N-33 Erulisse - Black Blade
Mar. 13th, 2012 06:13 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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b2memB2MeM Challenge: N-33 – Artifacts and Weapons – Gurthang, 5 Books/5 Characters – Arwen
Format: Fictlet
Genre: Drama
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Arwen, Erestor
Pairings: None
Summary: Arwen comes across Erestor studying a picture of Túrin Turambar slaying Glaurung. Asking a few questions leads to a history lesson about the children of Húrin from a very personal perspective.
Black Blade
Arwen was at loose ends. She didn’t feel like walking in the flower gardens, she didn’t want to work on her needlework, and listening to her brothers engage in verbal sparring, although often entertaining, just wasn’t what she was looking for today. She found herself walking down a hallway where she seldom went. It led towards the back storage rooms of the Last Homely House. Ahead of her she saw a motionless elf standing in front of a picture that was prominently mounted on the hallway wall. As she approached, she was surprised to note that the silent elf was her father's Seneschal, Erestor.
“Erestor?”
“Arwen,” the tall, dark haired elf gave a small nod in acknowledgement of her presence.
She moved closer to him and turned to examine the picture in front of them. A human warrior was depicted slaying a dragon in a narrow defile. He held a black blade whose edges held an eldritch gleam. “The picture is of Túrin, is it not?” she asked the silent advisor.
“Yes,” he responded. “Túrin slaying Glaurung, wielding the sword Gurthang, the black sword of Eöl.”
“Why are you standing and studying this picture? Did you know Túrin?”
Erestor turned towards the lovely maiden for a quick glance, but then turned back to the painting in front of them. “I met Túrin, yes, while he was growing up in Doriath. I was amazed that Elu Thingol would allow a human through Melian’s Girdle to reside safely with us in his kingdom. But it was not my place to question my King, and my path rarely intersected with Túrin’s.
“But today, my thoughts are actually on my friend Beleg.” He pointed towards the black sword. “That sword that Túrin used to slay the dragon originally belonged to Beleg, who named it Anglachel. It was made by the Dark Elf, Eöl, and given to Beleg by Elu Thingol himself. Beleg was slain by his own sword, by he who carries it here, the one he loved most; Túrin.”
Erestor moved across the hall to a bench and seated himself. Patting the seat next to him, he invited Arwen to join him.
She sat next to him, still looking intently at the painting across the hall from her. She then turned to the Councilor, curiosity in her eyes. Erestor rarely spoke of his past; she knew how precious a gift she was receiving this day.
“Anglachel carried its own darkness with it. Beleg’s death by such misadventure was merely the beginning of its dark deeds. They continued after. Although Túrin was a mighty warrior and one who slew orcs and other servants of the dark with his sword, renamed Gurthang, he was of the cursed house of Húrin. All deeds of his hands would be warped and come to ill. Thus fell Nargothrond and the maiden Finduilas was cruelly slain.”
“Finally, the Dark Lord placed a veil over Túrin’s sight which caused him to not recognize his own sister. He fell in love with the maiden Niniel, courted her and won her love in return. He knew not that the fair maiden who had captured his heart was actually his own sister, Nienor, nor did she recognize her own brother. Thus, against nature, brother and sister fell in love and wed each other ignorant of their relationship with each other. The moment of his greatest joy, his wedding day, was therefore also the moment of his greatest fall. Shortly after he slew Glaurung, the veil was lifted and Túrin heard the truth about the identity of his wife. In horror and sorrow he pressed the black blade against his side and addressed the sword in words that have come down through the ages:
“”Hail Gurthang! No lord or loyalty does thou know, save the hand that wieldeth thee. From no blood wilt thou shrink. Wilt thou therefore take Túrin Turambar, wilt thou slay me swiftly?”
“”And from the blade rang a cold voice in answer: ‘Yea, I will drink thy blood gladly, that so I may forget the blood of Beleg my master, and the blood of Brandir slain unjustly. I will slay thee swiftly.’”
“And thus fell Túrin, slain by his own black blade which broke beneath his body. He was buried holding the pieces of Gurthang. It is said that he and the black sword will be reunited one last time when they fight at the Dagor Dagorlach.”
“Was the blade always black?” Arwen interjected.
“Yes, weapons produced by Eöl were always black in appearance, with a wraith-like shine of silver around their edges. They were quite uncanny to look at, but beautifully made.”
Arwen sat for a time, thinking about the sad tale of the children of Húrin. Then turning to Erestor, she asked, “You said that the sword was made by Eöl, and that somehow Túrin was able to make his way through the mists and into Doriath. How is that possible?”
“Eöl was a smith of great renown. He lived in the disputed lands, not quite in Doriath, yet close enough that he was under Thingol’s protection. Several weapons were commissioned from the Dark Elf, including Anglachel, a gift to Beleg from the King. He met his doom shortly afterwards in another hidden kingdom, that of Gondolin.”
“Túrin was sent to Elu Thingol by his mother, to be raised and trained. He would never have found his way through the maze of the Girdle of Melian without Beleg’s help, and the two of them became fast friends. Beleg trained him in forest lore and weaponry and, I believe, loved him as much as any elf can truly love a mortal man.”
“Were you close friends with Beleg?” Arwen asked softly.
“We were passing friends only,” Erestor said, but he sighed deeply before continuing. “Beleg was the best archer and hunter in Doriath, and I feel certain he would still be counted among the best even today. I was young and impressionable, and tried hard to emulate him in word and deed.”
He chuckled, “I suspect that I was more than a nuisance at times, but he was kind and when he was in and around Doriath, he taught me what he could of woodcraft and tracking. It was because of his teachings that I was able to find this valley when we most needed it while fleeing from Sauron's forces.”
“In any case, young Arwen, today was the date that we in Doriath celebrated Beleg's life, although having awakened at Cuivienen he had no official Begetting Day. To honor him I came here, to Túrin's picture, to remember my friend and to pray that he has come through Mandos and is once more hunting and tracking across the vastness of Valinor.”
Arwen leaned over and gently placed a kiss on his cheek. “I'm sure he has,” she whispered. “I'm also sure that you will meet him once again and that both of you will be the happier for it. I'll leave you to your thoughts and memories and thank you for sharing this with me today.”
The young maid got to her feet and went back towards the more traveled places of the Last Homely House, leaving a rather bemused elf sitting on the bench behind her, hand touching his cheek in wonder.
Format: Fictlet
Genre: Drama
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Arwen, Erestor
Pairings: None
Summary: Arwen comes across Erestor studying a picture of Túrin Turambar slaying Glaurung. Asking a few questions leads to a history lesson about the children of Húrin from a very personal perspective.
Black Blade
Arwen was at loose ends. She didn’t feel like walking in the flower gardens, she didn’t want to work on her needlework, and listening to her brothers engage in verbal sparring, although often entertaining, just wasn’t what she was looking for today. She found herself walking down a hallway where she seldom went. It led towards the back storage rooms of the Last Homely House. Ahead of her she saw a motionless elf standing in front of a picture that was prominently mounted on the hallway wall. As she approached, she was surprised to note that the silent elf was her father's Seneschal, Erestor.
“Erestor?”
“Arwen,” the tall, dark haired elf gave a small nod in acknowledgement of her presence.
She moved closer to him and turned to examine the picture in front of them. A human warrior was depicted slaying a dragon in a narrow defile. He held a black blade whose edges held an eldritch gleam. “The picture is of Túrin, is it not?” she asked the silent advisor.
“Yes,” he responded. “Túrin slaying Glaurung, wielding the sword Gurthang, the black sword of Eöl.”
“Why are you standing and studying this picture? Did you know Túrin?”
Erestor turned towards the lovely maiden for a quick glance, but then turned back to the painting in front of them. “I met Túrin, yes, while he was growing up in Doriath. I was amazed that Elu Thingol would allow a human through Melian’s Girdle to reside safely with us in his kingdom. But it was not my place to question my King, and my path rarely intersected with Túrin’s.
“But today, my thoughts are actually on my friend Beleg.” He pointed towards the black sword. “That sword that Túrin used to slay the dragon originally belonged to Beleg, who named it Anglachel. It was made by the Dark Elf, Eöl, and given to Beleg by Elu Thingol himself. Beleg was slain by his own sword, by he who carries it here, the one he loved most; Túrin.”
Erestor moved across the hall to a bench and seated himself. Patting the seat next to him, he invited Arwen to join him.
She sat next to him, still looking intently at the painting across the hall from her. She then turned to the Councilor, curiosity in her eyes. Erestor rarely spoke of his past; she knew how precious a gift she was receiving this day.
“Anglachel carried its own darkness with it. Beleg’s death by such misadventure was merely the beginning of its dark deeds. They continued after. Although Túrin was a mighty warrior and one who slew orcs and other servants of the dark with his sword, renamed Gurthang, he was of the cursed house of Húrin. All deeds of his hands would be warped and come to ill. Thus fell Nargothrond and the maiden Finduilas was cruelly slain.”
“Finally, the Dark Lord placed a veil over Túrin’s sight which caused him to not recognize his own sister. He fell in love with the maiden Niniel, courted her and won her love in return. He knew not that the fair maiden who had captured his heart was actually his own sister, Nienor, nor did she recognize her own brother. Thus, against nature, brother and sister fell in love and wed each other ignorant of their relationship with each other. The moment of his greatest joy, his wedding day, was therefore also the moment of his greatest fall. Shortly after he slew Glaurung, the veil was lifted and Túrin heard the truth about the identity of his wife. In horror and sorrow he pressed the black blade against his side and addressed the sword in words that have come down through the ages:
“”Hail Gurthang! No lord or loyalty does thou know, save the hand that wieldeth thee. From no blood wilt thou shrink. Wilt thou therefore take Túrin Turambar, wilt thou slay me swiftly?”
“”And from the blade rang a cold voice in answer: ‘Yea, I will drink thy blood gladly, that so I may forget the blood of Beleg my master, and the blood of Brandir slain unjustly. I will slay thee swiftly.’”
“And thus fell Túrin, slain by his own black blade which broke beneath his body. He was buried holding the pieces of Gurthang. It is said that he and the black sword will be reunited one last time when they fight at the Dagor Dagorlach.”
“Was the blade always black?” Arwen interjected.
“Yes, weapons produced by Eöl were always black in appearance, with a wraith-like shine of silver around their edges. They were quite uncanny to look at, but beautifully made.”
Arwen sat for a time, thinking about the sad tale of the children of Húrin. Then turning to Erestor, she asked, “You said that the sword was made by Eöl, and that somehow Túrin was able to make his way through the mists and into Doriath. How is that possible?”
“Eöl was a smith of great renown. He lived in the disputed lands, not quite in Doriath, yet close enough that he was under Thingol’s protection. Several weapons were commissioned from the Dark Elf, including Anglachel, a gift to Beleg from the King. He met his doom shortly afterwards in another hidden kingdom, that of Gondolin.”
“Túrin was sent to Elu Thingol by his mother, to be raised and trained. He would never have found his way through the maze of the Girdle of Melian without Beleg’s help, and the two of them became fast friends. Beleg trained him in forest lore and weaponry and, I believe, loved him as much as any elf can truly love a mortal man.”
“Were you close friends with Beleg?” Arwen asked softly.
“We were passing friends only,” Erestor said, but he sighed deeply before continuing. “Beleg was the best archer and hunter in Doriath, and I feel certain he would still be counted among the best even today. I was young and impressionable, and tried hard to emulate him in word and deed.”
He chuckled, “I suspect that I was more than a nuisance at times, but he was kind and when he was in and around Doriath, he taught me what he could of woodcraft and tracking. It was because of his teachings that I was able to find this valley when we most needed it while fleeing from Sauron's forces.”
“In any case, young Arwen, today was the date that we in Doriath celebrated Beleg's life, although having awakened at Cuivienen he had no official Begetting Day. To honor him I came here, to Túrin's picture, to remember my friend and to pray that he has come through Mandos and is once more hunting and tracking across the vastness of Valinor.”
Arwen leaned over and gently placed a kiss on his cheek. “I'm sure he has,” she whispered. “I'm also sure that you will meet him once again and that both of you will be the happier for it. I'll leave you to your thoughts and memories and thank you for sharing this with me today.”
The young maid got to her feet and went back towards the more traveled places of the Last Homely House, leaving a rather bemused elf sitting on the bench behind her, hand touching his cheek in wonder.
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no subject
Date: 2012-03-13 02:34 pm (UTC)So your Erestor is not a Noldo but a Sinda. Interesting take on him! =)
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Date: 2012-03-13 02:37 pm (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)
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Date: 2012-03-13 11:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-14 12:16 am (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)
no subject
Date: 2012-03-14 12:35 pm (UTC)This immediately caught my attention, because from what I understand, Beleg was one of the unbegotten, 'who wist no sire'.
From The of Lay of the Children of Húrin.
Character of the Month biography: Beleg Cúthalion, by Oshun (http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/reference/characterofthemonth/beleg.php)
The above phrase “son of the wilderness who wist no sire,” the archaic verb wist means knew. In plain English, it would read: “son of the wilderness who knew no sire.” The way I understand this passage, written in the context of introducing the reader to Beleg for the first time, it appears to me that Tolkien intends to include Beleg among those Elves who had no parents, that is those who had first awakened at Cuiviénen. The expression “who wist no sire” in reference to Beleg comes up again a few pages later in the text, reinforcing that this is an important piece of information about the character.
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Date: 2012-03-14 03:53 pm (UTC)Thanks for reminding me of this fact.
- Erulisse (one L)
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Date: 2012-03-14 04:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-14 04:37 pm (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)