[Disclaimer: Beleg is not mine, sadly. Neither are Melian and Thingol.

A/N: The letter from Turin is entirely my own invention. See, I have this idea that Melian confined herself and her knowledge to the lands under the protection of her Girdle, and thus I had to come up with some way for the news of Beleg's death to reach Doriath. Thus the letter and the messenger. I'm not sure if they would actually let someone from Nargothrond into Doriath, so forgive me if you don't think that likely (they were Noldor, yes?). If I have unforgivably trespassed here, I am truly sorry.

Anyway, just a bit of a warning there. I've tried to keep within the bounds of canon, but I have only the Silm and my overactive imagination to go by (no HoME *sad puppy eyes*)]

As I pass through the grand halls of Menegroth, I hear the whispers.

"Does she know yet?"

"I do not believe so."

"Poor dear."

"So horrible, the way it happened."

"Just imagine . . ."

Their voices fade into my growing fear. My dream . . . No! Nothing has happened to Beleg. He will come back to me and he will bring Turin home and we will all be happy again. Even Turin. Beleg promised.

So I try to convince myself, but in my heart, I know that our tale will not have a happy ending. I know that that of which they whisper is what I most fear, that which I dreamt. Beleg shall not return to me. He will never return to anyone again.

If he had stayed with me . . .

I have reached the door of the Queen's chambers. I pause on the threshold. I can still turn back to my lonely rooms, clinging to my illusions, telling myself that Beleg will come back. Or I can answer Melian's summons, and learn the fate of my beloved. I breathe deeply and push the open the door.

"Welcome, child." The Queen's voice is gentle as she gestures for me to seat myself. I smile shyly, wondering if I am merely overreacting to the dream and the whispers in the halls.

"A messenger from Orodreth of Nargothrond arrived in at the borders of Doriath yesterday afternoon. He bore tidings for my lord and for me, and also a letter for you."

"I do not understand, my lady."

She hands me a folded piece of parchment with my name inscribed upon it in a firm clear hand that I almost recognize. I open it, and begin to read.

****

My lady,

This is very difficult for me to write, though it must be more difficult for you to read. King Orodreth said he was sending a messenger with my tidings to Elu Thingol, and Gwindor suggested that I write to you myself. I did not want this 'honor', but honor demands it of me. I suppose I should begin at the beginning, when I left Doriath.

I was angry then, so angry, with myself and with Saeros as well. Mablung urged me to return and stand before Thingol for his judgement, but I ran away instead. I joined a band of outlaws, and eventually became their chief. Then Beleg arrived for the first time, and he bade me return, saying that all was forgiven. He abode with us for a little time, then he returned to you.

After he left, I made an enemy of a dwarf, Mîm by name, by killing his son and taking his house for my own. Beleg eventually found me in Bar-en-Danwedh and he dwelt with me and my men for a time, hunting orcs and other servants of Angband. Mîm was displeased with the addition of an Elf to our company, and betrayed us.

The orcs en, wounded Beleg, leaving him for dead, and captured me. I was bound with both ropes and iron; they were taking all precautions, lest I escape and their miserable lives be forfeit

I will not tax you with tales of what they did to me. It is enough to say that I was . . . not myself.

I was asleep, or unconscious. I cannot with truth say which. I remember a vague sensation of movement, but thought it no more than a dream, for the orcs were never so gentle. I woke at a sharp pain in my foot.

It was raining, and all I saw was a shadowy figure standing over me with bared blade. My reaction was understandable, but unforgivable. I tore the blade from my 'attacker's' hand and thrust it through his heart. Then the lightning flashed, and I saw that it was your husband.

Gwindor tells me that I gave a cry not unlike an animal. I believe, at that moment and from thence until I awoke by the waters of Eithel Ivrin, I was an animal, mad with grief and self-loathing.

I would like to tell you that with Beleg's dying breath, he asked me to tell you that he loved you. In truth, I do not know if he did or not. I do not remember anything after realizing that I had thrust a sword through his heart.

I do not ask you to forgive me, for I fear that it is impossible. How can I ask you to when I cannot even forgive myself. There are only these few words that I can say, and I know that they can never be enough.

I am sorry.

Turin Turambar, now called Agarwaen, son of Umarth

****

The page in front of me blurs. A cool hand is laid upon my shoulder, and I lean into the Queen, weeping.

"Hush, child," whispers the wise voice of Melian. "Hush now."

Time passes, I do not know how much, and I come to the end of my tears. I rise with as much dignity as I can muster, and say, "Thank you, my lady. I must go now."

"And will you return?"

"I fear not, my queen."

"Then farewell, my child."

"Farewell."

****

In my chamber, I stare at the empty weapons rack where Beleg used to hang Belthronding. All that is left of him in this room are the soulless things, the things that were only for use, not for ornament or for sentimental value. All I have of him are my memories, and those are fast fading.

My gaze travels the room and stops on the window. It looks very inviting, now. It would be so easy, to simply drop out of existences . . .

End