A/N: I wrote this because I felt the companions of Beren and Finrod were given less acclaim than they deserved.
Disclaimer: If I owned Silmarillion, this wouldn't be fanfiction.
I lay in the cell, thinking. How long had we been lying here, helpless? No, a more important question: How many of my companions had died already? I strained my eyes, counting, and found that the only ones left were my lord Finrod, Beren, and me. Nine dead – and then, with a shudder, I realized something.
I would be next.
Sauron was no fool. He could see that our leaders were Finrod and Beren. He would leave them to the last, killing everyone else first. Including me.
The knowledge was horrifying. Yet, the suspense had been worse.
I remembered the dark days of doubt. Waiting, watching. And wondering, always wondering: who would be next? Would it be me? Or would it be someone else? Would I live one more hour, or day, or week? Waiting, watching, wondering… despairing. There would be no rescue. The despair came in waves… teasing us, tempting us, calling in its sweet voice: Come, come, tell him… tell him of your mission, and you will not be devoured like prey… all that will happen will be that Beren will not wed Luthien… come, tell him… And then suddenly, the afflicted one would stiffen, tensing… refusing. No. We would not betray our lords.
And always, always there came the dreaded eyes. Yellow in the darkness, they shone like two small lamps – yet no lamp could simulate their evil glint. And then the sound, the crunching and snapping and worst of all, the screams. It must be agony.
Would this be how the Quest of Beren would end – in despair and darkness?
Well, if this was how it would end, I would not yield. I would not give up. I would die with honor, without betraying my lord.
The eyes kindled again, but I felt no terror. I had made my peace with death.
And as they came towards me, I smiled.