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

---

Chapter 15 Of Morgoth and Angband

Beren and Lúthien make it to Angband and take on Middle-earth's most evil; gain a Silmaril but meet another evil foe.

---

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.