Chapter 11: Celegorm the Fair

Eleven
Celegorm The Fair

Lúthien had been traveling west though the lands, succeeding in crossing the bridge of Sirion and wandering into Nivrim after purposely becoming lost several times. She had to avoid her father’s scouts. When she had set out, for a long while, she had heard them following her trail and calling her by her name. They had passed her by many times and had never spotted her. She had recognized several of those searching for her. Some she cared for. Mablung and Beleg had almost spotted her in the undergrowth as she scrambled out of their range of sight. Their woodcraft was legendary, and if the two were not in such a state of distress, they surely would have caught her and dragged her to her father as they had done before. Because of her cloak, she blended easily within the shadows of the forest, and Mablung had taught her some of his own wood lore. She was no master of the art, but she knew that water could throw almost anyone off her trail. She relied on the river to lose them, and now, she could no longer hear them calling for her at night.
Lúthien had felt very guilt-ridden that she had caused her people so much woe and had forced them to search for her in vain, hoping she was still near her home. Not one of them had expected her to get very far. Thingol was far too overbearing, and she was little more than a girl in most eyes.
They never dreamed that I might really escape, she thought with some bitterness. They thought I would shut out the world with all its cruel troubles and weep until my hair turned white. Even now they probably think that I shall come crawling back to my father’s door, begging forgiveness and renouncing my foolish pursuit of a mortal’s life and love . . .
She remembered the look upon Mablung’s face, and of how she had almost revealed herself to him so that she could return and stop the suffering she had caused. She yearned for home already, and she was petrified thinking of the road ahead. But every time she was tempted to turn back, that horrible vision would return, reminding her of Beren’s predicament and of the suffering he must endure for her sake. Mablung’s haggard look of distress and disappointment broke her heart, but she continued on, forcing it out of her mind.
Though she was alone and always in peril, Lúthien gradually began to feel at ease. She had never felt more alive and independent. The bodyguards were gone, the repetitive schedule of life in Menegroth a memory. The moment she stepped out of the borders of Doriath, she had felt a sort of metamorphose, an awakening.
She was not a girl any longer.
Lúthien stood shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun that shone brightly down through the trees. The forest floor was lit up with a golden light, and it was bright and warm. It was a pleasant day, but she was not used to sunlight, and it burned as the moon could not. She concealed herself in the protection of the trees and kept her hood low over her eyes. She wished she could stop for a brief rest and wait until nightfall to go on, but she also knew that it was the dark of night that was so often feared with seasonable reason.
In times of peace, or in sheltered Doriath, the night was deeply coveted, and the stars revered. Her people often wandered the forests on warm nights; the young warriors would even hunt during the day. The Sindar held a great festival every year where they built up great bonfires and asked for Ilúvatar’s blessing. Lúthien always loved those celebrations. She would dance before all her people, and Daeron would accompany her with his pipe, and sometimes he would set it aside to sing a duet with her . . .
Lúthien bowed her head and began studying the land, trying to remember all that she had learned of geography. She knew Doriath well. She had gone as far as the Girdle beforehand, exploring every part of her kingdom, but now she had left it, perhaps forever, and she was unsure of these lands. She was no tracker, and all she had to guide her was her own knowledge of wood-lore and her faith. She began to wish more than ever that Daeron were with her. He would have been the best guide in all of Doriath, save Mablung and Beleg.
Lúthien began to wonder: If she had asked Mablung to aid her, would things have turned out the way they had? Mablung had never troubled to hide his opposition at the way Thingol safeguarded her and once complained that he wearied of the task of guarding her ceaselessly.
“Believe me,” he had told her once as she sat miserable in her prison, “I would set you free, if I had the audacity. Perhaps you do not need such protection. Perhaps you only need someone to protect you from your father!”
It had made her laugh. She had needed the levity. But was he not the most loyal of all the king’s captains?
He at least would not have run to my father the moment I had gone. He might have given me a chance to be on my way. Mablung would not so easily betray me. But what is done is done. Beren is all that matters. I will only rest for a moment, she decided. I shall wait for the moon to rise. Perhaps then I can see where I am going!
But she quickly changed her mind. She thought she heard Beren calling out for her in agony. She realized again that any of the moments spent in repose could be Beren's last. She hated the notion of it, and she tried not to think about it, but it was never far from her mind.
If Beren were truly dead, I would sense it, would I not?
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the forest. She glanced about her with fear and strained her ears. It was not long before she heard trumpets being blown, the sound of many horses, the cries of many fell voices, and the howling of wolves upon the wind.
“What if it is a host of Morgoth!” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Could it be, as my father warned, that the Enemy may have gotten wind of my wandering?”
Before Lúthien could make a move to escape, there came a large pack of wolves. They were not wild wolves. They were wolves sent from Tol-in-Gaurhoth to spy out the lands. Since Sauron had caught Beren and Finrod, he had been filled with deep suspicion, and he believed the Noldor were seeking to take back their old stronghold, Minis Tirith. He had long feared such an evil thought, and in the wild, his spies would learn many things.
There were eight wolves, some gray and limber, some white with long, silken coats, some with brown hair and bristling. These were also the swiftest, and their leader had a coat of ash and strong limbs. Her sweet scent was easy to catch, and they did not need to see her to catch her! They surrounded Lúthien, and the ashen one saw her and curled his upper lip, showing his teeth like ivory swords slipping from their sheaths. She seemed an easy target, alone and far from aid. She took a few timid steps back. The wolf took a few strides forward.
“Stay back,” she said in warning.
The wolf turned away from her, seemed to nod to another, and the wolf leapt forward.
Lúthien drew her dagger and thrust the blade. The wolf drew back with a whimper. The dagger had been well aimed and had pierced near his heart. But such a wound cannot prohibit the fury of Sauron's wolves, the wolves that were bred in the Isle. A light was lit from deep within its eyes for vengeance, and it snarled at the others. Three bore forward as the chief drew back. Lúthien was not easy to keep pace with, for she sprang about like a deer. But the wolves were gaining the rear, and she knew she could not keep this chase up forever. She was prepared to use her cloak and her enchantments in defense.
At the exact moment that she halted and clasped at the broach at her throat, there came suddenly howling out of the woods a beast most fair and noble. He too had picked up Lúthien's scent while on the hunt. This beast had a name. His name was Huan the Hound of Valinor. His coat was gray, and he was wolfish, yet he was a bitter enemy of wolves and werewolves, and Huan was a fierce enemy. He was unlike any dogs that wandered upon Middle-Earth, for he came from the land of the Valar. He had been born to one of the greatest hounds of Oromë himself, the Vala of hunting. As a young pup, Oromë had given Huan as a gift to one small Elvin-child who had made friendship with the Lord of the Hunt. That Elvin-child was named Celegorm the fair. Celegorm and Curufin were there in the outskirts of Doriath hunting.
Huan put himself before Lúthien and the wolves. She darted away into the trees. She did not know yet if the hound was good or ill, for he looked more than half a wolf himself. She thought him only an animal, and she knew that animals were all too willing to fight for their food. She took off her cloak and prepared to cast it over the hound's eyes if he came for her once he had finished with the others.
Huan let out a threatening growl. The wolves came to a dead halt. They feared Huan as they feared Death. Their chief was bold enough to challenge him, but Huan took one long stride and clamped his jaws into the wolf’s back. The wolf howled and tried to free himself, but Huan made a small jerk with his jaws and the wolf lay paralyzed with a severed spine and was absolutely helpless.
The seven wolves then made to gang up on the hound, but their combined strength was of no avail. Huan was even larger than they and quicker. In a tenth of a second, he tore open the throats of two more wolves. There were only five left alive, the smaller brown ones. They turned and fled, but Huan pursued them, and Lúthien heard whimpers and agonized howls, and then there was silence.
She dove into the jungle of thickets and held her breath. Huan came near to her hiding place again, unhurt and not even fatigued. He had come to finish the leader off, for he still lay there, unable to move, his heart laboring. Huan took him by the neck and made sure that the wolf’s death was quick and painless.
Lúthien turned her eyes away, and Huan did at last discover where she was, for he smelled her scent. It was a sweet scent mixed with fear. He knew that he would have no trouble bringing her out of her hiding. He passed by the thicket, and for a moment, Lúthien believed that he had gone and left her, satisfied with the eight carcasses lying nearby, but Huan had come up behind her and poked his head in through the thicket. He let out a bark of greeting that was so loud and so close to her sensitive elvish ears that Lúthien let out a scream and quickly covered them. Then she sprang back.
“Do not come any closer, Warg!” she said in warning.
Huan growled, for the name Warg did not suit him. Lúthien felt provoked and threw her cloak over his eyes, but he did not fall into slumber, which was strange indeed yet not so, for he was a hound of Oromë, and no magic of Lúthien's could touch him. She stared at him, terrified and bewildered. Her cloak held a strong spell and Huan had not even blinked an eye! What did that mean? Was he a powerful demon or something divine? Then Huan let out another bark, causing Lúthien to cry out again and hastily put her hands over her ears. He seized this chance and clamped his jaws around her slender arm.
“Hey!” Lúthien shouted in alarm, but she could not pull herself from the hound's grip. His strength was marvelous. Had she not witnessed this for herself! He pulled her from the thicket and she let out a little cry as his teeth scraped her skin.
“Foul, unmerciful creature! Let me go! I have to save him! I cannot be hindered! I have great perils yet to face! Have you not spilt enough blood? No, of course not. All wolves require the purest blood.”
He did not loosen his terrible grip, but then he studied his prize, admiring her beauty and realized that she needed aid. He was moved to pity. Huan was not moved easily. He was a Wolf-Hound and was suspicious of all beings. Lúthien had set no enchantment upon him, her words alone bought his love. He released her and received her cloak for her. Lúthien hesitated, and then she snatched it back and stared at the hound. He cocked his head and stared back, mimicking her. Lúthien tried hard to communicate with him. By the might of her Maiar blood, she could communicate with some animals, but she received nothing from this beast.
“I thought you were a wolf,” she said. “But I guess you are not. Please forgive me for naming you a Warg. You have saved me and I thank you for it.”
She hesitated, and then she reached out her slender arm and cautiously patted the hound on the head, fearing he would snap off her fingers. Huan briefly showed her his teeth and she dropped her hand. He raised himself to his feet and came towards her so that his nose almost touched hers. She did not dare to move. He snuffed the air about her, taking in her scent. It was a clean, unsullied scent, no longer tinged with fear. He approved and licked at her face. She turned her face away and laughed. Then she reached out her hand again to stroke him, and he permitted her to do so. The hound seemed harmless now, and Lúthien began to scratch him behind the ears. He rolled over, his tongue flopping out.
“You are just a big puppy!”
Huan nuzzled her with his nose, making her laugh again. Then Lúthien saw a bright glow of silver around the hound's neck. She looked closer and saw that the hound was wearing a handsome collar.
“Well, you must belong to some pompous lordling,” Lúthien muttered. Now, who is your master, I wonder?”
Lúthien ran her fingers over a symbol that the collar bore. It was black, but the symbol shone in bright mithril, true silver, and the worth of that metal was ten times that of gold. The symbol was a seven-pointed star with many rays. It was white upon black. She mused upon that. Her father’s sigil was gray for his name Gray-mantle, and at its center was a pale white crescent. Perhaps it would have been better suited for the Sons of Fëanor. A burning ship might have ringed home even better. She recognized the Sons of Fëanor’s emblem, but it disquieted her. It had become a symbol of hatred and evil to the Teleri, her father’s allies. They mourned their dead sons because of it.
“The star of Fëanor!” she wondered aloud. “The Sons of Fëanor are your master, or one of them at least.”
Huan cocked his head at her again. He whimpered and took Lúthien by the sleeve, but this time, he was gentle and did not sink in his teeth. Lightly he lifted her, and she let out a cry of protest.
“Wait! Where are you taking me?”
Lúthien had never met any of the Sons of Fëanor, but her father had spoken of that House with nothing but scorn. Elsewhere, Lúthien had heard that the seven brothers were heroes among the Noldoli. It depended upon whom you asked. Beren had never mentioned Celegorm and Curufin to her in the messages they smuggled to and fro to each other, so she did not know of the death threat they had given him nor that they greatly opposed the Quest and its purpose. Huan had taken her by the sleeve, and she knew she could not resist him.
Huan dragged her forward for a bit, then he released her and barked. Then he ran about the trees in mindless circles and zigzags so that she could just glimpse a patch of his silver fur before he disappeared. Lúthien followed after him.
Huan led her to the entrance of a cave where Celegorm and his brother Curufin were resting with their hunting party. From inside the cave, Lúthien could hear singing and laughter. She wrapped her cloak around her and hid her face within her hood as Huan entered the cave. His mighty voice rose above the din. The music stopped and the laughter died down.
“Ah, so my loyal friend has returned without so much as one wolf-skin!” laughed an Elf, his voice rich and musical. “What have you been doing? My party killed three wolves and almost had a red stag, the largest that I have ever lain eyes upon. If you had remained with us, Huan, we would now be feasting upon venison, not mere rabbits. You would have been given a joint of your own fresh from the carcass.”
Huan growled and the Elf laughed again.
“What did he say?” inquired another voice, softer and colder.
“He boasts that he killed eight wolves and left their corpses for the crows and the other scavengers.”
“Eight! That puts us to shame!” roared the party. “Why did he wander off in the first place?”
“He said it was an intoxicating scent in the woods. He told me to continue the hunt without him while he investigated it.”
“Is that so?” said the soft voice. “It is not like him to go wandering off over a certain smell. It must have been an intoxicating scent indeed to have driven the Wolf Hound from the task of hunting wolves.”
“He has found the source as well,” said the first voice.
Huan exited the cave and stood beside Lúthien, demanding that she pet him again. She stooped and began stroking him, listening intently to the anonymous voices. There was soft laughter, and Lúthien’s heart rose a little with encouragement. A few moments later, a tall Elf stepped out of the cave.
Lúthien’s breath caught in her throat. The Elf was not near as tall as her father. Few could compare to Thingol, but he was a good head taller than she. He seemed to tower over Lúthien. His hair was like polished jet, lustrous and long. His eyes were not blue-gray or flecked with green. They were pure blue, blue as the fabled sapphires of Manwë. There was a twinkle in his eyes, and his mouth was made for wicked grins. He carried a glittering sword at his side, and he wore a handsome suit of black mail encrusted with diamonds shaped into the sigil of his House. His leggings were supple leather and black like the rest of his clothing. Gloves, boots, and cloak were black and lined with white wolf-skin. There seemed to be a charm about him and his presence demanded respect.
He was obviously one of the princes, but which one? She tried to recall every detail she had learned of the Sons of Fëanor. Meadhros was the eldest, but Morgoth had taken his hand and left him maimed and bitter. This Elf clearly had two good hands. The second-born was Maglor, the black sheep of the family that had taken up the harp and become a minstrel. Curufin was the fourth brother and a smith, called Curufin the Crafty. Caranthir was the next brother, the most ill tempered, and never smiled. The youngest sons Amrod and Amras were identical twins, alike in look and mood and rumored to have red hair, a rarity in the Eldar.
This one must be the third son, Lúthien decided. Celegorm the Fair, and by all reports he was the most ambitious and dangerous of the seven. For a moment, Lúthien considered leaving then and there. She could report Prince Celegorm’s trespasses to her father if she ever returned to Doriath. But she could not simply leave.
Despite Lúthien's doubts, she really had no choice but to risk this chance. The princes could be useful allies. How many Elves were with him? She peered into the cave and counted three score, all equipped with mail and steel. Celegorm had the most swords sworn to him of all the Noldoli. He was also King Finrod’s vassal. If the prince had a shred of loyalty and honor in him, he would have no choice but to aid Lúthien in her cause. Their infamous Oath required him to join her also. The Silmarils were by rights his and the other brothers. Her heart became full of hope and relief. She might not have to go to the tower of Sauron alone after all.
The Elf saw Lúthien and laughed. She was a stranger, and she had wrapped her shadowy cloak about her and had lowered her hood past her eyes in disguise. She held the staff of ordinary beech wood in her hand for plain sight and she was barefooted. In order to cross the streams and rivers, she had taken them off and neglected to replace them. Never had the Elf beheld such prey.
“What on earth is this? What have you brought me, Huan?” the Elf asked the hound at his side. “Say! Is it dark elvish-maid, wraith, or fay? We did not come here to hunt such creatures.”
Lúthien stared at Huan with new wonder and disbelief. This was Huan of Valinor? The hound bred by Oromë the Vala? She had heard the title and the prophecy concerning Huan, she had sung of him, but never had she fathomed that this beast was Huan when he had found her.
“Who are you?” Celegorm asked with eyes narrowed. “What is your purpose so near the outskirts of Doriath?”
“I am Guardian of such woods as these,” she replied in a false voice. “You risk breaking tryst with the Wardens of Doriath. Last I knew of, this land belonged to the peace-loving folk, the Sindar. What say you?”
Celegorm stared in astonishment at such insolence, and he said, “I am sorry, but Guardian is a mere title, no name. Who are you truly?”
“She could be a creature of Sauron’s,” said the cold voice.
An Elf, who must have been standing in the depths of the cave listening, stepped next to his brother, and he too frowned at Lúthien and drew his sword. Lúthien saw that he was no less tall and had the same eyes, though not as bright as the first Elf’s and far more critical. He wore black with the seven-pointed star as well, but upon plate armor. He was more powerfully structured than his brother. His dark hair was drawn back in a tight ponytail. His nose was more pointed and his chin weak.
This one has the look of a smith, she thought. He likely made that armor himself. He is Curufin the Crafty.
“What is the purpose of a staff?” he asked.
“Three legs are better than two.”
“What do you want, beggar?”
“I come seeking the Sons of Fëanor.”
“Why do you seek them in such a place?”
“I walk where I will, for the soil you stand upon belongs to my people, the Sindar.”
“It is your land, but outside the protection of the Girdle. You should return to Menegroth where others of your kind hide.”
“I seek the Sons of Fëanor,” she repeated in a commanding voice. “Tell me where I may find them.”
“Whither do you come from, and who is your master? Why do you come before us as a beggar?” Curufin demanded, undaunted.
“Put away your sword, good fellow,” Lúthien said sternly, beginning to dislike him already. “I want no quarrel with you.”
Celegorm started, but stopped himself and asked, “And why do you seek the Sons of Fëanor?”
“I have come bearing tidings and to put their loyalty to their Oath and to their King to the test.”
“The Sons of Fëanor never give aid to strangers, especially to one so sun-shy, I should say.”
Curufin snickered. The comment caused Lúthien to flush.
“I am unused to sunlight,” she explained. “For I come from the kingdom of Doriath and once dwelt in the Caves of Menegroth.”
“You said ‘once dwelt there’,” Curufin said with suspicion. “Why is that not so anymore?”
“I left and chanced upon you. That banner makes it plain that the Sons of Fëanor are here and are too close to the borders of Doriath. I heard the clamor of your party from miles away and thought that some host had been unleashed upon these woods.”
“Well, lady, that is near the mark, for a host of wolves wanders these woods. They are no ordinary wolves. They are Sauron’s spawn. We came hunting them,” Celegorm stoically made his case. “We were simply cleansing the land of them. If anything, King Thingol should reward us for ridding his eastern outskirts of such beasts. Since our liege lord departed Nargothrond, Sauron has released hundreds of them throughout the Elf-lands. It is dangerous for travelers these days. You must be very brave or mad to wander so far from the Caves alone.”
“I have no sword either. I had hoped I would not even have to touch my dagger or have to wield my staff. I come before you in peace, and I am in need. Tell me where I may find the princes, for I too am in need of haste.”
“Perhaps I can give them a message for you?”
“My lord, what I want with him or them is for their ears only,” Lúthien said boldly.
Then Celegorm burst out laughing. “Come now, enough parley. I can certainly tell you where the royal highnesses are. They stand before you,” he smiled warmly. “For I am Prince Celegorm, and this Elf beside me is my brother Curufin the Crafty, the third and fourth of the Sons of Fëanor. Now we would know who you are and what you know of our beloved King. We are all ears!”
Lúthien breathed a sigh of relief and smiled in triumph. Here were two of the seven Sons of Fëanor, and perhaps the most powerful of them all. She was proud that she had properly identified the brothers and remained a stranger to them. She decided that it would be safe to tell them who she was, since they were all foes of Morgoth, so she let slip her cloak.
“I forgive your doubt,” she said.
The sudden revealing of her beauty under the sunlight was truly breathtaking. Her starry gray eyes fluttered in the risen sun, and the blue flowers in her hair gleamed and glistened. The wind lifted her raven dark locks. Her lips were slightly parted so that they caught a flash of teeth white as pearls. Her skin was ivory and without flaw. Her mantle was shimmering blue and inlaid with flowers and vines of cloth of gold. She wore no ornament save a golden chain that she had tucked into her bosom. Who could not gaze on that fair face without amaze? Curufin looked and stared for a long while, but Celegorm’s eyes never strayed. The perfume of her flower-twined hair, her lissome limbs, her lovely face, all struck him speechless, and he stood as though he had been chained there, as Beren had often felt.
“I am Lúthien Tinúviel, the princess of the Sindar, daughter of King Thingol and Melian the Maia.”
“Lúthien the Fair,” Celegorm blurted. “The minstrels sing that you are the fairest that shall ever be. I will not gainsay them.”
“I rather believe that my mother holds that title with better claim,” Lúthien smiled radiantly, though she was already luminous. “The minstrels also sing that you are the most handsome of Eldalië males.”
“Say not ‘the most handsome’, but rather ‘the prettiest’,” Curufin japed. “After all, Celegorm the Fair sounds more like a blushing maiden than a fierce warrior.”
“I fear that my brother tells it true, but at least I have good looks.”
Curufin bristled with indignation and Lúthien laughed.
“Huan, you have indeed brought me a strange doe,” Celegorm patted the hound’s head. “You shall be well rewarded. But the Princess spoke of the Oath and of King Finrod.” His smile faded, “Why is our loyalty in need of a test?”
“I come from Doriath, wandering a path far from the Wood-Elves’ sunny glades, where courage and hope grows faint. Finrod and his company are being held captive by Sauron.”
“How do you know of these things?” Curufin demanded.
She drew out the Ring of Barahir as evidence. It bore Finrod’s seal.
Once the brothers had confirmed that it was real, Celegorm said, “Fair lady, tell me all, for fortune has guided you well. You have found worthy friends.”
She explained to them her quest, of Beren in Doriath, her father’s ire, and the dreadful errand that he had decreed for him. Beren had told her he would go first to seek Finrod, his old ally and the brothers’ own lord, and those that had departed Nargothrond were now prisoners in the Isle. Last of all, she told them of her escape from her prison, leaving out the detail of her cloak. She spoke lightly, for she recalled the sunlight and moonlight in Doriath before Beren had been found and sought out, before she had been betrayed. The brothers gave her their full attention and purposely did not speak when they heard Beren and Finrod mentioned.
Lúthien hoped that they would agree to help her. She greatly doubted that she alone could face Sauron and survive. Many Elvin-lords had perished in challenge of that sorcerer, and he was said to be as cruel as his master, Morgoth, and was next to greatest in power.
“Please,” she said, breathless after speaking of Beren’s ill fate. “The Man that I mentioned is a man that I love dearly. At first, I would have gone alone, but if you aid me, then Sauron indeed shall be overthrown. And Beren was on a quest that my father had given him to reclaim a Silmaril. Once we have rescued him, we plan to move on to Angband and complete that quest. I promise that if you aid us, we shall give you the other two Silmarils; one for each of you.”
“And the third Silmaril shall fall into the hands of the Sindar?” Curufin’s eyes flashed. “Never!”
“Calm yourself, brother,” Celegorm’s voice had an edge to it. “Princess Lúthien, I beg your pardon on both of our behalves. Allow us to grant you our hospitality while we mull over your offer and all that you have told us. You must be famished and weary after wandering so in this place.”
“It has been many days since I have had proper food. Salted meats and stale bread is all that I have.”
“Then please dine with us. We came here hunting for wolves, but we have caught other game. If you were to come to our house, we would serve you better, my lady.
“I accept your invitation gladly, my lord,” Lúthien replied gratefully. “I thank you for your courtesy, but I must needs have an answer before nightfall. I cannot afford to remain idle.”
“I understand your need for haste, your highness.”
Celegorm stooped to receive her cloak for her, but she snatched it up and stowed it away before he could touch it. She feared it would evidence its power if he did so. The prince gave her a quizzical look, which she ignored. Then she entered the cave. All her fears and suspicions seemed to pass away with the wind. She was confident that she had the princes within her grasp. If they refused to aid her in the rescue of Finrod and Beren, they would be forever labeled as cravens and traitors. If they did not choose to join them afterwards in the Quest for the Silmaril, they would become Oathbreakers as well as Kinslayers.
She saw that there was a stream of water trickling down the cave walls, and the company of Elves had set up the lamps that the Noldor were famed for. They had been brought from Valinor, and no wind or rain could quench them. They shone with a clear blue light and lit up the hall of stone with light as bright as starlight. A party of hunters were there sitting around a merry fire, and they saw Lúthien and fell into dead silence. Celegorm introduced her, and the party of Elves stared at her as she sat down timidly amongst them. Then they welcomed her and offered her food and drink, which she took graciously. She was not so famished or dreadfully thirsty, for she traveled with lembas. She did not wish to refuse hospitality, however, and even lembas could grow stale upon the palate on long journeys. The Elves spoke with her and were very cheerful, but she sat apart from them so that the brothers could join her.
Lúthien had expected the two princes to sit with her, as is the custom of Elves, even amongst royalty, but they wandered far from those that sat there. They entered a side cave to debate with Huan trudging after them. The side cave was circular in shape and could be blocked from without with a large stone. The floor was damp, so Celegorm lay down cloaks for them to sit upon. They had one lamp between them, and it lit the cave with an eerie blue light.
“Celegorm, you know this is madness,” Curufin rushed to begin.
“Quiet! I want to question Huan first.”
The Wolf-Hound stood. Huan could understand all speech. He was no ordinary beast. All of the Eldar could understand much of animals’ emotions and behavioral patterns, but Celegorm, as a boy in Valinor, learned to communicate with animals especially well. Oromë had given Huan to Celegorm as a pup and was trained to understand the speech of hounds. When he was finished questioning him, he sent Huan away and turned to his brother.
“The girl truly is alone,” Celegorm told him. “Huan found her nearly cornered by wolves. Normally, he would have left her to her own devices, but he likes her scent. She spoke of being in need. Huan decided that I might be able to help her and so he brought her to me. He knew not her name.”
“And so now you are actually considering her offer? We have been hunting for three days now, and though we have taken many a head of wolves, we did not win any news of Finrod until this lovely maid came to us. Now we know why Sauron's creatures are prowling here. She has given us invaluable information, but we cannot help her,” Curufin was saying.
“I must consider what we must do. The girl has us in a tight spot,” Celegorm answered. “If we refuse, we disgrace ourselves. She will send word to her father of our location, or worse, she will send word to Orodreth who rules as steward in Finrod’s absence. He will seize such a chance to drive us forever from Nargothrond and strip our rights to the throne, if ever we had any.”
“But if we agree, we will surely fail! If winning the Silmarils back were as easy as the Princess says, we would not be Kinslayers. We will all be given to the Balrogs and slain.”
“Do the Sons of Fëanor have the strength to storm the reformed Minis Tirith? I think not. We would only arouse Morgoth into wrath! We cannot assail Morgoth or even Sauron until all of the Eldar are united into one massive force and under our command and only then,” Celegorm agreed. “And if we attempt anything before that, we will fail.”
“Even if we had the desire to aid them, those she wishes to save are beyond hope of rescue. Finrod is likely dead by now,” Curufin said. “And if not, it is only a matter of time. Let him rot. He is not our king anymore. He was once great and powerful, but now that he has become so fond of Men, he has grown soft. The human Beren can die as well. He is nothing.”
“We might have broken allegiance to Finrod, but he is one of our kin. It is also true that he was more timid than wise, but I shall mourn for him. We cannot aid Finrod any longer. His fate is not ours to prevent nor is Beren‘s. But the mortal is not nothing to the Princess.”
Curufin had no reply.
“There is another matter that you have chosen to over-look, brother, that may prove to be the downfall of the Eldalië,” Celegorm reminded his younger brother.
“What might that be?”
“The Princess Lúthien Tinúviel. Do you suppose if we refuse her, she will continue on alone?”
“She told us herself that King Thingol locked her away in an attempt to stop her. She defied her own father. Why would she hesitate to defy us as well?”
“At least that means she cannot report us to Thingol without risking being shoved into her prison again. She is fierce, and to find one like her among the Sindar is rare. Seems to me quite a pitiable thing that their maids are more intrepid than their males. She would accept our aid gratefully, but she will continue on with it or without it.”
“I am afraid our rejection would anger her and she would send word to Orodreth. We cannot simply allow her to walk away.”
“Perhaps we can talk some sanity into her?”
“She will take her leave of us once we try to dissuade her.”
Celegorm let out a sharp breath, “She would be a priceless prisoner; fairest maiden and only heir of the Sindar. Through her, Morgoth could learn how to assault the Hidden Kingdom of Doriath. Through her, he might dominate the whole of Beleriand. We cannot let that be! We must not let that be.”
“You think you could stop her?”
“I care not for the Sindar,” Celegorm admitted. “I have often thought that their destruction would be an improvement to this world. They have done nothing to aid the Noldor in this war, hiding away in their caverns like moles. They have accused us of trying to usurp their lands, yet in all these lands we found little else but Orcs and Wargs. They had burned and pilfered all the goods. But I would be grieved if such a fair maid was taken prisoner and tormented. Too many of the Eldar have suffered the fate of thralldom, and the Princess is too beautiful, too beloved of the Eldar to lose…”
Curufin studied his brother closely. Celegorm and Curufin understood one another remarkably well. They were brothers, and they were inseparable. When they were boys, they could tell what the other was thinking as though they were twins like their younger brothers Amrod and Amras. But Curufin could not understand why his brother was suddenly full of compassion for this young Elvin-maid, especially when she was Beren's lover and would have the Silmarils laid amongst the vaults of Menegroth. Celegorm had no interest in the Sindar either; he had just proven so with his speech, for he thought them cowards when it came to open war with Morgoth. This was, of course, not true. The Sindar dealt with the Enemy in their own ways, playing a different part in the unceasing war. Curufin was concerned, and he reached into his thought.
Celegorm strayed his glance towards the light of the lamp and away from his brother deliberately. Curufin knitted his eyebrows, a little annoyed and angry that his brother was drawing away from him. But then, a sudden light came over him, and he knew now what Celegorm was truly feeling. Then he burst out laughing.
“Have you fallen for the girl?” he snorted.
Celegorm gave him a piercing glance and still guarded his thoughts.
“Hail and well met at last!” Curufin slapped him on the back. “Ah, this is truly exciting, but you have the most remarkable timing! After all these years, you choose to fall in love now. Your plum is plucked, I fear. The girl’s heart belongs to that vile mortal Beren, and her father has likely filled her pretty little head with tales of how detestable the Sons of Fëanor are. This will only complicate matters that have never been simple.”
Celegorm frowned and said crossly, “Please do not mock me. I could not foresee this, and I cannot change it. Such a thing can happen after several years or every several thousand years!”
“I would never mock you. So, you love her? Tell me, Celegorm, how many years have you walked alone?”
“I suppose it has been too long,” Celegorm said and then spoke very passionately. “That is why I cannot risk losing her! But she has been tied to that mortal coil somehow, and she seeks to follow him into the pits of the Isle! Lúthien is the fairest of all the maidens I have ever laid eyes on, and she has a fire within her such as I have only seen once before, and I thought that fire had died along with the spirit.”
“A fire?”
“Yes. That fire is like our cousin’s Aredhel Ar-Fenial.”
Aredhel Ar-Fenial was the sister of King Turgon of Gondolin, the last of the Three Hidden Kingdoms. Aredhel was the youngest of her siblings and took after her uncle Fëanor rather than her own father. She had dark hair, not golden, and she was in many ways fiercer than her two brothers. In Valinor, she had been Celegorm’s favorite playmate. She did everything the boys did and often bested them in riding, swimming, racing, and stone throwing. She became a huntress and swore she would never wed. Despite her misgivings, she admitted to Celegorm that he was the only boy she thought handsome and her equal. Celegorm held her in high regard and even preferred her company to Curufin’s. If the two were not cousins, they may have wed and been happy. But the Eldar did not wed so close of kin. However that might be, Fëanor hated his half brothers and all their children. He would not approve of such a marriage. In the Darkening of Valinor and after the Kinslaying, Fëanor’s sons and the children of Indis became estranged forever. Aredhel was lost seeking Himlad to visit Celegorm and was ensnared by Eol the Dark Elf. She bore a son named Meaglin. When her son was old enough, they fled from Eol’s tyranny to Gondolin. Eol pursued them both and attempted to throw a poisoned spear at his son to claim him forever. But Aredhel sprang before it, saving her son but condemning her own life. Eol was executed, and Meaglin was now a mighty prince. Celegorm had wept when he heard the news of Aredhel’s murder.
“Lúthien could be the daughter Aredhel never had,” Celegorm said softly to himself. “She is just as bold, just as sharp-witted. She is quick and graceful. She might be just as good a huntress as Aredhel was. And she is even more beautiful . . .”
Curufin heard his words and answered, “Yes. But our cousin was also renowned for her stubbornness and her great desire for adventure, no matter how perilous. It only landed her into trouble and misery. If Lúthien possesses even one of those virtues, I doubt you could persuade her against continuing her quest! No force in heaven or hell ever could!”
“Of course, I know that the circumstances are all very complex,” Celegorm said. “I am afraid that we have entangled ourselves into too many great matters. King Finrod for one, the threat to our oath, and now Lúthien and the prickly King of the Sindar! But it may be fortunate that Lúthien has come to us in her need. And if my feeling is aright, it was meant to be.”
“You have the most horrible timing, Celegorm!”
“Lúthien does not fathom how much we know. She trusts us for the moment. But what shall we do about her? It would be disastrous to our race if she were taken by the Enemy.”
“I propose that we sell her back to her father. She will be safe in Doriath, and the Gray-mantle would be grateful. Perhaps if you put your charms to good use, Thingol will reward you the hand of his daughter.”
This notion was so fantastical that Celegorm laughed outright so that the cavern echoed with his voice.
“Thingol grant me the hand of his only daughter and heir? I would like to entertain that thought,” he said, grinning. “But I am afraid that is all that it is. The Gray-mantle has heard about our history. It would take a great deal of convincing for him to unlearn what he has learned of us. One good deed cannot undo all the others we have done. Thingol would only find harsher means of safeguarding his daughter and enforcing his borders. He would thank me for returning his daughter safely, but he would not love me for it. He might be willing to overlook our trespass, nothing more. The Sindar would say I was paying them with their own coin. Thingol’s scouts would likely have discovered Lúthien eventually without our intervention. No. I will not send her back to her father. There would be no reward, and she would see that as betrayal. She does not desire to return to Doriath after the injury Thingol caused her.”
“And you shall soon be licking at the wounds that she shall give you!”
“I will not send her back to her father!”
“It would be more fortunate to us if we did. We would not become ‘entangled’ as you put it.”
“Thingol will likely make another match for the girl. Rumor has it that he was hoping to present her to Finrod.”
“Finrod is dead and Lúthien is not our responsibility. But I am not the elder in this matter, and it is not I that love her. She is not my problem! You are my elder, you are the one that has fallen for her, it was your hound that discovered her, and you are the one that she came for! Therefore, she is your burden not mine.”
“And I shall endure her. She may be more tolerable than you, my dearest brother,” Celegorm said.
Curufin only laughed and said, “But is she worth troubling over, Celegorm?”
“Did you really look at her, Curufin?”
“Of course I did. I was as spellbound as you were the first moment she revealed herself. Very well,” Curufin sighed. “I cannot dissuade you.”
“You must aid me now to save Lúthien. Will you help me for the sake of brotherhood?”
Curufin did not answer at once, but at last he said, “I will.”
They shook hands.
“Celegorm, with Finrod dead, you could become King,” Curufin said. “Orodreth is weak. Meadhros is a broken mass, Maglor lives for his harp. You are the practical choice.”
“We must convince the people of that first.”
“How?”
Celegorm sat, weighing options. He wondered how long Lúthien had been waiting. Then suddenly he had it. It was all so clear.
“The Princess is the key,” he said quietly. “She is the answer to everything.”
“Go on,” Curufin urged.
“Lúthien is heiress of the Sindar. This we know,” Celegorm began.
The Eldar did not choose their heirs discriminately. The first-born was not necessarily the successor. Neither was it always the boy that overpowered the girl. An example of such a case was that of Fëanor. When he was murdered, the crown did not pass to any of his sons, as would be expected. Instead, it passed to his half brother and his children. Thingol was not required to name Lúthien his heir. In a normal monarchy, Thingol’s all-male nephew Celeborn would have inherited the throne before Lúthien.
The King chose his heir, but there was never a case in which anyone outside of the royal family was crowned. The people chose the first kings, and the genes of that great leader naturally passed on to their descendants, some more than others. That is why the Royal Families prized their children so much and strived to have many, which was usually no more than two or three. Fëanor’s seven sons were quite exceptional. Elves were not expected to die suddenly, but many of the Elder Kings died horrible deaths in battle, and to ensure the uncertain future, the King and Queen of a large nation studied their children judiciously and made the pivotal decision as to which child could bear the responsibility of a throne and inspire their people with compassion and wisdom. A hard choice indeed, for Fëanor’s father made the unfortunate decision to pass his crown on to his eldest because he was so dear to his heart rather than pass the throne on to one of his other sons. Much trouble might have been saved if this were so.
“We cannot refuse Lúthien, nor can we accept her offer,” Celegorm said. “We cannot send her away or simply let her go. We must take her with us.”
“How?”
“We can persuade her to come with us to Nargothrond, and there we must keep her. That way, she will be safe and become our hostage. I will urge Thingol to grant me permission to wed her. It would be a great source of power if I were to wed Thingol Gray-mantle’s daughter. We need him as an ally, and the union between Lúthien and I may make him submit to our ways. The people love her and will hail me as Lúthien’s savior. They will want her as their Queen, and I shall be crowned her consort. We shall become King and Queen of the Noldor, and through Lúthien, all of the Elf-Kingdoms will be united in our name.”
Curufin was impressed but doubtful, “How will you convince Thingol?”
“I shall list all of the fine qualities I possess. I will promise to always love and protect his precious, and I can promise him three Silmarils where Beren only promised one. I shall present them to him once I have also rid him of Morgoth forever, but I shall never give them to him.”
“What if he still refuses?”
“I will persuade him.”
“What of the people? How will you convince them you mean the girl no harm?”
“I will convince them I imprison Lúthien for her own sake. Her quest is madness and her father is a tyrant. I am simply a fool in love trying to protect the fragile maiden. The common people love such selflessness.”
“And how will we keep the Princess ‘safe’? She will not become a hostage or a willing bride happily. I am afraid that we must be strong with her and not dawdle with her. We may indeed have to use force on the princess. Would you set her in bonds if you had to?”
“I hope that I shall not have the responsibility to do that. But if that is what must be done, then I shall be willing to do so. I would be very reluctant, but in the end, I would probably have no other choice. I tell you now, Curufin,” he leaned towards his brother and spoke sternly, “that it shall be so. There shall be no bondage until there is no other option!”
Celegorm did not want to imagine putting Lúthien in bonds.
“Very well. How do you intend to keep her without binding her?”
“She will not be aware she is a hostage at first. We shall convince her to come with us to Nargothrond. We can tell her we wish to rest before such a perilous journey and must wait to gather all of our strength. Our brothers will wish to recapture the Silmarils as well. They swore the Oath. We shall treat her as an honored guest. The people will see that she came willingly and will support our case more. We shall delay the quest, and delay the quest, and delay the quest. We shall delay it as long as we possibly can. By the time she realizes that we never intend to leave, hopefully we shall have Thingol’s reply or a confirmation that Finrod and Beren are dead. Then I shall crown Lúthien Queen.”
“We must take her weapons as soon as we arrive with a promise to return them. Then we should melt down the dagger and snap her staff in half.”
Celegorm laughed again, “The dagger we shall take, but not the staff. The staff is no proper weapon, my crafty brother. Lúthien is the daughter of Melian in truth. The staff is nothing more than a wooden stick. She has another weapon.”
“What is that? Her bright eyes?”
“Huan told me something very interesting when he gave me his account. She feared he was a savage beast, but she did not point her staff at him and make a gesture or speak a word. She did not even try to strike him with it. Instead, she threw her shadowy cloak over his eyes and was amazed when it had no effect upon him. Her cloak is her weapon.”
“How clever. A perfect weapon for a female,” Curufin snorted. “I should have noticed when she would not allow you to touch the cloak, yet she did not stint at the thought of her staff being so handled. We must take it from her.”
“Huan is not certain what the cloak does.”
“She wears it like casual clothing. It is not likely to be poisoned.”
“Nevertheless, we must be careful.”
******
Once Lúthien had finished eating, she stroked the great Wolf-Hound absentmindedly, waiting for the princes to come to a decision. At last, the brothers returned from the side cave and not a moment too soon. The sun was hanging low in the sky, and sun shy animals were beginning to stir. There would be less wolves prowling about, but traveling by night still had its dangers. Lúthien had never feared the darkness before, but already her mind was changing somewhat. The world was far different outside of the Girdle when the sun set.
One of the princes beckoned to Lúthien. She sat down beside Celegorm, followed by Huan, who was eager to know their answer. Neither brother said a word. They took some food and wine for themselves, and Lúthien welcomed a second helping. She wolfed it down, and she knew that she must look ridiculous. She saw that the brothers were watching her and she set her plate and bottle aside.
“Pardon me,” she said, a little embarrassed. “I am afraid I have not eaten for a long while and I am not accustomed to long fasts.”
“We know what it is like to be hungry, Lúthien,” Curufin answered.
“But now is not the time for food. My brother and I have reached our decision,” Celegorm announced, pushing away his own plate.
Lúthien held her breath and hoped against hope. There was a dead silence in which she hardly breathed. She prepared herself for another rejection or for some salvation.
“We have reached our decision, and we have agreed to aid you. Not only is your plea desperate and sincere, but it is also a worthy one. After all, my brother and I do not hate Sauron any less than his own master, of whom I shall not speak. For a fair maiden such as you, we shall also aid you if ever you or your people need us in the future. And may there be friendship between the Noldor and the Sindar again.”
Lúthien smiled and breathed again. Her happiness at this was so great that it was all she could do not to jump from the floor and whoop and holler. The other hunters began speaking to one and then another, although they themselves did not understand the Great Ones’ matters. Such an alliance seemed unlikely to them.
Celegorm smiled at Lúthien’s obvious joy. Then he kissed her hand, making her blush, and knowing she had blushed made her color even more. She knew it was quite childish, but his tenderness made her feel quite awkward. When she looked into his eyes, she found herself wondering many things.
He has seen things that I have never dreamed of, she thought. And he is as old as I am, not a pup as Beren is. The years have not touched him, but have only made him more beautiful. And he has power and charm that I will never have. I merely make hearts flutter, he leads men into battle and victory. If anyone possesses the power to aid me in my quest, it must be him.
“Thank you,” she said. “I know that I have nothing to give you but my gratitude, but I shall make sure that you are well rewarded for your help in these matters. You have only to name it, lord, and you shall have it. That is my solemn vow. I never hoped to find such powerful and honorable friends in the Wilderness.”
Honorable! That is not a word I have heard used to describe me or my brothers, Celegorm thought.
He smiled and answered, “My brother and I are more than happy to aid you, Princess, but before we can set out on the Quest, we shall have to break off the hunt and return to Nargothrond to prepare for the journey. You can see that we have come hunting wolves and are no host prepared for battle. I would like you to see our city. I am sure you will grow to love it. I must summon my brothers so that they know we have a chance to regain our father’s stolen treasure. The Seven shall be joined as One, a thing that has not happened for centuries.”
At this request, Huan glanced at his Master with puzzlement and suspicion. Huan knew of Celegorm’s hate for mortals and his renouncement of King Finrod. Why should he aid in their rescue now? And why were they breaking off the hunt? He also caught the look in his master’s eyes and saw that they burned with some hot desire he did not understand. He concealed his suspicions for the moment.
“How long must we stay in Nargothrond?” Lúthien asked anxiously. “I would dearly love to see it. Since I was a child in Menegroth, I have heard tales of the Caves of Nargothrond and wished that I could see them, but I cannot delay there long. I am afraid that we have tarried overlong here.”
“That shall depend most likely upon how much time it takes us to prepare a small host of Elves to come on our journey. We shall wait in Nargothrond for my brothers.”
“A host of Elves? Nay, lord. I had planned to go before Sauron in a secret fashion. Gathering hosts and banners will attract the Enemy’s notice, and the perils afterwards shall be too great for those good fellows that serve you. As for your brothers, they all live in remote corners of Beleriand, and it shall take a few weeks for them to receive their summons and make their journey to Nargothrond. That will be like centuries to me and ages to Beren and Finrod! I would like to set out on the Quest as soon as we can.”
Celegorm laughed and answered, “If we are to be of any use to you, Princess, we must gather our strength. What other plan did you have in mind to rescue the captives?”
“Not with swords. Sauron will kill them both!”
“I am sure that my brothers shall find swifter ways to arrive. The Sons of Fëanor live by their oath.”
“Time is not something Sauron will give us freely.”
“When we arrive in Nargothrond, all shall be decided,” Celegorm promised.
Lúthien’s eyes were sad, but the sadness was tempered by the revelations of the last hour, and he could see that she would endure. “I will go to Nargothrond,” she said.
“I suppose I have little choice.”
“Good. It is settled then.”
“Not quite,” Lúthien said darkly. “The matter is only being set aside. I do not want war. No matter how many swords the Eldar gather, it will not be enough. Sauron is not as scrupulous as his Master. He does not know the value of his prisoners. Why else would he send forth so many wolves if not to ferret out the answer? The Enemy kills their captives. That was how they goaded the Noldor into war.”
“I was there,” Celegorm said solemnly. “You were not. Neither was your father King Thingol, whom boasts of the most numerous people of the Eldar.”
“Would our archers and mariners have saved that poor boy they killed?” Lúthien retorted. “I may not have been there, but the Sindar are not deaf or blind. We have had to defend our realm but we have never marched on Angband.”
“That has been noted.”
“Come now!” Curufin interrupted. “We can discuss this further when we arrive in Nargothrond.”
“And when we arrive there, I would like to make only one small request, your highnesses, please.”
“If you promise to come with us to Nargothrond, we shall in no doubt aid you in any way we can,” Celegorm bowed. “What is your request?”
“That I be given messengers to send to my family in Menegroth.”
There was a silence. Celegorm nodded with understanding. “I shall give you my swiftest messengers, my lady.”
“I thank you again, lord.”
“ No, lady, thank you for coming to us. The Silmarils shall soon be returned to our kindred, and our father avenged.”
Celegorm lifted a cup to her lips.
“Drink, Lady, and our alliance shall be established.”
Lúthien drank from the cup. The wine was oversweet and had a bitter aftertaste, but it was her lot. Then Celegorm drank from it ceremoniously,
“With this, I, Celegorm the Fair and my brother Curufin the Crafty do swear to be your guides and guardians. We shall protect you, fair Lúthien, from any Enemy. May Valinor bear witness to our oath and make us thrice cursed if we are false.”
Curufin stood up. “Shall I have the horses made ready?”
“Yes. And tell the party the news. They are to continue the hunt with Huan until the wood is cleared of wolves. Then they may return home.”
Huan became even more apprehensive. He whimpered, and Celegorm understood what the hound was meaning to say.
“No, Huan. You cannot come with us. They will have need of you here. There are still many wolves in these woods. We cannot completely dash the hunt, but Princess Lúthien has need of haste, as she has stated.”
Huan growled.
“You did find Lúthien first. I understand that you would see her through her journey. But you are a Wolfhound, not a watch dog.”
Huan’s hair stood on end and he growled.
“You must pardon me, but you must cease to be troubled by such political affairs.”
Lúthien watched, fascinated, as Celegorm spoke to the hound, and how Huan seemed to react to his words with evident intellect.
“Does he truly speak to you?” Lúthien asked.
“Only when he wants to be a nuisance to me,” Celegorm answered, smiling with jovial humor.
Huan made a noise in his throat and sat by Lúthien’s side instead of his master’s. Celegorm shook his head.
“He is a prideful creature and he often takes my words to heart when he should not.”
“He is quite a marvelous creature, and he saved me from Sauron’s wolves. How did you come by him, anyway? If he can speak to you in such a way, he must be a very special animal indeed!”
“He was given to me by Oromë the Vala to raise and train. I have done so, and now I am proud to name him the greatest hunter and warrior among all the beasts of Middle-Earth.”
Lúthien cast Huan a respectful glance. He threw out his chest with pride. Then she laughed.
“It seems that he favors your company over mine, Lúthien,” Celegorm chuckled. That is more extraordinary than you think, Princess. You truly are an enchantress. Huan usually does not warm up to people so quickly. I am his master, so he is very faithful to me. That is somewhat of an obligation. But if anyone besides myself dares to approach him, they do so at their own risk. He growls and bars his teeth to warn them, and if they are too bold, he could easily tear their throat out. He can be very dangerous. It proves that you have a knack with animals. Your beauty could enchant anyone or anything.”
Lúthien was used to such flattery, but still, she could not suppress a smile, and it was not her nature to hide her joy, but rather to swallow her bitterness.
“Your lands are in Himlad, and that is many leagues from here.”
“My brother and I have dwelt in Nargothrond for many years. Himlad is a desolate land now. Unlike you Sindarin Elves, my people must defend themselves against evils with arms. We cannot afford such elaborate subtleties like the Girdle of Melian or rely on our underground caverns to conceal us forever. And now he sends wolves into Nargothrond and Doriath. Sauron seems to believe that the Noldor would go to open war with him. We have enough on our hands with his master’s war, and we have already faced much loss in the Battle of Bragollach. A war with Sauron would not be popular after there has been so much bloodshed previously.”
“Well, I could tell you my theory. Sauron must not know the worth of the prisoners he keeps. He has become suspicious. We shall confirm his worst suspicions,” Lúthien said grimly.
Once again, Celegorm was pleasantly surprised. Lúthien spoke of a great ambition, something he admired in a maiden or any Elf. But, of course, she had more endowments beneath the soft, luminescent skin, and a sharp wit that made her worthy of her title: Heiress to the throne of the Sindar.
“Everything is ready, Celegorm,” Curufin called from outside.
“Then we shall be on our way.”
Lúthien arose. Huan whimpered and followed after her. Celegorm let out a command, and he sat obediently. Lúthien patted him and kissed the top of his head in farewell.
“Thank you, Huan,” she whispered. “You have provided me with a powerful ally, and you saved me. I hope to see you again.”
Huan watched Lúthien go, suspicion continuing to gnaw at his senses. Curufin led Celegorm and Lúthien towards the horses. Celegorm’s was a black warhorse; Curufin’s a chestnut bay. They were unharnessed while the rest of the horses wore bridles and bits. Only the Noldoli that had never seen Valinor rode their horses in Man-fashion, as it was called. The Sindar and the Laquendi trained their mounts to respond to voice and touch. The Teleri rode only their ships.
“This is my horse Thalion. He shall bear you and I. I am sure he will not grudge it of me later. You must be light as a feather. Do you mind riding with me on my steed? I see that you have no horse, and we do not have any more to spare.”
“No. I do not mind at all.”
Celegorm held out his hand for her to take. She took it, and he pulled her up in front of him on is horse.
“Are you prepared?”
“I was ready eons ago, but you and your brother were having small talk while I waited.”
“Well, you must pardon me if I left you impatient, Princess, but my brother and I were discussing other matters. Matters that would only bore you and take far too much precious time to explain, little one,” he answered.
She snickered and muttered, “Little one…”
Celegorm laughed and gave his horse a kick. She clutched his shoulders as the horses began at full gallop. Curufin’s shout roused the Wolf-Hound. He sat before the mouth of the cave and let out a mournful howl. They heard his voice and a chill went down her spine.
“Do not fear wolves, your highness,” Celegorm said. “They know Huan’s voice and tremble.”
“It is not wolves, I fear, my lord. I fear time.”
And so the webs of deceit were sown, and by no sign did the brothers hint to Lúthien that they had known all along of the Quest, nor that it was a matter that touched them near.