Chapter 3 The Blood Waters

Three
The Blood Waters of Tarn Aeluin

Beren gazed at himself in the waters of Tarn Aeluin. His reflection peered back at him, careworn and rugged. A new beard was beginning to grow upon his chin. Later he would shave, if he could find a decent razor. His sword was much too dulled with use. His companions sat arguing as they commonly did during these times. Beren had once been the advocate in every argument, but he grew weary of quarreling and evaded all questions and insults. He did not even listen to the altercation. Instead, he kept glancing into the water, wrapped in his own thoughts.
Tarn Aeluin. Many said that it was a holy place. Melian the Maia had hollowed out the lake long ago, and the waters were crystal blue. If there was any place that Beren could find peace and serenity from his present state, it must be here. As he looked into the liquid mirror, he thought about the strange dream that he always had. It had come to him once again the night before, just when he had thought he had rid himself of it. Then he looked about him.
The land of Dorthonion was a gift from the Elves to the Edain. Beren had been born here, and there were once many villages of Men. But now they were all gone, burnt and defiled by the Enemy or abandoned, and the company desired nothing more than to leave the place forever for the safety of Nargothrond. During the Bragollach, the company of Barahir had been forced from their camps at the Fens of Sirion, severed from Finrod’s main force. They would have been forced to fight through occupied territory in order to be reunited with the king’s forces, and however that might be, Barahir soon learned to his horror that their homeland was under siege. They had no choice but to make their way through the passes home. They could not now return to Nargothrond unless they crossed the mountains of Gorgoroth, and then passed on through Nan Dungortheb, a truly haunted and evil place. The company was too small to face an army or even to venture through such dangerous roads.
The fight to liberate their own soil did not go smoothly. Barahir’s army was scattered as his officers took their knights and raced to defend their estates. While a few of them managed to save some of their small folk, many more were overwhelmed or were too late to salvage anything. Barahir summoned all his people to the capitol to make a last stand. They thought they would be safe in Ladros, but they were sorely mistaken. The Enemy was pilfering the villages and burning them to the ground, and Ladros would be no different. Any living thing they found was nullified. The women and children had been sent away and spared only a few days before, including Beren's own mother Emeldir. As the Lady of the Edain, she led them away and was thereafter called the Man-hearted. The Lord of the Edain and his kin made a valiant effort to keep the city, but the defenses broke and the survivors were forced to retreat.
They had been hard pressed by the Enemy ever since and were no doubt being pursued by more. Many men had been slaughtered in the ambush. But now the servants of Morgoth were hunting Beren's folk like wary animals, for they were of the house of Bëor, and this particular house among men was the fiercest and most truehearted of all, making them a threat to the power of Morgoth. They were armed with the knowledge and skill that they learned from the Elves and their pride and courage was great. Each day was a fight for survival among the company that was the only hope for many.
The forest of Dorthonion gave some protection. They could not be easily attacked from the south as the mountains of Lindur barred the way. Stinking marshes awaited any seeking to attack from the north. They need only worry about east and west. Heaths grew about the shores of the lake, and the company had found an underground cave that they might make their hiding. But Beren did not wish to stay in Dorthonion. He believed that the Pass of Anach was not watched, as his father believed. The company had a chance to escape from the wild lands so long as they were speedy enough. They could risk being seen by spies. After all, they had little left to lose.
The remaining men then fell into despair, and even Beren's father was uncertain what to do next. The other survivors, as noble as they may be, had begun to lose their wits. They shouted at one another, even though their little band now seemed to be the only family left to them.
Beren's father stood by his side, sighing wearily.
“Please, my good men,” he announced, doing his best to raise his own voice above the others. “We must decide now! Either we remain here and make this our hiding, or we move out and have hope that we find another before the night comes! We all have precious little time.”
Some of the men hearkened to his words, but the rest continued arguing.
“You can bicker amongst yourselves until the moon takes its turn in the sky, because you seem not to notice! Soon there may not be a sun, or moon, or stars! The Darkness is falling. We all know that in the darkness, many things may appear, and it is falling upon our lands; the lands that the Elves gave us. It shall fall upon the rest of our kin. Then it shall at last fall upon the Elves themselves, and all our hope will be lost! It will fall upon us before we come to a decision because of your arrogance!”
The men finally became silent.
“Now that you have all been called to attention, stop quarreling and start talking! It seems that the more you try to think, the more terrible your brawls become! The choice is very simple. Are we going to stay here or find another hiding place?”
“Why look for a hiding place at all, father? I thought that we had decided to go and look for any other survivors,” Beren said, frowning.
“That was before we were attacked by those Orcs! Look around you, Beren, and count heads! We have only thirteen men, and that is an unlucky number! Do you think we could search for our loved ones and sacrifice even more men? We cannot lose anyone else! Morgoth is hunting us down like beasts! We are all desperate people here, but do not be foolish!”
Beren made some strange contortion with his fist. He had expected his father to say something like this, and it angered him.
“Father,” he said, “we cannot live as outlaws. We are of the house of Bëor, and we shall fight rather than live as thralls to Morgoth or slaves to fear, and I at least will fight until we are avenged!”
“So will I!” Baragund and Belegund the twins unsheathed their swords.
The two brothers exchanged glances and Belegund said, “We love our wives and our daughters too much to abandon them!”
“We all lost a wife or child, but we do not even know if they are in any danger at all! At least they shall not suffer our fate.”
A flood of voices cried out at this.
“My wife Emeldir will guide them safely. And besides, what aid can we bring them when we are so few?”
Some of the men began to discuss Barahir's point, but Beren bit his lip and glanced at Gorlim with concern. He had also lost his wife, but she was not with the other wives and children. She had been missing long before, either taken captive by the Enemy or slaughtered. Beren was afraid the mentioning of their wives and children had pained him. He had loved his wife more than the waking world and she had been with child. When Gorlim returned from war he found that the house had been ransacked and his wife was lost. He had come back to Beren and his father upon his horse, lamenting that she was gone. He fell from his horse and wailed, and Beren had never seen Gorlim shed a tear before in the presence of man or woman. He wondered what he would do if his mother was truly dead. His father had told him not to dwell on the matter, and Barahir offered little comfort to Gorlim
“Your family is more than likely dead, Gorlim,” Barahir had said. “Remember that it is probably better that way. The Enemy is cruel, and your child would have been born into slavery or worse.”
His words had been callous and unreasonable. Much of what his father did these days seemed so. He was ailing and no longer the great leader he once was, and Beren found himself wishing that he could take command.
At least then, he thought, I might lead these men out of here rather than sit like sheep waiting for the slaughter. If we wait any longer, we might kill each other in our madness!
But this conversation about the women and children did not seem to interest Gorlim at all. He had not spoken a word, but only drank from his casket of wine that he had brought with him all through the long miles. He caroused himself on wine whenever he had the chance, but it was better that way, and no one could blame him. When he was sober, he was a very disagreeable man.
Radhruin turned to him, “May I take a swig of that?”
“No,” Gorlim said rather firmly and put the casket away.
Beren smiled in spite of himself and turned to the other men.
“Listen,” Gildor was saying. “We all know what shall become of us if we leave these woods!”
“Of course,” Dagnir dragged a finger across his throat. “At least here, we are hidden by these highlands.”
Baragund and Belegund, and a few other men broke into a chorus of shouting against his claim. “Protection?” they shouted. “How could we ever be safe from the Enemy?”
“These are untrod lands! Why would anyone come looking for us here? The Enemy is in the dark and far from Angband. They cannot feed their armies forever and waste their supplies searching for thirteen men.”
“Grow some sense, Ragnor! Orcs feed upon flesh! They are like hounds on the scent and likely do not wish to return to Angband. They will set fire to everything in their path and search among the rubble and ashes until they have proof that they succeeded in obeying their Master!”
“Stop fighting!”
“Shut your mouth, Gildor!” Ragnor and Belegund said in ironic accordance.
“I do but try to keep the peace!”
“Shall we give you a taste of our wrath?”
Beren shook his head and leaned against a tree as the rest of the company began to shout and curse, and Gorlim did not even flinch when Ragnor and Belegund drew their blades.
“Ho, men!” Barahir stirred at last. “Stop this foolishness at once!”
“Aw, let the men have their fun,” said Dairuin bitterly. “They had better kill each other. There shall be much less piping.”
Barahir let out a strangled cry and drew his sword. He bore down his sword upon the others and drove them into the ground with one stroke.
“Enough of this! We are men of honor, not a bunch of common Orcs!”
Ragnor and Belegund still eyed each other darkly. Baragund was not content with that, however. Barahir forbid drawn blade, but he had said nothing as yet of fists. He delivered a blow to Ragnor’s face. For a moment, they all feared that their numbers were about to dwindle, but Beren shouted for aid and took hold of Ragnor before he could retaliate. He was ten years younger than Ragnor, but he managed to keep him in place.
“The next man that strikes his fellow will go to hell!“ he announced and meant it.
“Very well,” Ragnor grumbled. “We are all brothers.”
The company was calm at last. Barahir shook his head.
“It seems that we have all truly lost our minds!”
“I thought we had all crossed the threshold of insanity long ago,” Ragnor snickered and many of the others mumbled their agreement. “What shall we do now? We are at your command.”
“We shall cast a vote! Whoever agrees with me that we should remain here, say yea!”
Many of the company hesitated to answer, and Barahir became impatient.
“Any volunteers?”
“We may all need some time to contemplate this decision,” Belegund fumbled with his words. “After all, it is a matter of life or death, and death is not something to be taken lightly, so-“
”You know that we have no time to 'contemplate' this matter over!” Barahir snapped. “We shall go along the line! Simply say yea or nay, and do not hesitate! If the majority of the votes turn out to be nay, we must then leave immediately! Do you understand? You can all decide what your choice shall be as I go along the line, because I am starting now! Ragnor, what is your vote?”
“I vote yea!” Ragnor answered, as if on cue.
“Dagnir?”
“Yea!”
“Gildor?”
“Lord, I agree with Belegund that we all deserve a few moments-“ Barahir gave Gildor a sharp glance, and he cut himself short. “Um . . . Yea?”
“Baragund, Belegund, I believe your vote is nay?” Barahir inquired in an undertone.
“Indeed.”
“No surprises there. Who is next? Oh, of course. Hathaldir? Hathaldir!”
The boy looked up, his eyes wide at his mentioning. “Um, my lord,” he said timidly, bowing. “Though I am loyal to you, I must confess that I would rather seek my mother and sister. My vote is nay.”
“You may speak your own mind, Hathaldir,” Barahir answered, frowning at the boy. “I did not ask you to my service, after all.”
“Yet I swore to it! I speak my own desires, but I will obey your commands.”
“We all honor your bravery, my boy.”
Hathaldir clenched his jaw at the term 'boy'. Beren gave him a glance full of compassion. He was twelve, clearly too young to fight, but he had smuggled himself within Barahir's company. The men wanted to send him away, but when his father fell in battle, Hathaldir was forced to take his father's place. The boy was proficient and the company needed him now, but Beren felt that his father was too stern with him.
“All right. Our vote is four-three. Who is next?”
“I vote that we look for our families!” Urthel cast his vote.
“Four-four! Radhruin?”
“Stay.”
“Five-four. It looks like we have a close vote! We are not going anywhere for a while if we all agree half-in-half! Dairuin?”
“I would like to leave this godforsaken place!”
“Five-five! We must all be pretty much divided! Arthad, what is your vote?”
“We do not stand a chance out there!”
“Six-five! Beren?” Barahir turned to his son, who was chewing on a blade of grass. “What is your vote? If you vote that we stay, then we shall have our decision.”
“Father, you know better than that. I love my mother, and I would like to be reunited with her.”
“All right. Our vote is now six-six. You have all proven to be very difficult men. Something is not right about the math. We have twelve votes, and there are thirteen men here. Who did not vote?”
There was a silence.
Hathaldir scratched his head nervously. “I think it was Gorlim.”
All of the men turned to face Gorlim, who had not even heard his name mentioned.
“Well!”
“What are you all looking at?”
The men heaved a sigh at the same time.
“Maybe we should ask when he is sober,” Gildor groaned, stowing away inside his blankets.
“We need your vote, Gorlim,” Barahir said fiercely. “Do we stay? Do we go?”
“You tell me. You are our leader, your lordship!”
“Then you will go with whatever I say?”
“I am supposed to, am I not, lord?”
“Then the vote is seven-six. We are staying here!”
A few men clapped, the others voiced their opinions, and Beren was one of these. Barahir waved his hand and began walking away; clearly he would brook no argument. Beren felt the anger rise in him and sprang after him. Barahir saw him stumbling after him and continued walking.
“Father!”
“Still calling me that? I am surprised. I have heard you speaking ill of me loudly and often.”
“That was not a fair vote,” Beren hollered. “Gorlim did not vote!”
“He did not have to vote. The decision is mine alone to make. I only wanted everyone’s opinion. We are remaining here. I trust your mother over the swords of thirteen unpredictable men.”
“Then I shall take with me those that love their wives and children, and we shall part ways.”
Beren knew he did not have a right to say such a thing to his father, and Barahir's eyes flashed.
“I love your mother, and I also love my only child. That is you, Beren.”
“Then I shall take those that have the courage to find their families,” he continued to be rebellious.
“I am the lord of the Edain, and I am also your father. To break our fellowship now would be the most rash thing you could do when the Orcs could be on the other side of the lake.”
“I feel it is the wisest thing we could do.”
“You have been stubborn since you were a child, Beren, but that is my fault. Now, please, my son, listen to my command: Stay here with me. Before we can find your mother, we must first stay alive!”
“But, father, my mother and the women and children with her are in as much danger as we are. She has the blood of the Bëor in her, but what of the small folk? Do you expect children and old men to fend for themselves in the wild, Orcs or no Orcs?”
“We shall not speak of these matters until we ourselves are in safe lands, understood?”
“I shall obey, lord,” Beren said icily.
“If I had the men and weapons, I would be tearing through the trees, harrowing up the mountains, and cutting down everything in my path to know your mother truly is safe, but I do not.”
“I understand, father.”
“Soon enough, I may be killed in battle, and you shall take up the lordship of the Edain, and you might not be so glad to have it once it burdens you as much as it does me. I promise you, Beren: Once we are no longer fugitives, we shall search for your mother side-by-side.”
Barahir patted his son on the shoulder and turned away. Beren sat upon the grass. Then he got up and sat beside Gorlim.
“Give me your sword so that I may hone it for you,” the man said with a hint of merriment. “And then I want to see you use it, you are becoming hairier than a bear!”
“Speak for yourself!”
Gorlim’s hair had become long and tangled hopelessly. Beren doubted that the knots could ever be combed out. While Beren had stubble, Gorlim had a mature beard and mustache.
“Why did you not vote?” he demanded.
“Beren,” he answered. “Whatever happens, we are all doomed. Even if the vote had turned out otherwise, your father would not have risked such a chase.”
“Unfortunately you are right. He told me as much. Even so I expected you to back me. Some friend you are.”
“Why joust your venom at me, Beren? You are angry at your father, not I.”
“What do you know of it?”
“I know enough. All our lives we have been friends. I know that you still hate him. You call him father but even a blind man can see the tension between the two of you.”
“Why should I feel tender feelings for him? He remained in Nargothrond while I was a babe far longer than King Finrod demanded. He never sent messages to us, and when he returned, it was only to take me to Nargothrond to be fostered. He has abandoned my mother once again.”
“I cannot speak for your father,” Gorlim replied. “Perhaps he had his reasons for dwindling overlong in Nargothrond. Maybe he felt it would be safer for his family if he remained distant. Maybe he felt he had been gone so long he could not possibly redeem himself in your eyes. Have you ever forgiven him?”
“I have mixed feelings. I watch him with other men. The Edain follow him willingly and cheer his name. I cannot help but admire that. Yet he jokes so easily with them and speaks to me half the time with the voice of a lord not of a father.”
“Your father loves you, Beren. Anyone can see that. You refuse to see it because you want to blame him.”
“What of you? You have abandoned all reason! You who do not grieve for a wife dead!”
Gorlim said in a harsh whisper, “Eilinel is not dead! And I shall do what I must to prove that to you!” He suddenly pulled him toward him and embraced him. “Do not be angry with your father,” he said. “At least you have one- if only for a little while.”
******
Beren awoke from an uneasy sleep to the sound of voices in the middle of the night. He walked toward the voices and saw that it was Gorlim and Hathaldir. Beren wondered why Gorlim was awake. It was not his turn to take watch. He listened intently to what was being said.
“No, Gorlim,” Hathaldir said. “No! I told you. It is my duty as the watcher to raise an alarm if there is trouble. You need your rest. Our lord demands it, and you will get me into quite a fix of trouble if you were to suddenly disappear during the middle of the night.”
“Then might I take watch?”
“No, you cannot take the watch. It isn't your turn.”
“I shall take up your watch. I am next anyway.”
“You're not supposed to take guard at all tonight so stop trying to trick me. I may be the youngest of the company, but I am no child and I am not stupid!”
“Listen, Hathaldir. You can tell them that I fought you and left you lying here for dead.”
“Gorlim, now- What are you doing!”
Gorlim drew his sword.
“All right! All right! Put it away, Gorlim!” their voices became less easy to hear. “I know that, but- Of course I love my mother and sister. Why not go after them? Well . . . All right. I see your point.”
Beren strained his ears. Clearly, Gorlim was thanking the boy, and then he mounted his horse.
“Stop where you are, Gorlim!” Beren stepped out of the shadows, and Gorlim halted his horse sharply. “Where are you going?”
“You know quite well where I am going to.”
Beren was afraid he knew exactly. He was leaving them to search for his wife. Gorlim was the most hardened and fiercest of their company. Eilinel had been dearer to him than aught else. His service to his lord was duty, his family was dead to him, and he had few friends. Only Beren, and he was his father’s heir. Though much time had passed, and the odds were against it, he still doubted that Eilinel was dead. He would go from time to time to search for her when he could. He had asked Barahir's leave to go on another search for Eilinel moments before the Orcs had attacked, for Gorlim was convinced that this time, he would find his wife. But Barahir had been against it. It was too perilous for Gorlim, too perilous for the company, and they were in sore need of every man they had. There had been many times when Gorlim spoke out against Barahir to criticize and humiliate him as if in revenge and many of the company either pitied him or became bitter toward him because of that.
“We all want to search for our women and children, but I must agree with my father. We must not separate.”
“You certainly have changed since our last talk!” Gorlim said in shock.
“My rebellion ceases when I realize that I could be endangering my kinsmen,” Beren answered darkly.
“I will only be gone for a few days.”
“But you have already gone looking for Eilinel. You did not find her, remember?”
“Nor did he find a body,” Hathaldir blurted out.
“Hathaldir!”
“Y-Yes, lord?” he stammered, fearing retribution.
“Go to bed.”
“Yes, lord,” he bowed.
Beren patted the boy on the head as he passed by him, then he said, “Poor Hathaldir. He should be with his mother and his sister, not with us. He wanted to fight, and not even his own father could stop him.”
“He reminds me of someone I once knew. He has a courageous heart, like yours.”
Gorlim kicked his horse, but Beren grabbed onto the horse's bit.
“Gorlim, you know that you should not go and that the servants of Morgoth could be lying in wait for you, if they truly have your wife.”
“And I shall be more than willing to fight them off and claim her. Now, let me go! And if you truly love your mother, you can go after her too. Your father may be our lord, but I judge that will not be for long, and you are his heir. You can do whatever your heart tells you, and my heart refuses to stay here and wait in a hole like rats to be slaughtered at last.”
Beren sighed. Now I know somewhat how my father feels!
“But if the servants of Morgoth catch you,” he said, “they will try to deceive you, and they will find us. Then you shall have killed us all, and your honor and soul shall be forfeit.”
“I do not know so much about my soul, but I spit on honor. What is honor compared to Eilinel safe at my side, and our son’s laughter in my ears? As for all of you, you should flee from this cursed place. You have my vote now. If Barahir still commands the company to hide, then there is no honor in him either. To disregard his men’s better judgment is not honorable.”
“You will be captured and slain!”
“Perhaps when you fall in love as fatally as I have, you will also take such chances.”
“I doubt it. I am not such a fool. Now get down from your horse, Gorlim!”
“No! Let go of my horse, or I shall fight you!”
Gorlim drew his sword, and at last, Beren gave up. He went for his sword at first. He knew that he could defeat Gorlim. He had received the better marks as a swordsman, and when the two dueled, Beren was usually the winner. But something in him made him stop. It was pity, pity and trust. He trusted Gorlim not to let himself fall into the Enemy’s hands, and even if he did, he would never betray his kin. The Enemy had already caused him the greatest pain they could cause him.
He let go of Gorlim's horse.
“May Elbereth protect you, my friend,” he said.
Gorlim hesitated at this, and he smiled and said, “May the Valar bless you and smile upon you from afar. You seem always to be standing within their light.”
“Or their shadow,” Beren retorted.
Then Gorlim bolted off into the shadows, and Beren never saw him again as a living man. He went back to his blankets, troubled. Then the boy Hathaldir sat next to him unlooked for.
“What is it that troubles such a young heart?” Beren asked. “When I told you to sleep, I was not asking you to do so. I gave you an order.”
“I cannot sleep. My thoughts are of my mother and my dear little sister, Vanwa. She was only four summers old, my lord. I was thinking of them while I was on watch, and when Gorlim began to leave, I stopped him. He told me he was going away for a while, and he begged me not to raise an alarm. When he told me he could not bear the pain of being parted with his wife, I yielded not because of the sword in his hand, but because I realized that I could relate to his pain. I was thinking of my sister. Vanwa was very playful and sweet. I miss her and my mother.”
Beren smiled, thinking of the mother that he had not seen since he had left to be fostered.
“Believe me, Hathaldir. We can all understand Gorlim’s plight. We have all shared in that pain.”
“Lord, I must remind you that Gorlim did draw his sword on me. If I had not let him go, he was going to-“
”I understand completely,” Beren said gently. “Even if you had set off the alarm, Gorlim would have dashed off like a hare. You would not have been able to stop him by yourself. Gorlim is a renowned knight at Finrod’s court, one of our finest. Now please sleep! In no doubt, we shall have a lot of explaining to do when the others wake.”
The boy returned to his resting place, but Beren had an uneasy sleep. The words that Gorlim had said to him: Perhaps when you fall in love as fatally as I have, you shall also take such chances. The words seemed to linger over him like some kind of curse. He knew that Gorlim was very foresighted for a Man, and he thought of his dream, the strange dream that he had of the Sea and of that Elvin-maid beside him named Tinúviel. Beren shook these thoughts away. He did not understand Gorlim. He knew he was risking his life and the whole company's. He was a fool, and if his father and the company denied him and cast him forth from the land when he returned and admitted that Eilinel was dead, no one could blame them.
******
“What do you mean Gorlim left!” Barahir cried the next day when he heard that Gorlim had left that night.
Ragnor threw off his blankets and sprang from the ground where he had been happily snoring. “What?”
“It is true, my lord,” Hathaldir could not lie. “Gorlim son of Angrim begged me to leave while I was on the watch last night. I know that it was my duty to raise the alarm and force Gorlim to stay, but he begged me, and the lord Beren himself gave him his leave.”
“Treacherous bastard!” Ragnor rasped. “I doubt he is truly searching for his wife. He is simply a coward.”
“Gorlim is no coward and certainly not a liar!” Beren said.
“Do not worry,” Barahir said. “He shall return soon enough.”
But Gorlim did not return. A month had passed, and there was no sign of him. There was much unease in the company. They were wondering whether they should abandon the hiding or not. They took council on this.
“If Gorlim has been caught, then we are all dead!” Ragnor said.
“If they find our hiding empty, they might think us already dead,” Gildor suggested.
“If they find it empty, they shall only think us fled!” Baragund answered. “Are you a fool! They will not stop hunting us until they have trampled our bones into the dust!”
The others began cursing. Many of them blamed Hathaldir. “If you had only stopped him!” they shouted.
“Let the boy alone!” Beren commanded.
“This does not concern you!” they said to him and then turned on Hathaldir. “Why have you condemned us all?”
“I believed Gorlim had a good reason to leave us, and I also decided that I should let the lord Beren handle it,” the boy answered angrily. “There were also other reasons. We all know what he feels, and he is not a man to disagree with! He was not at all too polite when he asked me his leave without so much alarm. He held his sword in his hand, for the love of Ilúvatar! He would have used it too, no doubt! First he begged me, and when I remained in doubt, he threatened me. I had no choice but to let him leave.”
“The boy is nothing but a coward!” Arthad growled, casting him aside, but the others cast their angry glances upon Beren.
“Beren, is it true what the boy has said? That you also knew of Gorlim's leaving and did little to stop him?” Barahir asked him, taking no notice that Hathaldir had been hurt.
“Yes,” Beren answered undaunted. “Hathaldir does not lie, and he would not have been able to stop Gorlim either if he asked him to keep quiet with a sword! Do you not agree? We all know how desperate Gorlim can become.”
Some of the company muttered and nodded in agreement.
“Gorlim is going to get us all killed, and he knows it!” Ragnor bellowed, being the most ill tempered of the company. “If I get my hands on him, I'll kill him!”
“We shall have no such talk!” Barahir snapped. “The Enemy has done well enough to diminish our kinsmen. Morgoth may have that man in keeping and shall do the job for you, and he was one of the greatest fighters here!”
Ragnor shut his mouth.
“The best we can do, men, is send someone out to scout the lands. If there are Orcs nearby, it means that Gorlim has been caught. Who will be our messenger?”
No one in the company raised their hands save Beren and, surprisingly, Hathaldir. They all laughed at him.
“Hathaldir, you would be brave enough to venture forth on this errand?” Barahir asked. “It is very perilous.”
“I want to be of use to the company, and I care for Gorlim.”
“You shall not go!” Beren stepped out of line. “Father, if you must send someone, send me. I am the fastest runner and the most skilled in these matters. My woodcraft surpasses all those here. Besides, Hathaldir is much too young to go.”
Barahir looked upon his son with pride, but also with concern. Beren could be killed on this certain errand, and it would be a sore blow to him and the company to lose his son, for Beren was the greatest fighter among them and was also his only heir.
“No. You shall not go, Beren,” he told him and then turned to the rest of the company. “Do none of you have the courage to take up this quest? Ragnor? Gildor?”
Beren’s mouth gaped open at the rejection. Baragund and Belegund raised their hands reluctantly and said that they would go if no one else would be sent. Hathaldir insisted that he would be the man for the job, but Ragnor, who was always harsh with the boy, pushed him aside.
“Father,” Beren tried again. “Send me. I am the most skilled huntsman here. I promise you that I shall not allow myself to be killed easily, and never has any man or Orc or other set one of the house of Bëor in bonds! My woodcraft shall guide me, and my journey will end without so much dramatics. If you send one of the others here, you could very well regret it. It would be the breaking of our company if one of these fine men were to be unfortunate upon this errand. Send me!”
“Very well, son,” Barahir granted his request very reluctantly. “I give you my blessing. Be careful, and keep on guard!”
“Yes, lord.”
“No, lord!” Hathaldir said desperately. “Let me go!”
“No, Hathaldir. You are needed here.”
“Good luck, Beren,” Belegund and Baragund said in farewell.
Then Beren left upon the road while the whole company waved in farewell. Hathaldir ran behind Beren, calling out to him and gripping his sword, as though ready for battle, until Beren had to stop and speak harshly to him, telling him to return to the company and that the errand he had taken was too perilous for him.
“You began fighting the day you turned fifteen, lord!” the boy said bitterly. “Why not a young man like me?”
“You are a boy,” Beren corrected.
“I want to fight for you, lord. You cannot say that I am too young! Youths have ambition, and that is what we all need now. Our wits have long been missed, and it is my dream to fight for my kinsmen.”
“What we all need is more arms and more men! Now return to the others. Would you know what to do if your enemies surrounded you suddenly and you had no weapon? Do you know anything about the Orcs?”
Hathaldir did not answer.
“That is what I thought! You are young and inexperienced in the arts of battle, and you are not a man yet! I came early to manhood because I had to! Return to the others and follow me no more!”
The boy was silent afterward. He simply bowed and returned then to the others, near tears, but Beren could not repent for his words, and he never had the chance.
******
Gorlim let out a deep sigh. He could see the outline of his house from where he stood, ankle-deep in a slimy moor. His searching always brought him here, his feet walking the familiar path. There was little hope that he would find Eilinel there, but the place stirred happier memories and made him feel at ease. His home was far from impressive. Though he was of Bëor’s line, his kinship was not inherited from father to son. His father had died in Gorlim’s youth, and he had little to pass on to his family. It was a small house, once cozy, but the elements had not been kind to the little wooden structure. The roof of moor reeds and sticks was almost completely shredded by the wind.
He remembered Eilienl’s look upon her face when she had seen the house on their wedding night. Gorlim had feared she would be disappointed with it. She was a woodcutter’s daughter and probably dreamed that she would be taken to a grand castle when she had accepted his proposal. But she had been quite satisfied with it. They had lived contentedly within those walls. The last time he had seen Eilinel was in this place. She had told him with exhilaration that their baby inside her belly was kicking. Their baby was eager to come out into the world. The child would have been born by now, if it and the mother were still alive.
Suddenly, Gorlim halted and stared with an amazed look upon his face. There was a light in one of the windows. He muttered to himself, debating whether or not this was a trap. Then he heard the wail of a babe, and his heart raced. At last, he hesitantly made his way towards the window and peered through it.
And there was Eilinel.
She was weeping, and her voice lamented off the walls as though she was far away, or as though she were part of a dream.
“Gorlim! Gorlim!” she wailed. “You fool! You have forsaken me and our babe for a lordling and false hope! Morgoth shall find you, and you shall all be dead, while I yet live. I wait only for my turn, and for the death of our son. He has come, but you have not. It seems that he was only born to be thrown into the pits of Angband when the Enemy finds me here, alone. You never loved me, and our child that I bear is nothing to you!”
Gorlim had enough. He ran to her, calling to her, “No, I have always loved you and our babe! I never doubted that you were alive, and now, here I am! I have abandoned Barahir. I will never leave you again!”
The moment that he stepped in through the door, the firelight was snuffed out. Gorlim strained to see in the dark. He realized that there had been Orcs and Men hiding behind doors and in the corners of the house. Eilinel was gone, and the baby was silent. Gorlim had fallen into a trap; yet the trap had not been unexpected. The hunters seized him. He saw a few Orcs carrying something away from the house, and he thought that it must be Eilinel and his son. He cried out and struggled desperately and was stricken into darkness.
When he awoke, he realized that the surroundings had changed. He was no longer standing in his house, but within a ring of men. They were barbarians, and they wore red robes. Gorlim stood in the middle of their circle, and he had been beaten unmercifully and had lost all his strength, but there seemed to be no fear in his eyes.
“Where is my family?”
“Where is your hiding!” demanded one of the hunters.
Gorlim stared at him blankly.
“We had heard rumors that a man of the Men of Dorthonion often returned to this land in search of his wife,” said another, and he had a pleasant voice. “You must tell us exactly where the hiding is.”
“I will not betray my kinsmen,” Gorlim answered in a strong voice. “But I will tell you that you men are traitors to your own kind and give your service to the very essence of evil. Ilúvatar shall have vengeance upon you.”
“Speak not of Ilúvatar! He shall not come down to save you with fire from heaven!” said the man harshly, but he softened his voice again, “Gorlim? That is your name, of course?”
He made no response.
“Do you deny it? Or are you Barahir or his son, Beren?”
“No. I am Gorlim son of Angrim.”
“Now I shall tell you my name so that we shall know each other more intimately. After all, I could very well save your life.”
“Yes, but for what purpose? It is not my life that I want.”
“If you do not tell us where the hiding is, we shall put you through pain of torture. Tell us now, and we shall show you mercy and set you free and even reward you richly. After all, we are Men, not Orcs. The Master always shows mercy to those who serve him.”
“I do not serve him and never shall.”
Again, Gorlim was put into the circle. He was scarred and bruised all over, and he was missing several fingers.
“Are you prepared to give us the information we asked for?”
Gorlim never let one whisper pass his lips, even during torture. The hunters then grew tired of him and handed him straightway over to Sauron, Morgoth’s most terrible servant. Gorlim was tortured even there in his presence, and Sauron watched while eating his bread. Then Sauron had Gorlim stand before his throne, and he offered him food. Gorlim refused it, but Sauron sneered when his stomach rumbled. He had not eaten for many days.
“You will not take my bread?”
“No. I will receive nothing from you.”
“Why must you be so uncooperative?” he asked. “Do you not know that the pain can stop before it is even started? Tell me where your companions lay, and you shall feel no more!”
“Never!”
Sauron laughed grimly. “Your valiance amuses me,” he said, “but your courage is made in vain. I promise that if you were to tell me where the hiding is, I shall grant you not only your freedom, but gold and whatever else your heart desires.”
“You do not know my desire, nor can you give it,” Gorlim answered.
Gorlim’s only desire was to be reunited with his wife, and he did not tell Sauron this.
Then Sauron was angry and said, “Take him back to the Balrogs! You shall soon tell me all your desire! Soon, you shall be singing, and you shall tell me even where your dear old grandmother lives to be free of the pain I will give you! But, Gorlim, if you ever wish to give me an answer, just call my name. Out loud.”
“My grandmother is dead,” Gorlim said flatly. “And I swore an oath that I would remain faithful to my lord.”
Gorlim was returned to the pits and still, he did not call on Sauron and did not complain when he bore the pain of the whip. But at the last, Sauron discovered his longing. He brought Gorlim into his halls again, for the last time, as though he were an honored guest. He spoke softly, and would have sweetened his voice, if it were possible for a creature like him.
“This is the last time that I shall ask, since torture seems only to numb you,” Sauron said. “Where is the Men of Dorthonion’s hiding?”
Gorlim did not answer at once. This was indeed his last chance, and he did not wish to be too bold now. If he were killed, then Eilinel and the child would certainly be slaughtered too. But would they be murdered anyway?
Sauron saw the torment in his eyes and promised, “You shall be rewarded for the information. I vow that I shall restore your wife and child to you. Two lives shall be given for many, and all three of you shall be free to leave this place and go wherever you so please.”
Gorlim hesitated. “Show me Eilinel and my child,” he said.
“Tell us first, or we shall show you to them, but the child shall pay with his life for your doubt!”
Gorlim was silent for a long while, then he told Sauron where the hiding was, weeping. Then Sauron laughed outright.
“You wish to see your wife and son now?”
“Yes!”
Sauron raised his hand, and Eilinel appeared. She was no more than a wisp of smoke: a phantom. Then he produced a bundle from his cloak. Swaddling clothes was all that it was. Gorlim gasped.
“Yes. A trick of wizardry,” Sauron nodded. “I remember that months ago my scouts brought a mortal woman. She died during torture. She did not have quite the stamina that you have shown. The man-child that she had I never saw. Apparently, the brat made too much noise and was killed during the confusion of her taking. I am truly sorry. He might have made a good slave. If he could take half the pain that you have endured, he would have lasted for years under backbreaking work.”
Gorlim was speechless.
“I want to thank you, Gorlim. You have done well.” He turned to his servants, “He may yet be reunited with his wife! Take him to her!”
Gorlim felt as though he had been hit with a blow. He let out a cry so horrible that Sauron covered his ears and shouted to his servants to shut him up. They held him fast, and then one of the servants drew out a knife and slashed his throat.
*******
Beren was far afield from the hiding, and although he still was in Dorthonion, the sun was setting, and he fell asleep. And then Beren had a horrible dream. He found himself back near the lake of Tarn Aeluin. The waters reflected only darkness, and lightning flashed along the sky. Beren gazed about in wonder. In his dream, he seemed much more acute than he ever could be awake. Beren felt rather than sensed the presence of unfriendly eyes all around him, and he saw that there was a great flock of carrion birds; unusually large, black birds sitting in the branches of dead meres all around him. Beren saw that something was dripping from their beaks as they all stared at him with cold and menacing eyes. Whatever it was dripped and splattered upon a few stones. Beren looked closer and saw that it was blood. He felt his stomach churn, and he backed away from the stones.
Beren turned towards the waters and fell backwards in his shock. The waters of Tarn Aeluin were no longer blue, but red with blood. It was blood. There was blood everywhere.
Then Beren drew his sword and saw Gorlim, but he was not the same. He was robed in gloomy gray, and he had drawn over his head a hood, and he was illuminated in a strange light.
“Gorlim! What has happened to you?” Beren cried, springing to his feet, and then he asked, “Where am I?”
“Do not ask me to state the obvious, Beren. You are no fool,” Gorlim answered.
“But you are not real.”
“I am as real as real can be.”
“If you were real, I could touch you.”
“Do not try!”
Beren reached out to touch him, but Gorlim pushed him away, and his touch was cold as ice.
“Aye Elbereth!” Beren gasped. “But, why are you here?”
“The traitor betrayed has come to warn you.”
“Traitor betrayed? Why are you speaking in riddles?”
Gorlim was silent for a long while, and then he withdrew his hood so that Beren could see a long ugly scar around his neck where his throat had been slashed. He fell on his knees in shock.
“Alas!” he cried. “How did this happen, Gorlim?”
“For their sake, I must be brief.”
He stooped and dipped his finger into the waters of the lake. The ripples spread across the waters of blood. Then he told his tale.
Gorlim had the greatest look of pain on his face. “I would have drawn back, Beren,” he said desperately. “I really would have. I was loyal to your father and all the rest of the company, but I longed to be free of pain. I also desired my wife and the son I never knew.”
“No…” Beren shook his head.
“Sauron has sent his hunters here already. They are coming near the hiding, Beren. You must warn them and get them out of there before they are murdered as I was! Please! I am a mere ghost that wants to undo what I have done so that I may be able to rest in peace again.”
“But I am only dreaming!” Beren answered. “How do I know you are real or that I am not going altogether mad?”
“You will know. You know already, but when you wake,” Gorlim answered grimly, taking a few steps back, “you shall spy a carrion bird. If those little signs do not convince you, then all you need do is return to your hiding and smell the blood.”
Beren shivered and said, “What if I am too late?”
“Then all is lost. I do not know, really. But go now, before the night is ended and the Orcs have run out of time to complete their work. Awake now! The butchers are coming! Morgoth’s grip is tightening about your father‘s throat, and only you can warn him!”
“But, Gorlim-“
”No time! Wake up! Wake up! The Orcs are already too near the hiding! You must go now and warn your father!”
“Gorlim, I want to say-“
”Sh,” Gorlim put a finger to his lips. He actually smiled as he stepped back into the waters.
Beren did not have time to tell Gorlim that he had been a good friend to him all his life, or that he forgave him of his treachery. He knew that Gorlim had endured more pain than most mortals could take. Beren did not even have time to say his last farewell, for Gorlim drew a hood over his face and disappeared.
******
Beren awoke from the dream. He decided he could not question it. He had to return to his father and his companions. If it was true that Orcs were about to waylay them, Beren could not stay where he was pondering what the wraith had told him. For when he woke, he saw a carrion bird sitting in a tree above his head. It was a rather large and peculiar bird, Beren thought, as he gazed at it.
The bird was coal black, and he had a tuft of white feathers upon his breast. The bird strutted toward him on the branch, and it gave him a piercing glance that froze his blood, for the bird's eyes were empty voids, except for two pale gleams in the pit of the abyss. It croaked at Beren and flapped its wings and took flight, joining a fleet of its own kind in the sky above. Beren then was stricken, knowing this to be a sign to the proof of his dream. But Beren gaped at the birds.
“Could this be true?” he said to himself. “Could this be true?”
The same bird that Beren had seen first let out a cry, and the whole fleet of birds suddenly dove at him. Yes it was the same one. Beren could recognize it because that bird had a tuft of white feathers upon his breast. Beren ducked as the birds flew over him, screamed at him, and headed in the direction of the hiding. Beren stared after them, and then realized that the night was growing old. Soon, the stars would be gone, and the Orcs would make their way toward the hiding at the time they were asleep. Beren would have to race the sun if he was to warn his kinsmen in time.
Beren then ran with all the speed he could muster, crying out aloud to heaven.
“Oh ye that rule the skies and earth! Do not let it be true! Protect my kinsmen! They are all that is left to me, and without them I am forsaken. Protect them! Do not let this be true!”
He did not stop running, even though his heart was racing and his legs were throbbing. He raced against the rising sun. He ran through thickets and hedges, being rewarded with many scratches and bruises, but he was in need of haste. If he arrived after the sun, his father, his other kinsmen; all of his companions would certainly be dead.
Beren at last arrived to the hiding. He ran and called out at the top of his lungs, “Father! My lord! We must leave now! Gorlim has been caught and was deceived! The Orcs are coming! The Orcs are-“
Beren slipped on a patch of wet mud and went rolling down the hill; receiving many more cuts and bruises from the jagged rocks and thorn brambles on his way. He brought up a great storm of cursing, but when at last he stopped rolling and the dust had settled, he raised his hand to wipe sweat from his brow and saw it was covered with dark blood. He let out a strangled cry and sprang to his feet. A flock of carrion birds scattered about. It was the same flock that he had seen, the same one. They had beaten him to the bodies.
Beren choked back unmanly tears. Instead, he lashed out at the birds.
“Vipers!” he cried, running into the sea of birds and kicking at them. “Leave the dead in peace! Feast upon the carcasses of beasts or eat the dust, but do not discard the bodies of my kinsmen! They are not beasts but were once noble men! I said shoo! Go on! Get out of here!”
The birds screamed at him in protest and took flight, but one last bird remained, and he had a tuft of white feathers on his breast. For the moment, he was unnoticed, for Hathaldir the young came stumbling out of the cave.
“My lord?” he called in a thin voice.
“Hathaldir?” Beren was glad to see him still alive. He was glad to see someone alive. “Merciful Manwë! What happened to you?”
“My lord! My lord! You have come! I had hoped you would!”
The boy suddenly stumbled, and Beren caught him and was covered with more blood. Hathaldir had not gone without hurt. Beren soon knew that Hathaldir was wounded mortally.
“Alas! I have come too late! Too late!”
“I beg that you do not shake me, lord!” cried the boy in agony. “Or I will join the others all the sooner!”
Beren held him gently, “Was it Orcs?”
Hathaldir nodded and gritted his teeth and the newly risen sun shone on his face.
“They surprised us all. They left me for dead, but they have done their job well enough. They chopped off your father's hand, Beren. Kept it for heaven knows what. Is Gorlim dead?”
“It was his ghost that sent me back so soon, but too late! Too late!”
“There was nothing you could have done, lord. I fought with all the strength I had. It availed to nothing. An Orc drove me through with his cleaver. I must know. Did Gorlim find his wife?”
“His search was in vain. Eilinel was killed during the siege. But now, they are together.”
Hathaldir closed his eyes and murmured, “And his child?”
Beren could not answer. The murder of Gorlim’s son had been a monstrous, tasteless act. The boy understood.
“I see. This is all my fault.”
Beren was shocked. “Your fault?”
“I should have raised the alarm on Gorlim and never listened to his begging. My fault . . . And it was always my dream to help and fight in gallant battle with my lord. I never wanted to be the cause that destroyed my kinsmen.”
“Hathaldir, you, I hold least to blame for all of this,” Beren said gravely. “Alas! The innocents are the ones that suffer and bear the guilt in the end! Besides, you got your wish. You shall die valiantly for the survival of your kinsmen and your lord, and you were only a child.”
Hathaldir's eyes snapped open and he said, “I am not a child! I am a man!”
“You are a boy.”
“So you say.”
“You were a boy,” Beren said, smiling. “But today you die a man. You die a soldier's death. You die as a jewel among all men!”
“Yes, Lord,” Hathaldir groaned, but he was not speaking to Beren. He was speaking to someone unseen. He was shivering violently, but then he closed his eyes and remained still.
Beren held Hathaldir's body and fought wails. He shook the boy, hoping that he would still be alive, but Hathaldir remained cold and limp in his hands. Then the carrion bird that had stayed and watched croaked in melancholy, but to Beren, it sounded like mockery.
“Ha! Beren has come too late!” is what he heard.
“Too late! Too late! Ha ha!” echoed the others.
He looked up sharply and threw a stone at the bird. It let out a harsh cry and sought protection on another branch, but Beren threw another stone at it, and it hit its mark. The bird almost fell from its perch and cried out in pain.
“Get out of here!” Beren shouted, and his eyes were lit with a vengeful fire that never left his eyes in his years of wandering. The bird cocked its head and at last flew away.
Then Beren buried his companions' bones. He did so without tears, for his heart was cold as ice. They had been his family, and their death had been cruel. But he did not remain long digging shallow graves for each of the twelve men. He wanted to pursue those Orcs that had done this. He buried his father's bones, and he raised a cairn of boulders above him. There had been some strife between father and son, but all that was forgiven now.
Beren reached for the twelfth body and realized that there was no twelfth body. Gorlim’s corpse had probably been thrown into a pit to feed the monsters there. And where was Gorlim now?
Will he let me be? Beren wondered. Do ghosts continue to haunt you forever? And I could not even carry out his last wish. Not even a man back from the grave could help me succeed in saving my family.
Then Beren swore over his father’s grave an oath of vengeance upon the murderers of his kin and their master Morgoth. Thus began his wandering, lost of senses and purpose. Beren only knew that he could not stay in the lands of Dorthonion. There was no protection there anymore. The Orcs had usurped the wild heaths and poisoned the waters of Tarn Aeluin, and they could return there at any time.
As Beren looked into the waters of Tarn Aeluin, which had been blue as the sky in the fairest of weather, the holy waters, he saw that the waters were now red with blood, and all about the torn heaths and the dead meres were carrion birds, and there stood that familiar bird with the tuft of white feathers, and from his beak dripped blood.
And that image remained with Beren to the end of his days.
******
Beren wandered over fen and field and mountain, until at last he found himself in Rivil's Well, tracking the Orcs that had murdered his kinsmen, for now, a rage had come upon him that consumed him and all else. While he was walking upon the pass of the Fen of Serech, he saw not far away smoke rising into the air. This aroused his curiosity, and because he was a cunning hunter, he managed to creep up near one of the fires. He recognized all too well the sort of people that were camping there that huddled near the fires under shade of rock and stone.
These Orcs were in no doubt the same that had gone upon the foray that murdered his kinsmen. They had been caught under the sunlight and would not dare to leave their post until nightfall. Beren felt anger rise up in him such as he had never felt before in all his life. He fingered for his sword. He had wanted to lash out at them all, but Beren was not mad enough to challenge a whole army of Orcs alone. He only listened to what they said, for Beren knew the Orc-speech.
They were singing and roasting meat upon the fire, which was most likely man’s-flesh. Orcs ate man-flesh whenever they could get it and several of Beren‘s companions had been butchered and mutilated. Whole limbs had been carried off, and it was not due to wild animals. The Orcs began laughing.
“The Big Boss will at last be happy,” said a large, rather gaudy-looking Orc, for he wore golden chain mail that had most likely been stolen. “Now that Barahir and his folk are gone, there shall no longer be any rebellion from Men, or at least, there shall be much decline of it in Dorthonion.”
“But we were ordered to search among the bodies not only for that of Barahir, but also for his son, Beren,” another Orc said. “No one reported him dead. He could still be alive in these lands watching us now. I have heard that he is worse than his father was, and after the surprise we left him, there shall be no doubt about it that his love for us will be much less.”
“Even if he is alive, which he couldn't be, he is no longer a threat to the Big Boss anymore,” the larger Orc said knowledgeably. “How do you know that we did not kill him? We seldom get any detailed descriptions of whom to kill.”
“They did tell us how many bodies we should find. There was someone missing.”
“Maybe he was taken by an animal, or a sickness, or one of our other lads! If Beren is around, he no longer has any followers. He has no power anymore. He was only a mortal and just one man. And I, being captain, know that we shall all be rewarded for my great deeds!”
Many of the lesser Orcs scowled, but they did not dare to protest.
“See here! This will make me rich!”
The Orc captain laughed and held out a human hand, and Beren recognized the ring that was upon one of its fingers. It was the ring of Finrod; the one his father had been given by the Elvin-king himself.
“This is really what we were after. The Master commanded me to bring it back to him as evidence that we had done the deed. No bodies, only this. But now I think I will keep it as a trophy, for he has a hoard of such treasures! It is a pretty thing, and I am sure that it is worth a good sum,” the Orc boasted.
Then Beren, angered as a wave from the sea, sprang from behind a few rocks and pulled the Orc captain with him into the shadows and carried him off. He had already thought that he had gone beyond rage when he spotted the Orcs, but he knew that now he had snapped.
The other Orcs were startled and gave out a great cry. One spotted Beren running amongst the trees and raised the alarm. The Orcs began firing their arrows, but none of them harmed Beren. Their aim was poor, and Beren had a much greater doom upon his head than to be killed by Orc-arrows. He had slipped off as hardily as he could, and the sun was high in the sky so that they could not give chase.
Beren set down the Orc captain. He cried out and shielded his eyes from the sun. Beren laughed grimly and seized from him his father's hand and the ring.
“Now you are cooked!” Beren said, still laughing. “Perhaps I should leave you out here in the sun and let you bake slowly to death?”
“Please! Ah! The dratted sun!” the Orc cursed.
“I would not be worried about the sun,” Beren said. “Enjoy the sunlight while you can, my friend. I am in no hurry.”
The Orc tried to escape, but Beren cut him off with a spring and gave him a savage kick that caused him to sprawl upon the earth.
“Go on and bury yourself in the dirt if you are so desperate to hide yourself from the sun.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I am going to murder you. That is what I am going to do,” Beren answered.
“Is that so?”
“You killed my father, you filthy slime!” he hissed, and the Orc saw his death in his eyes. “Were you the one that gave him the death blow? Were you the one that took his hand?”
“Yes,” the Orc answered with unmistakable pride.
“Did you think that the son of Barahir would not fend for the murderers of his house and those that discard their bodies?”
“I knew you were a coward, Beren. That is why you seized me and dragged me here so that you could kill me silently. You are quite safe here and therefore refuse to fight.”
“How did you guess my name?” Beren said mockingly, drawing his sword and driving it into the ground near the Orc's foot, startling him. “I thought the Man was dead like the other foul rebels! Were not those your words? And if we speak of cowards, I must say only a craven would surprise a small company of men in their sleep or kill a young boy.”
“You mentioned that Barahir was your father, and you and your father and all your men are more trouble than you are worth.”
Beren sneered and began sharpening his blade, which he had named Dagmor or ‘Dark Slayer’. The Orc was not afraid of death and only laughed at him.
“You shall have your turn yet, mortal. My lads shall hunt you down and kill you. They are like hounds on the scent.”
“I have the skill needed to delay others from pursuing me. Your 'lads' will never find me! That is, unless I kill them first.”
“Your father spoke to me before he died,” the Orc sneered, and Beren hesitated. “Do you want to know what his last words were? I pray to heaven that my son is safe and that he shall be given the strength to move on. I pray that this will not destroy his spirit or condemn his soul. I go now in peace.”
Beren became all the more eager to kill the Orc by these words. He had not said this out of pity, but out of mockery and amusement. The sun shined red on the edges of the blade of Beren’s sword as the sun began to set.
“Oh look,” the Orc said. “The sun is setting. You had better kill me quickly, or you shall be hounded down and destroyed. Or are you planning to take me with you and spare me?”
“Spare you?” Beren leaned on his sword with laughter.
“I can hear my men rallying together. You mean to hold me hostage. I can guess your mind, coward. You Men are so predictable.”
“Coward maybe,” Beren answered. “But I have every right to kill you. Have you not heard the phrase: An eye for an eye? Or are you Orcs too stupid?”
The Orc clenched his jaw and said with scorn, “You men claim to have 'merciful values'. Where is that mercy now?”
“Mercy?” Beren snickered, and he grew cold. “Did you have mercy for my kinsmen? Did you have mercy enough to let alone a young boy? Did you have mercy enough to hunt for me and kill me too? That would indeed have been mercy! I would have prayed that Ilúvatar rewarded you for it! You are a demon, and therefore, I may deal with you as I like. Besides, you are not the first Orc I have killed, and I do not fear to destroy evil and wicked things. You need not worry about your Master's reward. You shall meet him soon enough to receive your reward: An eternity of torment. I swore to avenge my father, and my vengeance begins with you!”