[Disclaimer: "Melanna" is mine. Doriath and all the named inhabitants belong solely to Tolkien.]

A/N: I admit it, this is a fantasy of mine. A romance with Beleg, I mean. Not the aftermath of the oh-so-kind Turin.

I wasn't going to continue this, for fear that it would devolve into a Mary-Sue, but "melanna" wouldn't leave me alone. So, here's chapter two, and if at any time I descend into Sueness, shoot me. Or flame me, or whatever. (And if I do fall, I welcome the PPC and ask them to put me out of your misery.)

And now, to Doriath!]

It has only been three weeks since the departure of Beleg and already I watch for his return. I know, I know, he may not have even found Turin yet. It took him an entire year before he came back last time, but I miss him so. I miss teasing him, holding him . . . I just miss him.

Our room seems very big and empty without him in it. His touch, in the weapons rack beside my tapestry frame, in the simplicity of the ornamentation, is everywhere. I have taken to resting elsewhere after that first night, because the bed feels cold and vast without his arms around me.

I shake myself out of my gloomy thoughts and decide to take a long walk under the stars. I will imagine that he is there beside me and perhaps, somehow, he will know that I am thinking of him.

****

I wonder where Beleg is this night. Has he found Turin yet? Perhaps he is on his way home now. It has been almost two months, after all.

I can picture them so easily, Beleg's tall figure beside Turin's slightly shorter one, both dark-haired heads close together in conversation. Turin's sword would swing in time with his stride, while Anglachel's silver-twined hilt would protrude past Beleg's left shoulder as it has since he chose it.

That sword makes me nervous. I cannot forget what Melian told Beleg when he chose it.

"There is malice in this sword. The dark heart of the smith still dwells in it. It will not love the hand it serves; neither will it abide with you long."

I saw Eöl once. Before he vanished into the homeland of his Noldorin wife. He used to bring tribute here every few years, I think because he didn't want the king to see the things he had at home. He frightened me, so dark and intense. I still have yet to see anyone so sinister and . . . wrong as Eöl, the smith of Nan Elmoth.

They say that he lost his mind over his wife and son leaving and murdered Aredhel in Gondolin. They tell of his curse on his son, just before they cast him off the highest cliff. I am afraid that he cursed that sword as well. I wish Beleg would choose some other sword.

****

Surely they are on their way back here now. Four months is too long for so simple a task. Is it not? Surely Turin cannot have gone so far that Beleg cannot find him.

I am pacing, something I find myself doing more and more often of late. I am so afraid for him. It seems different now than any time before, when he has had others surrounding him, giving him comfort and protection. But now . . . he is alone, unless he has found Turin.

My steps carry me to the arched window, where I stop and look out at the lush greenery of Thingol's forest realm. If I strain, I can just make out the shimmer that marks the boundary. Melian's Girdle. And somewhere in the wildlands beyond that curtain, Beleg is walking tirelessly.

Perhaps he is thinking of me.

****

I dream.

~+~+~+~

 I am floating over a battlefield. Human men lie scattered around in unnatural positions, dead and dying. I feel ill. All these lives, wasted. I send a quick prayer to the Valar, entreating that the souls of these men be cared for.

Then I see a too-familiar figure.

It cannot be him. He cannot be lying there. He is a captain in Doriath, not one of these human rabble. I will not accept this. I refuse to believe that he is lying dead on a battlefield. He promised to come back to me, and Beleg Cuthalion never breaks a promise.

A little figure scuttles around the field while I stare paralyzed at my beloved. I suddenly realize who the creature is and what the dwarf is doing. Have the Naugrim no honor? He is robbing the dead and speeding the passing of the few that are only wounded. The hatred in the way he murders the men frightens me.

He approaches Beleg. I can almost see the black cloud of his bitterness toward my husband. I am afraid of what he might do to my beloved, dead or no.

I start forward, but something is pulling me away. I cry out, but the battlefield fades from my sight.

~+~+~+~

It is raining. Two figures, one tall and strong, one bent and weary, follow a fading trail in the mud. The smaller one slips in the muck and the taller one helps him to rise.

Beleg! He is alive. Oh, Valar be praised. I am giddy in my relief.

Then I remember that this is a dream, and my elation dies. There is no way of knowing if what I see here is the truth.

Once again I am pulled away.

~+~+~+~

Yrch! They are everywhere, sleeping piled on top of one another like so many clods of dirt. A figure that is slightly familiar to me lies bound in the middle of them. Turin, that is Turin! O Lady, he is so much worn, so different from when he dwelt with us in Doriath.

A shadow slips through the orcs and bends over Turin. It must be Beleg; who else would risk all for the son of Morwen, elven-fair though she was? My Beleg.

In the dream, I follow Beleg as he carries Turin away from the orcs. The bent figure I remember from before is waiting for them at the top of a hill. The rain pours down on this most unlikely trio as Beleg cuts Turin's bonds. Suddenly, Anglachel is not in Beleg's hand anymore, but in Turin's.

The vision fades before I can see anything more.

~+~+~+~

I wake, breathing hard. Tears stream down my face as I weep for my dream and what it could mean.

I tell myself that it was only a dream. Only a dream, but so real. Lady Elbereth, Lord Manwë, please, watch over my Beleg. Keep him safe. Bring him back to me.

A knock at my door startles me.

"Come in."

"The queen wishes to see you, my lady."

[A/N: And cue suspenseful music! Three guesses to what Melian wants to see her about, and the first two don't count.]