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

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Chapter 2 Of Outlaws and Elves

Mablung and Beleg meet Barahir and his men.

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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.