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

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Chapter 6 Of Their First Meetings

Beren and Lúthien meet.

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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?”