Journeys of Beleg Strongbow by elvenmaidofmirkwood
Note: I do not own any of these characters. They all belong to Tolkien, along with the story-line of the tale of the Children of Húrin. This is based on the Silmarillion ‘Túrin Turambar’ and Unfinished Tales ‘Narn í Hín Húrin’!
It was a grand morning in the realm of Beleriand, just around the borders of Doriath. Beleg Strongbow, chief of the Marchwardens of Thingol, looked around to sight anything unusual.
There were rumors about a band of people travelling around here.
“Where did you last see them?” asked Beleg to another one of them, Thralles.
“I saw them near the clearing. I overheard talk of asking Elu Thingol to grant them permission into Doriath.”
“Absurd!” said some, but said nothing else.
“We shall see what happens,” replied Beleg as he took out Belthronding, his bow.
The band of marchwardens scrutinized the place. There was sign of some travelling by weary people, by the look of the tread of their boots. There were a few tramplings of the grass. They were probably stumbling with hunger and fatigue.
Beleg at last sounded his great hunting horn. He really did not use it often, too much sound would scare away animals, or lead enemies to them. But the travellers might hear it too, and follow the sound.
Sure enough, some stragglers were sighted.
“Who art thou, and what, pray, bringeth thee to our lands?” asked Cúthalion.
“We are men of Dor-lómin, here to beg of the King of Doriath to accept young Túrin into his lands,” answered one. The other was too awed to speak. He had never seen any beings other than men, orcs, and easterlings.
“Is that so?” asked Thralles. “Where art young Master Túrin?”
“I am here,” piped up an eight-year old boy. He was strong in stature, and he was stern and proud of face. “Who are you? Are you Thingol?”
At that silly remark, several of the elves smiled. “No, I am not Thingol,” replied Beleg, “But I am of his realm. What do you want of the King of Doriath?”
“I want him to grant me the honor of being one of his warriors, to ride against the darklord and his evil allies!” replied Túrin. “Wilt he grant this to me?”
“That may be,” said Beleg, “since I see you have the makings of your father Húrin the Steadfast. You will indeed grow up like him, perhaps better. But do not ask such questions, young one, but ask this of the real King when you meet him.”
With that, they said no more, and gave Túrin and his companions some food to eat, and sent a messenger to Thingol.
When the message-runner came back, he said, “The King of Doriath and his queen Melian of the Maiar permit young Túrin to enter the borders of Doriath and grant him the honor of Thingol’s foster-son.”
“How grand that shall be!” exclaimed the would-be fosterling.
Beleg smiled at this, and they went off to Doriath.
Did you like it? Or could there be a bunch of improvement? Please R&R, no flaming!