Tol-en-Gaurhoth - The son of Barahir's angst-ridden contemplations

Tol-en-Gaurhoth


There's a grief that can't be spoken
There's a pain goes on and on
Empty chairs at empty tables,
Now my friends are dead and gone...

It's dark. Utterly, completely dark. The only light comes when one of us is about to die.

Here it was they lit the flame...

They knew this was going to happen. Even now I can remember Finrod's face, the calm, set expression as he threw down his crown. He knew it was coming. And now we are the only ones left.

Here they sang about tomorrow...

I can remember Edrahil's voice as he stepped forward, followed by the others, as they promised to follow to what they knew was their death.

I wouldn't have blamed them if they hated me. They had every right; they followed their king, who gave his life to me for a promise. But they didn't, somehow. I don't know why. We knew that this was suicide, and yet, sometimes, they laughed.

And tomorrow never came...

Hope. It's an odd thing, hope. It's so often thought of as light. Maybe they had it somewhere deep inside, so that even when every shred of it should have been gone, something remained. Or loyalty, maybe, to Finrod...

What I myself have to hold on to, I do not know. Memories of Luthien seem dim, here. Thingol knew that I would die. I can't blame him either. How would I feel, if she were my daughter?

But I love her. I know that. I love her.

But in the dark....

I cannot see the stars.

My friends, my friends, forgive me
That I live and you are gone...

They should never have been here. There was never any hope; I should not have brought anyone else to this end. Ten have died because of me; now only Finrod and I are left. They should have lived forever. She should live forever.

There's a grief that can't be spoken
There's a pain goes on and on...

The only sound that I can hear is Finrod's breathing. Somehow my own seems very far away. I can't seem to feel anything, now.

Until, suddenly, there is a light, in the distance. No, two.

It is the werewolf. And my only thought is that there was never hope for this.

Oh my friends, my friends, don't ask me
What your sacrifice was for...

There is a sudden sound of metal breaking.

Finrod is free. Suddenly the wolf snarls, and I hear a soft grunt from Finrod...there is the noise of furious, unarmed battle, and Finrod is being killed because of what he promised my father long ago. It is dark, but I close my eyes against the sounds nothing can block. And then it is silent, until Finrod's ragged voice speaks. He sounds so different now from when he sang, when the magic was strong and clear in his words. "I am going now...to my long rest." His voice catches; I know he is in pain far worse than any I have ever felt. "It...will be long ere I am seen among...among the Noldor again. And...we may never meet again in death or life, son of Barahir...our fates...our kindreds...are apart. Farewell."

Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will sing no more.

It is silent, now.

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