Chapter Text
They walked, hand in hand, till Arien’s ship wasn’t floating a mere few steps above the horizon, covering them with warm, golden light.
“We should stop. You still need rest and I shan’t be able to see my own feet in a while,” he said, legs already tired from catching up.
“Indeed,” agreed Beleg, looking for a suitable space.
They were not lucky for a time, then Beleg raised his hand to show him a place on the forest floor without bushes or tall plants. Not waiting for any response, he pulled Túrin toward it.
Túrin didn’t resist.
Beleg let go of his hand – hardly they would set up camp hands linked. Túrin knew. And yet the cold air on his skin wounded him, the emptiness mingling strangely with the resonance of Belegs fingers between his.
It surprised him how quickly they slipped into the old routine, the movements sewn into them by their lives as marchwardens. Without a word they prepared everything, not needing to discuss who does what, for it was in their blood. In a short while there was a fire burning and water was warming up in its heat.
They started talking over dinner – dried meat and hardtack.
“Do you worry about leaving your men?” Beleg asked of him.
The words your men left his mouth twisted, as if they were mud on his tongue. Túrin felt a ping of shame.
“I have found them a camp for a few days. And Andróg, however much I long to tear his heart out, will lead them to life. I hope I have at least a bit moved their soul from evil.”
“I doubt it, truly. But I believe,” he added, “that no man would have led them better.”
Silence for a while, a companionable, comfortable silence.
“Never would I think,” started Beleg smiling “that a young man such as yourself could grow such a beard.”
“Be it not for you know only one young man ? But outlaws have little desire to be handsome and vain when there are no women to impress, and they do not carry mirrors.”
“You missed the hair on your own face with no mirror?”
Túrin chuckled. He disliked pointless talk usually, but this, this he loved. With Beleg. The fight with dulled weapons, the shooting with blunt arrows. Words that would hurt from any other mouth, and yet from Beleg they harmed less than rag-doll soldiers.
“Truly blind I would have had to be. No, I merely do not want a blade on my face with no mirror. I would take a fair share of my skin with the beard.”
“Aye, it would be a shame to disfigure your beautiful face for something so small.”
Túrin looked into the fire, startled by the compliment.
“And yet I shall have to try, I cannot walk into Menegroth like this,” he whispered.
“True. A clean face does your beauty more justice. I could help you, if you trust me.”
“I trust you way more than that. But I will not bother you with such unimportant matters. I can fare without a mirror if need be.”
Beleg did not push further. He moved further from the fire, leant against a tree and closed his eyes, resting as much as he could.
Túrin assured himself the water was not boiling yet and then did so too.
He could not rest no matter how hard he tried, mind too full. He could not forget his hand in Beleg’s. The beautiful gentleness, softness of that, the unsureness.
When he returned the touchm he was sure Beleg had, as he had many times before, seen through him as if he was but air, had heard what was not said. Now he worried. And he could not decide which worry laid on him heavier. What if Beleg thought he meant the love of a friend and merely wanted him to know that he too considers him a dear friend? What if Beleg did not love him and solely from pity had shown him a feeling stronger than what was true in his immortal heart? What if? What if? What if? What if? What if? What if? What if? What if? What if? What if?
He did not deep himself too impetuous, not in the matters of love and relations, at least not by the standards of people who could not afford to wait for millenia. Rarely he began conversations, rarely he showed his heart and love. And still he often acted with no precautions, no thinking, and many a time he worried those who loved him by that.
But, well, sometimes you better act soon, no waiting for future events will help you.
Act.
Jump head first.
So he did.
“I love you,” he blurted.
Beleg seemed surprised, yes, but not disgusted, thanked be Yavanna.
“And so do I love you. I thought that truth to be established by now.”
“I… I merely needed to be sure.”
“Well then, to disrupt your doubt. I love you, Túrin, more than I love the stars and the sea with their glitter.”
“And I love you more than I love the sun and freedom,” responded Túrin.
Yet he blushed red, for he felt his words no match for Belegs, not even half as noble or profound.
But Belef smiled, soft and kind and loving, Túrin feared he would melt like spring snow.
“Water’s boiling!” he blurted, unable to… nothing. Beleg’s smile!
“Alert as always,” noted Beleg with sly amusement.
“That happened once!” he defended himself, knowing well of the events Beleg talked about.
“Maybe. Still, my dearest, it is a miracle you survived out of Doriath alone.”
“Is it not the teacher’s failure too if the disciple fails? You have teached all I know.”
“I see your tongue has lost none of its edge.”
“Ne, it had many a sharpening stone. On its nobility it lost, I am afraid.”
“I think otherwise. You have an undeniable talent for romantic notions,” gave him Beleg his cup of tea.
This time, Túrin was sure the lingering of Beleg’s fingers was no figment of his lovelorn imagination, not when Beleg smiled at him like that.
He felt calmer now. Leaning back, tea in hand, in a quiet forest filled with firecrackle and his lover’s breaths he savored life.
♦♦♦
Beleg was not overjoyed when Túrin jousted him from his thoughtful slumber. He did it by announcing he shall make them a place to sleep, so he could not stay angry, really.
He watched him as he cleaned the ground of twigs and cones. Methodically, thoroughly, and yet rapidly, as only he ever could.
He looked forward to resting. He searched for Túrin for a year. And every night uncertainty and worry, hand in hand, tormented him. Now for some while he mourned his loss, cried for his broken heart. Today he need not worry, today he can sleep lightly.
He realized Túrin had put their bedrolls closer together than he was accustomed to. They touched, like pieces of pastry baked too close together.
Truth be told, he did not mind Túrin being close to him, not in the slightest. Oh, the moments of fruitlessly chasing sleep, of wondering how much sweeter would sleep be in his arms!
But he also knew not many shared his opinion on the more… fleshy side of love. The Firstborn were not quick to invite someone to their bed, but if they truly loved one another, there was no need for marriage. And from the little Beleg knew of men, they had even less chastity. And Túrin, albeit slow to care for someone, was often too sudden and quick in actions towards his beloved, not realizing the harm he would do prior.
Beleg believed Túrin would not argue with his refusal, not today, and yet he felt uneasy.
“I do not wish to bed you.”
Túrin looked…. wounded.
“Forgive my harshness,” the man said, pulling his bedroll away, “I thought… I… my heart wanted to be near you after all this distance that was between us.”
“If that is what you intended for, I have no objections to that.”
“Oh. Oh . You meant… I… it… “ Túrin stuttered, red and flustered as if Beleg accused him of killing newborns.
“I could never demand something like that, not when I have just today told you I love you, not when I have not yet been allowed to do more than hold your hand. I certainly would not demant so harshly.”
“It’s alright. Now move the bed and come help me with the fire.”
“Gladly.”
A stone fell from Beleg’s heart. How could he have thought it would go differently? Túrin, righteous, good, kind, truthful and just, forcing himself on him? Of course no.
Still… Yet, just, when . Túrin expected something in the future, albeit he was willing to wait. It felt cruel, leaving him with false hope.
“No next sunset will bring change to this. I do not wish to bed you and I never will, I do not care for… lust.”
Túrin paused.
“I shall bear that in mind then,” he pushed out, uncertain.
Was he disappointed? Just surprised and taken aback? It was not anger, not hatred, that he knew. That dilema would be, however, easily solved.
“Are you disappointed?”
Túrin looked at him, eyes as grey as the evening world.
“I will be honest with you and not insult you by lies, but I shall say thing worthy of shame,” started Túrin, slow, thinking about it, unsure.
“To say I do not want you would be a lie. I love you and you are beautiful. I never saw Lúthien, and yet I think Menegroth blind, for she could not have been fairer than you. Yet, I cherish your mind more than the body that carries it, for it is not youm it merely comes with. If I may never lay a finger on you in exchange for a single smile, it changes nothing.”
Beleg wanted to respond, but Túrin spoke again.
“My words have betrayed me. I meant something different. I do not make any sacrifice. My own fault is lusting for something you do not wish to give me and for that greed I alone shall suffer, not you. Asking for more would be an evil deed.”
Beleg felt lighter again. But Túrin seemed… unsure and nervous again. Scared.
He fears he is pushing me too hard.
“I am glad you think so,” Beleg smiled.
He hesitated. Then he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss, light as a butterfly wing, to the corner of his mouth. Túrin’s beard scratched him uncomfortably and Beleg could not wait till they are rid of it. He did not regret: Túrin’s reaction had made up for that.
In the fading light he could not see any blush, nay, but Túrin’s body betrayed him. Eyes wide and distant, fingers pressed against the kissed skin. He looked young, a tiny boy in love after his first kiss. Ah, but he was truly only over twenty and maybe noone ever kissed him yet.
“Let’s go to sleep,” he suggested softly, but he had to grab Túrin by the shoulder and drag him.
He laid down and Túrin was next to him – on the furthest end of his bed. And Beleg realized how desperately Túrin doesn’t want to push.
He lifted himself up on an elbow.
“Come here.”
Túrin complied. They huddled close, intertwining limbs, pressing against each other. By some miracle they managed to pull both blankets over them. It took a while to find a position that didn"t hurt or strain, but there they were, cuddled, in love.
“You are incredibly warm, my love.”
“My heart has to rush to manage all it’s beats in the short time I was given, and so my blood flows fast.”
“I do not wish to think of that.”
“Neither do I. But I am young, many a decade till age takes me. We can worry later.”