Fading Light - A Silmarillion Tale | Of Every Race Saga Book I

Chapter 21: Beren's Quest

Finrod stared dully at the piles of unsigned parchments awaiting his attention on the desk before him. So had he remained all that morning. Indeed, for all the days and weeks since Amarië's passing. He spoke to no one unless absolutely necessary, and all did not seek conversation with him. His sister had left a week after Amarië was buried, but Finrod had withdrawn into himself, becoming a mere shadow of what he had once been. 

At night, he would often stare at the empty place beside him. His dreams were of her, not only of the days in Valinor, but also of their life together, and of her passing. During the day, he would often haunt the places they had been in together, as if reliving it all in some horrid nightmare that he could never rouse himself from. In his eyes was a distant light, as if he was not all really there. 

And perhaps he was not. 

A knock broke into his thoughts and mechanically he answered, "Enter." 

Amtharel entered and bowed his head. "My lord."

Finrod's gaze flickered upward. "Aye, what is it?" 

"There's someone here who wishes to speak with you."

"Let him enter." 

Amtharel disappeared, only to be replaced by a young man scarcely in his mid-twenties. 

Finrod stared at him in surprise. "Who are you?"

"Beren, son of Barahir."

"What brings you here?" the Elven lord asked after a few minutes had passed. He gestured for Beren to take a seat before answering the question. 

"A quest. Some call it madness."

"Well, what of it?" 

"I have been instructed by King Thingol to bring to him a Silmaril from the crown of Morgoth."

A heavy silence fell. 

Finrod stared at him in shock. "What reason did he give?"

"His daughter, Lúthien and I, love each other, and I must give her father a Silmaril in order to gain her hand in marriage."

Without saying it directly, both of them knew it was a quest of madness, impossible to achieve. Thingol did not want his daughter to wed a mortal and so gave Beren a quest that would most likely end in his death. 

"Why do you come to me?" Finrod questioned after a pause. 

"You are known to all men for rescuing them from the East. I thought perhaps you would be willing to lend aid to this."

"Give me a few days, and I will think on it."

Finrod's eyes opened to the darkness and he nudged Beren with his foot, the chains around his ankles clinking softly. 

A grunt followed and he knew his companion was still alive. 

Leaning back his head against the grimy wall, he stared into the pitch-blackness of the pit. He shivered with the cold, damp air; he and Beren were barely clothed in ragged remnants of the garments they had worn setting out from Nargothrond. Their twelve companions had already been slain by Lord Sauron, in whose prison they now resided in...

Finrod had often wondered, as the slow hours ticked by, why exactly he had agreed to go on this quest. Perhaps it was because he wanted to help the house of Men once more. Perhaps it was because he knew the love-longing that Beren was suffering. But in all reality, while it was all those things, Finrod knew, that deep down inside, he had done this because he had nothing left to lose. All that he had considered to have worth had been taken from him by Morgoth. His only hope in life was to rejoin his love in death--and he might as well die for a worthy, if hopeless, cause. 

But trapped below the earth in a black, stale pit, had not been what either of them had expected. 

A faint creaking was heard, and Finrod's heart began to quicken its pace. "Beren." He hissed softly. 

"I hear it, Finrod. What do you suppose it is?"

They both waited in breathless silence. 

A growling was heard and the two companions rose to their feet. 

Sauron had slain their friends with werewolves, one after another, and this time, either both of them would die, or only one would. 

"Beren, our time is short." Finrod groped in the darkness for Beren's hand. When he found it, he thrust something into it. 

"I cannot take this ring." 

"Aye, you can. Take it, and get out of here. This is the only way any of us will succeed." Straining, Finrod summoned the last resort of strength he had, and shattered his bonds. Then he set free his companion. "Once the wolf comes, I want you to run."

"Finrod, I cannot let you throw your life away for me."

"Beren, there is nothing left for me here. Let me die. Only survive this and win your way back to your Lúthien, that my death may not be in vain. Promise me."

Beren made some sort of noise of disagreement, but then consented. "I promise."

"Now run."

The wolf entered and pounced. 

Finrod heard Beren's feet fade away and then he focused his attention on the beast somewhere in front of him. A faint light was visible, but it was not much. 

The struggle began, Finrod trying his best to keep the monster from killing him while trying to break its neck. Groans escaped from his mouth as the creature clawed and bit him in many places, blood flowing freely from the wounds. 

His fingers, weakened from hunger, searched through the dirty, flea-bitten fur, until they had locked themselves around the animal's neck. Then he began to press hard, twisting it within his hands as the wolf scratched and tore into him over and over again. 

At last, he heard the snap and the struggling beast gave a moan and its movements stopped. 

Dropping it, Finrod fell to the ground, feeling his last resort of strength gone from him. Pain vibrated throughout his body and he moaned as the blood continued to pour. 

He closed his eyes, feeling the cold damp around him seem to fade away. 

Is this what it's like? he wondered. 

Every breath seemed to cost him so much. He felt the air seeming to touch the open wounds on his body, but then that too seemed to be fading away into the distance and a great greyness envelope him. 

Amarië, I'm coming!