Echo

Canon compliant AU.  Finrod is losing himself in the darkness of Tol-in-Gaurhoth.  Quenya name used for Finrod (Artafindë in the Noldorin dialect).  This could, of course, be part of "Accent" as well as any of the Nargothrond arc, especially "Hidden" and "Evidence" in which Curufin is actually against Finrod's departure and the King insists upon it anyway.  Takes place (of course) in Tol-in-Gaurhoth during the Quest for the Silmaril.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: none mentioned (canon implied)

Characters: Finrod, Beren (mentions Curufin, Orodreth, Sauron, random werewolves, Edrahil and the other nine companions)

Warning: canon compliant AU, canon character deaths, semi-explicit violence and such, people getting torn apart and eaten alive, torture?, mental instability (hearing voices)

Song: In Light and Darkness

Words: 1,052
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echo (noun): the repetition of a sound caused by reflection of sound waves; a repetition or imitation of another: reflection; one who closely imitates or repeats another's words, ideas, or acts
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/echo?show=0&t=1378213920

There was darkness.

And the growls.

And the screams.  Echoing.

"This is madness cousin..."

Every now and again, he could feel the air shift from the movement of bodies as he lay anchored by heavy manacles to the filthy wall.  There was the brush of rough, matted fur upon bare skin when the snarling beasts slunk past.  And the wash of icy chill drawing the warmth from his very bones until he was wracked with intense shivers of awareness.

Without vision to guide him, there was only the touch and the sound and the smell.  So powerful and all-encompassing that he was lost within their depths, consumed and surrounded.  Lost in the darkness until minutes and hours and days blended altogether into one large mass of nothingness.

Artafindë could not honestly have said how long he had been there.  There was no sunlight in these pits of filth.  Nothing but the gagging stench of waste, blood and rot rising steadily from the bodies he knew must be strewn across the floor in tatters, dismembered and dismantled. 

Sometimes he was almost thankful for the total blackness that surrounded and engulfed his sight, for he did not think he wished to know what had befallen those of his comrades who had already been taken and...

"Why would you help this human?  This boy?"

Footsteps drew closer, even and sure--the steps of their captor and tormentor.  He could hear the sound of their cell opening once again, the hinges creaking and echoing and echoing.  Against his will, his heart throbbed in panic and terror, instinctive and visceral.

Knowing what happened to those who were taken away...

But he knew that he was not yet the last...

Certainly there had to be at least two or three left...

"You will fail.  I will make certain of it."

Holding his breath--holding in what might have been a sob or a scream--he closed his eyes and waited.  Heard the sound of feet upon stone closer and closer and closer... walking past... and the clanging of chains.

Another of his comrades was taken, dragging his feet, struggling violently in the darkness.  He could hear the whimpers of fear that the elf could not suppress or hide from his keen, amplified senses.  Everything here was so loud, impossible to hide.  Impossible to ignore.  Echoing.

But he did not desire to hear.

He knew what was coming and turned his mind inward.

When the screams began, overlaying a harmony of snarls and the sickening sound of crushed bone and torn flesh, echoing and echoing against cold, heartless stone, he tried to block out all sound.  Tried not to feel the ache that arose within his breast at the thought of the loyalty his precious comrades and subjects had placed in his guidance and protection.  The loyalty they even now held close to their hearts in their final moments of suffering and torture as they were torn asunder...

Tried not to remember than he had failed them all...

"Please, rethink your decision, brother!"

Should he have listened?

Had this all been a disaster from the very start, doomed to failure?  Had he been cocky to believe that he could protect them, that this suicidal quest would not end in tragedy and despair?

Artafindë drew himself inward until only the echoes left echoes within the darkest corners of his mind.  Where he was safe.  Where he was condemned.  Where he both loved and hated and scorned himself for his failures and sins.

What kind of a leader was he, to sit and wait and ignore the dying screams of his comrades when everything was his fault?

But what choice had he had?

And had they not joined him willingly?

"I would stand beside you to the very end, my King."

But still, the guilt wracked and wracked.  The memories played over and over and over again, forcing themselves upon him until he wondered if he was going mad locked away without sight, with only the echoing of death.  And, as he listened to the screams dying down in the background--another of his subjects, his precious friends, torn to pieces, broken and half-eaten corpse left to rot in this hell--Artafindë felt himself fading away...

Why had they not taken him first?  Why was he not dead?

Why, why, why...?

Why had he not just pulled himself away and dropped into darkness, left behind this awful place for the comfort of the Halls?

But then he remembered the terrified boy at his side, naked and shivering and chained like an animal awaiting slaughter.  Beren, to whose father he swore an oath in gratitude, was crying loudly, rattling his shackles, shouting for them to cease their torture and murder in a hoarse, ragged voice.  But Artafindë knew his comrade was already beyond salvation or dead.  Knew that any resistance the child made was in vain.

If he died...

Could he really abandon this child to brave the hell of Tol-in-Gaurhoth alone?

"Is an oath of gratitude worth giving your life?"

"Yes..."

No matter what those echoes thought.  No matter how ridiculous and unwise they thought his actions to be.  No matter what dangerous and nightmares lay waiting upon his path.  He would not change his mind.

He would not go back on his promise.

And he would not abandon this child alone to this horror and suffering.

Even if it killed him, Beren would survive another day... another hour... another moment...

As silence finally fell and, once more, the dripping of blood and the smell of death blanketed his world as the tormentors receded and left them all hanging in dread and blackness, Artafindë felt himself wavering.  Beren was sobbing quietly, hopelessly.

"Hush..."

His voice repeated the word a thousand times over again.  And again and again...

Until the boy ceased to cry and was a quiet warmth at his side.

Until all was quiet.

"Please... Artafindë, please..."

Until there were only the echoes in his mind, oscillating and pleading.  Reminding and damning and accusing again and again.

Until he was left in the darkness without sight.

Wandering... wandering...

Wandering...
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Until a couple of hours ago I didn't even have time to think about what I was going to write today.  I really need to get back into the swing of things around here (and get through all the beginning-of-term meetings and such.  In any case, I got the story finished despite, though I should warn you that I'm semi-conscious, so if it's a bit hazy it's because my brain is a bit hazy LOL.

So anyway, I can't say I'm a huge fan of Beren (is the thing with Celegorm not a hint?), but I do feel a little sorry for the guy every now and again, with all his rather terrible history and being in the bad books with the King of Doriath on top of that.  The guy seems to subsist on pure luck and happenstance (well, and his girlfriend's help...).  Nonetheless, I don't want to bash on him, because I hate character bashing and he's not a terrible dude.  Thus, Finrod.  Yeah... trying to get over the fact that he died...

*cough* Anyway, the song is In Light and Darkness by Adrian von Ziegler.  It's a lovely piece and I think it had exactly the sort of tone I was going for (i.e. not horror but not complete depression).  It would be nice if it wasn't so blatantly synthesized, but when you're a composer without an orchestra to wrangle... I guess you take what you can get.  It's still very beautiful and emotional.

Now... I am going to bed.  I can tell that I'm getting cranky from lack of sleep.