason unknown he hid his innermost thought from Túrin as the man looked at him, and a feeling of foreboding overcame him lest the mortal perceive the true extent of his love.
"I am glad for it, for I love thee also, and would not be parted even if I were to someday leave Doriath." Túrin's voice faltered with the mention of his fate but in his eyes was the same fell grey light that Beleg had often seen burning there, and the Elf had known then that one day this very thing would come to pass.
They were indeed parted with Túrin's abandonment of Doriath, and after the death of Saeros, Beleg had sought Túrin in the wild. At the hands of Túrin's men Beleg suffered ere the man returned in wrath to find his friend bound by his own men. Beleg begged him to return to Doriath but Túrin refused, his pride and anger shielding his eyes.
That night Beleg had stood by the fire, facing the dark. A great sadness chilled his heart, and yet he was comforted by their old friendship.
"What are thy thoughts, friend?" Túrin murmured.
"Once more, wouldst thou come with me?" Beleg asked, yet he knew it was hopeless.
"Nay!" Túrin cried, "I have told thee my answer. I cannot return—I will not!" Beleg remained silent. "Come," Túrin whispered, and his tone was softer and it surprised the Elf. "Can we not again sit side by side as friends? Or dost thou no longer love me?"
Beleg's heart was stung by these words and he turned his head aside. "How foolish is thy human heart, Túrin!" he cried, and Túrin was stunned, for Beleg rarely lost his temper.
"Then dost thou still love me?" Túrin pressed impatiently.
"Aye, too much," the Elf lamented, and stopped himself from speaking further.
"Stay with me then. I am sorry that my men thought thou wert our enemy—it pained me so to see thee—"
"It matters not."
"Stay with me then," Túrin repeated. "If thou lovest me—"
"Aye," the Elf murmured. "For if I stayed beside thee, love would lead me, not wisdom."[ii]
"Stay, Beleg—I beg thee—It will be like things were before, in Doriath, and none will dare oppose us!" the mortal urged, and the fell light rose in his eyes.
Beleg's eyes flashed as he gazed into the darkness and he looked not at the man. "But what of me, Túrin? Am I to follow thee like a dog, going whither thou asks me forever? Is that the Fate of Beleg Cúthalion?"
"I will not force thee to remain, if my presence is so torturous!" Túrin shouted angrily, standing up in front of the blazing fire.
Still Beleg did not turn to look back at him. "Then farewell, Túrin son of Hurin. Torture I have already received. Farewell." He saw not the pain and loss on Túrin's young face.
"Beleg, thou woundest me with thy words!"
Beleg spoke then and his voice was cold. "There are other griefs in Middle-earth than thine, and wounds made by no weapon. Indeed, I begin to think that Elves and Men should not ever meet or meddle."[iii]
"Aye!" Túrin yelled. "They say that just as it is wrong for a man to lay beside a man, it is wrong for a man to befriend an Elf!" he shouted after him.
And his unwitting words wounded Beleg's heart all the more, for in that moment the Elf knew that Túrin would never return the same love that he held in his heart, that was not the love of friendship. Though it was uncommon for an Elf to wed with the same sex, it was not shameful as it was for men. And Beleg feared that if Túrin had seen into his heart then, he would have been ashamed.
The Elf went into the darkness with sorrow in his heart for his love unrequited, and knew too that he would indeed return to Túrin's side. He cursed his traitor heart which loved this mortal, and though he parted with Túrin, he saw now that the path he walked led inevitably towards him, all the same, through the shadows.
In the Battle of Unnumbered Tears Beleg had fought beside Mablung of the Heavy Hand, his friend and comrade in arms. In those days valor and renown he had sought with his companion, and thought not of love. Near the long battle's ending Hurin the Steadfast was captured by Morgoth and cursed by his malice, and so too was Beleg unknowingly cursed.
"Dost thou ever plan to wed?" Mablung asked him as they stood watch together.
Beleg shrugged. "I know not," he muttered. "Dost thou?"
"Aye," sighed Mablung, "For as thou knowest, there is one who is as fair as sunlight upon the leaves of Doriath, who walks as light as spring in the woods, and her voice is as clear as the Esgalduin…"
Beleg laughed. "Do not abandon me to become a poet, for we have need of warriors to defend the borders of Doriath!"
"Aye, I know," Mablung replied, grinning. But as Beleg looked away, his friend thought he saw in his eyes the same longing that he felt for his beloved maiden, but spoke not of it, for he knew Beleg would not wish him to do so.
In the spring Beleg returned as if drawn back by his doom. He stood at the edge of the camp, looking with wistful happiness upon Túrin's form. The man's dark hair was longer and now fell past his shoulders. With a sad smile upon his lips, Beleg watched the mortal giving his men orders.
At last they spotted the Sindarin Elf and shouted. Túrin's face dawned with gladness slowly as a winter morning departing at the sunrise. He faltered, and then overcame the thought of their past grievances and, running towards Beleg, took him into his arms. The Elf closed his eyes as sorrow and joy blazed suddenly in his heart as one. He wished to take Túrin and kiss him but could not. Finally he pushed Túrin away.
"Thou hast come back," Túrin murmured. He fought to find the right words but Beleg smiled at him, and he said nothing more and grinned with happiness. They did not speak of their parting.
Thereafter the lands around Amon Rûdh became known as Dor-Cúarthol, the Land of Bow and Helm, and for long they dwelt in happiness there and won much renown, for Beleg had brought Túrin the Dragon-helm he had word in Doriath, from which all his enemies fled.
Túrin never sought a woman, nor did he speak of such things, and Beleg pressed him not. He tried to keep from his mind Túrin's words about love between men, but sometimes the pain of his love would overcome him, as when he was tending Túrin's wounds in the dark thoughtful night.
Túrin was the stronger of the two, but he did not have an Elf's skill at speed, and was cut by his enemies more often than Beleg. And the man's body was beautiful to Beleg's eyes, even for the scars from many battles. The Elf thought to himself with empty satisfaction that even if he could never have Túrin as his lover, at least no mortal woman would know Túrin's body as he had.
After he bound Túrin's wounds, he would stroke Túrin's brow and brush the dark hair from his face, hoping the gentleness of his touch did not betray him. Túrin's fell grey eyes would open and Beleg would push his love for the great warrior who lay before him once more into his closed heart, lest Túrin should understand and recoil from his touch.
Now Beleg lay upon a mantle of his own blood in the dungeon of Angband, thinking of Túrin's unthinking kiss, his last farewell which betrayed his love. Perhaps in Túrin's eyes it was wrong for men to lay beside men, but the mortal man had already broken a custom of his people and befriended many Elven-folk in his years in Doriath. Beleg had felt Túrin's love through that sorrowful kiss, even if the mortal had not yet understood it or felt shame for it.
And through the swoon, and the sear of Anglachel's iron, Beleg had felt a great happiness, to which he still tried to hold as he sank in the ocean of his pain, as he lay on the floor with his throat parched dry from crying out in the darkness, awash in lingering memories of his torment.
But the Dark Lord had also seen Túrin son of Hurin bend over the form of his companion, and the kiss which had in fact betrayed them. And he mused to himself, as he beheld Beleg fallen into a feverous dream of Túrin his beloved, his pale hair bloodied upon the stone floor, that the tortures of the heart were perhaps worse than the tortures of the body.
A plan had awoken in Morgoth's dark mind. He permitted Beleg to go to Túrin as if in a dream, and so it came to pass that Beleg Cúthalion came to Túrin son of Hurin as he lay sleeping in the shadow of grief below Ered Wethrin. For Morgoth was not satisfied, and though Beleg's pained cries still echoed in the dark deep places of Angband, the Dark Lord wished to wound Beleg in the heart and most of all to add the son of Hurin's voice to the evil music. Ever he envied the strength of Elves, for Beleg healed the wounds of his flesh again and again, and the Dark Lord at last conceived that there was no repairing the wounds of the mind.
"All that is touched by thy hand is touched too by thy doom, and so destroyed, Túrin son of Hurin," Beleg heard himself say as if under a spell as he bound Túrin's hands. For Túrin must think this a figment of his sleeping mind.
He looked down with long-defeated desire at Túrin's face. And as the flame of his love ignited once more in his chest, he reached out a hand and stroked Túrin's brow. Túrin leaned into his hand willingly and Beleg felt a smile falter on his lips. Never would he have wished this, that he could hold Túrin in his arms, for it was beyond hope, and yet now how could it be that the mortal man returned his love? But he knew it to be true, even though it was unsought for.
He lifted Túrin's chin. Túrin was peaceful in his dreamlike state and complied to Beleg's hand. The Elf marveled that Túrin yielded to his touch, for he would not have expected it even if the man had returned his feelings. The son of Hurin was so proud, but perhaps in dreaming he could have no pride. Beleg kissed him, and pressed harder as he felt Túrin's mouth part under his. He tasted then Túrin's familiar fierceness as the mortal kissed him in return.
"Beleg," Túrin pleaded, and all of his memories of torment and pain wheeled past the Elf as he lost himself in the feeling of Túrin's body that he knew so well but had never touched in anything other than the manner of a friend. He kissed Túrin's neck earnestly and opened the man's tunic. He kissed his chest and felt Túrin press a kiss to the top of his head.
Once more he pressed his lips against Túrin's strongly. "Túrin, my beloved," he said, "thou knowest I would follow thee even to a second death."
He saw a great pain and hopelessness cross Túrin's face and knew then Morgoth's plan, for the torture of seeing Túrin thus, believing him dead, was greater than any poisoned knife or scalding burn.
He kissed the mortal's mouth for a third time. Túrin gasped in pleasure under Beleg's hands and his lips as the Elf held him in his arms and made love to him by the Pools of Ivrin.
Beleg stroked Túrin's side tenderly and gazed down into the starlight reflected in the man's dark grey eyes. For the clouds had parted above the lake. Then before Túrin Beleg vanished into the night and was taken back by Morgoth. The mortal strove to break his bonds but it was to no avail. Then Túrin lay upon the ground in a swoon, as one slain at once by bliss and grief[iv], and he fell once more into a dark uneasy sleep with the sweetness of Beleg's love upon his lips.
When he awoke from the dream and the daze of his grief and saw that his hands were unbound, Túrin was smote by shame as if by the hand of the Dark Lord himself—shame at the mistake in the dark night by the black blade of Anglachel, shame at not realizing his love for his beloved companion until it was too late, and shame for that very love, which now haunted him most of all.
Why is there not more Beleg/Túrin fanfiction? That's the real tragedy here. Heh. Well, anyway. More to come! Let me know what you think!
[i] Yes, this happened. Túrin kissed Beleg. Go back and check ;) (that is, if you don't already remember the wonderful slashy moment)
[ii] Tolkien quote!
[iii] Tolkien quote!
[iv] Based on a line about Beren when Tinuviel left him after their first meeting in Doriath.