Hurt Her to Save Her
The pain and desperation in Lúthien’s voice made it nearly impossible for Daeron to look her in the eye. Her agony twisted the fibers of his soul until they too cried out in torment.
“You must aid me, brother,” Lúthien reached out to grasp Daeron’s arm with a strength that surprised him. “I can trust no one else to help me save Beren from this absurdity.”
Daeron gently pulled his arm free from his sister’s grip and moved towards a window overlooking a sea of golden lanterns. He did not wish to hurt Lúthien. It was the last thing he wanted. But she pushed him closer towards the edge of the precipice of no returning.
“You know what Father has asked of him is utter madness,” Lúthien persisted. “You know as well as I what Mother says it shall do.”
“I know,” Daeron interrupted sternly. He turned around slowly. “But we know that it is most unlikely that this Beren may succeed.”
“But he can,” Lúthien cried out as she reached for Daeron’s hands. “And he will triumph if we go to his aid. You and I are the only ones who can save him.”
“Lúthien, Lúthien,” Daeron cried out while trying to embrace his sister in an attempt to comfort her growing anxiety. “Have you lost all sense? He is but a mortal man.”
Lúthien pulled out of Daeron’s reach, her gray eyes burning with determination. “I love him. And I shall wrest the Silmaril from the Dark Lord’s crown myself if I must. I would go to all ends of the world for Beren.”
Daeron looked up to see the tears pool in his sister’s eyes. Her words broke his heart further. “All my life you sang to me about love and how true love was worth every sacrifice to gain. You, above all, I trusted to understand, to see beyond what everyone else cannot. You were the one that always told me that we must not fear all outsiders and that we should make them our allies for the good of Doriath.”
Daeron shook his head, not wanting to believe Lúthien’s words despite her conviction, unwilling to believe. He could not bear the thought of the pain and sorrow she would have to endure. Even if Beren succeeded and won Lúthien’s hand, he would never have victory over death. The very idea of Eru’s Gift to Man terrified Daeron deep into the core of his spirit. He did not understand it and he did not want to. Not even the truest love would be enough to spare Lúthien from one day drinking from the cup from which bitterness and woe flowed freely.
“You know not what you ask of me,” Daeron murmured sadly. “It is because of love that I cannot stand by this and allow you to destroy yourself. I beg you, Lúthien, let him go. In time the pain will fade.”
His heart sank even further when his sister cast a look of anger upon him and it broke to see the hurt thinly veiled behind it. Lúthien turned from him, “Unlike you I am not afraid to die.” She walked away without bothering to look back or heed her brother’s cries to reconsider the fate she was choosing.
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