Of Beren and Lúthien: The Complete Tale of “The Lay of Leithian” by LuthienHuan

Introduction

Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of the First Age of Middle-earth there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures. And of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien. Of there lives was made The Lay of Leithian, Release from Bondage, which is the longest save one of the songs concerning the world of old; but here the tale is told without song.

*****

Beren was the son of Barahir. They were descendents of Bëor, whose house was the first of the race of Men to enter Beleriand. Barahir was the lord and leader of the families who settled in the pine woods of southern Dorthonion. Beren, born in the year 432 of the First Age of Middle-earth, was raised during the Long Peace, the years between the third and fourth Battles of the Wars of Beleriand, which pitted the free folk of Middle-earth against Morgoth, the evil Dark Lord who sought dominion over all Middle-earth.

While in his teens, Beren became like his father: a cunning hunter; sword master; deadly with bow and spear. In 455, his skills would be put to their tests; for Morgoth emptied his stronghold of Angband sending forth with his wicked servants sudden streams of fire through Dorthonion. Thus began the fourth Battle of the Wars, appropriately named in the Elven tongue the Dagor Brachollach; meaning the Battle of Sudden Flames in the tongue of Men. During this Battle, Barahir saw that Nargothrond’s Elven King Finrod Felagund son of Finarfin and his soldiers had become surrounded and well-outnumbered. Barahir called upon Beren and together they gathered as many men as they could quickly find, and with swords and long spears the Men carved a way of escape for the Elves.

Morgoth won the Battle after six months, leaving nearly all Dorthonion a wasteland. However, his victory was marred with the knowledge that Felagund, Barahir and Beren survived. They would later meet, and for saving him and his soldiers, Felagund swore a life-long oath of aid to Barahir and his kin. In token Felagund gave Barahir his ring, a Finarfin-family heirloom that later became known throughout Middle-earth as the Ring of Barahir.

Three years later, Morgoth again attacked the Men of Dorthonion. Although many of the women, children and elderly fled the settlement sometime before the onslaught, it was no less a massacre that left Barahir with only twelve men, including his son Beren. They became outlaws of Morgoth, still refusing to leave Dorthonion. Barahir took his companions northeast and made a new lair next to the hallowed lake of Tarn-Ailuin. Unable to discover the lair and needing to turn his attention elsewhere, Morgoth gave the task of finding and destroying the outlaws to his most terrible servant – Sauron.

*****

Lúthien was the fairest being ever to grace Middle-earth, or ever shall. Blue was her raiment as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were as grey as the starlit evening. Her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was as dark as the shadows of twilight. As the light upon the leaves of trees, as the voice of clear waters, as the stars above the mists of the world, such was her glory and her loveliness; and in her face was a shining light.

Born in the year of 4700 in the Age of the Years of the Trees of Valinor, two long ages before the First Age of Middle-earth began, Lúthien was the only child of Elven-King Thingol and Queen Melian of Doriath. They lived in the kingdom’s cavernous underground city of Menegroth, also known as the Thousand Caves. Thingol created the Caves to remain out of Morgoth’s reach. He sought aid from the Dwarves of Belegost, who were highly skilled in the carving of underground mansions. Melian, however, was the main reason why Menegroth remained out of the Evil Lord’s reach.

For Melian was a Maia, of the race of the Gods from Valinor. As such, for her love of Thingol she took on Elven-form, but with mightier powers and stronger enchantments than the Elves of Middle-earth, and she was capable of seeing inside Morgoth’s mind. She also fenced in most of Doriath with an unseen wall of shadow and bewilderment: the Girdle of Melian. It blocked the view of unfriendly eyes and allowed none to enter the kingdom without her or Thingol’s will – save one.

As Melian’s child, Lúthien inherited much of her mother’s powers. From her Lúthien learned the wisdom and majesty of her people in both Middle-earth and the Blessed Realm of Valinor. And while the Kingdom of Doriath endured, its lands and Elves throve and were mostly untouched by the Wars of Beleriand until the Dagor Brachollach.

Yet, even thereafter and until its end, Doriath maintained its glory, peacefulness and beauty, bested only by its Princess and Queen. Behind the Girdle of Melian, the flower Niphredil sprang from Lúthien’s footsteps to greet her as she danced daily in the lush green glades of Doriath and sang with a voice as keen and heart-piercing as the morning lark that pours its voice among the dying stars, seeing the sun behind the walls of the world.

Chapter 1

Of Love: Present and Past

As any other normal morning before breaking her night’s fast, Lúthien is dancing and humming under a couple trees in a small courtyard surrounded by walls of nearby mansions, where a couple balconies overlook the courtyard. Several nightingales can be found in the trees and on the ground; and several follow Lúthien around as she dances. Daeron, Menegroth’s minstrel, tries to hide behind a tree in an attempt to secretly watch her. But it may be that the beating of his heart has given him away.

“I know you’re there, Daeron,” said Lúthien, as she continued twirling about. “Why do you attempt to be hidden and silent? You are a minstrel, a spy you are not; a least not a very good one.”

Daeron, with as innocent a face he can conjure, comes from behind the tree holding his flute. Daeron’s love for Lúthien is no secret throughout the kingdom, or to Lúthien herself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but it’s moments like these that you inspire me most. Besides, I think ‘spy’ is too harsh a word for what I’m doing. While watching you I could write a million sonnets about your grace and beauty while you dance.”

Lúthien initially smiles at him and then gives him a strange look.

“That’s sweet,” she said, “and also a little frightening. Do you stalk all your friends like this?”

“Stalk!” he exclaims. “I think I like ‘spy’ better. But, no, only the ones I…”

Lúthien stops dancing and interrupts him saying, “Don’t say it!”

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t help it,” he said. “You’re the only one I watch, and the only one for whom my heart yearns. I write my music only for you. You are the only inspiration I need. I love you so.”

Daeron plays some notes on his flute but stops when Lúthien comes to him and takes his hands in hers.

“I told you before,” she said, “I cherish our friendship, but for now I feel not the way you would like me to feel. I cannot give you what you seek. You may take heart in this: maybe someday my heart will turn to yours. Who knows what may happen or what the Valar and Ilúvatar have in store for any of us.”

She releases his hand and returns to dancing.

“So, what does it take to turn the heart of the fairest of all things in this world?” he asked.

Lúthien replied, “That even I cannot answer. I’m afraid you’ll have to discover that yourself.”

“We’ve been together for hundreds of years. I haven’t figured it out yet.”

Thingol comes to a balcony, sees Lúthien and Daeron and calls, “Lúthien!”

Lúthien looks up and answers, “Yes, father.”

“Will you be joining your mother and me for breakfast this morning?”

“I’m on my way, father.”

“I’ll see you there, sweetheart. Daeron, would you like to join us this morning?”

Daeron looks up and answers, “No, thank you, my King. I have some things I need to tend to this morning.”

“Then I shall see you later.” Thingol said. “Farewell.”

“Farewell, my King,” Daeron said looking back at Lúthien.

“I’m going to Esgalduin sometime this morning. Would you like to meet me at the Old Beech?” asked Lúthien

“I’ll be there with flute in hand,” answered Daeron.

Lúthien smiles and departs. Daeron watches until she’s out of sight. To himself he says aloud, “I would die for you. Is that enough to win your love? But, who am I kidding? As beautiful as you are, I’m sure there are many that would do the same.”

*****

Lúthien joins Thingol and Melian who are already eating breakfast in the Royal Dining Hall. Two guards stand by the doors and can’t help but smile when Thingol giggles as Lúthien seats herself.

“So, how’s Daeron?” asked Thingol.

“Now, don’t start, dear,” Melian said.

“Well, you have to give the boy credit. He doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“And that’s what frightens me,” Lúthien said. “I’ve told him – seemingly every day for many years – that I care for him, which I do, but only as a good friend; friend being the word I’ve tried to make very clear to him. However, it seems I can’t turn around without seeing him standing in my shadow. He’s like a stray puppy I’ve fed that will not go away.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you like hounds,” said Thingol. “But, do you know what frightens me? Of all the available males in our kingdom, he’s probably the only one I’d approve to take your hand.”

Melian said, “Yes, I agree and…” Melian and Lúthien looked at each other and simultaneously say, “…that’s very frightening!”

“Well, I put my daughter above all Elven princes,” said Thingol.

Melian said, “Well then, if there isn’t anyone in our kingdom, then you, Lúthien, may have to go outside to find the love of your life. Who knows, Lúthien? Maybe you will fall in love with a Man; or maybe even a Dwarf.”

“Now you’re frightening me,” said Thingol. “But as for Men, I take no account in that worthless race. And since no Man will ever enter our kingdom, and falling for a sawed-off, axe-wielding, fuzz-faced Dwarf is totally ridiculous, I don’t think I have to worry about either one.

“Anyway, as for Dwarves and Elves, there will never be one that will love the other. They may get along for mutual purpose or gain, but there shall never be a true bond of friendship or love between a fair Elf and an uncouth Dwarf.”

“Don’t be too sure of that, my love,” Melian disagreed. “What would you say if I said that I foresee an Elf whose best friend is a Dwarf, and that our kinswoman Galadriel is also a very good friend of that same Dwarf, who would gladly give his life for either of them?”

“I would say that’s nonsense, and that your powers of foresight are being clouded by your optimism and compassion. But even if you do foresee that type of strange friendship, I’ll bet you don’t see me giving my daughter’s hand to any Dwarf, or Man for that matter.”

“Well, I…,” said Melian, but is abruptly interrupted by Thingol, “Please, stop.”

“Not everyone can fall in love the way you two did,” said Lúthien. “It’s been years since you told me the story. Tell me it again.”

Thingol said, “Simply put: your mother found me, saw my shocking good looks, and knew that she couldn’t live without me.”

“You know, I thought it was the other way around. Was it not you who found me?” Melian asked.

“Ouch,” quietly said Thingol as he leaned toward Lúthien. “Talk about stepping on someone’s ego. She could’ve at least let me have my moment.”

“Yes, but who found who?” Melian again asked.

As he again straightened himself in his seat, Thingol replied, “Of course, you know she’s right. This is actually how it happened:

“It was during the Great Journey. After being one of three Elves to follow Oromë to Valinor and see the Lights of the Two Trees, I returned to Middle-earth to persuade and gather our people for that westward march to the sea; and from there on to the Blessed Realm to live among the Trees’ lights and the Valar, those who aided Ilúvatar in the creation of our world.

“There was a time of rest after we had passed over Ered Luin, so I had wandered to the nearby woods of Nan Elmoth in search of my friend Finwë. I was standing at its edge looking at its fascinating trees; ones I had never seen before. In fact, I was a bit frightened, for it was very dark inside the woods; looking in resembled a darkness darker than twilight. It was during the days before the sun and moon ever rose, and the world’s only light was its numerous stars. But that forest was eerie, nonetheless. Then, that similar voice you inherited I heard coming from within. Instantly, my fear left. Its loveliness drew me in, and I dove into the woods seeking that astounding voice.

“After what seemed like forever and I seemingly had walked for miles, I was so far in that I began to fear that the voice might have been a phantom or something to waylay or ensnare me. But I was enchanted and could not stop. I finally came to a glade, and there was your mother lying on a bed of leaves.

“Well, I took one look at her and literally forgot everything and everyone. She was a vision of uttermost beauty. Nightingales were all around her, singing her songs she had taught them. It was no wonder that when she sang in Lórien, the Valar would leave their works and the birds would leave their mirth; even the fountains stopped flowing.”

Melian added, “He’s partly right about that good looks thing. He was so handsome. In all honesty I also was smitten. I knew then that I would not be returning anytime soon to the gardens of Lórien or to Valinor.”

Thingol continued, “Yes, by her I was ensnared. Then the next thing I knew we seemed to be a mile in the air. She had put forth an enchantment and we were soaring in the clouds. To this day I know not how long we were up there; a hundred years, a thousand, an age? By the time we came down, many of our people were gone; most continued the Journey. They followed your Uncle Olwë, who created Alqualondë and became its Prince. There were some who remained behind and continued searching for me.

“Needless to say, I was found, and your mother was ever after by my side. We married, led the rest of our people here and, with your mother’s aid, decided this would be the perfect place to be the throne city of the Kingdom of Doriath, the Hidden Kingdom which we together shall forever reign. The only downside of all this was that I never again saw Finwë; and knowing now he’s been slain, I probably won’t unless it is in death; in the Halls of Mandos.”

“That’s an amazing tale,” said Lúthien. “I don’t see anything like that happening to me. I don’t think I could ever be instantly smitten like that.”

Melian said, “Doubt not the wonders of the heart.”

Suddenly, the door opened and Guard Teron walked to Thingol where he stood before him at attention.

“Your pardon, my King,” he said, “but Chief Captains Mablung of the Heavy Hand and Beleg “Strongbow” Cúthalion wish to have an audience with you. They apologize for the interruption, but they state an imperative issue needs your immediate consideration.”

Thingol, not at all upset by the interruption, said, “By all means, send them in.”

Teron motions to the guards at the door, and one turns and gives a gesture of approval for entrance. Mablung, dressed in his captain’s uniform, and Beleg, dressed in his usual attire, enter and sit at the table.

“Good morning, my Royal Family,” said Mablung.

“Good morning,” Beleg also said.

Lúthien and Melian responded with, “Good morning.”

Thingol asked, “Have the two of you eaten yet? Would you like some breakfast or maybe some tea or nectar?”

Mablung answered, “No, thank you,” but Beleg said, “I wouldn’t mind a little tea.”

Lúthien pours Beleg’s tea as Thingol asks, “So, Captains, what is so urgent?”

“Beleg reports that at Northern Post One last night he and the guards had a strange visitor that gave them news, which also seemed very strange,” said Mablung.

Beleg added, “He was an eerie shape on his horse; if the beast he sat upon was in fact a horse. He never dismounted and remained in the shadows just outside the light of our torches; we could hardly see him. He said he was an ally to all those who oppose the Enemy. That’s when he told us the Dark Lord was building a new weapon.”

Lúthien said, “Morgoth’s always building new weapons.”

“Yes, my Princess,” Beleg said, “but he said it is being built outside of Angband, about two miles southwest in the surrounding mountains near Thangorodrim; and also that he had seen it. It appears to be a catapult-type weapon that will have the ability to be pushed or pulled to wherever it’s needed; by a troll or two, or many smaller servants. Its capabilities include hurling huge stones or masonry long distances. What’s more: Morgoth is also inventing with his wizardry large boulder-sized shot that will ignite in midair; to be a huge ball of fire by the time it hits its target, he said.”

“We were preparing some men to investigate this weapon,” Mablung said. “Maybe we’ll be able to build something similar or a weapon to counter it. We seek your council to suggest the number of men to send.”

“Two,” Lúthien said to the surprise of the three men.

“Two?!” the men exclaimed.

“Yes, two; the two of you,” Lúthien said.

Thingol asked, “Why do you think just two, my Princess?”

Lúthien answered, “First of all, they receive information from a very shady character, who apparently did not tell them his name nor wanted it known on what type of beast he rode, or even what he himself was. It may have been Morgoth guised for his purpose; or Sauron.

“Second, he tells them Morgoth is building a weapon outside Angband, his stronghold that’s nearly half the size of our entire kingdom; and in a place with surrounding mountains perfect for an ambush. However, the weapon that’s being built is said to be small enough for just a couple trolls or several Orcs to move along.

“Third, he gives you what I believe is far too much information, including the things it will launch, such as its specially-made fireballs. I do not doubt that this new weapon is being built, or where. However, I believe that Morgoth wants this information known for his enemies’ curiosity, allowing him to ensnare or slay many if they arrive at unawares.”

“Then why should we two go without more to defend us?” asked Beleg.

Lúthien answered, “Do you not see? If you take ten, twenty or thirty soldiers, few of you shall return; for the Enemy’s servants will surely see you, and many of you will be taken or slain. But, two – one watching out for each other – can use stealth; slip in and out without being noticed. Two soldiers are easier to hide than one large group.”

“That’s my girl,” Thingol proudly said with a big smile.

“Very clever,” agreed Mablung.

“How long do you think I’ll be without my two top captains?” Thingol asked.

Beleg answered, “I wouldn’t think much more than a fortnight.”

“Before you leave,” said Melian, “please meet me under Hirilorn. I will have a gift for your departure.”

“Yes, my Queen,” said Beleg and Mablung.

*****

It was about midday when Mablung and Beleg slowly rode their horses through Menegroth’s north-inner and – outer gates. Once through them they saw Melian standing underneath the giant Beech with two guards by her side. When their horses were close enough, they stopped and Melian stood in between the two and handed the captains small packages wrapped in green leaves.

“This is lembas for when food is unavailable, and for those whom you may meet along the way,” said Melian. “It will give energy to the strong and healing to the ill. May Ilúvatar bless each step and keep you safe.”

They loved their queen, who is the only person in the kingdom who can give the gift of lembas; which shows her love for those whom are fortunate enough to receive it.

“Thank you,” Mablung said, while Beleg added, “We are honored.”

They both bowed to her and then bid her “farewell.” Melian smiled while watching Mablung and Beleg ride away.

It’s a calm, cool autumn evening in northeast Dorthonion. But at the lair of Barahir the outlaws’ hearts are hot toward one of their own – Gorlim. And the calm of the current discussion regarding him is about to lose its peacefulness.

Beren and Barahir, Belegund, Baragund, Rathruin, Dalruin and Hathaldir speak at the campfire that warms two pots. Tarn-Ailuin, about one-hundred yards west of them, can be seen glittering under the stars and a new moon, which has turned this night nearly as bright as a new dawn. Arthad and Urthel are presently on watch nearby.

“Well, what should we do about him?” asked Barahir.

Beren answered, “I don’t know, but every time he goes there he jeopardizes all of us. And I don’t care what he says. If he keeps going to the old homesteads, he will eventually be caught. Sooner or later Morgoth’s servants, Sauron or Morgoth himself will lay hands on him; then we’re all dead.”

“I know,” said Barahir, and then he asked, “Do the rest of you feel the same way?”

Belegund replied, “It scares us to death every time he returns six to eight hours late. We spend the next two or three hours waiting for a band of Orcs to jump out and slay us all because we know where he’s been. You can’t tell me the Enemy’s not watching our old homesteads. It’s a wonder we’re not already dead.”

“We’ve even threatened him, but he won’t let go,” added Baragund. “He still believes his wife, Eilinel, is still alive. I feel terrible for him, but not to the point to die for his sorrows.”

Rathruin said, “If we had anywhere else to go, Dalruin and I would’ve been gone long ago.”

Dalruin added, “We also really don’t want to leave the rest of you.”

“At least you all have someone,” quietly said Hathaldir, the youngest of the group. “I have no one if I decide to leave.”

“Now you know better than that; you know you’re not alone,” said Barahir. “I promised your mother that Beren and I would take care of you. No matter what happens, for better or worse, you’ll be with us.”

Hathaldir said, “Huh, I think we all are counting on you to take care of us. By the way, here he comes.”

Gorlim casually walked up to the group and asked, “Is all well?”

“Aren’t you a little late again?” Beren asked.

“I had to tend to some things,” said Gorlim.

“Those things wouldn’t have anything to do with the things we’ve all asked you not to do? Does it?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern, young one.”

Barahir sternly said, “It is his concern; such that affects us all. Every time you go there, you put us all in grave danger. I remember having this conversation with you a couple times before, but I fear our welfare means nothing to you.”

“Now that’s not true. You all have nothing to worry about,” Gorlim said. “Nobody has ever seen me coming close to the old homesteads. And besides, even if I was caught, never would I say anything about any of you. You all should know that. I care not what torture they would put me under, I’d never talk.”

“Now I’m really scared. I’ve just realized how ignorant you really are. You have no idea what Morgoth or Sauron can do to make you or anyone they want talk. Angband and Minas Tirith are filled with instruments of torture and pain. Our Enemy has turned suffering into an art. How long do you think you’ll remain quiet when they tear your flesh off inch by inch; pull your teeth, finger- and toenails out one by one; and cut you from head to toe, keeping you alive just enough to feel the unbearable agony? Do you think you can keep silent through all that? I don’t think any of us could. Therefore, Gorlim, I forbid you to return to the homesteads.”

“That’s not fair, Barahir!”

“Gorlim,” said Beren, “I know this is hard for you to accept, but your wife is dead.”

“You insensitive little…” yells Gorlim, and he leaps at Beren. Barahir comes between the two; the others try to hold them apart.

“Gorlim!… Both of you!… Stop it!” shouts Barahir. “This solves nothing. But, Beren is right; and it’s got nothing to do with being insensitive. It’s something we should have said to you long ago, when we first realized you were going back there; something you yourself should have realized. We all wish our families and friends were still alive. It seems though that all of us, except you, have accepted what Morgoth has done. That is why we seek vengeance through every servant of his we slay. Now I will ask you: do you really believe within your heart that Eilinel truly survived? Even if she did survive Morgoth’s attack, do you actually think she survived last winter’s months alone in the cold, harsh wilderness?”

Tears filled Gorlim’s eyes. Whether they were of heartache or rage, none of the outlaws were sure. However, after both of them were released and a half a minute of silence, Gorlim said with a defiant voice, “You can’t stop me from going there, Barahir; none of you can!”

“I don’t like this any more than you do,” said Barahir, who walked to Gorlim and looked him straight in the eyes and continued, “but you give me no choice. If you return there, don’t return here.”

“Fine, you’ll never see me again! I know my wife is still alive!” Gorlim then runs toward the woods.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him like that,” said Beren.

“We know, Beren,” said Barahir. “He knows it, too. He’s just hot.”

“What are you going to do if he does want to return?”      Barahir turned his head to see Gorlim disappear into the woods. He answered with a sigh, “I don’t know. Apparently, I have a little time to think about it.”

“Whatever you decide,” Beren said, “I’m behind you, father.”

“I know, son,” said Barahir.

The others gestured and murmured in acknowledgements of agreement to whatever their leader would decide.

Then Hathaldir said, “It looks like we have company.” He points to Arthad and Urthel who has come from the lakeside with Mablung and Beleg, who carries his bow. The two Outlaws have the Elves in front of them with swords pointed at their backs.

“What are you two doing?” Barahir asked.

Arthad answered, “We found these spies on the other side of the lake.”

Beleg exclaimed, “Spies! Now wait just a minute. Spies we are not!”

“Actually,” Mablung, a little calmer, added, “we walked up to them friendly – our right hands were held up and our palms were out white in token of peace. The next thing we knew they drew their swords and called us spies of the Enemy.”

Barahir glares at Arthad, who stutters nervously, “They… they startled us.”

Barahir then looked back at Urthel.              

“Don’t look at me,” said Urthel, “I just followed his lead.”

“Would you have followed his lead if he took off his clothes and jumped into Ailuin?” asked Barahir. “Don’t answer that! Both of you, sheath your swords.”

Arthad and Urthel comply. Urthel looked at Arthad and said, “You’re always getting me into trouble.”

All Barahir’s men walk away except Beren, who can’t take his eyes off Beleg’s bow.

Barahir apologized, “I’m very sorry. Please forgive them. Being Outlaws of Morgoth and trying to stay alive in the wilderness makes our hospitality seem a little short of friendly sometimes.”

“We understand,” said Mablung. “Anyway, they harmed us not. I am Captain Mablung of the Heavy Hand, and this is Captain Beleg Strongbow Cúthalion.”

The Elves place their right hands to their upper left breasts, and then slowly pull their arms straight away while briefly bowing their heads. Beren and Barahir bow.

Barahir introduces himself and Beren: “I’m Barahir, supposedly the leader of this party; although right now I’m not too proud of that fact. But this is my son, Beren, who I am proud of.” With that, the two Men stick out their right hands to be shaken, but only get baffled looks from the Elves.

“It is customary that Men offer their right hands out to be shaken by those whom they meet in sign of friendship, or ins hopes of forming one,” Barahir explained. “Just put your right hand in ours and firmly shake if you agree to this token of acquaintance; but not hard.”

Beleg and Mablung didn’t hesitate. While they all shook hands, Beleg said, “It is well met. We gladly accept your friendship.”

Beren then fills two cups from one pot over the fire and fills plates from the other pot.

“Am I right by saying the two of you are from Doriath?” asked Beren.

“Yes,” answered Beleg. “How did you know?”

“I recognize Mablung’s uniform from the Dagor Brachollach. So, what brings two of Thingol’s soldiers to the northeast corner of Dorthonion? This area isn’t the safest land for two people to be strolling in; be they Men or Elves, or however nice the weapons they carry.”

Beleg and Mablung take the cups and plates offered and again place their hands on their chests, briefly bow and together say, “May Ilúvatar bless this food and those who prepared it. Praise Ilúvatar.”

Beren and Barahir briefly look at each other strangely. Beren goes back to staring at Beleg’s bow. The Elves begin eating.

“Yes, you’re right; we’re from Doriath,” Beleg answered. “And it’s a new weapon being constructed by Morgoth that’s got us out for a stroll in the country, where we apparently invaded your territory.”

Beren said, “Sorry, it’s only some vegetables and some herbs. Today’s hunt for meat didn’t go so well, and we’re getting pretty tired of fish after having it eight consecutive days.

“Why’s this weapon so important? He’s always building new weapons.”

Beleg hands Beren his bow and said, “Here, go ahead, take a look. Its name is Belthronding. These vegetables and herbs will be a nice break from lembas. Anyway, we were told by a shady character, supposedly an enemy of the Enemy, that this weapon is being built outside Angband, about two miles southwest of Thangorodrim. It’s catapult-like, able to be moved from place to place and is capable of hurling huge stones. He also said that Morgoth is also making special stones that will burst into flames in midair; a fireball when it hits.”

“This bow is so light. Sounds like an awful lot of information from a shady character. What is this made of, and what’s it strung with?”

Barahir asked, “What’s lembas?”

Beren returns Beleg’s bow.

“It’s Black Yew-wood and it is strung with a single Elven hair,” said Beleg. “This one is actually a strand from the head of Queen Melian, who hallowed your nearby lake. Anyway, we want to take a look in hopes of building something to counter it or maybe even construct one of our own.”

Mablung gives some lembas to Barahir and Beren. They take bites. “It’s Elvish waybread,” he said. “It’s made and hallowed only by the Queen. One bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man and keep him going through a full day of hard toil or travel. Here’s some for you and your men. It’s meant to be eaten when there’s nothing else, but it’s also good when you need a quick burst of energy.”

“Thank you,” Barahir said, “but should we eat this so near retiring?”

Mablung answered, “Don’t worry about that. If you want a peaceful, refreshing night’s sleep, it’s also good for that.”

“Now I understand why there are only two of you; to sneak in and out without being sighted,” Beren said. “Maybe we ought to take a look at this weapon, father, especially since it’s capable of moving in on us.”

Barahir agreed, “I think that’s a good idea, son. Anyway, I was going to send you to seek our friends in that direction for food and supplies. You can pick them up on your way back.”

“Great!” Beren exclaimed. He then turned to the two Elves and asked, “Would the two of you have room for one more?”

Beleg answered, “Sure, but we cannot be responsible for you.”

“I wouldn’t ask that.”

A nightingale in a tree begins to sing. The four turn to look at it, as does Barahir’s men nearby. Beren said, “Huh, I’ve never seen a nightingale this far north. I wonder what it’s doing here.”

“It must’ve followed us,” Mablung said. “There are plenty in our kingdom, most of which follow around either our Queen or Princess. It was Queen Melian who taught them their songs. In the Sindarian tongue of the Grey Elves a nightingale is called Tinúviel.”

“Well, the sleeping quarters are over there,” Barahir said, “just inside those trees where the Tinúviel is perched. That should at least make you feel somewhat at home. You two look like you could use some sleep. Feel free to crawl under any of those blankets among the heather.”

“Thanks,” said Mablung, “and for the record: there’s nothing wrong with your hospitality.”

The Men wished the Elves peaceful sleep as they parted.

Beleg then told Beren, “We’re going to break our fast and be off just before cockcrow.”

“I’ll have breakfast prepared,” Beren said.

Mablung and Beleg leave for their sleep. Barahir walks up to Beren.

“Beren,” he said, “I have to leave for my watch, and I probably won’t be back before you go. So, I just wanted to tell you to be careful.”

He then sighs and looks down. Beren sees there’s something else on his mind.

“What’s wrong, father?” Beren asked.

Barahir answered, “Oh, I guess I’ve just been feeling a little old lately; and maybe a little lonely.” Barahir lifts his head and smiles at Beren. “Your mother Emeldir would be so proud of you. I hope you know how much I am. I hate it when you have to be so far away from me. I guess I get a little uneasy.”

“Of what? I think you’ve taught me everything I need to know. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Now, do you want to tell me what really vexes you?”

“Awe, it’s nothing. Except sometimes because of the way we had to raise you and all the fighting and the war in general, I often wonder if your mother and I did right by you.”

“Father, I love my life, despite wishing like everyone else that this war never existed. Yet, children have and are dying because of this war and the evil of Morgoth. It is because of you and mother and the way you raised me that I still live. Maybe the real downfall of living in this time is that parents like you and mother have had to raise their children under these dreadful circumstances.”

Barahir, not expecting that type of answer from his son, smiles with pride at Beren. “What’s more is: you have more wisdom than Emeldir or I ever taught you.” Barahir pauses briefly while looking deeply into his son’s eyes. “Yes, you’ll be just fine. I love you, son.”

Barahir gives Beren a hug and again smiles at him and walks away. “Farewell.”

Beren looks at him somewhat puzzled as he walks away. Barahir looks at him one last time before he disappears into the woods.

Gorlim walks warily through the woods toward his old home. He sees a light in the window. He hears his wife’s voice lamenting.

“Gorlim, please return to me,” Eilinel’s voice said. “Say not that you have forsaken me.” Gorlim gets to the window, looks in and sees her saying, “Please come back to me.”

Gorlim runs to the doorway shouting, “I am here! I am here, my Eilinel!” As he gets to the door, the light is blown out, wolves howl nearby and a couple Orcs’ hands grab his shoulders. He turns to see an Orc fist – he’s out cold.

Gorlim awakens by water splashed in his face. He has been tied to a stake and is bleeding from being beaten and whipped. Orc soldier Lombag stands by Orc Captain Horgas, who punches Gorlim’s face. Other Orcs stand nearby laughing and cheering.

“Are you now ready to talk?” asked Horgas.

Gorlim, after he spits blood, answered, “Have you gotten any prettier?”

Lombag whips Gorlim, who shouts out in pain.

“I must tell you,” Horgas said, “you are the most stubborn captive I’ve ever encountered. But, no matter how tough a Man, Elf, Dwarf or Orc is, the eyes are very, very tender.” Lombag pulls from the fire an iron rod with a glowing red hot tip. He holds it near Gorlim’s right eye, slowly drawing it closer. “Do you not agree?”

Gorlim squints as his eye feels the heat. Finally, he shouts, “No, stop! Stop!”

Lombag stopped, and Horgas said, “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ I’ll ask you one more time: where are your friends hiding? Where is Barahir’s lair?”

Gorlim answered, “I’m not telling you.” Lombag again raises the rod to his eye, but Gorlim then says, “Wait! If Sauron wants to know from me where Barahir’s lair is, then you’ll have to take me to him. Tell Sauron I wish to strike a bargain with him.”

“No! No bartering!” Horgas angrily shouts; for he wants to be the one to tell Sauron the whereabouts of the lair to receive a reward from his master. “You either tell me now, or I’ll slay you right now!”

“You can put both eyes out and beat me to death,” said Gorlim, “but I will never tell you; only Sauron. And if you begrudge me this, how’s Sauron going to react when one of your Orcs tells him that I was willing to give him Barahir’s location, but instead you slew me? I bet Sauron won’t pin a medal on your ugly hide.”

Horgas takes the glowing brand from Lombag’s claw. He touches Gorlim’s chest with the point. Gorlim screams again in pain. “Fine, have it your way,” said Horgas. “All right you filthy maggots, we march for Tol-in-Gaurhoth! Now!”

*****

Taken inside Sauron’s main chamber, Gorlim stands before him on his throne as Horgas and Lombag stand next to it. The chamber is decorated with many machines and devises of torture. There are two Balrogs who stand guard behind Sauron. About the room are several other Orcs and wolves; snakes slither all around or curl themselves to things. At the foot of Sauron’s throne now sits Draugluin, the largest wolf save the one that sits before Morgoth’s throne and guards Angband’s Gate.

“I hear you wish to barter with me. What is your price?” Sauron asked.

Gorlim answered, “I saw my wife, Eilinel, whom you have enslaved and used to capture me. I knew all along she was alive, although my friends believed not. Please, reunite us and release us from your service, and I will tell you the location of Barahir’s Lair.”

Sauron smiles as he says, “That’s such a small price for so great a treachery. So shall it surely be. Say on.”

Gorlim hesitates, but Sauron glares at him. Gorlim feels as if Sauron’s eyes pierce through his flesh. At that moment a Balrog stretches its arms and flames shoot out from its entire upper torso. Gorlim sighs deeply and then says, “Tarn-Ailuin, on the northeast side.”

“We have searched that area and found nothing,” Sauron said. “How do I know that it is the truth you tell me?”

“You didn’t find anything because every time we leave we make sure there are no traces that we were there; we even bury the ashes of our campfires when we leave. We’ve seen your Orcs’ footprints when they searched there about a fortnight ago. What’s more: I would never cross you, especially when it comes to my wife.”

“Well, you are telling the truth. It was slightly more than two weeks ago when we last searched that area.”

“You also searched it two weeks before that.”

Sauron smiles, and then mocks Gorlim with laughter: “Ha. You also searched it two weeks before that. If you release us, I’ll tell you the location of Barahir’s Lair. Well, I want to thank you for your treachery. However, we have a small problem; for you see, the Eilinel that you saw was only a phantom devised to ensnare you; for your precious Eilinel died from an arrow through her heart the day Morgoth attacked your homes. Nonetheless, I will grant your prayer and you shall go to Eilinel.

“Horgas, you’ve earned your fun. Now you may carry out my end of our bargain. What say you on how to have him reunited with Eilinel — and have him released from my service?”

Horgas laughed and said, “I’ve always like using the shredder. I’m going to enjoy watching as your flesh is torn from your bones, one tiny piece at a time. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you stay alive and enjoy it as long as possible.” Horgas again laughed as the Orcs dragged Gorlim away screaming, “NO!!!”

*****

Prior to dawn the next morning, Beren, Mablung and Beleg lie sleeping near a smoldering campfire in the woods of northwestern Dorthonion. Beren dreams that he’s standing beside Tarn-Ailuin and hears many carrion fowl croaking in the trees near the lair’s location. He looks up to see the huge flock covering the trees’ branches above the lair; pieces of flesh hang and blood drips from many of their beaks. He hears something across the lake, turns and realizes it’s a wraith of Gorlim drawing near, as if gliding atop the water. Wraith-Gorlim stops before him with tears in his eyes.

“Gorlim?” questions Beren.

“Yes, it is I, Gorlim,” said wraith-Gorlim, “though what you now see is only my spirit, for dead I am now. And although you dream, what I am about to say is real.

“I know nothing more to say than I am very sorry, and that your father was right; you all were. I was captured and taken to Sauron, who deceived me, and I faltered. I told him of the Lair’s location. I’ve been dead for several hours as I wait for Mandos to summon me, and thus I bade you to make haste. You may be able to warn the rest before it’s too late. Please, awake now and go. Farewell.”

Wraith-Gorlim, with tears in his eyes, turns and again glides across the lake. Beren watches in wonder until he disappeared.

*****

Beren then awakens and runs to his horse. Mablung and Beleg awaken from his sudden noises.

“Beren, what is your madness?” Mablung asked.

Beren answers, “I must go; I must go now! I must race back to my father and friends! The men are in grave danger!”

Beleg asked, “Is there anything we can do? We would gladly go with you?”

Beren answers as he mounts his horse, “Thank you, but no. This isn’t your fight. You need to find out about that weapon. Just pray for me and the Men, and that my horse may now run faster than the wind. Farewell!”

Mablung and Beleg shout, “Farewell!” They watch until Beren rides out of sight.

*****

Beren rides through the morning, day and night; then another day and night. At dawn he nears the Lake and stopping sees in the trees the birds of his dream; with flesh hanging and blood dripping from their beaks. He rides to the lair. There he sees: many birds still on the ground feasting on his friends’ flesh; all the men are dead, not one body is whole; severed heads, arms and legs lying about. He yells out “NO!” in disbelief and anger as tears flow down his cheeks. The birds on the ground fly into the trees and join the others croaking in mockery; it’s almost as he hears the birds in mockery saying, “Too late. Beren, you are too late.”

*****

Beren kneels beside Barahir’s cairn. He takes the top rock and hits it three times on another rock and says, “In my heart I curse you thrice, Morgoth. As to you, my father, I make this oath, as well as to our friends: I will find and destroy those who’ve done this, and I will never stop hunting and slaying Morgoth’s servants. My dying breath will probably come during a bout with a servant of his, if not Morgoth himself; or Sauron. Rest in peace, father, and know that I alone shall be such a force against them that they will not believe that one man can do so much damage to them.”

*****

At dusk that same day, Beren stands atop a cliff overlooking Rivil’s Well and into the Orc camp in a small clearing of the woods. There he waits until nightfall. When darkness finally comes, Beren moves toward the camp. The moon is in its waning and is partly hidden by clouds, which helps Beren remain unseen as he gets closer. Horgas stands near the campfire and a huge rock, which Beren creeps behind and now waits for his opportunity, although he has no idea how he’s going to survive the thirty-two Orcs he’s counted.

Beren then sees Horgas holding up Barahir’s hand, and the ring of Felagund is still on it as the Orc boast, “This will show Lord Sauron that we have destroyed Barahir and his pitiful little band. I’m sure this ring will fit Sauron quite nicely. He truly loves rings. But he’ll especially love this treasure for it originally came from another of his enemies: that foolish Elven King Finrod Felagund of Nargothrond. Or maybe I should go back and get Barahir’s head for Sauron’s treasury and claim that the hand was bare and keep this trinket for myself.”

Hearing Horgas’ bragging, Beren shoots an arrow through his heart. He darts from behind the rock, grabs Barahir’s hand without hesitation and runs into the woods. Initially startled at Beren’s unbelievable boldness and speed, the Orcs give chase; some wildly shoot arrows at Beren, who keeps running from their sight unharmed.

As the chase continues, two Orcs run side-by-side through the trees. There’s a “snap” sound and then a louder “swoosh” as a large branch swings toward their chests. Several of many spikes whittled from the limbs of the branch stab them. The others abruptly stop when they see the dead Orcs standing stuck to the branch.

In fear Lombag said, “Let us return to Sauron swiftly. No one tells him that one of Barahir’s men remains alive. Agreed?”

The other Orcs grunt in agreement.

*****

The next morning in his chambers, while several other Orcs stand nearby holding their claws over their ears, Sauron yells at Lombag: ”I know what happened to Horgas and another two of your Orcs, as does Morgoth! I want the son of Barahir’s head! Lombag, you and your maggots are going back out there with another legion! Bring me back Beren’s head or don’t come back at all! Now get out of here before I cut all your heads off!”

All the Orcs run for the door, stumbling over each other in haste.

The Orcs continue their hunt for Beren near the old homesteads. One line of five Orcs is cautiously hunting the nearby woods when there’s a sudden “whoosh” sound and an Orc falls beheaded from a swinging branch with sword attached. There’s a sharp “twang” and another falls dead with an arrow through his throat. The other three Orcs scatter as another “twang” is heard, and another Orc falls with an arrow through the back of his head and exiting out of his eye. The other two see Beren and run toward him. After a short chase they fall screaming into a deep pit and are impaled by many sharp wooden spikes sticking up at various angles.

Beren then hears a dove and looks in wonder as it sits on a low branch of a nearby tree. It sounds as if the bird is cheering for him. He smiles at it then runs into the darkness. Dorlak comes and looks into the pit with another Orc.

“That’s fifty-five,” Dorlak said. “How is it he can get to us but we can’t get to him?” The other Orc shakes his head in disbelief. Another Orc in the distance screams. “And that’s fifty-six.”

*****

Several hours later, a light rainfall with a little lightning has started. A group of three Orcs search for Beren deeper into the woods. In a flash of lightning, they see what they believe is Beren with his back to them. They smile and sneak closer. One gives a signal, and the three jump on Beren. However, they have leaped onto a makeshift scarecrow. They fly off the cliff and scream as they fall hundreds of feet to their deaths. Beren comes into an opening with his sword Dagmor in hand and smiles as he looks toward the edge.

Beren sees another dove in a nearby tree, closer to the edge than he, sitting on a low branch and cooing. He wonders if it’s the same one he had seen before. Suddenly, the dove begins squawking loudly and flies from the tree. Beren watches as the bird flies by passing close to his head. Turning, he sees the dove fluttering in the face of an Orc who holds a bow and arrow in his hands, cursing the dove and swatting violently at it. After several attempts, he finally knocks away the dove, which thuds against a nearby tree and hits the ground hard; it survives but doesn’t fly away. A second after the dove is swatted Beren shoots an arrow through the Orc’s face. He walks to the Orc, making sure it’s dead. He looks around for other Orcs. Seeing none he then goes to the dove and carefully picks it up.

“Hey, little fellow, are you all right?” he asked. “You have got to be the bravest little dove to grace the skies of Middle-earth. You saved my life, and I thank you. Let me take a look at you.”

Beren carefully examines the bird, and then says, “I don’t feel any broken bones, but I bet you’ve got a bad bruise. That’s probably why you haven’t tried to fly away. Well, the least I can do is care for you tonight.”

Beren, with bird in hand, starts walking to his campsite.

*****

Arriving at his temporary lodging, Beren unties his sheathed sword, tosses it on the ground and sits under a lean-to near his dead fire. The rain that doused the coals has stopped. Beren reaches for his jacket lying on the ground near a bottom corner of the lean-to. He wads it up and sets the bird on it. He puts some small pieces of dry wood on the fire and gets a small blaze going. Then he opens a nearby package that he had dragged out while retrieving the jacket.

“Well, Mr. Dove, are you hungry?” Beren asked. “I’m starving. Let’s see we have berries. And look, more berries.”

Beren sets some berries before the bird, which happily pecks away at them.

“I bet you’d like some water, too.” Beren uncorks his water leather. He takes from his side a knife and digs out a hole in the bottom of the cork. He then pours a couple drops of water into the hole and sets it before the dove.

“Here, drink this. I’ll give you some more if you’re still thirsty when you’re done.”

Beren opens another bag. “Look, I found some scraps of meat.” The bird sees it, starts flapping his one good wing and squawks. “What? It’s prairie chicken,” Beren said, and he then realized what he had just said, and why the bird is squawking. He throws the package into the fire.

“You know, I never looked at it that way. Well, since you saved my life tonight, I will make this oath to you, Mr. Dove, and to all: I, Beren son of Barahir, will eat no flesh or slay any bird or beast that is not in the service of Morgoth! I swear to all that this oath I shall keep unto my death!”

Beren eats a handful of berries then lies down on his side near the fire. The dove walks to him and cuddles below his chin against his chest. Beren takes the bird back to the jacket.

“No, you can’t sleep with me. This is your spot, Mr. Dove. You don’t want to sleep next to me unless you want to be accidentally crushed in your sleep.”

The dove gives a coo, and Beren returns to his same spot and lies the same way. Again, the dove comes to snuggle. Beren again takes him back.

“Now, Mr. Dove, I don’t want to roll over on you and break my oath at the same time.”

Beren again lies down. The last thing he sees before falling asleep is the dove sitting on his jacket.

*****

The morning sun awakens Beren, who smiles at the dove – which is under his chin and staring into his eyes.

“You’re very brave, Mr. Dove; and very lucky.” Beren’s expression turns to wonder when he sees the legs of a deer walk by his smoldering campfire. He lifts up his head and sees not only the one deer. There are also a couple groundhogs, raccoons, rabbits and other deer on the ground, and there are many birds in the trees. The animals, seeing Beren now awake and looking at them, begin making their respective noises as if they’re trying to speak to him. He doesn’t see Thorondor, the twenty-five-foot tall Eagle-King, standing behind him.

“Oh sure,” Beren said, “the day after I say I’ll eat no flesh is the day every bird and beast in the forest comes to stand in my stew pot. I wonder what all of you are saying.”

“Well met, Beren son of Barahir,” Thorondor said.

Beren slowly turns his head and sees behind him the large feathery legs of a mighty bird. He slowly looks up to see an eagle’s face looking down at him; a large sharp golden beak shines from the morning sun. Startled, he grabs Dagmor and quickly unsheathes it, jumps up and points it at the over-sized bird, who doesn’t move; as does none of the other animals, nor do they act the least frightened. A deer comes from behind Beren and licks his ear.

“What do you think you’re going to do with that?” Thorondor asked. “Is this the way you greet all your friends?”

Beren stutters, “Fr… Friends? Who are you?”

“I am Thorondor.”

“Thorondor? The Thorondor? King of the Eagles of Manwë? That Thorondor? The Thorondor who helped Fingon rescue Maedhros after Morgoth hung him by his wrist from a precipice of Thangorodrim?”

     “Yes, ’tis I.”

     “I’m sorry, but you startled me.” Beren tosses Dagmor back to the ground and bows. “I am a huge admirer of yours, Your Highness.”

“You need not call me ‘Highness’ nor bow. Just Thorondor will suffice.”

“It doesn’t seem right not to acknowledge the title of the one who marred Morgoth’s face and saved the body of Fingolfin from being tossed to his wolves.”

“I appreciate the acknowledgement. However, saying my title isn’t necessary; and I sure wish it be associated not with one of Middle-earth’s saddest days since its creation.”

Thorondor turns his head to the side and closes his eyes. Beren chooses his next words carefully and speaks them very slowly.

“I have heard only several reports of that day and felt that it was merely a terrible event. However, hearing now your words and seeing the expression on your face, I get the sense I have heard not the full extent of that day’s sorrows. I’m very sorry. It was not my intent to speak of it lightly. Please forgive me, Thorondor. Nonetheless, I would gladly hear the true account from one who was present, if it doesn’t overly pain you.”

Thorondor looks sternly down at Beren and exclaims, “Just its thought overly pains me!” Thorondor’s sternness turns to sadness, and he signs. He then begins to speak softly.

“I’m sure you know well it was at the end of the Dagor Bragollach, when Fingolfin son of Finwë and High King of the Noldor mounted his pure white steed Rochallor. They resembled the great Vala Oromë and his horse, Nahar, as they rode over Dor-nu-Fauglith. The fires of the Battle of Sudden Flames were nearly quenched as they sped like lightning until they reached…

“…the Gates of Angband. They arrived uncontested; for none of Morgoth’s servants dared to look upon the face of Fingolfin, whose eyes in his great madness of rage shone like the eyes of the Valar in wrath. He took his silver horn and winded with it a clear keen note that literally shook Angband’s foundations. He then shouted…

‘Morgoth, come forth!’

“He dismounted Rochallor with shield in hand. Then he again blew his horn and smote upon the gate, shouting…

‘Morgoth, come through your ghastly brazen doors, Dark King! You may be a monstrous craven lord, a tyrant who’s hated by all of heaven and earth, as well as his own banded thralls, but will you not fight with your own hand and sword?! Come forth, foe of Gods, Elves and Men! I await you here! Come! Show your face!’

“In that hour, Fingolfin stood as such a champion that Morgoth’s servants who watched from behind the Gate wondered indeed if their leader would come. And when Morgoth first appeared, they saw his reluctance; and it is believed that his need to save face before his Balrogs, Orcs and other servants was the only reason he accepted the challenge. Of those ever listed among the Valar, Morgoth alone knows fear. And when he stepped through the Gate and looked upon Fingolfin, his look of risen fear could not be contained. For even under Morgoth’s dark shadow, Fingolfin, with his raiment of snowy white, his bright shield as a field of heaven’s blue and his sword Ringil drawn like cold ice, appeared shining as a crystal pale star.

“Morgoth came attired as ever in his burnt black raiment with his vast shield of unblazoned sable field and huge mace-like weapon…

“Grond was its name. And although it swung slowly above him as Morgoth towered over the gleaming King, Fingolfin showed no fear. Without warning, Morgoth loosed the hammer of the underworld down on him like a thunderbolt. It clang to the ground creating a pit and a cloud of smoke. Like a stab of white light, Fingolfin shot to the side unscathed. With skilled precision he struck with Ringil. When the cold sword devised of Elvish skill pierced Morgoth’s flesh, he wailed in anguish so loudly that the mountains shook, and Angband’s armies fell trembling upon their faces. Many times Morgoth essayed to smite Fingolfin with Grond; seven times Ringil answered deep in the Evil Lord’s flesh.

“But when Grond was unsuccessful, Morgoth bore down his shield, and the Elven King was beaten to his knees three times. Yet, three times Fingolfin arose, star-shining and proud with stricken shield and sundered helm. Morgoth’s great blows could not keep him down, but the King’s own fatigue caused him to stumble into one of Grond’s pits. Morgoth then placed his foot on his neck, and its weight like a fallen hill he could not defend. With death in his eyes, Fingolfin gave one last desperate stroke with Ringil and hewed Morgoth’s right foot. Morgoth screamed, and his black blood gushed and smoked filling Grond’s pits. He then took the King’s body and broke it and would feed it to his wolves.

“That was too much for me. In anger I came rushing from Crissaegrim and stooped on Morgoth, marring his face with my beak, which caused him to release the King. As Fingolfin fell and Morgoth’s servants began shooting at me, I seized his body in my talons and quickly flew above their darts, which harms me never.”    

A tear falls from Thorondor’s beak as he continued, “Thus died Fingolfin, most proud and valiant of all known Elven Kings. The Orcs make no boast of the duel at the Gate; neither do the Elves sing of it, for their sorrow is too deep. I laid him atop the mountain that looked from the north upon the hidden valley of Gondolin. King Turgon second son of Fingolfin built a high cairn over him. No Orc dares to pass over the mount of Fingolfin or draw near his tomb.

“As you know, his first son Fingon with sorrow became High King of the Noldor; he reigns now. As for Morgoth, he goes ever halt on one foot, and the pains of his wounds can not be healed; and in his face is the scar I gave him.”

After several seconds of silence, Beren said, “Again, I had never heard the full account; and again, I apologize.”

“Like my title,” Thorondor said, “your apologies are unnecessary.”

“Well, it is well met and an honor indeed; and to all of you, I bid you welcome,” he said. And then he asked, “But why do all of you seek me?”

“Since you said you would not eat them,” Thorondor replied, “they wanted to meet the legendary Beren son of Barahir, who has done much for them. In return, they have done their best to protect you, and they always will. You have many friends, though you know them not. You have also helped those whom you know not, in more ways than you can imagine.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have any idea how much damage one Orc, a legion of Orcs or an army of Orcs can do? They beat down plants or burn trees for no good reasons, destroying birds’ and beasts’ homes and food. They slay many beasts just for the sport of killing, or they wound them to let them die where they fall, while they watch and laugh.”

“I am only one man. I wish I could do more; believe me.”

“We do believe. But did you know: in the past three months you have slain more Orcs than all the armies in Beleriand combined; and that your name is being sung as far west as the sea and farther south than the Isle of Balar, and even in the depths of Nargothrond and Menegroth? To say the least, the Dark Lord is very angry with you.”

“Truly?”

“Yes, truly. Here’s something else you may know not: you have made true the statement spoken at your father’s cairn regarding Morgoth’s and Sauron’s disbelief that only one man could do so much damage.”

“How do you know what I said?”

“Mrs. Dove, who saved your life and stayed the night with you, heard you say that and told Manwë. Morgoth is so angry with you that he has put a price on your head no less than the High King of the Noldor. He has also commanded Sauron to put together an entire army against you. Sauron also has unleashed numerous werewolves, fell beasts inhabited by dreadful spirits that he has imprisoned in their bodies.”

“No, I knew not those things. Then why have I not seen more Orcs or these werewolves?”

Thorondor laughed and said, “There are no Orcs or werewolves who wish to see you. Morgoth’s servants flee from you rather than seek you out; and I blame them not. You have used tactics that bewilder them. They are scared to tread where you walk; to enter the lands you roam. If it wasn’t for the whips of their masters, there would never be an Orc to contest you. They also know about the birds and beasts that love and aid you, as well as the Eagles who keep watch on Crissaegrim and the Vala Manwë, who watches all from Taniquetel. Look over my left wing; top of the cliff. That’s my son Landroval and Meneldor. Coming up behind you is the fastest of all birds and beasts, my son Gwaihir the Windlord, who brings you food.”

Gwaihir flies in, sets down a basket and lands. “Well met, Beren son of Barahir,” he said. “Your friends have gathered for you berries, fruits, vegetables and herbs; everything a growing boy needs.”

“Thank you,” Beren said with a smile.

Gwaihir then turned to Thorondor and said, “Father, Manwë wishes council with you when you’re finished here.”

“Thank you, my son,” said Thorondor. “I’ve nearly finished.” He turned back to Beren and said, “Just remember, Beren, even when you think times are at their darkest, alone you are not. Continue to be cautious and wise. And if you ever need help, just call out in the wilderness. Farewell, my friend.”

Beren again begins to bow and then quickly straightens. “Thank you, King… I mean… Thorondor. Farewell, both of you. It is my hope that we shall meet again,” he said.

Thorondor and Gwaihir say “farewell” and leap into flight. Each animal makes their respective sound and then flies, waddles or runs away.

“Thanks to all of you,” Beren said, adding, “farewell.”

On a late autumn morning, Beren talks to his father as he stands next to his grave: “Well, father, I’ve awakened from the very last night here at the old lair, for I must leave Dorthonion. Sorry, but Morgoth and Sauron have really put the pressure on me. They flood our land with Balrogs, dragons, vampires, werewolves and who knows what other monsters and evil creatures are here that I have yet to see. What’s more: they’re marching entire armies of Orcs through Dorthonion in hopes of destroying me. I guess he likes not the damage this one man is doing to him. So if I don’t leave now, I fear I’ll never be able to go. Everywhere I turn nowadays I end up having to run from something. Sometimes I’m unsure whether it’s Man or beast. I fear, father, I’ll never be able to return here again. You know, I never realized how quiet and peaceful it is near the lake. And yet my ears are filled with noises…”

He smiles as his eyes begin to tear. “…your voice; the laughter of the Men standing beside the fire, talking about old times; the cries of sorrow and loss of family. You were the one who held us all together. I was always very proud of you; I wish I had told you this the last night we were together. I miss you so much, father; mostly how you were never afraid to show the goodness of your heart. Be he friend or stranger, you never turned your back on anyone. I wonder if that wasn’t your downfall. I’ll see you again someday. Until then, know that I love you very much; and as long as I live, there will never be a day I won’t think of you and our last two ‘farewells.’”

*****

It’s now a week later and winter has literally blown itself in with a night of gusting winds and heavy snowfall. Having made his way into Ered Gorgoroth, Beren runs through its trees as two werewolves and a wolf-rider chase him. He’s far enough ahead to be out of their sight, but they’re getting closer. He sees a large downed branch of a huge Beech. He runs up the branch and climbs further up the tree. He stops where the leaves are mostly clustered, but this barely gives him coverage. The two werewolves run passed the tree. As the wolf-rider approaches the Beech, he stops and looks around. He can’t distinguish footprints because of the blowing snow, which also causes the wolves problems with keeping Beren’s scent, and the darkness caused by clouds; no moon or stars can be seen. The wolf-rider looks directly at the cluster of leaves that hide Beren. Hearing a werewolf’s howl in the distance, he kicks his wolf and trots away. Beren stays in the tree and watches until he’s sure the three chasers are far enough away. Climbing down, he sits at the tree’s base.

“If I’m going to get any sleep tonight, I’d better find a place fast,” he said out loud to himself.

After a couple minutes of rest, Beren continues his southward journey as the mountain range descends. The snow has stopped blowing and falls lighter. He reaches a ledge. There’s about a twenty-foot incline to the bottom. He looks far in the distance and sees the land of Doriath, and it is at this time that his heart tells him that that land will be his destination. He slides down the incline. As he reaches the bottom, the snow stops; clouds clear; the moon and stars light up the mountains. He looks around and sees a small cave. He goes inside. Snow is no longer under his feet. However, he walks awkwardly.

“What am I stepping in? It sure is sticky.”

In low light he notices that someone has been there before, and there’s a small pile of wood against the wall.

“Bless the one who left the wood here. But what on Middle-earth keeps sticking to my feet?”

Beren digs through his pocket with one hand while he scans the ground for kindling with the other. From the pocket he pulls a flint. When his kindling is piled, he strikes his flint. The kindling finally catches to a small flame. He puts his head down to it and lightly blows to aid the flame. The flame grows, and he sees a skull inches from his face, which startles him, as does the first full light of the cave. There are small pieces of wood lying around, but there are more skulls and bones than anything else, along with patches of spider web.

“Oh, no. Please tell me this spider’s found another home, or that it’s at least hibernating through the winter.”

He immediately puts more wood on the fire. The higher the fire gets the more bones he sees. He sees many are from Men, Elves and Orcs, although most belonged to birds or beasts. Beren sits leaning against the wall near the mouth of the cave. Not hearing any noise and totally exhausted, he falls asleep.

*****

As the sun climbs over the mountain range, Beren awakens. His fire still smolders, so he puts some kindling and small pieces of wood on it and his hands over it. When the blaze gets bigger, he stands over it to warm his body. He fishes some nuts and berries from a small bag.

“I sure hope this lasts for a few days longer. If I don’t make it out of these mountains soon, I’m going to starve to death. Do you hear that, my friends?! I could use some food! Of course, what food is there for any Man in Ered Gorgoroth?”

Beren eats a couple nuts, picks up his sack, kills the fire with dirt until it smolders, and walks out of the cave. He doesn’t see the giant spider standing atop the incline where he slid down the night before. He walks a couple steps then hears snow rolling down the incline to the ground behind him. He looks up.

“Oh great, spiders in the snow. Only in Gorgoroth.” He then yelled to the spider, “Shouldn’t you be sleeping this time of year?”

Beren unsheathes Dagmor and begins to runs. The spider chases. Near the edge of a near-twelve-foot drop, Beren turns and points his sword at it. Another spider joins them.

“Well, if one more of your friends arrive then the odds will be about even!”

The first darts at him. He swings his sword, chopping off a claw. The spider makes a noise of dismay and backs up; its leg dripping very dark red blood. The other spider takes a run at him, and Beren jabs an eye out. It also backs up voicing dismay. The two regroup in front of Beren. Then he hears behind him a long loud growl. He turns to see a werewolf.

“I said another spider, not a werewolf.”

Beren sees that it’s young. It stands on two feet that has four sharp toes on each, which matches the four fingers on its claws. Its facial features include two round hollow black eyes above flaring nostrils of a large snout. Its massive overbite has many sharp teeth, including two longer fangs protruding from its snarling lips. It again growls at him.

“I don’t suppose you like spiders for breakfast, do you?” The werewolf gives a long howl and a grunt toward Beren. “No, it sounds like you’d rather have me. Well, stand in line.”

The first spider lunges again. Beren runs and leaps between its legs and with a flip lands on its back. Raising Dagmor, he brings its down through the top of its back and through the belly. The spider hideously screams before falling lifeless. Beren leaps off landing in front of the other spider and the werewolf. The spider rears up and the werewolf lifts its head high to give another long howl.

“I see that didn’t take away your appetites. Well then, who’s next?”

The werewolf reaches for Beren, who spins, swings Dagmor upward and severs its left hand above the wrist. The werewolf screams, but Beren continues after him. It backs up until it falls off the drop; hitting bottom knocks the wind out of it. Beren looks at it; it looks back up at Beren. It then stands up, looks at its bleeding stub and gives a pitiful whine. It again looks up at Beren, turns his head and sadly walks away.

“Sorry, little one. You should’ve chosen the spiders for breakfast.”

Beren looks at the spider in front of him. It hesitates. “Well, it’s your move.” Oozing yellow and red from the one jabbed eye, it looks at the blood trail leading to the edge where the werewolf fell. Then it looks at the dead spider. After looking at Beren with Dagmor gleaming in the new sun, with the exception of where the spider’s and werewolf’s blood stains it, the spider then backs up, turns and walks to the cave.

“That’s it. Go warm yourself over some hot coals.” Beren sheaths his sword and begins walking. “Well, I wonder what I’ll meet up with next.”

It is now the first of summer. Beren has made his home in a lightly tree-covered area on the southern bank of the Esgalduin River. Menegroth is about five miles southwest of him. He lies on his back looking at the stars poking through as the sky darkens from sunset. As always, there are woodland animal scattered at hand and birds in the trees. Suddenly, he hears the sweetest voice he had ever heard singing nearby. He doesn’t understand the words, but he’s enchanted as the voice comes closer and closer. He arises and follows the voice into the wooded darkness of Neldoreth. In a clearing he sees for the first time Lúthien through the trees in a glade dancing and singing within the beams of moonlight. He remains hidden behind a tree at the glade’s edge. He watches as she continues to sing and dance her way passed him and up the small hill. Following her are six nightingales. Beren hasn’t seen her face well, but he has noticed that from her footsteps spring the little white flowers of Niphredil.

Suddenly, Lúthien stops. She’s about ten feet away from Beren with her back to him. She turns and they look into each other’s eyes, both pair are lighted with soft moonbeams. After several seconds Beren becomes blind, and she runs away. Beren hears her running footsteps. While running, Lúthien can’t get Beren’s face out of her mind; she thought it was most handsome; one she would never forget. Beren, however, spent the night in the middle of the forest, unable to find his way back home. By dawn, his sight was returning, but he still groped his way through the forest until he found his home, where he slept without awakening for the next five days.

*****

A whole year has passed, and with the exception of the one when he lost his father and friends, it was the worst year of his life. His face was already haggard by his trek through the dark, non-forgiving mountains of Ered Gorgoroth. But more lines and evidence of age had etched their way in his face. He was still ruggedly handsome, but the tell tale signs of aging he also felt in his bones. And it didn’t make him feel anymore handsome or younger as he constantly pictured the smooth, vibrant and ageless beauty of Lúthien’s face.

Then there came a night when he heard that most wonderful voice making its way again toward his home. He ran back to the same place he had seen her before, and she was coming up the same hill; singing and dancing all the way. They both stood in the same places they were a year ago. Beren wasn’t blinded by her shining light this time. But Lúthien had not yet turned to him when she said:

“Well met, stranger. Would you like to introduce yourself this time?”

As Beren walks to her he says, “If you do not run away this time, I will say that I am Beren son of Barahir. Tales I’ve heard of the Princess of Doriath who is the most beautiful of all beings. That must be you; at least that’s what I see from the back of you, which is more than I saw from afar the last time.”

“You have heard of me? That’s nice. I have heard of you, as well. However, you are in Doriath, the land of King Thingol and Queen Melian, where you have apparently made your home. Just to let you know, my father allows no Men in his kingdom.”

“Thanks for the warning. But, are you sure it’s me you’ve heard of?”

“Yes, you are the man that my mother has foreseen coming into our kingdom; the man whom she spoke of to our kinswoman Galadriel, telling her that the Girdle of Melian will not stop him; some strange man from the House of Bëor. I’ll give you another warning: there is a high doom upon you. I know also that you are the one who’s done so much damage to the armies of the Enemy that your name is being sung throughout many Elven-kingdoms, including this one.”

“It’s hard to believe I am that famous. But along with wondering what your face looks like, since I haven’t had a good look, I was also curious to know what your wonderful singing is about?”

Lúthien turns to him. He sees her beauty and smiles, but does not appear overwhelmed. He simply said, “Well met, my Lady. So, what is it you sing about?”

Lúthien looks surprised from his casual reaction of seeing her face. He was the first male among Men, Elves or Dwarves who didn’t become emotionally overpowered by her beauty. Most men cannot hide their overly enchanted expressions. Waiting for that type of expression and not receiving one – for the first time – Lúthien was nearly shocked by his casualty. Therefore, she merely smiles and answers, “I sing about many things. The song I that you heard me singing is about the Jewels of Fëanor, the Silmarils.”

“The Silmarils? What are they?”

“You’ve never heard of the Silmarils; Fëanor’s jewels that were made in the Blessed Realm of Valinor?”

“No. I also don’t know what is meant by the Blessed Realm of Valinor?”

“Then you don’t know much about Elves, do you? The Silmarils are the most famous of all jewels ever made since this world was created, and will surely be when this world ends. The Blessed Realm is Valinor.”

“That doesn’t help me.”

“In Valinor is where the Valar live. They are the Ainur, the lesser gods that were made by the one god who created this world: Ilúvatar, who Men call Eru.

“Eru?”

“Yes. Eru. Do you not believe in Ilúvatar? Who do you think made this world and all things in it, including Men and Elves? Who do you think created you?”

“I thought it was my mother and father who created me.”

“Who do you think gave them and all things the capability of reproducing; except for Dwarves and the evil creatures created by Morgoth’s wizardry?”

“Who made the Dwarves, then?”

“The Dwarves were made by the Vala Aulë, but were blessed by Ilúvatar. Did you know that Ilúvatar loves you, and that he has kept you alive all this time? Do you know that he wants you to know and love him?”

“No. That’s a lot to believe.”

“Nonetheless, it is true. I hope someday you will believe as all people should.”

“Does he come to meet us?”

“You believe in him through faith. He meets with you every day. He is always with you.”

“I see. Well, if you believe in him then I shall believe, and I will begin talking to him tonight. But for now, come sit and tell me more about the Silmarils?”

They sit in some high plush grass by a Beech tree, and Lúthien begins, “Ah, the Silmarils. Well, when Elves were first put on Middle-earth by the sweet waters of Cuiviénen, they were found by the Vala named Oromë while riding on his horse Nahar. He instantly loved us so much that he wanted us to live in Valinor with him and the rest of the Valar; and the Valar agreed. But the Elves were scared to go; because all they knew of the Valar was their terrifying wrath during the first war of Middle-earth, which occurred just after they arrived.

“That war was called the Battle of the Powers, when the Valar first captured and chained Melkor. You know him as Morgoth, a name given to him by Fëanor.”

“Are you telling me that they had the Enemy locked up and nobody threw away the key?”

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s true. He was chained with Angainor, a huge chain forged by Aulë. He was then sent to the Halls of Mandos. There he was locked away for three long ages of Valinor. During that time, Oromë rode Nahar back to Beleriand and took three ambassadors to Valinor: Finwë, Ingwë and my father Elwë, who you know as Elu Thingol. Valinor was spectacular, but what made it overwhelmingly amazing were the Two Trees, Telperion and Silpion, which were made by the Vala Yavanna. Their lights were the most radiant of all lights ever created and they lit all of Valinor and much of Middle-earth before the sun and moon were created.

“The ambassadors then returned to their homelands and told all what they had seen regarding the Two Trees and the splendor of Valinor, and that they agreed that everyone should move there. Nearly all began the Great Journey, the long migration west over the large Anduin River, through the Mountains of Ered Luin, across Beleriand, and to the sea; to set sail west for Valinor. Along the way, however, some turned off in other directions after becoming fascinated with the beauty of other things in Middle-earth, of which they had never before seen: streams, lakes and rivers; flowers, plants and trees; and more beasts than they ever knew existed.

“My father never made the return trip, but that was because of a different reason. He met my mother, who was born a Maia, of the race of the Valar but a lesser god in Valinor. Together they created their own kingdom here. That makes my father the only Elf of the Sindar, the Grey-Elves of Middle-earth, who has seen the Two Trees.

“Anyhow, those who made it to Valinor weren’t disappointed. They, too, were in awe of Valinor. It seemed all were glad, and they began to prosper and flourish. It wasn’t long when in the House of Finwë Fëanor was born.

“Fëanor’s birth and growth to maturity were legendary, for he was born with a secret fire within; hence the meaning of his name. Also, his hands quickly became very skilled. He learned to forge nearly anything his mind imagined. But his greatest talents were in jewels. Not just those mined from the earth, but he created ways to make his own gems; some more beautiful than any that could be quarried. He wasn’t old indeed when he had mastered his skills and took on what is considered the greatest feat of skill ever; one which made him and will keep him renowned until the world’s end. He created three jewels, the Silmarils, which captured the radiant lights of the Two Trees of Valinor.

“All who dwelt in Aman, another name for the Land of the Valar, were filled with wonder and delight at the work of Fëanor. The jewels were hallowed by the Vala Varda, who put in them the power that when touched they would burn any hands of those who are evil or anyone or anything with the intent to sully them.

“Unfortunately, Fëanor would not keep them long; for soon after they were created, Melkor’s time of imprisonment came to its end, and he was paroled. When he first saw the Silmarils, he lusted for them. He knew that one day he would have them for his own. He did not have to wait long for his opportunity; for there was a festival attended by all, except for Fëanor’s father Finwë, who was once my father’s best friend. He remained at their home in Formenos, where the Silmarils were locked in a vault. Melkor, breaking his parole by secretly returning far south into Beleriand, recruited Ungoliant, the giant evil spider of Middle-earth.”

“I think I met a couple of her grandchildren,” said Beren.

“Together, they returned to Valinor,” Lúthien continued. “While no one was near, they went to the Two Trees. Melkor stabbed each with his black spear, and their insides spilled onto the ground as if it was their blood. Ungoliant then stuck her poisonous beak into the wounds. They wilted where they stood as she literally sucked the life out of them, completely draining them dry. She also injected her poison into them. Then she sucked up what spilled next to them; and going to the vats of gold and silver droplets that the Trees filled and Varda had used to create many of the stars of Middle-earth, she sucked those dry, as well.

“The Trees never recuperated. They stand lifeless today where they originally sprouted and died, kept as a memorial of Valinor’s most joyous days.

“And if that wasn’t grievous enough, Melkor and Ungoliant went to the House of Finwë. There, Melkor committed the first murder since Middle-earth’s creation: he slew Finwë in the doorway of his home. He then forced open the vaults and grabbed all its treasures, including the three Silmarils. Fëanor was furious; and in his madness, after cursing Melkor and naming him anew Morgoth, the Black Foe of the World, he blamed the Valar for the sorrows of that day, stating he could’ve prevented many of its events if he had been home when Morgoth arrived.

“In his fury, he rallied the Elves of Valinor and convinced many that it was the Valar’s fault that Melkor was uncontrollable; able to come, slay, rob and escape. What’s more: he gathered his seven sons about him and they swore to this day the most terrifying oath ever. Known as the Oath of Fëanor, it has already caused much grief, death and destruction throughout Middle-earth; and it will continue to do so until the sons again possess them or the sons are no more or the Silmarils are lost forever.

“He then told the Elves they should flee from the Blessed Realm back to their original lands. Fëanor had a unique power in his voice, and nearly all the Elves followed him in his return to Middle-earth. Some, however, turned back and sought forgiveness from the Valar, which they fully received.

“There were many who liked his idea of creating their own kingdoms, although they didn’t agree with the accusations against the Valar. Most Elven kingdoms that are now scattered throughout Beleriand are those who returned from the Blessed Realm.”

“What happened to Fëanor?” Beren asked. “And what did Morgoth do with the Silmarils; were they ever recaptured?”

“I was coming to that,” Lúthien politely answered. “Well, the return march began with two groups, Fëanor’s and another led by his half-brother Fingolfin. They became known as the Noldor; those who left the Blessed Realm.”

“I learned a little about Fingolfin from Thorondor,” Beren said.

“Journeying back east they first met the Teleri of Araman, where the coasts of Aman and Middle-earth meet. That was known as Alqualondë, of which my Uncle Olwë was the prince – well, actually its king. His people were the builders of the most beautiful ships to ever sail the seas: the White Ships of the Teleri. There, another event would add to the terrible deeds of that time. Fëanor, whose group arrived there first, sought help from the Teleri; but they were happy with their lives and tried to dissuade Fëanor from fleeing further and seek the pardon of the Valar. Fëanor, however, would not hear of it. Therefore, when the Teleri wouldn’t give, lend or sell their ships to him, he became wrathful. He immediately devised a plan to take them by force. Under Fëanor’s command his Elves began boarding and manning the ships, pushing the Teleri’s mariners aside or throwing them overboard. It wasn’t long until weapons were drawn. But being armed with short bows and few swords, Olwë’s people were overwhelmed by Fëanor’s. What’s more: Fingolfin’s group soon arrived. When they saw what was happening, they assumed it was the Teleri who attacked Fëanor under the direction of the Valar. Therefore, they too slew many of the Teleri before they were aware of the truth. Then many of Fingolfin’s group repented and began assisting the Teleri. Nonetheless, it was the first time when Elves took the lives of Elves — thus far. This became known as the Kinslaying.”

“I’m so sorry,” Beren said.

“Well, once the Teleri were overcome, the groups discovered that there weren’t enough ships for both groups,” Lúthien continued. “So they created a plan whereas Fëanor’s people would sail to the shores at Losgar, then crews would sail back to retrieve Fingolfin’s people. But when he landed at Losgar, Fëanor had all the ships set on fire, burning the most beautiful vessels ever to sail the seas of Middle-earth; none like the Teleri’s will ever again be built. And Fëanor stranded Fingolfin and his group at Araman.”

“How can someone be so talented at the same time be so cold?” Beren asked.

“Cold?” repeated Lúthien. “Cold is exactly how he left them. Fingolfin and his people had only two choices: go back to Valinor or hike through the most viciously frozen part of Middle-earth: Helcaraxë, also known as the Grinding Ice. Fingolfin and his people, however, felt the choice was easy, for he would not let their friends be counseled by Fëanor only. Of this many agreed. Therefore, they went on; and with much grievous loss and sheer will, many survived the Helcaraxë and went on to flourish in Middle-earth.

“Fëanor, however, died when Morgoth’s servants attacked his people as they journeyed into Beleriand again. That incident was the second battle in the Wars of Beleriand, the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, the Battle-under-Stars. The Elves won the battle, but Fëanor was wounded to the death.

“It is said that Fëanor had an insight before dying: that the three Silmarils would never be taken from Morgoth merely by the power of the peoples of Middle-earth. But as for now, they are set in Morgoth’s iron crown, which he takes off never.”

“You don’t think there’s a chance Morgoth would give back the jewels to Fëanor’s sons if they were to ask very politely?” Beren asked.

“Oh my goodness, it’s so late!” Lúthien exclaimed. “I must go.”

“Wait!” shouted Beren.

Lúthien then looked into his eyes, silencing him again spellbound. This time, however, Beren was not blinded, and he watched as she ran up the hill, turned and shouted back, “It was very well meeting you again! I am glad we spoke this time. Farewell.”

She continued running from his sight. Several seconds later Beren shook off the spell and shouted, “Wait! Will I see you again – sooner this time? You never told me your name!”

The last thing Beren sees going over the hill is a nightingale. “Since no formal name I have for you, I shall call you Tinúviel, Nightingale, Daughter of Twilight, in the Grey-Elven tongue,” Beren said aloud to himself as he watched he last shadows fade away. “Who was that Elf’s who told me that?”

Off the bank of his camp, Beren is submerged to his neck. Although it’s just after sun-up, the Esgalduin River’s water is pleasantly lukewarm from the summer’s heat. Presently, the enjoyment of his leisurely morning bath is about to be interrupted. Two otters have popped their heads above the water about a foot in front of his face.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Otter,” welcomed Beren. “What brings the two of you here today?”

The otters go under and again pop up in front of Beren’s face. They both spit streams of water in Beren’s face, then immediately go under again. Beren wipes his eyes.

“Hey, that’s not fair, two against one!” he exclaimed.

He looks at the water anticipating where the next attack will come. He turns his head to see behind him and gets another stream in the face from Mr. Otter. He quickly turns the other way, and just after he dries his eyes, he gets another squirt from Mrs. Otter.

“So you want to play, huh? Let’s play!”

Lúthien, followed by five nightingales, quietly walks through Beren’s camp, barely leaving her footprints in the dry dirt. She comes to a large rock at the bank, stands upon it and quietly watches the three. She places her hand over her mouth to quiet her giggles, finding it hard not to laugh aloud. Beren is too intent on winning his current battle against his watery friends to notice Lúthien.

Mr. Otter pops up behind Beren, but he hears him. He quickly turns and tries to jump on him, only to make a huge splash. Mr. Otter dashes under again. Beren comes back up. Mr. Otter pops up again making laughing sounds.

“Oh, you laugh now. You just wait ’til I get a hold of you.” Then Beren feels a pinch at his side. “Ouch! No biting! That’s cheating! Let me take a chunk out of you!”

Beren dives under for a couple seconds and comes back up with Mrs. Otter in his right hand. He holds her high in the air and gives a sinister laugh. “Ha, ha, I got you now!” But Mr. Otter comes up in front of him and squirts another long stream in his face. He drops Mrs. Otter back into the water as he wipes his eyes. Lúthien can’t hold it in anymore: she laughs merrily and loudly. Beren turns and their eyes meet. He wades to her rock.

“What are you laughing at, Tinúviel?” he asked.

Beren reaches his hand out to her, and she takes it thinking to help him out of the water. “Why do you call me Tinúviel?” asked Lúthien.

“Because you never told me your real name,” Beren answered. And at the word “name”, he suddenly jerks her into the water. Lúthien comes up with an astonished look on her face. She lunges at him and pushes him underwater by his head.

“It’s Lúthien, you little…! O!” she exclaimed, splashing water in his face when he had come back up.

Mr. and Mrs. Otter are laughing as they swim on their backs around them.

“I often wondered if an Elven Princess had a sense of humor,” Beren said.

The two wade to the edge, climb out of the water and onto the bank and sit by Beren’s small fire. The nightingales gather around them. The otters remain swimming and playing near the water’s edge.

“Are you one of those people who think Elven royalty is immune to laughter?” Lúthien asked. “I’ll have you know I have a great sense of humor, as well does my father and mother.”

“That’s fascinating. I wouldn’t say immune, but maybe the word ‘reluctant’ was more of how I perceived it,” Beren explained.

“Fascinating? What I find fascinating is how you have found such fun and joy with the birds and beasts of this world. No Elf of any kingdom has more birds or beasts as friend than you, a mortal Man. My nightingales have told me that some actually bring you nuts, fruits and other things to eat; but no meat, for flesh you eat not.”

“They’re some of the best friends I have; as a matter of fact, they’re the only true friends I have. But I don’t feel at a loss. Elves, Men and Dwarves are supposed to be the world’s most intelligent beings. The person who said that never had an Eagle such as Thorondor or an otter like Mr. and Mrs. here for friends. Any one of the three peoples may call you friend, but they may also betray you at any time. None of my furred or feathered friends have ever betrayed me. I have more trust and faith in them than I have of anyone in Middle-earth.”

“Anyone? Not even me?” she asked, as if she was somewhat hurt by his statement.

“Where have you been for the past year?” Beren asked. “I had almost given up on you, but my dreams wouldn’t let me. After we met, my dreams of you wouldn’t stop. I would see you from afar as leaves in the winds of autumn, and in winter as a star upon a hill, but a chain was on my limbs, and I could not reach you. And when you didn’t return, I was in anguish; punished I felt for merely laying eyes on you.”

“Do you remember me speaking of my kinswoman Galadriel? She’s marrying a powerful Elf named Celeborn, and together they will create their own realm east over the Ered Luin. She says they will call it Lórien; short for Lothlórien, which means Blossom-Dream-Land. I went with them to help settle it, although its completion will take quite some time. I am very sorry. Would you believe me if I said there hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought about you; that I’ve always remained near you?”

They look each other in the eyes. She then breaks concentration and again takes off running through the woods with her nightingales following. Beren remains staring spellbound.

“I shall return tomorrow, I promise!” she shouted back.

*****

At dawn the next day, Beren is asleep as Lúthien walks to his bedding. She quietly lies beside him and caresses his face. He awakens, and she kisses him. She falls forward into him; her lips don’t leave his. He rolls her onto her back, stops kissing her for a moment, stares into her eyes and caresses her face.

“Please tell me this is not a dream,” Beren said. “Is this supposed to happen? Did Ilúvatar, or Eru, intend for two different races to feel this way toward each?”

Lúthien answered, “I know not the answer to your questions? What I do know is: doom fell upon me when I first looked into your eyes, and I have loved you since our first meeting. I have missed you while we’ve been apart, and at those times I have watched over you, and you have felt my presence. I believe I never knew the meaning of lonely until the day we met. I’ve missed you so much. And if you say from your heart the feeling you, Beren son of Barahir, have toward me is indeed love, the same I have for you, then I surrender to you my own heart.”

Lúthien takes his hand and puts hers in it. She brings both to her heart, setting his hand with hers above it directly onto her breast. “I give you my hand and my heart. For you, I would without hesitance choose a mortal life,” she said.

“Even with all your Elven powers capable of looking into my heart,” said Beren, “you could never see the fullness of how much I have already loved you before this moment, nor how much I will hereafter. But how can I ask you to give up your long Elven life for me?”

“You are not asking. It is my life to give, as is my heart mine to give to whomever I choose.”

They kiss again. Unknown to them, Daeron has spied them through the trees. After watching the entire time, his face of curiosity turns to an expression of heartbreak mixed with anger.

*****

That afternoon, Thingol was sitting on his throne with Melian on hers by his side. There are two guards behind them, including Teron, and about forty people throughout the Hall, some standing and some sitting at surrounding tables. Daeron comes before the king and queen and bows.

“Hello, Daeron,” Thingol said. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, my minstrel and friend? Have you completed another melodious sonnet? I never tire from hearing your music.”

Daeron replies, “Sorry, but no. Lúthien, I’m afraid, is the reason I am here.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” said the King. “Now you know that we never get involved when it comes to your relationship with her.”

“No disrespect, my King, but I wish you would have before now; for I believe something is happening that you aren’t going to like.”

“What are you babbling about?”

“There is a Man who has been living in your kingdom next to the waters of Esgalduin, about five miles from here. Apparently, he has for quite some time now.”

Everyone in the Hall instantly becomes silent as Daeron continued, “Lúthien has secretly been meeting him there. What’s more: I fear she has fallen in love with this Man. I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you, my King.”

In anger, Thingol stands and turns to Teron. “Teron!” he shouts. “Bring my daughter here immediately! Tell her not why I ask her presence.” Teron bows and exits. Thingol turns to Daeron and says, “I hold you blameless, Daeron.” He then shouts toward the crowd, “Where is Mablung?”

“I am here, my King,” Mablung answered, as he makes his way to the thrones from the midst of those present. Upon reaching them, he bows.

“Find Beleg,” Thingol orders. “I want the two of you to take three others and fetch me this Man. I do not want him harmed. You may use only force enough to bring him before me. Once here, he shall feel my wrath.”

“Right away, my King,” Mablung said. He again bows and departs.

Daeron said, “King Thingol, I’m sorry for all this. But what I say is true. I have seen them together – kissing.”

“Do you know how long she’s been visiting him or when was the last she did so?” Thingol asked.

“I know not how long she’s been meeting him there, but his home appears to have been lived in for quite some time.”

“You said that already,” said Thingol.

“Anyhow, she was there this morning; at dawn. She returned here about thirty minutes ago. I waited and watched this man for a while before returning to the Caverns.”

“So, you just decided to follow Lúthien again without her knowledge. In other words, you have again been spying on her.”

“Must you use the word ‘spying’? I was just looking out for her best interest; hoping to stop her before she makes a grave mistake.”

“I’m sure her interests have nothing to do with it. Nonetheless, I believe your timing is off if she’s already been kissing him. Go now; I don’t want her to know who it was who told me of her clandestine meetings.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, King Thingol. Please, let me know if there is anything else I can do to assist you.”

“Have you no shame? Do you not think you’ve done enough?”

Daeron leaves with head bowed. Thingol turns to Melian and says, “I suppose you know nothing about all this.”

“Would you believe me if I were tell you that I don’t know of any man living inside our borders nor of our daughter’s meetings with him?” she asked.

“No, probably not.”

Melian again smiles and then turns as she sees Lúthien, escorted by Teron, being brought before her and Thingol. He also smiles at her as if nothing is wrong.

“You called for me, my Father?” asked Lúthien.

“Yes, my Princess,” he said. “I was wondering what you’ve been doing so early in the mornings down by the river? You used to dance in the glades inside the Caverns. Is there something that would interest us, or anything we need to know?”

Lúthien looks into her father’s eyes and then into her mother’s. She reads why she’s been called. She looks back at Thingol, who now looks upon her in anger.

“I will discuss nothing about him with you, Father,” she said, “until you swear to me an oath that you will not harm him in any way, imprison him or place him in bonds; for he has done no wrong.”

Thingol shouts, “No wrong?! Then you deny that he lives within the boundaries of my kingdom? Do you deny that he has touched you, or that he has kissed you?”

“No, Father. We’ve kissed each other; for I…” Lúthien said, but is interrupted.

“Don’t say it!” Thingol exclaims. “I want not to hear it! He should be punished just for laying eyes on you.”

“Well, you’re going to hear it,” Lúthien continued. “I love him, father.”

Thingol looks at Melian, who sits with her usual smile, and says to her, “Such a stubborn lass! Have you nothing to say in this matter?”

“I agree: stubborn she is,” said Melian. “From who did she gets that trait, I wonder? But what I’d like to know is: is he a good kisser?”

Several Elves standing nearby giggle at Melian’s question. But Thingol, not tickled whatsoever, says, “As usual, you’re not helping!”

“If you want my help,” Melian said, “I suggest you give in to her request for an oath so you can at least know something about this Man before your guards bring him before you.”

“You have sent guards for him!” Lúthien exclaimed in a panic.

“Silence, Lúthien!” Thingol said. “I will reluctantly swear to you this oath: when I meet this Man I will not place him in bonds, imprison him or harm him in any way. Now quickly, tell me something about him.”

“He’s a great kisser, Mother,” she said with a big smile. More giggles come from the nearby Elves.

“Very funny!” said Thingol, who still found no humor. “Be serious! What kind of Man is he?”

“He is a good man, Father. He’s strong and brave; and yet he’s kind and has a good heart. He is the Man who has taken on Morgoth alone. You would be fortunate to have this man as a warrior among your captains. All the Elven-kingdoms in Beleriand, including ours, sing his praises.”

“I have sung no Man’s praises. But we will see if I have anything to sing about when this Man arrives. I have sent five guards to bring him before me.”

Lúthien’s face again turns to panic, and she says, “You sent five guards for him?”

“Yes, but worry not,” Thingol said, thinking Lúthien was worried about what they would do to Beren. “They were told to harm him not.”

“It’s not the Man I’m worried about!” she said. She then explained, “You have sent only five guards to retrieve Beren son of Barahir, who single-handedly defeats armies of Orcs! What do you think he’ll do to a mere five guards?”

Lúthien runs from the Hall. Thingol looks at Melian and says, “The son of Barahir? She has fallen for Beren, and I sent only five guards for him? May Ilúvatar aid them.”

“Maybe that’s why she’s kept him secret,” said Melian.

Thingol rolls his eyes and tells her, “Again, dear, you’re not helping.”

*****

Arriving at Beren’s camp, Mablung, Beleg, Begelos, Celemir and Celemur have positioned themselves behind trees with Beren’s back to them. Mablung gives a signal, and they run at him. But the fully aware Beren turns and kicks Begelos in his jaw, sending him to the ground. He then ducks under Celemir’s swing and plants the bottom of his palm square in Celemur’s face. Mablung and Beleg grab Beren from behind by his arms. Begelos rises to punch Beren as he’s held. That’s when Beleg recognized Beren.

“Wait!” Beleg shouted. Beleg looked again to be sure; Mablung also recognized him. “Beren?” inquired Beleg. “Son of Barahir?”

Begelos punches Beren’s jaw anyway, and then smiles. Beleg and Mablung release Beren, who shakes his head and stares down the smiling Begelos.

“You’re going to pay for that. You won’t know when, but you will pay,” Beren said.

“Begelos, halt!” Mablung said. “You have no idea whom you anger. This is Beren son of Barahir. Do you not remember us?”

Begelos’ smile goes away.

Beren asked, “Mablung? Mablung of the Heavy Hand — and Beleg Strongbow Cú… Cú…?”

“Cúthalion. That’s right,” Mablung said. “How have you been? We have often wondered if we would see you again.”

They both stick their right hands out to be shaken, just the same way Barahir had taught them.

“I like our first meeting better; what, about five years ago?” asked Beren, as he gladly shook Beleg’s and then Mablung’s hands.

“I guess it has been that long,” Beleg said. “Sorry about all this.”

“Evidently, you’ve caused quite a stir,” said Mablung. “Did I hear right? You have fallen for our Princess, the Lady Lúthien? What’s more is: she has fallen for you. Well, who would have guessed?”

“You know she is the most beautiful being ever to grace Middle-earth,” said Beleg. “So you can imagine how many have wanted her hand. What’s your secret? How did you win her heart?”

Beren answered, “Secret? I have no secret. I treated her like anyone else wants to be treated.”

At that moment Lúthien, who heard Beren’s answer, came running through the woods and made her way to him. “That’s right,” she said. “Beren treating me like a regular person was the first time I felt like a queen. Are you hurt? You bleed.” With the cuff of her sleeve, Lúthien wipes the blood from Beren’s lip.

Beren glares at Begelos, whose face now expresses fear. Beren answered, “No, my love. This is something I’ll take care of later. Let me guess: this is your father’s doings.”

“Father has learned of our meetings and is a wee bit angry.”

“Thus, this Welcoming Committee?”

“He wants you before him. Therefore, I am going to take you to him. The rest of you may follow.”

“But my Princess,” said Begelos, “we have orders to bring him in ourselves, and we were ordered by your father to use whatever force is necessary to do so.”

“Now you have new orders,” said Lúthien. “Or would you like me to use my force and turn you into a spotted toad standing amidst ten grass snakes?”

“I’m sorry, my Princess. Please, take him.”

They start walking to Menegroth, with Lúthien and Beren leading the other five.

*****

Walking through the Hall and about a hundred murmuring Elves, Lúthien leads Beren to Thingol’s throne. Beren cannot help but to look around in awe at the kingdom’s majestic surroundings. Upon reaching the thrones, Lúthien stands beside him and smiles at her parents as if she had brought an honored guest invited to some type of special festivity. Thingol, however, looks scornfully at Beren as the other five stand nearby. Beren feels the King’s eyes cut through him like a knife and has now noticed that the Hall has become silent; although he hears his heart attempting to beat its way out of his chest. Finally, Thingol breaks the silence, speaking scornfully and very slowly.

“Who are you who comes here as a thief, and unbidden dare to approach my throne?” Thingol asked.

Beren, still in awe, is speechless and looks at Lúthien and then at Melian. He turns back to Lúthien with an expression as if to say, “Help me.” She then answers for him: “He is Beren son of Barahir, lord of Men, mighty foe of Morgoth, the tale of whose deeds has become a song even among the Elves.”

Thingol, however, snaps at Lúthien: “Let Beren speak!” Thingol returns his glare at Beren and says, “What have you here, unhappy mortal, and for what cause have you left your own land to enter this, which is forbidden to such as you? Can you show reason why my power should not be laid on you in heavy punishment for your insolence and folly?”

Beren looks again at Lúthien, and again at Melian, who sits still smiling. It seems to him he hears both their voices in his head. He looks at Thingol with the pride of the first house of Men.

“My fate, O King,” Beren said, “led me here, through perils such as few even the Elves would dare. And here I have found something that I sought not, but finding I would possess for ever. For it is above all gold and silver, and beyond all jewels. Neither rock, nor steel, nor the fires of Morgoth, nor all the powers of the Elf-kingdoms shall keep from me the treasure I desire. For Lúthien your daughter is the fairest of all the Children of the World.”

The silent crowd waits for Thingol’s worse. Begelos loudly speaks, “He deserves death, my King!”

Mablung slaps Begelos upside his head and says, “Silence.”

“Hey, that hurt,” Begelos quietly said.

“He speaks true,” said Thingol. “Death you have earned with these words; and death you should find suddenly, had I not sworn an oath in haste; of which I repent, baseborn mortal, who in the realm of Morgoth has learnt to creep in secret as his spies and thralls.”

Beren, nearly interrupting, says, “Death you can give me earned or unearned; but the names I will not take from you of baseborn, nor spy, nor thrall.” He then holds up his hand with the ring Felagund gave Barahir. And as the ring’s green jewels gleam and its silver shines, Beren continues, “By the Ring of Felagund, that he gave to Barahir my father on the battlefield of the North, my house has not earned such names from any Elf, be he king or no.”

As the crowd again murmurs — this time in awe of the Elven-crafted ring wrought in Valinor — Melian leans to counsel Thingol in whisper: “Forgo your wrath, my love. For not by you shall Beren be slain; and far and free does his fate lead him in the end, yet it is wound with yours. Take heed!”

Thingol whispers back to her, “Unhappy Men, children of little lords and brief kings, shall such as these lay hands on Lúthien, and yet live?”

Melian sits back and again smiles at Beren and Lúthien. Thingol also looks at Lúthien, and then Beren — without a smile. Again the crowd becomes silent as Thingol prepares to speak.

“I see the ring, son of Barahir,” he said, “and I perceive that you are proud and deem yourself mighty. But a father’s deeds, even had his service been rendered to me, avail not to win the daughter of Thingol and Melian.” Thingol arises and stands before Beren. He continues, “See now! I too desire a treasure that is withheld. For rock and steel and the fires of Morgoth keep the jewel that I would possess against all the powers of the Elf-kingdoms. Yet I hear you say that bonds such as these do not daunt you. Go your way therefore! Bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown. I’m sure you know he treasures them in Angband above all wealth; and Balrogs are about them, along with countless swords, and strong bars, and unassailable walls, and the dark majesty of Morgoth himself. But if these still daunts you not and you succeed, and if she will, Lúthien may set her hand in yours. Then you shall have my jewel; and though the fate of Arda lies within the Silmarils, yet you shall hold me generous.”

Beren looks down, shakes his head, and then lifts it with a brief laugh and smile. “For little price,” he said, “do Elven-Kings sell their daughters: for gems, and things made of craft. But if this be your will, Thingol, I will perform it. And when we meet again my hand shall hold a Silmaril from the Iron Crown; for you have not looked the last upon Beren son of Barahir.”

Beren looked at Melian and bowed. He then turned to Lúthien, grabbed her hands with a light squeeze and bowed to her. Then he bowed to Thingol and said, “Farewell, Thingol. We will meet again.”

Beren then walked to where the five guards were standing. Lúthien also met them.

“Well, you’re either very brave,” said Mablung, “very much in love, or very, very dumb.”

Beren looks at Lúthien and says, “Maybe it’s all three.”

“You don’t have to do this, my love,” said Lúthien.

“Yes, I do,” said Beren. “Your Father nor Morgoth shall stand between us.”

“I kind of feel sorry for you, almost to the point to go with you,” Beleg said.

“I wouldn’t ask you to” said Beren.

“You are dumb,” said Mablung. “I’d take all the aid I could get.”

“Would you like to go?” asked Beren.

“I didn’t say that.”

Beren chuckles and then looks at Lúthien, who starts to weep. “I’ll be fine,” Beren said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Beren and Lúthien kiss and hug, which was witnessed by Thingol, who holds his tongue as he looks back at Melian who smiles at him. Mablung and Beleg’s eyes become a bit misty.

“I love you,” said Lúthien, to which Beren replied, “I know. I love you, too.”

They break, and Beren begins to walk away. As he starts to walk past Begelos, he knees him in the groin. Begelos bends over with a moan and Beren knees his face, standing him up with a bleeding nose. Beren then punches him across the cheek, spinning his head and knocking him out. He then steps over Begelos and makes his way into the darkness of the Hallway leading to the Gates as the rest watch. Mablung, Beleg, Celemir and Celemur laugh as Begelos moans. Lúthien bows her head and slowly walks back to the thrones.

“Beren versus Morgoth,” Beleg said. “Hmm, I put my wager on Beren.”

Thingol sits back in his throne. He doesn’t see Lúthien approaching as Melian again whispers to him, “Oh King, you have devised cunning counsel. But if my eyes have not lost their sight, it is ill for you, whether Beren fail in his errand, or achieve it. For you have doomed either your daughter, or yourself. And now is Doriath drawn within the fate of a mightier realm.”

Thingol said, “I sell not to Elves or Men those whom I love and cherish above all treasure. And if there were hope or fear that Beren should come ever back alive to Menegroth, he should not have looked again upon the light of heaven, though I had sworn it.”

Thingol turns and sees that Lúthien has come and has heard him. She runs off crying. Thingol looks at Melian and sighs. Melian says, “I foresee that our daughter will sing never again in Menegroth.”

Thingol’s face turns to a look of sadness and remorse.

Throughout the remainder of that day and night and into the morning, Beren without sleep traveled westward and crossed into the wooded plains of Taleth Dirnen. Although the morning sun was bright and he saw no one, Beren knew he was being watched. Looking through silent trees he saw a nearby tower atop a tall hill. He held his ring high and shouted: “I am Beren son of Barahir, friend of Felagund! Take me to the King!”

He walked several steps further, stopped, lifted his hand and repeated: “I am Beren son of Barahir, friend of Finrod Felagund! Take me to the King!”

He then begins to walk again. After a couple steps he hears a “twang” and stops as an arrow sticks in the ground against the front of his right boot. A couple seconds later about fifteen more circle around his feet, each accurately against his boots. Suddenly, several Elves come from behind trees while more drop from other trees. Even though he is merely one man, they cautiously walk to him; some hold bows ready as others have drawn swords or long knives. Captain Haldir stands in front of Beren with his sword pointing at his breast.

“The Welcoming Committees get funnier-looking each time,” said Beren.

Not finding any humor in Beren’s statement, Haldir says, “We have watched you since you stepped onto the Plains of Taleth Dirnen. We slay you not because you seem without threat and of what you say of the Ring. May we look upon it?”

Beren shows them the Ring. Haldir then describes the ring: “Two emerald-eyed snakes with golden flowers; one snake upholds them while the other devours.” He then looks again at Beren. “’Tis the Badge of Finarfin father of King Finrod Felagund, Orodreth, Angrod, Aegnor and the Lady Galadriel.” Surprising to Beren, Haldir then bows, as do the others. “My Lord, please forgive us for your welcome,” said Haldir, who then asked, “What would you have us do?”

As before, Beren said, “Take me to the King.”

“As you wish,” said Haldir, and they begin walking for Nargothrond.

*****

Throughout the afternoon they walk through scenic woods, along the waterfall of the Sirion River, and green glades until they pass through the Gates of the Caverns of Nargothrond at dusk. King Felagund, wearing his crown and the Nauglamír, the many-jeweled necklace made for him by the Dwarves, meets them outside the cave-mansion of his Throne Cavern. He hastens to and embraces Beren, calling him by name, “Beren son of Barahir, descendant of Bëor.”

The others bow and leave them. Beforehand, Felagund had told Haldir to send an Elven Maid to his chamber.

“King Finrod Felagund, I wondered if you would remember me,” said Beren.

Finrod gestures at Beren to enter as he begins walking into the Throne Cavern. “Come in, come in. I would never forget those who saved my life, nor would I need anything to remind me of Bëor’s kin.”

Beren sits at a table set about ten feet from the throne while two guards stand behind it. Felagund instructs the Elven-maid, who also entered, “Fetch us cheese, fruits and wine and see that we are disturbed not until I say otherwise.” After bowing she leaves and Felagund sits at the corner of the table next to Beren.

“I heard what happened to your father and friends,” Felagund said, with a saddened face. “I’m very sorry. I honor his memory; not a day goes by that I do not thank the both of you for my life. And I have foreseen why you are here; for me to honor my oath. Feel no remorse. It takes nothing away from these past short years you and your father gave me. However, what need brings you I have foreseen not.”

“When I tell you why I need your aid, you may refuse; for you may feel that my request is menial, or merely worth not the risk of your life. But should that be and you refuse, I will feel no less of you. I’m sure another day will come when I or my kin will again need your aid.”

“I’m sure it’s important if you seek me.”

“This may be an impractical question: do you remember the love of your life?”

“Ah, Amarië. Of course. She awaits me in Valinor. However, I believe if we are to meet again it will be in or beyond the Halls of Mandos. Is that what this is about, your wife?”

“Not wife yet, but my heart has been given to Lúthien daughter of King Thingol and Queen Melian. I seek her hand with the King’s blessing.”

“I didn’t know you had such high standards, my friend. You seek Middle-earth’s most fair. No offense, but I would have never thought that an Elven-maid so wise and beautiful would give her heart to a Man. I can see why her father has a problem with it. Yet, you must’ve already done something to win her heart.”

“Yes, but Thingol wants more.”

Two maidens return with food and drink. They set the food on the table and each pours wine into goblets and sets them before Felagund and Beren.

“Thank you, my maidens,” said Felagund. They smile and exit. Felagund continues, “For his Princess, I’m sure it’s no small requirement. What is it: Morgoth’s head on a platter?”

“You have no idea how near to the mark you are.”

“well, that’s scary.”

“Thingol seeks a Silmaril.”

“In other words, it may as well be Morgoth’s head, since he keeps them in the Iron Crown, which he takes off never. How do you purpose we do this?”

“I have no idea as to how to accomplish this improbable feat. But I first, of course, must get to and into Angband. That is why I seek you; and only that. I would never ask anyone to come with me into his presence. Just get me into Thangorodrim.”

“Beren, know that I love you so much that I would enter Morgoth’s throne room and tickle him with a nightingale’s feather if you asked me. But, it’s not just getting away with a Silmaril that causes a problem. I’m sure you’re wise enough to know that Thingol desires your death; but it seems that this doom goes beyond his purpose, and that the Oath of Fëanor is again at work. For the Silmarils are cursed with an oath of hatred, and he who even names them in desire moves a great power from slumber, for the Oath drives them. And now Celegorm and Curufin, two of Fëanor sons, are dwelling in my halls; and though I, Finarfin’s son, am King, they have won a strong power in the realm, and lead many of their own people. They have shown friendship to me in every need, but I fear they will show neither love nor mercy to you, if your quest be told. Yet my own oath holds, and thus we are all ensnared.”

“As I said: if you wish to aid me not, I’ll walk alone from your kingdom; no feelings of anger or wrath toward you.”

“I was merely reminding you of the Oath. You couldn’t stop me from going, nor shall I ever be called an oath-breaker. I shall speak with my people.”

*****

Beren stood beside Felagund as he spoke to his people: “During the Dagor Brachollach, Beren and his father Barahir saved my life and many of our soldiers’; nearly all of whom still stand here today. Thus, I swore an oath of aid to Beren’s father: if he or any of his kin and/or seed would call upon me, I would assist in their need. I gave him my father’s ring in token of my pledge. Sadly, Barahir was slain several years later by servants of the Enemy. Now Beren wears the Ring.”

Beren holds the ring up for a couple seconds. Murmurs of awe come from the crowd.

Felagund continues, “He now seeks my sworn aid. He is on the Quest of the Silmaril, and is going to brave Angband and Morgoth himself to take at least one of the Silmarils from his Iron Crown to take back to King Thingol of Doriath to be the bride-price of Lúthien his daughter.”

The crowd murmurs louder in amazement. Then Celegorm and Curufin part the crowd and step forward. Huan the hound of Valinor has followed and sits by their side. Celegorm draws his sword, and the crowd silences. He then speaks forcefully: “Be he friend or foe, whether demon of Morgoth, or Elf, or child of Men, or any other living thing in Arda, neither law, nor love, nor league of hell, nor might of the Valar, nor any power of wizardry shall defend him from the pursuing hate of Fëanor’s sons, if he take or find a Silmaril and keep it. For the Silmarils we alone claim, until the world ends.”

Huan looks confused. Curufin then speaks, softer in volume but with no less potency than Celegorm: “Not only will the hate of Fëanor’s sons pursue the person, but it will also target the entire kingdom that harbors the one who withholds a Silmaril. Even while in open battle against the armies and weapons of Morgoth, those of that kingdom will have the people and weapons of the Sons of Fëanor also drawn against them. None will be safe or escape our Oath’s hatred.”

The crowd quietly mutters. Huan, having heard enough, walks away from the brothers. He’s heard it all before and knows what damages the oath has already caused.

Curufin turns a stare at Felagund. He then said, “In this realm, you all have chosen to be ruled by this son of Finarfin, who is not even a Vala to command others. Yes, he has been a great, just and fearless king. But are you actually going to allow him to make a decision that jeopardizes the entire existence of this kingdom, although it was he who created it?” The crowd murmurs louder; some against Felagund.

“Therefore, you must reject Felagund’s request,” added Celegorm, “as well as his powers to reign, should he assist this Man in this quest.” He looks at Felagund and Beren. “What say you, Felagund? Do you still wish to aid this… this… Man?”

The crowd again becomes silence. Felagund takes Nargothrond’s crown off his head, looks at it briefly, then tosses it to the ground.

“Your oaths of faith to me you may break,” he said, “but I must hold to my bond. Yet if there be any on whom the shadow of our curse had not yet fallen, I should find at least a few to follow me, and should not go hence as a beggar that is thrust from the gates; something I have done never to any.”

The crowd remains silent. Then Captain Edrahil steps forward and picks up the crown. He then looks at Felagund.

“This shall be given to Orodreth your brother to rule as steward in your stead,” said Edrahil. “For you remain my king, and theirs, whatever betide.”

Felagund also takes off the Nauglamír and hands it also to Orodreth. “In my departure I shall also leave behind for safekeeping the Nauglamír,” he said. “If I should perish and return never to Nargothrond, may the beauty of its many jewels forever enhance the beauty of this kingdom that I created.”

“It shall await your return, my brother,” said Orodreth. “If you do not, the Nauglamír will never again be worn by any in the Kingdom of Nargothrond.”

Orodreth bows to brother. However, Felagund instead embraces Orodreth.

Edrahil said, “Now the king has asked for at least a few to assist him. Surely, not all of you would send our king alone on such a quest or turn your backs on the son of the man and this man who saved your lives.”

Nine other men walked to Felagund’s side. Celegorm and Curufin smiled and walked away.

Beren, Felagund and the other ten set out the next morning for Angband. After walking all day with only two short rests, they have made their way to the Falls of Ivrin.

About two hours after sunset, they discover a band of Orcs. Hiding and maneuvering behind trees, they surround the unsuspecting group busy with fire and food. Felagund signals and the rest draw their bows; another signal and they fire, killing many. They then invade and slay the remaining Orcs. Thereafter, they gather for counsel.

“I wonder how many more of Sauron’s servants, monsters and who knows what else we’ll meet before we get to Tol Sirion,” said Beren.

“We call it Tol-in-Gaurhoth,” said Edrahil, “since Sauron took over the mastery of that beautiful island from Orodreth. In your tongue it means: the Isle of Werewolves.”

“Whatever it’s called, I feel we’re never going to get there,” Beren said.

“It’ll take twice as long if we try going north over Ered Wethrin from this point. Maybe we can go a little northeast where the mountains are not so wide,” Edrahil said.

“Why don’t we just blend in?” suggested Felagund.

“What do you mean?” asked Beren.

“I’m not a king just because my head fits the crown,” Felagund answered. “I shall put forth an enchantment that’ll turn us into these Orcs; just their faces and hands. When we get closer to Sauron’s island, we’ll need to walk and behave like Orcs.”

“You can do that? Why didn’t your great Ilúvatar give Men powers like that?” Beren wondered aloud.

Felagund closes his eyes, stretches out his arms ceremoniously and speaks some Elvish words.

“Is this going to be painful?” asked Beren.

Immediately, they resemble the Orcs. They look at one another.

Orc-Felagund said, “Well met, handsome.”

“Oh, if my wife could see me now,” said orc-Edrahil.

“I think it’s an improvement,” said orc-Beren.

“Who asked you?” said orc-Edrahil, as the others laughed.

*****

The guised group makes their way along the west banks of the River Sirion near the northern tip of Tol Sirion. Everything appears shadowed. To their left are tall river weeds. They have just passed Sauron’s tower to their right. Little do they know, Sauron has seen them. The only sound heard is the rolling water of the river. Beren shakes his head as in disbelief and stops. The rest, wondering why he had done so, also come to a halt.

“Is there a problem?” asked orc-Felagund. “We’re almost past the island.”

Orc-Beren answered, “That’s the problem: it’s been too easy. Don’t you think?”

Suddenly, a band of Orcs come from behind. They all have spears pointed toward the group members, except the leader Sorium, who pulls a scimitar on Felagund. The disguised Elven King speaks to him like any other Orc.

“What is all this?” asked orc-Felagund, while trying to also act like an orc.

“Sauron demands your presence,” Sorium answered.

“Foolishness, we have work to do.”

Sorium puts his scimitar close to Felagund’s face. “No one goes against the Great Sauron and his demands; like reporting to him each time you near the Tower — which is actually an order by Morgoth. Or have you forgotten?”

“We have no time for this nonsense.”

“You have no choice. Start moving, or I’m going to start chopping limbs and heads!”

Orc-Beren and orc-Felagund briefly look at each other. “Lead on then,” said orc-Felagund.

Sorium sheaths his scimitar and says, “To the Tower, you vermin!”

The Orc-Elves follow with the other orcs guarding from the rear.

*****

In the Tower and Sauron’s Chamber, the orc-Elves stand before the world’s second most evil being, who sits on his throne. The Chamber appears much like it did when Gorlim was there. And as always, Draugluin sits at Sauron’s feet. The orc-Elves’ hands are tied behind their backs.

“Who are you?” asked Sauron, but none answer. “By now you must know that I know Orcs you are not.” Again, none answer. Therefore, Sauron points at one of the orc-Elves who falls on his face choking. He looks up transformed and undisguised. Blood oozes from his nose and mouth. He rolls from side to side and screams out in pain.

Orc-Felagund shouts, “Stop!”

Sauron withdraws his point. The Elf lies flat on his back and gasps. Felagund, releasing his own bonds and raises his hands. His and the others’ faces and hands change back to normal.

“That’s no way to treat your guests,” Felagund said.

Felagund points at Sauron, who rises from his throne and is pinned to the wall with his head turned to the right. All  Sauron’s servants pull their weapons; Draugluin abruptly rises and growls. Wolves snarl and snakes hiss. Sauron shouts to all, “No! Use not your weapons! Attack not; and you, Draugluin, stay!”

They comply, but they keep their weapons drawn. Draugluin remains growling, although quieter than before. Blood begins running from Sauron’s mouth. He slowly turns his head and smiles at Felagund; the blood runs between his teeth, from his mouth and down his chin. He closes his eyes and gives a low groan. They all fall unconscious, except for Felagund.

“So, you must be a Noldo; one of great power who thinks he’s capable of defeating me, Sauron the Great,” he said. “I felt your power. Impressive; most impressive. Who are you?”

Felagund answered, “Tell me, Sauron, if Morgoth calls himself ‘King of the World,’ what does that make you? His Queen?”

“I hate jesters; killed my last two. And, your humor does not lighten my mood. No more fooling around. Who are you?”

“You’ll have to work for that answer. I’d rather die before I tell you.”

“That can easily be arranged. Maybe you’ll be fortunate enough to die laughing.”

Sauron unpins his hands. He then holds one out and then closes it. Felagund falls unconscious. Sauron slowly slides down the wall to the floor and sits again on his throne.

“Take them down to the Throne Room’s pit. Harm them not. I have my own ways of having fun.”

*****

Coming slowly to consciousness, Beren squints to focus. He realizes he is in a pit and looks toward the light of a doorway. He then looks up at the pit’s opening about twenty-five feet, from where another single beam of dull light descends. Then he sees that they are all in torture devises and are incapable of any movement. With long pins securing individual iron cage-like devises, they’re held to the pit’s circular walls. He looks around and sees Felagund in the shadows; next to him on his left he sees Edrahil half way within the light.

“Edrahil?” said Beren. “Edrahil, can you hear me?”

Edrahil moans, “Yes, Beren, I hear you. Where are we?”

“I don’t know. Some kind of pit or dungeon I think.”

“Take your pick,” they hear Felagund’s voice say, coming from across the room in the darkness. “It’s part of Minas Tirith I had built to keep captured servants of the Enemy. I never thought I’d be imprisoned in here. I built the pit; these devises of torture I did not.”

“I heard Edrahil say Orodreth once held this island. Did you aid him in the building of this Tower?” Beren asked.

“Minas Tirith was our outpost,” Felagund answered. “This was my island. However, it was captured by Sauron from my brother, to whom I gave rule in my stead before going to the Dagor Brachollach. Orodreth never had a chance against a Maia like Sauron. He, of course, filled it with sheer horror: Orcs, vampires, werewolves, dragons and many other creatures. As you can see, he made it such an evil place that I didn’t want it back.”

Sauron is heard above laughing. He then said, “And I and my servants, thank you. Now you shall tell me who you are. You see, my werewolves have not eaten in several days. I keep them a little hungry for such occasions. You will know not their presence until one comes to feed, nor which of you they will choose. I will continue sending them one by one until one of you reveals to me who you are and your purpose. As for one last chance, I shall save you much pain if someone wishes to tell me now what I seek.”

Dead silence fills the air. Felagund then speaks: “You know nothing of oaths, Sauron, except that you and your leader are breakers of them. Your dominion is torment; such as you reveal to us. Now you may find cruel ways to slay us, but you shall also find our oaths are stronger than our fears.”

“Silence! I’ve heard enough talk. We shall see how strongly you believe in oaths when the flesh is heard as it’s ripped from your bones and the blood starts flowing and filling the pit. Yes, we will see how strong, beginning now.”

Sauron’s footsteps and laughter are heard as he walks from the pit’s opening. They hear a grunt coming from the doorway. Just outside the light, two red eyes are seen gazing inward. Then swiftly a werewolf attacks an Elf. The rest can only listen to his blood-curdling screams. They also scream in horror hearing biting sounds, snarling and the ripping of his flesh. Beren closes his eyes as tears roll down his cheeks.

*****

Meanwhile that morning in Menegroth, Melian sat at a table on a balcony cutting flowers and placing them in vases. Lúthien came to her with her face expressing worry.

“I know you’re upset with your Father, but can you blame him?” Melian asked.

“No, I blame him not,” Lúthien said, “but I had hoped that he’d be more understanding.”

“You’re talking about an Elven-King who has shunned the race of Men; desiring not their service or presence.”

“Yes, but I am his daughter. He listens not to anything I try to tell him. Has he no understanding to my heart; my happiness?”

“You’re Father wants you to be very happy, Lúthien. Maybe it’s you who refuses to understand? Maybe you both are to blame? A wise Elf knows that its understanding that brings solutions. Have you attempted to speak with him since Beren left?”

“No. But it appears you’ve taken his side.”

Melian smiles. “My dear, I take no side; and if I were to take a side, it would be yours. Remember, I fell in love upon seeing him the first time. I understand not just his mind, but also his heart. But I also understand yours, as well. Has not a shadow come over it; one not caused by your Father.”

“I’ve been watching over Beren, but I cannot see him now. Please, help me. Seek him for me.”

Melian closes her eyes. After several seconds she says, “You lost your vision after he left Ivrin, correct?”

“Yes,” said Lúthien in amazement.

“I know now why your heart is shadowed. He is with King Felagund in a dungeon of Tol-in-Gaurhoth with ten others. One, not Beren or Felagund, has been slain and…”

“And?” Lúthien’s eyes begin to tear up.

Melian opens her eyes and looks at Lúthien. “…devoured by a werewolf. Sauron sends them one by one until he discovers from them what he seeks or until all are slain. He is unsure who they are, yet he believes Felagund is a Noldo of great might and wisdom.”

“I must go to them!”

“Lúthien?”

“Mother, if I go not, they will surely perish. Nobody else even knows they’re imprisoned there. And I will stay not here and do nothing and just let them die.”

“Of course, you must go, but be wise; for the strengths of your mind and your heart shall serve you better than brute or desire ever shall.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

*****

Immediately after leaving her mother, Lúthien runs through a cavern hallway. She sees Daeron at the end and runs to him shouting his name.

“Yes, my Princess,” said Daeron.

“I seek your aid.”

“Anything for you, of course.”

“I ask you to accompany me to Tol-in-Gaurhoth.”

“Sauron’s Island; the Isle of Werewolves? Why must you go there?”

“Beren is imprisoned there without assistance and will die if I don’t go. I ask that if you ever were my friend, please help me now.”

Daeron finds it hard to hide his true feelings; he would like nothing better than to have Beren out of his way. “Of course, I will help you,” he said. “Go to the stables and have the keeper prepare two of the fastest horses. I will get some provisions and meet you there shortly.”

“Thank you, Daeron.”

Daeron turns from her as she goes the other way. A sneer crosses his lips, and he makes a beeline for Thingol.

*****

Daeron finds the King in the Banquet Hall. Thingol is giving several Elves instructions, and Daeron patiently waits until he’s done and they depart.

“Daeron, have you come to help set up tonight’s banquet?” asked Thingol.

“No, my King,” Daeron answers, “I have come for I have news regarding Lúthien.”

“Yes? What is it now?” Thingol asked with a sigh.

“She plans to leave for Tol-in-Gaurhoth to save Beren who has been captured and imprisoned there,” Daeron answered, causing Thingol’s rolling eyes to appear more serious. “She asked me to aid her, and I feigned that I would. I told her I would gather some provisions and meet her at the stables. She is having the stable-keeper prepare two horses.”

Thingol says nothing, but hastens through the Hall in anger. Daeron smiles until Thingol gets to the doorway and calls for him. “Daeron, come with me!”

*****

When Thingol and Daeron arrive at the stables with three of the King’s guards, they see Lúthien sitting Elven-style on her horse with Daeron’s next to hers and the stable-keeper nearby. Thingol, Daeron and the guards come around the stable’s corner. She at once begins to glare at Daeron.

“Lúthien!” Thingol shouted. “Dismount that horse! Now!”

She does after she whispers in her horse’s ear. It gives a low neigh and both horses leave. Two guards straightway go to her sides.

“Where did you think you were going?” Thingol asked

Lúthien replied, “I’m sure your rat told you everything you need to know. How could you? I trusted you.”

“Don’t make this about him because it is not. This is about you preparing to do something very foolish. I can’t believe my daughter thinks she’s going to risk her life for some Man.”

“You’re right, this isn’t about Daeron. It’s about you not wanting to believe that Men are worthy of your standards. It’s also about me who has seen more joy in this Man than your kingdom or all the Elf-kingdoms have to offer. You have met a Man very worthy: his bravery is so that Morgoth and his servants fear him; his kindness knows no bounds so that even all the birds and beasts love him, and the pride of his house overcomes even your intimidation.”

“This isn’t about me either,” Thingol said.

“Surely you don’t believe that,” Lúthien said. “When I brought Beren before you, did you even look at me, Father? Did you look into my eyes or my heart as I looked at Beren? If you had, you might have seen that I look at him the same way you look at Mother.”

Hearing her words, Daeron begins feeling uncomfortable.

Raising his voice above Lúthien’s, Thingol said, “Enough! Do not say another word, Princess. If you say this is about me, then I shall hear no more of this, and I shall do what I think is best. Therefore, since I fulfilled my oath by not imprisoning Beren, it appears I shall have to imprison you. So, you will go to your chambers under guard and remain there until I say otherwise.”

“You can’t be serious,” Lúthien said.

“I am, though I will not deprive you of the lights of heaven, lest you fall and fade,” said Thingol. “Therefore, in the great Beech tree of Hirilorn a house shall be built, and there you shall dwell until I know more.”

“You mean until you know Beren is dead. Are you also going to let King Felagund die just to keep me apart from Beren?” Lúthien asked.

“That is not my problem!” Thingol exclaimed. “Besides, you know not what’s going to happen.”

“I don’t believe you, Father!” said Lúthien. “I am your daughter you’re about to imprison. Finrod is your friend whom you are about to doom and…”

Thingol again interrupts her, “Silence!”

Lúthien looks at Daeron and says, “Are you happy now?! Is this what you wanted? You have a strange way of proving your friendship.”

“Enough! Come, Daeron,” said Thingol.

Thingol and Daeron begin to walk away. Lúthien weeps. Daeron’s expression, which he hides from Thingol, shows he now feels that he made the wrong choice.

Lúthien pleads, “Father!… Father, please!” However, Thingol ignores her and continues walking around the corner.

*****

Hirilorn was the king of Beech trees. It grew less than a stone’s throw from the southern bank of Esgalduin. Turning to the west, one could throw another stone and easily hit the bridge; or turn south and hit Menegroth’s Gate. Its trunk seemed to be made of three trunks combined into one; split into its three equal smaller trunks about half way to its first branches nearly twenty-five feet from the ground. Gray and smooth was its rind.

The house Thingol’s carpenters skillfully built was a roundhouse nestled in support of the three trunks with white walls going up to its thatched roof that came to a point, similar to the top of a carousel. It was furnished with eight diamond-shaped windows spaced evenly within the round wall. There was only one door, which opened to the southwest and could be reached only with a tall ladder, which also had to be built by the carpenters.

Lúthien now sits at a small table in her new home looking out into the night sky. Two guards sit in chairs beneath her window and talk quietly. Lúthien stands, walks to the center of the room and stoops over. She closes her eyes and chants some Elvish words. Suddenly, her hair begins to rapidly grow. Seconds later a large pile lies on the floor. She then lifts her head and the hair detaches at it previous length. She then splits the hair into two equal piles and slowly waves a hand over each and speaks several more Elvish words of enchantment.

Now on the floor are a robe and a rope made of her hair. Each has been laced with an enchantment of slumber. She picks up the rope and goes to the window above the guards. She slowly feeds the rope out the window and down until it is inches above the guards’ heads. She then gently swings it above both. Soon both bow their heads, fall gently to the ground and begin snoring. She smiles. Then she puts on the robe, turning it and her invisible. She climbs down the rope, landing in between the two guards. She looks at them and smiles.

“Sweet dreams,” she said. She then quietly slips away,  crosses the bridge and begins her northwesterly journey.

It took invisible-Lúthien only until mid-afternoon the following day after she escaped to reach the Crossing of Teiglin; a little farther than halfway to Sauron’s Isle. As she approached the Teiglin River, walking through the sparse woods of the Forest of Brethil, she saw near the water two Elves sitting under a couple trees and two horses grazing in the trees’ shade. There were also four hounds playing in the water near the bank on her side.

Furthermore, there was a much larger hound that appeared to be looking at her although she was invisible underneath her robe. Lúthien wondered if this dog as big as a small horse could actually see her. Then it donned on her, and the answer was “yes” – for it is Huan.

     Huan was not born in Middle-earth. He came from the Blessed Realm and was true of heart; born to Oromë, who gave him in friendship to Celegorm. When the Noldor fled from Valinor back to Middle-earth, he faithfully followed the horn of his master, whom he had saved from harm and even death many times. Because of his birthplace, Huan was immune to many things that harmed and even killed regular hounds and other beasts of Middle-earth, and he had special powers of his own. No wizardry nor spell, neither fang nor venom, nor devil's art, nor beast-strength could overthrow Huan. He never slept, but he was tireless nonetheless. Hunting and tearing the throats out of wolves and werewolves was his favorite sport. Huan also knew all the speech of birds, beasts and the races of the people of Middle-earth. He was given a special decree by the Valar: he could speak but only three times during his life on Middle-earth.

Lúthien and Huan continued gazing upon each other as she walked closer. Lúthien, however, felt no fear, and Huan felt increasing love for her the more he watched her approach and the closer she came to him. In that hour, even before formal introductions, they became the best of friends everlasting.

When Lúthien came to Huan, she began scratching him behind his ears and patting him on his big head, and spoke softly so only he could hear. Huan was loving every second of their meeting when Celegorm noticed him acting strangely.

“Look at that silly hound of mine,” Celegorm said to Curufin. They both laughed. “Huan, what vexes you?”

 The other dogs had already come out of the water and begun dancing around Huan and Lúthien. Then Huan, with Lúthien following, walked slowly to them, sat down and looked up, seemingly into thin air. He then looked at the brothers, gave a short bark and looked up again. Celegorm and Curufin then realized something was strange and abruptly stood.

“Is somebody there?” Curufin asked. “Show yourself!”

“Tell me first if you are friend or foe of Morgoth, Dark Lord of Middle-earth,” said invisible-Lúthien.

“We are foes,” Curufin said.

Celegorm added, “We are Princes of the Noldor.”

Lúthien removed her robe and became visible. Both of their faces expressed disbelief of her beauty.

“Then it is well met,” said Lúthien. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”

Curufin bows and says, “Well met, my Lady.”

Celegorm stares with enchantment. Curufin elbows him in the side. He shakes his head and bows.

“Yes, well met, my Lady,” Celegorm said. “I’m sorry for staring, but I am completely enchanted and enthralled with your overwhelming beauty. I am Celegorm, and this is my brother Curufin. We are two of Fëanor’s seven sons.” He hoped that this beauty would show that she was impressed by their name, but she was not. She was too busy befriending Huan. “The hound whom you pet is Huan the Great, given to me by Oromë in the Blessed Realm.”

“I am Lúthien daughter of King Thingol and Queen Melian of Doriath. What are you doing here?” Lúthien asked.

“We’re…,” Curufin starts but is interrupted by Celegorm. “We are hunting wolves of Sauron. He has sent many into the Kingdom of Nargothrond to spy out the lands. We slew ten today.” Attempting to again sound impressive, he boasted, “I bettered my brother today, seven to three. We now rest before returning to the Caverns of Narog.” It seemed the more words he tried to impress her with the more Lúthien paid attention to Huan.

“Then you know of King Felagund and the group he traveled with to the north,” Lúthien said. “There is a Man named Beren with him and ten other Elves of Nargothrond.”

“No, for we have been staying at Amon Rûdh,” Celegorm said, “leaving from there many days ago. Why, are there troubles?”

If Lúthien would have looked at Huan at that moment and seen her new friend’s confused expression, she would have known Celegorm was lying.

Lúthien said, “Yes, the group has been captured by Sauron, and they’re in a dungeon of Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Please, can you help me; for I’m on my way there to aid them.”

“You, alone?” asked Curufin.

“Of course, we will,” said Celegorm. “Stay here and continue petting Huan while my brother and I take a short counsel.”

Leaving Lúthien and the hounds, the brothers walk behind a large tree near their horses.

“I’m sorry I interrupted you, my brother,” said Celegorm, “but I want this Elven-maid. Can you imagine the power I would gain if I was to marry Thingol’s daughter, the most beautiful in all the lands; a daughter of a Maia? People would pay just to enter my kingdom. I would become one of the mightiest Princes of the Noldor; and you with me, little brother.”

“And how do you suppose you’re going to make all this happen?” asked Curufin.

“With your help, of course. We must not yet reveal our knowledge of Felagund and Beren, nor of the Quest. We will have her come with us to the Caverns. There we shall imprison her, letting Felagund and Beren perish. Also, I will send messengers to Thingol with forceful words for her hand to be placed in mine in marriage; and if necessary, I will send all our brothers and their armies to make war against him.”

“It all sounds good, but are you sure about this?”

“Don’t say a word; let me speak with her.”

They return to Lúthien and the hounds.

“My Lady,” Celegorm said, “we feel it would not be wise for just the three of us to rush in to meet Sauron and his servants on his island. Therefore, we counsel that you come with us to the Caverns of Narog, where we can gather troops and weapons to assist us.”

“I suppose that would be best,” she said. “How long do you think it will take, for they have not much time?”

“Not long at all. Trust me.”

Celegorm and Curufin smile; and although she feels uncomfortable regarding the brothers, she also feels she doesn’t have a better option.

*****

That night Lúthien looked through a locked pole-type door, and then bowed her head. Huan gave a small whine looking confused at Lúthien and the brothers. Celegorm yawned while he handed Curufin Lúthien’s robe; Curufin also yawned. He and Huan departed, but Huan couldn’t help but to look back in sorrow.

“Don’t look so sad, my Princess,” Celegorm said. “You shall grow to love me. I didn’t lie to you when I told you I was a Noldorian Prince. We are both royalty; very similar.”

“We are nothing alike,” Lúthien said. “Why are you doing this, anyway?”

“Why do you think? I would like to impress you with some long, admirable speech, but sadly it’s nothing more than power. You see, I know all about the Quest of the Silmaril; Beren’s test, is it not, to see if he’s worthy in Thingol’s eyes. The fool came here seeking Felagund’s aid through some meaningless oath. The Oath of Fëanor, however, is more powerful.”

“Do you not mean more hateful?”

“So be it. Nevertheless, the great and powerful King Finrod Felagund gave a most moving speech to his people about how Beren and his father saved his life and the lives of some of his soldiers, and how he must fulfill his oath. Then Curufin and I spoke and showed the King true power.” Here, Celegorm laughed. “We put so much fear in his people that they couldn’t turn their backs on him quick enough. Only ten others went with the two fools. Now, after you told us about their misfortune, I saw how simple it will be to rise in power, straight to the top.”

“You’re mad,” Lúthien said. “Your rise will only cause you to fall farther.”

“Mad? Fall?” Celegorm mocked. “Ha. I couldn’t have planned it better myself. Sauron will take care of Felagund, allowing us to rule this kingdom the way it should be ruled, and he will also take care of your brave little Beren, a very nice bonus. You see, my Princess, after I force your father to give me your hand in marriage, my power will increase tenfold.”

“There’s only one thing that’s going to fold: your delusions. Besides, my father will never agree to such nonsense.”

“Oh, your father will agree. If not, he will have all the sons of Fëanor and their kingdoms lay his land in ruin. What could go wrong? I know Thingol’s kingdom has the most powerful army of all in Beleriand and that bewildering Girdle of Melian, but they’re no match against all our brothers’ kingdoms. I don’t have to do a thing. Who will stop me? You? Your precious little Beren?”

“I think you’re going to be very surprised when you see who stops you.”

Huan and Curufin, joined now by his son Celebrimbor, return with two guards. Celebrimbor looks puzzled seeing Lúthien locked up.

“What is happening, father?” asked Celebrimbor. “Why is this Elven-maid locked in this room like a common prisoner?”

Curufin answered, “We are moving up in power, my son.”

“By locking up Doriath’s princess?” Curufin looks surprised. “That’s right,” Celebrimbor continued, “I know who she is; for there could be no one fairer than who I now see.”

“Sometimes you have to do some things that may not appear right, if you want something bad enough.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful fatherly advice. I don’t believe this. I will have no part of this, and I wish the two of you wouldn’t either. Release her before something terrible happens.”

Celebrimbor stomps away to his father’s calling.

“Son!… Celebrimbor!”

“Let him go,” said Celegorm. “I always knew something was wrong with Celebrimbor. It’s hard to believe he’s your child; and my nephew.”

Curufin said, “I don’t know what to do about him. I try to teach him everything I know, but he’s always got something to say about whatever I do.”

“It’s the first time I’ve seen a son become wiser than the father,” Lúthien said, “especially so young.”

Curufin smiles sarcastically at her as Celegorm instructs the guards: “Watch her. Allow only Curufin and me to speak with her.”

The guards nod.

*****

Later that night Lúthien sat in her room lit by one candle; a familiar setting, only not as high off the ground as in the house of Hirilorn. Huan walks toward Lúthien’s door. He gives a little whine, and Lúthien comes to the door to see him. The guards, one sitting on each side, also watch Huan.

“Are we supposed to stop him?” said the first guard.

“He can’t do any harm,” the second said. “It isn’t like he can speak or anything.”

Huan sits with his tongue hanging out listening to Lúthien: “Don’t look so sad; I blame you not. It’s just that I don’t know what to do. If I don’t get to Beren and the others soon, they shall surely perish; for no others know that they are imprisoned there. They are two good people. You know the kindness of Felagund from being in his kingdom; and there are none who can say anything bad about Beren. He has had a very hard life, but he remains kind with a heart as pure as mine. I felt you searching into my heart when we first met. Beren eats no flesh. He’s a friend to all birds and beasts not in Morgoth’s service. I know you two would become very good friends if the two of you would ever meet.”

Huan leaves as Lúthien watches. He shortly returns carrying her robe. He takes it to a guard sitting in his chair.

“I guess he thinks she’s cold,” he said with a yawn and takes it to Lúthien. She puts it on as the Guard returns to his chair. Huan walks slowly away. The light goes out in her room.

“Oh, Guard, could you please relight my candle?” Lúthien asked. “A breeze must have entered and extinguished it when you opened the door.”

The guard takes one of the three candles from above the door and then opens it. He walks into her room and lights the candle. He then realizes she’s not there. He runs outside and the other guard jumps up and says, “What?”

“Did she go by you?” he asked. “She’s gone!”

They look at Huan walking calmly away without looking back. Then the two guards dumbly look at each other.

*****

Minutes later outside Nargothrond’s Gate Huan and Lúthien walk behind a large tree. Lúthien removes her robe. Huan then speaks:

“We don’t have much time, my Lady.”

Lúthien said, “Huan, Great Hound of Valinor, is it not the decree of the Valar that you may speak thrice only in Middle-earth?”

“Yes, my Lady, that is true.”

“How many times have you spoken thus far?”

“This is my first, Princess Lúthien.”

“I’m so sorry that I am the reason for using one of your privileges.”

“Don’t be. This is the first time I’ve had anything worth saying. But when I read your heart, I knew that I had to help. Besides, all birds and beasts should be honored to serve Ilúvatar’s fairest. But what’s fascinating is that many don’t know that your heart is ten times fairer than you are on the outside.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“There is one thing I request: that chance you spoke of to meet Beren, who must be a good Man if you care for him so. I’ve always known my master’s heart is not pure, but I never thought it was this black, or I wouldn’t have led you to him. Since they have captured and imprisoned you, it seems a shadow has darkened the land and evil has come to Nargothrond.

“What’s more: Celegorm, Curufin and all the sons of Fëanor have allowed their accursed oath to go to their heads. Imprisoning you is just one of many dreadful deeds in a long list that we have no time to discuss. We now have a bit of a journey ahead of us. Therefore, my Lady, I counsel that I become your steed and you shall ride me as such.”

“I could never ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. This is how it must be. It’s the only way we may have a chance to save Beren and King Felagund, along with his soldiers.”

“Are you sure of this?”

“Yes. Let’s discuss this no further.”

“I don’t know what to say, except: you have found a friend beyond our deaths.”

She straddles Huan and then leans forward to hug him around his neck and kiss his cheek. Huan smiles.

“I am much honored,” he said. “Now we must be going. Therefore hold on, and I shall do my best to keep you from falling off.”

“Have you been to Tol Sirion?” Lúthien asked.

“Yes, we were returning from Sauron’s Isle when you met us. We did not enter, but we stood looking down on it for some time. I’m sure he saw us, for we made no attempt to hide. He did not send any servants; none we saw, anyhow. He was probably busy tending to the company. We should be there by dawn.”

“Dawn is only a couple hours away.”

“Thus, my last words to you at this time are: hold on tightly.”

Huan takes off, and in no time he is at a great pace. Lúthien, however, barely moves while straddled on his back.

Meanwhile, in Sauron’s pit, blood thickly covers the floor, and the carnage of ten elves lies all about. At this moment, Beren has his eyes closed as tears run down his cheeks. He opens his eyes to Felagund’s voice.

“My friend, Beren, I know that at this moment you are blaming yourself for their deaths, but you should not. If anyone is to blame, it is I; for I asked for their aid. It is my hope they are all fondly remembered. Hmm, it is strange indeed that within my whole kingdom, there were only ten who honored their oaths to me.”

“Having feathered and furry friends doesn't seem so bad now,” said Beren.

“I have learned there are no set rules of true friendship. Two legs or four; nose, beak or snout; whether beautiful or not so; Elf or Man or Dwarf; the only part that counts is the heart. You have a good one, son of Barahir; for you are a descendent of Bëor, one of the first Men I knew. His heart was true, serving me faithfully for forty-four years until his death. He was eager to learn, eager to teach and the best friend I ever had. Had he the life of the Eldar, he would be with me in this pit today. My mourning of his death was long. Not just my heart did his death break, but nearly all in my kingdom. I’ve tried to tell Thingol how good Men can be, but he listens not. When Bëor died of old age, something we Elves will not have to face until after tens of thousands of years, I learned then that friendships and oaths should never be taken for granted. Don’t ever take a friend for granted, Beren. And never make an oath unless you’re willing to fulfill it until your life’s end.”

“I was always scared to become friends with people because everyone I ever loved are now gone, except, of course, for Lúthien and you. To tell you the truth, I’m scared to love Lúthien.”

“Never fear to love. Passing up love is passing up joy. Everyone has a right to feel joy; be he Elf, Man or Dwarf. Even beasts seek joy and companionship, except maybe those created by Morgoth. But whether it is ignorance or blindness or merely being prejudice, it is he who holds to those qualities who misses out on love or a good friend; one such as you.”

“What do you mean? I’ve literally fed you to the wolves.”

“Take my words: one day, Thingol will love you, and he will feel no shame in professing that love or his foolishness for his blindness.”

They hear a grunt and see another pair of werewolf’s eyes in the doorway. It begins walking slowly toward Beren. Felagund is heard straining and chanting. With a loud cry he breaks his bonds.

“Felagund!” Beren shouted. “Stay! Stay where you are! Felagund!”

As the werewolf leaps for Beren, Felagund collides with it in midair. They fall onto the ground and into the blood with a sliding splash and fight in front of Beren, while he continues shouting for Felagund, who at this moment seems to be pinned underneath the beast. The Elven king bites the werewolf’s throat, ripping a large chunk out of its neck with his teeth. It screams in pain before falling lifeless atop Felagund.

“Felagund!” Beren again shouts. “Felagund!”

“You need not shout; I’m right in front of you,” Felagund quietly said in a slurred mumble. 

“Are you hurt?” Beren asked.

Felagund strains to push the beast off of him. He rises holding both forearms against his stomach, and then he spits the large chunk he ripped from the werewolf’s neck onto the ground before replying, “If I am, I’m too tired to feel it.”

He uses one hand to pull the shackle pins and release Beren. Felagund then falls forward into Beren’s arms holding his stomach again with both forearms. Beren catches him and carefully sits down, placing Felagund’s head in his lap.

“My friend, move your arms; let me see your belly,” said Beren, who instantly begins to weep after Felagund moves his arms. Some innards stick out from three large gaping claw wounds streaming with blood. Beren begins to gently rock him. “Oh, no!”

After rocking him several seconds, Beren stops but continues to weep openly. He then looks down into Felagund’s eyes. Several of his tears have fallen on Felagund’s face. Felagund slowly reaches up and wipes a tear from Beren’s cheek; the Elf warmly smiles.

“Mourn not much,” he said. “I am honored to die for one of Bëor’s people…”

“I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have come to Nargothrond,” Beren said.

“…very honored to die for you, Beren. Who knew it would be in a Tower I built?”

Beren whimpers as he unsuccessfully tries to control his crying. Felagund continues smiling and says, “I go now to my long rest in the timeless halls beyond the seas and the Mountains of Aman. It will be long before I am seen among the Noldor again; and it may be that we may not meet a second time in death or life, for the fates of our kindreds are apart. Farewell, Beren son of Barahir, kinsman of Bëor. Farewell.”

“Felagund?… Felagund?!”

Beren again gently rocks him and continues to weep. Looking once more at Felagund’s face, Beren sees something of a smile and that a peacefulness has come over it.

Lúthien and Huan arrive about an hour before dawn at the bridge of Tol-In-Gauroth. She had dismounted Huan about a half a mile prior and has walked beside him the remaining distance while hiding together under her robe.

“I wonder if Sauron’s at home,” Lúthien said. “I wish not for him to see us until it is inevitable, but I see no other way than to call for Beren while trying to remain hidden under the robe.”

Huan nods in approval.

“Beren!… Beren!” she calls.

Beren didn’t hear her but Sauron did. He smiled hearing her voice as he sat on his throne. As usual, Sauron’s wolf-hound Draugluin was resting beside the throne, while three Orcs stand nearby, including Lombag.

“Do you know to whom that lovely voice belongs, Draugluin?” asked Sauron. “That surely is Lúthien daughter of Thingol and Melian. Well, she is more courageous than I would have guessed. If I capture her and hand her over to Morgoth, my reward would be great, although I first would reward myself with her.

“Lombag! Send a wolf to force her across the bridge and into the Tower!” Lombag obeys. “I would have sent you, Draugluin, but I don’t think we need to be that forceful.”

“As you wish, my master,” said Draugluin.

Minutes later a wolf sniffs the entrance of the bridge. Fear suddenly grips him, although he knows not why. Then Huan darts from under the robe. Lúthien again covers herself. Like a strike of a snake and before the wolf realizes, Huan’s teeth are sunk deep into his windpipe. The wolf didn’t even have a chance to yelp. He is then dragged by Huan off the edge of the bridge and down into Sirion’s rolling water.

“What was that?” a bewildered Sauron asked. “Send another wolf!”

Another Orc leaves to send another wolf. Huan again takes the wolf by the throat and slays it; and again he tosses the wolf off the bridge and into the river.

“What is going on down there?” asked Sauron. “Can my wolves not overpower one small Elven-maid? Draugluin, fetch her!”

“As you wish, my master,” he said.

Once he arrived at the bridge, Draugluin walked slowly past the entrance. He sniffs the air then looks to where Lúthien and Huan wait, although he sees nothing.

“I know you are there,” Draugluin said. “Show yourself to the Great Draugluin.”

Lúthien remains covered as Huan comes out from under the robe, and Draugluin looks surprised at him.

“Well, if it isn’t the Hound of Valinor, Huan, whom the Valar has doomed to die on Middle-earth. But this can only be by the greatest of all wolves. I have waited for this all my life; for it is why I was born. Are you prepared to die?”

Huan says nothing, but glares at Draugluin with a fire that no amount of water could extinguish. Draugluin wasn’t going to show it to Huan, but for the first time in his life, he felt fear.

“Oh, that’s right. You are only allowed to speak three times while your miserable life exists here on Middle-earth. Well, if you haven’t used them all, now would be a good time because you aren’t going to need them after I get through with you!”

With that Draugluin lunges at Huan, and they fiercely collide. After a long fight Huan finally rips out a piece of Draugluin’s throat. Draugluin escapes and runs in fear to the tower. Huan gives chase but stops at the bridge’s end. Lúthien uncovers herself and runs to Huan.

“Huan, are you unharmed, my friend?” Lúthien asked. Huan snuggles to her breast as she caresses his face. They watch as Draugluin races into the Tower. “We had better hide underneath the robe again. Who knows what Sauron will do when he sees that Draugluin has been so badly injured.”

Moments later Draugluin limps through the doorway to Sauron’s throne room. His nose is nearly to the floor as he walks slowly toward the throne, and blood pours from his neck. He slowly looks up at Sauron and laboriously whispers, “Huan is there.” He then falls dead.

Although Sauron raised Draugluin from a pup, no remorse does he feel or show those present.

“So, the Valar wish you to die by the greatest wolf,” Sauron said. “So be it. If the greatest wolf is needed, then the greatest I shall be.”

All who remain in Sauron’s throne room watch as he transforms himself into a huge wolf. Draugluin was slightly bigger than Huan; Wolf-Sauron is one-and-a-half times bigger than Draugluin.

Wolf-Sauron, having the eyes of the Maia, runs directly toward Huan and Lúthien. They don’t initially see him. Lúthien holds her cloak, and they still don’t see Wolf-Sauron until he is in the air leaping at Huan, who eludes him. This causes Wolf-Sauron to fall onto Lúthien. But as he falls on her, Lúthien covers herself with the robe. She sees his long yellowish fanged teeth and feels the hot vapors of his breath. Suddenly, he is whisked away as Huan leaps on him, and they roll away from Lúthien. After another long battle, Huan with his teeth finally pins down Wolf-Sauron by his neck.

Wolf-Sauron then transforms himself into a huge snake. He wraps himself several times around Huan’s body. Huan tightens his grip and shakes his head causing his teeth to penetrate deeper into Sauron’s neck. Snake-Sauron hisses loudly and unwinds. He then transforms into his normal form. Blood drips from Sauron’s neck and steams as it hits the ground. Lúthien comes to them as Sauron laboriously pleads, “Tell him to release me!”

“No,” Lúthien sternly said. “Instead, how about I allow Huan to slay you? Or, should I merely strip you of your raiment of flesh, so your ghost can go quaking back to Morgoth? There everlasting your naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes.”

“No! I’ll do whatever you wish!”

“If I wasn’t in such a plight, I would allow Huan to destroy you and rid this world of much evil. But I must release you, for I need you to yield to me the mastery of this island and everything it holds. There is no other choice for you or for me. What say you? Do you yield?”

“Yes. I yield. I yield now all to you.”

The tower and island immediately becomes brighter as the shadow of evil resends.

“Release him, Huan,” said Lúthien. “Never again, Sauron, shall you darken Tol Sirion. Should you ever come near this island again, you shall become powerless until you again leave.”

Huan releases Sauron, who straightway turns into a vampire and flies away. Lúthien and Huan watch as Vampire-Sauron flies from sight. They then hear loud rustling noises within the woods and around the Tower. Owls hoot, bats screech and wolves howl loudly as they follow Sauron. Lúthien then stands on the bridge, looks toward the tower, raises her hands and announces her mastery as Huan proudly stands beside her:

“I am Lúthien the Elven-daughter of King Thingol and Queen Melian, a Maia of Valinor! I claim the mastery of this Island and all its contents!”

She looks to the gates and again raises her arms upwards; the gates fall in crumbling ruin. Tol Sirion shakes; walls fall stone by stone; pits open. Slaves, people from all three races, shadow their eyes and run from the Tower. Many thinking escape jump into the River. About twenty slaves see Lúthien and Huan and run to them carrying tools, holding them as weapons. Lúthien recognizes an Elf from her kingdom.

“Duilen, it that you?” she asked.

“Yes, my Princess,” he answered. “It is Duilen son of Doelen at your service. Where are the soldiers, Lady Lúthien? We come to assist with the battle against Sauron and his servants.”

“Duilen, it is wonderful to see you again, but there are no soldiers or battle. There is just Huan and me.”

“I should have known when I saw you, though I was unaware that you were so powerful.”

“I do need your help with one thing: I am looking for King Felagund, who was captured with ten of his Elven-soldiers and a Man.”

“My Lady,” said another Elf who was coming from behind Duilen and was being followed by eight other Elves, “I am Felmir from Nargothrond. Where’s my king? Is he well?”

“I know not,” Lúthien answered. “What I do know is that they were captured by Sauron. I have not yet searched for them.”

“I will help you search,” Felmir said.

Duilen added, “We all shall.” The others express agreement.

“I do know they were trapped in a dungeon or pit,” said Lúthien.

“There is a dungeon that sits below Sauron’s throne room,” Duilen said. “I would look there first.” They all leave for the tower.

Upon entering the dungeon, nearly all begin to weep and voice dismay; a couple vomit.

“Oh, Ilúvatar,” sadly expresses Duilen. “What kind of monster could do this?”

“I know of only two: Morgoth and Sauron,” Felmir said.

“If Morgoth isn’t careful,” Lúthien said, “Sauron shall one day take his place.”

Beren is still holding Felagund in a dark corner while looking up at the Sickle of the Valar through the large looking hole in the top of the tower. He hears nothing and sees only the stars with his eyes and the image of Felagund’s face in his mind. Huan sees him, barks and runs to him. Lúthien and several others follow; some slip and find it difficult to keep their balance on the slick blood-covered floor. Huan licks Beren’s face, but Beren in shock doesn’t move. Lúthien then wraps her arms around Beren. Felmir weeps anew, as do some others, and takes Felagund from Beren, who still doesn’t move on his own.

“Beren,” Lúthien said, trying to arouse him. “Beren.” Lúthien puts her head on his shoulder and hugs him. Thinking he is also dead, Lúthien begins to again weep. Beren then moves. “Beren?” She kisses him.

“Oh, my Lúthien, do you love me so much that you would come to terror’s lair?” Beren asked. “How did you find me?”

Lúthien answered, “Yes. To hell’s center I would come just to be with you. Only I would not have made it here but for the help of Huan, the Hound of Valinor.”

Huan sits and holds his paw out. Beren shakes it and says, “Well met, my new friend. I am indebted to you. I know not how I shall repay you.”

Huan gives a small bark and licks Beren’s hand and his cheek. That turns his head in the direction of Felagund, where he lies on the floor being tended by the Elves. Beren begins to weep again.

“I can’t believe he’s gone; they’re all gone,” Beren said. “It should be me lying there; it should be me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Lúthien.

“The werewolf that slew him was coming for me when Felagund burst his bonds and slew it. Then he released me, but there was nothing I could do. I’m sorry.”

“We blame you not, Beren,” said Felmir.

“If only I would’ve arrived sooner; and would have if it weren’t for the dark-hearted brothers Celegorm and Curufin,” Lúthien said.

“What do you mean, my Lady?” Duilen asked. “What do the sons of Fëanor have to do with the delay of your arrival?”

Lúthien answered, “They imprisoned me.”

Beren, Duilen and Felmir exclaimed, “What?!”

“They were the reason why we came with only ten soldiers,” Beren said. “The brothers put fear in the hearts of Felagund’s people, using the Oath of Fëanor and threatening all in the kingdom. I had never seen anything like it. Orodreth now rules, but the brothers have the people under their yolk. The crown is on Orodreth’s head, but he has no power.”

Lúthien explained, “They said they would help me; that we would go to the Caverns first to gather aid. I went with them, and they imprisoned me. Celegorm’s plan was to usurp the throne, learning from me that Sauron had captured the king and his men. The plan also included Celegorm marrying me to increase their power. They even sent messengers to Menegroth with words to force my father to give my hand to him.”

“I shall tend to this when I return to the Caverns of Narog,” Felmir said. “Now we must tend to the King.”

The four look down at Felagund being tended by the other survivors. Beren looks up to see the sun just beginning to rise.

*****

A burial mound sits on a hill of Tol Sirion overlooking the Sirion River. With it, a stone faces west with a bright ray of sunlight hitting its face and highlighting the inscription: “King Finrod Felagund, Beloved Son of Finarfin, Brother, Keeper of Oaths, Greatest Friend to Elves, Dwarves and Men.”

Felmir, with Huan at his side, leads Nargothrond’s people formerly enslaved by Sauron to the throne. With much mumbling a large crowd follows as they approach. As they pass Celegorm, Curufin and Celebrimbor, Huan stops next to his master.

Celegorm asked, “What is all this, hound?” Huan sits by his feet without looking at him. “Talk to me! Or did you forget that you’re supposed to be my mutt!”

“You need him not to tell you what’s occurring, uncle,” Celebrimbor said.

With an expression of pity, Felmir stands before Orodreth sitting on the throne with the crown beside it. Orodreth bows his head as if he already knows what Felmir is about to say. Then anger crosses Felmir’s face as he turns to the crowd.

“Hear, ye! Hear, ye all!” Felmir shouted. “Our beloved King Finrod Felagund son of Finarfin and brother of Orodreth is dead!”

Murmurs of disbelief and sounds of lamentation come from the crowd. Some weep, as does Orodreth. Celebrimbor sits down, hides his face and weeps.

Felmir continued, “He was slain by one of Sauron’s werewolves while fulfilling his oath! But he was not sent to his death by Sauron or his beast! No, his death occurred by treachery here in the Caverns of Narog; by fell words of the brothers Celegorm and Curufin sons of Fëanor!”

Their murmurs become louder.

“Also to blame is all here who listened to them and turned your backs on our King and his house! You all should feel shame!”

Felmir motions to the grief-stricken Orodreth to stand. “Therefore, I say: turn back to the House of Finarfin, to the House of Finwë! Hail, King Orodreth!”

The crowd yells, “Hail, King Orodreth!”

Felmir then looks at the brothers and says, “But you, sons of Fëanor; you have always used that ever-troubling Oath of Fëanor to put fear in people’s hearts. There was no other reason for your words of corruption other than to send Felagund to his death. If you really cared about the people of Nargothrond, you would have come to Tol-in-Gaurhoth to save us. Instead, an Elven-maid does what the sons of Fëanor did not! Your hearts are black! You care nothing for this kingdom or its people. We need you not! Therefore, with our new King’s leave, I say to you sons of Fëanor: you are thus banned from the Kingdom of Nargothrond! What say you, brother of Felagund and King of Nargothrond?”

The crowd’s murmuring continues. Someone in the crowd shouts, “Let us slay these faithless lords untrue!” This causes others to chant, “Slay them! Slay them!”

Orodreth, however, holds up his hand and the crowd silences.

“Celegorm and Curufin,” he said, “I say that I personally blame the two of you for my brother’s death. But I also must place blame on all who heard my brother’s request for aid and did nothing. However, I also deem that their decision rested on your words and the fear you set in their hearts. Thus, I agree with the banishing of the two of you. Nevermore shall you have food or rest in the Kingdom of Nargothrond. You shall have one hour to leave this city; and you have until midnight tomorrow to be beyond the borders of this kingdom. Feel fortunate that you shall not be slain, for I shall not have kin slay kin, and thus fall under the Doom of Mandos. But never should the two of you return to this kingdom; and from this hour hence, no son of Fëanor shall be allowed to enter. Do you have anything to say, Celegorm or Curufin?”

The crowd remains silent. Curufin stands smiling beside Celegorm. “So be it!” said Curufin, after which Celegorm said, “We shall remember it.” Then, with no sign of remorse, they walk through the glaring faces of the crowd.

*****

Several minutes later Celegorm and Curufin are at the stables mounted on their horses. Huan sits next to Celegorm’s. Curufin speaks with Celebrimbor, who stands beside his horse.

“I am so ashamed of you, father,” Celebrimbor said.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” said Curufin.

“It has nothing to do with pride. You are upset that the plan didn’t work!”

Celegorm then said, “I wouldn’t allow a son of mine to talk that way to me.”

“Oh, Ilúvatar forbid if you have a son,” Celebrimbor said. “And I wouldn’t want you as a father. You’re not even a good older brother, and my father is a fool for following you.”

“Stop that now, son!” Curufin said. “I will not have you disrespect your uncle.”

“Disrespect?” questioned Celebrimbor. “What know you of that word? You disrespect our King; you disrespect our people. Why do you listen to him? You could stay and ask forgiveness. You could stay with me!”

“No, son, I stay not in a kingdom that bans the sons of Fëanor!”

“The sons of Fëanor? The terrible Oath! Would you like to know the truth? I care not for the Oath, nor for my grandfather who called you all to swear it. I am very ashamed to be part of the family of Fëanor, and I care not for the Silmarils.”

Curufin kicks Celebrimbor in the face. He falls holding his jaw.

“That’s fine; shun your family!” exclaimed Curufin. “I am not going to listen to any more. You have a good life, here in a doomed kingdom. If you need me someday, count not on my coming. For as far as I am concerned, I have no son. We leave now, my brother.”

Curufin looks ahead and nudges his horse. Celegorm looks at Celebrimbor and smiles as he rides past him.

After Felagund’s burial, Beren and Lúthien did not rush to return to the Quest. Instead, they made it more of a priority to enjoy the calm spring weather, as well as each other’s company. Little by little, Beren steered their course toward Doriath. They stopped for a while near its border in the Forest of Brethil. Throughout this journey their days and nights were filled with love, laughter and joy, more than any of the children of Ilúvatar had ever shared, although their time was very short.

On an afternoon just before Beren was planning to return to the Quest, he was lying on a large rock and smiling while watching Lúthien dance. Six nightingales danced around her, and the flower Niphredil sprang up from the ground wherever her feet stepped. She happened to look at him just as he stopped smiling. Lúthien then came to him and asked, “What’s wrong, my love?”

“The last couple months have been a dream,” he answered, “and I wish this time together would end never. But it is time that I continue the Quest, and you need to return to your family. It breaks my heart to leave you again, but the sooner the Quest is complete, the sooner we can be together forever.”

Lúthien said, “Hear me, my dear. You must choose between these two: to relinquish the Quest and your oath and seek a life of wandering upon the face of the earth; or to hold to your word and challenge the power of darkness on its throne. But on either road I shall go with you, and our doom shall be alike.”

At this time, Celegorm and Curufin are sneaking through the trees on their horses. Beren and Lúthien, however, don’t see them as they are somewhat hidden by the trees as they creep closer.

“Lúthien,” Beren said, “I cannot allow you to go with me on this dangerous Quest. I have already decided that, and that is why I have brought you here; so you won’t have very far to travel to your home.”

“Was I not the one who defeated Sauron?” asked Lúthien.

Celegorm and Curufin are still moving quietly closer. Huan is behind his two friends and is unaware of the brothers’ plans, or that Celegorm and Curufin are nearby.

“Yes, you were. But Sauron is not Morgoth, and low am I to take the one I love into hell and before him upon his thrown. He is ten times more clever, stronger and evil. You, my dear, are powerful, but you are no match for the Dark Lord.”

Celegorm and Curufin ride into the glade. Celegorm spurs his horse at Beren and shouts, “Let’s see if the two of you are a match against two of Fëanor’s sons!”

Curufin, a strong and cunning horseman, rides directly to Lúthien, stoops and lifts her onto his horse before him. Thereafter, he also turns his horse toward Beren, coming at him from the opposite direction as Celegorm; not to stoop, but to maim or kill. Finally arriving at the edge of the glade, Huan stands there wondering why the brothers are riding their horses directly at Beren and why Lúthien is on Curufin’s horse screaming at him and struggling to get off.

The brothers arrive at Beren about the same time. That’s when Beren leaps before Celegorm and his horse (a second more and Beren would have been trampled) and lands behind Curufin on his; and the Leap of Beren is renown by nearly all Men and Elves of Middle-earth. Beren then takes Curufin by the throat with both hands and pulls him back causing Curufin to pull back on the reins and the horse to rear and fall backward. They fall clear of the horse, which rises and stands nearby shaking its head. But Beren held fast his hold around Curufin’s neck, and he began gagging. Lúthien had managed to jump from the horse just in time. She landed unharmed on a soft patch of heavy grass.

Death, however, was near Beren; for Celegorm rode toward him and his brother with spear in hand. Just as Celegorm reared back his arm to throw his spear through Beren, Huan bayed loudly and sprang in front of Celegorm’s horse. He then planted his feet and again loudly bayed and growled and showed his long white teeth. The horse swerved and Celegorm dropped his spear and nearly fell but maintained control of the horse.

“Huan, you stupid hound!” Celegorm shouted. “Curse you! So, you betray your master for a worthless Man and an Elven-maid! Curse you, you baseborn dog, daring to bare your teeth against your master! Go hence, for I never cared for you anyhow, you good-for-nothing mutt! You’ve been nothing but a nuisance to me, and I curse you and the day Oromë give me such a cur!”

Lúthien ran to Beren’s side. He was still choking Curufin. “Beren, forbear your anger,” she cried. “Do not do the unholy work of Orcs. Release him! His doom lies far beyond you, my love.”

As Huan continues growling at Celegorm, Beren reaches to Curufin’s side and unsnaps his knife and holds it momentarily to his throat.

“Fine! But I’m taking this,” Beren said.

Beren releases him. Curufin gasps, holds his neck and laboriously speaks, “That’s Angrist, given to me by Telchar.”

“I know all about Angrist and Telchar of Belegost,” Beren said. “That’s why I’m taking it. I’ll have better use of it than you. And you can ride out of here with your brother on his horse.”

Beren, placing the unsheathed Angrist at his side, walks to Curufin’s horse and says, “Your horse I keep for the service of Lúthien, and it may be accounted happy to be free of such a master. Both of you should now go back to your noble kinfolk, who might teach you to turn your valor to worthier use.”

“And you can go hence unto a swift and bitter death!” Curufin yelled.

Turning his back to and ignoring Curufin, Beren goes to the horse and leads it toward Lúthien. Huan watches the brothers closely. Curufin mounts behind Celegorm and then immediately grabs Celegorm’s bow and an arrow. As he turns and aims the fitted arrow at Lúthien, Huan bays loudly, and Beren turns to see Curufin shoot the arrow at her. Then they all in amazement see Huan leap and catch the arrow in his mouth just before it would have struck Lúthien in the heart. Beren looks again and sees Curufin preparing to shoot another arrow at her. As he releases the arrow, Beren leaps in front of Lúthien. The point goes in Beren’s upper left breast and out his back. Lúthien shouts, “Beren!” and catches him as he falls. Huan in anger snaps with his teeth the arrow in his mouth and runs after the brothers, who in fear speed away.

Lúthien continues to rouse Beren by calling his name. For a moment his eyes open and he says, “You don’t have to shout; I’m right here – for the moment.” Beren then falls into unconsciousness. After a few minutes, Huan returned carrying a bundle of weeds in his mouth.

“Kingsfoil,” said Lúthien, who is now crying. “I can’t believe you found Athelas here. Thank you, my friend.”

Lúthien puts a handful of the healing plant in her mouth and chews to moisten it. She then takes Angrist from Beren’s side and cuts the arrow’s point off with very little effort. She then pulls the arrow out through the front as fast as she can. Beren awakens briefly and screams of pain. He immediately falls back into unconscious. She spits the chewed wad into her hand, splits it in half and pastes the wads over the entry and exit wounds. She then holds Beren tightly in her arms and looks at Huan.

“All we can do is hope and pray, my friend,” she tells Huan, who looks on in dire concern for his friend. For the first time in his life, he is also in tears.

*****

Nearly a month later, Beren begins to come out of unconsciousness. He sees black, white and then blue as his eyes attempt to focus. He hears Lúthien singing lowly nearby. He begins to see the leaves on the limbs above him shaking in the breeze. There are also many birds, including Mr. and Mrs. Dove, sitting on limbs in the closest trees to him. On the ground with Lúthien’s nightingales are a couple rabbits, raccoons and two deer. Mr. and Mrs. Otter have also come to wait for their friend to awaken. The horse, like nearly all good beasts, has come to love Lúthien and Beren, as well as Huan. If he wasn’t grazing nearby, he was standing guard over Beren; which he was now doing.

Beren now sees the horse over him. He then turned his head to the side. There, barely an inch from him, is Huan’s huge head with large eyes looking at him, along with his long tongue hanging out. Huan, who has been beside Beren nearly every minute, barks and licks his face. Lúthien turns to see Beren conscious and smiling as Huan continues slobbering all over his face. Beren begins laughing.

“All right, my friend,” Beren said. “It’s good to see you, too. I know I need to bathe, but I’d rather use water than your slobbers.”

Lúthien kneels down at Beren’s side, kisses him and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Weak. Very weak,” he answered.

“There were times you were on fire and others when you felt frozen. There were also times we knew not if you were going to survive.”

“There were times I wasn’t sure either. All I could see was something that looked black, but it was not like the color. I would also hear, as if calling me, music from birds, viols and harps.”

“The Void is what you saw, and you indeed heard its calling. It beckons those near death. Many who feel they have nothing more to live for follow it to their doom and to the Halls of Mandos. Sometimes the Void is just too strong and it takes them whether they protest or not.”

“Whatever it was it seems I was drawn to it. Then I would hear your voice calling me, and I would even hear Huan baying in the distance. Thank you both for bringing me back.”

“We want you not to go anywhere without us.” Huan barks and wags his tail in agreement as Lúthien and Beren smile at him.

“How long have I been out?” asked Beren.

“Four weeks and one day,” Lúthien replied.

“So, autumn is nearly over. I’ve been out too long. I’ve got to get back to the Quest.” He attempts to rise, but moans and sits back down.

“You mean: we have to get back to the Quest,” Lúthien said. “Right now, however, you’re still too weak to do anything.”

*****

Meanwhile, Thingol and Melian were sitting on their thrones when Mablung and Beleg return to them and bow.

“I’m sorry, my King and Queen,” Mablung said, “but we could find no trace of Lúthien or Beren.”

Beleg added, “While searching we thought several times we heard her voice; but when we followed it, we found nothing.”

“If my daughter wishes not to be found,” Thingol said, “found she will not be.”

“We are very sorry,” said Mablung.

Mablung and Beleg again bow and take their leave. Thingol looks at Melian and asks, “Do you not know where our daughter is? Or is it that you know and will tell me not?”

Melian answered, “If I knew where she was, I would tell you, my love, but that would help little. What you set in motion must reach its destiny. Neither you nor I may interfere with its outcome.”

“I just want my daughter home. I miss her so.”

“You never told me you sent your two top captains to search for her. When did you do that, and what did you want them to do if they found her?”

“I sent them shortly after Lúthien had escaped from Hirilorn. I asked them to try to persuade her to return home. Moreover, I just wanted news of her to know she was unharmed.”

*****

On the fifth morning since Beren arose from unconsciousness, he awoke earlier than Lúthien and stood next to her for a while admiring her as she slept. Huan was sleeping beside her. Beren quietly walked to the horse. Just as he was preparing to mount him, he saw that Huan had quietly followed him.

“Be very quiet, my friend,” Beren said, while patting his head. “I return now to the Quest and leave Lúthien in your care. If I wait longer, Huan, she will awaken and wish to go with me, and I can’t have that. Take good care of her. Guard her from wind and foes. Keep her hidden from hands that would seize or harm her. If you can, persuade her and escort her home. Farewell, my friend.”

Beren mounts and turns the horse and rides away. Huan gives a small whine and then returns to lay down again by Lúthien.

It was near noon when Beren arrived at the Pass of Sirion. He sat on a large rock and looked to the north. The horse stood beside him and shook his head and gave a short neigh. Beren then smiled at him, arose and took off his bridle and tossed it to the ground. Thereafter, he caressed his great face and rubbed its nose between his two large flaring nostrils.

“I thank you for bearing me this far, my friend,” Beren said, “but I no longer need your service. May you leave dread and servitude to run free upon the green grass of Sirion and dream of Valinor, though you may return never to the land of your birth. You are wise and will soon find companionship. Farewell and fare free, my friend.”

Beren gently taps the horse on his rear, and he slowly walks away. After several steps it turns and neighs loudly at Beren, as if reluctant to leave his friend. Beren waves and says, “Go on now.” The horse gives another short neigh and then continues into the openness of Sirion.

“Take care, brave beast of Valinor,” Beren said to himself. He again sits on the rock and takes from his pocket a piece of paper, looks into the sun high above and, not caring who should hear, loudly recites part of a poem he has written:

     “Farewell sweet earth and northern sky,

     for ever blest, since here did lie,

     and here with lissome limbs did run,

     beneath the moon, beneath the sun,

     Lúthien Tinúviel,

     more fair than mortal tongue can tell,

     Though all in ruin fell the world,

     and were dissolved and backwards hurled,

     unmade into the old abyss,

     yet were its making good for this –

     the dusk, the dawn, the earth, the sea –

     that Lúthien for a time shall be.”

As he finishes, he hears Lúthien’s voice call: “Beren!” However, being startled and seeing nothing, he hides behind the rock. He then peaked over the rock and fear took him, for into his view he sees a huge black wolf and an extremely large bat riding on it. He sits behind the rock wondering what to do. He again looks over the top of the rock. The wolf suddenly transforms into Huan; the bat into Lúthien.

“Beren!” Lúthien again called.

Beren comes from behind the rock. “I am here. How come you here?” he asked.

Lúthien and Huan run to him. Lúthien hugs and kisses him. Huan barks and whines in happiness. Beren pets him and looks at Lúthien. Before he can say anything again, Lúthien says, “Huan, whose heart is wiser and kinder than yours, tracked you after I pleaded with him long. You would’ve laughed to see us again race like Orcs on wolves until by Huan’s counsel I transformed us into servants of Morgoth and Sauron. And I could ask you: what were you thinking going off without me or Huan?”

“Lúthien, please,” Beren pleaded. “Thrice now I curse my oath to Thingol, and I would that he had slain me in Menegroth, rather than I should bring you under the shadow of Morgoth.”

Then to their surprise, Huan begins to speak: “Beren, while bringing Lúthien to you, in my heart I have thought long and hard on what counsel I could devise for the two whom I love most. My counsel to you, Beren, is: from the shadow of death you can no longer save Lúthien, for by her love she is now subject to it. You can turn from your fate and lead her into exile, seeking peace in vain while your life lasts. But if you will not deny your doom, then either Lúthien, being forsaken, must assuredly die alone, or she must with you challenge the fate that lies before you; hopeless, yet not certain.

“My counsel to you, Lúthien, is: continue using the disguises. Long ago I was in the black land while following Oromë on his great steed Nahar. We wandered unafraid because Morgoth fears Oromë. But if he sees the two of you clad without guise, you surely will be captured long before you see the mountains where Angband sits. Therefore, Beren should be as the wolf-hame of Draugluin and you, Lúthien, as the bat-fell messenger of Sauron Thuringwethil.

“Further counsel I cannot give, nor may I go further on your road. But my heart forebodes that what you find at the Gate I shall myself see. All else is dark to me; yet it may be that our three paths lead back to Doriath, and we may meet before the end. Until then, know that I love you both very much. Farewell, my friends.”

Beren placed his hand on Huan’s head, while Lúthien stroked his long back. “Thank you,” said Beren. “You are wise, and I am honored that you call me friend. Farewell.”

“We shall heed your words,” Lúthien said. She then walks in front of him and kisses him on the top of his nose. “Thank you. Please be careful wherever your travels take you. We will miss you until our next meeting. I love you, Huan. Farewell.”

The misty-eyed Huan began walking away. He stopped before entering the woods and looked back. Beren and Lúthien gave him a final wave. Huan gave a final short bark before walking into the woods and from their sight.

“That’s one wise hound,” Beren said. “There are some men I’ve known that don’t have half his wisdom.”

“How wise are you?” Lúthien asked. “Will you truly heed his counsel?”

“Well, it hasn’t done me any good trying to dissuade you or even sneaking away.”

“Remember that. Are you ready?”

Lúthien says some Elven words and Beren is transformed into Draugluin. She says some more and seemingly disappears. Then Draugluin-Beren hears rattling above. He looks up at the branch and sees a huge bat hanging upside-down. He howls and takes off at a run. Thuringwethil-Lúthien flitters at his flank.

*****

They traveled through northwestern Anfauglith and the night without being stopped by any servants of Morgoth. At the grey before dawn, they finally see and take the road leading to Thangorodrim. They also begin to see bones and skulls strewn about. About a hundred yards from the Gate of Angband and Thangorodrim’s beginning precipices, black chasm open on both sides of the road and monstrous snakes can be seen crawling in and out or coiled in sloth or sleeping. The snakes don’t seem to care about the two new visitors, but atop both precipices are carrion fowl that sit looking down and cry at them in fell voices. As they near the Gate, a wolf, a little larger than Wolf-Sauron, comes from behind it and stops the two travelers. It is Carcharoth.  

“Stay where you stand, Draugluin,” Carcharoth ordered. “And you, Thuringwethil, do not fly away.”

“Carcharoth, Red Maw,” said Draugluin-Beren, “Thuringwethil and I bring a message of great interest to Morgoth from Lord Sauron.”

“I’m sure it is indeed very interesting if two messengers are needed to bring it; one of which is said to already be dead, Draugluin.”

After a moment of silence, Thuringwethil-Lúthien transforms into her normal self. In fear for Lúthien’s safety, Draugluin-Beren walks between them. However, Lúthien sidesteps Beren to stop directly in front of Carcharoth. She then ceremoniously waves her hand in front of Carcharoth’s face, touches him on the nose and says, “O woe-begotten spirit, fall now into dark oblivion, and forget for a while the dreadful doom of life.”

Carcharoth’s eyes instantly flutter and close, and the huge wolf plops hard onto the ground asleep. Draugluin-Beren, after having to dodge away from the falling Carcharoth, looks at Lúthien amazed and says, “I must say: I’m glad you came along.”

“You can thank me later,” she said. “We need to go now.” She then transforms back into Thuringwethil.

They walk past Carcharoth and through the Gates. It becomes very dark in a main hallway, with the exception of distant torches. As they approach the torches, they see a doorway beyond. They go through it and down a labyrinthine staircase, and it becomes even darker.

“Can you see?” asked Thuringwethil-Lúthien.

“Yes,” replied Draugluin-Beren, “but I could see better if my eyes would stop watering from the horrible stench.”

“I never knew death smelled so badly.”

They come to the end of the stairs to another doorway.

“Be prepared,” she said, “for inside this door it is him, Morgoth.”

Unexpectedly, the door opens with a loud screech. They go down another small staircase that curves into the thrown room. In the distance, they see two large red glowing eyes. Then they see a flame and a torch alights next to Morgoth’s face. He sits on his throne dressed in his usual black raiment, including the black Iron Crown with the three Silmarils, which at this moment are illuminated but not brightly. All around are devises of torture; some still have victims who haven’t been removed; some victims are rotting where they stand; one has a victim bleeding and moaning in agony. On each side of the throne, one Balrog and a Balrog-lord stand guard. Also scattered throughout the room are more snakes, Orcs and wolves.

Watching the two enter his throne chamber, Morgoth initially looked upon them in silence. Lúthien was just about to speak when Morgoth began:

“Who crawls in secrecy as a weightless bug and dares to enter the thrown room of Morgoth, King of Middle-earth? It is strange to see you, Draugluin. How is it you returned to the land of the living? Or is it that someone would deceive me?”

To Beren’s shock, Thuringwethil-Lúthien turned back into her normal self. Mesmerized by her beauty, evil thoughts immediately entered Morgoth’s mind. The Silmarils in the Iron Crown began to lightly blaze. Beren, seeing Morgoth’s interest in Lúthien, walked to the side of his throne. Morgoth hadn’t taken his eyes off Lúthien, who said, “I am Lúthien. The daughter…”

“The lying daughter,” Morgoth interrupts,” of King Thingol and Queen Melian. I know your fame. Welcome to my halls. What brings you here? I thought you were very wise, since your mother is Melian the Maia. Is it your wish to look upon death; or does Thingol wish his daughter to die? In that case, maybe I shall kill you not and have you stay here until the world’s end as my thrall.”

“I wish to sing to you as a minstrel. I’m sure that even you enjoy the beauty of music. Remember music? You used it to help Ilúvatar create this world.”

“Mention never his name here! Minstrels strong I have at my call. However, I know something you can do for me that I’ll enjoy, and it has nothing to do with music, although it would make me sing.”

“I must admit that I was at first frightened to approach you. Now I see your power means nothing to me. I also see the artwork on your face drawn by the beak of Thorondor, King of Eagles. I imagine that had to hurt.”

“You are either brave, daughter of Thingol and Melian, or very dumb to speak that way to me, Morgoth, who was once Melkor and named among the Ainur.”

Lúthien moves without being seen until she’s at the other side of the room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Morgoth asked. “I order you to move not unless I tell you!”

“I rarely listen to my father. What makes you think your orders mean anything to me?” she asked. “I know you have a certain reputation of being very powerful. I would like to challenge your power. If you can catch me, I shall sing for you, and whatever else you would like me to do.”

Lúthien again disappeared from his sight. She was heard singing quietly in Elvish. Her voice seemed to be coming from all directions. All the creatures in Morgoth’s chambers, who were trying to find Lúthien, began one by one to fall asleep, and the torches began fading in and out until they were merely glowing without flames. The Balrogs and Balrog-lords crashed to the floor, and their blazes were extinguished. Orcs and wolves fell where they stood; onto the floor and into slumber. Draugluin-Beren, standing by the throne, also found it difficult to keep his eyes open.

“Where are you?!” asked Morgoth with a shout. “You dare to test me; to mock me?!”

“What’s the matter?” Lúthien questioned; again her voice cannot be pinpointed. “Can you not overpower the wee daughter of Thingol and Melian?”

Morgoth then yawns. The Silmarils in the Iron Crown begin getting brighter and are now lighting up the entire room. Morgoth’s eyes begin to flutter. They finally shut. His chin falls to his chest. He forcefully opens his eyes one more time and tries with all his power to keep his head up. It falls again. He sees her once more, but she again vanishes.

“Are you getting a little sleepy?” Lúthien asked. “Having wicked thoughts can be very tiring, yes?”

“Where are you?!” Morgoth shouted just seconds before falling asleep, along with everything else in his chamber, including Beren, who remained slunk beside his throne. In complete sleep, Morgoth slid off his throne and landed on the floor. The Iron Crown rolled a couple feet away from him. Lúthien, who was weakening, then walked to Beren and touched him. He immediately awoke. She transformed him back to his normal self.

“What has happened?” Beren asked.

“Ask me later,” Lúthien replied and pointed at Morgoth. “Now is our chance.” Beren sees Morgoth on the floor and the Iron Crown nearby.

“I don’t even want to know how,” he said.

“Hurry now, for I am totally drained,” Lúthien said.

Beren walked quickly to the Iron Crown and drew Angrist. The Silmarils blazed even brighter. With his eyes squint and knelt down by the Crown, he dug out one of the Silmarils from its metal claws. When it popped free, it got even brighter in Beren’s hand, but he felt no pain.

“That came out so easily.” he said, looking at Lúthien. “I feared it would burn me, but it does not. Maybe I can get two or all three for your father.”

“I think we should be glad with the one,” Lúthien said.

However, Beren can’t resist and sticks Angrist under the second Silmaril and tries to pry it free also. But the tip of Angrist snaps, and the shard flies glancing Morgoth’s cheek; a couple drops of black blood ooze from the nick and smoke when they hit the ground. He groans and moves, as does everything in the Chamber, and then falls back to sleep. Fear enters Beren and Lúthien.

“I do not believe the fate of the other two will be similar to the one,” she said. “We must leave now!”

“Yes; now,” Beren agreed. “Make haste!”

Beren grabs Lúthien’s hand, and without disguises they run from the Chamber, up the stairs and into the hallway. Every now and then some creature they pass moves in its sleep, but none as yet have awakened. They continue running up the stairs, to the Gate, and through its narrow opening. Then Carcharoth leaps in front of them. They stop and look in terror at him.

“Halt!” Carcharoth demands. “How dare you put a spell on the Great Carcharoth?”

Lúthien, ever so weak, gasps to catch her breath. Carcharoth comes close to Lúthien’s face, but Beren quickly wedges himself between the two. He grabs the wolf’s neck with his left hand and holds the Silmaril in his right inches from Carcharoth’s eyes. It flares, and Carcharoth gazes intently.

“Get you gone and fly,” Beren said, “for here is a fire that shall consume you and all evil things.”

Now Carcharoth has seen Morgoth’s crown before and its three jewels, but he had never seen it blazing as it was while Beren held it before his eyes. He turned his head away for a second. Then in one quick motion, he turned his head back and Beren saw Carcharoth’s mouth open and his teeth taking his hand inside. He felt nothing until he realized his hand was gone and actually watched it as a bulge sliding down the wolf’s neck.

Lúthien, seeing what occurred, screamed, “Beren!”

Beren falls to his knees holding his stubbed forearm that currently squirts blood from the end and into the air. Lúthien kneels to hold him, which being weak takes all her strength. They see Carcharoth smile as he towers over the both of them while standing on all fours legs. His smiling lips, however, begin to quiver and he looks between his forelegs at his belly. Suddenly, a beam of light shoots out from it straight down to the ground. Another seems to blast its way out of his right side. Then another in another direction; then another. They feel as if they’re burning their ways through his flesh, but there are no holes or blood. Carcharoth then hit the ground, squirming and rolling around in pain. Then he got back on his feet and sped off away from Beren and Lúthien, and everything before him fled.

Meanwhile, Beren slides and falls to the ground as a very weak Lúthien desperately tries to hold him so she can lay him down gently. Lúthien then tries to keep Beren conscious by calling to him, “Beren!… Beren!” She then sees that his arm has turned colors from the bite’s poison. The bleed has slowed, but his blood still streams onto the ground. She holds up his arm and puts her lips on the wound. Blood oozes from her lips as she begins sucking. She can taste both blood and poison. She then spits and repeats several times until she can taste only blood. She notices that the birds above and a nearby snake have begun to awaken. She rips a piece of her clothing and wraps Beren’s wound tightly while saying an enchantment in Elvish to help staunch and heal the wound.

Suddenly, the birds screams down at the two lying by the Gate, while the snake rolled from his back onto his belly and sees Beren and Lúthien in front of him. He begins to slither closer. Lúthien, still very weak, stands between Beren and the snake. She unsnaps and grabs Angrist from Beren’s side and turns to face the snake. It slithers close and then coils to strike.

Lúthien says, “You’ll have to go through me to get to him, my legless friend.”

Faster than lightning flashes, the snake strikes at Lúthien. As it does, Lúthien prepares to strike back with Angrist. However, she then sees Gwaihir — more like a blur — fly down from behind the snake and land on its neck near the head. She hears the snake scream in agony and sees Gwaihir dig in his talons at the start of its neck and plunge his beak between the snake’s eyes; his beak goes through the bottom of its head. Lúthien feels the wind of wings hitting her face; her hair flies in the swift breeze. Gwaihir’s talons are so sharp they finally sever the snake’s head from its body; which coils and rolls for several minutes until its nerves deaden. Gwaihir shakes the head from his beak and again takes to the air.

Then behind her, Thorondor hovers over Beren and gently takes him in his talons, lifting him into the air. She then hears a voice and looks up. “Lady Lúthien,” Landroval calls from directly above her, “hold your arms up!”

Lúthien does and he gently takes them in his talons and starts lifting her into the air. As he does, a large carrion bird flies at Lúthien and Landroval, but Gwaihir intercepts. The collision is loud and the carrion bird’s body thuds to the ground, and its head falls next to it a second thereafter.

Suddenly, Thangorodrim erupts. Its explosion roars loudly, and the sky is filled with bolts of fire. The sun has not yet completely risen, but Thangorodrim’s fire has lighted the sky like a new day around Angband. Thorondor leads Landroval and Gwaihir high above the flaming rocks shooting from the mouth of the mountain. Lúthien begins slipping from Landroval’s grip and she tells him so: “I’m slipping, Landroval! I’m slipping!”

“Hold on, my Lady!” he exclaimed.

“I can’t! I…” She screams as she slips from his grip; but before she can fall any distance whatsoever, Gwaihir quickly flies under her and catches her on his back.

“I’ve got you, my Lady,” he said.

“Thank you, Gwaihir.”

Beren looks lifeless hanging in Thorondor’s talons. They are now soaring in the heavens, where the sky is radiant blue and wondrously holds both the sun and moon. The three Eagles fly beside one another; Landroval is on Thorondor’s right.

“Thorondor, tell me, does Beren still live?” Lúthien asked.

“I can feel his heartbeat, my Lady,” he replies, “but it is very faint.”

“Can you take us to my land of Doriath?”

“That is our destination. We’ll be there soon. Look down now and see the green jewel-like lights of Gondolin. Few who live beyond its borders have ever seen it or know exactly where it is located.”

And just like a jewel lighted by many shades of green mixed with ivory tints, Lúthien saw Gondolin below. Then, in utter exhaustion she fell asleep on Gwaihir’s back.

Lúthien awoke with Gwaihir standing over and looking down at her with his two big eyes behind his huge golden beak. They are on the River Mindeb’s east banks at the northwest corner of Neldereth. She rolled to the side and saw the other two Eagles who were standing over Beren, who was unconscious lying in what looked like a large nest made of grass and weeds. She runs to him and calls his name.

“He still lives, my Lady,” Thorondor said, “though I know not for how long. His heart is very weak, but his arm is looking better. For a man, he is very strong, as is his will to live.”

“We both would already be dead if it weren’t for you and your kin,” Lúthien said. “Thank you – all of you.”

“You’re welcome, my Lady,” Thorondor said. Then he pointed toward the forest and continued, “But, you should also thank him.” There was a rustling sound coming closer and closer from within. Suddenly, Huan appeared.

Lúthien shouts with joy, “Huan!” He runs to Lúthien; she kisses his head and hugs him as he nestles against her breast.

Thorondor continued, “He deserves much thanks; for it was he who told all to watch and be ready to aid their friends Beren and Lúthien. Many birds and beasts came to Crissaegrim while others went to Manwë on Taniquetel to tell of your plight.”

“Oh, you adorable hound!” she exclaimed. “We didn’t want you to leave us, but I’m sure glad you did! Thank you so very much.”

Gwaihir walked to Thorondor. “I hate to interrupt,” he said, “but we must return to Crissaegrim, as Manwë will be anxious of further news regarding Lúthien and Beren; and I’m sure Morgoth has awakened and is none too happy. Who knows what he’s up to now, or what he will do next.”

“Yes, we must now depart,” Thorondor agreed. “Will the three of you be all right now?”

Lúthien walks to him, looks up and answers, “Yes, thanks to you. But before you go, I must tell you something very imperative.”

Lúthien motions for him to stoop down to her. He cocks his head in wonder, then slowly lowers his tilted head down to her, thinking she is about to whisper something in his ear. Lúthien, however, kisses his cheek. Gwaihir giggles loudly, as Landroval also snickers. Thorondor blushes and raises his head.

“My Lady, that was unnecessary,” Thorondor said.

“It was very necessary,” she said. “You truly are a King.” Thorondor proudly holds his head high. Lúthien looks at the other two Eagles and says, “And the rest of you are gallant Princes.”

“A compliment from you means very much. Please call if you need us again,” said Thorondor. “Farewell.”

With that the three Eagles lift off; Gwaihir again flies next to Thorondor. “Wow! A kiss from the fairest Lady Lúthien,” Gwaihir said. “Wait ’til mother hears about this.”

“Oh, be silent!” Thorondor said as they majestically turn in unison and fly out of sight.

*****

Thingol sits on his throne with Melian at his side. He has called Mablung to tell him:

“Messengers have come from Nargothrond stating that Lúthien is there, and that she agrees to wed Celegorm son of Fëanor, who wishes for my blessing. There are also some comments he sends that sound more like threats. I want you to take with you about ten others to Nargothrond to discover what is actually occurring there. Also, if Lúthien is there, attempt to persuade her to return home, but use no force.”

With a bow Mablung said, “As you wish, my King,” and he departed.

*****

As before, Beren again awakens to Lúthien’s singing while his eyes focus on leaves against the sky. She, Huan and five nightingales stand by the river. Like the last time, the other small animals have also gathered to wait for Beren’s return to consciousness. They watch as she tosses flower petals into the water. Beren tries to clear his throat, and after several attempts he succeeds and says, “This has become a bad habit.”

Lúthien and Huan come to him. Huan licks Beren’s face a couple times. “We meet again, my friend,” Beren said.

“Beren, thank goodness!” Lúthien exclaimed. “You love scaring us.”

“Believe me; I’d rather be doing something else. I again wandered on the borders of death, but your voice and your baying kept drawing me back. In my dreams I name myself anew, Erchamion – the One-handed.” He looks down at his stubbed arm. “Now I see why.”

“You again wandered long, Erchamion. Many cold nights and two seasons have passed since that horrible day.”

“How did we survive?”

“Huan again saved us, with the Eagles of Manwë. Thorondor, Gwaihir and Landroval flew to our rescue after our friend Huan alerted nearly every good bird and beast in Middle-earth about our peril.”

“That’s three, my friend,” Beren said looking at Huan, who gave a short bark.

Beren stood with a little help from Lúthien. “Do you remember that you succeeded in taking a Silmaril from Morgoth?” she asked.

He looked again at his stubbed arm. ”Yes,” he said, “but I somehow remember that I lost it as well.”

“I care not of the Silmaril.”

“You say that why?”

“Those accursed jewels have been nothing but trouble since Fëanor wrought them. The Jewels of Fëanor to me represent death and destruction to all who merely mention them; something bad always happens when the Oath of Fëanor is in motion.”

“You know who mentioned it. It is your Father’s price I must pay to be with you, so we can have a life and be free together.”

“Don’t you think we’ve paid enough, especially you? We can have a life and be free. We could stay here forever, Beren; live in the wilderness. We’ll live as we have since we journeyed together on this hateful Quest.”

“What about your family, your kin, and your friends?”

“You are all I need. I would forsake all just to be with you.” Huan barks. “And with Huan, of course.”

“I could not allow you to do such. It would not be right. You are a Princess, Lúthien – The Princess; one who is above all royalty in Middle-earth. The Vala’s blood runs through your veins. You are one who deserves to be surrounded by kin, to enjoy the playthings and trinkets of all Elven-Queens, and to be honored when your time comes. You are the one Ilúvatar made as the most beautiful of all. And as a Man, I cannot break the law of withholding a daughter from her father. Please, don’t ask me to do so.”

“I would, just to be rid of this shadow that seems to follow us wherever we go.” She then sighs and says, “Honesty, though, I would like to see my father and mother once again.”

“Then let us go home. For I promise you, Lúthien Tinúviel, one way or another, we will be together – forever.”

“But how are we to go back without a Silmaril to present to my father?”

“Leave that to me, my love. I shall rest today and through the night. Tomorrow, we shall begin our short journey home.”

*****

The next day, about an hour before dusk, Mablung walked to Thingol and Melian’s thrones. His raiment was mostly covered in blood, but he walked unscathed. With a tear in his eye, he bowed in front of them, as Thingol and Melian sat with a look of concern.

“My goodness, what happened to you?” Thingol asked with an alarming tone.

Mablung replied, “I am unharmed, my King; for this is not my blood, but from several who died in the journey from Nargothrond. The ten whom I led have perished. I am very sorry.”

“What happened? I ask that you discover information, not begin a battle.”

“It was no battle with anyone from the Kingdom of Nargothrond,” Mablung explained, “but with the Monster Wolf-hound of Morgoth, Carcharoth. He has been loosed from Angband, terrorizing the north and destroying all in his path. I was the only one who escaped his onslaught. I tried to save as many as I could, but I failed them.” Here, he could not hold his tears from streaming down his face. “I have never felt so wretched and unworthy.”

He bowed his head as if in shame. But Melian said, “We know you, Mablung. And we know you did not leave your men until there was nothing more you could do. I have read your mind, and I understand how you feel. Nevertheless, you should not accept the blame for your soldiers’ deaths. No other in Doriath’s army would have done as much as you in your attempt.”

“You know she’s right, and we blame you not for their deaths. We shall honor those soldiers’ memories later. What I want to know now is: why is Carcharoth loose?”

“I know not, my King. But what I can tell you is: he seemed to have a light beaming out from within him. He attacked us at night, and we were spelled by a radiant light coming from within the forest. It was brighter than sunlight. It blinded us, and we were unable to see him until it was too late.”

“It must have been a spell by the Enemy. Did you obtain news of my daughter?”

“Yes. Lúthien was there, but no longer. She left the Caverns long ago, as did the brothers Celegorm and Curufin; but she did not leave with them. What’s more is: before the sons of Fëanor captured her and took her there, King Finrod Felagund left Nargothrond with Beren son of Barahir.”

“I was aware of that.”

“Something has gone amiss, though, for the kingdom is lamenting bitterly Finrod’s death.”

“Felagund? Dead?”

“Yes, and now his brother Orodreth is king. I had a chance to briefly speak with Celebrimbor son of Curufin. It seems that Felagund ask his people for assistance in honoring an oath he made with Barahir father of Beren and his kin, but the people were threatened by the brothers with the Oath of Fëanor. Thus, he aided Beren in his journey to Thangorodrim with only ten of his soldiers. Celebrimbor is so angered with his father that he remained in the Caverns of Narog after Curufin and Celegorm were driven and banned from the kingdom. He said that Beren was alive when last seen, but rumor of his death has come to Nargothrond. However, he is unsure of the details.”

“That’s horrible. But how do they know Felagund’s dead; and who brought them the rumor of Beren’s death?”

Suddenly, they heard a commotion coming from the outer hallway. Several moments later a mob enters; and leading are Beren, Lúthien, Huan and Beleg. Thingol and Mablung look at them in disbelief, while Melian sits with her usual smile. Arriving in front of the thrones, Thingol rises and gives Lúthien a hug and kisses her on the forehead; she returns the hug.

“My beautiful daughter! I am so sorry – so sorry,” Thingol said. He then held her away to look at her. “Are you harmed?”

“I am fine, father,” she replied.

Thingol then looks scornfully at Beren, who hides his right arm under his cloak. Released by her father, Lúthien goes to Melian for a hug and a kiss on the cheek and then returns to Beren’s side. Thingol remains glaring at Beren as he returns to his throne and sits again. Mablung stands to the side with Beleg.

“Now tell me: how can this be?” Thingol asked. “We have just received rumor that you, Beren, were dead and that nobody has heard news of you, Lúthien. What have you to say son of Barahir? You better have a very good reason for keeping our daughter from us for so long.”

Lúthien immediately stomped her foot, and the already somewhat quiet crowd became hushed in amazed silence. “You should not speak to this man that way, my father; this man you sent on a journey of death that returns in humbleness before your throne,” she said.

“Nay,” said Beren. “He is right to ask of me why I should return in such a plight, bearing with me his only child and most cherished treasure, though she returns unscathed.”

Beren then walked to the front of Thingol’s throne, knelt and bowed his head. “I return according to my word,” he said. “I am come now to claim my own.”

“What of your quest and of your vow?” Thingol asked.

Beren raises his head and says, “It is fulfilled. Even now, a Silmaril is in my hand.”

“Show it to me!”

With the crowd watching silently, Beren stands and stretches out his left hand and shows that it’s empty. The crowd murmurs, but Thingol holds his hand up and the crowd again becomes silent. Beren then takes his right arm from under his cloak and holds it out.

“I name myself Camlost, the Empty-handed; for my hand that holds the Silmaril is not here.”

Thingol’s face instantly turned from scorn to sympathy. The crowd murmurs also in compassion. The saddest expressions are on Beleg’s and Mablung’s faces. Thingol motions for the other two travelers to sit with him before his throne. “Tell us of your journey,” Thingol said.

Huan sits before the thrones between Beren, on the left, and Lúthien.

Beren began, “It is a long tale, but its end places us before the eyes of Morgoth upon his throne. Your wise and powerful daughter used Morgoth’s own lust for her against him, and with her enchantments she felled into slumber him and all the creatures in his chamber, as I cut out a Silmaril from the Iron Crown. Yes, Thingol, I held a Silmaril; radiant with the blaze of a thousand suns; but it hurt me not. I had planned to bring you all three, but Telchar’s knife Angrist snapped, and the shard grazed Morgoth’s cheek. He gave a low moan, and that’s when we knew we had stayed over long. In terror we fled. After what seemed like forever, we again made it to the Gate.”

Lúthien continued, “But Carcharoth, who I felled into slumber to get through the Gate, had already awakened. I was spent. Therefore, Beren leaped between us and threatened him with the Silmaril. At first he appeared daunted. However, in one sudden motion he bit off Beren’s hand, swallowing it and the jewel. Then lights shot from his belly and then throughout his body. Fortunately, he turned and ran from us, slaying nearly all in his path. Beren became unconscious from the poison of the bite, and all things were awakening. The Quest would have ended in ruin and despair if it had not been for Huan and the Eagles of Manwë. Thorondor, Gwaihir and Landroval came to our rescue because of Huan’s baying that requested all things watch for us.”

Murmurs of amazement come from the crowd, and Thingol said, “It appears I owe you much, hound of Valinor. Say on.”

“After months of healing, it was time to return,” Beren said.

Lúthien added, “You must know this, Father and Mother: I was willing to wander in the wild without ever returning, forgetting house and people and all the glory of the Elf-kingdoms. But Beren would not forget his oath, nor withhold me from you, Father; holding by the law of Men, deeming it perilous to set at naught the will of the father, save at the last need. He also said that he would not deprive me of home or honor or the fair things which are the delight of the Queens of the Eldalië. It was he who persuaded me to return. This is the heart of the Man whom you questioned.”

Thingol bowed his head, as if in shame or regret. Melian remained smiling as Beren arose and knelt again before their thrones.

“I know how you feel about the race of Men,” said Beren, “and I can even understand your apprehensions; and you have every right to hate me right now because of the woes I have brought upon you, Queen Melian and the rest of Doriath because of my love for your daughter. However, Thingol, I would be honored if by your will and by your leave, I may be the first of Men to call you: My King. And I would be most honored to be the first Man to serve the King of Doriath.” He then bowed his head.

After quietly sitting with his chin down for several seconds, Thingol lifted his head, and there was a solemn look on his face. His eyes were glossy from tears that had welled up; one rolled down his cheek.

“Beren and my beloved daughter Lúthien,” he said, “I owe both of you many apologies; for I have been a fool. I have held such a low value toward Men, and I see now that I have done so unjustly. I have listened to those who come from outside my borders, with my ears more open to the negative concerning Men, even when my friend Finrod Felagund tried to tell me about the goodness of them. You have proved that goodness.

“I cannot account for others of your race, but of you, Beren son of Barahir, I see you are unlike all other mortal Men. You have proven to me to be among the great in Arda. No, Beren. It is I who would be honored to have your service.”

Nearly all present are in tears as Thingol continued, “I also confess that I became scared when I learned about Lúthien’s love for you; it was something strange and new to me. Now I perceive that whatever is the doom for the two of you might not be withstood by any power of this world, including that which is in me. Therefore…”

Thingol rose and briefly glanced at Melian giving her a smile; she returned it. He then held his hands out to Beren and Lúthien. They each took a hand, and Thingol placed Lúthien’s hand in Beren’s and held them together.

“…my daughter and only child Lúthien, if it be your will that your hand shall be given to this Man, Beren son of Barahir, then we, Thingol your father and Melian your mother, grant this union; the first between the Two Kindreds of Elves and Men. What say you… Tinúviel?”

Lúthien smiled at her father and then at Beren. “Yes,” Lúthien said, “my hand, as well as my heart, I give to Beren son of Barahir with the blessings of my father and mother, before their thrones.”

Thingol smiles at Beren and Lúthien and then lifts his head and shouts, “Hear ye all present before the thrones of Thingol King of Doriath and Queen Melian! I hereby declare the marriage of Beren son of Barahir to our daughter Princess Lúthien!”

The crowd shouted “YA!!!” and clapped and cheered as Beren kissed his bride. Then Thingol hugged Beren, while Melian hugged and kissed Lúthien. Thingol then hugged Lúthien and gave her another kiss on her forehead, as Melian hugged Beren. He is then congratulated by Mablung and Beleg, both with tears filling their eyes.

Then Thingol embraced Melian, who smiled and whispered in his ear, “O King and beloved husband, you have no idea what goodness you have done this day; ’tis more wonderful than you could ever imagine. This union will gloriously affect this Age of Middle-earth and all Ages to come.”

Thingol returned the smile to Melian and then turned to the crowd. “Let us all celebrate this most joyous occasion!” he shouted. This causes more cheering from the crowd.

Huan, Beren, Lúthien, Thingol, Melian, Mablung and Beleg sit at the Royal banquet table as several guards stand behind guarding them and watching over the large crowd celebrating. Huan has a royal plate and water vessel of his own. People periodically come to the table to congratulate the new bride and groom and her parents. After the well-wishers became less, Lúthien turned to her parents.

“Mother, father,” Lúthien said, “I have not seen Daeron since returning here.”

“I’m sorry, Lúthien,” Melian said, “but we know not where he is after he wandered off while attempting to find you. He felt so ashamed of betraying you, especially when he discovered that you were lost. He blamed himself. Daeron told me he realized that if he truly loved you, he would have never betrayed you to your father or stood in the way of what gave you true joy and happiness, when he himself could not. Your father and I tried to persuade him not to go, but he insisted saying he must do something to make things right. He was going to do everything possible to bring you back to us. The last we knew of him was a rumor that he traveled east over Ered Luin. That was nearly a year ago. Your father sent several search parties, but he was no where to be found. He is dearly missed. I fear the worse because he is not one skilled in surviving the wild. Before he parted he wrote and sang some of the most beautiful songs since becoming a minstrel; and the saddest that have ever come to our ears. When generations to come look back at this Age, they surely will list Daeron above all other minstrels, including Maglor son of Fëanor.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” Beren said.

“I shouldn’t have asked him to assist me,” Lúthien said. “He was a minstrel, not a soldier. It was too perilous. I wish I could find him to tell him that I blame him not; and that I am sorry.”

“My dear, you mustn’t blame yourself for Daeron’s choices,” Melian said. “You’re an Elven-maid who has made choices some warriors would not. Just as well, he could have told you that he would not help you, but also kept silent your plans.”

“This is a celebration,” Thingol said. “Let us speak not of sorrowful things at this time. Later, we will honor his memory along with the others who we’ve recently lost. As for now my daughter has returned, this is her wedding night, and I have a new son-in-law. Let’s keep this night focused on joyful things.”

Beren, however, said, “I apologize, my King, but there is one bit of sorrow we must discuss: Carcharoth. Mablung told me he has broken through the Girdle. He tarries in his rage, but he will be as near as Esgalduin within the next several days. You do know what this means, do you not? The Quest has not ended.”

“You do not have to prove anything else to me. In my eyes, you have fulfilled your oath,” Thingol said.

“I understand. In mine, though, it is unfinished. Carcharoth would not be loosed nor have the power within him if it was not for me. And if he gets into the Thousand Caves, it will be a massacre before he is able to be brought down; for the power of the Silmaril drives him. It may take countless spears and arrows to injure him enough to be slain once he begins his attack and gets his first taste of blood.”

“What do you suggest we do?”

“I say we prepare the Hunting of the Wolf.”

“Yes. In fact, you shall lead this hunt. I will also come and humble myself entirely to serve you, whatever your plan may be. How many do you think we should take?”

“All at this table, except for Melian and Lúthien, of course.”

“Are you serious? If it was I, I would have a legion following me.”

“He would then assuredly see us first and spring upon us at unawares like he did Mablung and his company. We would then be his appetizers before his feast. We must use stealth and have hope in secrecy; and the hope that we see him first. Therefore, I suggest we leave on the second morning. Beginning tomorrow morning, send small companies with those most skilled in stealth to find and keep track of the wolf. It is my hope we meet him at the river to give us added advantage with its noise and large rocks around the banks.”

Thingol called on his two top captains. “Mablung and Beleg, in the morning see to the details and begin sending the small companies out to find and keep track of Carcharoth; one every four hours. They are just to find and watch the hell-beast; engage him not.”

“Yes, my King,” said Mablung.

Thingol smiles and lifts his golden goblet to Beren. “Now let us return to celebrating!” With a smile Beren clashes his mug with Thingol’s goblet. “I’m all for that,” Beren said.

Lúthien and Melian look at each other with concern in their eyes. Lúthien, interrupted by a hug from Beren, looks at him and smiles trying not to show him that she’s worried.

*****

At sunrise two mornings later, Beren, Thingol, Mablung and Beleg sit upon their horses. Huan sits beside Lúthien as she speaks with Beren. Meanwhile, Melian speaks with Thingol.

“The bright sparkle in your eyes is somewhat dull this morning, my love,” Beren said.

“There’s a shadow hanging over me; a feeling of disaster resulting from this hunt,” Lúthien explained. “Can it not wait one day more?”

“I’m sorry, but it cannot. The scouts say Carcharoth will arrive at the Falls of Esgalduin near mid-morning; the place where our chances are best. We seek the water for safety, for he is not a good swimmer, and the roaring sound of the falls will help hide the sounds of our approach. If we arrive there before he swims across, we may have an opportunity to slay him while he attempts to swim to our side. Even if he decides to cross at the Falls, the water will slow him down. We cannot wait.”

“You’re right. I just can’t shake this feeling that something dreadful is going to happen.”

“The whole kingdom is counting on us to fail not. He will be stopped before he gets to Menegroth; he has to be. There is no losing today, whatever the cost.”

“I know. I just have a horrific feeling that the cost is going to be a very high price. Let me go with you. I may be able to help.”

“No, my Princess. Because of me, you have seemingly been in harms way ever since we met. I will not put you there again.” He looks at Huan as a tear wells in Lúthien’s eye. “Besides, I have my best friend to watch out for me.”

Lúthien reaches her hands out and softly holds Huan’s head with both. While looking into his soft round eyes, she says, “You will watch out for him, will you not? Please make sure he comes back to me; make sure everyone returns, including you, my friend.”

Huan barks once and licks her cheek. “See, you have nothing to worry about,” Beren said, trying to reassure her. “We’ll be back before you know it, and everyone will breathe easier. Above all, my lovely wife and I will then begin our long life together.”

He turned to Thingol and asked, “Are you ready, my King?”

“You’re our leader,” said Thingol. “We’ll follow when you begin leading.”

Melian grabbed Thingol’s hand just before he nudged his horse forward. “Be careful, my love,” she said. “Don’t do anything foolish. I don’t want our next meeting to be in the Halls of Mandos.”

“When have I done anything foolish,” he said. She looked at him strangely, and he added with a smile, “Regardless, we’ll all be fine. I love you, my Queen.”

“Then let’s get started,” said Beren.

Beren nudges his horse forward. Melian slips her hand away and smiles at Thingol, who then follows trailed by Mablung and Beleg. Huan walks beside Beren’s horse. After walking their horses about a half a mile, Beren and Thingol looked back to see Lúthien and Melian standing beside each other with their nightingales running about.

*****

About mid-morning the five hunters come to the top of a small hill in the sparse woods near the Falls of Esgalduin; about two-hundred yards away and in sight of the Falls. Unfavorably, Carcharoth is already on their side of the river. He sees them while drinking at the water’s edge, but they are unaware of him until he howls to indicate his presence. The four bring their horses to a stop while Huan stands next to Beren’s horse. Huan looks at Beren, who whispers to him, “Not yet, my friend.”

They briefly watch Carcharoth, who continues drinking and pretending he hasn’t seen them. Beren looks at the area surrounding him. After about a minute, he said, “Huan, stay here and watch him. Try not to let him see you. We need to go a little ways back down the hill, where we can dismount and tie up our horses. Do not engage him yet. Wait for our return.”

They quietly turn their horses and return down the hill. Huan lies down on his belly to watch Carcharoth. After riding a ways, Beren looked back unable to see the other side of the hill. Meanwhile, Carcharoth turns and with his head down walks into a nearby thicket where he lies on his belly unseen, although he knows Huan has seen his every move until he disappeared into the weeds. The patch is fairly large, and the weeds are tall and in direct line with Huan. There is somewhat of a small path on the right side leading past it to the water. On the right side of the path is a very large rock formation.

Beren stops his horse, and the others follow his lead, dismounting in the trees, to which they tie their horses. Beren has his spear in hand; Thingol draws his sword, as does Mablung; and Beleg unsheathes his long knife, but he also has his bow and a full quiver strapped to his back. They walk quickly back to Huan. Upon arriving, they speak in whispers.

“Where’d he go?” Thingol asked.

“He’s in that thicket in front of us where Huan looks,” Beren answered. “Let’s get as close as we can to him.”

They slowly creep down the hill until they’re only about twenty yards from the thicket and stop near the path. There is a large fallen log that gives them some coverage as they sit with their backs against it and take counsel.

“Do you have a plan?” asked Mablung.

“Actually, yes; but I’m open to any suggestions if you don’t like it,” Beren replied.

“Let’s hear yours first,” Beleg said.

“Are you sure? The plan counts greatly on your speed and especially your accuracy, Mr. Strongbow. It looks like you’re going to be about twenty-five yards from your target.”

“No pressure there. Sure! What’s the plan?”

“I want you and Mablung to get to that cluster of large rocks.” Beren points to them. “Do you see how the rocks are sort of staggered? The ones on the right side are taller than those on the left, nearest to the path. That’s perfect for the two of you and what I have in mind. I need you comfortable yet hidden in the middle so you can get a clear shot into the path.”

“Why shouldn’t he just get as close as he can to the path?” Mablung asked.

“Because, that’s where you’re going to be,” replied Beren.

“Me? I don’t understand. I’m not a bowman.”

Beren draws Angrist from his side and hands it to Mablung. “Here, take this. It lost a couple inches in Angband, but I had the smithies put another point on it and told them to get it and the edge sharp as possible. You see: Beleg’s going to shoot two arrows as fast and accurate as he can; the first through Carcharoth’s head; the second through his heart. Even if the first arrow goes in one ear and out the other, I believe Carcharoth will not instantly drop dead, because of the power of the Silmaril inside him. Therefore, you must be as close to the path and him as possible. After the first arrow hits, you jump out with Angrist. The accuracy I spoke of, Beleg, is not to slay your friend; but as quickly as possible, we need that second shot, through the heart. Thereafter, if you think you can get another one or two arrows into him, do it; just don’t hit your other captain. When you get to him, Mablung, shred him with Angrist; go for the throat first.”

Beleg assured, “Don’t worry, Mab, my friend. You’ll just hear the arrows whistling by.”

Mablung said, “I’m not worried. I just don’t want one whistling through me.”

“Go back up the hill and then through the woods to come up from behind them so Carcharoth won’t see you,” said Beren.

“What do you want me to do?” asked Thingol.

“You and I are going to be the bait,” Beren answered. “When Mablung and Beleg get into position and give us a signal, we’re going to take a little stroll down the pathway to draw him out.”

“My King, would you like to trade me?” Mablung asked.

“No, that’s fine,” Thingol replied. “You’re faster than I am — thank goodness.”

“Anyone else got a better plan?” Beren asked, but the others look at each other and say nothing. “Then let’s do it.”

The hidden Carcharoth watches Mablung and Beleg sneak back over the hill, where they enter the woods. Beren speaks with Thingol, who is closer to the path, waiting for them to get into position. As they speak they are unaware that Huan begins slipping slowly away.

“If we get the Silmaril, what are you going to do with it?” Beren asked. “Surely you’re not thinking of keeping it. The sons of Fëanor will lay your kingdom in ruin and fight you to the death for it, for the Oath won’t allow them to just let you keep it without a challenge.”

“I would eventually give it to them,” Thingol replied, “after keeping it for little while. I consider you fortunate, for I would be happy just to see and hold one. More than anything: I would love to see Lúthien wear it. I’m sure it would be an indescribable vision of beauty; nothing short of the beauty of Valinor.”

“Tell me honestly, why did you send me on the Quest?”

“Do you know not?”

“I have a fairly good idea, and it isn’t just to see or hold it, or have Lúthien wear it for a while. For some reason, I got this sinking suspicion that you would rather have me dead than be with Lúthien.”

“I wouldn’t say dead, but I did want you to go away. I mean: my daughter and you fall in love. At first I believed it was merely lust that kept you with her. I could’ve had you slain, but I’m not a murderer. I just wanted you to go away and return never. So, I came up with the Quest of the Silmaril; in haste, I may add, and thus putting my kingdom under the Curse of Mandos, as well as the Oath of Fëanor. Nonetheless, I thought the end would be one of two: that you would die in the attempt or give up. Either way, you would be seen never again in Doriath.”

Huan has crept into the thicket approaching Carcharoth, who sees him coming but doesn’t move. Beren and Thingol are still unaware of what Huan is doing.

“That was mighty clever,” said Beren. “Deceptive, but very clever. What would you have done if I walked up to your throne and handed it to you?”

“I don’t know, and I’m glad I don’t have to find out,” answered Thingol. “In all honesty, as you asked of me: I’m sorry about your hand, but I am glad that you survived, and that you took care of Lúthien, of course, and brought her safely home.”

“I believe she took care of me more than I did of her.”

“Nonetheless, you brought her back to me; to us. For that, I owe you much. It was ironic that I sent you away to teach you a lesson. Instead, you and Lúthien taught me many. Since the two of you have returned, it has become a different world to me; one that I truly believe is better. And for that, I thank you, my friend.”

And at that second, Beren’s thoughts revisited the moment when Finrod Felagund told him about how there would come a time when Thingol would call him “friend”.

Beren smiled at Thingol. “Don’t worry,” Beren said, “I will tell none that you’re an old soft-hearted fool.”

“Oh, be silent!” Thingol said, while giving Beren a friendly shove of the shoulder.

Beren then looks toward the rocks, but Thingol looks for Huan, who is now also hidden by the thicket and nearly upon Carcharoth.

“Beleg and Mablung should be getting there within the next minute or two,” Beren said.

“Where is Huan?” asked Thingol. “He didn’t follow the other two, did he? He was just here with us, wasn’t he?”

Thingol begins to stand looking toward the rocks. As he does, Carcharoth howls, leaps high into the air and starts coming down toward Thingol. Hearing Carcharoth, Thingol turned toward the thicket and then froze in fear from the sight of the huge wolf coming down upon him. Beren yells, “Thingol!” and shoves him aside so hard that the king rolled a couple feet on the ground. Beren then held his spear up toward the falling Carcharoth, who knocks the spear aside, falls on Beren and bites viciously into his chest as they crash to the ground. Raiment and flesh are ripped away; both were hanging from Carcharoth’s teeth as he puts his head down for another bite; growling and snorting loudly as he does; as Beren also screams loudly. Then Huan leapt from the thicket onto the back of the wolf, and they tumbled off Beren. Bitterly fighting, they both continue rolling away from him.

Thingol shouts, “Beren,” and runs to his side. Howls, snarls and growls filled the air, as did the voices of fleeing birds and beast. The ground shook, and rocks and boulders from the Fall splash into the river. Rotting limbs fall from trees onto the ground or into the water also. Still, hound and wolf are locked in battle. Heedless of the fight, however, Thingol remains at Beren’s side. He immediately starts sobbing when he sees how badly Beren has been bitten; his chest is literally ripped open.

“Oh, Beren!” Thingol said in disbelief of how badly Beren’s been bitten. He is unconscious and blood runs freely from his wound. His shirt is half gone, and the remainder is blood soaked. Thingol lifts him up to hold him and places his hand over the wound. Blood still runs freely through his fingers and under his palm. Thingol gently rocks him as tears stream down his face.

Huan and Carcharoth have fought their way back into the thicket. Mablung and Beleg came running toward Thingol with weapons in hand. But when they realized what has happened and saw Beren’s injury, they dropped their weapons and also wept. They knelt down next to him and their king.

“No, no, no!” yells out Beleg in disbelief of what has happened to his good friend.

Thingol looks up helplessly at them. Seeing their King’s tears makes them weep even more. “I don’t know what to do!” cried Thingol.

Mablung picks Angrist up from the ground, cuts off a piece of his own cloak and presses it to Beren’s chest to try to slow down the bleeding, but to no avail. The three’s weeping is as unstoppable as Beren’s bleeding.

Then the loud rumbling abruptly stops. There’s nearly a half a minute of dead silence broken only by the Fall’s water before they hear some rustling in the thicket. The three turn toward the noise in the weeds. Mablung still holds Angrist, and Beleg pulls his long knife from its sheath.

Then suddenly Carcharoth is seen as he walks slowly from the thicket toward the hunters. His huge head is pointed downward, but his eyes look hatefully at them, and his lips snarl and quiver and his jaws gape to show his long teeth. Mesmerized by his eyes, the hunters don’t move. The wolf-hound of Angband then comes within about five feet from them. Mablung grips Angrist tighter and Beleg prepares to swing his knife. However, Carcharoth, while still glaring, drops dead before them.

Immediately thereafter there’s another rustle in the thicket; and Huan limps out. His eyes look sad and his grey and white coat appears entirely red from blood. He comes to Beren, still being held by Thingol, and lies down beside him, putting his chin on Beren’s leg as he looks up at Beren’s face. Then, to the other three’s surprise, he speaks, and they see that Beren has become barely conscious as he looks at his hound-friend.

“My dear friend, Beren,” said Huan. “Hmm. You know, I had never used the word ‘friend’ until I met you and Lúthien. I followed Celegorm for more than four-hundred-and-fifty years, from Valinor to Middle-earth; never spoke to him; never considered him a friend. In my mind he was merely my master and I was his obedient servant. I saved his life many times, but he never seemed appreciative of me. The two of you treated me better in these past couple years than he ever did. For that, I thank you.”

Thingol, with tears in his eyes, looks compassionately at Huan as he looks at Carcharoth.

Huan continued, “I am sorry about rushing in and causing Carcharoth to charge. If I had waited, maybe the hunt wouldn’t have turned out this way, and we both might be in better condition. But my hope was that none of you would have to deal with him, even if I were to perish.”

Beren painfully nods in disagreement, but cannot speak. Huan continued, “I don’t know if hounds like me go to the Halls of Mandos or if there’s a heaven for us. Or maybe we just die and that’s the end. Therefore, it may be that I shall never again see you or Lúthien. Before I go, however, I want to let you know that the two of you taught me more than just friendship, but what true love really is – and now I can truly say that I love the both of you.”

Beren slowly reaches out and puts his hand on Huan’s head, but still cannot speak. In pain and with teary eyes, he smiles as Huan says, “Farewell, my friend.” Beren’s smile then turns to sadness, and he closes his eyes.

Huan then closed his eyes and died. Beren, whose eyes remain closed, cries openly as he gently rubs Huan’s head. The other three also continue weeping.

“If he does go to the Halls of Mandos,” Thingol said, “he deserves to return to Eldamar. Or if there’s a heaven for hounds, he ought to be seated on his own throne.”

Beren suddenly stops rubbing Huan’s head. Thingol realizes Beren too appears to have died.

Thingol gives him a small shake. “Beren.” he quietly said, but to no avail. Thingol again hugs Beren. “Farewell, my son – my friend.”

Mablung walks to Carcharoth and kicks him in the head with all his might and says, “Curse you, you evil, baseborn cur of hell.” He then gives a slight moan and holds his foot up for a second because the wolf’s rock hard head hurt it. After taking a second to shake off the pain, he takes Angrist and rips open Carcharoth’s belly. As Mablung carves, there comes a dull light from the incision, which also emits an odor of burnt flesh; he holds his breath and squints as Thingol and Beleg take notice. As he finishes cutting, the gash opens wider and exposes Beren’s dead hand still tightly holding the Silmaril, which blazes through it. The three survivors now see that Carcharoth’s flesh looks like burnt coal and ashes. Mablung carefully reaches for the hand. As he touches it, the hand disappears leaving the Silmaril shining brightly atop the blackened flesh. He jerks his hand back and looks at Thingol and Beleg. He reaches in again and quickly grabs the Silmaril and puts it in Beren’s hand. They marvel again as the jewel arouses Beren, who awakens and offers it to Thingol.

“For the hand of your daughter, my King,” Beren said. “I give to you this treasure, for yours. Now is the Quest achieved and my doom fulfilled.” He again falls lifeless.

Seeing now that he must surely be dead, Beleg said, “Come, Mablung. Let us make a bier.”

“Make it large enough to carry them both,” Thingol said. The two captains leave to construct it.

*****

The horses have been brought to where Beren and Huan died. Sitting on his horse and with tears still being wiped from his eyes, Thingol watches as Mablung and Beleg gently set Huan next to Beren on the bier, which has been secured to Thingol’s horse. They place Huan’s head onto Beren’s chest now covered with his coat that’s being used as a blanket. Mablung then walks to Carcharoth and again kicks his head, but not as hard this time.

“Stupid, worthless beast!” he shouted. Then he and Beleg mount their horses, and they all begin the slow ride back to Menegroth.

*****

Thorondor weeps, as he has been ever since seeing from Crissaegrim the deaths of his friends Beren and Huan.

*****

Lúthien and Melian sit at the table inside the house of Hirilorn. There are two guards and five nightingales at the base of Hirilorn, along with several of the birds sitting within its branches. Lúthien watches out the window, as Melian momentarily has her head bowed.

“Something is wrong,” said Lúthien. “They should have returned by now.” Melian raises her head with a face of sorrow. “You know something; do you not, Mother? I see the shadow crossing your face.”

Melian said, “You have shown yourself the abilities you hold within; strength, foresight, power. But the wise Elf knows when to use them.”

In agreement, Lúthien nods her head and again looks out the window. She sees the riders coming slowly; Mablung and Beleg lead as Lúthien sees that one horse is without a rider. She climbs down the ladder and, being greeted and joined by a guard, runs toward them; the other guard remained to assist Melian down the ladder. Then they also run toward the riders. As Lúthien approaches them, she doesn’t see Beren or Huan. But as she gets closer, she sees the bier and the hunters’ tear-filled eyes, and she also begins to weep.

“No!” she weeps, hoping that maybe her eyes were deceiving her as she sees Beren and Huan lying lifeless on the bier.

The riders’ tears again start flowing. They dismount. Lúthien runs to Beren and hugs and kisses him. She caresses his face, and to their amazement Beren opens his eyes.

Lúthien said, “Beren, go not beyond the Halls of Mandos! Wait for me there so I can see you just one more time. Please, wait!” She again hugs and kisses him. Mablung and Beleg stand beside Lúthien, who rocks Beren in her arms and again whispers, “Wait for me, please.”

Melian now holds Thingol, standing with his head buried in her shoulder and weeping. He finally gets his composure enough to look into Melian’s eyes. He then said, “I don’t even know how to tell her ‘I’m sorry.’”

“This is not your fault,” Melian said.

“Is it not? Was it not I who requested the Silmaril? Could this not have all been avoided if it were not for my fears and prejudices? He would still be alive if not for me.”

“He would have gone with you to any end. His doom was meant to take place today at the river. For whatever Ilúvatar’s reasons, you have nothing to do with his fate. Your daughter puts no blame on you, neither should you.”

“How can she not?”

“You need to go to her.”

“How can I?”

Together, they look at Lúthien, who still holds Beren and gently rocks him. Thingol slowly walked up behind Lúthien. For the first time in his life, he felt fear; fear of not being forgiven by his own daughter. He kneels down to her and slowly reaches to touch her shoulder.

“Lúthien?” said Thingol, as he finally touched her shoulder.

“Oh, Father!” she said, and Lúthien placed her head on his chest while still holding Beren. They wept together.

“I am so sorry, Lúthien,” Thingol said.

*****

On the hillside in a glade of Neldoreth where Beren first saw Lúthien dancing, she lies herself down facing the sunset. Four nightingales sit beside her. She looks last at the sunset and sees Thorondor in the distance skies. She closes her eyes.

*****

Thingol and Melian sit on their thrones. There are about ten Elves in the quiet Hall and two guards behind their seats. At the moment Lúthien closes her eyes, they look at each other and know their daughter has given up her life. They weep together for a short while. Thingol then turns to guard Teron and says, “Please send someone to bring back the body of our daughter.”

*****

In the sky Thorondor begins to weep as he sees Lúthien’s lifeless body as a beautiful flower cut from its stem unwithered. Snow begins to fall, and Thorondor’s screeching fills the silence of the sky. “Farewell, Lady Lúthien, most fair of the Children of the World,” Thorondor said to himself.

Lúthien walks through a well-lighted hall. At the end is a door, which she walks through into a chamber and sees sitting on a huge throne an Elf-like god-of-a-creature the size of Thorondor and his kin. He is dressed all in black, including a long black cloak. He holds a long, shiny black staff. Lúthien is not afraid. She walks to him and smiles. And even though he is one of the Ainur and knows of Lúthien and her beauty, he is in disbelief at the person his eyes are now upon.

The room is a “nothingness” and no walls can be seen. All around them are colors like various sized clouds that continuously change; including the floor and ceiling.

“Well met, Lúthien Tinúviel,” he said. “I am Mandos. Welcome to my Halls. I have been waiting for you.”

“Well met,” Lúthien said with a bow, and still smiling. “I often wondered if Mandos knew the time when someone would arrive in his Halls.”

“Not accurately, as for the hour or minute they will walk though my door to me. I can, however, usually guess within a day or two. Ilúvatar, of course, knows the exact second. Nevertheless, I knew your arrival. Come with me. There is someone else who’s been waiting for you.”

“Beren is here?” she asked excitedly.

“Yes. As you wished him to tarry here, he has done so. But I do not understand why? In fact, there are a couple things I do not understand. One is: how does Ilúvatar’s fairest of all children give up her life, let alone her heart, for a person who isn’t even of her race? Another is: why would you wish Beren to tarry here? I have no power to withhold the spirits of Men who are dead within the confines of the world after their time of waiting. Nor can I change the fates of the Children of Ilúvatar. Is seeing him once more so important?”

“I would die a thousand deaths to see Beren son of Barahir just one more time. If you have watched his life, then you would know his heart is pure; he loved his parents and stood by his father after his mother’s departure; he never thought of himself, always thought of others; and he was so kind that all birds and beasts loved him, and they became his true friends.”

“I doubt not his character. It is you whom I question.”

“I know you are aware of the Enemy whom Elves and Men of Middle-earth are against. The two kindreds created by Ilúvatar, who were initially estranged, have united against the terrible evil of Morgoth. I cannot believe that the Valar have allowed him to exist in the same world as Ilúvatar’s Children. It is Morgoth who is responsible for all the world’s evils; not the Silmarils, not the sons of Fëanor. It was Morgoth who committed the first murder. Now Elves and Men are pitted against a foe that the two races will never conquer. They need the Valar’s help.”

“What if I were to offer you the opportunity to speak to the Valar on behalf of Elves and Men? Would you give up your only chance to see Beren one last time?”

“Yes, that would be the one reason that I would forsake Beren; to stand before the Valar and request that they intervene for the sake of the two kindreds. If they don’t, they will soon receive another plea: a plea from Aulë’s Dwarves.”

Mandos sees Lúthien weeping and her tears falling to the ground. His face now expresses pity and sadness to see someone so beautiful crying.

“So you would give up your only chance to see Beren to save the peoples of Middle-earth?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Would you then give up a lifetime with Beren?”

“Yes, without a second thought.”

“That is an amazing sacrifice. What do you think Beren would say?”

“If you asked him these questions, I am sure he would give you the same answers; because we know that if we cannot speak to the Valar for the Children of Ilúvatar, someday there will be another Elf or Man who will risk all he loves and his very own life to make this same request. Beren’s heart and mine are as one.”

“I must say: Beren would say the same. He indeed did answer these questions the same way you did. However, he nor you will have the opportunity to ask for the intervention of the Valar.”

Lúthien falls to her knees with her head bowed, and her tears fall upon Mandos’ feet. She looks up to him.

“Even in death fair exists not. Beren’s life and mine were not fair. We had so much joy taken away so quickly. Please, let none again suffer our fates. Look at the world not from Valinor but from those who live in Middle-earth; those who seek joy while a monster attacks at unawares. See all the children who have lost their lives in a useless and senseless war against a ruthless opponent. See the mothers of Elves and Men who cry for their fallen or lost children.”

She again bows her head and the tears again fall on his feet. Mandos, for the first time ever, also sheds a tear.

“If I may,” she said looking up at him, “I wish to now leave your Halls. I wish to suffer no more.”

“Of course. However, I have one more item to consider regarding your fate and that of Beren’s. Therefore, please wait here. And while I’m away, your wish will be fulfilled.”

“Beren!” she joyfully shouted as Beren appeared next to her. She embraced him as to never again let go.

“Lúthien Tinúviel” he said while feeling every bit of their embrace. They then kiss and hold each other as tears of joy fall.

“Before I depart,” Mandos said, “I must say that Allfather Ilúvatar gave his fairest a heart even more beautiful than what’s on the outside. He also gave her the right mate, even though he comes not from her race.”

While Beren and Lúthien are looking at Mandos, he disappears.

*****

Beren and Lúthien still hold each other when Mandos reappears. He walks to them and says:

“I have been to Taniquetel to visit Manwë, who seeks counsel in his innermost thought, where the will of Ilúvatar is revealed. Manwë said Ilúvatar gives Lúthien two choices.

“The first is: because of your labors and sorrow, you should be released from me, and go to Valinor, there to dwell until the world’s end among the Valar, forgetting all griefs that your life has known. There Beren cannot come, for it is not permitted to the Valar to withhold Death from him, which is the Gift of Ilúvatar to Men.

“Your second choice, Lúthien, is: to return to Middle-earth, and with you take Beren, there to dwell again, but without certitude of life or joy. Then you would become mortal and subject to a second death, even as he; and before long you will leave the world for ever and your beauty become only a memory in song.”

Thus, Lúthien took the second choice and forsook the Blessed Realm, putting aside all claims to kinship with those that dwell there. She would return with Beren to Middle-earth in hopes to have at least one life with him, no matter how short. But before leaving, Beren and Lúthien had one more request for Mandos, and they asked if there was any way their friend Huan could return to the land of the living.

When Lúthien escaped from her house in Hirilorn to rescue Beren and King Felagund and his soldiers, the colorful caverns of Menegroth that resembled the radiant hues, shadows and tints of the Blessed Realm had seemingly turned grey in the eyes of the Elves when they learned that their princess was no longer there. They grieved believing that she might even be running toward her own doom. Thingol and Melian seldom sat on their thrones. Thingol often seated himself in his chair of their royal bedroom to gaze blankly out the window, while Melian walked continuously to and fro along the Esgalduin River’s banks between Hirilorn and the bridge constantly looking for Lúthien’s unguarded mind to gain the knowledge of her daughter’s whereabouts. Thingol would rarely meet with anyone except his two captains, Mablung and Beleg; and they were grieved seeing their king in this mood and not knowing what to do. Melian didn’t sing and neither did her nightingales, and the land became deathly silent.

Upon Lúthien’s return, the colors of the Thousand Caves seemed to again become vivid. The grey was washed away by song and laughter that were heard once more, and the king and queen were happily seated again on their thrones. It appeared as life itself had returned to Menegroth.

But now Lúthien lay lifeless on a bed prepared in her former room with decorations as if for a funeral. It was now going on the eighth day since she had given up her life and journeyed to the Halls of Mandos. Mourners had come in flocks to pay their respects; not just from Doriath but also as far west as the sea and east as Ered Luin and beyond.

Beren’s body they laid in a grave two days previously next to Hirilorn on the opposing side of the bridge. Thingol gave a beautiful speech that included the admitting of how wrong he was in not sooner cherishing Beren as a friend and not allowing Lúthien’s hand to be placed in his; and how he wished he had never sent Beren on the Quest of the Silmaril, which Thingol now keeps in a locked box in their royal bedroom.

At this moment Thingol sat alone next to his daughter’s body; Melian was lying asleep on their bed. His eyes hadn’t been dry since her body had been brought back from the hillside where she took her last breath. He wanted his daughter back. Melian was actually taking her death better than her previous departure to Nargothrond; for at least she believed now that they would meet someday in Valinor.

Thingol sits on the edge of a chair with his head down and eyes closed on Lúthien’s mattress next to her arm that lies by her side. Suddenly he hears his name quietly spoken. But since he heard no footsteps enter the room, he didn’t raise his head and thought he was hearing things by reason of being so distraught; especially since the voice sounded much like Beren’s.

“It’s not everyday that your son-in-law returns from the dead,” Beren said with a chuckle.

Thingol, however, didn’t laugh. Instead, he raised his head and looked at Beren standing across from him on the other side of Lúthien’s bed. Startled, he abruptly stood up and stepped backwards knocking his chair over and doing everything he could to keep his balance while keeping his eyes on Beren. Once he found his balance, he tried shouting for Melian, but for several seconds nothing would come out of his mouth. Finally, he got out the shout of “Mel… Melian!”

“Fear not,” Beren said, “for I am real; no wraith am I, for Mandos has returned us as per your daughter’s request.”

Then to his astonishment he hears Lúthien deeply inhale her first breath as she begins returning to life. Her eyes open and begin fluttering. Thingol again shouts for his queen. Beleg and Mablung, who heard Thingol’s first cry for Melian, came running to the funeral room. They enter just in time to see Lúthien rising to an upright seated position on her bed.

And that’s when Melian entered the room, stepping in between and in front of the two captains. Being directly in front of Lúthien, Melian is the first person upon whom her eyes focused.

“Hello again, mother,” Lúthien said. In disbelief, Melian’s body goes limp as she nearly faints, though she remains conscious and is caught by Beleg and Mablung.

Beren gives a merry laugh as Thingol runs to Melian to hold her. “You should see all your faces,” Beren said with a laugh.

“Do not be afraid, mother and father,” said Lúthien. “It is really us.”

“How can this be?” asked Thingol.

Using her divine enchantments, Melian discovers the truth and says, “I do not believe it, but it is true: Mandos has returned them to us. I read both their minds.”

Melian then closes her eyes and turns her head, and Thingol feels something is wrong.

“If this is true and Mandos has done this, then why are you, Melian, not showing joy?” asked Thingol.

Melian, however, does not speak to Thingol, but to Lúthien, who is now being helped from her bed by Beren. “My only daughter, how could you; my only child?” Melian inquired.

“I knew you’d be disappointed, mother,” Lúthien answered, “but this was my decision. I would rather spend one life with Beren than a thousand without him.”

“What’s going on? What does she mean by that?” asked Thingol.

“Our daughter has chosen to become as a mortal,” Melian responded. “Therefore, when she dies she will go not to Eldamar, where all Elves go after their deaths on Middle-earth. Instead, she will go to wherever it is Men go when they die. Therefore, after her death, we shall see her never again.”

“Lúthien, you didn’t?” Thingol asked.

“I’m sorry, mother and father, but I had to,” Lúthien replied. “Please, do not be angered or sorrowed by my choice. Be happy for me; for us.”

The couple walked to the other four, who looked a little frightened. Nevertheless, Lúthien went to embraced Melian and Beren stuck his right hand out to Thingol. When the father-in-law saw that all was well with Melian and his daughter, he looked at Beren, grabbed his arm, pulled him to him and gave him one of the biggest hugs he had ever given anyone. Thereafter, they all got in their hugs.

*****

That night Thingol threw another celebration in honor of the two’s return. Many of the Elves, although skeptical, welcomed them home. Some, however, kept their distance. It took a little Elven-girl to erase nearly everyone’s doubts.

At that time Lúthien was talking to another Elven-maid when the girl approached her.

“Excuse me, Princess Lúthien,” she courteously said.

“Yes, little lass?” Lúthien answered. “What is your name?”

“I am Hollen.”

“What a pretty Elven name for a pretty little Elven-girl.”

“Thank you.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering, would you allow me to touch you?”

“Touch me?”

“Yes, please. I mean, it’s not so much me asking as it is my parents,” Hollen said. She then pointed to her parents a couple tables away. Lúthien looked at them and saw that they were trying their best to smile and not act uncomfortable. Hollen explained, “They believe that if I’m able to touch you, then you would truly not be a ghost.”

“A ghost?” Lúthien laughed. “A ghost. Well, would a ghost do this?” She then reached down, picked up Hollen and twirled her as if they were dancing. Hollen loudly laughed. Lúthien then whispered in Hollen’s ear, “Do you think we’re convincing them that I am real and not just a hollow vision?”

Lúthien then tickled Hollen, and she again laughed merrily but said nothing. However, all present saw them dancing and spinning about. Beren, who had been talking with Thingol, joined Lúthien and Hollen in the dance. He lifted Hollen up, threw her high into the air and caught her as she giggled her way down. That was enough to convince all eyes in Thingol’s Hall that Beren and Lúthien were in fact real.

Then Hollen asked, “If you are still the Lúthien we all know and love, can you do something about what’s going on outside the caverns? I would love to go outside again.”

Thingol heard Hollen ask Lúthien that question. He walked to them from around the royal table.

“What’s happening outside?” Lúthien asked.

Thingol replied, “It’s a fell winter that literally blew in the night you died; nor has it let up. Deep snowfall with blowing winds causing drifts as high as some trees, as well as freezing temperatures that even has Esgalduin solid. It’s like winter returned to cry for you.”

Lúthien turned to Beren and said, “I’ll return soon, dear.” Beren smiled at her as she walked away.

Lúthien exited the banquet hall and walked alone through the main corridor leading to the gates. When she arrived there, the two gate guards greeted her and opened the gates. A gust of wind rushed in immediately. Lúthien told the guards to open the gates just enough for her to squeeze through them. With wind blowing her hair in every direction, Lúthien squinted in attempt to survey the landscape. But because of the blowing snow, she could barely see more than twenty to thirty feet in front of her, even with the farsightedness of her Elf-eyes. Therefore, she bent down where she was and stuck her finger down into the snow until she felt the cold hard ground; the snow where she knelt was just a little deeper than her elbow. She then closed her eyes and meditated.

Suddenly, the snow around her arm dissolved into water, and the melting grew continuously as did the temperature. Within minutes the snow thawed into a flood. Esgalduin flowed with a vigor it never had since its creation. After five minutes the temperature had risen from subzero to a balmy, Spring-like seventy-five degrees. Snow could be heard falling from the tops of the trees into the water and slush below. It only took about fifteen minutes for it all to flow away leaving behind only puddles.

Satisfied with her accomplishment, she began to turn around and return to the party. That’s when she heard a low howl in the distance. Lúthien knew she had heard that baritone sound before. She heard it again; closer this time, and louder. After that she had no doubt to whom the howl belonged, and she waited in joyful anticipation to see its owner – Huan.

When Huan first saw Lúthien standing and smiling in the distance, he was already at his top speed. Her Elf-eyes had spotted him miles away; miles that were eaten up in no time by his powerful legs.

Lúthien met him at the beginning of the bridge. He stopped in front of her, and they looked at each other for a second with big smiles. Huan, whose tears began welling up, leaped into her arms. She kissed his furry face, and he licked hers as she embraced him.

“Oh, my lovable friend,” Lúthien said, “I’m so glad to see you again.”

“Mandos told me that I have you and Beren to thank for my return to the living,” Huan said. “Thank you.”

“It’s so good to hear you speak again, too.”

“You’ll be hearing me speak much more often, for the Valar has given me no limit this time.”

“Then sometime you’ll have to tell me the story about how you made it back here, but not now. There’s a celebration going on inside in behalf of our return.”

“Great! You two should be together; to have a life together. You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

“And I know there will be many happy people to see you, especially Beren.”

“I can’t wait to see his expression when he sees me. Let’s go.”

Lúthien and Huan walk back to the gate, and she then knocks. It opens, as do the gasping mouths of the guards. Lúthien wondered what opened their mouths more: the disappearance of the snow along with the warm breeze that now entered the gateway, or the Great Hound of Valinor who now accompanied their Lady Lúthien. Upon opening the door to Thingol’s Hall, it took the hound three quick bounds and one little leap to reach Beren and knock him to the ground where Huan commenced to licking his face.

“Alright, my friend,” Beren finally said. “You can stop anytime now. It’s great to see you as well.”

“I already told Lúthien, and now I’m telling you: thank you ever so much for asking Mandos to return me to Middle-earth, and to you both,” Huan said. “I love you two so much.”

“Well, you should know: we love you very much, my friend,” Beren said.

Huan smiled at Beren and Lúthien and then turned to Thingol and Melian, who were sitting in their royal chairs at their table. Huan walked closer to them, bowed his head and said, “Well met, my King and Queen. The Hound of Valinor Huan is honored to again be at your serv…”

Interrupting, Melian stood and said, “Huan, you adorable and admirable Hound: you bow to no one.” Thingol then arose to stand beside his queen and said, “It is we who are honored to have your service.” Then they both bowed their heads to Huan. Seeing their king and queen do this, all present became silent and did likewise, including Beren and Lúthien. Huan was overwhelmed. His eyes filled with tears, and no matter how hard he tried to hold them back, one rolled out of each eye and down his furry cheeks.

Lúthien was still the Lady Lúthien; the same princess who before had given up her life; still having the same enchantments, power and wisdom. The only differences were that she was now a mortal and the light of the Eldar was extinguished in her eyes, and some people remained skeptical because of her return from the dead. Nevertheless, she was still the most fair of all the children of Ilúvatar; and the shining light that was in her face remained.

Beren was still the same Beren; a mere mortal Man who was now the last remaining member of the house of Bëor, who were the first of the race of men to step into Beleriand. There were some who thought he was part Elf, for people from all races believed that only an Elf could go into Angband and come out alive. Tales were being told and songs were being sung of his and Lúthien’s overwhelming bravery and feats, which included the incredible leap upon Curufin’s horse, facing Morgoth in his own chamber, the taking of a Silmaril, and their death and return to life.

And Huan was still Huan; the Hound of Valinor who was also included in many of those tales and songs; and now he could speak without any apprehension. However, he too returned as a mortal like his two best friends; nor did he know, as they, what would be his second death. Huan also returned with the same zest for pinning down wolves and werewolves by their throats. Therefore, the still fearless hound would go often with Mablung to the outskirts of the Girdle of Melian to quench this desire. But when Beren and Lúthien would go riding together, Huan would always be her steed, an opportunity he chose never to miss.

There soon came a day when Beren, Lúthien and Huan sat by Hirilorn watching the sweet waters of Esgalduin go rolling by when Beren saw a strange expression come to Lúthien’s face.

“What are you wondering about, my dear?” asked Beren. “I’ve seen that look in your eyes before.”

Only Huan noticed that King Thingol and Queen Melian had come from the gate and was walking down to the threesome by the tree; thus Lúthien’s parents heard her answer to Beren’s question.

“I know I chose mortality, and that our time on Middle-earth is now limited,” Lúthien said. At that time, Thingol had come and put his arms around his daughter and hugged her. “But I still wanted to fulfill the dream of leading a group of Elves like my mother and father.”

Beren gave a sigh knowing he could do nothing to help his wife in this matter, but Melian had a suggestion.

“In the southeast region of Beleriand is Ossiriand,” she explained, “and there dwell the Green-Elves in the protection of their Seven Rivers. For after Sirion, Ulmo the God of Waters loves Gelion above all the waters of this world. The woodcraft of the Elves of Ossiriand is such that a stranger might pass through their land from beginning to end and see none of them, although the stranger’s steps would be witnessed by hundreds. They are clad in green in spring and summer, and the sound of their singing when they wish to be heard can be heard even across the waters of Gelion; wherefore the Noldor names that country Lindon, the Land of Music. The mountains beyond that they named Ered Lindon, for they first saw them from Ossiriand. I tell you this because they are currently leaderless, scattered and somewhat divided and in need of teachings and organization. They have maintained themselves by sheer will and stealth.”

“My Queen, what makes you think they would listen to us; to follow our leadership?” ask Beren.

Thingol answered, “Did you forget who you are? You are the Great Beren and Lúthien! You are the darers who entered Angband; and not only did you escape, but escaped with a Silmaril from the iron crown of Morgoth. Do you remember not that I had you lead the Hunting of the Wolf, whereas I humbled myself to follow your lead? It was not because you love my daughter or became my son-in-law, but because I realized you were a born leader, which you proved true that very day.”

“That’s a little different, isn’t it? I led the five of us, whereas two of us died.”

“Scoff not!” Melian said. “Although there were incidents that unfavorably occurred, your objective was achieved. And remember that you unselfishly died to save the King as Huan unselfishly died to save us all. Sacrifice is part of leadership, and you gave the ultimate, as did Huan under your leadership.”

Huan said, “I would again go to whatever end under your leadership would take us. But now I believe my place is here, guarding the Girdle with Mablung.”

“Yes,” Beren agreed with a smile. “As much as I love having you by my side and miss you when you’re not, you are correct when you say that your service is needed here — as is your favorite sport.”

That night Beren and Lúthien decided they would immediately depart from the Hidden Kingdom, and the next morning they did so, to the sadness of many and the relief of some. They parted with very little. Beren wore on his right side his sheathed sword under his long faded and weather-stained overcoat while Angrist, the knife without sheath taken from Curufin, dangle at his left side; Lúthien was clad in her usual blue raiment, taking nothing as she did when she departed from the house in Hirilorn. They went from Menegroth fearing neither thirst nor hunger; and they passed through southeastern Doriath and beyond the River Gelion and into Ossiriand. They dwelt in Tol Galen, the green island in the midst of Adurant, the southernmost of the Seven Rivers. The Eldar afterwards called that country Dor Firn-i-Guinar, the Land of the Dead that Live.

Upon their journey and approach to the isle, Beren and Lúthien could feel the eyes of the Green-Elves watching their every move, but none could they see, as Melian described. As they stood on the sandy bank and looked across Adurant to Tol Galen on the other side, they could see it was going to be difficult to cross. From where they were standing the river was chest deep in the center but ran very rapidly over its rocky bed. Loosing footing meant being carried a ways down river into deeper and swifter waters.

Beren wondered how he was to help Lúthien cross. That’s when she turned to him, smiled and said, “I’d swim a million rivers to be with you, but it looks like I only need to swim one.”

As she prepared to wade into the water, her eye caught the moment of Elves on the other side coming out of the green trees and onto the bank. Her ears heard the rustling of Elves doing likewise on their side of the river in the trees behind them. Beren turned to them and held his hand out with palm facing them, a sign used by all Elves whereas those who give it intend no threat and a peaceful greeting.

The Elves were dressed entirely in green, fashioned as if for survival and war. There was no distinction about their raiment that would indicate that one was of higher rank than another. While Lúthien used her Elf-eyes to see the difference of each, Beren had to wait until they were nearer. As they came closer, one Elf made his way to the front of the group; like Beren’s hand, he also held his out with palm outward.

“Have no fear,” said the Elf. “I am Randir son of Haldir, and we have watched you for the past couple of leagues; not to harm you, but to insure that the two of you made your journey across East Beleriand to your new home safely. For if we’re not mistaken, you two are Beren and Lúthien; are you not?”

“We are,” answered Beren. “But how did you know that; and how did you know that we were coming?”

Randir replied, “Thorondor was sent to us by the goodwill of Melian. For she told him to also send this message to us: ‘Hear the words of Doriath’s Queen Melian, a Maia of Valinor, that Beren the Brave and my daughter Lúthien, his wife, are being sent to you as a blessing and to aid in the inevitable conflict and sorrow that is yet to come into the far eastern and southeastern reaches of Beleriand, where now are your homes. Your hopes to remain virtually untouched by the war against Morgoth will be dashed, and you will need a leader. Although he is of the race of mortal men, he has wisdom in both leadership and war, as his renown deeds have proven. You would be unwise not to trust in Beren’s leadership, and Lúthien’s, as well. Farewell.’”   

“When did you receive that message?” asked Beren. “It’s only been about ten days since we parted from the Hidden Kingdom.”

“It’s been a few days more than a fortnight that Thorondor came and recited her message,” replied Randir.

“That means my mother had foreseen that we were coming here before we had the mindset to do so,” Lúthien said.

Beren looked at Lúthien and jested, “Have you ever successfully thrown her a surprise birthday party or something like that; you know, without her knowing beforehand?”

At that moment, six more Elves emerged from the woods with a raft. It looked somewhat small, but it would hold up to a dozen Elves or Men without allowing water onto its top. Then an Elf stepped forward and placed a foot next to the running waters. He wielded a bow in hand and an arrow with a slender rope tied to the feathered end of the shaft. The true marksman shot the shaft into the nearest tree on the other side. The rope was untied from the arrow and retied around the tree; the same was done on Beren and Lúthien’s side. The raft was then set into the water along with several Elves; two held fast the ropes to keep the raft from floating downstream. After being asked, Beren and Lúthien joined the Elves for the short trip across the river.

Thus, Beren and Lúthien began their lives on Tol Galen, the large island amid the Adurant River.

Upon reaching the island there was a gathering of many Elves that came to greet their two new leaders. However, they knew not what titles the give them. Nearly all were Nandorin Elves of Denethor’s people; and since his slaying in the First Battle of the Wars of Beleriand near the time when the Valar lifted the Sun and Moon into the sky, they vowed never to call anyone else king.

Then Beren said, “If it is your wish, you may call Lúthien your Queen, but no king am I, except by marriage to her. I am merely Beren, and with her aid I will lead you in the conflict that is sure to come; as told by Melian. Furthermore, we will do our best to lead you with everyday life and survival. If our teachings and tutelage can save at least one life, then be glad; and the more lives saved, the better.”

All present were excited and took courage from his assertive words. Not since their fallen king had this scattered group heard such spirited speech. Moreover, they were eager to learn and very willing to heed Melian’s words.

Joyous described the world of Beren and Lúthien and the Green-Elves; and their most joyous event occurred in the year 467, when Beren and Lúthien’s only child was born. He was named Dior and was called Dior the Beautiful or Aranel. He was also known as Dior Eluchíl, which is Thingol's Heir. Flowing through Dior’s veins was the blood of the threefold race: Men, Elves and the Maia. If there be one other event that could be considered as or more joyous, it came in the year 500 when to Dior and his wife Nimloth was born their daughter Elwing, fairest of all women before and after – save Lúthien.

Here it must be told that during Beren and Lúthien’s first three decades on Tol Galen, events were taking place in Doriath and throughout Middle-earth that would soon affect them. Many of those events pertained to Húrin's family. But of The Lay of the Children of Húrin, that song and stories that pertain to them are told in detail elsewhere. Let it be said here that the Lay tells of some of Morgoth’s most evil doings: capturing Húrin during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears and the Fifth Battle of the Wars of Beleriand, and Morgoth placing him on a stone seat and giving him vision to watch the unfolding of the sad lives of those he loved most; his wife Morwen thereafter sending their only son Túrin to be raised in Doriath by Thingol and Melian; Túrin’s adventures and misadventures throughout his child- and adulthood, including the destruction of Nargothrond and the mishap of killing Beleg “Strongbow” Cúthalion, who had become his mentor and best friend; unknowingly falling in love with his own sister, Niniel Nienor; being the bane of Morgoth’s most evil dragon-worm Glaurung, who set in motion the sibling’s union; and their discovery of this fact that caused them both to take their own lives.

Also let it be said here of Húrin’s release in the year 499, and that a year later he recaptured the Nauglamír, the Necklace of the Dwarves made for Felagund that remained in Nargothrond after his departure from his kingdom with Beren. Húrin thereafter gave it to Thingol as “payment for the fair keeping” of his family members. After Melian told him the truth and how Morgoth had bewitched him, Húrin departed from Menegroth, and it is said that he went west to the sea to perish, wishing life no more; thus ending the sad tale of his family and house.

*****

After receiving the Nauglamír and having possession of the Silmaril taken by Beren and Lúthien, Thingol began to ponder how the two could be united, although Melian counseled him to return the Silmaril to Fëanor’s sons. Nevertheless, Beren and Lúthien’s blood and sacrifice, Thingol’s own lust for the Silmaril, and the union of it with the Dwarves’ jewel kept him from surrendering the holy jewel; such was the power in it.

Therefore, Thingol called upon the Dwarves of Nogrod who travel from Ered Lindon through Doriath to undertake the task of uniting the two. In time Thingol’s desire was achieved and the greatest of the works of Elves and of Dwarves regarding jewels were brought together and made one. Its beauty was very great, for now the countless jewels of the Nauglamír reflected and cast abroad in marvelous hues the light of the Silmaril. At the time of its completion, Thingol, being alone among the Dwarves, made to take it up and clasp it about his neck; but the Dwarves at that moment withheld it from him, and demanded that he yield it up to them, saying:

“By what right does the Elven-King lay claim to the Nauglamír that was made by our fathers for Finrod Felagund who is dead? It has come to him but by the hand of Húrin the Man of Dor-lómin, who took it as a thief out of the darkness of Nargothrond.”

But Thingol perceived their hearts, and saw well that desiring the Silmaril they sought but a pretext and fair cloak for their true intent; and in his wrath and pride he gave no heed to his peril, but spoke to them in scorn, saying:

“How do ye of uncouth race dare to demand anything of me, Elu Thingol, Lord of Beleriand, whose life began by the waters of Cuiviénen years uncounted before the fathers of the stunted people awoke?”

And standing tall and proud among them he bade them with shameful words be gone unrequited out of Doriath. Then the lust of the Dwarves was kindled to rage by the words of the King; and they rose up about him, and laid hands on him. Then, they slew King Thingol.

Thus, Elwë Singollo, King of Doriath, died in the deepest places of Menegroth; he alone of all the Children of Ilúvatar was joined with one of the Ainur, the Maia Melian; and he who, alone of the Forsaken Elves, had seen the light of the Trees of Valinor. With his last sight before dying, Thingol gazed upon the Silmaril.

Then the Dwarves taking the Nauglamír passed out of Menegroth and fled eastwards through Region. But tidings went swiftly through the forest, and few of that company came over Aros, for they were pursued to the death as they sought the eastward road; and the Nauglamír was retaken, and brought back in bitter grief to Melian the Queen.

Yet two there were of the slayers of Thingol who escaped from the pursuit on the eastern marches, and returned at last to their city far off in the Blue Mountains; and there in Nogrod they told somewhat of all that had befallen, saying that the Dwarves were slain in Doriath by command of the Elven-King, who thus would cheat them of their reward.

Then great was the wrath and lamentation of the Dwarves of Nogrod for the death of their kin and their great craftsmen, and they tore their beards and wailed; and long they sat taking thought for vengeance. It is told that they asked aid from Belegost, but it was denied them, and the Dwarves of Belegost sought to dissuade them from their purpose; but their counsel was unavailing, and before long a great host came forth from Nogrod, and crossing over Gelion marched westward through Beleriand.

*****

Upon Doriath a heavy change had befallen. Melian sat long in silence beside the body of Thingol the King, and her thought passed back into the starlit years and to their first meeting among the nightingales of Nan Elmoth in ages past; and she knew that her parting from Thingol was the forerunner of a greater parting, and that the doom of Doriath was drawing near. For Melian was of the divine race of the Valar, and she was a Maia of great power and wisdom; but for love of Elwë Singollo she took upon herself the form of the Eldar Children of Ilúvatar, and in that union she became bound by the chain and trammels of the flesh of Arda. In that form she bore to him Lúthien Tinúviel; and in that form she gained a power over the substance of Arda, and by the Girdle of Melian was Doriath defended through long ages from the evils without.

But now Thingol lay dead, and his spirit had passed to the halls of Mandos; and with his death a change came also upon Melian. Thus it came to pass that her power was withdrawn in that time from the forests of Neldoreth and Region, and Esgalduin the enchanted river spoke with a different voice, and Doriath lay open to its enemies.

Thereafter, Melian spoke to none save Mablung and Huan, bidding they take heed to the Silmaril, and to send word speedily to Beren and Lúthien in Ossiriand.

Therefore, they set out for Tol Galen. They hadn’t gone far when they were overtaken by the ever-vigilant Thorondor along with several of his kin.

“I know where it is you’re going,” the Eagle-King said. “You seek Beren and Lúthien; but you will not succeed by this route.” Thorondor told of a host of Dwarves who were coming their way. He then had Melian mount him, Mablung mount Gwaihir, and Huan mount Landroval. Then they lifted them into the air for a swift flight to Beren and Lúthien.

They were set down on the banks of the Adurant. Huan leaped off Landroval and immediately sprinted toward the home of Beren and Lúthien. Mablung dismounted Gwaihir and aided Melian off Thorondor.

“Would the three of you remain here until we return?” Melian asked Thorondor, who told her they would do so. “We won’t be long,” she said, and then she and Mablung followed after Huan.

*****

Huan it was that found Beren watching Lúthien dance in a green glade. For several moments he remained unnoticed by the twosome as he gazed on the beautiful she-Elf. His mind went back to the day when he met Lúthien on the banks of the Teiglin River; when she walked toward him and their eyes met; moreover, did their hearts. It was the first time in his life when he felt love enter him. And at that moment he knew that there was someone who loved him just as much as he loved her. He also thought about his first meeting with Beren, and how for the second time he met another friend who would love him too. Now, the two he loved most in the world was about to get the worse news of their lives, and there was nothing the Great Hound of Valinor could do to shield them from the oncoming pain.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Beren become aware of his longtime friend, and at first he was very glad to see Huan.

“Huan, my old friend!” said Beren, but Huan couldn’t take his eyes off Lúthien; not merely because of her beauty, but she too had looked at him, caught the hurt in his eyes and was again reading his now injured heart. Beren continued, “Have you come to go on a hunt? It’s been quite a while since we’ve done so together.”

“That’s not why he has come,” Lúthien said. “His eyes tell a tale of misery and woe. Huan, what has happened in Doriath?”

“Much misery and woe,” said Huan, who then saw Melian approaching from the woods. “But I will have your mother tell you the tale.”

“My mother?” inquired Lúthien, who turned to see Melian coming from the trees and into the glade with Mablung. Melian was unable to hold back the tears – as was Mablung – as she ran to hug her daughter, who asked, “What tale of misery do you bring, Mother?”

“One of death and destruction,” Melian replied. “Lúthien, your father is dead; killed by the Dwarves of Nogrod.” All began to weep, and the unseen Green-Elves in the nearby forest gave a cry of lamentation in unison when they heard those words; it echoed through Beleriand’s southeast. Melian went on to tell how Thingol wanted the Silmaril crafted into the Nauglamír and how the Dwarves rose against him when the task was complete.

“To give you this news is only half of why I came,” Melian said. “The second reason is that I came to say farewell to you and Beren; for I will now leave Middle-earth and return from whence I came; the land of the Valar beyond the western sea, to muse upon my sorrows in the gardens of Lórien. Hopefully, there will come a day when Mandos will release Thingol, and we shall be united again and I may again have joy, although you may join us never.”

Lúthien was speechless, but hugged her mother long. Thereafter, Melian kissed her forehead in farewell. “I love you, and I will miss you forever,” Melian said. And as she looked into her daughter’s eyes for the last time, none – not even Beren or Huan – could look upon those two and the bitterness of their parting.

She then looked to Beren. “I also love you, my son, and I know I leave my precious daughter in the best hands; ones Ilúvatar made and blessed especially for her. Farewell.”

Beren looked into his mother-in-law’s eyes for the last time. After a brief deep look, and as if spellbound, he could look no more; for the definitive definition of sadness was in her eyes; and even Beren the Brave, who entered the chamber of Middle-earth’s most evil being and in wolf-form sat beside his throne, could bear no more. He then, however, embraced her, and looking over her shoulder and into the distance, he thought to himself, “She above all in Middle-earth did not deserve this unhappiness, or ending. For as a Maia, she never judged any of the peoples and always looked for the good in everyone and in every situation. This was most unfair.”

But as if she heard his thoughts, she said to him, “Seek no vengeance for me, and seek always to do what is right; for that’s the Beren I know and love; and the Beren who my daughter loves.”

Without another word, she released Beren and then parted with Mablung at her side.

As for Melian, she was then taken by Thorondor to Valinor and would never return to Middle-earth again. Mablung was taken by Gwaihir back to Menegroth, as Huan remained a while with Beren and Lúthien.

*****

Thus it was that the host of the Dwarves crossing over Aros passed unhindered into the woods of Doriath; and none withstood them, for they were many and fierce, and the captains of the Grey-elves were cast into doubt and despair, and went here and there purposeless. But the Dwarves held on their way, and passed over the great bridge, and entered into Menegroth; and there befell a thing most grievous among the sorrowful deeds of the Eldar Days. For there was battle in the Thousand Caves, and many Elves and Dwarves were slain; and it has not been forgotten. But the Dwarves were victorious, and the halls of Thingol were ransacked and plundered. There finally fell Mablung of the Heavy Hand before the doors of the treasury wherein lay the Nauglamír; and it with the Silmaril was taken.

As is known, Beren and Lúthien yet dwelt in Tol Galen, and at that time their son Dior Eluchíl had to wife Nimloth, kinswoman of Celeborn, Prince of Doriath, who was wedded to the Lady Galadriel. The sons of Dior and Nimloth were Eluréd and Elurín; and a daughter also was born to them, and she was named Elwing, which is Star-spray, for she was born on a night of stars, whose light glittered in the spray of the waterfall of Lanthir Lamath beside her father’s house.

Now word went swiftly among the Elves of Ossiriand that a great host of Dwarves bearing gear of war had come down out of the mountains and passed over Gelion at the Ford of Stones. These tidings came soon to Beren and Lúthien. Therefore Beren arose and left Tol Galen, and summoning to him Dior his son they went north to the River Ascar; and with them went many of the Green-Elves of Ossiriand.

Thus it came to pass that when the Dwarves of Nogrod, returning from Menegroth with diminished host, came again to Sarn Athrad, they were assailed by unseen enemies; for as they climbed up Gelion's banks burdened with the spoils of Doriath, suddenly all the woods were filled with the sound of Elven horns, and shafts sped upon them from every side. There very many of the Dwarves were slain in the first onset; but some escaping from the ambush held together, and fled eastwards towards the mountains. And as they climbed the long slopes beneath Mount Dolmed there came forth the Shepherds of the Trees, and they drove the Dwarves into the shadowy woods of Ered Lindon: whence, it is said, came never one to climb the high passes that led to their homes.

In that battle by Sarn Athrad Beren fought his last fight, and he himself slew the Lord of Nogrod with the Dwarf’s own blade, and he wrested from him the Necklace of the Dwarves; but he dying laid his curse upon all the treasure. Then Beren gazed in wonder on the selfsame jewel of Fëanor that he had cut from Morgoth's iron crown, now shining set amid gold and gems by the cunning of the Dwarves; and he washed it clean of blood in the waters of the river. And when all was finished the treasure of Doriath was drowned in the River Ascar, and from that time the river was named anew Rathlóriel, the Goldenbed; but Beren took the Nauglamír and returned to Tol Galen.

Beren deemed the battle at Sarn Athrad a success, pertaining to the skills taught by him to the Green-Elves, who suffered no casualty. But little did it ease the grief of Lúthien to learn that the Lord of Nogrod was slain and many Dwarves beside; but it is said and sung that Lúthien wearing that necklace and that immortal jewel was the vision of greatest beauty and glory that has ever been outside the realm of Valinor; and for a little while the Land of the Dead that Live became like a vision of the land of the Valar; and no place has been since so fair, so fruitful, or so filled with light.

Story text:

Now Dior Thingol’s heir bade farewell to Beren and Lúthien, and departing from Lanthir Lamath with Nimloth his wife he came to Menegroth, and abode there; and with them went their young sons Eluréd and Elurín, and Elwing their daughter. Upon their arrival the Sindar received them with joy, and they arose from the darkness of their grief for fallen kin and King and for the departure of Melian; and Dior Eluchíl set himself to raise anew the glory of the kingdom of Doriath.

As for Beren and Lúthien, they returned to their everyday lives; but when she danced now her shining light gleamed so that it could be seen far away. Even Thorondor’s view from Crissaegrim of the Land of the Dead that Live was brighter and clearer.

Several months after Dior’s departure, in the year 502 of the First Age, Beren and Lúthien traveled away from their home and were never heard from again. Many tales have been written and songs have been sung regarding their deaths. But these tales and songs have raised more questions than answers; for their bodies were never found. Some say that they perished and went to where mortals go beyond the confines of the world. Others say that Ilúvatar’s heart changed and he allowed them to go to Valinor and be eternally with the Elves; whereas the meeting of Lúthien with Thingol and Melian, along with Beren, of course, was very joyful. Nevertheless, of their deaths and their destiny thereafter there is known no true end.

*****

Let it be said that this tale ends here with the only true previously recorded account regarding Beren and Lúthien’s disappearance: There came a night of autumn, and when it grew late, one came and smote upon the doors of Menegroth, demanding admittance to the King. He was a lord of the Green-Elves hastening from Ossiriand, and the door-wards brought him to where Dior sat alone in his chamber; and there in silence he gave to the King a coffer, and took his leave. In that coffer lay the Necklace of the Dwarves, wherein was set the Silmaril; and Dior looking upon it knew it for a sign that Beren Erchamion and Lúthien Tinúviel had died indeed, and, he believed, gone where go the race of Men to a fate beyond the world.

Long did Dior gaze upon the Silmaril, which his father and mother had brought beyond hope out of the terror of Morgoth; and his grief was great that death had come upon them so soon. But the wise have said that the Silmaril hastened their end; for the flame of the beauty of Lúthien as she wore it was too bright for mortal lands. Then Dior arose, and about his neck he clasped the Nauglamír; and now he appeared as the fairest of all the children of the world, of threefold race: of the Edain, and of the Eldar, and of the Maia of the Blessed Realm.

But now the rumor ran among the scattered Elves of Beleriand that Dior Thingol’s heir wore the Nauglamír, and they said: “A Silmaril of Fëanor burns again in the woods of Doriath”; and the oath of the sons of Fëanor was waked again from sleep. For while Lúthien wore the Necklace of the Dwarves, no Elf would dare to assail her; but now hearing of the renewal of Doriath and of Dior’s pride the seven gathered again from wandering, and they sent to him to claim their own.

But Dior returned no answer to the sons of Fëanor; and Celegorm stirred up his brothers to prepare an assault upon Doriath. They came at unawares in the middle of winter, and fought with Dior in the Thousand Caves; and so befell the second slaying of Elf by Elf. There fell Celegorm by Dior’s hand, and there fell Curufin, and dark Caranthir; but Dior was slain also, and Nimloth his wife; and the cruel servants of Celegorm seized their young sons and left them to starve in the forest. Of this Maedhros indeed repented, and he sought for them long in the woods of Doriath; but his search was unavailing, and of the fate of Eluréd and Elurín no tale tells.

Thus Doriath was destroyed, and the kingdom never rose again. But the sons of Fëanor gained not what they sought; for a remnant of the people fled before them, and with them was Elwing Dior’s daughter, and they escaped, and bearing with them the Silmaril they came in time to the mouths of the River Sirion by the sea, where they were joined with the survivors of Nargothrond.

And of the endings of Elwing, the remaining sons of Fëanor, Morgoth and Sauron, the one Silmaril and the other two still in the Iron Crown, and other occurrences regarding this tale and beyond are told elsewhere.

The End