Chapter 21: The Quest is Unfulfilled

Twenty-One
The Quest is Unfulfilled

Beren and Lúthien had mixed feelings as they approached Menegroth. The wardens spotted them from a long way off and gave a great cry of exultation. Mablung sprang out to greet them, astonished and overjoyed.
“Your highness, you have returned!” he said, having nothing else to say looking uncertainly at Beren. “I am the last of the lords left in Doriath. The king sent everyone else to search for you! What has happened to you?”
“I cannot answer questions just yet. Is Menegroth besot?”
“Besot?”
“My father was threatening war upon the Noldor when I was captive. We heard from the Enemy’s lips that a host of Orcs were sent to seek out Menegroth, led by a powerful Orc named Boldog. Is the city at peace?”
“Orodreth begged for peace once Celegorm was ousted and King Thingol heard the Noldor’s pleas. No action was taken against them, and none against us. As for Boldog, he never even reached the borders of Doriath. The Laquendi espied them traveling the Mouths of Sirion. They harassed them day and night with traps and with their poisoned darts. No one knows the woods more than a Green Elf, and they have command of the beasts and trees, it is said, more so than any of the Sindar. They attacked in little bands at first until the Orcs revealed their true purpose. Then they gathered up all their forces and there was a great battle which ended when Boldog fell and his host fled in fear only to be hunted down later.”
“Were there casualties?”
“There was some, but Boldog lost ten men for every one of ours. It was perfect terrain for the Laquendi, and the Orc host was not enormous. They did not expect that the Laquendi would be anything more than a thorn in their side and their mission was to enter Menegroth and sneak out with their prize, begging your pardon princess, and flee.”
Lúthien was relieved. “What of my father?”
“The king has been locking himself away. Few of us have seen him in the past few months. He has borne it very ill since you left. When we received messages from prince Celegorm telling us that he had found you in the wilderness and was keeping you under safe guard, Thingol was comforted for a little while. When I entered Nargothrond as a spy, I found that you had escaped from there too. Then he returned to his chambers and has never left again.”
Lúthien felt a pang of guilt at these words and then she asked, “And what of my Mother, the queen?”
“She has been locking herself away with him.”
“Beren and I would see them immediately.”
A warden spoke up, “Should we not take the Man into custody? Thingol said he was not to enter Doriath until…”
Beren and Lúthien turned their eyes upon him slowly in perfect unison and fixed him with the same cold glare. The young pup of an elf blushed scarlet to the ears and returned to his post without another word. Lúthien was done with the wardens, and Mablung did not question them further. However, he insisted upon escorting them into the city, through the gates themselves so that all could see them. They would have preferred not to be seen. Beren still remembered his first welcome with bitterness, and as much as Lúthien loved her people and knew the joy it would be to them to see her alive again, she wanted only her mother and father at the moment.
Those that saw Lúthien and Beren ran to them with amazement and delight, but they stopped short when they came close. Perhaps it was the sight of them, their clothes tattered and torn, even caked with dried blood. Their hair was wild, their skin smudged. Perhaps it was their eyes, moist and world weary. Lúthien wished that she had a hood to pull over her face, but her cloak and hood was gone. Just thinking of the loss of it made her bite her tongue with rage. Beren hid his stump within the folds of his clothing and scowled at everyone and anyone. The Sindar smiled and reached for their princess with blessings, but the looks they gave him were no more friendly than they had been before. They were amazed that he was alive, but their expressions were still drawn with suspicion, even resentment. They did not dare to curse him to his face and no one struck him this time. They followed the couple, wondering what would happen when they came before the King.
Lúthien searched the faces of the small folk. All of the lords had been sent away, it was true, but something bothered her. Among all the people that followed after them, Daeron was not among them. Lúthien was surprised and puzzled. He was no lord and no tracker or guide. Daeron should have been the first to hear of her return and among the first to see her. He had always been the one to find her long ago. He knew all her hiding places and even the passages only she knew of and used. It was also he that triggered the events leading to Beren’s trial and the damnable quest. He saw it started he should see it finished.
She turned to Mablung, “Where is Daeron the minstrel?”
But Mablung seemed evasive, saying only, “We know not, likely he is one of the many still searching for you. He took your captivity hard, your escape harder still, as have we all. Please tell us that you have come home at last. Please tell us that the Quest is abandoned. We have heard of your deeds against Sauron. Minis Tirith is retaken. Surely Thingol will find that trial enough for a maiden and a mortal.”
“I have come home. The Quest is ended.”
The crowd that had gathered around them broke into cheers. They led Lúthien to the throne room where Thingol and Melian sat and the council was in session. They had been alerted already of her coming. Only such news would force Thingol from his chambers.
Looking upon her mother and father, Lúthien remembered the ill they had done her. Thingol had sent Beren to die and imprisoned her with a madness of love that only equaled their own and Melian had allowed all. Despite that, Lúthien smiled broadly and ran to them with full speed.
“Father! Mother!” she called.
Thingol's eyes were wide with surprise, and he was a little startled when Lúthien embraced him. Then he held her as though she was a little Elvin-child again. How she had missed his arms about her! Melian rushed to her daughter and embraced her also, her feelings overcoming her even in the presence of half the city. Lúthien breathed in the scent that was her mother, a scent she could not place but was pleasant and filled the room with sweetness. Tears of happiness welled in their eyes. Father, mother and daughter. The court was shouting at the top of their lungs that their princess was home again and alive. Beren seemed not to be noticed, at least for the moment. No matter. He was touched by the family reunion but did not show it. He stood and waited patiently for Thingol to remember him, which he did. His eyes narrowed, and he frowned.
“Well, it looks like the woodwose has returned also.”
“Humbly, my lord,” Beren answered, bowing.
A heavy silence fell, and all attention was given to Beren and the king.
“And have you still desire to take my daughter as your wife, unhappy mortal?”
“Of course. I would not be here at all if I did not still love her. And after all that we have been through together, and the sacrifices she has made for me, I love her even more than I had the first time I came before you, lord. Our love is a thousand times greater.”
“Oh, is that so? Your words may have more meaning than your true purpose. Do you really feel that you could take Lúthien as your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, yes. You fell in love with Lúthien the first time you espied her, eh? Well, if you love her so, then prove that to me. Have you fulfilled your quest and clung to the oath you made when you last stood before me?”
“Yes, and I have the Silmaril in my hand,” Beren said grimly.
The court was silenced. Melian smiled. Thingol scowled, and his eyes showed his disbelief. He laughed at Beren with scorn. Lúthien was staring at Beren with wide eyes. They both knew that the Silmaril was in the belly of Carchoroth. Her father had sworn to kill Beren if he did not have the Silmaril when he came back. Would everything they had done prove vain?
“Show it to me,” Thingol commanded.
******
At this, the court gasped and pushed as one to have a closer look.
Beren held out his hand. It was empty. Thingol sneered, but then Beren held up his stump of an arm. The Elves of the court turned their eyes away. A few grew pale at the sight and others sat down with difficulty, nauseous. Thingol's mouth gaped open.
“You see, Thingol,” Beren began, pacing the floor and making sure that everyone saw his wound. “With the aid and courage of your daughter, Lúthien the fair, I passed the guard of Angband, passed through the labyrinth of doom unharmed, and yes, stood before Morgoth himself.”
The court began speaking again. When they silenced, Beren told his whole story of the time since he had left the king up until he was thrown into Sauron’s pit. Then Lúthien took the floor and told of her part of the story. Then, together, they told the rest. Thingol watched every move Beren made and listened to every word they spoke, an amazed and frightened look in his eyes which grew larger and larger as they continued. Melian watched her husband, a triumphant smile on her face. Finally, the tale was told.
“I held the Silmaril in my hand,” Beren declared. “That hand is still clutching it, the jewel that is fabled would scour the flesh of any unworthy. My hand was not burnt, but taken by only the greatest of wolves. Though I have not the Silmaril within in this chamber to give to you physically, I can barely dress myself anymore. I cannot wield my blade with the skill I possessed as a whole man. At night I dream of my hand clutching the bride price you demanded even though it is severed from me and when I wake phantom fingers twitch until I discover there are none there. The wolf is defeated. He fled in torment, but he will not abide it long. He will certainly die, and once he is dead, all you have to do is cut him open and there will your jewel be as well as a fine wolf pelt! You tried to kill me, but I have done exactly as you asked. Perhaps there is a phantom hand here with a phantom jewel. It is yours, but I count myself only one handed and empty handed. I am Beren Camlost. Perhaps Beren Echermion is better suited, but I cannot count myself foresworn. If you must kill me, do it, but know that the Silmaril counted me worthy. Who are you to judge me otherwise? Your majesty, the decision is yours. I am at your service.”
Beren bowed low and did not dare to look up, fearing some axe man would be there to take his head off. There was a long silence. Thingol bowed his head in submission. Then Melian spoke to him.
“Now, my lord king, it is your turn. Beren has done his part. Now you must hold to your end of the oath. Even though Beren has not brought the Silmaril back, he went beyond all odds and completed the Quest. Surely this man has the favor of the Valar. You had set the Quest as a trap for him, but he forced himself out of it. You also changed our daughter forever and made their love stronger than it was before. Do not cheat Beren any longer, and you must stop our daughter's suffering and anguish. Beren is no ordinary man, Thingol. Here he stands before you, offering his life! So go now! Go now, and offer him our daughter's hand. He deserves her, for he has proven his bravery, his strength, his faith, and his love.”
Thingol and Melian exchanged heated glances. He muttered something inaudible and at last, he rose from his throne.
“Lúthien, come here,” he commanded. She hesitated, and then she came to him. He took her hand, and then called to Beren.
“Here is my daughter's hand, Beren,” Thingol said. “You now receive my jewel. Treat her well.”
Then Thingol reluctantly placed his daughter's hand in Beren's.
The court exploded into applause as Lúthien and Beren smiled at each other and clasped hands. Melian laughed softly to herself and sat back on her throne, satisfied. Thingol sat down beside her on his own, sighing and putting a hand over his eyes.
“Now that was a wise gesture, Elwë,” Melian said to him in a low voice so that no one else could hear. “I am glad that you listened to me this time. So now, for once, I will forebode something good. I forebode that Beren and Lúthien shall have a son. He shall become your heir. And I forebode that Beren and Lúthien shall become the father and mother of a new kindred and their line shall never fail.”
Thingol looked into his wife's eyes and smiled.
“That is good news, Melian, so now I will be comforted. But as for Lúthien, I have much to say to her.”
He called for her, and she came, smiling.
“Yes, Father?”
“I want you to know the truth about my reaction to Celegorm’s messages to me. received your message about Celegorm.”
“Did you ever approve?”
At that, Thingol smiled and answered, “No. I would not have let him take you as his bride even if you had begged me yourself and even if his mind was not already consumed with his ambitions of war and jewels. He should have returned you to me rather than kept you in Nargothrond. When he refused to return you, I threatened war. It was rash of me and likely only put you in more danger. I risked the lives of both Sindar and Noldor as well. I have been proven a fool in many things since Beren first arrived. None like to remind me of that more so than your mother.”
Lúthien smiled and said, “You knew all that would happen did you not, mother?”
“I discern much but miss more,” the queen answered.
“And there is something that I am missing. All my loved ones are here except a single piper. Where is my brother, Daeron?”
Thingol's smile faded, and he did not answer. Lúthien's expression became puzzled.
“Where is he?” she asked again. “I wanted him to know that I was all right, and that I forgive him. I also wanted to invite him myself to our wedding.”
Still, neither Thingol nor Melian would answer.
“Where is he?” Lúthien demanded.
Then Melian answered at last, “When you left, Lúthien, Daeron was very grieved. No words of mine could stop him from going out and searching for you. We made him promise to keep sending messages for us, but they have long since...”
“Stopped?”
“Yes. I am terribly sorry, Lúthien. The last message we received came to us over two months ago. We have not heard from him since.”
Lúthien did not say another word. She cast her eyes down to the floor. Then Queen Melian held out Daeron's pipe, which he had left in her possession before he left from Doriath forever.
“Here, Lúthien. Daeron left this here in case someone else found you,” she told her. “Take it in honor of his memory.”
Even though this was supposed to be the happiest hour of their lives, Beren nonetheless was troubled and Lúthien grieved. She blamed herself for Daeron's disappearance, and she had no way of knowing if he was alive or dead. She believed him to be alive and played upon Daeron's pipe in the woods as he had done in remembrance of him. As the preparations for the wedding began, she hoped against hope that her brother would return and he did not.
As for Beren, he seemed to become only more miserable. He was helpless as a child. Going left handed was difficult, and he was clumsy and awkward. The stump did not seem to bother Lúthien, even when he reached out to touch her face with his right hand out of habit and saw his stump where his hand had been. He was reminded that something was missing and it was not just his hand. There was a Silmaril loose upon the world. He was indeed the Empty-Handed. Despite his bold words to King Thingol, his oath went unfulfilled.
******
Beren and Lúthien had not been courted for very long before their engagement according to elfish custom. Though Beren had pursued her for nine months and Lúthien returned his affections for only a season after that, it had been over a year since they bound themselves in troth, though all the world had been against it and courtship could drag on like a slow dance. Courtship was expected to be long, but a year was considered the proper interval between engagement and marriage even among the Eldar that lived so long. They often wed young. For Beren and Lúthien, that single year had been full of hardship and heartbreak few could boast of and no courtship of any length matched it. The people agreed that their love was tempered and made stronger because of it and that they were an extraordinary couple.
There was an atmosphere of joy and romance throughout Menegroth. It approached being a holiday as the people began to hear the wondrous tale of Beren and Lúthien’s deeds. Their beloved princess was safe and Beren was not to be slain. Sauron was gone and Morgoth had been foiled. Lovers young and old became inspired by the princess and the exiled lord of men. Suddenly every young male child wanted to sweep away his own princess upon a quest for treasure and adventure. The young girls began to sew maiden’s cloaks of their owns to enchant their heart’s desire. Even those that had condemned such a union between mortal and immortal turned up to hear the announcement of the wedding date.
The holiday was cut short as Mablung interrupted the celebrations. He came running up onto the pavilion as the council sat making their grand schemes for the royal weeding. He made an announcement of his own that altered the final doom of Lúthien and Beren forever.
“My fellow people!” he called out at the top of his lungs, waving his arms in the air. “I have come to warn you all of a terrible danger that has entered our forests! It is a horrible beast: A Warg that is possessed by a powerful spirit. He broke through the Girdle of Melian. I fear that this beast is Carchoroth out for revenge!”
“And how do you know this?” many of the Elves demanded, not happy at all by this sudden news and angered by the interruption.
“I have a witness,” Mablung answered. “Come, Beleg.”
Then a few Elves entered, leading Beleg Strongbow who was out of breath and walked with a slight limp. Lúthien took one of his arms, and Beren the other so that he could stand.
“Beleg?” Lúthien gasped. “What happened to you? It looks like you have been mauled!”
“By none other than this beast of evil,” Beleg said.
“Listen to the Strongbow's words, my people,” Mablung pronounced. “Heed his warning.”
“My companions and I were returning from our search,” Beleg began. “Then our hounds went wild, and our horses fled. Even my horse, Ulumuri, a very brave stallion, ran off. Then something came crashing through the trees. A large Warg slaughtered all of my companions with his bare hands, first lifting them off the ground and throwing them against tree trunks. One of my companions was thrown so hard that the tree he slammed into fell over, and his back was also very severely damaged so that he could not rise and fight. Carchoroth decapitated another with one swipe of his claws, and he cut down all the others.”
“And why are you still alive and unhurt?” called out several skeptical voices.
Beleg narrowed his eyes at them and answered, “By pure luck. I did not have a sword, so the wolf did not come after me until last. By then, all my seven companions were dead. He turned on me, and I fell backwards in fear and began crawling away as fast as I could, but he grabbed me by the leg. His claws dug into me, injuring my leg as you see me now. But then the Warg howled in pain and grabbed at his belly. Then he ran off, crying out something like fire. This all happened in moments. For those of you who do not believe me, you may go yourself to the woods. You will find seven dead Elves lying there and perhaps, if you live long enough and are not ambushed by him, you will catch a glimpse of the Warg yourself, gorging himself upon the animals. But I would encourage you not to do so. He is not a pleasant sight.”
Beren glanced at Lúthien. Her mouth was open, and her eyes were filled with terror. Then she shook her head with disbelief. If Carchoroth had really followed them to Doriath, then this meant that the quest for the Silmaril was not over yet and that their nightmare was still continuing.
Beren took Beleg aside and questioned him deeply, and then he returned to Lúthien.
“Tinúviel, something must be done about Carchoroth. I think I should finish what I started. With the Silmaril in his belly, he is even more powerful and more dangerous than ever.”
“No! When will all of this stop? Hunting Carchoroth could take weeks! It could take months! Beren, it could take years to finally catch him!”
“I know that. I also know that it is dangerous too, but I think this shall all be over soon enough.”
“Are we ever going to marry? You do not even have to hunt for Carchoroth! You could let my Father's hunters deal with him!”
“Oh, Tinúviel, do you not remember that I had no peer in hunting skills since I was a boy? I cannot stand idly by as your father’s men risk their lives. We loosed the wolf upon the world. No doubt Carchoroth is after me. I can draw him out to his undoing.”
“Beren, I have a bad feeling about it.”
“Of course you do. That is human nature.”
“I am not human, and no, I have a horrible feeling about it!”
“All right. If you feel so frightened, then I shall allow Mablung and Beleg to aid me in the hunt for Carchoroth. They have apologized to me many times about the misunderstanding we had when they first brought me to Menegroth.”
Lúthien could say no more. She was tired of arguing with him, tired of the whole ordeal. She had had to be the stronger of them often enough. Now her strength and will was sapped. But Thingol, hearing their words, seized Beren with terrifying strength, his eyes aflame.
“You are determined to prove me wrong! You are going beyond your oath, risking all and not even for her any longer but for your pride! I have given you my permission to wed her, but you still intend to endanger your life once more! I will not have it!”
“I will cling to my oath, my lord,” Beren answered. “To cut a Silmaril from the Iron Crown and bring it back here to Menegroth. I have only completed half of that, so I am not worthy of your daughter.”
“Then I must come to make sure you do not get yourself killed and murder my daughter with you!”
“Father?” Lúthien said uncertainly. “What are you saying?”
“I will go on the hunt as well.”
This was a great surprise to all who witnessed it. Thingol paid no attention to the glances and sputtering questions. He commanded preparations to be made for the hunt. Then suddenly there came a great baying.
Lúthien sprang to her feet, a wide smile upon her lips. “It is Huan.”
It was indeed so, for Huan bounded toward them. Lúthien and Beren ran to meet him. He leapt and pounced on Lúthien. She embraced him and laughed as he licked her face and whimpered. Then he turned to Beren and stepped into a bow.
“Huan!” Beren said in his amaze. “Where have you been, old dog?”
“I am so glad to see you!” Lúthien cried.
Huan sniffed the air and began to snarl.
“Yes,” Beren nodded. “Carchoroth is in the forests. You have been trying to find him?”
Huan nodded grimly, and his eyes had a cold gleam in them.
“It is decided,” Beren said. “We are going on the hunt. And Huan is coming. I swear that hound can talk without speaking words, or at least to me. I suppose we have some sort of connection now that I am his master.”
“Huan is going?”
“Yes. He believes that Carchoroth is the wolf he was destined to face long ago.”
“But the prophecy says he will be killed!”
She glanced at Huan where he sat unmoving, as though he had been made from stone. She could see that he was as immovable as Beren was, even though he had always taken her side the times before. Instead she tried to argue something new.
“The only way I am going to allow the three of you to hunt Carchoroth is if I am allowed to come with you. If both the males in my life must risk themselves, I will too!”
“No, Tinúviel. You are still weak from our ordeals, and any enchantments that you would use will not affect Carchoroth for long. Your mother’s magic was not enough to hold him.”
“I may even be more powerful than my mother. She has told me so,” Lúthien said, not boastfully, though she said it in hopes it would persuade him.
“Your most powerful magic put him to sleep, that is true. That was no small feat, but it only made him sleep for a short while. He was caught at unawares. Now he will know you and go for you first. You must understand that this is something I must do alone. Huan will aid me, as he aided you in your fight against Sauron to liberate me and take back the old Elf stronghold. Let me return the favor to your people.”
Seeing the doubt in her eyes, Thingol was about to open his mouth, but Beren stopped him with an amused look. The King bowed his head and said nothing. They all remembered the last time he had tried to prevent his daughter from doing anything. Beren reached out to stroke her cheek with his phantom hand which prompted her to say, “What of you and your wound? It grieves me to say this, but you are not the man you used to be.”
“Carchoroth and I have something to remedy. He took my hand and the Silmaril, but he is suffering pain unimaginable because of me. You have done more than your share in this quest. They shall say in later days that all that has gone before was your doing and your doing alone, and they may be right in saying so. Allow me some dignity, all the dignity left in this cripple that has failed so many times in his duty.”
Lúthien bit her lip and nodded her consent reluctantly. Never before had she felt this foreboding, even when Beren was in the pits of Sauron or when they were about to face Morgoth.
“I cannot stop you,” she said. “But I want you to take an antidote on the hunt in case you are bitten again and I shall suit you and my father for battle.”
******
As night began to fall upon Doriath, so did it fall upon Lúthien. She silently arrayed first her father and then Beren for the hunt. She insisted upon leggings of chain mail and reached for mail of dwarf-make for his chest, but Beren took her hands in his and stopped her from putting it on him.
“I do not need all of this,” he said. “I am not going to war! It will only weigh me down and I will burden my horse and slow the party down. We will be unable to pursue the wolf.”
“It would be a comfort to me if you wore it, Beren,” she answered. “Wear it for me.”
Beren nodded and Lúthien slipped the armor onto him. He knew better than to argue with her, though he could not understand her fears. They had faced horrors worse than a stray wolf. Beren was confident that he would avenge his maimed arm by severing Carchoroth’s head. He was prepared to meet Thingol and his hunters before the woods. He strode forward to take his leave, but Lúthien stopped him.
“Please, Beren,” she said. “Take Iavas again as your steed. He is swift as a fierce wind. I doubt that speed is all that you need, but he may be of use to you on the hunt. You see? I am frightened for you!”
“I know, Tinúviel. You are always frightened for me,” he replied with a smile, “but I will not need your horse. I have been provided with one already. It has been saddled and awaits me.”
Lúthien stood in silence again. Beren did not know what to say to her, so he did not speak either. He called for Huan. The hound sat before him, a grim look in his eyes, and he did not wag his tail.
“You too, Huan?” Beren exclaimed. “Why are you both so upset?”
Huan did not reply, but Lúthien understood his mind very well. He knew that today would be his last. He knew now for certain that Carchoroth was the mightiest wolf on earth. He could do nothing to stop his doom from coming upon him at last, so he walked to Lúthien and allowed her to pat him and say good-bye.
“Take care of Beren, Huan,” she whispered to him. “Today may be his last day also. I will miss you…”
She wept, knowing she would lose him. She hugged him and found it difficult to let him go. When at last she did he nodded defiantly and then turned to Beren and waited for him to start out. Beren took one last look at Lúthien, words failing, and then he let out the command and began walking towards the woods. Lúthien hesitated, and then she followed slowly and silently after him.
Beren found Thingol, Beleg, and Mablung waiting for him. They had with them a horse for Beren. Beleg and Mablung carried many arrows with them, and they too looked grim. They greeted Beren, but he greeted them without cheer. He was unnerved by Lúthien and Huan’s manner. He simply waved a hand and climbed onto his horse. Huan stared towards the trees, sniffing the air. His eyes became fierce, and he snarled.
“Caught the Warg's scent already, eh, Huan?” Beren muttered. “Good. I want to get this over with.”
“Beren,” Mablung said, “do you realize that once Carchoroth sees you, he shall surely try to kill you?”
“I know that all too well.”
“Yet he has come anyway!” Lúthien stepped out of the trees. “The fool craves a second brush with death.”
“Tinúviel!” Beren jumped in the air with surprise.
“You did not say good-bye, Beren,” she answered, not smiling. “I just wanted to say good-bye in case I do not have the chance later.”
Beren sighed and gestured her to him.
“Followed me again, have you?” he asked, but he did not laugh. “Well, I will say good-bye. What else can I say?”
Lúthien suddenly burst into tears and cried into his shoulder. She knew that this could be the last time she saw him as well, and Beren could not say anything to stop her tears. And all the while Thingol watched them closely. He still did not have any warm feelings for Beren.
“Beren,” Lúthien whispered. “I may as well tell you that I love you before you go.”
Beren put his arms around her, caring not that Mablung, Beleg, Thingol, and Huan were watching.
“I love you too, little bird.”
“Please be careful, Beren. I shall be waiting for you at the base of Hirilorn.”
“I thought I was not returning.”
“I guess we must always be hopeful. Beren?” Lúthien gripped his shoulder hard.
“What is it?”
“Would you try to come back in one piece this time? After all, the Silmaril and I are not at all worth your own life.”
“The Silmaril, never. It is only a bit of stone and elvish-glass to me. It is only a symbol of our love. But you, little bird, you are worth much more than my life. I would die hundreds of times for you. You ought to know that by now.”
Fresh tears ran down Lúthien's cheeks at those words. She pulled his lips to hers, kissing him tenderly. Huan smiled to himself, and reminded himself why he was about to face his doom. Beleg and Mablung were laughing softly, and Thingol rose in his stirrups with a frown on his face, but he did not speak out.
Lúthien did not let go of Beren for the longest time, but she saw the impatient look her father gave her. Then she let him go.
“Come back alive, Beren!”
“I will.”
“May the hunt begin!” Thingol said loudly, snapping the reins of his horse and riding down the path into the trees.
“I shall see you again. I will come back with the Silmaril better than ever! I promise.”
She nodded, allowing him to leave. He followed after the king and his hunters. Then Lúthien did not follow after him. She could not help him on the hunt, and she knew it. She bowed her head and then set off to Menegroth to join her mother. All the while, she muttered to herself.
“Well, I have heard that promise before!” she murmured sadly. “I will try to cling to my hope. But there must always come a time when even hope fails.”
******
Carchoroth snuffed the air and let out a cry. The Silmaril that he had swallowed was beginning to burn in his stomach again and he had not found any other victims that day to relieve his pain. He cursed the Silmaril and whimpered. He ran for the river and sank his head in, gulping down the water. Then he came back up, sucking in air and licking his chops. For now, he was relieved of the pain of the holy jewel. That relief did not last long. The Silmaril had caused him more pain than he had ever felt in his life. It suddenly flared up again, causing his belly to swell and glow. He let out a howl of anger and pain.
Beren and all the others heard that awful howl and halted. Huan pricked up his ears and raised his nose into the air. Then he snarled and showed his teeth. He gestured to the hunters to follow him. He crept into the great undergrowth of the forest, moving slowly and silently upon the earth, bent upon his purpose and trying to stay downwind of the wolf so that it would not catch his scent or his companions’. He was anxious to finally see this wolf that would likely be the death of him. He did not feel fear, only a sense of being aware of all that surrounded him. If these were his last moments, he would savor everything, even pain.
But Carchoroth needed no aid from the wind to catch the scent of blood. He knew that someone was pursuing him. At least he would no longer be hungry. It never entered his mind that anyone could harm him, not truly, even in this weakened state. He hid himself and awaited the time in which he could ambush the people that had come into the woods thinking to kill him and make a meal of them instead. While he waited, he sharpened his iron claws and fangs upon the rocks, chuckling.
Huan paused and Beren halted his horse and studied the ground.
“Fresh wolf tracks,” Beren announced in a low voice, sweeping aside a few leaves to discover prints in the ground. “I will give you three chances to guess what foul creature made them.”
“Carchoroth is hiding,” Mablung said. “Either he is waiting to spring at us all at unawares, or perhaps he is truly afraid for the first time in his wretched life, we cannot be sure.”
“It shall be a wearying task if we wish to draw him out,” Beleg said. “We have not much time to spare, and I assure you, Carchoroth will not be easy to draw out. He killed seven Elves in only a few moments.”
“But each day we spend pathetically chasing the damned wolf around, more and more of our people shall be brutally murdered,” Thingol spoke. “What if he decides to leave the forest and try his fangs upon Menegroth?”
“Could he enter it?”
Thingol snorted, “I appreciate your faith in our steel and the Queen’s sorceries, but that beast carries a Silmaril in his belly. He managed to pass through the Girdle. Therefore, sorcery has no effect upon it.”
“You are all too right, my lord,” Beleg answered. “But I am saying: Carchoroth is said to be as cunning as a snake. We have no way of guessing his mind, and we have so few arrows to spare. So few. If arrows fail, I doubt swords will be of use either. We have no hope of defeating him if he comes so close.”
“We will find him as soon as we can,” Beren insisted. “Tinúviel is waiting for me. The longer we hunt for Carchoroth, the more she shall worry, and the more wearying it shall be for all of us. She may even come looking for us, if I know her at all, and put herself into peril. Besides, my good fellow, I am not the only one on Carchoroth's death-list. There is another on his mind. She was there with her enchantments and humiliated him. Now he may never return to his cursed homeland. His punishment would be only torment and death by his former master.”
“Yes. My daughter,” Thingol said suddenly. “She is in danger. But where has Huan got to?”
“What?”
“Huan is gone.”
“That is impossible. He was standing at my side only a few moments ago. Where could he have gone?”
Beren searched for the hound, but he was nowhere to be seen. He sighed, but he did not dare to call out. He cursed and quickly drew his sword.
“Could this be the work of Carchoroth?” Mablung asked.
“Not likely,” Beren replied. “He was not bred for stealth. I think Huan was just so anxious to find Carchoroth that he went after the Warg himself.”
“And Carchoroth would have stricken us down where we stand,” Beleg snickered. “The memory of his attack is still all too fresh in my mind. I must say that I am very much afraid.”
“Even a mighty beast such as Carchoroth must drink,” Beren said. “Let us seek out the river banks. Mayhaps we will find signs of him there, aye and Huan as well. Wherever the Wolf-hound is, the Wolf is sure to be there too.”
They journeyed to the banks of Esgalduin. Sure enough, Beren discovered tracks that could not be more than a few hours old. He found older tracks as well. It confirmed his suspicions.
“He comes here often. I would not be surprised if he has made a den somewhere close by. He drinks even from the enchanted waters.”
“How can that be?” Thingol demanded. “The river of Esgalduin is far more than just water droplets creeping over stones! It is sacred!”
“By all accounts the beast has been proven to be wild. Those who survive also say that he complains of fire in his bowels.”
“That is because a Silmaril burns in his entrails,” Beren laughed. “It upsets his stomach and my hand as well. I hope it has festered inside him.”
“Evil cannot abide the jewels of Valinor. The Silmaril will eventually burn through his stomach,” Mablung said. “Who knows how much longer the monster has to live?”
“If he keeps drinking from the river, that will be too long. By then, he shall have killed more! We have to drive him out of these woods or slaughter him now!”
At that same moment, they all heard snarling, and the unmistakable barking of Huan. Then they heard struggling.
“Huan!” Beren ran towards the sounds. Thingol and his two hunters followed after him on their horses, stopping in front of a large thicket. There were movements coming from beneath it and muffled snarls. Beleg bent back his bow.
“No!” Beren cried. “Do not fire any arrows! There is too great a chance that you will hit Huan instead of Carchoroth!”
The Elf nodded and lowered his bow.
There came a horrible growl from the thicket, and then a large, dark shape sprang out from the thorns at King Thingol. Thingol opened his mouth in surprise and drew his sword, but Carchoroth knocked him from his horse and the force knocked the sword from his hand. His eyes were aflame, venom smoked upon the Elf-King’s fine doublet. He did not know what victim lay beneath him nor did he care. He eyed only the throat and lifted his iron claws for a deadly blow.
“NO!” Beren swung his blade and Carchoroth stepped back only just in time. Then Beren stepped before Thingol and held his sword with his left hand. “I will not lose another king!”
Carchoroth was the one that became surprised now. “You? It cannot possibly be you!” he snarled. He studied Beren up and down and sniffed the air. “But it is you for a certainty. It is your scent all right.”
“Recognize me, do you?” Beren said grimly. “I thought that you forgot about your victims as soon as you got a bite of them.”
“No. I remember all of my victims!” Carchoroth answered with a dry laugh. “I had thought that you were dead. If my bite alone does not cause death, my venom does. Perhaps I gave you a dry bite by mistake. Not to worry. I will simply have the pleasure of taking the rest of you to pieces!”
“What do you mean you thought that I was dead?” Beren demanded, almost tripping over Thingol as the king rose and Mablung and Beleg flanked him. “I thought that you came here to kill me. What is the use? You carry a Silmaril in your belly! Your master will hunt you and cut it from you!”
“Not if I prove myself useful still. I came here only to find the Elvin-woman that you tagged along beside, and to slaughter all of her people that I could.”
“And why come for her?”
“Once you have tasted such blood, it leaves you coming back for more. Such blood might heal me from my weakened state. Besides, Morgoth will forgive my failure to capture the girl while she was at our doorstep when I retrieve her from her own! Morgoth made a mistake giving me the task of guarding his gates. I was born to hunt and to feed,” Carchoroth said, sneering. “And since you have revealed the Grey-cloak, I may take his life as well.”
Beren was hot with wrath, and he cried, “You will not live long enough to lay hands on her or my father!”
Carchoroth suddenly had a spasm of pain. The Silmaril was beginning to burn more than usual. Beren thought that he had seized his chance and raised his sword for a single stroke that would have severed the wolf’s head from its body, but Carchoroth recovered too quickly. He charged into Beren, knocking him from the ground though his feet had been firmly planted. He opened his horrible mouth and bit at Beren’s chest.
His fangs pierced through mail and leather and his flesh. The poisoned fangs reached even into his heart and lungs. Beren’s immediate cry was cut short and even though he was grievously wounded, he brought the blade down. Carchoroth swiped his claws at it. The sword broke into two, and that blade had been of strong metal.
Mablung and Beleg began firing arrows. Two hit their mark, but they did little damage to Carchoroth. He merely pulled them out and threw them back at the two Elves. They were thrown so hard that they came whistling towards them as though they had been fired with a bow and not by bare hands. Beleg had to raise his shield to avoid losing an eye, and the second missed Mablung by mere inches.
Thingol thrust his spear at Carchoroth, who gave him a dark look and tried to spring at him again, but he was being stung by Mablung's and Beleg's arrows, and the Silmaril was burning even worse than before. Beren’s blood could not quench it. He almost collapsed to the ground, but he was determined to finish his kill.
That was when Huan came struggling out from the thicket. There was such a fire of rage in his eyes that Thingol, Beleg, and Mablung stepped aside. He leaped full upon Carchoroth, the impact knocking him away from Beren. They rolled to the ground together, snarling, fighting. Thingol seized that chance to drag Beren away to the safety of the trees with them.
“Carchoroth bit even into your heart! How long will you last?” Beleg shouted back. “We must get him out of here immediately!”
“Give me the antidote and I shall do what I can,” Thingol ordered. “We cannot get him out of here. We cannot risk losing time.”
Beren, and even Mablung and Beleg were a little surprised that the king himself would now try to save Beren, even though he had once hated him so much. They gave him the healing tools and the antidote, and he set to work on Beren.
Carchoroth did not return in those horrible moments, and Mablung and Beleg had cast down their weapons and begun to weep. Then Thingol asked for bandages. As Mablung brought the king bandages, Huan suddenly ran towards a few trees despite his injury, tripping him. The hound's hair stood on end, his teeth were showing, and he was snarling. Mablung prepared his bow, and Thingol began to drag Beren further away from those trees. Carchoroth would have every opportunity to kill him now.
Carchoroth stepped before Huan. The Wolf-Hound stood tall and proud, his eyes piercing and grim. Carchoroth stood in much the same way, but he was grinning mockingly. He took a step back from Huan, sizing him up. He scratched his head, and then he laughed. Huan's glance became even more piercing, but Carchoroth laughed all the more and spoke to Huan in the Warg tongue.
“So, you are the great warrior of Valinor? You are the successor of Oromë upon Arda?”
Huan growled in answer.
“Oh, really? You would challenge me?”
Huan nodded firmly.
“Do you not know the prophecy? You know that I, Carchoroth, am the mightiest to walk the earth, and that I shall kill you?”
Huan whimpered.
“Ha!” Carchoroth scorned. “It is your destiny? I am your doom! You know that very soon, your blood will be stained upon the grass, yet you still stand here and challenge me? I knew it was my destiny to kill you, and I am to be the victor! Manwë of the Valar himself foretold this to you! Why do you still stay?”
Huan barked.
“For your friends?! What a laugh!”
Huan snarled and bared his teeth.
“Another laugh! You say that you will face your destiny for your friends, and because you at least are noble and deserve no less than death because you followed your master into the path of rebellion?”
Huan nodded again and howled at the sky in challenge.
“You say that you will fight me now? Very well, but remember, Hound of Oromë, it is your funeral, not mine! But I will say that I am thrilled to fight you. I have always been looking for an equal.”
Carchoroth spat and unexpectedly struck his claws at Huan with great force. The hound let out a yelp of pain as blood dripped from his new gashes. Mablung let loose his last arrow, and it went through Carchoroth's throat, but it had little effect on him. It only annoyed him.
“HUAN!” Beren cried. This caused him great pain. He let out another cry and grabbed at his wounds.
Fly, you fools! Huan barked at Mablung, Beleg, and Thingol. The least I can do for you, and myself, is to kill Carchoroth, or at least wound him. Then it would be easier for you to kill him! Go! Stay away from us! Take shelter! Take care of Beren! Do not let him die!
“Shut your mouth, mutt!” Carchoroth bellowed. “I cannot stand the noise! And anyway, I will get to your precious friends yet!”
Huan did not respond, nor did he say another word to Carchoroth again. So began the battle between the great hound of the heavens and Carchoroth, the hound bred by Morgoth himself. That battle was the greatest that has brewed between any two beasts. The ground trembled underneath their feet, and there was much blood and gnashing of teeth. Carchoroth cursed up great storms, but Huan's clear baying echoed from glen to glen.
Huan leapt at the Warg, gaping open his jaws so that he could bite. Carchoroth held his claws ready, but Huan bit at his hands. Carchoroth let out a roar of pain and rage, and he swiped at Huan. The hound ducked, expecting such a thing. Carchoroth's claws ripped into the trunk of an ancient tree. Sap oozed like silver blood, soaking Carchoroth's hand, but that was not the problem. Carchoroth's claws were deeply embedded into the wood of the trunk, and he was now stuck. This gave Huan an incredible advantage. Carchoroth could swipe only one hand at him while he struggled to release himself. At last he managed to rip his claws right through the trunk of that great tree, also leaving a single, iron claw in the bark as it crashed down to the ground. He fought fiercer than ever, and Huan was near helpless to defend himself. The two came rolling towards the hunters, snarling and biting at each other. Carchoroth began crying out that he was being consumed with fire. The Silmaril was burning and this time, he could not fetch water.
The two fighting beasts rolled right past the hunters. They stared, amazed and sick to the stomach at how much blood the ground was swallowing up. Beleg and Mablung, who had seen much battle and carnage, were turning yellow. Soon enough, they both looked away. Beren was falling in and out of consciousness, and his breathing became hard and painful. Thingol looked to him and shook his head.
“I am afraid that I can do no more for you, Beren,” he said with melancholy. “Not even elvish hands can mend the damage that Carchoroth has done. He has near ripped your heart in two.”
“I have always been lucky, I guess,” Beren answered with a chuckle. “First I was spared of my father's fate, and then I survived the many years of wandering. I found Tinúviel, the greatest stroke of luck of all, and escaped death by the hand of the sorcerer Sauron and Morgoth himself. What I am afraid of now is that perhaps the Valar will not allow me any more luck.”
Thingol stared at Beren, then he ordered, “Help me bear this man away from the battle. There is nothing we can do for Huan now, and if he cannot destroy Carchoroth, who can?”
Again Beren marveled at how Thingol's hate for him had lessened so. Mablung and Beleg aided the king in carrying Beren towards their horses. They could hear Carchoroth and Huan fighting even from there, and perhaps even the citizens in Doriath would have been able to hear the echoes of that battle on the wind if they listened. Thingol then ordered Mablung and Beleg to make a stretcher for their wounded. They laid Beren onto it. Thingol sat by Beren's side with his head bowed, but Beren did not care for the stretcher. He wanted to stand by Huan as he fought, and to try to help him, but Thingol told him that there was no hope of that.
“So you would let that monster kill him?” Beren demanded.
“It is impossible to help him, Beren!” Thingol said fiercely. “We cannot defy the Valar in such a way. It does not matter if we throw spears and fiery arrows at Carchoroth. It does not matter if we try to kill him. Either way: Huan is dead, Beren! It was his fate! Everyone has known so!”
“But I cannot let you abandon him! Not after all the help he gave your daughter and I. If it were not for him, I would be dead now, and Lúthien would be a captive in Nargothrond yet and forced to wed Celegorm the Foul.”
Thingol sighed and then called to Mablung and Beleg. “You two, watch! Watch the battle and make sure that Carchoroth is dead once he has killed Huan!”
The two Elves bowed and rushed off with retrieved arrows. Beren was not satisfied, but at least someone would be there to help Huan.
“You could have let Carchoroth kill me, Beren, yet you did not. You tried to defend me and now look at you! I know that you have done such a thing for my daughter, Lúthien, but why would you sacrifice yourself for me? I wanted you dead, and I still have a pang of regret for not killing you when I had the chance, even though I had promised to my daughter I would not harm you. I sent you and my daughter to the strongholds of Morgoth and put you both in the most perilous dangers and snares imaginable. Why would you do such a thing for me? You even called me father.”
“Because you, Thingol, are a great king, and a loving father to my Tinúviel. I only wish that I could have the time to get to know your good side!”
Thingol said with a strange tenderness that Beren had never had the privilege to hear before, “I always wanted a son. Of course, I have always loved Lúthien. She will always be my most cherished jewel; my wealth and treasure. She is the most beautiful and heavenly of all, but to have a son to teach and one day become my successor had always been one of my desires. Melian is barren of children. If you had been my son, you would have been a worthy Elvin-prince. Now I know more than ever that you love my daughter and are thrice worthy of her hand, but it seems that death is near you now. My hands are tied, and Lúthien awaits you even now anxiously. I do not know how she will cope with this, for I am afraid that you are dying.”
******
Mablung and Beleg were watching the fight very reluctantly. Beleg was preparing to fire an arrow just to end it for them both, but Mablung seized his hand and ordered him not to. They had been battling for almost an hour now with unceasing growls and whimpers and howls. At last, Huan whimpered and fell to the ground, his fur soaked with his own blood. Carchoroth was clutching at his belly and letting out groans, but he managed a sneer at Huan's obvious defeat. He put his hand to the trunk of a tree, exhausted from the battle. He had forgotten that he had sap upon his palm. It stuck to the wood like glue.
Huan looked up suddenly when the Warg led out some malediction and tried to pull his hand away. Then the hound managed to stand. There was such a gleam in his eyes that Mablung and Beleg were almost convinced that he had gone mad. Carchoroth was now helpless and at his mercy. Huan limped towards the Warg, who was howling to the heavens with rage. He threatened Huan and cursed him, but Huan was not dead yet. He had the chance here before him to kill Carchoroth. He opened his jaws and began gnawing at the wolf.
Carchoroth freed himself and howled, the Silmaril was causing another fit. He ran for the waters, and Huan ran after him. Carchoroth must drink, and this was Huan’s advantage. Carchoroth stooped to drink and Huan caught hold of his throat and tried to hold his head down below the waters.
“No!” Carchoroth cried, sputtering. “It was in the prophecy that I would kill you! I am the greatest and most powerful of all wolves! I am Morgoth's most prized servant! I cannot be killed so easily! I have been worshiped and feared for thousands of years! No one can destroy me! I am the jaws of thirst, the Red Maw! I am Carchoroth!”
But Huan was not at all daunted by Carchoroth's words. He clamped his jaws onto the Warg's neck firmly and Carchoroth could not free himself from the death grip. Carchoroth was drowned. The body of Carchoroth shrunk to normal wolf-size. His fangs shrank. His iron claws were no more. His hands became paws, and his feet became hind legs. The menace in his eyes left as a dark shadow rose from his body and dissolved into the earth.
Huan fell to the grass, heaving a sigh. His destiny was complete. He had one more opportunity to speak. Therefore, he spoke for the third and final time.
“Mablung!” he called in a hoarse whisper. “Beleg Strongbow!”
Mablung and Beleg could not believe their ears. “The hound speaks!”
“You must bring the king to me, and fetch my master, Beren. I have one last thing to say to him before I leave my body utterly. I need to say my last farewells. Now do as I say!”
Mablung and Beleg brought Beren and Thingol, still confused.
“Carchoroth is dead!” Huan announced. “The Red Maw is defeated! Now retrieve the Silmaril!”
Mablung cut open the belly of Carchoroth the Red Maw and held aloft the Silmaril. It was as pure and as beautiful as ever it had been. None of Carchoroth's black blood clung to it and defiled it, and it appeared to be unsullied. Radiant light poured out, brighter, more pure, lovelier then the stars shining in the cold and distant heavens. Mablung reverently carried the Silmaril over to Beren and knelt beside him. Beren lifted his face up and looked him in the eye. Taking a deep breath, Beren extended the Silmaril to Thingol without glancing upon it.
“This is my gift to you, O King Thingol, for the hand of your daughter, Lúthien the fair and princess of the Sindar,” he said. “Now the Quest for the Silmaril is truly at an end. I have at last fulfilled my oath, and my doom is full-wrought.”
“But I feel as though a share of my own blood is upon it. I cannot keep it,” Thingol replied.
“I swore that I would bring back a Silmaril and give it unto you so that I could wed Tinúviel. You must keep it for my sake!”
Thingol tucked the Silmaril away in many wrappings. Then Huan, with his last ounce of strength, crawled to Beren's side. He spoke with a frail voice, but with pride and relief.
“I had to speak. I wish to say farewell to you, Beren. It is at last finished. I have at last followed the path of my destiny and faced the mightiest wolf that has or ever will be. Although I succeeded, I must return to my home: Valinor. You are the greatest Man or Elf that I will ever know, Beren and Lúthien Tinúviel is also the bravest Woman or Elvin-maid. Now that death has finally come to me, I will allow you to know this: I will see you again! This is not our last farewell!”
“What do you mean?” Beren asked.
But Beren never did get a clear answer. Huan closed his eyes and did not speak or move ever again. Beren laid his hand on the hound's head.
“Farewell, Huan, truest of friends.”