Betrayed by LadySternchen

Wronged

Prompt #2: The Sleuth. Your character learns something shocking. When you decide what it will be, you can open the next prompt.

“Have you heard me, Lúthien?”
She jerked out of her daydreams, noting the heat creeping up her cheeks. Couldn’t it have been anyone else but her father who found her so deeply in thought about Beren that she had not noticed anything around her. She looked rather guiltily up at Elu, who gazed back at her gravely.
“No. I am sorry, my mind wandered.”
She knew something was very off when her father did not return her smile, and was confirmed in her suspicions by the austerity in his tone when he answered.
“Clearly. If you can spare me a moment, I should like a word with you.”
“Since when do you ask my time as if it were an audience?” Lúthien asked, bewildered. Her father, however, did not answer, instead gesturing her towards the edge of one of the many fountains that played within Menegroth. They sat down on the rim, and Lúthien bathed her hand in the cool water, greeting the spring like a living thing, a pet dear to her. The King still said no word but watched her quietly, until Lúthien could no longer bear it.
“You’re frightening me, Ada!” she said at last, leaning her head against his shoulder, or rather attempting to, for he held her off. Lúthien stared at him. Never before had he dejected her in her showing her affection.
“You frighten me, too, Lúthien.” he said quietly instead. A cold dread settled in the pit of Lúthen’s stomach at those words, and at the sincerity she sensed behind them. Whatever could have befallen to have him act like that?
“How so?”
“You spend a lot of time in the woods of late.”
Lúthien inwardly flinched. But he couldn’t possibly know about Beren.
“I do so every summer, Ada… since when does that cause you any concern?”
That’s none of your business, was what she had really wanted to say, and she would have done had not her father seemed so unusually grave.
“You are right, of course. What you do at you leisure is indeed nothing to concern me… but if Doriath’s law, my law is broken, it is my concern.”
There was a strange rushing sound in Lúthien’s ears now. He knows, she thought, and fear flooded her body.
“What do you mean?” was all she could get herself to say, desperately playing for time. He bowed his head, contemplating his own hands.
“I think you know…” he said quietly at last. “…but if you want me to, I’ll tell you. Daeron came to see me…”
Lúthien did not need to hear any more, and her heart ached. Daeron. Her dearest friend. How could he have done her such wrong? The King seemed to notice that Lúthien was not listening anymore, and laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t. Please. How could he?”
But her father only shook his head sadly.
“Don’t go blaming Daeron. He was caught between his loyalty to his friend and that to his king, and his concern for your welfare has tipped the scale in my favour. But how could you, Lúthien? Men are not permitted into Doriath, you know that full well…”
She laughed, an entirely mirthless laugh that more resembled a snort.
“Ha… no, I never heard of such a thing. It’s not like you remind everyone who would listen of how much you hate the Second-born…”
Elu did not react to her taunt in any way, which made Lúthien all the angrier. If they indeed needed to have this fight (and truth be told, she had known deep down that it would come to this ever since she had fallen in love with Beren), then she wanted her father to at least make as much of a fool of himself as possible.
“I do not hate them, as I do not spare them as passionate a feeling as hate, I mistrust them, hence my laws.”
“And it doesn’t make you consider one bit that a man passed through the Girdle? Does that not tell you anything? Do you mistrust your own wife if…”
“That is quite enough, Lúthien.” he said, and though he had spoken those words without heat, Lúthien knew that she had really crossed a line there.
Well, if you don’t like me jumping to unjust conclusions, don’t do it to me, either. Keep your nose out of my love life, then I’ll keep my nose out of your’s, she thought viciously, and perhaps her wrath showed on her face, for her father again reached out a placatory hand.
“Just… just tell me who he is?”
“No.”
Lúthien was adamant in this. She needed to know that Beren was somewhere safe before she told anyone anything, and however much her father pleaded with her to tell him -in everything between desperation and anger-, she did not yield.
At last he gave her a long, scrutinising look, then said with a sigh: “Alright. I swear to you an oath that I will not harm your… lover, nor imprison him. He walks safe and free. Will you now tell me who he is?”
A vivid image of herself, Daeron, Galathil and Celeborn sitting scowling before their parents came into her mind.
Just tell us what happened, we won’t get angry…
She almost laughed at the memory.
“I honour your oath, Adar, and I trust you to keep it. Give me until tomorrow to explain to you and Nana. Alright?”
She needed to find her mother, to talk to her. She would understand, and certainly would have a solution? Why Lúthien had not thought of asking Melian for advise before she did not know herself. Only that for such prudent a move it was now too late.