Chapter 6: The Choice of Lúthien

Six
The Choice Of Lúthien

Lúthien had heard Beren’s words, but she did not stop or look back. She rode straight to the bridge of Menegroth where Daeron was awaiting her. She dismounted Iavas, and he took the reins. She did not turn to face him or thank him. She only wished to return to her bedchamber and remain alone.
“Lúthien?” Daeron was not about to let her storm off on him, sensing trouble.
“Let me alone.”
“You are merry, highness.”
“Do not call me that. You are a minstrel, not a jester!”
“Did you enjoy your visit to Esgalduin?”
“I suppose,” she said curtly.
“I wish I could have gone with you. You know how beautiful the forest is during our spring sessions. Why did you go alone?”
“I guess my curiosity got the better of me.”
Daeron looked into her face. She was very pale.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, Daeron. I am fine. I just feel a little . . . strange.”
Daeron snatched her by the arm before she could run from him. “Did something happen to you out there?”
“No. I was startled by some odd sounds that I heard. I rode back to the Caves immediately. You know what happened last summer.”
“All too well, Lúthien! All too well! That is why I did not feel too comfortable when you told me you needed to go alone this time.”
“It is nothing to worry about.”
“You are still leaving something out. You usually tell me everything. Have I done something wrong?”
Lúthien pulled away from him and turned her back in shame, “No, you have done nothing wrong. I am the one that has done something wrong. I wanted to go alone so that I might solve the mystery of who was spying on me,” she then told him very slowly. “And I found him.”
“What? You went out there alone hoping to meet into peril?”
“The man was the one that pursued me that summer. He said so himself.”
“A Man? What did he do to you? Did he frighten you? Did he hurt you?”
“Hurt me?” Lúthien could not help chuckling. “Far from it! He tried to kiss me!”
Daeron was greatly troubled at this. “He tried but he did not succeed?”
“No I pulled away.”
Daeron let out his breath in relief and asked, “Did he give you any explanation as to why he was stalking you?”
“Yes, he did. He stumbled upon us that night by accident. He has nowhere to go so he has been keeping the borders free of Orcs. He also told me his name was Beren.”
“How did he get here?”
“I only know he came here by the paths of Nan Dungortheb. Nan Dungortheb! Not many of our bravest warriors can speak that name without shivering! I think it is amazing that he could have trodden that path even unscathed.”
“Or perhaps unchanged?” Daeron said grimly.
“What do you mean?”
“In the songs, Beren is described as a great hunter, but songs are merely tales that can be twisted and distorted. Minstrels do not often know the whole truth. As for me, I know nothing of his history. He could be dangerous.”
“He is not dangerous!” Lúthien snapped.
“You do not know that for certain. He is an exile living like a hermit in the woods. Or perhaps like a madman. I do not want you going to the woods again.”
“What do you mean? Are you giving me orders? I am not your servant, Daeron. I shall go where I please when I please.”
“Will you make me this simple promise?”
“Promise?” she hissed at the mere mention of the word. “You seek to bind me by my words? Daeron, you have always protected me. Now you may rest from that burden. I am no longer a little girl. I will go to the woods if I desire, and you cannot tell me otherwise. If he had wanted to harm me in any way, he had all the chance to do so. I was alone with only my dagger at my side. He is very strong, much stronger than I ever could be. I would never have been able to stop him from killing me or worse. But he did nothing to harm me.”
“Not all Men are evil,” Daeron admitted. “A few good Men serve Finrod and become his most loyal subjects, are even accounted among the Elf-lords. Nor are the deeds of Húrin and Hour unaccounted. But I know that there are more that are crooked and villainous, as treacherous and as foul as your Father says. What if there are other Men in Neldoreth that we know nothing about? What if Beren led hundreds of Men into our kingdom?”
“You sound just like my Father,” Lúthien groaned. “And you are beginning to sound more and more like him every day!”
“Speaking of your father, I must tell the king that a human has taken refuge in his woods. He does not belong in Doriath even if he is who he claims to be. Morgoth has a bounty upon his head and there is the edict to consider.”
“No!” Lúthien burst.
“Why not?” Daeron stared at her.
“You must not tell my Father about him or what I did.”
“Why not?” Daeron repeated. “What is it that you fear so much about the king?”
“I love my Father, and I try to be obedient to him in all he says. I know that he has a right to remove Beren from Doriath, but-“
”But what?”
“Beren is just one man. There can be no harm in letting him remain here. After all, he has seen the gate of Menegroth but did not enter. He has no desire to disturb the Sindar. In time he will leave. If my Father knew that I had gone to Neldoreth without an escort, he may never allow me to stray from Menegroth again! Do you have any idea what that would do to me?”
“Yes, Lúthien. I understand,” Daeron sighed. “I will not tell Thingol anything you do not want me to tell him. But you must first promise me not to go back to the woods again alone.”
“I do not have much of a choice, do I? I will promise, once you make a promise to keep this secret.”
“Are you trying to protect this Man?”
“Promise!”
“Very well.”
They shook hands.
“That a girl,” Daeron kissed her on the cheek. “Now I will see you again tomorrow. You have not grown weary of me, have you?”
“Of course not! You know very well that you are always welcome, Daeron.”
“Then I shall see you tomorrow! And if that Man ever tries to touch you again, I shall deal with him for you,” Daeron said grimly, fingering his blade.
Lúthien watched him leave, shaking her head and laughing softly to herself. But as the day wore on, she was not laughing.
She began wondering about Beren. Had that poor, unfortunate mortal stayed in the woods or had he fled the moment she left him, fearing that she would raise an alarm? Was he gone from Beleriand forever or could he still be waiting in the woods to see her again? She knew that to answer these questions, she would have to go to him and break her promise to Daeron. Why did she make that promise so hastily? But she knew that she might not be breaking her promise to Daeron only. There was also her father and the things she had promised him. And after she went back on her word, what then? She could be risking much.
Everyone is trying to bind me here, she thought as she paced her chamber, either with promises and words of love or with guards and swords. Daeron and my Father love me, but their love has become a prison.
Hour by hour, a desire grew in her to return to him, and she anguished over it all through the next day. Lúthien tried to wave the feeling off and called a servant for wine and a light meal because she had forgotten to eat all day. When the food came, she almost sent it away. She had forgotten she had ordered food. Not wishing to insult her servant or the chef that made it, she sat down to eat it and found she had no appetite. Finally, she shoved it into a corner and began pacing again.
At first, Lúthien was not sure why she was feeling so awkward. She could not stop wondering where Beren was and what he could be doing at that moment.
What is this? She wondered. What is it I am feeling? It is not simply guilt, though it is part of it. Did he threaten to take his own life? Would I be responsible for that? His life is so short already! How long do mortals live anyway?
Lúthien had recognized Beren from her strange dream, and she remembered what her mother had said: Disaster. But then Lúthien would hear his voice telling her: Do not be afraid! The questions ran deeper and deeper until Lúthien was questioning everything she thought she knew. When morning came, she felt it in her blood and her guilt and thoughts railed more than ever against her. It could be only chance, fate, or perhaps some sort of evil enchantment set upon her for her ensnaring. Or could it be something else, something worse than all of the others?
Up until that night, she had never seen Beren's face, save a brief glance that one night when he had followed her through the woods right up to the gates of Menegroth, and then his face had been half-hidden by the leaves. Neither had she ever looked into his eyes, knowing that it was perilous to do so. But that brief moment that she had looked into his eyes had done something to her, made her feel something she had never felt before. She also began wondering what it would have been like if she had accepted that kiss.
I wanted him to kiss me, she realized after going over their meeting in her mind repeatedly. I wanted him to kiss me! And those eyes! When I saw them, I was put under some sort of spell! His voice was just as powerful! I think... I think I love him!
She was not certain she was in love. She knew only that she had to choose between these two: To cower in Menegroth and remain there, wondering if she had just thrown away the one chance for love and happiness she might ever have, or if she should return to Beren and risk a doom beyond her imagining.
******
Lúthien could neither sleep nor eat. She attempted to sleep, but her rest was uneasy and full of vagrant dreams in which she was searching for something. She could only lie awake, pondering the dreams she had that night and the nights aforetime. She knew that she had to choose whether she would return to Esgalduin or not. She was angry and confused, and she was also very downcast. She questioned herself and her own goodness. She even questioned Ilúvatar in her prayers, and she walked about the Caves alone, weighing her options and trying to come to a decision, but the more she mused, the harder the decision became. She tried to preoccupy herself with something else. Anything else. She walked silently down the hall and stared in fascination at the beautiful tapestries that graced the halls. They never ceased to amaze her. Her mother had woven the works of art, and she concentrated on the tapestry, trying to memorize every thread and stitch that was woven together, becoming the design that made that tapestry beautiful in its own unique way. Insignificant in themselves, yet all were woven together to shape the image of a tiny world.
Suddenly, she noticed something she had not seen before in passing. The feature was so small and obscure that it took a trained eye to see it and not to dismiss it. Everyone knew that the images of Melian were more than just works of art. They were woven riddles, images of past and present. A few were something more. They were prophecies inspired by the Maia’s foresight. She concealed these within the tapestries and paintings, disguised as decoration. But Lúthien was her daughter, and this particular image struck a chord in her.
The tapestry was the replica of a flower garden, sewn with many delicate flowers and vines. Within the core of one of these flowers rested a bird, a nightingale. Lúthien drew closer, placing a hand upon the fabric. In the neighboring flower was a pair of gray eyes. This puzzled and fascinated Lúthien, and she wondered if she might find such oddities within the rest of her mother’s works. Her curiosity was confirmed when she came upon the next one. It was an oil painting of Manwë and Varda sitting upon their thrones within their mighty tower. Once again, in the far right of the portrait was a window. Gazing out of the window, Lúthien was able to see the green hills of Valinor. The nightingale was little more than a tiny speck, and a youth with unclear features was chasing after it. Lúthien soon discovered that every single work her mother had created contained somewhere in them an image of a nightingale, usually accompanied by the Stranger. Within one of them, the youth lay as though sleeping face down. In the palm of his outstretched hand rested the nightingale. The little bird seemed wounded with a tear in its eye.
Daeron found her sitting by a pool of water that had been hollowed out in the Caves. She had her feet in the pool and was staring into the waters, deep in thought. Daeron could tell that she was in some sort of pain by instinct, and he sat down next to her, trying to sound cheerful. He asked what was troubling her, but she would not answer and seemed very agitated.
“Lúthien, what is the matter?” he asked again.
“Am I supposed to tell you everything that bothers me?” she demanded.
“As long as you want to tell me,” he answered in surprise.
“Well, I do not want to talk about it.”
“Then we do not have to, Lúthien.”
He tried playing his pipe for her. Lúthien had always loved hearing Daeron play his pipe, but today, she only bowed her head and muttered to him that he was only making it worse. He could not understand how he could be hurting her.
“Lúthien,” he said. “Something must be terribly wrong. You are not acting like yourself today.”
“How should I act then?” Lúthien asked, throwing a stone into the pool.
She watched the ripples spread coldly, and Daeron changed the subject. When he left her, he cast one last glance at her and saw that she was weeping.
Lúthien was becoming greatly torn between the decisions she was trying to make. Her anguish was greater than the Eldar have known, and nothing eased it. Her thoughts increased it by the thousands. She wept and tore at her hair and studied the images of Menegroth until the Queen herself became alerted that the Princess was suffering some illness.
“Come, my child,” she said with her aloof voice. “Let us do something with your hair.”
If Lúthien had not been so distraught, she would have appeared amazed or in awe. Her mother was very different than anyone she knew, much different than her father. Lúthien felt no reserves showing her affection toward the King. The Queen was another matter. To some she appeared to be beautiful but daunting. The Sindar knew her as a wise ruler, but sometimes she seemed cold and callous. Yet the two enjoyed each other’s company. Her mother had her tender moments. Sometimes no words were necessary between the mother and daughter. They shared the Maia blood so that her mother appeared to her when she most needed her though it seemed to be chance. This was one of those times.
The truth about Melian the Maia was that she feared to become too close to her daughter. She knew from the moment she met Thingol and bore Lúthien that both could be taken from her forever. The terrible realization of this often caused her to distance herself from them. She feared that because of such knowledge she might do or say something to only hasten such separation. Her love for her daughter was fierce and so losing her would be all the more painful.
Lúthien followed Melian to her bower. The Queen did not say a word to her but ordered the servants away and began to stroke her daughter’s hair. It never ceased to amaze her how beautiful her daughter was. She almost remarked to her about it, then changed her mind and began to plait the long dark hair. Lúthien was told often enough she was beautiful. The girl knew it by now and accepted it gracefully. Lúthien felt half a child again and soaked up the warmth of her mother’s touch. Her mother’s hands seemed to have healing powers. She was calmed at last.
“Why are there nightingales in your art?” Lúthien blurted.
“Is that all you saw?” her mother betrayed nothing, as usual.
“There is more?”
“There is always more. You may see a nightingale, another may see a sparrow.”
Lúthien was frustrated, “And what of the boy? I saw him, but not his face.”
“He is whoever you wish him to be.”
This conversation was getting her nowhere, though the questions still nagged at Lúthien. The two were silent for a while, then Lúthien spoke again.
“Mother, when you forsook Valinor and became my Father's wife, you made a great sacrifice. Did you ever regret it?”
“And why would you ask me such a question?” Melian asked, finishing her braid.
Lúthien did not answer for shame.
“You are troubled. That is all too plain, Lúthien. You are trying to make a grave decision, and you are not willing to tell me about it. You feel that what you could be doing is terribly wrong, perhaps even a sin.”
“I cannot hide anything from you, can I, Mother?” Lúthien muttered. “You have guessed everything with great accuracy.”
“Of course. It is very obvious, after all. You are in love.”
Lúthien was in amazed and asked, “What should I do?”
“Whatever decision you make, I must not influence it. If you lack wisdom, you should ask Ilúvatar, and wisdom will be given to you.”
“No, Mother, wait!” Lúthien called desperately as she moved toward the door. “Please just tell me. I cannot make my decision until you tell me something.”
Melian let out a sigh. “Advice is a dangerous thing, especially when it comes to these matters.”
“It is not direct advice that I am asking for. I know better than to ask that of you,” Lúthien said with a hint of bitterness. “All I wish to know is if you regretted leaving Valinor and wedding my father.”
“And you cannot decide without my own testimony?”
“Not unless I wrench my hair out of my head tonight pondering this choice over and over again.”
Melian sighed again and sat down beside her daughter. Then she began stroking her hair again. She was caught off guard by such a question. She had never spoken of such things to anyone. Then she nodded.
“Very well, Lúthien. “Lúthien,” she said gravely. “Coming to Middle-Earth was no mistake for me. Valinor was in turmoil, and I was in flight of my life, if you would remember. It turned out to be the beginning of a new life for me. I can return, but once I do, I can never come back. Your father and I were younger then, and he was an ambitious leader guiding his people desperately away from the threat of Morgoth. Our meeting was a mere chance meeting and yet it was not. It was in the very forest of Neldoreth. I was singing in the glades, visiting Middle-Earth for a while and was tending to my nightingales when he was beguiled by my voice. He wandered away from his people, forgetting his dream to return to Valinor. I thought him to be a very foolish child, for he did not know at all what I was. For a child of Ilúvatar to look upon a child of the Ainur so was blasphemy, and I thought of burning him alive, for I have such power, but I cast my cloak upon him, and the magic it concealed caused him to fall in a deep sleep. I had thought that would keep him away and teach him a lesson, but it did not. He found me again, and he clasped my hand. I do not know exactly what came over me, but I am now a devoted wife and a powerful queen. I am also waging war upon Morgoth, and I have a beautiful daughter as a blessing.”
Lúthien smiled and embraced her mother and thought of the similarity between her mother’s story and her own. Her father was an Elf, and Melian was a daughter of the Valar, one of the Divine Ones. Thingol was no more than an impulsive child of the Eldar to her. It was so with herself and Beren. Lúthien was a Half-Maia, a princess, an immortal, and Beren was a son of a lord of Men, a mortal and an exile. Some even called him an outlaw and dangerous. And another thing that struck Lúthien was where it had all began. It had all begun in Neldoreth, the union, her birth, the first meeting. It was more than happenstance in her mind.
“Now, do you see?” Melian said, her hands on her daughter's face. “Tell me, Lúthien: What do I have that I should ever regret?”
******
As the dusk approached the next day, the choice was made, and doom fell upon Lúthien. She rode back to Esgalduin, and Melian promised to conceal her absence. She had decided that she would find Beren. Her mother had not lied to her when she said that she was in love. She could not stand the anguish of it any longer. She, of course, had doubts whether or not she could be doing the right thing or for the right reasons. Looking upon the works of Melian, she wondered if it was at all possible if the nightingale was herself and the faceless boy was Beren. Her mother would certainly never tell her, but she knew she could not leave Beren in the wilderness alone, and Lúthien also had desired to come back to him all along.
Lúthien reached the woods, left her horse, and began searching for Beren, but after hours of searching, she could not find him. She was relieved and disappointed all at once, and she had given up all hope that she would ever see Beren again. A wave of sadness passed over her, stronger than the other emotions. She was surprised that tears came to her eyes. The thought of never seeing him again was nigh unbearable. She had wanted to see him again, if only to be sure that he was alive and well. Perhaps she should tell her father that he had been there and should start a search for him. Thingol’s realm extended beyond Doriath’s borders after all. He could be at risk to himself and the last thing she wanted was to see him dead.
Suddenly, she stumbled over something in the dark. She realized that it was Beren. He had not even felt her stumble over him. She wondered how long he had been lying there, and she could not tell if he was merely asleep or in a worse state. She placed her hand in his, and his hand was cold. Beren instinctively snapped out of his deep thoughts. When Lúthien had left him, he had merely fallen to his knees, a feeling of grief washing over him that was indescribable and inescapable. Startled, he tackled the thing that had been stooping over him. Then he drew out his knife and sprang to his feet and sprang at her.
“It is not wise to try to waylay an animal when they sleep,” he hissed. “Predators only pretend to be in slumber. When their prey appears, they strike!”
Then the light of the moon and stars reflected off the blade and Beren saw that he had not tackled an enemy. His mouth fell open in surprise and he gasped and released her at once.
“Tinúviel! I almost killed you!”
“Almost killed me? Nonsense!” she snorted. “Knives are my only specialty when it comes to weapons. I could have disarmed you easily, but I trusted you not to strike. How long have you been here?”
“Since you left,” he answered. “I do not know how long ago it was in truth.”
“When did you last eat or drink?”
“I cannot remember.”
“I am amazed that you are not dead already the way you manage yourself! You are like a child.”
“Compared to you no doubt I must be.”
She lifted his weary head to her breast and drew out a water-skin and put it to his lips. Then she gave him the food she had also brought and lifted him to his feet, and they walked together and spoke until the moon rose high into the sky and the stars began to fade. The night was nearly spent and the dawn approaching.
“I did not think you were ever going to come back here, Tinúviel,” Beren told her. “You have come beyond my hope. Indeed, I had naught any hope left. I was ready to die here.”
“Yet I proved you wrong. I have come and you are not dead fortunately. It would have been a great shame to lose such a worthy man, especially due to my actions.”
“But why did you come back?”
“That is a question I had to have answered,” Lúthien said gravely.
Then she grinned and kissed Beren on the mouth. He gaped at her once again with astonishment, enchanted by the elvish kiss. She had switched from fright to flirtation too quickly for his comfort. He reached out to her to brush his hand against her cheek, but she laughed and swung herself up onto the branch of a tree. She was back to flight as he had expected. Beren threw up his hands and sighed.
“Now where are you going? Did you come here to cast down my spirit for a second time? Why must you taunt me so? Do you take pleasure in tormenting me with desire?”
“You are the one that is tormenting me.”
Lúthien became grave again, her look was almost grim, and she swooped down suddenly. Beren was startled and even a little afraid and stepped back. But Lúthien reached out and put his face in her hands.
“Tell me first if you truly are who you say you are,” she said.
Beren drew out the ring of Finrod and placed it in her hand. She studied it closely in renewed wonder and then handed it back to him.
“That is King Finrod’s seal,” she said. “They say Men are clever thieves and do not stint at taking from their own dead. Even so, I am beginning to wonder if such harsh rumors could possibly be true. What you bear is the Ring of Finrod and I trust that you are the new keeper by blood right.”
“You know your jewelry well. Is that proof enough of my identity?”
“Proof of your old identity. They say that you are no more than an outlaw at heart, broken from war and your wanderings. Are you still the man you once were?”
“I give you my word that I am Beren son of Barahir and I am far from broken!” his old pride was gradually returning to him.
“Should I trust your word? The word of a Man?”
“Yes. I give you my honest word in both the tongues of Men and Elves. What more could you ask of me?”
“Now tell me that you love me,” she said.
“I love you,” Beren answered without doubt or hesitation and tried to kiss her, but she drew back and sought refuge in the branches again.
She was still afraid of him, and this hurt him. Old habits died hard, she now realized. But perhaps the element of danger in this man was part of the reason she was drawn to him.
“You are torturing me.”
“And you have cleaved my heart in two with the looks you give me,” Lúthien answered.
“What must you sacrifice to see me?” Beren answered angrily. “You have nothing that you do not want and I could never take it from you!”
“You know that you are wrong,” her eyes flashed, “and what are you sacrificing? Absolutely nothing! When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. You cannot fall any farther from grace. I may be sacrificing all that I have. Long have I foreboded that I would come to a mysterious end, and you seem to be the doom I have been warned of countless times. Your voice alone has laid a spell on me, for I am here, but I almost wish to say I am not here willingly.”
“Almost?”
“My feelings for you are perhaps unforgivable but undeniable, so strong that my thoughts become clouded and I act upon them desperately and immediately as I have not done since I was a child. Time seemed much shorter then for even the Eldar do not remain children for long. I do not yet know what will become of me or you for that matter. To my knowledge Man and Elf have never before crossed paths quite as you and I have, so intimately, despite the journeys behind us and no matter how long or short they have been. The consequences could be dire, but I cannot say that I can shirk responsibility should they come. Make no mistake, I am here of my own free will. You told me before that you had been hunting for something, and you did not know what it was. Am I right?”
“Yes. But now I know what I was hunting for all those years.”
“I believe I know what it was also, but tell me anyway. What had you been hunting for, for so long and so desperately, son of Barahir?”
“It was you. That was the reason why I could pass through the Girdle. There was another force at work, and it was not chance. But I had not known it until now. Your face was always in a dark corner of my mind, the only light sustaining it though I tried to push it away. I became drunk on blood in order to forget, but I could not.”
There was a silence then.
“What do you propose to do, highness?” Beren asked at last.
Lúthien looked at the paling sky and then came up with a marvelous idea. She nodded and glanced down upon Beren.
“I must give you this chance: If you catch me before the coming of dawn, then I will have no doubt that I did not come here just out of guilt or unreliable emotions, but there is some other force at work that wants us to be together. If you fail to catch me, I shall return to my home in Menegroth. I will tell my Father what sort of creature haunts his woods, and he shall remove you. Are you willing to take up such a hunt and prove yourself worthy, or is it too challenging for you?”
“I am willing to hunt for you.”
“Then let me remind you: I am no Orc. It will not be so easy to catch me. Now close your eyes, and give me a head start, and a few minutes to set you the trail. I shall not be leaving these woods, and my horse is not to be used in any way for the hunt. These are the rules. And you must catch me, not tag me. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Beren nodded.
“Then close your eyes and tell me when I should start. But first: Can I trust you not to peek, Beren?”
“You can trust me, but should you blindfold me?”
“No, no!” Lúthien laughed. “Do not be so ridiculous! I trust to your words, Beren. I was only trying to humor you.”
Beren turned his back to her and closed his eyes. He knew that this was a hunt unlike any other hunt he had experienced before, and it would be extremely difficult. It was also fatalistic. It was easy to hunt Orcs if you knew what they were like. Their trails were easy to follow. They loved to bruise the grass with ironclad shoes and cut down the plants around them. Lúthien was Elvin, and Elves hardly bent a blade of grass when they walked, and they were very speedy on foot. That was why Beren knew better than to chase after her all the time. But he knew that he loved Lúthien. She had always been taught to fear Men, and he knew that she must have been torn greatly by such differences in kindred. If this was how she wanted to test him, so be it. It was her own right.
“Go now,” he shouted. “One . . . two . . . three, four five . . .” he began counting ever faster.
So the hunt began, and Lúthien wasted no time. She landed on the ground and began running. She left many false trails and other signs to confuse Beren. This would not be a simple game. If Lúthien was or was not caught, fate would catch up with her anyway. It was true, she was hoping to be caught, but she also feared it.
Beren opened his eyes and began searching the ground. Then he started along one of the trails Lúthien had taken, concentrating on every blade of grass and broken twig. It was hard to find the trails she had taken since she had changed directions many times. He stumbled over many of the signs, but he was on the right track. He was not called the greatest hunter of all time for nothing. He had discovered three different directions she had possibly taken. Two of them were very obvious, so he knew that he had to take the third track.
Lúthien slowed to a walk, knowing that Beren was still trying to work out where she had gone. She would begin running again only once Beren had caught up with her. So she hid once Beren had finally determined which trail Lúthien had taken.
Beren was being as silent as he could so that, if it were possible, he could creep up on Lúthien instead of having to chase after her. But Lúthien still heard him coming toward her hiding place. Once his back was turned to her, she lightly sprang up and caught a branch high above her head. Then she swung herself up onto the branch of the tree without the slightest sound or rustle of leaves. Then she let out an ear-piercing whistle.
Beren spun around to see her standing there. She was smiling down at him.
“Very impressive, Beren,” she called down to him. “So the tales and the songs I have heard about you are indeed true. You are a skilled hunter after all.”
“Tis true,” Beren replied, grinning.
“Ah, yes. I see,” Lúthien teased. “But you must have a weakness. If you do not, then you are not human. It is my job to discover that one fault of yours. Now you must catch me if you can, Beren! The dawn is not far off!”
She stepped down onto another tree branch and climbed into the next tree while Beren looked up at the sky. Lúthien was right. The dawn was less than an hour away. He had to catch her soon, or she would return to her home, and he would never see her again.
“Let us see how good a tree climber you are!” Lúthien challenged.
“Watch and learn, novice!”
Beren leapt onto a branch and climbed after her. She smiled and climbed higher. Soon, she had disappeared in the canopy of the trees. Beren reached the top and gazed around, but he could not see her. He poked his head up above the leaves. Lúthien had done the same, trying to find out how close Beren was. When she saw him, she gasped, giving herself away, for Beren heard her and espied her. Then she laughed, and her head disappeared below the leaves again.
Beren leapt onto her branch, and she jumped back with a startled cry and shrank against the bole of the tree. Then she laughed again. Beren reached out to grab her by the arm. If he did, the hunt would at last be over, and he would have won her heart forever, but Lúthien dodged him. Beren took a step forward and heard a crack.
“Great,” he said in an undertone.
The branch was about to break! Lúthien jumped down onto the ground, landing smoothly on her feet only just in time. Beren had not been so quick, and the branch broke and he fell for the second time. He lay painfully upon the ground. Lúthien looked down upon him, smiling with triumph. Then she began running.
Beren cursed himself for not being faster. Now that Lúthien had begun running, he may not be able to catch her at all. But he at once rose to his feet and tore after her.
She looked back at him and laughed, and they both paused when they reached the river of Esgalduin. There seemed to be no impassable way across it save by swimming, and Beren thought that Lúthien had come to a dead end. But Lúthien looked into the waters and smiled. She turned back to Beren.
“I hope that you do not mind getting too wet!” she said. Then she dove into the waters. Beren did not hesitate. He jumped in after her. The water was icy cold, but that was not the thing that surprised Beren. The current was strong. It was much stronger than it had looked to be. He grabbed onto a fallen log and clung to it. Then he climbed up onto the shore and searched for Lúthien, but he did not see her. He waded into the waters, calling out for Lúthien and diving below, trying to find her. His fear was relieved when he saw Lúthien climb onto the other side of the river. She was shivering and wet. She only grinned and said, “Is that sunlight I see?”
Beren looked toward the east. Dawn was arriving, but there was no sun to be seen just yet. He looked back at Lúthien, but she had disappeared. Beren knew the behavior of his prey; Lúthien was clearly beginning to run out of tricks.
He managed to cross the river hastily on a few fallen logs this time, drenching himself in the cold water and near falling and drowning himself again. Once he crossed, he was exhausted and had little energy left, but he may have a greater chance to catch Lúthien. She was exhausted too. Her arms and leg muscles were aching, so she lay down to rest. Now she was too weary to run, and she did not bother hiding herself.
Lúthien closed her eyes, and then she felt something cold against her throat. She opened her eyes and saw it was Beren's dagger.
“The hunt is over,” he said. “I have caught you, little bird. You cannot fly any longer, and the dawn has not yet arrived.”
He lowered his head to kiss her, but then he hesitated. She had always drawn away from him before, but Lúthien noticed his hesitation and smiled.
“You have my permission to kiss me if you want to, Beren,” she told him.
He brushed his lips across hers, a little timidly. He clutched her tightly, fearing that she would slip from his arms again and utterly shatter his spirit. She too drew back, and then he kissed her, almost greedily, but he can be forgiven. The swift progression of confessions after such a long wait was understandable. Lúthien no longer held back and no longer feared Beren.
“No fair!” she said. “You are a Man tall and strong and you are crushing me!”
She rolled on top of him, her shadowy hair falling upon his face. Beren lay as he was, paralyzed with disbelief and overcoming joy. Then she did what she had been longing to do all along. She touched his cheek and at last knew what fur upon a person’s face was like. She giggled like a little girl and blushed, and Beren could not help but smile and blush just as red.
“Do you like it?” his eyes danced. “Because if you do not, I can always shave it. It will grow back if you change your mind.”
“It is . . . different,” she answered, brushing her cheek against his and giggling again. “It tickles!”
“So you would rather me shave it?”
“No, I mean, I think I like it.”
Then she kissed him with equal passion. A touch against his lips and he opened his eyes to find her fingers tracing them ever so lightly.
“Lady.”
“Tinúviel,” she corrected patiently, with a hint of merriment.
“Tinúviel,” he willingly complied, entranced by that light touch.
He could feel the color flood into his cheeks and she chuckled. “Wonders of wonders, this blushing, and all for me.”