Chapter 20: The Red Maw

Twenty
The Red Maw

Lúthien and Beren ran back to the labyrinth in a panic flight. They were without disguise, Lúthien was terribly weakened, and their only weapon was Beren’s sword. They both feared for their lives. They wanted to escape while they had the chance. As they crossed the bridge, it began to collapse behind them.
“Morgoth has awoken, and so has his wrath seven-fold!” Lúthien wailed.
“You sure got his attention!”
Beren stepped off the bridge. Lúthien followed after, barely able to keep pace with him, but then, the bridge below her feet broke asunder. She almost fell to her death, but Beren caught her by the hand and hauled her up onto solid ground, even though he almost fell along with her. Then they heard the roars and cries of beasts and monsters, and they saw that there were hosts of Men on the other side of the bridge.
Beren suddenly laughed and said, “Well, it looks like we all make mistakes, and the greater you are, the greater your mistakes! They are cut off from us!”
“And almost killed us both!”
As Lúthien said this, a few trolls threw down a large, stone slab that replaced the bridge. Lúthien clenched her jaw and sighed, and Beren's mouth gaped open.
“Run!” she said out of the corner of her mouth.
They ran through the tunnels blindly. They could not go the way they had come. They must find a faster way. Because they did not know where they were going, neither did their pursuers. It was good fortune that led them back out onto the surface of the earth. They stepped out from the gate of Angband. They had the Silmaril and that was all they needed. They had seen enough of Angband to last a lifetime. Lúthien knew that she would never forget the screams of the Elves in their torment. They rang in her ears even now. Neither would she be able to drive out Anglos and his transformation from her memory nor Morgoth’s terrible face.
Lúthien was spent. She collapsed upon the ground, incapable of going any further. Beren stopped and beckoned to her. He still had some strength left, and he knew that they had not truly escaped yet. He had not realized until now that they probably may never outrun hosts of armies on foot.
“Come, Tinúviel,” Beren said, taking her hand in order to lift her to her feet. “We cannot linger! Morgoth might send his armies in pursuit!”
“I-I cannot,” she panted. “I have never been so exhausted in all my life!”
“Elves are never tired. Come on!”
Lúthien could not stand.
“All right then. You leave me no choice. I will have to carry you.”
He raised her to her feet and into his arms but she squirmed from him.
“Where is the Silmaril? Do you still have it?”
Beren held it in his hand and they both gazed upon the divine jewel for a moment. They gaped at its beauty, for it shone brighter than starlight.
That was when Carchoroth awoke, and he recognized them immediately, but they did not realize he was there. In fact, they had almost forgotten about him until he snarled and sprang at them.
Beren pocketed the Silmaril and put himself before Lúthien as before. But Carchoroth cast him aside and snatched up Lúthien. He pulled her up to his face. He had lifted her clean off of the ground. She screamed, but she did not struggle. She knew it would be useless. Her strength had wholly left her, and Carchoroth had strength far greater than she knew. He had incalculable strength.
“Going somewhere, beautiful?” he said in her ear. “I have you.”
“No you do not!” Lúthien cried and struggled then.
She squirmed about and found it all futile. Carchoroth was much too strong, and he pulled her head back by her hair.
“I can almost taste your blood,” he whispered.
“Leave her alone!”
Beren tried to defend Lúthien, but the wolf struck him. He fell backwards as blindness and a loss of other senses overtook him. Lúthien screamed for him and Carchoroth showed her his fangs to signal for silence.
“Let me go!” she begged.
“Did you think that your little magics would keep me asleep forever! I am Carchoroth who sleeps not! Did you think that you could escape from Angband so easily?”
“Put me down!” she cried.
“You seemed so anxious to enter Angband moments ago,” Carchoroth began shaking her violently. “Why so eager to leave it now? I do not see any scars or wounds on you at all!”
“The scars are upon my heart and they are deep,” Lúthien answered.
Carchoroth cast a glance at Beren and said, “He should be cast into the Thrall Vaults at once! Ah, I see that you have seen them for yourself. The look in those bright eyes of yours has changed, little one! You saw the pits themselves, eh? So, have you tasted enough of Angband to last a lifetime? A few ages? Tell me what you saw. Did you learn the truth about the nature of Orcs? Tell me how they screamed and begged for mercy.”
“PUT ME DOWN!” she bellowed.
“As you wish!”
He threw her onto the ground. He threw her with such force that the wind was knocked out of her, and dust flew up into the air in a cloud. Carchoroth stood over her, sneering as she coughed, gasped for air, and stared helplessly up at him. She reached for Beren who still had not recovered from the blow. She raised up her hand and tried to gather up all the magic she had left, but there simply was not enough to stall the wolf. Carchoroth laughed.
“No one escapes from Angband after they have had their first taste of it,” he told her. “And I shall see to that.”
Then he sang of torture and thralldom. Carchoroth licked his fangs. He was hungry for her blood.
“Morgoth might want you alive, but he will understand if I took a little something for my own. He will understand, for I am his favored pet.”
“He will punish you greatly!”
“What is it that the people love about you so much, Lúthien? Is it that pretty face of yours?”
“No!”
Carchoroth took her firmly by the chin. Then he raised his claws and prepared to drag them down her face.
“No!” she screamed. “No, please! Please! Not my face! Not my face!”
“No,” he said. “Who would dare defile such a pretty face?”
Without warning, he lunged at her throat. Morgoth had raked the skin of her throat as he fell, leaving parallel slashes that dripped blood. She let out a startled cry, fearing the bite of his fangs which were instantly venomous and like daggers, but he lapped at the wounds already made. She feared that if she struggled, she may cause him to rip through her arteries and tear open her throat. Then he began to draw one, long, slow, and terrible draught. Her vision became distorted so that all she could see was a red blur before her eyes, and then a great darkness. She gasped and trembled as he drained her of blood and vitality. She was too weak to move or cry out.
Suddenly Carchoroth began to sway on his feet as though drunk. His world was beginning to grow dark with hers. Her blood was not Elf-blood, he remembered. Hers was the blood of a Half-Maia. Too much would surely intoxicate him.
“No one harms Tinúviel, my love,” said a voice, and Carchoroth dropped Lúthien in his surprise. “And doing so is payable by death, and I shall see to that.”
Then Beren suddenly sprang in front of Lúthien. He held up the Silmaril. The light that shined forth from it almost blinded Carchoroth and stung at his eyes, and he was fearful of Beren, for the light of the Silmaril endured in him so that he shone like the sun and seemed more than a mortal man. Carchoroth backed away, shielding his eyes and snarling angrily. Lúthien reached up and held Beren's other hand.
“No, Beren!” she cried feebly, and she was ghastly pale. “Stand back! You cannot understand what Carchoroth is!”
“I die before you do.”
Carchoroth snapped at Beren.
“Step away from me and my victim, mortal!” he commanded. “She is mine! Her blood is beautiful. It is like fire and sweeter than honey on my tongue. You shall not withhold from me such blood!”
“You will not touch my beloved! Take me instead!”
Fool! I can no longer stomach mortal blood! Yours is vile and bitter while her blood is liquid light! Now, unless you have the desire to die an agonizing death, you shall step out of the way and you may end your days as a thrall! I will cut you down and tear you limb from limb!”
“See here!” Beren announced. “This is the holy jewel that was wrought long ago by Fëanor using the light of Valinor. You take another step towards Tinúviel and I, and I shall allow the Silmaril to do its work. Now get ye gone, demon, lest the holy jewel destroy you.”
“What? Another step?” Carchoroth let out a sinister laugh, and then his voice changed. “Are you threatening me now? Another step, you say? YOU MEAN, WHEN I PUT ONE FOOT IN FRONT OF THE OTHER LIKE THIS?”
He was no longer afraid of the light, and his pride was very great, and moreover, he had developed a taste for Lúthien’s blood and was determined to have it. He opened his jaws and sprang a whole yard. Then he bit off Beren's hand to the wrist. Lúthien let out a scream.
“NOOOOOOO!!!!”
Beren sank to the ground in a swoon of pain. Lúthien cradled him in her arms. The Silmaril suddenly did not matter to her at all.
“Please stop!” Lúthien begged. “Your master shall want him alive!”
“I shall deal with you in a moment,” Carchoroth sneered at her.
He opened his jaws wider to finish Beren off, but then he felt an immense pain. The Silmaril that he had swallowed along with Beren's hand seemed to erupt into flame from within his throat to his stomach. The Silmarils were heavenly jewels so that anything evil that touched them they would burn. Carchoroth had not known that, or else he would have never swallowed it.
Now he let out an in-human and terrifying shriek of agony. The cry was so terrible that Lúthien screamed for her Elvish ears. She clapped a hand over them and still, the tortured cry rang in her ears and caused her ears to bleed. Never had he experienced so much pain. He let out another howl, just as startling and just as bone chilling. Then he ran off into the wastelands away from Angband, howling and howling towards the moon.
Lúthien shut her eyes tight and covered her ears until Carchoroth was no longer seen or heard. Then she held Beren to her. Tears flooded her eyes.
“Oh, no!” she sobbed. “Beren, please wake up.”
She shook him, but he did not wake. His wound was swelling. Carchoroth had unleashed the poison in his fangs upon him, and Lúthien sucked at the wound with her lips and spat out the poison. Hopefully, she was not too late. Then she used the very last of her power to staunch the wound and stop the bleeding. The only thing she could do for him now was pray.
Lúthien did not know how long they had been lying there. They still stood under the shadow of the Black Gate. Lúthien was filled with despair and could not stay her tears. Surely, she thought, Beren would die. No mortal could receive such a wound and be spared. The two lovers lay there and Beren did not wake.
There was still poison in her mouth, and she wondered if she should swallow it so that the two of them might die together in peace. It was then that there came a great storm of thunder and lightning. The peaks of Thangorodrim shuddered and a single horn rang out. The host of Angband had been awakened. She knew that she could not carry Beren away from the hosts of Angband and she could not flee herself unless she suddenly sprouted wings. She had no choice but to sit before the gate, cradling Beren in her arms, awaiting Morgoth's hosts to come and find them together. She wrapped her arms about him and let hot tears fall from her eyes upon his face. She knew what they would do to him.
I am sorry, Beren, she stroked his face. We have failed. The Quest has ended to the ruin of us all. May death come easy upon you, and may you not suffer the fate of thralldom and disillusion. Why did I bother to heal you? But I shall beg for death before I become his prisoner. I will always love you. Farewell, Beren.
She kissed him, for she had lost all her hope. She heard thunder again and realized it was not thunder. What she heard was the drums and horns of Morgoth's hosts and the sounds of their armor and metal clinking together.
The host stopped at the gate. Each eye was fixed upon her. They had expected to see an army of Elves, but all they saw was a young Elvin-maid sitting beside a wounded mortal man.
“Is the maiden a Valier perhaps?” asked one of the captains. “Is she Elbereth herself?”
“Nay. She is merely a child. She has no power.”
The captains rode forward, followed by an escort of Orcs. They stopped a few feet from Lúthien. She raised up Beren's sword in her hand, glad that Beren had attempted to make her a master of weaponry, but the sword was so heavy and she was so weak that the weight caused her to topple over and the captain halted and laughed.
“What a fierce shield-maiden!” he mocked.
The host laughed. Lúthien clutched at Beren.
“Throw down your weapon, highness,” the captain said. “You do not have anything to fear. After all, you have only stolen one of Morgoth's most prized possessions! That is no great crime!”
His host rang with laughter, but Lúthien did not put down the sword. There was such grimness in her eyes that the captain stopped laughing and looked away.
“The Man is to be cast into the Vaults,” he announced. “Morgoth shall kill him himself soon enough, on his own time. First, he is to be given to the care of the Balrogs. There is nothing sweeter than revenge!”
Five Orcs got down from their steeds and made towards Lúthien. They reached for Beren who stirred and groaned. She held fast to him. His stirring caused a frail hope to be lit within her. He was still alive, and as long as he was still alive, she still had a will to survive. Her will was stronger than her despair. She spit the poison that was in her mouth into the nearest Orc’s eyes, blinding him.
“No!” she screamed. “Leave us alone!”
The Orcs backed away for a moment, fearful of some other trick.
“Clever, She-Elf. But come now,” the captain said. “You are very pleasing. That is why Morgoth has requested for your company, but enough of jest! You must hand over the Silmaril.”
“That I cannot do, even if I was willing to hand it over.”
One of the men would have struck her with a whip but the captain stayed his hand and repeated, “Give us the Silmaril!”
“I do not have the Silmaril,” Lúthien answered with perfect truth. “Carchoroth has swallowed it.”
The host was stunned into dead silence, but the captain scowled.
“Not only are you thieves and rebels, but you are liars as well! But everything you know and what you have done will be forced from you somehow and you shall be punished in due time. Take the Man!”
They tore Beren from her arms. He called out for Lúthien in his slumber and she burst into tears. She fought, but the Orcs held her in place.
“What about the Elvin-woman?” they asked, and they ran their fingers through her hair.
“The Elvin-woman is to be brought to Morgoth's personal chambers! There is to be no bruising, or there shall be a few beheadings among us. Me in particular, so handle this prisoner with care!”
“No,” Lúthien moaned. “Vengeance shall come upon you! It may not be by our hands, but you shall pay for all that you have done to us and shall do!”
The Orcs began to drag Lúthien across the threshold of the gate. But they were suddenly swept into the air by some winged beast. She did not see what it was, and the host was startled and angry. The creature disappeared into the air as quickly as it had come, but soon enough, their captain came falling from the sky and hit the ground. He lay there, dead. Then a large creature sprang in front of Lúthien from the air with a shriek. She gasped and fell to the ground with surprise and fear and shut her eyes. She heard the thing shriek once more and a few more men seemed to be dead now.
“Retreat!” some of the host cried. “Retreat!”
Lúthien felt a claw on her shoulder and opened her eyes. The creature unfolded its wings, and it had a wingspan of thirty fathoms and had terrible claws. But it was no Balrog, nor a dragon, nor any such evil thing. It was one of the eagles of Manwë, lords of the air.
Lúthien dropped her sword in surprise, and the eagle cocked its head at her, beckoning her to climb on. Another swooped down and snatched Beren up into his talons and rocketed up into the sky. Then Lúthien did not hesitate. She plucked up the sword and climbed up onto the eagle's back and clutched at his feathers. Then her eagle flew up from the earth, its great wings flapping in the air.
The hosts of Morgoth picked up their bows and fired their arrows, but their aim was wild, and the eagles, as great a target as they were, eluded them and flew ever higher into the air until they had flown high above the dark storm clouds, and they were also flapping their wings with such speed that it outmatched the winds of the storm and the arrows seemed to move slowly in the air. Lightning flashed about them, and the thunder rang in Lúthien's ears, but suddenly they rose above the angry, swirling clouds…
It became harder to breathe, but the sky was now a crystal clear blue. It was quiet and serene. The sun, which had been hidden by the darkness and the storms was suddenly in her eyes and warmed her cold skin. Tears of joy were in her eyes. She had doubted for a while that she would ever see the sun again. She vowed from that moment on that she would walk about by day rather than by night, as much as she loved the starlight.
Lúthien was so exhausted that she buried her face from the harsh wind and cold air in the bird’s feathers and slept. A soft breeze was blowing upon her face and through her hair, which had come unbraided. When she awoke, she saw that they had lowered altitudes and passed through white clouds. As they passed through them, the air grew moist and chill, but Lúthien smiled when they did so. Flying was a very pleasant and calming experience. Below them lay the earth, much more friendly lands, and here and there, a creature or a figure would move along upon the grass. Angband was now far away.
Lúthien looked up at last, searching for Beren. There were five great eagles. Two of them were burden-bearers. The other three had distracted the host by carrying a few of them into the air and letting them fall to their deaths. She did not know any of these creatures and had never seen anything like them before.
For a while, she dared not to ask questions. She knew at least that eagles were ill-tempered and their talons were like spears and their beaks were as sharp as blades. Then she began to weep openly.
“Why do you weep, fair maiden?” her eagle asked her. “Are you frightened of heights? Would you prefer me to drop you again before the Gate of Angband and allow you to face those hosts?
“No!”
“Then what say you, Lúthien? You are safe.”
“How do you know my name? I do not know you, so why did you save Beren and I?”
“I was sent to keep watch over you two.”
“By whom? Did Manwë himself command you to do so?”
“Certainly not! The Valar do not give out orders so freely! I was informed of your plight by a good friend of mine. Have you ever heard of the Wolf-Hound of Valinor?”
“Huan?”
“So you do know him? Well, after he came into Doriath for some personal business, he sent for me. I have always been a friend of his, for he is a worthy creature, even if he is not a bird. He asked me to do him a favor on behalf of King Thingol. He asked me to be the guardian of two dear friends of his, since he has been recovering from battle-wounds. He and the King have been rather anxious and concerned about you and Beren. When Thingol heard that you escaped from Celegorm, he was afraid you would attempt the Quest. I began patrolling Angband and espied you at the gate. I did not expect for you to come back out, but you did. Huan was right when he told me that I did not know everything about all the creatures of Middle-Earth. Some surprise me still, and you hold me in awe!”
“And who are you?”
“My name is Thorondor, King of Eagles, and my people have been bitter enemies of Morgoth for years. Did you see Morgoth?”
“Yes,” Lúthien whispered, and she shuddered at the memory.
“Did you see the scars on his face?” Thorondor asked, chuckling.
“Yes. How do you know about that?”
“It was I that gave him those scars! What an honor it was! Ha, ha! Never have I had such pleasure like it! You found yourself a worthy friend, Lúthien.”
“You hold me grateful to the end of my days for saving us.”
“Well, if you are so grateful, why do you weep now?”
“Did you not see Carchoroth and the deadly wound he gave to Beren?”
“Oh, yes. There is not much that we can do about that. But unless I am terribly mistaken, he shall suffer it and live.”
“No,” Lúthien sobbed. “He is dying. Even now his life is burning out. Not only is it a horrible wound and certainly agonizing, but it is poisoned! He is going to die, I know it.”
“How can you be so sure, Lúthien?”
“No one can receive such a wound and live. I know that. I am not only the daughter of a Maia, but I am learned in healing. There is little chance for him. In fact, there is no chance at all.”
“But there is always hope, and hope goes beyond chance. Besides, his arm is not swollen. That would be the result of poison, would it not?”
Lúthien nodded.
“There, you see? And there is little blood loss. Your handiwork I suppose?”
“I did all that I could.”
“Then be comforted, Lúthien. At least you know now that you drew out the poison in time and saved him from bleeding to death.”
“Even so, it does not decrease the chances of his death very much. I cannot control life and death. It comes all too easily for one of his kin. Only the Valar can save him now.”
“Well, I shall say one thing: Do not underestimate Men! Besides, you look more far off than Beren himself! Are you ill? I fear for you!”
“There is no need.”
“Well, I do not think either of you can go much further tonight anyway. You both need rest after facing Angband. We shall stop at the most convenient place available and let you sleep.”
Lúthien did not say anything more. She was trembling from the cold, and she looked down upon the earth. The sun was near blinding her. She saw the Encircling Mountains. There, within the circle was the hill of Amon-Gwareth, and there she saw the White City. It was the fairest of all dwellings upon Middle-Earth, for Gondolin was comparable to the bright halls of Valinor. It shone bright in the sun so that its white walls exceeded all whiteness. She saw the smooth stairs and the great fountains.
Then Lúthien stayed her tears for a moment and gazed in wonder upon the city, and hope was sparked in her again. Thus it was that Lúthien looked upon Gondolin the Hidden Kingdom, and she alone among the Sindar and among most Men and even Elves upon Middle-Earth could say where the city lay.
******
Thorondor heard Lúthien gasp and said, “It is beautiful, is it not?”
“It is Gondolin! This is a great blessing! I have seen many wonders and had sorrow and joy, but never have I seen such beauty!” she answered.
“Yes. Fairest of all Elvin-craft I believe, and I help protect the skies about here from the Enemy. Yet I prefer living beauty. I am glad that I have saved the Eldar’s most precious beauty: Lúthien Tinúviel.”
“Thank you,” Lúthien said and then called for Beren. “Beren! Beren! You must see this! Look!”
There was no answer. Beren was still in his swoon.
“Now, now! Do not start weeping again! I have never known a princess to weep constantly!”
Still she wept, and when at last the eagles set them side by side, she fell to her hands and knees and tore at her hair in anguish, for Beren was still in the darkness of Carchoroth’s wound.
“Will he ever wake!” she cried. “Or will he die?”
“I wish we could help you, Lúthien,” Thorondor told her. “We will pray for you. Call for us at need! You must sleep. Tomorrow we shall bear you to wherever you command, Lady.”
Lúthien slept long, and Thorondor awoke her the next day.
“Is he awake yet?” she asked breathlessly.
“No, but we have brought food and we shall bear you away. Where shall we leave you?”
“Doriath,” Lúthien blurted out without a thought. “I want to go back home to Doriath.”
Thorondor nodded with understanding. Then the eagles flew into the air and brought them to Brethil.
“We shall leave you two now,” Thorondor said. “And what is this about the Silmaril?”
“Telling such a tale would take all night even if I spoke briefly,” Lúthien said wearily.
“Oh, how tempting! We eagles love tales, but I know all too well that you need your rest and repose.”
“Thank you,” Lúthien murmured to the eagle. “You saved both our lives.”
Thorondor burst out laughing and answered, “Even if Morgoth had cast you two to the Balrogs, you would have cut yourselves out of your bonds, fought off all of Hell's armies, and ran to safety!”
“We would have tried at least that,” Lúthien smiled.
“Farewell, Lúthien Tinúviel! If ever we meet again, allow me to hear your tale in full,” he said.
“Yes, we will if we have the chance.”
Thorondor flapped his wings and rose into the air and flew away leaving Lúthien alone to tend to Beren.
Beren remained in his swoon for many days, and Lúthien would not leave his side. With athelas leaves, she bathed his wound and would kiss him in his sleep. Each day, he only seemed to become worse. She prayed for his recovery. She knew that he was probably slipping from nightmare to nightmare, as Lúthien had with the Black Breath, or he could be in the wage of forgetfulness. If he woke, he may not recognize Lúthien at all, which greatly tormented her.
At last, Lúthien's hope began failing, and she sang mournfully by Beren's side, awaiting the moment that he took his last breath, but he awoke from a dream, and the first thing he did was call for her.
“Tinúviel! Ilúvatar Almighty, please do not let it be true! Do not let her be dead like my mother and father and my King!”
Lúthien sprang to her feet, so startled by Beren's sudden voice that she screamed. Then she wept with relief and joy and embraced him, and he her.
“I am here! I am here!” she cried.
“I cannot feel my hand.”
This caused Lúthien to burst into fresh tears.
“May I be thrice cursed, for I had lost all hope that you would ever wake!” she said.
“Then may I be cursed too, for I had thought you were dead,” Beren answered. “Where are we?”
“We are safe. Sh, Beren,” she tried to calm him.. “Sh, sh.”
“What happened? It is all such a blur!”
“We are safe.”
“Tinúviel, the Silmaril...” Beren searched his pockets and strained his memory. “We were at the Black Gate. I heard you screaming, and then he came with his face unmasked. He grabbed you and... No, wait. That was a dream!”
Lúthien was shivering at the mention of Morgoth.
“I remember now! I was holding the Silmaril in my hand when Carchoroth took it. Then he... bit off my hand. I think Carchoroth swallowed the Silmaril!”
Beren sprang to his feet, but Lúthien forced him to lie back down again.
“Hush, Beren. It is true,” she told him, “and Carchoroth is nowhere to be found. Not even the eagle scouts could discover him, for they delivered us from the hosts of Morgoth, and it is here, in the land of Brethil, that they bore us to. The Silmaril does not matter. We would have to search all of Beleriand to find him.”
“Then we must!”
“Are you mad!”
“But without it, your father will not believe our story. The Silmaril is the bride-price-”
Lúthien kissed him to silence him, and it did for a moment, but when she pulled away, he staggered on.
“Thingol will never-”
Lúthien kissed him again and he at last yielded and did not speak.
“You are right, Beren. We must face him. Something like that is-”
He kissed her.
“Inevitable,” Lúthien finished her sentence.
“Tinúviel?” Beren said as his kisses traveled along her cheek.
“Hm?” she said dreamily.
“Hush.”
Lúthien nodded as he kissed her lips again, but then she wrenched free of him and wept.
“What? What is it? Losing one hand is not all that bad. Really. As long as I have you-”
“Beren, we failed! We had the Silmaril and we lost it! We went through Hell for nothing!”
“No, Tinúviel,” Beren answered. “We both came out alive, and we humiliated the Evil One before his face and his Court. We did recapture a Silmaril, if for a brief while. We succeeded!”
“My Father will not allow us to marry unless you have the Silmaril.”
“Nonetheless, we shall return to Menegroth and challenge your father. Once he has heard our tale, he will have no choice but to let us alone!”
“Once you have recovered your strength. You are mortal and the wound you bear horrifies me.”
“It is better that one hand be thrown into the fires of Hell than your whole being, Beren said slyly. “Besides, I can learn to use my left hand as well as my right.”
“You still need rest. We shall have to return to Menegroth without a Silmaril, but I will not let my Father kill you or deny you to take my hand. He would have to kill me too to prevent that!”
“Whatever happens, whatever happens, Tinúviel,” Beren said, I want you to remember this: I know what I am doing!”