The Glinting Gleam by Nekomitsu

The Glinting Gleam

Read The Glinting Gleam

Far away and just as long ago, back when the world was young and the breeze spoke of Faerie in the West, there once lived an Elven princeling, the oldest in a family of seven sons.  His name was Maedhros and he was the most beautiful Elven prince ever to roam the lands of the North.  His hair was of shiny copper and his eyes of piercing steel glinting and gleaming from within, and he was tall and of exquisite body form.

The prince was missing a hand, but that tale a mightier Bard has told before.  I shall stick to the story of the prince and the other prince and the glinting gleam.

It came to pass that the King of the Elves decreed a feast to be held, and he called it the Feast of Reuniting.  His secret hope was for his son prince Fingon to meet a suitable maiden and be wed at the very feast, but out loud he spoke only of his desire for unity amongst his kind.

Many an elf travelled the long roads to the Pools of Ivrin where the feast was to be held, from Mithrim and Himlad and even from girdled Doriath, and amongst them rode prince Maedhros.  He wore a clumsy cloak over his coppery hair, for there was little love between other Elves and his side of the royal family, and at his left hand journeyed one of his brothers, also hooded.

The feast, as such events often are, was grand and lasted several days – nay, weeks, for it is Elves we are discussing and they can well afford to spend the longest of times in merriment.  Little shall I tell you about its wonders that hasn't been said before.  Such finery!  Such music and dancing!  Such wine and ale and roasted pheasant!  Indeed, it was a feast worthy of retelling for ages to come.

When prince Maedhros wasn't held in council with other princes and ambassadors he delighted in riding in his cousin's company.  Prince Fingon, for that was his cousin's name, was also tall and beautiful, yet his hair wasn't bright copper but dark as the night before the Moon.  He was somewhat vain and used to thread strings of gold through the black tresses, and prince Maedhros delighted in making fun this habit by twisting the long coils around his fingers.  Prince Fingon laughed at prince Maedhros' antics, and retaliated by pushing prince Maedhros down into passing streams of cold water.

Prince Maedhros sputtered and shook droplets of water from his coppery mane and laughed too, because prince Maedhros loved his cousin.  He loved his cousin at least as much as he loved his younger brothers, and mayhaps even more.

One day, as prince Maedhros and prince Fingon rode up the slopes of the Mountains of Shadow, prince Maedhros saw a great tree burst up in flames in the distance.  He spurred his horse towards the fire, greatly alarmed for the safety of the feasting Elves to the South, but when he reached the site there was nothing to be seen but a few smouldering ambers and a glinting gleam on the ground.

Prince Maedhros knelt by it as prince Fingon reached his side, puffing almost as much as his horse.

"Nelyo," he said, because that was the affectionate name he had for his cousin.  You will ask: How come he said Nelyo?  How come he didn't say Maedhros?  The answer is this: Elves of old had many names, some in their ancient tongue and some in other languages, and thus Maedhros was both Maedhros and Nelyafinwë, and Maitimo, and Russandol of the Copper Top, and many other names I have forgotten in addition to several I have never even learned.  But I digress.

"Nelyo," prince Fingon said, "if you wished to race you should have – oh.  Oh," he added as he looked around and saw the remains of the burnt tree.  "What is it?"

"I don't know, Káno," prince Maedhros said.  Káno was, as you might have guessed, his name of endearment for his cousin prince Fingon, which was a bit of a mess since it matched one of prince Maedhros' younger brothers' name.  This illustrates to perfection the downside of having many forenames to a single self: apart from the sheer personality disorder – and tell that to Túrin Turambar Neithan Gorthol Mormegil and so on and so forth, whose story a mightier Bard has sung before –  one's name was bound to repeat another's sooner or later.

Prince Maedhros reached to grasp the glinting gleam with his only remaining hand.  He held it up, and examined the object from every angle – for an object it turned out to be, black and smooth and sharp, and almost unbearably hot to the touch.

"What is it, Nelyo?" prince Fingon asked again.  Patience wasn't quite the foremost trait to be found in Prince Fingon's repertoire.

"I'm not sure," prince Maedhros said slowly, "but I think it's a Balrog's toenail."

"Manwë's airy balls!" prince Fingon cursed in surprise.  "I didn't even know Balrogs had toenails."

Prince Maedhros shrugged.  He stood straight and walked up to prince Fingon's horse, placing his left arm on his cousin's thigh casually.  "Pray that you are never close enough to a Balrog to notice," he said drily, "or else you'll die as you do."

"Cheerful," prince Fingon said with a snort.  "May I see it?"

"Of course," prince Maedhros said as he raised his left hand.  The Balrog's toenail gleamed its dark glimmer on his hand, delicately pale except for the small redness where the accursed item had heated his skin.  He stared at it, lost in thought, and bit his lower lip.

"What is it now, Nelyo?" asked prince Fingon, who was wise in the ways of prince Maedhros' body language.

"Your father the King should know about this incident," prince Maedhros said, pondering the question.  "There is a Balrog loose in his lands, probably since before the current peace.  I should tell him."

"No," prince Fingon said, swift where prince Maedhros had been slow.  "Your uncle the King is far too involved with his feast – leave him be.  Besides, these mountains and the lands nearby are mostly uninhabited.  Look at the ground!  There are no tracks but ours.  One lonesome Balrog can do little harm."

"Still – "

"Look," prince Fingon pressed on, "I will lead a party of captains up these peaks myself to defeat the beast.  But do not go to my father the King, I pray you, for if you do," he added with the foresight of the Elves of old, "you will know a great misfortune."

Prince Maedhros became grim.  "A great misfortune won't make a great change from my life up to now," he said, and prince Fingon made a face.  Prince Maedhros was quite gloomy, which was a natural consequence of the incident through which he had lost his hand.  "Still," he added, "my uncle the King is the leader of our people, and he ought to know about this mysterious Balrog.  I shall tell him."

Prince Fingon shook his head but said nothing to his cousin's words.  He was well-acquainted with his obstinacy upon reaching a decision, for being a stubborn hard-head was a family trait.  And so it came to pass that they returned to the Pools of Ivrin in silence, and while prince Fingon remained behind to tend to the horses, prince Maedhros sought the King and presented him with the glinting gleam of the Balrog's toenail.

"Huh," the King said, "We were not aware of Balrogs having toenails."  There was more than dark hair to prince Fingon's resemblance to his father, as you can see, although prince Fingon had not begun to speak of himself in plural terms yet.  "Nonetheless," the King added, in his most royal voice, "it is very inconsiderate of you, nephew, to bring Us the glinting gleam of these remains while We are heavily engaged in finding a suitable bride for Our son prince Fingon.  Since you have been the one to put this matter forward, you shall also be the one to slay the beast in Our name, or else Our people shall despise you even more than they already do."

Now prince Maedhros saw that it was his duty to face the Balrog, for the Elves of old already hated him and his side of the family quite a bit and he had no intention of adding to the rift.  And thus it was with ominous thoughts and a dim face that he made his way back to his cousin and retold his ill-fated audience with the King.

"Hah!" prince Fingon said a smidge too smugly for prince Maedhros' taste.  "I told you so."

"Yes, well," prince Maedhros answered, "whatever, but now I'm supposed to find and kill a Balrog on my own, and my side of the family doesn't have much of a track record when dealing with those beasts."

"Don't you worry about that, Nelyo," prince Fingon said confidently.  Apart from being somewhat vain and a bit hasty, prince Fingon was also quite cunning.  "Don’t you give in to despair.  I am sure this is an easy task when tallied to other challenges my father the King could have set you up against, and against which he shall most likely set you up before this part of our tale is over.  So cheer up, cousin.  Catching a Balrog is the easy part.  The worst is yet to come."

"Curse you and your casual foresight, Káno," prince Maedhros said with feeling.  "And curse me for not listening to you in the first place."

Prince Fingon grew somber.  "Aye, cousin," he said.  "Cursed, that we are," and prince Maedhros cursed himself thrice over for passing his gloomy mood onto prince Fingon, who had been made for smart smiles and not for grim frowns.

"So," he said in a forcefully lighter voice, "catching a Balrog is easy, you say.  Well, oh wise Káno, how then should I go about it?"

Prince Fingon smiled smartly.  "First," he said, touching his forefinger to prince Maedhros' perfect nose, "you must go to your uncle the King and ask him for a shovel and lumber."

Prince Maedhros did so, and the following morning – at a late hour, for good ale had been served at the feast overnight – they set off towards the Mountains of Shadow.  Upon arriving to the glade with the remains of the burnt tree prince Maedhros jumped from his horse and promptly dug a hole to fit not one but three Balrogs.  In the meantime, prince Fingon lounged against a fallen truck as he twirled his gold-threaded plaits around his fingers and enjoyed the fruits of his cunning.

Soon the hole was dug, and prince Maedhros – whose side of the family was generally disliked but remained unparalleled in all sorts of craftsmanship – set the King's lumber into a long pipe that ran from a nearby stream to the pit.  Once the opening was brimming with cold water there was nothing left to do but to disguise it with a few logs and twigs.

Prince Maedhros wiped the sweat from his brow.  "How are we supposed to lure the Balrog out, Káno?" he asked.

"That is the simplest part," prince Fingon answered smugly.  "The Balrog has marked this clearing as his by burning a tree.  All you have to do is burning a different tree, and I am quite sure the Balrog will arrive in no time," he explained as he produced a lit torch and offered it to his cousin.

Prince Maedhros looked horrified and took a step back.  His legs being very long, the step took him to the very edge of the concealed pit.  "Oh, no," he said, moving his hands emphatically, "no no no no.  No.  I'm not burning down a tree.  I don't feel comfortable with fire and burning and stuff these days.  You do it, Káno."

But prince Fingon shook his head.  "Your uncle the King set this task unto you," he said, "and it must be you who completes it."

Prince Maedhros took the torch with great reluctance and set a nearby tree on fire, and then he alone stood aside.

It wasn't long before the enraged Balrog entered the glade, turning its path into ashes.  A few well-placed barbs from both princes led it straight into the trap, and down the pit it went, where the cold water took care of the demonic fire glinting and gleaming on its skin.

"All yours," prince Fingon smirked as held out a bow and a feathered arrow.

Prince Maedhros killed the Balrog with a well-aimed shot, and then he drained the hole and cut off the beast's head.

The King was most pleased upon being presented with the trophy.  "We thank you, nephew," he said regally.  "But while this severed head makes for a truly magnificent gift it doesn't solve Our current difficulties, for We cannot seem to find a suitable bride for Our son."  The King stared dejectedly at the Balrog's head next to the glinting gleam of its toenail, but in the midst of his misery an unexpected idea came to him and he sat up straighter in his throne.  "Hark!" he said in a loud voice.  "For We have found the solution to Our problem.  Indeed, it is said that deep in the realm of Doriath, surrounded by a magic girdle, there lives a princess such as this world has never seen.  It is said that the maiden is of unmatched beauty, and that she dances in the footsteps of graceful deer, and that her eyes are glinting mist and that her hair is a cascade of midnight gleaming under the forest light, black as a Balrog's toenail.  This is the very maiden We wish for Our son, and it is you, nephew, who shall fetch her for Us, as it has been you to fetch the thrice-accursed Balrog.  When you succeed Our people shall love you as the one to bring unity and beauty back to Elvenkind, but should you fail your side of the family will remain in scorn and contempt for Ages yet to come."

Prince Maedhros wept bitterly at that, partly because the task of retrieving princess Lúthien – for Lúthien was the maiden's name, and luckily for us Bards and you listeners she only held the one back when the world was young – was nigh on impossible, but mostly because he did not wish for prince Fingon to marry.

"What's wrong, Nelyo?" prince Fingon asked him when they next saw each other, and prince Maedhros explained his new duty.

"But I don't wish to marry!" prince Fingon said upon listening to the tale.

"Yet I still need to bring the princess here," prince Maedhros answered, "and I really don't understand what your father the King is thinking.  Kidnapping the princess will surely lead us to war with Doriath."  Prince Maedhros sighed and shook his head.  His mane of coppery hair caught a stray drop of sunlight and glimmered and gleamed and returned it sevenfold.  "Yet he is our King," he continued, tortured, "and what an empty title that would be should I out of all his subjects refuse to heed his orders!  Kidnapping the princess it is.  But how?  How am I to enter the guarded kingdom of Doriath and take her?  This task is unfeasible."

"Not at all," prince Fingon said, taking yet again the opportunity to show off his shrewdness.  "It's actually quite easy."

Prince Maedhros sighed again and nibbled on his lower lip.  "You don't have to help me on this one, Káno," he finally said with some reluctance.  "I will manage alone somehow."

"Nonsense!" prince Fingon exclaimed.  "Of course I shall come along in this adventure, if only for your sake and for the love I bear you.  I care very little for my father the King's desired outcome."

Prince Maedhros smiled.  "Thank you," he said.  "Thank you, Káno.  Did I hear you say it would be easy?"

"Yes, you did," prince Fingon said after a shared cackle.  "And here are your marching orders: you must go to your uncle the King and ask him for his golden harp.  I lost mine back when – well, you know," and prince Maedhros did indeed know, for prince Fingon had lost his treasured harp back when prince Maedhros himself had lost his hand, which, as hands oft are, had also been quite treasured.  As a matter of fact, it had been his most treasured of hands, for it had been his right.

Prince Maedhros went then to his uncle the King and asked for his golden harp, and he also took his brother's lute from their tent.  In the morrow he set towards Doriath with his cousin as his only company.

It was a pleasant enough journey, if one didn't count the barren lands East and South to the Elvenking's feast.  The two princes rode through the day, sometimes singing, often bantering, and at times simply enjoying the comfortable silence and the lulling cadence of their horses.  When night came they set up camp and counted the stars together, blessing the western breeze that softened the dreariness of the land.

It wasn't long before they reached a thick forest.  Laughing, prince Fingon directed his horse into a passing stream and splashed his cousin with cold water, and prince Maedhros lunged at him and pulled his gold-threaded plaits.  As you have most likely noticed, this sort of behaviour was quite common between them, and thus it had been since the mingled light of their childhood in Faerie in the West.

Their path became steeper.  Cold rivulets of water gave way to a roaring river and a terrible fall in cruel rock, and they rode past without stopping for rest.  The current met the Sirion, brave and wild, and they crossed it.  A dense fog covered prince Maedhros' eyes, confusing his every sense with raw magic.

"Here," prince Fingon spoke up, halting his horse.  "We have reached the boundaries of Doriath.  Can you feel its girdle?"

"Yes," prince Maedhros said drily as they dismounted.  "I can.  What now, Káno?  The princess is inside yet we remain outside.  How are we to kidnap her?"

"We lure her out, obviously," prince Fingon said with a roguish smile.  "I happen to know, on good authority, that she enjoys following the river down to Doriath's borders with the coming of spring, which should put her close to our current position.  She enjoys dancing, and should our music reach her ears – well, you can imagine the rest.  Pass me your brother's lute, will you?"

Prince Maedhros did so, and he took the King's golden harp for himself.  Together they played tune after tune in perfect harmony – they played sad pieces and happy pieces, and dancing folksongs, and at one such, lo and behold!, the most beautiful princess in the land waltzed in graceful as a doe and glinting and gleaming as a star.

One of the strings of the King's golden harp snapped.  Princess Lúthien stopped her twirling and looked at the two princes.

"Oh," she said, unexpectedly disappointed.  Her voice was as lovely as a clear brook singing downstream, but it also was quite flat.  "Great.  More Elves.  Honestly.  When will I get to meet someone new, someone different?  And I'm not speaking about Orcs here."

Prince Maedhros and prince Fingon looked at each other, nonplussed, before turning their eyes back to the princess.  Prince Fingon cleared his throat tentatively.

"Well met, oh ye fair princess Lúthien of Doriath!" he said as he put the lute aside and bowed with a flourish.  "My cousin and I – "

"You're pretty!" princess Lúthien cut in.  Princess Lúthien, while beautiful beyond words, had a rather poor attention span.  "Your hair is the same midnight shade as mine, look!  Although mine is prettier."

Prince Fingon frowned and stoically resisted the urge to say that it obviously wasn't, as she hadn't bothered to decorate hers with golden threads.  Now it was prince Maedhros' turn to cough discretely and speak up, but before he could open his mouth princess Lúthien had rounded on him.

"And you're pretty too!" she chirped.  "And tall," she added, looking up.  "Sweet Eru, are you tall.  A veritable long drink of water!  How can you dance with that height?  Don't you bump your head into every passing branch down the forest paths?" Before a flabbergasted prince Maedhros could answer princess Lúthien had launched into an explanation of her own.  "Oh, of course not, you can always raise your hands to move them away from you.  Oh, but look at you – you are missing a hand!  Oh, that is so attractive.  I rather like my men one-handed.  You're very pretty!"

Prince Fingon's frown deepened at the princess' words, but then she copied his glare in one of her suddenly turning moods.

"Too pretty, in fact," she said, suspiciously.  "Your eyes are the same steely shade as mine, look, although mine are – no, yours are prettier.  They seem to shine from within, and they glint and gleam.  How odd!" she added.  "I do not like them.  Nobody should be allowed to be prettier than me in any way.  My father, the King of Doriath, would gouge your eyes out with a wooden spoon for the affront."  Prince Maedhros blinked and all of a sudden the princess was all sweet smiles and a sunny disposition again.  "But never mind that!" she twittered.  "Tell me, pretty strangers, why are you here, by the girdled borders of my realm?"

It was prince Maedhros who answered, for prince Fingon was far too busy with his seething inside and whatnot.  "We were looking for you," he said in a surprisingly level voice.

"Really?" princess Lúthien smiled, her perfect teeth glinting and gleaming.  "How nice it is to feel loved and looked for!  Yet I am not sure I enjoy meeting strangers who might turn out to be prettier than me."

Prince Fingon pursed his lips.  "Well, get used to it," he snapped, "because where my cousin prince Maedhros goes his brothers tend to follow.  Sooner or later you shall encounter another fair member of his side of the family, and that meet, I assure you, will be far less pleasant than this one."

"Oh, shush with the foresight," the princess said with a royal toss of her striking hair.  "I get enough of that back home.  Tell me, my princes, why were you looking of me?"

"We wished to invite you to a feast," prince Maedhros said, deciding to entice the princess with promises of feasting and dancing, "and to take you to the Pools of Ivrin where it takes place."

"A party!" princess Lúthien exclaimed happily.  "How nice.  Why?"

"Because such is the nature of the quest that has been placed upon me," prince Maedhros said, unsure as to how to proceed.  At the princess' pout he hastily added, "and for the pleasure of your company and the admiration of your beauty, of course."

"How nice," she said again.  "And why?"

Prince Maedhros decided to send subterfuge to Angband.  He had never been one for deception anyways: his most notorious attempt at it had cost him the lives of his companions, several years of his freedom, and the eventual loss of his hand.  "Because my uncle the King wishes for you to marry his son," he said.

"Oh," the princess said.  "Why?"

"Because," prince Fingon snarled curtly.

"Okay," the princess nodded cheerfully, accepting the answer.  She reached prince Fingon's horse and promptly jumped onto its back.  Prince Fingon's frown seemed etched onto his face through hammer and chisel.  "Let us depart, my princes," she said with a happy smile.  "On to a party!  On to an adventure!  On to – well, what are you waiting for?"

Prince Fingon and prince Maedhros looked at each other again.

"And you were supposed to kidnap her," prince Fingon scowled, pointing his thumb towards the princess on his horse.

"I know," prince Maedhros answered.  "Somehow, I fear the thought of facing a trip back in her company far more than the oncoming war on the North."

"Indeed," prince Fingon said, but his frown vanished upon realising that having his horse shamelessly purloined by the princess implied that he would be sharing his cousin's mount for the duration of their ride back.

They met the King in a private glade set a short distance from the feasting grounds, and for that prince Maedhros was glad, as when word broke about the princess' kidnapping war would surely break amongst the different Elvenclans and the Feast of Reuniting would turn into a bloodbath.

The King was ecstatic upon setting eyes on the glinting beauty of gleaming princess Lúthien on horseback.  "We thank you, nephew!  Truthfully you have kept true to your oath of fealty – and here We shall stop this talk of oaths, just in case – and have brought Us her whom We desired as a bride to Our son prince Fingon.  Princess Lúthien is indeed a gift for the eyes: all descriptions of her beauty fall short."

The princess, on the other hand, was less than impressed.  "My father, the King of Doriath, was right about you being shorter than him.  In fact, you are way shorter and smaller than I expected," she said, "unlike tallstuff over there," she added pointing at prince Maedhros.

"That would depend on your point of view," the King said philosophically, deciding in his supreme graciousness not to take offense.  "From atop a warhorse, all but the tallest of Elves are bound to appear short.  But enough of this.  You have come here, princess Lúthien, to wed Our son prince Fingon."

"Oh!" the princess exclaimed in surprise.  "Have I?"

"We told her that," prince Fingon said to prince Maedhros in an aside, to which prince Maedhros could only nod and shrug.

"Indeed you have," the King said regally.  "And thus it shall happen before further delay," he added, for he knew that the wedding would need to take place before the princess' father or subjects knew of it.  "By the power vested in Us as King We pronounce you, prince Fingon, and you, princess Lúthien of Doriath, husband and wife.  Now shoo and complete the bonding of your bodies and souls in due privacy, thereby validating this ceremony in the eyes of all and sundry."

"Wait," princess Lúthien said.  "I refuse to marry in this way."

Prince Fingon heaved a relieved sigh, but the King looked somewhat flummoxed.  "Why, child?" he asked, going for the sensitive and understanding approach.  "Surely you can find no fault in marrying a prince.  Is it the hasty ceremony, mayhaps?"

The princess shook her glorious head.  "To be honest, I don't care much for my husband's occupation," she said, drawing a bewildered stare from the King.  "Either a prince or an outlaw, both sit fine with me.  And I rather enjoy being hasty, so that isn't a problem either."

"What is the matter, then?"

"It is as follows," the princess said.  "In my wedding, as in every other moment of my life, it is part of the natural order for me to be the most beautiful being in attendance."

The King frowned.  His face looked very much like prince Fingon's had upon meeting princess Lúthien by the borders of Doriath.  "We assure you of your supremacy in such a matter," he said slowly.  "You are indeed the most beautiful being in this glade, which voids your justification.  Now hop off that horse and bond your soul with Our son the prince's."

"Perhaps I am," the princess said, blatantly ignoring the King's order from atop prince Fingon's mount.  "But his eyes," she added, motioning towards prince Maedhros with a graceful wave of her pale hand, "glint and gleam from within, and they might be prettier than mine.  If my father, the King of Doriath, were here," she added, "he would gouge them out with a spoon."

"But We do not carry a spoon on Us," exclaimed the King, patting his pockets frantically.  He came up empty-handed but for a small glinting gleam on his hand: the Balrog's toenail that had set the events of this tale in motion.  "We only carry this."

The princess nodded.  "That will work," she said genially.

"Excuse me?" prince Maedhros said, but his uncle the King was already outstretching his hand towards him, and on his palm glinted darkly the hard gleam of the Balrog's toenail.

"It is only fitting, nephew," the King said, "that you should meet your third and last duty here in such a manner.  It is Our wish for you to take this Balrog's toenail and take your eyes out with them, for they cause affront to the princess, and then you shall watch – I mean, witness – I mean, listen, and smell, should you like to, as Our son and princess Lúthien are finally wed."

"But I already lack a hand!" prince Maedhros protested.  "Am I to lack my sight too?"

"Yes," the King said without taking pity on his nephew, for his desire of a bride for his son was too great, "and so you shall for the fealty you owe Us.  Should you refuse, Our people would know of your betrayal to the Crown, and they would hate and despise you and yours more than they already do."

A bitter tear ran down prince Maedhros' sculpted cheekbones.  "I certainly must be the unhappiest Elf in the lands," he thought, "for not only have I lost my hand and the love of our people, but now I must lose my sight too.  Alas, to never glimpse again the glinting gleam of gold through my cousin's tresses!  I should have listened to him when he said not to bring the Balrog's toenail to my uncle the King's attention.  Yet if this is my duty and my fate," he added to himself, steeling his mind for what was to come and straightening his tall body proudly, "then I shall meet it gladly."

And he was already reaching for the Balrog's toenail when prince Fingon, unable to withstand the farcical situation any longer, jumped in and pushed his father the King's hand aside.  The Balrog's toenail fell to the ground and was lost amidst grass and roots, and there it lies to this date, its accursed glinting gleam never to be seen again by Elvenkind.

"Okay," prince Fingon said, standing firmly by his cousin's side.  "Enough of this nonsense.  I have grown tired of this senseless talk of gouging my cousin's eyes out – not that I was ever fond of it!  Far from it.  For my cousin's eyes shine with an inner fire that is more beautiful than the fairest maiden of our people, and there will be no taking their glinting gleam from me as long as I stand strong."

Prince Maedhros blinked, and smiled at his cousin, and prince Fingon smiled back.

"But, oh son," the King said, "you must marry!"

"I don't wish to marry," prince Fingon said in a voice that was both clear and formidable, "and even if I did, I would not wish to marry a princess.  I mean," he added, realising his slip, "I would not wish to marry this princess.  Eru, no."

"Oh," princess Lúthien said as cheerful as a sparrow chirping bright and early in the morning.  "Why?"

"Because," prince Fingon said curtly before going back to the main topic.  "So I don't want to hear anything else on this issue.  You, Father," he added, pointing his forefinger at the King, "are going back to your feast and forgetting all this nonsense about a wedding of mine.  You," he said, moving his finger towards the princess, "are returning to your girdled country before anybody notices you are missing and we create a diplomatic incident.  And as for you," he finishing, rounding onto his cousin, "you are taking me back to your tent and ordering for the best beef and wine there is to be had, for I find myself in need of refreshments and sustenance after this whole ordeal."

And thus it was done.  The King went back to his Feast of Reuniting and forwent his want of a son-wife, and many an alliance was forged upon his prompt return.  Princess Lúthien rode back to the girdled kingdom of Doriath, taking prince Fingon's horse with here, and there she remained until a very different set of adventures came to her, one that has already been told by a mightier Bard.

As for prince Fingon and prince Maedhros, they left for the latter's tent, where they washed the grim of their adventure away before sharing the finest beef and the strongest wine, and if their eyes glinted and gleamed in the contentment of their smiles there was nobody but each other to notice.

And now, my story has gone that way, and I have come this way, and my only wish is to have accompanied its song with my lute for your enjoyment – but alas, for my brother stole my lute long ago and just as far away.