A/N This is a different take on what happened between Beleg and Turin when orcs had captured him. I came up with this idea a year ago. I hope you enjoy this and yes, I know this is AU. I would like to thank Eldhoron for helping me fill in the details and for letting me use some of these lines.
A silver moon rode high upon the velvet skies as two elves silently maneuvered through the forest. It was fall, and the air was beginning to have a crisp feeling to it, and the trees were starting to become bare as the falling leaves covered the forest floor in a colorful blanket of bright reds, oranges, and yellows.
The two elves were quietly making their way through the dark forest, ever so often stopping to investigate their surroundings, bending down to pick up some rotten foliage or to look at the ground for clues. The two, in fact, were tracking a pack of orcs which had taken one of the elf's friends captive.
***Beleg Cúthalion was one of the two. He had been searching the forests for many long days in search of his young mortal friend, Túrin Turambar. The two of them had been waylaid by a band of wild orcs. During the fight, Beleg had been gravely injured and, being unable to fight anymore, Túrin had been captured. Now Beleg had found Gwindor alone amongst the trees the day before and had acquainted him, seeing he was a noble elf and one in need. The two new acquaintances had spoken much, and Beleg had revealed his status as Chief Marchwarden. Likewise, in the process, Gwindor told Beleg his tale of being held captive as a thrall in Angband for seventeen years. ***
Presently, Beleg had managed to pick up the trail once again and, with Gwindor following from behind, they had finally come to the orc camp. Beleg was unable to determine what they were up against or if Túrin was even among the orcs from where he was at. "Stay here until I come back. I am going to get a closer look," Beleg whispered to Gwindor. Gwindor nodded his head and sat on the ground as Beleg quietly snuck off to spy out their enemies.
Beleg made his way to a large boulder near the front of the camp just a small way off from where Gwindor was still hiding. Beleg did not like the look of Gwindor when he had come across him days before. It was plain to him the young Noldo was once a mighty prince and had been fair to look upon, but all those long years being held a prisoner in Morgoth's dungeons had taken their toll on the ellon. His once black hair turned gray, his eyes held much pain and anger, his face was scarred, and he walked with a limp and slightly bent over.
While he was safely hiding behind the boulder, Beleg managed to scout out several wolf hounds, a group of at least six orcs, and lying unconscious a few feet away from the orcs chained in fetters, was Túrin. Unfortunately, Beleg could not tell just what condition his friend was in from here. Cursing silently to himself, he slowly made his way back to Gwindor to inform him what he saw.
When Beleg returned, Gwindor rose to his feet. "What are we up against?"
Beleg sighed as he surveyed Gwindor's condition. Deeming he was fit enough to fight he answered. "We face several large wolf hounds and a group of at least six orcs. Túrin is among them, but I cannot tell how serious his injuries are from here. I can safely shoot the wolves from here, but that will draw the orcs to us. However, they should not be too much trouble between the two of us."
Gwindor sneered. "Let them come. I will take much pleasure in getting my revenge for all those years in Angband."
Beleg didn't doubt his new friend's ability to fight any longer and, as he positioned himself to take out the wolves, he motioned Gwindor to ready himself for the upcoming attack. Taking his bow and nocking an arrow, he took a deep breath and let the arrow go. Flying silently through the air, it found its intended target, embedding itself deep in a wolf's neck killing it instantly. One by one, the silver-haired elf fired his bow each time, his arrows killing their victims. As Beleg had predicted though, the orcs were alerted to the two elves and in a rage, charged them with swords drawn.
"Here they come. Prepare yourself," Beleg commanded as he drew his sword Anglachel. As fast as lightening, Gwindor drew his sword and without even waiting for the orcs to reach them, he charged with a loud battle cry that would make even the largest enemy tremble and started slaying them one by one with Beleg at his side. When they had ensured that the enemy had been annihilated, they quickly made their way inside the camp.
It didn't take long for Beleg to find Túrin and in seconds he was knelt at his side assessing the young man's injuries. Beleg could feel his blood boil with anger at seeing his friend's condition. It was evident at first sight Túrin put up a huge fight and only stopped when he had been hit in the head. Covering the vast majority of his body, were nasty cuts and dark bruises. Beleg knew they would need to be cleaned lest the cuts become festered. Brushing back Túrin's black hair, he found a large bump on his head right above his left eye. Beleg wouldn't be able to tell how much damage had been caused until Túrin woke up.
"Gwindor, I need you to keep a lookout for any possible threat while I tend to Túrin. Alert me at once at the slightest sound."
Nodding, Gwindor went to keep a lookout, leaving Beleg to try and wake Túrin. At first, Beleg tried softly shaking Túrin, but when the young man failed to wake, Beleg tried using his elven healing to stir the man but to no avail. Not understanding why Túrin was not waking, he decided to cut the fetters binding his friend's wrists and ankles. Taking his sword, he managed to cut the chains from his feet. Changing position, Beleg then proceeded to cut the shackles from his wrists. Beleg just about succeeded when the sword slipped nicking Túrin's wrists.
Suddenly, without warning, Túrin's eyes flew open and looked around, unsure where he was. As he looked above, he saw a dark figure bent over him with a blade in hand. Not recognizing him as his friend and assuming it was an orc preparing to torture him once more, he cried out in a rage and began to fight Beleg.
Beleg had no idea what hit him, the only thing he knew was he was in a fight for his life, and he had to snap Túrin out of his madness, or one of them could end up dead. "Túrin, stop! It is I, Beleg!" he cried out, trying with all his strength to keep Túrin from knocking the sword out of his hands. However, Túrin would not listen, and with a kick to Beleg's gut followed by a blow to his face, he managed to grab the sword from Beleg's hands and crying out he thrust the blade deep into Beleg's stomach.
Gwindor was quickly on top of Túrin yanking him off Beleg. No sooner had he been sent to keep watch for any oncoming orcs had he heard the sound of a war cry from behind him quickly followed by his friend's cry for help. Gwindor had reached the wrestling pair, who were struggling on the ground for dominion over the sword in Beleg's hands; however, Gwindor was no match for Túrin. It was as if some force gave him exceptional strength. Any time he tried to grab him, he was swiftly thrown back. Gwindor knew he had to do something and fast so he grabbed his dagger from his boot and, just as he made to injure the enraged mortal, it was too late: Túrin had dug the blade of Beleg's sword deep into his friend's gut.
It was only when he saw Beleg drop to the ground with a thud, Túrin had come to his senses. Gwindor dropped his blade and ran to the still body of Beleg, hoping he would stir, cough, scream in pain, something to let them know he was alright. But when Beleg just laid there with his eyes open, Gwindor knew something was not right. The Noldo didn't even wait to see if Túrin would aide his friend for one look on his face told him the mortal man was in a state of profound shock.
As Gwindor knelt and listened for any sign of life, he realized his worst fears were true: Beleg was dead. Looking up at Túrin, who was still just standing there looking down at the dead ellon's face, he glared at him. "You killed him!" he spat angrily.
Túrin couldn't believe what he heard. No, he could not have killed his best friend. He loved Beleg with all his heart. They had been through so much together; he couldn't have killed him. But looking down at the still form, he knew this stranger spoke the truth. He had killed his best friend.
However, try as he might, he could not piece together what had happened. One minute he was walking the forest with Beleg, the next he had been captured and tortured by orcs. When he woke up and saw a dark figure over him with a blade, he blacked out of all reasonableness. It was as if he was someone else. He could tell Beleg had called out to him, but he could not hear the voice or even distinguish what he had said. All he knew at that moment was he was fighting for his life. It wasn't until he saw Beleg freeze and all color drain from his face as he hit the ground he had come to. Now, looking down at his dead friend and seeing the blood pool around him, he realized what he had done. What he had become: a monster. Just like the monsters who had tortured him.
Looking at the murder weapon in his hand then at Beleg's body he felt himself begin to shake with grief and anger. "Nooooo!" He could hear himself scream, yet the voice didn't sound like his at all. Not even looking at Gwindor, he took the sword that had been used on his friend and threw himself on top of it. Túrin didn't even have time to scream in pain as he felt the sword drive through his abdomen and out his back. Within seconds the light faded from his eyes and Túrin Turambar was no more.
Gwindor could not believe what he had just witnessed. Never had he seen a man or even an elf commit an act of murder and then take his life. Yet, that was exactly what he saw this very night in only a matter of minutes. Gwindor was not sure what to make of this Túrin. Beleg had spoken so highly of him like a brother would of his kin. However, what he saw was contrary to what he had been told. Here they were attempting to rescue him from the clutches of Morgoth's servants and Túrin – in cold blood – kills the very person who meant to help him.
As he looked into the eyes of this man, he could not tell whether he felt guilt or pain. This man wore a mask over his emotions very well. Gwindor thought he could see remorse, but he could not be certain. It was certain, however, that Túrin was in shock. But if Túrin was in shock over what he had done to Beleg, it was nothing compared to what he was now in. It had happened so fast he could not even react.
As he looked up into the dark, steel eyes of Túrin after he had told him Beleg was dead, what he witnessed next would be forever embedded in his mind. As fast as an arrow flies, he saw Túrin take the murder weapon and, with one final cry, threw himself on top of it. As Gwindor looked on, he saw very slowly, all life leave the man's eyes and saw him slide down as his final breath left his body.
Gwindor was frozen in place. He wanted to run but found he could not move. He wanted to scream but found he had no voice. All he could do was sit next to the body of Beleg and stare at the young man's lifeless body in front of him. He tried to take his eyes off the sight in front of him but couldn't. What was he supposed to do? He knew he couldn't just leave these bodies here to be defiled by the beasts or become the sport for any orcs that happened to be passing by. He also knew he couldn't stay here either.
As Gwindor sat thinking and waiting for the shock to wear off, he finally came to a decision. He would bury these two together and take Anglachel back to Doriath to inform the king of what had happened. He may not have known these two very well, but what he did know was Beleg had nothing but respect for Túrin so he would lay these two together as a final act of respect and honor for them. It was hard work, but hours later he had managed to dig a ditch somehow deep and long enough to lay the two bodies in. When he had put Beleg's body in first, he then went over to Túrin and, mustering enough courage, he drew the sword out of his body and laid him next to Beleg. Then ever so carefully he piled the dirt back on them and paid tribute to the fallen before departing with Anglachel in his hand towards Doriath.
After many days of travel, Gwindor finally, found his way to the borders of Melian. Remembering what Beleg had told him about the Girdle of Melian, he hoped she would allow him passage without any issues. Feeling the last of his strength on end, he reached down deep inside and forced himself to walk the last distance to the kingdom of Doriath.
Now unbeknownst to him, Melian had indeed seen Gwindor as he was approaching her borders. Seeing the sadness in his eyes and turmoil he had gone through, she had lifted the girdle and used her enchantments to lead the young ellon to her and her husband's gates. When he arrived, two guards greeted him with a small bow of the head. "Greetings Gwindor of Nargothrond, our king and queen are waiting for you inside."
Under any other circumstances, Gwindor would have been confused and probably a little frightened at meeting elves who knew who he was and from whence he hailed but, as he was so tired and consumed with grief from past events, he just nodded and without a word followed them inside. Inside the throne room, Thingol and his wife – the Maia Melian – were seated. Upon seeing him enter, they rose and greeted Gwindor. "Welcome, Gwindor of Nargothrond. What brings you here?" Thingol asked curiously. He may not have had the foresight of his wife, but he could sense from the look of despair on his face, it was not good news that had brought the elf to his kingdom.
Gwindor bowed upon being greeted and pulled out the sword Anglachel. "I come bearing terrible news my lord."
As Thingol and Melian looked at the sword, they both recognized it as the sword Thingol had granted Beleg for his journey outside of Doriath. Thingol fell to his seat. He didn't even need to hear any more. He knew his beloved Warden was dead. "Beleg is dead, isn't he?" Thingol managed to choke out.
Gwindor nodded unable to answer. Thingol fought the tears threatening to spill and softly asked the other question he was afraid to ask. "How did he die?"
Gwindor was not sure how to answer this as he knew Thingol had fostered Túrin and loved him as his son. Taking a deep breath, he just spoke. "He was slain by Túrin, my lord." Seeing the shock and disbelief in Thingol's eyes, he continued. "Beleg and I were hunting a band of orcs which had captured Túrin. We found him and after killing the orcs proceeded to rescue the young man. I do not know all of what happened, but I can tell you it was not out of hatred Túrin slew Beleg. When he learned of what he had done, he went into a great state of shock and then despair. Out of grief, Túrin threw himself on top of this sword. I buried them together and made the long journey here to tell you the news."
Thingol could not move or speak. His son was dead as well? This could not be. This messenger had to be lying. Thingol looked at his wife in hopes she would confirm his guess, but when she looked back at him and saw the tears spill from her eyes, he knew it was not a lie. No longer able to hold back the anguish he began to sob bitterly. If only he had not allowed Beleg to leave, if only he had been able to force his son back home, neither of them would be dead. When he finished crying, he stood and took the sword from Gwindor's hands. "Thank you Gwindor. You risked much coming here to bring me news that was not yours to bear. How may I repay the kindness you have shown my wife and me?"
Gwindor shook his head. "All I ask is you lend me a horse and enough provisions to make it back home. I ask for nothing more."
Thingol smiled and nodded. "Very well, I will give you my best steed and enough food and water to last you the journey back to Nargothrond. You may keep the horse. You may leave in three days after you have rested."
Gwindor gave thanks, and after the three days were passed, Gwindor slowly made his way back home. As he was leaving, he could still hear behind him the mourning of the whole realm as they lamented over the loss of two of the greatest beings that ever lived: Beleg Cúthalion and Túrin Turambar, brothers in arms.