A/N: This was my very first Silmarillion fanfic, written before I even knew there was such a thing as fanfiction websites where you could share your stories :) I was around 15 when I wrote it, now nearly ten years ago. Even though I've thankfully improved a great deal since the writing of this particular story, I've left it up on this website, virtually untouched and unrevised by my older self, for several reasons. One, because I was proud of it back when I wrote it and I think it does hold value, even if I would write it quite differently today. Two, because it tells a lot about who I was as a writer and a Tolkien fan back when I was 15, barely a year after I'd first read Tolkien's epic history. Third, because anyone who has read some of my more recent work may be amused to see the sort of story I came up with over ten years ago. Fourth, because, hopefully, this will be a testimony that writers DO improve over time if they keep at it :)
I wrote it as if it was a "lost story of Beleriand", if Finrod and Huan had not died and Sauron had come back for revenge after the whole Huan-thing at the bridge. I did mean to eventually go back in and make up some sort of plausible AU explanation about Finrod and Huan being sent back from the Halls of Mandos, and at some point I may still revise it enough to do that. It was my first try at writing in the style of The Silmarillion, and at the very least, I had a good time writing it. If you read further, I hope you enjoy this offering of my younger self. Cheers! - SG (12/17/14)
From the Shadow
A Tale of Beleriand
by Sauron Gorthaur
Chapter 1: Beren's Departure
Long years ago in the Eldar Days before Middle-earth was shaped when the sun and the moon were newly set in the sky and the elven stars shone brightly o'er Beleriand, there dwelt on the isle of Tol Galen, which is named Dor Firn-i-Guinar, those two whose names are most renowned among elves and men. One was the elven princess, fairest of the children of Iluvatar, daughter of Thingol Sindollo, and her name was Lúthien Tinúviel and with her was Beren Camlost, son of Barahir, boldest of the house of Bëor.
In those days darkness reigned over the lands and even in Tol Galen at times there came a black cloud that covered the sky and darkened the hearts of those whom it covered, for Melkor, who is named Morgoth, held sway over Beleriand and all feared his wrath that often threatened to consume the fair lands. But Lúthien and Beren feared it little, for they had once before passed under its shadow and it did not harm them, but they dwelt in peace and gladness far from Angband's black gates. And with them dwelt their son, fair Dior, and sometimes elven folk of the houses of Thingol or of Finrod came to speak to them and then the trees of Tol Galen rustled with song.
But this tale, which came to pass in the years before Nirnaeth Arnoediad, is a tale of such darkness and evil as was loose in those days and is a tale of loss, sorrow, and pain, and yet it is remembered with gladness for it was another strike against the Enemy and did not end so badly as many feared that it might.
Now Beren's spirit was that of his father and even dwelling in bliss and peace with the one he loved most in the world, his anger against the cruelties of Morgoth in the north could not be quelled and, therefore, it came into his heart that he would do even as his father did, and resist the might of the Dark Lord even if he had but a few to fight with him. And he made known his desires to Lúthien, saying, "We have here all that we should desire, but my heart groans for those under the shadow of Morgoth and I cannot rest when I think of it. And if we sit and do nothing do not think that our power can hold out forever against that might which now arises. And, therefore, I would aid my kin and yours also to perhaps drive back the forces of Angband even as my father did before me."
But Lúthien's eyes darkened and she spoke quietly in doubt. "Indeed, Barahir fought mightily and did much good in the days of Tarn Aeluin, but forget not, Beren, that he now lies dead in the grave that you made for him. Shall your fate not be the same in the end and what then should Lúthien do, once you are gone, for I cannot recall you to the living lands as I did before?"
But Beren took her hand in his and answered her softly. "Barahir was betrayed and fell into a snare unforeseen, but I shall be warier in my deeds. I may learn from the fall of my father and be the wiser and the keener for it. Do not fear, Lúthien, for have I not looked upon the face of Morgoth before and lived and shall I not do great things and return to you with a lighter heart?"
But Lúthien met his gaze with eyes grey and bright, answering. "And yet my heart senses that evil shall come of this ere the end, but whether it be for you or me or mayhap for another, I cannot tell." But she said no more and did not hinder him.
When Dior heard of his father's intent, a great desire came upon him, for he had never seen any land beyond Tol Galen and he longed to go with Beren. But this Beren was loath to grant for Dior was yet young, but at last he consented. "For," he said, "it is not good that any of the house of Bëor should linger in comfort when Morgoth might be overthrown at last, but this I do command, that you will not come to Taur-nu-Fuin at first until I have sought out the safest paths. In Nargothrond you may dwell for a while for I wish to speak to Felagund and perhaps enlist his help."
And at last there came the day when they were to depart and Lúthien stood in the doorway with her shadowy hair about her as a cloak and her face was grim. "You are bold, Barahir's son," she said, "but beware ever the guiles of Morgoth and return to me swiftly when you are done."
And Beren kissed her, saying, "Many shadows have passed over us, loveliest of elven maids, and we have ever come out unharmed and so shall it be this time. But you also should beware the snares of Morgoth for his eyes pierce much and may alight upon our isle ere the end." And then, taking up his sword, he left and with him went Dior and so they passed from Lúthien's sight and knowledge. But none of them saw the black crow that flew up from the trees and shot as an arrow towards the north.
And now the weeks passed slowly and no news came to Lúthien as she overlooked Adurant, but the waters brought her no tale of either her husband or her son. Sometimes she would go through the woods as the night came on and there she would sing in the fair glades even as she once did in Doriath, but her songs were not as they once were for she uttered only words of woe and loss and darkness and ever the shadow of evil grew upon her heart.