TITLE: Written in Stars
AUTHOR: Euryale
PAIRING: Turin/Beleg
RATING: I'm going to rate as we go, starting out with G, but it will 
eventually reach into the realm of NC-17
SUMMARY: I'm going to summarize as we go as well. The lives 
and times of Turin and Beleg? How does that sound for a 
general summary?
CATEGORY: Romance and ANGST with lots of capital letters! 
This is the angst pairing to end all angst pairings, although not 
right away. You have been warned (but I'll warn you again before 
we get to the really angsty bits).
SPOILERS: The first 15 pages in "Of Turin Turambar" from the 
Silmarillion
DISCLAIMER: These characters and their world are, sadly, not 
mine. Eh, I'm over it. And I'm not making a penny off this story.
WARNING: There's a little bit of het content. Fear not, it's brief 
and not particularly graphic.
NOTES: Since I figure that most people haven't read the story I'm 
drawing from here, I'm going to lean on the text much more 
heavily than I otherwise would. Anything taken directly from the 
text will be in single quotes. I will probably be referring to a bit of 
the material less directly as well. Basically, if you suspect that a 
plot point was Tolkien's idea and not mine, you're probably right. 
I'm just using it for coherency purposes and I lay no claim 
whatsoever to it. I intend the utmost respect for Tolkien and his 
work.
ARCHIVING: If you like. Just let me know where it is.
FEEDBACK: is one of my favourite things. euryale@email.com
Props to Jude for the beta.

****
1/?
Rating: G
Summary: In which Turin comes to the Hidden Kingdom of 
Doriath.
Note: Yes, when this starts, Turin is 8. Thus this bit is just 
preslash. Expect no sex here.

****

Oft one's destiny is written in the stars, determined by the 
humour of the heavens at the moment of one's birth. Turin 
Turambar was born in the year that Beren Erchamion came 
upon radiant Luthien Tinuvial as she sang her evening song in 
the woods of Neldoreth and the first union of Elves and Men 
began to take form on this earth. 

****

Morwen watched the firelight flicker off her son's sleeping face. 
Her brow was knit with worry and her hand stroked absently over 
her swollen belly. She grieved for her husband, knowing not 
whether she should ever see him again. Thinking she wouldn't. 
She cherished her children, the one lying before her and the one 
she had yet to meet. A smile came to the corners of her mouth at 
the thought. A whole new being for her to love, one that could not 
be taken away. She pressed a hand to her mouth and her face 
set. Yet. One that could not be taken away yet.

If Morgoth took her children, she would die. There would be 
nothing left for her at all. And he would come for them. He would 
not rest until all that his enemies valued had been destroyed. 
The Easterlings were enslaving the families of all the opponents 
of their lord. It was only a matter of time before they overcame 
their fear of her skill in the ways of magic and came for her in 
numbers she would be helpless to counter.

She could not leave Dor-lómen. She was its Lady. Even if she 
was no more than a name, a rumor of resisting power deep in 
the woods, she was all that her people had left to them. And her 
children were all that were left to her. The finite nature of the 
world came crowding in upon her, forcing her to contemplate the 
void beyond. Not enough time, not enough peace, not enough 
security, not enough, not enough.

Hurin had been taken while fighting in the service of the Elves 
and for that she felt that they owed her something. Beren had 
been friend and kinsman to Hurin and the Elves had accepted 
him. If she could not go to them for help, perhaps her children 
could. Child. It would be years before the other would be old 
enough for a separation like that.

Beren had married the daughter of King Thingol of the hidden 
kingdom of Doriath which none could enter against his will so 
long as the enchanted girdle that his wife Melian had set about it 
endured.

Watching the soft rise and fall of her son's chest, Morwen 
hardened her heart and resolved to send the boy thither without 
delay.

****

Tears stung in Turin's eyes, but he tried hard to be brave. Mother 
wanted him to be brave. She was fussing over him with cloaks 
and scarves and hats to make sure that he wouldn't catch cold in 
the snow. Her brow was creased and her hands worked 
nervously. When she was satisfied with the bundle she had 
made of him, she stood and turned to the two old men standing 
nearby swathed in thick brown cloaks.

"Go quickly, go secretly. Once you've found your way to Doriath, 
give this letter to King Thingol. Beg him to take Turin in if you 
have to. I will do anything he wants provided he keeps my boy 
safe. Let him know that. When you have completed this errand, 
you may go where you will, you are free from my service."

Morwen covered Turin's face with kisses and hugged him tightly. 
He didn't want to go, but she kept telling him "Be brave, be brave 
for me! Grow up tall and strong and when it's safe, we'll be 
together again." A few tears slid down his rosy cheek as he took 
the hand of one of the old servants into whose care he had been 
confided but he would not let out the sobs that were churning in 
the pit of his stomach.

The way was not hard at first, but it was long and their path was 
confused. It was midwinter when they came to the mountains 
that edged the kingdom of Doriath and the servants were wary of 
making such a crossing with a child. But Lady Morwen had bid 
them make all possible haste so they pressed on. And on. 
Through all the many inherent perils of a wild land, they came at 
last to the edges of Doriath. It seemed that the king's will was not 
against them.

They came across no other speaking creatures until spring. 
They searched the wild for signs of the Elves, but it was 'Beleg 
Strongbow, chief of the marchwardens of King Thingol' who 
found them.

Beleg came upon the company at dawn while they yet slept. He 
wondered at the small child nestled between the two old men. 
Rounded ears. Humans. Very curious.  Beleg's shadow fell 
across Turin's face and Turin awoke with a start. The strange 
face peering down at him held a kind expression and Turin was 
not afraid. "What are you doing here, little master?" the face 
asked. Turin rubbed his eyes. "My mother has sent me to find the 
king." He answered. The face broke out in a smile. "I think I can 
help you with that."

They woke Turin's companions and the adults held a brief 
discourse that ended in a decision, which they all seemed happy 
about, and they set out again. Turin was reluctant to follow, but 
then the strange man with the kind face and the pointy ears held 
a hand out to him. Turin took his hand and felt safer.

****

They came at length to the city. People everywhere were talking 
and talking, but in a language that Turin did not understand. It 
made him very uneasy and Turin clung to the hand of the man he 
had met in the woods who now seemed comfortably familiar by 
comparison.

The king frightened him. He seemed tall and strong and terrible 
and his voice boomed with incomprehensible words. Turin hid 
behind his guide's legs until the audience was over.

King Thingol perused the letter that was presented to him and 
his heart was moved to compassion. "It is too long since I have 
had dealings with the houses of the Elf-friends. The boy may 
stay and I will take him into my personal fostering." He turned to 
the two old men who had brought Turin to that place. "And what 
of you? You have your liberty, what will you do?"

"I would stay in Doriath, my Lord, if I may."

"And, despite the leave my Lady has given me, I would return to 
her service. I am too old to start again," said the elder man with a 
smile.


Thingol nodded. "You both have my leave. I will send a 
delegation of Elves with you back to Lady Morwen to bid her to 
remove here to Doriath. She is not safe where she is. Hopefully, 
the separation that she has imposed upon herself will not last 
long. And how go you, young sir?" Thingol addressed Turin who 
cringed and hid his face in Beleg's tunic. "Ah, I had forgotten that 
the child has no knowledge of the Elven tongue. We shall 
appoint a tutor to teach him that and the many other things that a 
boy in his position should learn."

Switching to the Westron tongue, Thingol questioned Turin about 
his journey, but Turin would answer only in mumbles and 
murmurs.  Thingol sighed.

"Since he seems so attached to you, Beleg, would you mind 
showing him around? I will order quarters prepared for him, they 
should be ready in an hour."

//Beleg// he understood that that was a name.

He followed Beleg through innumerable stone corridors and 
green courtyards. Beleg told him little anecdotes about the 
things they saw. "And that was the first tree I ever tried to climb. It 
was in full fruit and I decided that the ones at the top would be 
the best, so I had to climb up and get them, but I was too little for 
climbing trees and once I had gotten all the way up there," 
Turin's eyes were large as saucers, "well, it wasn't that high up 
at the time, but it certainly seemed like it. Once I had gotten all 
the way up there and picked the biggest ripest fruit, I made the 
mistake of looking down. I had no idea how I was going to get 
back down to the ground. I called for help for two hours before 
someone heard me."

Turin laughed out loud at this and several other stories and he 
felt much more at ease. They came back to the palace, where 
everyone in the city in a position of power was lodged, along the 
western wing. Some windows on the ground floor had been 
flung open and curtains were billowing out of them around the 
figure of a young woman who was trying to beat the dust out of a 
rug. 

"I would guess that those are your rooms she's preparing. Mine 
are just down at the other end of the wing there," Beleg pointed, 
"That's where you can find me if you ever need anything." Turin 
nodded mutely. 


****
"If you tame me, my life will be filled with sunshine. 
Please...tame me!"
-Antoine de Saint Exupery
****


Turin didn't like the silence of night in this place. And he didn't 
like being in a room by himself, he wasn't used to it. The 
shadows stretched out across the floor with long spindly fingers, 
creeping and crawling to where he lay with wide eyes, bundling 
himself in blankets against their assault.

Panic started to rise in his chest. He wanted his mother's arms 
around him and her voice whispering soft in his ear that all 
would be well. But mother was very very far away. He heard 
floorboards creaking and strange voices in the hall. They made 
him very nervous. Were they talking about him? What were they 
saying? The voices wouldn't leave and Turin decided that he had 
to get away from them.

Holding his breath and moving as slowly as he could stand to, 
so as not to make a sound, Turin crept for the window. Once 
outside in the cool night, he began to move directly for the 
window at the end of the wing that Beleg had indicated to him 
that afternoon. Damp grass squished between his toes and he 
hugged himself tightly, suddenly chilled. When he reached 
Beleg's window he hesitated, not wanting to wake his only friend 
and risk angering him, but his fear of nighttime things soon got 
the better of him and he crawled over the sill.

He found the elf in bed, asleep and Turin watched him breathe a 
moment before reaching out to touch his hand. Beleg awoke 
with a start, raking the room wildly with his eyes for some sign of 
the intruder. His eyes settled finally on the boy standing beside 
his bed, biting his lip and wringing his hands.

"I couldn't sleep. I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Everything. I'm not sure that I like this place. The shadows grab 
at you."

Beleg rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"Well, come on, then." He said, holding a hand out to Turin.

He pulled Turin up into the bed and the two of them snuggled 
under piles of blankets and slept.

****




****

2/?
Rating: PG13
Summary: In which Turin acclimates himself to life in Doriath 
and, after a bit of an ellipsis, we learn that peer pressure is bad. 
:)
Note: I have taken some liberties with the character of Saeros, 
who was never that well defined, at any rate. He is now an 
adolescent Elf. Deal with it.

****


"I cannot tutor this child! He is unruly and undisciplined and will 
not apply himself to his lessons. I cannot be expected to teach a 
student who will not listen!"

Turin stood in the presence of King Thingol and Queen Melian, 
the severe and imposing tutor behind him reprimanding him for 
his behaviour. Turin put on a defiant scowl. 

The entire court was in attendance. Turin recognized several of 
the lords and ladies, Angaglar, the Master of Arms, Melmereth, a 
noble lady known for her beauty and hair of gold, and just next to 
her was Beleg, whose black hair had been braided back behind 
his ears, and next to him was Curufëa the healer, and next 
Rannen, the poet. Turin felt that every eye was fixed on him.

When the tutor was done washing his hands of Turin, he rudely 
left. Thingol bent over Turin from a towering and menacing 
height and said, in a very stern voice, "What are we going to do 
with you?"

Beleg cleared his throat "My Lord, might I suggest that some
other teacher might have better luck with him? I remember my
days with the old tutor quite well, myself, and, well... it's a
wonder that I can read at all. I am sure that someone more
suitable can be found."

"Beleg, I believe that you have found yourself a new vocation."

"But... my Lord." Beleg was incredulous. "I am a warrior, not a 
teacher. My place is on the March. I have already stayed longer in 
the city than I intended to."

"Angband is not strong enough to find a way past the girdle of 
Melian. We are not currently strong enough to attack Angband 
again. You are a great archer, Beleg Cúthalion. You would be of 
more use here in the city, training our youth in the arts of war. I 
fear that before long we will have great need of such knowledge. 
I am sure that you can spare an hour or two a day for the 
education of my foster son."

Beleg pressed his lips together, but said nothing, only giving an 
acquiescent nod.

"Sir," said Turin. "What news of my mother, please, sir?"

"Ah, yes. We have had word from Lady Morwen. You have a 
sister, Turin. She is called Nienor, not the most cheerful of 
names... Your mother has refused my invitation, Turin. She feels 
that her place is in Dor-lómin and will not leave it. I can assure 
you that she is well, and I will send messengers to her regularly 
to bring you news of your family and to let Lady Morwen know 
how her son is faring in his new home. She has sent this." 
Thingol gestured and a servant brought forth a shining helm 
upon a velvet cushion. "It is the Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin, the 
greatest heirloom of your house." He smiled. "When you are 
grown, you shall wear this in battle and with it bring great honour 
to your people."

Turin was distraught to hear that his mother would not be 
coming to him, but protests would avail nothing and he knew that 
and so kept his silence, doing his best to hide his tears.


****


And so Turin grew. He was not inclined to his lessons but he 
suffered them in silence if for no other reason than in the hope of 
gaining the approval of his tutor, Beleg, whom he worshiped and 
whose perceived perfection he sought desperately to emulate. 
Besides, not being able to understand what the people passing 
on the street were talking about had gotten annoying and Turin 
was willing to make the effort to learn that lyrical language.

He had started as a melancholic child, but 'during that time his 
grief grew less; for messengers went at times to Hithlum, and 
returning they brought better tidings of Morwen and Nienor.' Such 
news always lightened his heart.

Beleg was his confidant and friend and in times of trouble, Turin 
often repeated the steps that had brought him, on his first night 
in Doriath, from his window to Beleg's to find kind council, 
considered advice, or a sturdy shoulder.


****


"What do you mean, you've never kissed a girl?" asked Saeros, 
incredulous. "You are fifteen years old! I had even kissed a girl by 
the time I was fifteen, and that's less for Elves than for you 
ridiculous Humans! Ha ha!"

"There aren't any girls I want to kiss," said Turin.

"Of course there are. Not even Celhîth?" Saeros smiled wickedly. 
"I *know* she would kiss you. She wants to. And she's the most 
beautiful girl in the city!"

"I just don't want to, all right?"

"Come on," said Saeros, pulling Turin away from the wall they 
had been leaning against towards the group of laughing 
youngsters on the steps of the palace, which was nearby. "It 
won't kill you. You'll like it, I promise."

Turin struggled against his friend's grasp, cringing in 
embarrassment when Saeros called out "Celhîth! Come here! 
Turin wants to kiss you, he's finally made up his mind!"  The 
group on the stairs began to laugh and a couple of dark haired 
girls pushed a not-very-reluctant Celhîth towards the 
approaching boys. She had her eyes demurely downturned, but 
couldn't help giggling and raising one hand to cover her face as 
Saeros reached his free hand out to her.

Turin felt dizzy surrounded by this ring of laughing faces and 
hooting voices. They swirled in, locking around him and the 
grey-eyed beauty before him. She was beautiful. This was not a 
point of contention. Realizing that he had no way out and hoping 
to get this over with as quickly as possible, Turin took a deep 
breath, reached a hand out to Celhîth's face and planted a quick 
peck on her lips, jumping back as soon as he had 
accomplished this. 

Saeros laughed. "That's not a kiss! It's got to last longer than 
that! Show him, Celhîth." Seeing that he was surrounded by 
ravenous wolves baying after his innocent blood, Turin allowed 
Celhîth to take his face between her hands and kiss him long 
and passionately. But he remained unresponsive, even when 
her tongue tried to push past his lips. She dropped her hands, 
vanquished.

"Well, I'm glad I didn't wait any longer for that," she said. "Our 
Turin is no fun at all. Maybe humans don't kiss." She gave him 
an evil look. "Or maybe you should kiss him, Saeros. I don't want 
any more to do with him."

Saeros made a disgusted face. "Do you think I should?"

She nodded. "You'll have more luck than I." And she laughed her 
way back to her friend's sides in the circle which now enclosed 
Turin alone. Turin turned wildly about, looking for a way out, but 
there was none. Saeros stepped into the circle amid general 
laughter. He held a hand up to the spectators like a victorious 
champion about to undertake a new perilous battle. The crowd 
cheered. Turin did his best to melt into a puddle and slither 
under a rock. Having acknowledged his admiring fans, Saeros 
turned to Turin and, catching him with one hand behind his 
head, branded him with a kiss which could only be described as 
punishing.

The musk of the other boy's skin assaulted Turin's nostrils and 
his eyes fell shut. Saeros pulled him close, pressing their long 
lean bodies together as his mouth moved over Turin's. Turin's 
reaction was involuntary. His lips parted under the pressure of 
the kiss and he let Saeros' tongue invade his mouth cruelly, 
eliciting a gasping sigh.

Saeros released him and pushed him away with a triumphant 
smirk, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm. "Well, there's 
humans for you!" he mocked. The derisive laughter of the crowd 
brought an angry red to Turin's cheeks. Fighting back tears, Turin 
broke through the circle and ran for his rooms, the humiliating 
echo of laughter following his every step.

****




****

3/?
Rating: PG13
Summary: In which Turin gets a bit of a shock and finds a friend.

****
"Love is like a fever, it is born and it dies without the slightest 
influence of the will."
					-Stendhal
****

Turin slunk along the wall towards Beleg's rooms. He was so upset by all that had transpired, his breath 
was coming in hiccups as he tried not to succumb to the confused sobs that were threatening in the pit of 
his stomach. Beleg would understand. He would listen and protect him from the torment of thought. 

Finally he reached the window he sought. His steps were leaden as he considered the words he would have 
to find to explain the turmoil in his heart. No words sounded right. Deciding that the words would come by 
themselves, they had to; Turin silently opened the window shutter and pulled aside the curtain.

The sight that met his eyes left him stunned.

In the chamber was Beleg, but he was not alone. Melmereth, the golden elf-maiden was in his arms, her 
robes having been discarded near the door, and Beleg was kissing her in great abandon and pulling her 
towards the bed. Turin was mesmerized by the way that Beleg's fingers glided over her satin skin which 
gave off a terrible warmth in the firelight. Beleg laid kisses on her eyelids and her fine hands came to his 
chest, spreading apart his robes. In a cascade of blue, the robes fell to the floor and two beautiful bodies fell 
in to the mass of white cushions.

Turin jumped back, pressing himself up against the wall and squeezing 
his eyes shut to keep that image from worming it's way in to his already troubled mind. 
Sounds of pleasure coming from the other side of that curtain snapped him back to the present and 
Turin dashed off back to his own window. After scrambling over the sill, Turin threw himself 
down on his bed and gripped his pillow tightly as his mind whirled. He did not know what to 
think.

//My immaculate Beleg...//

Overcome by nameless emotion, Turin allowed the tears to flow, 
dampening his pillow until, 
in exhaustion, he fell asleep.

****
"At the sudden sight of that which one loves, one trembles"
						-Stendhal
****

Turin couldn't meet Beleg's eyes for a week. Every glimpse of the Elf 
brought to Turin's mind the image of those fingers, those strong hands slipping over warm skin, 
through soft hair, stroking and rubbing, first gently, then more firmly, caressing, 
seeking, soothing, exploring... 
The thought was too much for Turin and brought incriminating colour to 
his face and, ocasionally, even more embarrassing responses. 

Beleg's voice was worse. The gasps and moans that Turin had heard rang 
in his ears. Every syllable that the Elf pronounced seemed to hide a twin which dripped 
with passion. "You are doing very well," Beleg had said to him as he watched the boy copy down 
a lesson which had been eluding him. Turin shuddered. Every word veiled secret meaning. 
Turin had enough trouble keeping his mind on his work simply knowing that those bright 
eyes were fixed on his every action.

He didn't understand this turmoil. He loved Beleg, yes, everybody did. 
The lady Melmereth was magnificent with her golden hair and sapphire eyes and ivory skin. 
Fingers against that skin invaded his mind's eye. His fingers. He gained control over these 
imaginary fingers and tried to move them over the imaginary skin as he had seen done. His movements 
were awkward and unsatisfactory. The skin darkened. His skin. Blunt insistent 
fingers moved over his tingling flesh, painting shapes, drawing magic circles. He leaned his 
head against the strong chest before him, succumbing to this thrilling touch.

No!

Turin shook his head sharply and noticed that he had spilled ink over 
half his paper. Beleg looked up from the papers he was perusing and he smiled. Despite 
Turin's best efforts, their eyes met and Turin felt as if he had been nailed to the back of his 
chair. "Come here," Said Beleg and Turin's eyes went wide with shock. Beating down his 
tumultuous emotions, he went. Beleg took Turin's hands in his own and Turin started in confused 
anticipation. Beleg turned the hands over to inspect the blackened palms and said "If you 
cannot keep your mind on your books, perhaps we should find some more physical exercise for 
today." Turin gulped. "Angaglar asked me to send you to him in the armory when I was done 
with you so he could show you how to repair the arrows you keep sending into the stone wall. 
Apparently I didn't teach you well enough for our master of arms' discriminating taste." He 
laughed. "Why don't you run along now?"

//Yes, just run along, little child// thought Turin somewhat bitterly. 
Nonetheless, he was glad to be able to escape that piercing gaze, so he gathered his books, shoved 
them hurriedly onto their shelf and fled down the long hallway. The words "come here" and 
the feel of Beleg's hands around his own pursued him all the way to the armory.

****

He didn't speak to the other children anymore. Or they didn't speak to 
him. The result was the same. They all gave him funny looks. The girls laughed behind their 
hands, some of the boys would make obscene gestures, which he didn't entirely understand, as he 
walked past. He took to sitting on the stairs that led to the ramparts atop the walls 
of the city. From this perch he could observe the world without having to be part of it. Neither the 
world of the ramparts, nor the world of the ground below concerned him, as he was not in 
either place, could not be claimed by either place. He was his own.

No one on the ground ever noticed him up there. Even when the boys 
played games bouncing balls off the thick stone wall just below him none of them ever looked 
up. If they had they would probably have thrown one of the balls at his head sooner than 
asked him to join, so he thought it was just as well that they took no notice of him. 

The only Elf who ever looked up and caught his eye was Eranna who 
passed frequently under this portion of the wall carrying bundles or jugs of water. She was a 
strange girl. She had never been one to pass evenings on the steps of the palace as everyone 
her age did. And she had never done anything half as embarrassing as what Turin had. At 
least, not to his knowledge. One afternoon, as Turin had been sitting on the stairs 
trying to muster his courage to go to Beleg for his lessons, she had passed by with an apron 
full of turnips and she had glanced up and their eyes met and she gave him a little smile. 
From then on, whenever she passed, she would always make some small sign of 
recognition. She and Turin had never once spoken to each other.

Beleg had touched him today. Touched his back. It was just a "good job" 
pat for... he didn't remember what... but it had sent his mind whirling. As soon as he was 
free from obligation that evening, Turin had run to "his" stairs to sit. To think. To feel 
the ghost of those fingers against his skin, well... through his shirt... technicalities. 

He could see the Elven youth gathered on the palace steps. Their 
periodic bursts of laughter reached out to mock him, he made a face and turned his eyes to the moon 
which was rising over the far city wall. A soft sound on the rampart above him and some 
gravel which rumbled down the stairs past him caught his attention. He swiveled his head 
around and saw Eranna standing a few steps further up, her arms wrapped tightly around her 
body and her dark hair obscuring half her face. She looked uneasy and a little bit distressed. 
She came and sat next to Turin and they both turned their eyes towards their noisome peers 
below. Without a word, Eranna leaned her head against Turin's shoulder and Turin felt less 
alone.

****




****

Turin and Eranna rarely spoke, but a friendship grew up between 
them nonetheless, as one unhappy soul oft seeks another for 
consolation. The twentieth step up to the rampart of the western 
wall was their uncontested domain. A small kingdom, but one 
where they could reign freely, not fearing remonstrance from any 
of the paltry inhabitants of the ground below.

One evening in late summer the stars shone brightly down upon 
the city and bursts of music came from the vicinity of the royal 
palace. It had recently become all the rage to play lively dance 
music on this complicated sort of flute that a traveler from 
Dorthonion had introduced the month before, however none of 
those amongst whom this music was the fashion were even 
remotely gifted at playing it, and the sound grated on Turin's 
nerves.

He turned to Eranna "Why are you the way you are?"

"Wha...?"

"You know, the way you keep to yourself, you don't spend time 
with them," gesturing towards the musical travesty, "And you do it 
deliberately. You've never even done anything to be shunned like 
me."

"What did you do?"

Turin froze. "You don't know?"

"How would I know anything? Would I ask them? What did you 
do?"

Turin's heart pounded. He had thought that she had become his 
friend despite his humiliation, but if she didn't even know... Oh, 
she would shun him too, he knew it.

"What?" she persisted.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Well, she could go to hell, if she 
laughed, just like the rest of them. To hell.

"Saeros... uh... he made me kiss Celhîth. In front of *everyone*. I 
didn't want to. I didn't like it. She laughed at me. They all laughed. 
And then she said that Saeros should kiss me. I didn't want him 
to, but I couldn't get away." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I 
liked it."

"You like *Saeros*?" she exclaimed.

"No!" he screamed back, standing up defensively. "Its not... its 
just... he's a boy, Eranna."

"How is it any different?"

Turin was about to scream at her again, then he stopped, the 
question having wedged its way into his mind. "I... I don't know. 
It's just... different. He smelled different. Felt different. They all 
laughed. They were disgusted with me."

Eranna reached for Turin's hand and pulled him back down on to 
the step. 

"I suppose it's just in my nature to keep to myself." It took Turin a 
moment to realize that she had gone back to their earlier thread 
of conversation. "I can blame my parents, I suppose." She 
laughed, "They're the ones who named me 'lonely gift'. I don't 
think they could have known then that they wouldn't have other 
children. It's my nature."

"They don't think you're very natural."

"The less that my nature has to do with the nature of Celhîth and 
her friends, the happier I am about it."

****
"To love is to take pleasure in seeing, touching, feeling with every 
sense"
						-Stendhal
****

There was a spark as metal glanced off stone and the arrow 
splintered and fell to the ground about a foot wide of the straw 
target. Turin drew an angry breath and fit another arrow to his 
bow.

Turin would never be an archer. He tried so hard not to 
disappoint Beleg. He wanted so much to win his approval, to be 
like him. If he could just learn to *shoot* straight, then when he 
was old enough to go to war he would be *certain* to be in 
Beleg's company. He wouldn't ever have to leave him. Thoughts 
of parting had occupied the greater part of his mind of late. He 
was drawing nearer and nearer his majority. Another year or so 
and they would call him a man. Change would come with that, 
he knew it would.

The next arrow clutched perilously at the straws at the very edge 
of the target but lost its battle and clattered to the floor.

There would be no more lessons. He hated the lessons, but 
they were time with Beleg. Time alone with Beleg. Not that that 
mattered. Not that he desired time alone with anyone else. He 
closed his eyes tightly, then tried to take aim again. Why was he 
letting this get to him?  Still, after all these months? He felt a 
gentle touch on his back, pushing him into a slightly straighter 
posture, fingertips came to the arm holding the bow to help him 
find a better angle while others touched the bent elbow of the 
arm whose hand held the string drawn back, guiding it into 
alignment. The powerful spice of Beleg's skin filled his mind and 
he could feel gentle breath against the back of his neck. This 
was why.

Turin released the string and held his breath. The dull 'thwack' 
which came instead of the habitual 'clang' told him that he had 
hit the target. Not the center, but a definite improvement.

He liked swords. He could deal with swords. Two hands on the 
hilt gave you control. You could *feel* whether or not your hits 
were right and if they weren't you could feel how your body 
needed to change to make it right. None of this guesswork. 
None of this aim. Nothing keeping you off balance. No emotions 
getting in the way.

"Turin,"

Turin jumped at the sound of his name and sent the arrow flying 
into the air. It made a graceful arc and then careened towards 
the ground landing directly on its point and planting itself rather 
deeply and vertically into the dirt.

Turin turned to face Beleg who smiled indulgently.

"How about if I gather up the arrows and you go get cleaned up. 
Thingol wants to talk to you, you know. He's afraid that he has 
been neglecting you of late."

"He hasn't been neglecting me." Said Turin, unstringing his bow 
and going to put it away. "I'm fine."

"You've been more and more nervous lately." Said Beleg 
gesturing to the arrow sticking out of the ground. "I've been 
worried. I think Thingol has as well."

"I'm really alright. Just a little bit distracted."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No." No. Your mere presence makes it bad enough and your 
absence would make it worse.

Beleg pulled Turin into a brief encouraging hug. As those strong 
arms closed around him, Turin's mind went blank with bliss. He 
pressed his face into Beleg's chest and breathed deeply. The air 
seemed cold as he was released. 

"I think there has been news from Dor-Lómin for you." Beleg 
reached a hand out and ruffled Turin's hair as he went to start 
gathering the arrows.

Ruffled his hair. Like any child! Turin set his jaw and went 
towards his rooms. Thingol was worried, hm? Turin shook his 
head. He loved his foster father dearly and Thingol had helped 
him with many problems in the past, but he wouldn't be able to 
help him now. Turin would not ask.

****
"That for which we find words is something already dead in our 
hearts. There is always a kind of contempt in the act of 
speaking."
						-Nietzsche 
****

"Why do I have to memorize this?"

"Because you have to exercise your mind as well as your body. 
It's history! It's good for you! Beren is your kinsman; Luthien is 
your foster sister, even if you've never had the chance to meet 
her. It's the kind of thing that you should know!" Beleg's voice 
betrayed that he was really more amused than irritated by his 
student's reluctance. "I'll tell you a secret," he whispered, "I 
haven't memorized it either. Come here, we'll do it together."

//Come here// Turin went.

The two of them settled down close together with a copy of the 
"Lay of Leithian" between them, the tale of Beren and Luthien 
and the love that transgressed the barriers separating Elves and 
Men, the love strong enough to strike out against the Dark Lord 
himself and win.

They read aloud at turns, repeating the beautiful words over and 
over.

"This doesn't speak very well of Lord Thingol, does it?"

"He doesn't deny what happened, nor his part in it. The important 
thing is that their love had the power to change the world. Let's 
start again."

The words sounded inside Turin's head. Sweet drawings of 
breath and languorous syllables coming in liquid patterns of 
assonance and rhyme. Turin watched the movements of Beleg's 
lips and he could not keep his eyes from drifting shut. He was so 
close. Turin could feel the warmth coming from his body; feel 
every point where their legs touched as they sat beside each 
other. His heart started beating erratically. Beleg's head was 
bent over the book and a few strands of hair fell to veil his face.

Turin tried to keep his eyes on the page but could concentrate on 
nothing but the lines of Beleg's face. He could hear nothing but 
the blood rushing through his veins. Beleg brushed his hair back 
behind his ear with a careless gesture and turned his head 
slightly as he did so. His eyes met Turin's and something in the 
boy's expression captured him. The words fell from his lips, his 
hand fell to his lap, and all conscious thought fell from his mind.

The Elf's lips were so near.  They shared the same breath. The 
air tingled all around them and in a moment of clarity Turin 
thought he had found a word for the turmoil inside him, but it only 
lasted a heartbeat and was gone again. He was lost in the grey 
eyes that filled his vision. Just a slight movement and he could 
touch those soft lips with his own. He found himself moving 
forwards by imperceptible degrees to find that kiss.

Beleg jumped back, coming to himself again. He pushed 
himself back from the table, staring straight forward as if in 
shock or fighting himself for a control that he hadn't known he 
needed. He took a deep breath and passed a hand over his 
eyes before giving Turin a weak smile.  He reached out and 
closed the book, then got up to put it away. "I think we've made 
good progress for today." The tremor in his voice betrayed his 
disquiet.

Turin felt as if he had been slapped across the face. But there 
was Beleg chattering about all the things that each of them 
needed to do before they were called for dinner and how they 
should maybe go off and do those things now because it 
wouldn't do to shirk one's duties, and, and... He was speaking 
too hurriedly for Turin to follow, quite. And then he was off to talk 
to somebody about something. Turin supported his head with 
one hand and tried to think. At least he had not cheapened his 
feelings with words. Beleg seemed quite happy to ignore what 
had gone unsaid and, if doing so would keep his heart from 
injury, then that would be Turin's course of action as well.

****




****

"What do you want from him?"

"I don't know. I know that I can't put him out of my mind. I thought I 
knew what it was, just for a minute... I can't remember."

"What are you going to do?"

"I can't do anything."

"Why not?"

"You didn't see his face! The shock! It would have been horror if 
he had let himself think about it another minute!"

"But, he didn't let himself think, did he?"

"This isn't helping."

"Look, all I'm trying to say is that there's still hope."

"Hope for what? I don't even know... Has it already been two 
years since I saw them...? More than that. This isn't going away."

"Do you want it to?" 

"It has to! In my kind of position, you don't get a choice. They're 
already preparing a feast for my coming of age. I wouldn't be 
surprised if they have me engaged by then."

"What will you do if they do?"

"I don't know! I don't know! I want... I want. That's all that I know 
to 
tell you."

"You want it to be easy."

"Yes."

"It's never easy."

"I know."

"I will never marry."

"You're lucky."

"I don't think it's my choice, I think it's my fate."

"I would marry you. You would understand."

"No, I don't think I'll marry you."

"I wasn't asking."

"I didn't say you were. Just that it won't happen."

"He chose her. Probably a long time ago... Elves only choose 
once ever, don't they?"

"That's what they say. They say it often enough that most people 
believe it."

"You don't?"

"People like to believe what they're told. It's easier that way."

"I wish I knew, though."

"Knew what?"

"What it will be like. What I'll be getting myself in to. To be 
prepared, you know."

"Will you promise me something?"

"What?"

"Please, just promise."

"Alright, I promise."

"I'll spend my life alone, I've accepted that, but I have to know 
first. 
I have to. Please. We have to find out."

****

"My lord, I am concerned about my daughter."

"I am afraid that I cannot concern myself with the affairs of every 
troubled parent in the kingdom, particularly at this time..."

"I am concerned about her relationship with your foster son."

This got Thingol's attention. He cocked his head and looked at 
the man standing before him, wringing his hat in his hands.

"She goes out at night. They tell me that she is always with him, 
away from the other children. They are always alone. Please, my 
Lord, she is all that I have and I could not bear to see her bind 
herself to a mortal."

Thingol cut the man off with a gesture.

"I would never allow another such union. Turin will soon be of 
age, but your daughter..."

"She is ten years from her majority, my Lord."

"Then you have nothing to fear. Your daughter's fate is still yours 
to command. Do not give your permission and I shall not give 
mine. Humans are constrained by time and must find spouses 
early in adulthood. I intend to find a wife for my charge in 
considerably less than ten years, one that suits the only son of 
the house of Dor-lómin. You have nothing to fear."

"I may be a simple man, my Lord, but I know that not all love 
awaits permission."

Thingol was displeased.

"Beleg!" He bellowed, gaining the attention of the man speaking 
quietly with the Master of Arms about matters of war. Beleg's 
head snapped to attention.

"You are closer to Turin's heart than anyone else here. What say 
you? What know you of his relationship with this man's 
daughter?"

"Eranna, my lord."

"With Eranna?"

Beleg thought a moment, then cleared his throat. "I am almost 
certain that their relationship is in no way inappropriate." 

"Almost?"

"I am quite certain, my Lord." And, what did admitting *that* 
mean?

****

"Aïe!"

"Does it hurt?"

"A little bit. You?"

"No. It's...it's like nothing I've ever felt before."

"Do that again."

"What?"

"What you did before."

Turin obeyed.

"Aïe! No. I think this is a bad idea. I think we should stop."

Eranna pushed Turin back and he slowly withdrew. The friction 
and slight suction of this withdrawal sent an unexpected 
shudder through him and, with a little gasp, he spilled himself 
over Eranna's thighs.

"Thank you." Eranna said. "Thank you for letting me know." She 
noticed then that Turin had closed in on himself. She reached a 
hand out to touch his back, a look of concern creasing her face. 
"Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry." He said, almost a whisper.

"For what?" She rubbed his shoulder lightly.

He gestured to her body, to the pearlescent evidence of what had 
transpired. "I... I feel so wretched. I feel disgusting, I..." Tears 
began rolling down his cheeks. "This is what I want from him, 
Eranna. Only from him. Oh, I want it so badly!" Sobs wracked his 
body and she held him in silence until his distress exhausted 
itself.

****

"Eighteen years is a short time to spend in Arda, but to Men 
these years are not so brief. Therefore I have the pleasure, today, 
of proclaiming my foster son, Turin Turambar, a grown man, 
finished with the trials and tribulations of childhood, past the 
awkwardness of adolescence, and finally come to that age of 
reason and responsibility we call adulthood. My son, may your 
days be long and bright, may your path be clear and broad, and 
may you never forget the place you have in this old man's heart!"

Good-humoured laughter was general and many glasses were 
raised in salute and drained with relish. A resounding cheer 
arose in the hall and calls of "Hail Turin, son of Hurin!" filled the 
air.

Turin sat on Thingol's right, a smile plastered artificially across 
his face. He hated public gatherings like this. Being the focus of 
so much attention made him nervous. Was the laughter really as 
friendly as it seemed? How many of those smiles were, in truth, 
well-concealed scowls of contempt. Quite a few, probably, he 
thought.

He spoke lightly and drank heavily as was expected of him, but 
all the time he that he spent in frivolous conversation with 
well-wishers and all the notables of his foster father's court 
weighed upon his spirit. He desired only to be allowed to 
withdraw alone to the solitude of his room. Perhaps that was not 
quite true.

His eyes swept the room in search of the tall lithe form of the 
chief archer of Doriath. Beleg stood with a small group who were 
just far enough away that Turin could not tell the subject of their 
conversation. Melmereth let out a peal of laughter at something 
that had been said and grabbed on to Beleg's arm for support. 
Turin betrayed no emotion, but continued to stare at Beleg, 
suddenly not caring who noticed. In a moment, Beleg happened 
to look up and his gaze met Turin's. Beleg jumped as if he had 
been scalded, he quickly cast his eyes to the floor, and threw 
himself into the conversation at hand.

Turin closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath. He didn't 
need this. He didn't want any more of this. Not tonight. He made 
an excuse to Thingol about not feeling quite well and all but ran 
to the shelter of his private room and the refuge of his secret 
thoughts.

****



**** 

"Lord Thingol, has there been any news yet?"

"News?"

"From Dor-lómin. It seems an age since I have had word of my 
mother and sister." Turin's voice betrayed his worry.

"Ah," Thingol began, uneasily, "yes. You know, of course, that it 
takes a full two months for messengers to complete the journey 
to Dor-lómin and back." Turin nodded. "I last sent messengers 
six months ago. They have not returned."

Fear gripped at Turin's heart.

"You must send more!"

"I cannot! Angband is stirring and I can spare no more men. If I 
could be assured of their swift return, perhaps, but there are no 
such guarantees these days."

All of Turin's muscles tensed in fear and rage. "You must! I must 
know whether anything has befallen them!"

"Do not tell me what I must do, Turin." The king's visage was 
stern. "Even if I could spare the men, I doubt that I could find any 
who would be willing to go. Great shadows lie over that part of 
the world, Turin."

Blood pounded through Turin's veins. His mother and sister 
were more important to him than anyone knew. He did not know 
that he could find the will to go on if he did not know that they 
were safe. His mind raced, searching for the words to convince 
Thingol of the necessity of this mission. No such words came.

"Send me." He said.

"What?!"

"I am old enough to fight. I have been trained. Send me to the 
March and give me leave to search as I can for news of my 
family. I ask only for a suit of mail and a sword. The time has 
come for me to don the Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin and prove my 
worth, my lord."

Thingol looked at the youth grimly, reluctant to let his charge 
leave his care in such a dangerous time and on such a foolhardy 
mission, but he saw the determination in Turin's face and, with a 
heavy heart, acquiesced.

"I was planning to send reinforcements to the March in two 
month's time. If you still wish to follow this course when they set 
out, you may join their number."

Relief that he had obtained his request outweighed the fear he 
felt for the task he was undertaking and Turin took his leave of 
King Thingol to prepare himself, in body and mind, for the 
unknown hardships that lay before him.

****

Beleg led the company out of Doriath. They seemed to him a 
rather motley collection of youths, in his mind most of them were 
not prepared to affront the power of Angband. Most of the 
seasoned warriors were already on the March and Beleg was 
impatient to rejoin them and fearful of what would pass if the 
reinforcements that he brought should prove inadequate. There 
were very few of those left in Doriath who would be capable of 
providing further reinforcement.

The March was several days' journey from the city and, although 
the company set out with excitement and was hardy and hale, 
once the sun had hidden itself below the horizon, Beleg could 
see their fatigue and ordered a halt to establish camp for the 
night.

As they were still safe within the girdle of Melian, they did not 
hesitate to light a roaring fire around which they could further 
their acquaintance with their new comrades in arms, share 
stories, and warm their hearts as well as their bodies.

Turin wished to speak to no one so much as Beleg and sat 
slightly apart from the others on the side of the fire towards 
which the smoke did not blow trying to muster his courage to go 
engage the elf in conversation. He stared off into the distance, 
trying to make out the forms of the trees beyond the nighttime 
shadows and did not hear the soft footfalls behind him. He 
jumped when the hand touched his shoulder and he turned to 
find Beleg's soft eyes looking down at him.

"Have you suddenly lost your taste for tales of the great world?" 
asked Beleg.

Turin turned his gaze back to the fire and with a great effort of will 
managed to control his voice as he replied. "No, I just... This 
evening I don't wish to hear other peoples tales." He picked 
some pebbles up off the ground and began to throw them into 
the fire.

Beleg could tell that the boy was shut off and, although he was 
somehow unsure that he wanted to know the answer, he found 
himself sitting beside the youth and asking, "What troubles you, 
Turin?"

Turin was silent a moment, drawing deep steady breaths as 
much to absorb the aura of his tutor, comrade, and friend, as to 
calm himself. Eventually he began in a little voice, "You still see 
me as a child, don't you?"

"Of course not." Replied Beleg.

"You do! You've been by my side all my life, you have watched me 
grow up, you have seen me make a childish fool of myself more 
times than I remember, and no matter what I do to prove myself 
in the days ahead, you will always see me as the infant who was 
afraid of the dark and crawled into your bed asking you to chase 
the shadows away." The words tumbled out quickly as Turin 
wrapped his arms more tightly around himself, wishing that he 
didn't sound quite so insecure and wishing that he hadn't 
phrased that last bit quite like that.

"You assume a great deal, Turin." Said Beleg, placing a hand on 
Turin's shoulder. "But, I am quite capable of separating the child 
from the man. I have to be. You forget that amongst the Elves, ten 
generations can live side by side and however much one may 
have doted upon a child; all its elders must learn to let that child 
go. Else none of us could ever rise and take our place in the 
world. You have begun a new phase of life and your actions from 
this point on will speak for you and define the man you will 
become."

Turin said nothing but gave a slight nod of his head and bit his 
lip. Despite this encouragement, he found that he could not go 
on with what he thought he intended to say. He and Beleg 
remained like that a long while, watching the fire dance until it 
was reduced to ash and coal. Embers may lack fire's glory, but 
coals burn hotter than any flame.

****



****

Turin's eyes stung and his vision swam red and threatened to 
fail him. With the back of his hand, he wiped the blood out of his 
eye and lashed out again with his sword. He struck firm flesh 
that yielded to his blade and he heard the strangled, sharp, 
piercing cry that escaped the orc as it fell to the ground.

He had not expected to find himself so soon in the heat of battle. 
They had been on the March for no more than a week and did not 
realize that the dark lord's creatures were already so near. The 
howling of wolves had haunted them all that day, and once night 
fell, the wolfriders had come with a horde of orcs just behind.

Fear struck first, and Turin thought that he would not be able to 
will himself to take up his sword and fight. The first orc blow 
would smite him and that would be the end. So easy. Then the 
first arrow screamed past his head, embedding itself in a tree 
some yards behind and the only thought left to him was 'kill'.

Blood pounded through his veins, inflamed by the acrid scent of 
death. Sweat poured in rivulets from his face as he threw himself 
into the fray, landing blows on any ill formed dark creature that 
came near. The sound of metal upon metal made his head throb 
with pain, yet he fought on, cleaving through a pack of orcs to 
attack the one who had just struck down an elf by whose side he 
had trained since the earliest days of his instruction. His rage 
knew no bounds, neither his fury, and with a cry he launched 
himself at the treacherous orc with every intention of making it 
bleed, making it scream, drinking up its life.

But, such anger is blinding and Turin did not even feel the cold 
blade against his arm until it had done its work and his blood 
mingled with that of the countless others on the field. 

The cut was not severe enough to sway Turin's course and he 
spun, ramming the hilt of his sword into the orc's face then 
drawing a grim red line from one side of its neck to the other. As 
the black blood poured forth, Turin knew a satisfaction that would 
have sickened him if he weren't so drunk from it.

His muscles burned and his stomach twisted up inside his 
body, yet he fought on. The heady sensation of power that came 
with the knowledge that he too could be lethal drove him to the 
edge of sanity and he relished the feel of steel against muscle 
and sinew and bone.

He saw Beleg then. The fighting had become too close for bow 
and arrow and Beleg had abandoned these in favor of a light 
sword. He moved like lighting, striking down orc after orc with a 
grace that should have been impossible under the 
circumstances. He was panting with exertion and a horrible 
scowl of fierce and deadly energy twisted his features. Suddenly 
a wolfrider bore down upon him and an anguished cry escaped 
Turin's lips. He tried to struggle his way to Beleg's side but he 
felt he was drowning in blood and smoke and fallen bodies and 
then he was swept up in a new wave of War and could struggle 
only for his own survival.

The battle lasted until the grey light of dawn had filled the sky and 
golden beams began to reach over the horizon. The Elven 
casualties were by no means insignificant, but the injury done to 
the forces of Angband was greater and as these foul creatures 
drew their power from cover of night, they were forced to fall back 
into the shadows beyond the reach of the power of Doriath.

As the red sun burst into the sky, the first pyre was lit to burn the 
dead and tents were erected in which to treat the living.

****
"All your life you live so close to truth it becomes a permanent 
blur in the corner of your eye and when something nudges it into 
outline, it's like being blinded by a grotesque."													
		-Tom Stoppard
****

"Turin!" Beleg was frantic. He had not seen his protégé since 
some time in the heat of the battle. He was not amongst the 
dead that Beleg had loaded upon the pyres, nor was he 
amongst the living that Beleg had carried to the tents of healing.  
It was his responsibility to assure that Turin was safe. He could 
not rest without knowing the boy's sort. He burst into the primary 
tent, despite the protests of the healers. His brow was creased 
with worry as he scoured the rows of invalids for that familiar 
face. His throat closed up as he approached the far end of the 
tent, knowing that the one he sought was not to be found here. If 
Turin was dead, if he had been placed on the pyre by someone 
else, if there was no chance to say goodbye, Beleg thought he 
would lose his reason. It seemed that he had already lost most 
of it.

He all but ran from the tent, to the smoldering towers of fire. He 
questioned those who supervised the burning with incoherent 
questions and received no satisfactory answers, merely the 
shaking of heads. Beleg was beside himself; his mind ran 
through all of the worst possible scenarios, each twisting his 
stomach further than the last until he thought that the mere 
anticipation of this pain would make him ill. 

Tears started to his eyes and, in his frenzy, he started into the 
woods crying out Turin's name, foraging through the 
undergrowth. He almost didn't see Turin, sitting against the trunk 
of a tree, his eyes closed, his head lolling to the side, and his 
arm still bleeding a little. Beleg's heart seized within his chest 
and a gasp of //no!// escaped his lips. He fell to his knees beside 
Turin's prone form and gathered him into his arms.

Turin's eyes drifted open and he looked dazedly at Beleg's 
half-crazed face. At this, Beleg drew a sharp breath. "You're 
alive!"

"Yes," Turin managed to choke out, "I'm too exhausted to move. 
Please, just let me sleep."

"No!" Beleg searched him with his eyes. "No, you have to stay 
with me, Turin! Look at me!" Turin looked up into the elf's eyes, 
which were dark with anxiety. These eyes raked over his body 
assessing his injuries. Turin felt a strange elation at the 
knowledge that that attention was focused solely on his body. 
Beleg's hands traced along the dried blood of his wound. "It 
doesn't hurt." He said. 

Beleg looked at him with anguished eyes and his hands came 
up and feathered across Turin's face, tears threatening behind 
his clouded orbs. And then Beleg was kissing him and Turin 
was too shocked to react. Once his mind had grasped what was 
happening, Turin threw himself hungrily into the heady sensation 
of Beleg's lips on his own. How long had he waited for this? How 
long had he desired nothing else? He felt his soul coming apart 
and his heart screamed in his chest for more, More, MORE!

Beleg's lips parted and their tongues sought each other. Turin 
teetered on the edge of consciousness; Beleg had long since 
passed that point and fallen into the abyss of blind emotion, 
relief. They devoured each other's mouths and ran their hands 
over every inch of exposed flesh. Beleg pushed up Turin's sleeve 
to examine his injury and since the cloth still obscured a portion 
of his arm, Beleg made a few quick movements and removed 
Turin's torn, tattered, and stained tunic. His lips came to caress 
and sooth the angry tear, and then trailed across to close around 
one hard nipple. Turin could do nothing but tangle his hands in 
Beleg's hair and hold on for dear life.

Turin, floating some ways above his body, was unable to 
intervene, all he could do was react; gasping out nonsense, 
moaning in delirious pleasure, vaguely aware of Beleg's hands 
coming to his waistband. When his hazed mind registered that 
fact, His own hands flew to help, divesting them both of what 
remained of their clothing. Turin was shaking with arousal. The 
sensation of Beleg's firm body pressed against his own was like 
nothing that he had even ever dreamed. This was so much more 
than the strong hands that had haunted his mind's eye for years 
since, more than the lips that he had longed for. This was long 
legs and taut chest and trembling stomach and crushing arms 
and bruising mouth and he could hear Beleg panting and 
gasping, no longer just a faded memory, but real and here and 
now, throbbing against his skin as their bodies began to slide 
against each other. He had never thought about the smell 
before. It had never occurred to him that Beleg's scent could 
become so deliciously spiced, so painfully sweet, not in any of 
his fantasies. Turin wanted to drink that smell up, but settled for 
exploring the depths of Beleg's mouth with his tongue and lips 
as Beleg ground his hips down against Turin's.

Turin let out a cry at the sensation of Beleg's hardness pressing 
against his own and he clamped his arms around the Elf's back 
and writhed as it happened again and again and again. Turin 
couldn't breathe; he was too overcome with pleasure. He thought 
he might faint, but held on to consciousness through a blind will 
not to lose these sensations, not to let this end. A moment later, 
he was thrusting wildly upwards, caught in the most powerful 
grip of emotion and sensation that he had ever known. Beleg let 
out a groan and caught Turin's mouth again as they both gave 
themselves up to soul draining spasms of release.

Beleg rolled away and Turin fought to even his breathing and 
stop his body from trembling. He felt filled with a wonder and joy 
that was beyond description. Having mastered himself at last, he 
sat up and turned to see Beleg already putting his clothes back 
on, lacing up his tunic. Turin reached a hand out towards him 
and tried to meet his gaze. Most reluctantly, Beleg looked up and 
Turin was taken aback to see the fear in his eyes. He did not 
understand.

"Beleg...?"

"I shouldn't have..." Beleg whispered. Then, more strongly, "You 
need to see the healers right away about that arm."

And with that he was gone. He melted into the woods leaving 
Turin bewildered and confused and alone sitting naked on the 
forest floor, the dream that had just come true having been 
cruelly ripped from his hands. In shock, Turin could do nothing 
but stare at the spot that Beleg had just been occupying and let 
everything inside him shatter and crumble into dust.

****




****
Parfois j'aimerais mourir, tellement j'ai voulu croire...
Parfois j'aimerais mourir, tellement y'a plus d'espoir...
Parfois j'aimerais mourir, pour ne plus rien savoir...
						- Manu Chao
****

Turin was surprised how easy it was to avoid Beleg. He felt 
hardened and cold and betrayed and he was afraid. Afraid that 
his vulnerability where Beleg was concerned would only bring 
him more pain. Therefore he resolved to keep as far away from 
Beleg as possible.

He could forget the touches, the caresses, the way he could 
have sworn that he had heard Beleg breathe his name. He 
would forget the fire, the silk, the sweetness, the spice. He 
wasn't going to think about it anymore. It was too dangerous. Too 
dangerous to feel those hands clenched in his hair, finally 
drawing the magic circles on his body, that tongue against his 
nipple, against his own tongue. Stop! Stop! This was madness 
and it had to stop.

Days passed and it did not stop. He learned to control it, though. 
He learned to tell the visions to wait until he was alone and could 
do something about the effect that they had on him. They would 
wait, but would not leave him alone. It made him feel even more 
empty to know that his body could only find pleasure in 
memories that drifted further and further away every day. There 
had to be some other way. Some way to forget. He had wanted 
so much to believe!

So Turin tried to turn his eyes to others. He began to pay 
attention to those around him and noticed how a few of them 
looked at each other, at him. It was not the way he assumed he 
must look at Beleg, it was not the way he wanted Beleg to look at 
him, but it would do. He was surprised by some of them. The 
ones who had lines of girls waiting for them at home, the ones 
who had wives and children. He noticed when they would 
wander away from the others two at a time, thinking they were 
being clever and no one would see. He noticed when they came 
back. He noticed how they acted towards each other later. The 
surprising ones never spoke to each other. If he didn't know 
better, he would have thought that they didn't know each other's 
names. Perhaps they didn't. There were a few who would always 
sneak off with the same person, but most didn't. Turin watched 
and considered what he should do.

Some were watching him as well, he was aware of that. The 
night that he felt eyes on him and looked up to see a blond Elf 
fixing him with a hungry gaze, Turin decided that he could 
perhaps find consolation in those arms and when the Elf 
dropped his eyelid in a wink and headed into the woods, Turin 
followed.

He didn't see where the other had gone and so he let out a yelp 
of surprise when he was suddenly caught up in a fierce embrace 
and the Elf's mouth was on his without preamble, moving wet 
and hard and eliciting want and need and desire. Turin allowed 
his very breath to be sucked out and he tried to reply in kind, but 
he didn't really know how. 

The Elf stepped back then, panting a bit, his face shiny with 
perspiration. He looked expectant, like he was waiting for 
something. Turin had no idea what it was. They stared at each 
other for a moment, both breathing raggedly, then the Elf began 
to look impatient. Turin gave in.

"I don't know what to do."

The Elf arched an incredulous eyebrow at this.

"Truly, I don't. I... what do you want?"

The Elf took a step forward, bringing his hand to Turin's hip. 
"Well, then I suppose I will have to show you," he said.

And just like that he was on his knees in front of Turin and he 
had undone Turin's trousers and had taken his hardness into a 
firm grip and then, oh! Turin's knees buckled from the 
unexpected pleasure. It was like silk, it was like velvet, it didn't 
matter what it was like, it was incredible! Turin trembled as soft 
lips and tongue worked on him, changing rhythm just when he 
thought he couldn't take any more. His eyes fell closed and he let 
the pressure build up inside him until he burst apart, crying out 
and shooting his seed down the Elf's throat.

The Elf continued to suckle him gently for a moment as 
aftershocks coursed through him, then rose and claimed Turin's 
mouth. The taste was foreign, but then Turin realized what it was 
and an erotic shiver shook him. He broke the kiss and sank to 
his knees to find the Elf's erection straining through the cloth of 
his trousers. He freed it and looked at it for a moment, stroking it 
with his fingers, marveling at the smoothness of it. Then he 
placed a kiss on the head and snaked out his tongue tentatively 
to lick up the length. The Elf moaned and Turin found that 
encouraging and closed his lips around the head and began to 
slide his mouth down it. It hadn't occurred to him to cover his 
teeth and the Elf winced at the contact. Turin stopped and looked 
up, his mouth still full. 

"No teeth," said the Elf. Turin covered his teeth with his lips as 
best he could and went back to what he was doing. 

"Look at me," said the Elf, so Turin raised his eyes and kept 
them fixed on the Elf's face as he slid the hot hard erection in 
and out of his mouth, flicking his tongue along it as often as he 
could manage. He had to grab onto the Elf's hips in order to 
keep his balance and the elf's hands caught in his hair, guiding 
him. He couldn't take it very deep into his mouth without gagging, 
but the Elf didn't seem to mind. He could feel the muscles in the 
Elf's legs tensing and then with a groan, the Elf came and Turin 
found his mouth filled with a bitter liquid. He hadn't thought about 
this either, hadn't been expecting it and half of the liquid had 
dripped out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin before 
he had the presence of mind to try to swallow.

The Elf pulled him up and kissed him breathless again and then 
was gone. Turin wandered slowly back to camp in kind of a haze. 
Maybe he couldn't quite forget, but it seemed that he was quite 
capable of distracting himself. 

Turin saw the Elf the next day. The Elf looked him straight in the 
eye, just like he would anybody, like nothing had happened. 
Turin decided that he could accept that.

****
"I hate and I love. Why do I do this, perhaps you ask. I do not 
know, but I feel that it is happening and am tormented."
					-Catullus
****

Beleg couldn't sleep that night, nor the night after. It appeared 
that the enemy had been hurt more badly than they had thought 
because the attack was not renewed. By the fourth night, Beleg 
had a hard time convincing himself that it was a captain's 
vigilance keeping him awake.

He didn't want to think about the last battle, what had happened 
after it. He must have gone mad. He couldn't even remember 
half of what he had done and said, all the frenzied rushing and 
searching and questioning. But, after that he rememb... he had 
obviously gone mad.

But, seeing his Turin like that! On the brink of death, it had 
seemed! Turin's humanity had come crashing in on Beleg at that 
moment. He seemed so fragile. If he had drifted off to sleep he 
might never have woken up, not even in the halls of Mandos. 
Beleg didn't think he could bear that. He had spent so much time 
and energy on the boy. Man. When you had that much influence 
on someone, you had a responsibility to them, to take care of 
what you had created. Had Turin died, it would have been 
because Beleg hadn't taught him to fight well enough. It would 
have been his fault. He had to keep Turin alive, awake. And then 
all those strange things had come welling up in him again and 
he had simply lost control. Those things had never caused more 
than a tremor before, except perhaps that once when they had 
read together. But this time he couldn't stop himself and... he 
had gone mad. And the arousal that was assaulting him now 
was not due to the memory of that madness, it was happening 
because it had been so very long since he had held Melmereth 
in his arms and whatever release he had found that strange 
morning had not been enough. Of course, that was it.

Beleg rolled on to his side and let his hand wander down and 
wrap around his demanding flesh. He tried to force visions of 
blonde hair, blue eyes, and sweet soft ruby lips into his mind as 
he stroked himself, but the vision kept evaporating. He wouldn't 
admit to himself that it was being replaced by anything at all.

He felt a kind of loathing afterwards, a taste of bile in the back of 
his throat. He didn't hate Turin, though. He couldn't. Never. Turin 
hadn't known what he was doing. How could he? He was so 
young. Everything that had happened was Beleg's fault. And what 
kind of person did that make him? Maybe the loathing was for 
himself. He didn't know how he would ever be able to look Turin 
in the face again. What must Turin think of him? But he had held 
his hand out, he had looked happy... There was nothing to be 
happy about. Turin just didn't know, he didn't understand. Beleg 
resolved to stay far away from Turin. It would be better for both of 
them.  He finally fell asleep, with a dull empty feeling in the pit of 
his stomach.

****

The first person to ask more of Turin hadn't known what he was 
doing. He didn't want Turin anyways, he wanted his wife but she 
was very far away and he was willing to take what he could get. 
He had said that Turin's hair was the same colour as his wife's 
and he liked that. At least he had thought to bring some 
surreptitiously acquired cooking oil with him when he led Turin 
out into the woods. But he hadn't known what he was doing. And 
it hurt. It hurt in a way that Turin didn't know he *could* hurt. He 
wouldn't kiss Turin either. Not on the lips.  The entire experience 
was unsatisfactory to say the least and left Turin feeling dull and 
frustrated and rather violated. He had wanted it, but still...

The next was better. He took his time, made Turin practically beg 
for it before he would do any more than tease with his fingers. 
Turin saw sparks behind his eyes and let the pleasure well up in 
his stomach until it became unbearable and he was writhing 
and wild under the firm body pounding into him. 

Turin learned many things during his time on the March. He 
learned to kill, he learned to endure pain, he learned to endure 
pleasure, to give it, to want it and need it without giving up too 
much of himself. He learned not to care about the things he 
loved most, the people he loved most because he couldn't 
without giving up too much. They were the wrong thing to need.

He wanted desperately to find his mother and sister, but weeks 
and months of searching brought him no closer to them. As his 
hope waned he went out more and more, knowing he couldn't 
need them either but not knowing how to stop. He wanted to fall 
into comfortable routines so that he could forget the more 
extraordinary bits of life that hurt too much. So he roamed and 
killed when he was in danger and ate when he was hungry and 
slept when it was dark and he found that he could do these 
things without thinking over much. 

His visits to the Elven camp became fewer and farther between 
and he began to lose whatever contacts he had within that 
company. They all found him aloof and withdrawn and he was 
glad of it as it meant that fewer people needed his attention, his 
care. Some days he would catch a glimpse of Beleg and a pang 
of fear and desire would hit him. Those nights he would always 
search out the arms of another to drown himself in and if none 
could be found he would throw himself into whatever uneasy 
dreams he could find. Asleep he wouldn't have to think, wouldn't 
have to know... anything.

It was easier to stay away, easier to throw himself into those 
meaningless little things which merely peppered normal 
people's days but which became his obsessions. Everything 
else was too difficult.

He lived like this for three years, until the emptiness gnawing 
away at him was more than he could ignore or fill with petty, 
banal activities and he decided that he could find comfort in the 
city he had grown up in. Life had been simpler then and perhaps 
would be again, especially with the instigator of his turmoil 
removed from it. 

He set off as quickly as he could, having made this decision. He 
told no one where he was going or what he intended, but made 
his way secretly back to his home.

****




****

Turin passed through the Girdle of Melian into Doriath and made 
directly for Menegroth, its city. He earned strange uneasy looks 
from those he passed on the way. If they knew him, they did not 
recognize him. His gear was worn, his beard had grown and 
there was a wild kind of light in his eye which had not been there 
previously. 

Nonetheless, Thingol recognized him immediately. When Turin 
entered the great hall, the king broke off his discourse with the 
advisor at his side and exclaimed "Turin! You are come again! 
Come here, my boy, come here!"

Thingol pulled his foster son into a hearty hug and rejoiced that 
this one he held so dear had been restored to him after such a 
long absence.  Turin accepted the hug gratefully and his spirits 
rose as he recognized the unconditional love that the king bore 
for him. It was simple and pure and gave him strength, for that.

Turin's face broke into a smile. The first genuine smile he had 
indulged in for quite some time. "Yes," he said, "I am come 
again. I have had no luck in the wild and thought to seek the 
consolation of my home here in Doriath."

"Welcome! If there is consolation to be had here, it is yours. 
Always." Thingol released Turin and turned to see his advisor 
still standing at his shoulder. "Ah, hm," said Thingol, clearing his 
throat. "You must know Saeros, of course... he has been of great 
help to me since everyone left for the March."

Turin looked up to see an unpleasantly familiar face with 
smirking, knowing eyes cast a deprecating glance over him from 
head to toe. Turin started at the unexpected malice of the regard, 
but then Thingol spoke again.

"Oh, we must have your rooms aired out for you, and perhaps a 
bath drawn, and of course some clothes set out... Why don't you 
take a stroll, my boy? When you return, all will be ready. I will be 
pleased to see you at my table again this evening!"

With pats on the back, Turin was herded out of the room as 
Thingol gave orders to various attendants and continued to 
expound his joy at Turin's return.

Turin strode out into the hot afternoon sun, taking care to leave 
the palace by a side door so as to avoid the main steps and 
whoever might be gathered upon them. His feet began to direct 
him towards Beleg's climbing tree. It gave good shade and 
would be an ideal place for a rest. Halfway there he stopped 
abruptly. The connotations of that place were not what he 
needed. He was here to heal, to forget. The western rampart 
wall, step twenty. That was where he needed to go.

He was nearly there when he saw Eranna. She saw him at the 
same moment and sloshed water all over the ground as she 
dropped her pail. She ran up to give Turin a hug and then held 
him at arms length and looked him up and down with a bright 
smile and a twinkling eye.

"How have you been, Eranna?"

"Same as always. Well enough. Are you staying long? I'm so 
glad to see you!"

"I don't know how long I'm staying. We'll see how long Thingol 
puts up with me." Turin grinned.

"And how have you been?"

There was no point in answering with the standard, polite 'fine'. If 
he did that, she would wring the truth from him eventually and 
that would lead to the whole story of everything that had led to his 
return and he didn't want to have to deal with that. An honest 
answer it would have to be, but one that would not lead down 
that path.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, come on, Turin..."

"I *DON'T* want to talk about it."

"Alright, alright. I've got to go anyway; I'm expected. We can talk 
later." She turned to retrieve her pail but Turin stopped her.

"I have a question... Since when has Saeros been in King 
Thingol's confidence?"

"About since all the warriors left for the March. I hear that he is 
very close to the king. He can't be happy that you've come back."

"Why?"

She turned to look at him as if the answer were plainer than the 
nose on his face. "He's always been jealous of you, Turin. 
Jealous of your position. As a royal fosterling, you have all the 
influence he wishes he had. I would stay away from him if I were 
you. The years have hardly made him wiser or kinder than he 
ever was." 

Eranna picked up her pail and disappeared around a corner. 
Turin watched her go and then continued on to the magic step. 
He felt even more detached from the world he saw bustling 
below him than usual. He had the strange impression that 
nothing at all had changed in the three years of his absence, yet 
the world he saw seemed but an imitation of what he had 
known. Perhaps it was only a change in perception due to 
changes effected within himself during his time on the March. 
But, was this all for the better or the worse?

****

Thingol's table was laid lavishly as it ever was and, seated to the 
King's left, Turin found savory meats, spiced mead, and sweet 
delectables enough such as he had longed for at times in the 
wild. He found conversation awkward at first; he had forgotten 
how to make polite conversation with courtly ladies and 
gentlemen. At least his appearance was now acceptable, 
shaven and washed, scented and tidied. 

"And, if you would care to join us, Turin, we would like to have 
you," Mablung was saying from across the table. 

"Hmm?" Turin intoned, questioningly. He had not really been 
paying attention and invitation of any kind was rather unexpected.

"Hunting expedition. Tomorrow. It's the season and we need to 
make provisions for the winter. Will you come? I can promise you 
game that will not also be trying to hunt you." Mablung smiled.

"I would like that," This was going better already. 

Arrangements were made and Turin drifted back into his own 
thoughts, more out of a habit born of solitude than a disinterest 
in the goings on around him.  When he came back into the 
present, Thingol was regaling Mablung with a vivid description of 
Turin's outlandish appearance when he had presented himself 
that afternoon. The incongruity of a grimy, rough, unkempt soldier 
barging his way into the king's presence was rather humourous, 
Turin decided, and he managed a sheepish smile.

Saeros, seated next to Mablung, smirked derisively and said, in 
tones of ridicule '"If the Men of Hithlum are so wild and fell, of 
what sort are the women of that land? Do they run like deer clad 
only in their hair?"'

Turin froze. All his life he had suffered the mockery of his peers, 
but no one had ever *dared* insult him, his people, his family, 
openly like that. Never! Rage boiled up in him, and Saeros, who 
had only known a gawkish youth, not the skilled, vengeful, 
dangerous warrior that Turin had become, blanched in shock 
more than injury when Turin suddenly stood and cast his 
drinking-vessel directly at Saeros' face. The heavy clay shattered 
as it collided with Saeros' skull, rending his skin and knocking 
him back in his seat. When the shock had passed, Saeros 
stood, shoving the table in Turin's direction, wiping the blood 
from his face, which was twisted in fury at the insult of this. Turin 
stared at him lethally and forced Saeros back into his seat with 
his gaze, then slammed his hands down upon the table, turned 
and left.

****

The morning was crisp and clear. Turin let the fresh air fill his 
lungs and the bright sun warm his body and listened to the 
music of the baying hounds as he ran after their lead through the 
densely wooded forest. 

The hunt lasted all morning and well into the afternoon. Their 
party had been dwindling slowly as they left a few people behind 
at each kill to transport the game back to the city. The stag that 
Mablung was pulling the last arrow from just now would be their 
final beast that day as there were not enough hunters left to 
continue. 

Turin was left in charge of the hounds as Mablung and the other 
three who remained tied their stag to a sturdy straight branch, 
hefted it on to their shoulders and started off ahead towards the 
city. Plucky and stout as the dogs were, they were exhausted 
from the day's chase and so Turin allowed them a bit of a rest 
before heading back at a reasonably leisurely pace.

The golden light of deep afternoon bathed the wood, glittering off 
the leaves and softening everything. A crackle in the bushes was 
all the warning that Turin had before Saeros burst out upon him, 
sword drawn and rage glinting in his eyes. Years struggling 
against Angband had sharpened Turin's senses and reflexes 
and he drew his own blade and struck out against Saeros before 
Saeros could take advantage of the element of surprise.

Saeros seethed and shouted things about insult and mockery 
and revenge in between hacking strokes, all of which were 
expertly deflected by Turin. Saeros' anger clouded his reason 
and made him clumsy. The mournful baying of distressed 
hounds only unnerved him further and Saeros soon found that 
he had to defend himself against Turin rather than simply 
dealing blows as he had expected to do.

A bitter scream tore through Saeros' throat as Turin's blade 
struck its mark, tearing a gash in Saeros' sword arm. Saeros 
dropped his sword and clapped his other hand tightly over the 
wound trying to keep the blood from spilling over his fingers. His 
mouth hung open, panting for breath as his eyes registered 
shock, disgust and fear.

Turin allowed himself a smug curl of the lip as he kicked Saeros' 
sword away, holding the point of his own to Saeros' throat.

'"Saeros," he said, "there is a long race before you, and clothes 
will be a hindrance; hair must suffice."' And with that, he struck 
Saeros with the hilt of his sword, dropping him to the ground. 
Then Turin was upon Saeros, tearing off his clothes with blunt 
fingernails. Turin could feel the terror in Saeros' body and felt the 
sweet sensation of exacting just retribution for humiliations 
enacted ages ago.  He suspected that physical harm was not 
the only thing that Saeros feared, but Turin couldn't be bothered 
to exploit the other, he didn't want to close the circle like that. 

Once he had Saeros stripped and cowering on the ground, Turin 
rose and prodded the Elf with the tip of his sword. "Well, run!" he 
said. Saeros' eyes widened in disbelief and Turin made as if to 
run him through. Saeros scrambled to his feet and took off 
running into the woods. Turin called the dogs to follow him and 
ran after him calling '"Unless you go swift as a deer, I shall prick 
you on from behind!"' 

Saeros screamed for mercy, for help, for anything, but could do 
nothing but run for when he flagged, the point of Turin's sword 
was ever there to press him on. His lungs burned with the 
exertion, as Turin was far more fleet-footed than he. His cries did 
not go unheeded, and the baying of the hounds drew much 
attention, but he was being herded away from Menegroth and the 
only other people in that wood were far behind. Mablung ran 
fastest, but could not catch sight of Turin and Saeros. Mablung 
called out to Turin to stop this evil pursuit. 'Orc work', he called 
it, 
but Turin would none.

Saeros veered suddenly to the left, hoping to evade the steel at 
his back, but he found himself unexpectedly at the brink of a 
chasm through which a stream flowed between the rocks. He 
had no time to make a decision or judge the distance, and he 
was sure that death itself was coming at him from behind, so he 
leapt. 

The chasm was both wide and deep. No beast of the forest, no 
matter how sprightly, would have been fool enough to attempt 
that leap. His fingers grasped at the rocks on the far side. He 
could touch them, but there was no hold to be had. With a cry, he 
fell to the earth and his body was broken against the rocks of that 
riverbed.

Turin stopped just short of the edge and peered over, panting for 
his breath. He paled as he realized the enormity of what had 
happened. Time slipped past him and then Mablung was there, 
mouth gaping in horror at the scene before him.

Mablung grabbed Turin's shoulder and shook him to get his 
attention. His eyes were stern, but his voice was soft.

"Come away, Turin. Come away to your father's house. You have 
done a great wrong, but Thingol is a just man. Come away."

"No. I can't!" Turin turned a face creased with sorrow to 
Mablung's cold, unmoving one. "I shall be outlawed. I shall be 
banished. Or worse! I can never go back there! I can... I must go, 
Mablung. I'll go now, save everyone the trouble of... I have to go. I 
have to go now. Turn your back. Only for a second! And I'll be 
gone, be gone forever. Please. Please just let me go!"

"You know I can't do that." Said Mablung, but he had been taken 
aback by the desperation in Turin's voice and was no longer so 
very resolved to drag Turin back to Menegroth.

"Please. Please! Please!" gasped Turin. Then he turned and 
sprinted into the trees.  Out of a sense of duty, Mablung gave 
chase, but the light was dying and his heart was not in this hunt. 
He stopped, panting for breath, and allowed Turin to disappear 
into the western woods.

****



****

"Where is he?!"

"He was injured, badly, in the last skirmish. The healers have 
him."

"I need to see him. Now. "
	
"You can't do that. The healers..."

"If Beleg has been incapacitated, I am in charge of this camp 
and all of its soldiers. I need to know the seriousness of his 
situation!"

"Wha... where do you think you're going!"

The commotion outside the healer's tent drew the attention of 
Curufëa who was not amused by this disturbance of the calm 
that his patients needed to assure their full and speedy recovery. 
He stuck his head through the flaps of the tent and said, rather 
shortly, "What can I do for you, gentlemen? And if I can do 
nothing, would you kindly remove yourselves from my hearing 
and that of those in my care?"

The captain was flustered but collected himself quickly and 
explained the necessity of seeing Beleg immediately.

"And, if I bring you to him, will you leave and let me do my work?"

The captain hesitated and swallowed hard, fearing that he would 
arouse the further ire of this formidable man. Then he gave a 
shaky little nod and followed Curufëa, who had turned on his 
heel upon that signal of assent, through the tent, past rows and 
rows of mangled elves groaning in pain, to a curtain at the back. 
Beleg was being kept alone. The situation must be grave.

When Curufëa pushed aside the curtain, the captain clapped a 
hand over his mouth and drew a sharp breath of shock.

"What happened to him?"

The healer went over to the sickbed and began to fuss with the 
bandages that swathed Beleg's torso from shoulder to hip. 

"What do you think?" asked the healer as he ran the side of his 
hand from his own right shoulder down to his left flank. "Luckily, 
it wasn't deep enough to compromise vital organs, but he's lost 
a lot of blood. Too much. He hasn't regained consciousness 
since. All I can do right now is keep the infection from spreading, 
he wasn't brought to me soon enough to avoid it, and..." he 
paused to touch Beleg's face. "Oh, I was hoping that there 
wouldn't be fever." The healer gestured sharply at a passing 
assistant who returned shortly with a bowl of cool water to bathe 
Beleg's face.

"Is there anything I can do?" asked the captain.

'No. Go, the men need you. I'll do everything I can for him." The 
healer replied. His brow did not furrow with the deep and serious 
concern he felt for Beleg until the captain had left.

****
"Was it sleep or wakefulness that brought me truth?"
					-Mrs. Blavatski (Via Jean Ray)
****

Darkness, darkness, and hot, and cold, and hot, and hot. Beleg 
couldn't open his eyes; the light would burn him. The dark would 
burn him. They were burning him anyways.

The minutes stretched into tiny eternities, tiny molten eternities 
that flowed into each other, around him, through his body until he 
had no choice but to succumb to the oblivious lassitude that they 
promised him. And then the lights went out and the darkness 
won and he was consumed by the blackest sun.

Then it seemed to Beleg that he was in some desolated and 
desert place. Alone. So very alone. The summer heat and the 
rays of that glowing golden celestial orb beat down upon him, 
pounding him into the ground. There was no shelter. Nowhere to 
hide. And he was so endlessly alone! He tried to cry out, he knew 
not for what or for whom, he screamed names with all his force, 
but the feeble croaks that escaped his parched throat were 
whipped away by the wind and torn to shreds high in the air. He 
was empty and alone and his voice commanded nothing, so he 
sat down to wait. Waiting for the setting of a sun which did not 
move. He sat and waited until he swooned from the heat and the 
world was dark again. 

He opened his eyes to see the lush green grass of a meadow 
under a deep purple star-spotted sky. He was alone and he was 
chilled. The air was chill around him despite the floral evidence 
that it was high summer. Icy fingers of wind whipped around him 
and fluttered through his hair and he shuttered from the cold. His 
teeth set to chattering. He could hear voices. From beyond a hill 
somewhere. Singing and talking so merrily, so merrily. He could 
not make them out, but they were familiar to him. The revelers 
did not seem to feel the cold. Then one laugh rang out above all 
the other voices and Beleg gave a start. His stomach clenched 
and the burning began again. But now from the inside. Strange 
fire consumed him even as his skin went numb from the glacial 
atmosphere. The voices became louder, drawing nearer. He 
wanted to call out to them but, whether to call them to come 
nearer and save him from his solitude or to go away, for their 
songs were killing him, he could not say.

And then, without warning, he was plunged into some great lake, 
a boiling pool. The water churned; swirling, chaotic, insane heat. 
The turbulence in this fiery womb matched the undiminished 
fervor of the burning commotion in the pit of his stomach. He 
opened his eyes and saw that there were thousands of others 
being thrown about by this watery tempest. He tried to look 
closer, but they all appeared to be featureless except for great 
gaping mouths that were either screaming or gasping for breath. 
He could not tell which. Some of them tried to clutch at him to 
hoist themselves to the surface but their doing so only served to 
push him further into the depths, so he fought against them. It 
was at about this time that he realized he couldn't breathe either. 
He didn't even know which way was up, but he began to kick with 
all his might and just as he was about to lose consciousness 
again, a hand found his and pulled him up until he broke through 
the surface of the water.

Sputtering and gasping, Beleg allowed himself to be pulled onto 
a rocky shore and suddenly he was afraid. What new torment 
might await him here? Mightn't he be better off as one of 
thousands of faceless men being flung about by a raging sea 
than the sole object of the attention of this creature that had the 
awesome, terrible power to pluck him from chaos? He looked 
into its face. It had one, though he could not have described it, no 
matter the incentive. 

"Who are you?" he asked.

"You have always known my name," it replied, taking on a 
familiar aspect for the space of a heartbeat.

"I am burning! Help me!" he cried.

"I cannot," was its answer, "it is I who make you burn."

Beleg's eyes widened in fear and he tried to twist away from the 
grip that the creature still had on his wrist. 

"When will you learn? When will you submit to me? I am the fate 
of all." And the creature leaned towards Beleg and captured his 
lips with its own and new flame poured into Beleg's mouth, 
mixing with the ardor that was already consuming him. The 
creature reached out its hand and ran fingers lightly over Beleg's 
face and Beleg calmed. The fire might be the end of him, but he 
wanted it. Wanted more. These were the sweetest possible 
flames. It was by the light of this that life itself was sustained. 
How could he have not seen it? How could he have been so 
blind? He drew back slowly.

"Who are you?" he asked again, this time in tones of dazed 
wonder.

The creature smiled. "I am the fire inside you, I am as nectar to 
your parched lips, I am that which surrounds you, that which 
consumes you and yet you need to ask? You have always known 
my name."

The creature's face changed and the world evaporated and there 
was nothing but darkness and stars and Beleg and that perfect 
face. As Beleg reached out to touch this vision, as his every 
desire, both those he could name and those he could not, 
compelled him to do, the creature vanished and the stars went 
out and Beleg was left alone with only the ardor inside himself to 
keep him warm.

He knew that face. It was ever-present in his mind's eye even 
when he wanted most to deny it.  Like the burning, it had become 
a permanent fixture in his bemused spirit. And suddenly he knew 
the creature's name. He had always known it.

"Love,"

****

"The fever has broken!" Curufëa exclaimed. "Oh, Elbereth, thank 
you! Come back to us now, Beleg. We need you to come back to 
us."

****



 
**** 
 
Beleg's recovery from his fever was slower than one might  
expect from an Elf of his constitution, but in a matter of a few  
weeks he was once again the scourge of orcs and goblins on  
the borders of Doriath.  
 
But his heart was sick and gnawed at him. It affected his fighting.  
It affected everything he did. It compelled him, eventually, to  
return to Doriath and seek news of Turin.  
 
The news he heard at first did nothing to lighten his mood, but  
then he heard of how this girl, some friend of Turin's had been  
gathering berries in the wood at the time of Saeros' death and  
gave witness of how Saeros' misjudgment of his leap was more  
at fault than any of Turin's actions.  
 
Thingol loved his foster son and wanted to believe the best of  
him. This girl's word made that easy for him to do and so, royal  
mercy served to rescue Turin's name.  
 
Beleg came before Thingol to ask for Turin's whereabouts,  
whether they were known, but Thingol said they were not, then  
spoke to Beleg, saying: '" I grieve, Cúthalion; for I took Húrin's  
son as my son, and so he shall remain, unless Húrin himself  
should return out of the shadows to claim his own. I would not  
have any say that Turin was driven forth unjustly into the wild, and  
gladly would I welcome him back; for I loved him well." 
 
And Beleg answered: "I will seek Túrin until I find him, and I will  
bring him back to Menegroth, if I can; for I love him also."' 
 
That was the first time that Beleg had said such words aloud.  
Their context was blessedly ambiguous, but uttering them  
moved Beleg more deeply than he would have thought possible. 
 
Beleg set out the following day with only the tiniest spark of hope  
to guide him. He searched far and wide, walking from village to  
village and asking after his friend. His steps grew heavy as the  
weeks passed by, one after the other, without tidings of anyone  
even vaguely fitting Turin's description. Often Beleg felt  
discouragement, creeping like a parasite under his skin,  
feeding off the increasing desperation of his need to find Turin.  
But, what a horrible brand of solitude he would be plunged into  
should he abandon his search! He could never bear the  
absolute certainty that he would never again behold the one  
whose company he desired above all others. And so he must  
plod on. And on. 
 
**** 
Tell me that one day I'll find the courage to have the life I've  
dreamed of. 
-Zazie 
**** 
 
He turned south, towards warmer country and further from the  
threat of Angband. The woods were thick here and lush. What  
sunlight filtered through to the forest floor glinted brilliantly off 
the  
verdant plants, wet with the perpetual mist. 
 
The twilight beauty of this place lent itself well to waking walking  
elf-dreams and Beleg indulged in them liberally. He allowed his  
head to fill with images of a happier past, when he and Turin  
would sit together in companionable silence. Close.  
Comfortable. When they would talk for hours of the great events  
of the past. When they would read together. He let his mind  
wander to idle dreams of the future. One in which they could sit  
together again. Side by side. Hand in hand. Sharing breath,  
sharing their very selves. Beleg became so entranced by this  
world he had created inside his own mind that he didn't hear the  
footsteps in the grass behind him. 
 
"And, what have we here?" 
 
Beleg spun around only to find a blade pressed against his  
throat, three more glittering nearby. 
 
"A spy," said one man, further away, who leered in Beleg's  
direction, "Come to see what we do out here, are you? Come to  
reclaim your mother's baubles? Come to pick a fight?" the man  
advanced towards Beleg with murderous intent but was stopped  
by the raised blade of one of his comrades.  
 
"You stupid idiot!" said the second, "Can't you see he's an Elf?  
We don't have no dealings with Elves, we don't. So, what's he  
doing out here, eh? Suspicious, this is. Come on! Out with it!  
Why are you being so stupid as to risk your neck skulking around  
murderers and thieves such as ourselves?" The man swept an  
exaggerated bow in Beleg's direction, expressing his pride in his  
profession. 
 
"I came to..." 
 
"Shut up!" The man with the sword at his throat drew it up and  
smacked Beleg on the temple with the flat side of the blade.  
Beleg's vision swam before his eyes as pain cracked through  
his skull. He clutched his head with his hands.  
 
The man turned to the one who had prompted Beleg and said,  
"Fool! Elves will trick you with their words, you must never allow  
them to speak! Especially not ones who creep and crawl and  
hide in the shadows like orcs. We'll let Neithan deal with this  
one. He's crafty and he'll be able to get the truth out of this  
pointy-eared git! Tie him up!" 
 
Beleg's hands were wrested away from his still-reeling head  
and tied behind his back so tightly that the cords cut into his  
wrists. The men hobbled him with another length of rope and  
then yanked him up off his knees by the hair, which they pulled  
on as a bridal all the way to the clearing in which they had  
established a ramshackle camp, comprised of rough tents  
around a fire. 
 
The men fixed Beleg's hands to a sturdy tree branch above his  
head and the wicked fellow with the scar running down his  
cheek to his jawbone stepped up to him and, drawing back  
sharply, punched Beleg in the gut, knocking the air out of him  
and earning the laughter of the other men. 
 
The man grabbed Beleg's face and squeezed Beleg's cheeks  
and lips into a mockery of a smile. His fetid breath assaulted  
Beleg's nostrils and brought water to his eyes but he could not  
shrink away. There was nowhere to go. "He's a spy, this one is.  
No doubt about it." The man said. "From Doriath, aren't you?" the  
man released Beleg's face and patted his cheek once or twice  
before hauling off and striking him across the face with such  
force that Beleg's lower lip broke against his teeth and blood  
began to trickle from his mouth. 
 
"Leave him," said another. "Neithan will sort him out, when he  
gets back." 
 
Neithan? Beleg's ears perked at this. He knew the meaning of  
that word, even if the men did not. 'The Wronged'. There were not  
many who would go by such a name, who would have occasion  
to. 
 
"This Neithan," Beleg ventured boldly, "did he ever go by another  
name? Was he ever called Turin?" 
 
The scarred man turned back to him with a hard face and fury  
burning in his eyes at the audacity of this captive. "NO!" he  
bellowed, and backhanded Beleg across the face. "His name's  
Neithan and nothing else! Never been anything else! And some  
people could learn to keep their fucking mouths shut, if they  
knew what was good for them!" The man punched Beleg again,  
hard, just for good measure. "And when he gets back, Neithan  
will take good care of you, Elf." From his lips, the word dripped  
with slime. "He likes spies even less than I do." 
 
Another man pushed aside his peace-mongering comrade and  
said, "You're right, you know. He'll give this Elf what he deserves.  
So, I don't see why we should have to wait for him for a bit of fun."  
The man picked up a rock that was lying at his feet and threw it at  
Beleg. The rock glanced off his thigh, bruising the muscle.  
Beleg's knee buckled as pain shot through his body, settling in  
at that spot on his leg, leaving him dangling by the rope that  
bound his wrists to the tree, trying to balance on his other foot,  
which barely touched the ground as it was.  
 
And so the night passed: intermittent beatings when any of the  
men were irritated or bored enough to bother. Beleg tried his  
hardest to latch onto unconsciousness and stay there, hoping  
that the sun would rise quickly and deliver him. 
 
**** 
I thought of you in my agony. I shed such drops of blood for you! 
-Pascal 
**** 
 
Turin had been up since the first rays of light had brought a silver  
tinge to the blackened sky, trudging over the hills back to his  
men. His journey had been fruitless and his temper was very  
short. 
 
The man on guard furthest from the camp greeted him with a  
self-satisfied smile that did not improve Turin's mood. 
 
"What are you so pleased about?" Turin snapped. 
 
"We've got a surprise for you, Neithan. Back at camp. I think you'll  
like it." 
 
Turin was generally not terribly impressed by his men's idea of  
surprises. "oh look! We've accosted yet another party of  
travelers!" so he was rather nonplussed by this news and  
followed the guard with no more enthusiasm than he had felt  
heretofore.  
 
Eventually, the camp came into view, silhouetted against the  
golds and oranges of the setting sun. It was then that he noticed  
the figure tethered to the tree, hands tied aloft and head lolling  
forwards, unconscious, or nearly so.  
 
"A spy," said the guard. 
 
A vicious smile crept across Turin's face. 
 
"An Elf spy," the guard elaborated. 
 
Turin's smile faltered. Why would they be looking for him? What  
would they do with him once they found him? Turin drew his  
sword and approached more quickly. The Elf's long dark hair  
hung forwards, obscuring his face. Turin took hold of him by the  
shoulder and shook him so that the head fell back and the face  
was visible. 
 
Turin's heart turned to lead and dropped into his stomach.  
 
"Cut him down," Turin whispered. 
 
"What? Neithan, why?" asked the guard. 
 
"CUT HIM DOWN!" 
 
The guard gave a start and then quickly followed the order he  
had been given. Turin caught Beleg's bruised body, collapsing  
under the weight of it. Sitting up he gathered Beleg to him and  
stared daggers at the crowd of his men that had gathered.  
 
"I will tend to him in my tent. Anyone who disturbs us forfeits his  
life. It is only because of my *great* mercy that whoever did this  
is not already dead." His voice dripped with venom. 
 
The men looked at each other in stunned amazement and,  
wisely, moved away. 
 
Beleg began to stir. His eyes came open and when Turin  
registered in his vision, he gave a little "oh,". Turin helped him to  
his feet and supported his weight until they reached the tent.  
 
****


12/?
Summary: In which Turin and Beleg reach an understanding. 
Rating: NC-17

****
"Truth is, I love you
More than I wanted to
There's no point in trying to pretend."
                        -Phil Collins
****

Turin hung a small kettle over the fire to heat water to treat 
Beleg's bruises and abrasions. They waited in silence for it to 
boil. Once it had, Turin infused it with herbs and dabbed the 
result on Beleg's injuries, then began to bind the worst in soft 
cloths. 

The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the small room and 
the flickering light distorted and disguised any emotion that 
either might have let slip through and show on their faces.

"I'm sorry," Beleg whispered, just barely breaking the silence.

Turin froze a second, then went back to his binding with a forced 
calm. "What for? It's my fault, if anyone's, that my men are so 
undisciplined as to treat any stranger as an enemy."

"You know what for."

Turin tucked in the edge of his bandage and turned to stare into 
the fire. 

"There is nothing to apologize for."

"There is! I don't know how to explain, but... I didn't know what I 
was doing, Turin. Something came over me and I went mad for a 
moment. I didn't mean to do... anything. You were so young, and 
especially in our situation, I was wrong to..."

"Stop! Beleg, please stop!"

"I'm trying to apologize to you, Turin."

"Well, don't." Turin squeezed his eyes closed, trying to shut out 
these words. He had dreaded something like this. He could 
sense Beleg just behind him, in his mind's eye he could see 
Beleg's face creasing with concern and probably pity. He didn't 
want that. Of all things, he did not want pity. 

"Turin, I just want to make things right. I pushed you into 
something that you didn't know anything about, that you didn't 
want and I can't go on with it hanging between us! Just let me 
say I'm sorry!" Beleg reached out a hesitant hand to touch Turin's 
shoulder. Thinking the better of it just as his fingers were close 
enough to feel the heat of Turin's body, he snatched his hand 
away again with a tiny shudder. 

Turin spun around to face Beleg with angry tears brimming in his 
eyes, shaking with pent up emotion.

"It was everything I had *ever* wanted! Is that what you need to 
hear in order to understand?"

Beleg looked stunned. Turin turned back to the fire so that the 
wet drops sliding down his cheeks would not be seen. What had 
he just done?

"You're the one who ran away, Beleg. You're the one who didn't 
want it. Don't you *dare* apologize to me for having done it." He 
spat out this last, voice betraying a depth of anger and hurt that 
surprised them both. Beleg lowered his eyes to the ground and 
stared, in utter stillness, at the cold brown dirt.

Silence stretched out between them again and Turin was about 
to get up and leave the tent and not come back when Beleg 
spoke in a trembling voice.

"I thought I didn't want it. I thought I shouldn't want it..." He trailed 
off and then began again in an even smaller voice, "I was more 
afraid of myself than anything else, I didn't... I didn't know... who I 
was or what I wanted and I was afraid of it. Can I at least 
apologize to you for that?"

Turin searched his face for a moment. "Why are you here, 
Beleg?"

"Do you want me to go?"

"Why are you here?"

The words came out in a rush. "I couldn't stay away. I couldn't let 
you go. Not once I understood what I fel... how much I..." Beleg's 
voice broke a little and his eyes were tight shut, mustering 
courage. "How much I love you."

The air was too thin; Turin couldn't breathe it anymore. He was 
dizzy and lightheaded and thought he might faint.

"I wasn't going to say that," Beleg rushed on, hoping to erase the 
frozen expression of shock on Turin's face, which he 
misinterpreted as sheer horror. "I wasn't going to tell you any of 
this. I just needed to see you again, to be near you, just for a 
moment, maybe to convince myself..."

Turin stopped Beleg's tirade with a firm kiss.

Beleg froze. These lips would steal his control. They had done 
so before and surely would again. But... he wanted them to. He 
wanted so desperately to give up and let this kiss bring him 
home. He was terrified.

Turin was too swept up in love and desire to let Beleg wallow in 
fear. His hands came to the nape of Beleg's neck and his fingers 
twined in Beleg's hair and his lips moved soft against Beleg's 
mouth and Beleg gave up, handed over his control with a sigh. 
He couldn't deny how much he wanted this.

The kiss deepened. No feathery down could have matched its 
softness, no balmy breeze its warmth, nor any shining diamond 
its perfection.

Turin's hands slid down across Beleg's chest and Beleg winced. 
His bruises were still fresh. Turin pulled back. The desire in 
Beleg's face outweighed the pain, but Turin was wary. He could 
not bear to frighten Beleg away again. He took his hands away 
and brought his face to Beleg's neck, pausing the space of a 
breath before tracing his lips lightly along Beleg's collarbone, 
drawing his kisses down the center of Beleg's chest, carefully 
avoiding the patches of discoloration. 

At Beleg's waistband he paused, but only for a moment as Beleg 
lifted his hips to allow Turin to divest him of his trousers. Beleg's 
breath was coming in hiccups but, as Turin reached out to touch 
the object of all his longing, all that Beleg could muster was a 
gasp. His mind was wiped clean and at the first touch of Turin's 
mouth, he suddenly thought that he had been plunged back into 
that boiling lake, but he somehow thought that maybe now he 
could swim. 

Never-imagined sensations and emotions poured over him and 
through him, spinning him round and round until he didn't know 
which way was up and didn't want to. Turin watched as an 
expression of utter abandon settled over the features of his 
beloved. Turin had never felt more joy than at that sight. He 
increased the speed of his motions and watched abandon turn 
to ecstasy and ecstasy calm to a paisable bliss.

It was some moments before Beleg came to himself again and 
caught Turin's heavy-lidded gaze. Lazy hungry wanton eyes 
enticed him and he put out a hand to caress Turin's face. Turin 
leaned into the touch and another wave of tender longing 
coursed through Beleg.

He could not help but let his emotions drive him to put out a 
cautious hand and with tremulous timidity, unrelenting curiosity, 
and a dazed lasciviousness, he quickened Turin's breath and 
inflamed his blood, drawing his love to the peak from which he 
himself had just fallen. 

Beleg brushed Turin's hair back from his face with a shaking 
hand and he saw, in the glow of Turin's eyes, the reflection of his 
own wonder. Their hot breath mingled, then Beleg, of his own 
initiative, closed the short distance between them, reveling in the 
novel idea that these soft lips were his to claim.

At length, they slept, and darkness pulled up around them like a 
blanket.

****