Chapter 9: A Maia's Counsel

Nine
A Maia’s Counsel

Let us not forget that sweet maid Lúthien that was left behind in Menegroth. Time passed on from that mournful day, and summer passed into autumn. Despite the change in seasons, Doriath remained unwiltered. Flowers still sprang into bloom as though it was spring. The land was as fair as ever, and tonight, the moon was bright and full, and the stars shone piercingly bright so that the Caves were flooded with their light. There was a gentle breeze blowing upon the air, and the flowers created a sweet aura of perfume. There was silver dew upon the grass, and the silence that had passed over Doriath was lifted.
It was a night of such rare beauty, yet Lúthien remained inside the Caves, for whenever she heard the pattering of raindrops or the creaking of countless trees, then she would unceasingly long to hear Beren once again calling the tender name that nightingales were called of old, the name Tinúviel. The memory was faint and far-off, tolling like a bell. Besides, she could not go out even if she had desired to, for Thingol had put her under close guard. He found his daughter somewhat changed, for since the Trial she had spoken but little with her father, and the days weighed heavily on her. She spent her time with the horses that she loved and rode often from the Caves into the woods. Neither would her father allow her to send messages to Beren in Nargothrond and refused the messengers that came from Beren to Lúthien. She had been enraged, of course, and had spoken heatedly to her father.
“How dare you!” she hissed. “How dare you keep his letters from me? They are meant for me and should be given to me!”
“You are to cut yourself off from him!” her father ordered. “Only then can you begin to cut him from your heart and heal!”
Lúthien would not listen to him and realized there could be no more arguing with her father. He could not be dissuaded, and her mother did not speak about Beren and the Quest at all. Lúthien often asked her for counsel, but it seemed that the queen was hiding some grievous news from her. What she may be hiding, Lúthien could only guess, and Melian only gave out dark hints. Her mother’s silence was becoming more frustrating and more hurtful than her father’s relentless opposition.
Lúthien turned to leave and Thingol nodded to Mablung.
“Guard her and see that she does not disobey me in this matter.”
“Yes, lord.”
Lúthien's mouth dropped open, and she narrowed her eyes. She stormed from the hall and threw herself against the walls of the Caves, breathing hard in her anger.
“Am I merely his prisoner now?”
“Lady, you know he is protecting you.”
“He has no right . . . ”
Mablung touched her face and said soothingly, “You must forgive him, Lúthien. He means no harm to you. Love can be painful, but that is what has always been between you two.”
“He is not keeping Beren from me because he loves me. He is doing this because he hates him and his kind! His words were a slight to my father, and he seeks to salvage his wounded pride! He sent him away to his death and I cannot love a murderer!”
“Nay, Lúthien. You love him still.”
Lúthien started, then admitted, “I do, don’t I? And I always shall, I suppose. However much I love him, I cannot remain his forever. I once thought that no force on earth could separate me from Father. But now I am no longer so sure.”
******
Lúthien missed Beren sorely and collected as much news about the Quest as she could. It all seemed like good news, but Lúthien only felt more apprehensive as each day slowly crawled by. Soon, she could no longer sleep as soundly as she had before. She awoke each night from nightmares, and there was nothing she could do to be rid of them. Sleeping potions and soft feather beds did nothing to recover her ability to fall asleep anymore.
Daeron had pranced about Doriath with smiling face while Beren was gone, but as Lúthien's condition slowly became worse, and she was often seen near tears, he began to feel remorse over what he had done. She did not dance or sing, and Daeron could not take up his pipe while she suffered. She only clutched at the ring of Finrod that Beren had left her. Her heart was not up for singing or dancing now.
One night, Lúthien awoke to find an Elf sitting in a chair beside the fire. She did not recognize him, and once she sat up in bed, the Elf rose and held up his hand to silence her.
“My name is Arminas,” he said. “Pardon me if I have startled you-“
”Tell me why you are here in my bower,” Lúthien interrupted.
Arminas smiled and bowed as he presented a few letters to her. Lúthien stared and then took the letters suspiciously.
“What are these?”
“Messages from the Lord of the Edain, lady.”
“If my Father-“
”Your father does not know, and shall not know. Give your letters to me. Thingol cannot seclude you from Beren for long.”
Lúthien then began smuggling messages to Beren without her father's consent. Gelmir too had entered Doriath, and Arminas would deliver Lúthien's messages to Beren who remained in Nargothrond.
In each message Beren gave her, he reminded Lúthien that he loved her and assured her that he was well. Lúthien often begged him in her letters not to go on the Quest, or else that he should have his messengers 'kidnap' Lúthien so that she could ride along with him on the Quest, but Beren kept sending letters dissuading her. Lúthien received one last message from Beren:

My beloved,

Tomorrow we shall set out on the Quest, and I cannot try to lie to you or hide from you how frightened I am, and you have read my heart. I know not whether I shall survive this quest, but I know I shall not die in vain. Neither is it my wont to judge if I shall live or die. It is the Valar's. King Finrod, I can tell, knows that he shall not survive somehow, and this does not bring much encouragement to me. There are ten Elvin-lords that are coming in our steed, and one Elf, Edrahil, and I have become good friends. He reminds me often of Gorlim, and indeed, being a part of such a company brings back the memories of my father's. I am glad that I will have companions, if only for a short while, upon my journey.
It has been a joy to me to be able to walk in the halls of King Finrod, though I am anxious to begin the Quest. This was my home as a boy, and I hope to see it again someday. You told me in your last letter that you have begun wearing Our ring around your neck. I am touched to hear this. And I must tell you that I do not blame King Thingol. He shall never love me, I fear, but I can make him respect me.
As for King Finrod, he is still quite jubilant. He noticed me writing to you once and commanded that I tell you that he wished to send you his greetings and his friendship. He is delighted that you are wearing the ring that he gave to my kin. He also says that he is still amazed by your beauty. I told him to hold his tongue on that.
I truly wish you could be here with me, though I must tell you once again that you cannot. I cannot smuggle you here as you asked in your previous letter. You know the reasons why. I have all the aid I need, and I have put enough lives at risk. I fear that I may be putting the entire world at risk. I would feel too much as though I were your abductor, but I cannot help but think that I would then be able to tell you properly what you mean to me. Writing and receiving is just not the same as seeing you. I want you to remember those brief days of joy we shared before we were exposed. I shall treasure those moments as the happiest time in all my life. To know you are safe alone are crumbs enough to give me joy on the cheerless roads.
But now, I am afraid that this may be the last message I give to you. I wish to bring you hope, Tinúviel, so I will say that your letters have brought me hope, and perhaps, the hope that I will see you again will follow me during the Quest. Pray for me and try not to trouble yourself over the Quest or me. Perhaps it is better that you forgot. Beloved of the night, what hope have I of seeing you again? I dare not expect it. My final despair is never far behind, the dread that this has been our last parting. I can barely speak of it. But I must banish despair. Farewell! I go now to my death or to our happiness. Nightingale, I love you.
Beren

Lúthien reread the letter many times and was reading it when Daeron walked in on her. She tried to quickly conceal the letter, but Daeron saw it and stood frozen in the doorway.
“What are you trying to hide?”
“Must I tell you everything?”
“I think it is a letter. Who is it from, I wonder?”
Lúthien glared at him.
“Hand it to me, Lúthien,” Daeron said sternly, reaching out his hand.
She held out her hand as if to obey, but when he reached to receive it, she jerked back her hand and crumpled it so that it was a tiny ball of paper in her hands. Daeron took a step toward her and she tore it to pieces in front of his eyes and cast them into the fire.
“You were forbidden to send messages to him,” Daeron said very calmly.
“Of course. That is why I sent him the messages. You know it is my nature to do things that are forbidden.”
“I should take this straight to the king.”
“That is why I burnt the letter! I knew that you would betray me if you ever knew-“
Daeron raised his hand to silence her and answered, “I should, but I will not. Beren has already caused all the harm he can here, thank the Valar.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what I mean.”
“Speak!” she commanded with the voice of a queen. “I am required to answer your questions, and now it is your turn! What do you mean? You mean you believe that he shall only fail? You never answered my question when I asked why you laughed at his trial.”
“The fool of a man asked for your hand, knowing who you were, and after he had been rather rash in words to the King. Thingol would have killed him himself if you had not bound his word first. Of course he shall fail. He wanted to fail. Since the Bragollach he sought only for a quick way to end his pain. He could not wait for time and nature to do that.”
Lúthien folded her arms and said angrily, “I happen to love Beren, and when he asked Thingol for my hand in marriage, it was not an attempt on his life, and it was not in the least bit amusing when Beren was so close to death! I am sorry, but I do not possess the dark humor you have.”
Lúthien swept past Daeron, almost knocking him backwards, and sat down in a chair, her hands holding the arms firmly. Daeron frowned and then pulled himself his own chair next to her.
“Tell me why you love him, Lúthien,” he said. “What is it that you can possibly love about a mortal?”
“What he is never mattered to me, but as for why, you are asking the wrong person. Not even the Wise can ever comprehend the mystery of love, and there are many forms of love.”
“And you understand it completely, I see.”
“Then could you explain it to me?” Lúthien said fiercely. “Lore-master! You are supposed to have all the answers, yet you can never answer any of my questions! Love is what I feel for my mother and father, for Beren, and for you also.”
Daeron stared at her, and that same longing he had for her was awoken again, but he did not speak and was calm.
“And if Beren were immortal, the same as we?” she asked then bitterly. “What would be the grudge held against him then?”
Daeron did not answer.
“Love is not something that can be bound. The heart has no limit to love others, Daeron, but you do not know what I am talking about.”
“Lúthien, I know what love is like,” he muttered. “All too well.”
She softened and then said, “I am afraid that my father shall come to hate me.”
“You will never lose your father's heart, no matter what you do. His love for you runs too deep.”
She walked toward him. When she brushed against Daeron and wrapped her arms about him, her movement caused a shiver to run up his spine.
“Thank you, brother.”
“Come now, Lúthien,” Daeron moaned. “Let us make a promise, shall we? I will play my pipe again if you sing for me.”
“No.”
“Lúthien, I am doing all that I can. Even Morgoth knows that you have the loveliest voice in the entire world and that you are the most talented of dancers. You always loved dancing. For how long will you grieve for that mortal?”
“How long should one grieve for a loved lost?”
“One smile. That is all I ask.”
“Why did you smile at his trial?” Lúthien demanded suddenly. “Are you happy that Beren is gone and may be dead and that I suffer for it!”
“Why would you make such a claim?” Daeron asked with surprise.
“You laughed when Beren was first dragged here. You laughed at his trial when he was almost put to death! You think he is nothing more than a common criminal!”
“And what else should I have believed?” Daeron said defensively. “Did he not stalk you in Neldoreth? Did he not frighten you?”
“He did frighten me, but that was before I knew him! He is not a criminal! He was a way-worn man, shorn of his lordship, friendless and hunted like a wild beast!”
“I confess that I am glad that Beren is gone, because now he cannot cause suffering to you any longer.”
“He is not the one that brought that pain, Daeron,” Lúthien said flatly.
“I am only trying to comfort you. Do you want me to leave?”
“If it amuses you!”
“Have you been sleeping?”
“More or less.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Lúthien managed to laugh, and Daeron smiled triumphantly. But then Lúthien bowed her head and became grave again.
“Daeron, I am sorry.”
“What?” Daeron was caught off-guard.
“I am sorry. I am sorry that I did not tell you about Beren. I am sorry I had been avoiding you, for I was. I was afraid. I did not think that you would understand! I feared your anger most of all. I knew that you discerned that I kept secrets from you. Forgive me.”
“I am sorry for your suffering,” he said, “but do not fear my anger. You were in no position to reveal such a secret.”
Daeron was greatly moved, and he began to feel more regretful than ever, but he kissed Lúthien's brow and told her to get some sleep. He was about to leave her, but Jasper the ostler boy entered the room.
“Princess,” he was breathless. “He has returned!”
“Who?” Daeron and Lúthien asked at the same time.
“Iavas!”
“He came alone? But I sent him with Beren. Did he send him back?”
“When a horse returns without its master, I would assume that something has happened to that master,” Daeron said quietly.
******
The return of Lúthien's horse riderless had greatly increased her disquiet, and once news of Beren and the Quest became scarcer and less than ample, Lúthien grew worried. Soon, no news was heard at all, and many believed that Beren and Finrod had already perished. Still, Lúthien sent out her messengers and scouts with all the hope she could muster. She rode often into Neldoreth to rekindle memories and to meet the messengers. They all came back, but they came with no news. This robbed Lúthien of all sleep.
“No messages? No news? No rumors at all?” she asked Gelmir.
“Lady, we have not heard a word concerning the Quest. They could have been delayed, or are unable to send messages. You know that they could be far into Angband by now.”
“Or they could be dead.”
“Well, your highness, Arminas and I will send out all our scouts. We shall keep looking, and if ever you want to end the search, you may. But we shall not end our hunt unless you command it or unless we know, for certain, what has become of the company.”
“Thank you, lord.”
“Beren made us promise him that we would care for you while he was away,” Gelmir answered, smiling. “We are only doing our duty.”
Daeron too was beginning to have difficulty sleeping fussing about Lúthien. He was in the gardens one day when he saw Lúthien sleeping on the grass there.
“Lúthien?”
“What?” she asked groggily. “Who is it?”
“Were you sleeping?”
“Daeron?” Lúthien rubbed her eyes and stretched. “What are you doing here? The courtiers are not meeting today.”
“I know. I only came to see you. You look terrible! Did you get any sleep last night?”
“If I did, I cannot know. If I fell asleep at all, I was not aware of it. I must have been asleep!”
“Lúthien, I am concerned about you.”
“You are always concerned about me!”
“I have a few herbs here that may help you sleep.”
“No! I do not want to sleep!” she cried, knocking the basket of herbs away from her as though it were full of spiders.
“Lúthien, you need to sleep! Perhaps then you would not be so irritable!”
“Every time I close my eyes I have that same dream again! I do not wish to have that nightmare again!”
“Nightmare?” this alarmed Daeron. “What nightmares?”
“I have had a recurring dream. Beren is cast by a shadow into a dark pit. I suddenly hear terrible cries and see blood dripping from dungeon walls. Then Beren is cast up and swallowed by the jaws of a wolf. Daeron, it has rather shaken me.”
“Will you be all right?”
“No. Not until I hear that Beren is safe. Now could you leave me alone for a little while? You have been following me around ever since Beren left, and do not dare deny it!”
“I do not deny it. I am afraid that if I were to leave you alone, you would start to think about Beren, and since he is already dead . . . ”
“No. Beren is not dead.”
“Lúthien, do not lie to yourself. We both know there have been no tidings since he left Nargothrond. The only thing we have is gossip. The rumors say that Beren and Finrod-“
”I know of the rumors, Daeron, but I do not believe one word! Beren is not dead and no one can ever convince me otherwise!”
Lúthien stormed away, and Daeron did not follow after her. He was beginning to wish that he had just killed Beren when he had had the chance and saved Lúthien from all this suffering. He hated to see her in this way.
Lúthien did much thinking and finally went to find her mother. She knew that, if anyone did, Melian might know where Beren was and what condition he could be in. After all, she was a Maia, and they could look out into the lands with their far-seeing eyes, or so it was rumored. Melian had never told her the extent of her powers. She found her mother in the gardens tending to her birds and approached her warily.
“There you are,” Melian said, a nightingale perched upon her hand. “I was waiting for you. What is on your mind this time, my daughter?”
“Mother,” she said, her voice trembling. “I must tell you something.”
Then she told her mother that she had been having nightmares. All the while, Melian listened intently but said nothing, much as she had expected.
“Do you know what this dream could mean?” Lúthien asked once she had finished.
“You could decipher the meanings of the dreams in unending ways. You are also the one that dreamed them, and not I. But remember, Lúthien, that they are only dreams. They are not real and usually do not mean anything. The Valar may send you dreams, but such dreams are particularly rare and it is not easy to understand their message. It is my belief that you are only anxious.”
Lúthien was not satisfied with this answer, “I know what you say, but these dreams are different. I wake up each night in a cold sweat. Sometimes, I do not sleep at all for fear of that dream. Even though I do not always remember what is in the dream, it terrifies me. I am convinced that they do have a meaning, and that they are all tied up with Beren.”
“How can you be so certain?” Melian’s tone was a little sharp.
“Some things require no proof to the beholder. Now tell me some part of what your dark eyes see! Tell me where Beren’s feet are wandering! What foes has he met? Oh Mother, tell me, does he live still treading the desert, in forest of beech and elm, or on hill or in mountain? Do the sun and moon shine above him or do the rains fall on him?”
“And you suppose that I know?”
Years of frustration suddenly came bursting from Lúthien. She found Melian’s answers not only useless but hurtful. “You have been hiding something from me, Mother. You know what has happened,” Lúthien said accusingly. “You have known much and more about me and my fate and withhold it from me purposefully!”
“I have withheld nothing. I know nothing for certain.”
“What are you so fearful of? What have I ever done to deserve this treatment from you!”
“This treatment? What do you mean, child?” Melian burrowed her eyebrows.
“All of my life, I have strived to be like you! Surely you know this. I once sought your affection and approval too, but I long ago ceased that. Do you know why?”
“No,” Melian sounded confused.
“Because no matter what I did, you never responded. You rarely gave me praise or criticism. With father, I always knew where I stood with him. If I pleased him he showered me with adoration. If I was troublesome, he would lecture me. But you! You would simply watch from the shadows, neither smiling nor frowning. You have never taken his side or my side during our fights. Only on rare occasions would you do so or show me any affection. You were always playing the role of the Queen, never of mother. For years and years I have made up excuses for your actions. Recently my whole world has been turned upside down! I view things with different eyes.”
“It is because of that Man!” Melian sounded almost resentful.
“Perhaps! It is because of Beren only because he forced me to open my eyes! Now I am beginning to think that you may have never wanted a child at all. All the times you have ever told me otherwise was all pretense. Or perhaps I disgust you somehow because of what you and father made in me. Perhaps you think me some sort of monster beyond your control. I have never felt any qualms about being a hybrid from father or our people. Father taught me to fear everything on the outside, you played your own part in making me fear myself! I still do not understand myself! What have I ever done to make you hate me so?”
As Lúthien spoke, Melian’s mouth gaped open in horror and her eyes widened. She reached out her arms for her daughter. For the first time in her life, Lúthien saw her mother in distress. It astonished her and even frightened her. She often thought her mother incapable of being afraid.
“I have made a grave mistake,” Melian confessed. “Lúthien, I have never hated you or blamed you for anything. And yes, I too can feel fear. I can feel pain and anguish. To be truthful I was fearful when I became pregnant with you. I did not know I was capable of having a child though I took on the form of one of the Children. I crossed a boundary when I coupled with Elwë. The Maiar were sent here to observe and aid the Children, not to become one of them. I feared the wrath of the Valar. I feared you would be stillborn. I feared you could never have a normal life. I feared many things. You are not bound by the same rules that I am. I do not know what you are capable of. That is why I have never trained you properly. That is why I advised you to ignore whatever signs of Great Power you possessed. I did not wish you to be punished for whatever sin I might have committed. But whatever sins there was, they were mine. And I feared losing you for it.
“Somehow I have always sensed I might lose you. And so I have appeared cold. I cannot blame you for your doubts, but you must not judge me so quickly. You have hurt me deeper than you could ever know with your accusations. I have been with you all of your youth and maidenhood though you were never aware of it. I have defended you more often than you would think, but out of your earshot. I have reached out and given you moments of sleep when you needed it most. I knew about Beren the moment he set foot in Doriath. I could have prevented you from ever knowing of Beren’s existence, but I did not. I kept Thingol and the Sindar from discovering you and Beren for as long as I did. And during his trial, I stayed Thingol’s wrath, or else the promise between you two would have been broken then and there in the hall and Beren’s blood would have been spilt. I never took credit for these deeds. I feared their consequences. I have been in fear of my actions always. I am full of doubts, but I must always appear strong. You must forgive me, my child!”
“You have hurt me Naneth,” Lúthien said after a long silence. “I wish I had known why before now. You have made me pay for whatever imagined sins and fears you have. I will forgive you if only you will do this one thing for me: Tell me all that you know! Answer my questions in full for once in my life! Tell me of Beren and the Quest!”
“The Quest has not suffered the best fortune, Lúthien,” Melian answered.
“If you try, do you think that it would be possible to see him?”
“Yes. It could be possible. But are you sure you want to know, Lúthien? I have wished to know the truth of things, and I often regret that I sought the truth at all soon after.”
“Yes. It may not ease my sleep, but it most certainly could help me understand these strange nightmares and this vision. Will you try to find Beren for me?”
“It is against my better judgment, but I shall as amends and for you.”
Then Melian led her daughter into one of the darkest and deepest caverns of Menegroth. Lúthien had been here with the queen before when she was young. Artanis had also been with them and observed Melian at her great work. It was a small cavern and quite empty, save for a stone table upon which was set an empty basin. Above the basin was a shaft that went up to the surface to let in light and air. Melian carried with her only a lamp and a pitcher of water. Lúthien filled the basin with the water, which was fresh water taken from Esgalduin. She filled it to the brim, but the pitcher was still half full. Melian held aloft the lamp, their only light and waited until the waters had calmed within the basin. The water became as smooth and flat as the surface of a mirror. The stars were reflected within it. Then she turned to her daughter.
“We shall both drink of the waters and look into the basin. Then we shall see what we shall see. Remember: Do not touch the water.”
“Mother, I was never as good at scrying as Artanis was.”
“That is because Artanis was a maiden grown and has an exceptional gift for it. I focused training her gifts because I could discern them more easily. I chose not to indulge you unless you specifically asked. You were far less confident and more interested in other things at the time. I was relieved because when you did gaze into the mirror to scry, you saw things that not even I could understand, but you would never remember them afterwards. As I said, you are not bound to the same laws as I though you have the same potential. Can you understand now why I feared for you?”
They stood upon opposite sides of the basin and drank the remaining water in the pitcher. Then they clasped hands and gazed into the mirror. It took time, but eventually the stars reflected in the basin began to quiver and fade. The waters were black, and then they began looking out upon the lands of Arda. Lúthien recognized only some of what she saw. She had never been outside Doriath and knew distant lands only from paintings and maps. However, she was able to discern telltale landmarks and even animals native to certain regions. She wondered if her mother was seeing what she saw, but it was imperative not to shift her focus.
The images passed away quickly. Some were fuzzy as though she were dreaming, others were sharp and clear. They were also out of sequence. She had never been fully trained to scry. She had no sure way of knowing what she was seeing. Images of the past, present, or future. She saw Daeron traveling upon some lonely road, head bowed low as he composed some masterpiece. She saw her father with a child she did not recognize on his lap, a boy with angry eyes. She saw Beren searching for her in the woods of Nimloth, crying the name Tinúviel as he pursued her. She began to see some of the strange images her mother had painted.
She began to grow impatient and said, “Enough! Show me where Beren is! Not was or will be! I command you!”
And suddenly the waters began to ripple and Melian gasped. Lúthien heard wolves howling. She saw Beren’s face, worn and haggard, lying in a pit with shackles upon his arms.
“No!” she cried. “No! NO! NO!” Her concentration was broken, and the waters were bubbling and smoking as though it were boiling.
“What did you see?” Melian asked quickly. “Tell me before you forget.”
“I saw… I saw him,” Lúthien’s memory was already failing her. “He was in bondage somewhere. I could not tell where. Mother, he is being held prisoner somewhere!”
“I warned you that you might not like what you saw! Tell me, what else did you see? Any detail might help.”
“I did not see much else but I heard wolves. Why? You did not see what I saw?”
“No. I cannot command it to show me exactly what I desire as you just did,” the queen said grimly. “My poor child, what have I done to you?!”
“We must refill it! Maybe I can see more! Maybe I can see what will happen for certain-”
“I cannot allow you to do that! Scrying is dangerous as it is! This is exactly what I feared. But if you truly can command the mirror to show you whatever you wish… No. I cannot allow myself to be tempted too. There are some things that are better not to know. You wanted to know where he is, that was all. Now you have your answer, for what you described is enough.”
“Morgoth does not have him, does he?”
“He is a prisoner of Sauron.”
“Mother, that is just as horrible!” Lúthien moaned. “Where have they taken him? What have they done to him?”
“He lies in one of the pits of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Wolves. I can only hope that Finrod, the high king of the Noldor, and his companions are alive also.”
At these words, Lúthien was silent for a long while. Melian watched her closely.
“Thank you, Mother. I am glad that you have told me the truth. But can you tell me if there is any hope that they may escape?”
“It is impossible for them to escape from the Isle of Sauron. They would have to grow wings.”
“Is there any hope that they may still be rescued?” Lúthien asked desperately.
Melian did not speak in return for a long while. She was wondering what her daughter would do if she were to hear her answer. But Lúthien repeated that question many times, her eyes pleading. So at last, she answered her.
“There may yet be a chance that Beren can be rescued. But only one person upon Middle-Earth has the power or the will to do so. And who that person may be, I cannot be sure. Whoever they may be, Man or Elf or some other unknown, it is clouded from me for all of my magic and all of my power. I am sorry.”
Then Lúthien felt a wave of horror sweep over her, and dread filled her heart. Melian's heart was sore for her, and she held her daughter close.
“Naneth,” Lúthien whispered. “Naneth, you must help me. I know what I must do. No one else upon Middle-Earth will save Beren. I must go myself, despite aught else. Do not laugh at me.”
But Melian did not laugh, nor said a word for a long moment. In many things she was wise and forewise, yet nonetheless it was a thing unthought in a mad dream that any Elf, still less a maiden, the daughter of a king that had longest defied Morgoth, should fare alone even to the borders of that horrible country amid which lay Angband and the Hells of Iron. Little love was there between the land of Doriath and Angband, even before the First Battle when Morgoth's power was not yet full-grown.
“No help can I give you, little one,” she said at last. “For even if magic and destiny should bring you safely out of that foolhardiness, many things will come afterwards, and on some many sorrows, and my advice is that you should never tell your father of your desire.”
“Believe me, such a thought never occurred to me,” Lúthien answered. “But if I were to ask him, would he really deny me? He has never deprived me in such a way before. What might he do to keep me here? He would not really lock me up against my will, would he?”
And Melian answered, “I doubt it not.”
******
Lúthien returned to Daeron as it began to grow dark in the world above them and said, “Please, play me music for heart’s ache, for heart’s despair, and for heart’s dread, for light gone dark, and dead laughter!”
“I do not know the tune to revive the spirit at its lowest ebb,” Daeron answered, but he took up his pipe and sounded a ditty for Lúthien the fair.
All things halted while his pipe wailed in the hollows, and all business and mirth or sadness was forgotten. Birds’ voices failed while Daeron played, and Lúthien no longer anguished for every pain at the sweet sound. When his song ended, she felt compelled. She began to sing Daeron’s favorite song. Her voice put all other sounds to shame. He kneeled and embraced her.
“It has been too long since last I heard you sing,” he said. “You know how much I appreciate your voice.”
“And it is the same for your pipe,” she replied. “We really should be siblings. We are birds of a feather when it comes to music. We have long been friends. Therefore, I must ask something of you, and I pray that you will not grudge me of it.”
“Ask what you will, Lúthien.”
She told him of Beren’s predicament and her desire to rescue him and asked for his aid. For a long moment he gazed at her in amaze. He shook his head and attempted to walk away, but she clung to him.
“Daeron, please? If you helped me to rescue Beren-”
“Why should I go into the most dangerous of all the perils of the world to save a mere mortal from his own folly?” Daeron interrupted. “He has brought nothing but sorrow to us all! Look what he has done to you, Lúthien! Seeing visions and having nightmares when you get the chance to sleep. Lack of sleep has put these wild ideas in your head. Before he set foot in our land, you and I still made music and danced in the forests without a care. He has destroyed our play together.”
“I know I was absent for long spells without seeing much of you, and it seemed I had forgotten you, but it was not so,” she put a hand to his face and smiled. “You are the only person I trust with all my heart. I have not spoken to anyone else of my thoughts save the queen. Will you really betray that trust and reject me so?”
“If I did not come with you, would you still set out to find Beren and be reunited with him?”
“Yes. Yes, I would. Of course, the journey would be all the most difficult and thrice more dangerous without you. All the same, I will not abandon Beren in the hour of his need.”
“How do you hope to rescue him, Lúthien? For you are still young of age and a tender maiden.”
“Young?” Lúthien broke in. “I have seen mountains weathered down and rivers change course in my lifetime. Tender? You want me to put on mail to prove you wrong? Shall we go now to the armories and have myself fit into some now?”
Daeron laughed out loud and said, “You have never touched a sword in all your life, Lúthien! You have no conception under heaven what danger is beyond Doriath! Unlike you, Lúthien, I have had to journey to Nargothrond and the Wild regions. This land is untouchable, but out there . . .” he trailed off and shivered. “Once you cross the safety of the Girdle, there is no telling what might become of you.”
“I know my peril.”
“Do you? You have no weapons, and it seems that you have no plans either. Do you have a certain strategy in mind? Any scraps on a rescue attempt? You have nothing, Lúthien!”
“But Beren-“
”I have no love for him!”
“I ask your aid not for him, but for myself, for that very play of which you spoke of aforetime. If you have any love for me at all, you would help me. I remember when you would make me hide behind your back whenever a stranger came by because you were so protective of me. If ever I needed such protection, it would be now.”
Daeron turned his back on her.
“I do not ask you to go to that cursed place,” Lúthien assured him. “I would never ask you to go into Hell for me. I only ask that you take me within the confines of its gates. I will not bind you to do any more than that. You are a lore master and a minstrel, Daeron. I know that, but you are no craven.”
“And for your sake I say nay.”
Her look of distress and shattered hope pained Daeron almost more than he could bear. He wished that he could aid her, for he would be of some use. He was no true warrior, but he had trained with blades and had traveled some of the lands of Beleriand and mapped much of the known world himself in his invented script, and his marksmanship was no light matter.
“Perhaps others might aid me. I may not find them here in Doriath, but I know I may meet companions upon the road,” she said with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
“Lúthien, get some sleep and regain your senses.”
“I have slept plenty. I slept for many hours before I came to you. Now that I know I am leaving Doriath, I have finally been able to rest!”
“What do you mean?” Daeron’s eyes flashed in alarm. “You are already decided on this matter?”
“I will depart Doriath as soon as I can,” she answered sadly. “I do not know if I will ever return to my beloved home again, but I may see other lands, just as fair, ere the End.”
“You cannot leave Doriath! Your father forbids it.”
“Of course my Father forbids it!” Lúthien cried. “That is no longer of any matter. I leave tonight.”
“What? I cannot believe that you will do so!”
Lúthien gave him a grave and tragic look. Daeron knew then that Lúthien meant what she said. She was leaving Doriath and flying into the face of danger with a mad purpose.
“You are not going anywhere, Lúthien,” he exerted all his persuasive power. “I do not want to sing a song one of these days that speaks of a fair maiden, maddened with love, embracing death as a result. Stay with me, Lúthien. Is there anything that I can say to retain you?”
She shook her head. “No. No, I can think of nothing.”
“Can you perceive the odds of a maiden shaking the dark lands of Angband or even the Isle?”
“There is a way. There is a hope for Beren. One and only one person upon this Earth has the will and the power to rescue him. I have the will and the power of my love for him, and I am not the frail girl you name me. Today I name myself a warrior! I have what I need, but I also need you to be there for me, your support and company. I need a guide as well. Your rejection was a little hasty. Now I shall ask you one last time: Will you please help me? Please, Daeron?” she said slowly. “Please, sweet brother? I... I do not know the way!”
Daeron looked into her eyes, shimmering with hope and affection. He was torn, so torn that he felt as though a knife had been stabbed through his bowels.
“No, Lúthien,” he said painfully. “And you should not go either.”
“I do not even have your support in this matter, and you are my best friend; my brother! It looks like I must fly into peril alone. Such is my fate.”
“There are other perils in the world of which you know nothing about.”
At these words, Lúthien gasped, and she stared at Daeron with surprise and amazement. “I cannot believe my ears! Has it finally come to this? His very words from your lips! You have become a selfish, cowardly, overbearing ape that only cares that I should be safe and sound forever like a frail, cringing child!”
“What have I done?”
Lúthien scoffed at Daeron. It seemed that she could not believe that Daeron did not know what terrible thing he had done. Then she doubled up in laughter with what seemed to be true madness. Her laughter cut short, and she shoved Daeron. He was not prepared for the assault, and his feet were not firmly planted, and he fell to the ground. She leaned over him, her eyes on fire.
“You know what you did,” she hissed, and her voice was ominous. “Well, perhaps not yet.”
“You are not yourself! I want no more of these games!”
“I thought you like games! Now guess whose words you have spoken.”
Daeron stared at her blankly.
“You have quoted my Father! You have become just like my Father.”
Daeron bowed his head with shame, but then he became prideful, and angry. He rose and took her roughly by the shoulders.
“Lúthien, just take one moment and hear yourself! I mean, really hear yourself! You have allowed this mortal to break your heart and break your mind! This is insanity, and I seem to have no power to stop you in your great self-destruction! What do you want, Lúthien? You can be free of Beren forever! You will no longer burn and yearn for him as you do now. Then you can go on living as you had before, when you were happier.”
“I was happier than I ever had been when I was with Beren,” she answered.
“What do you want me to do!” Daeron shouted. “I have done as much as I could for you, and you just deny my love and my aid. What more can one ask!”
“HELP ME!” Daeron cringed and released her from his grasp. Lúthien covered her face and began sobbing in her anguish. “Oh, please someone help me!”
Daeron sighed, furious with himself. He sat beside her and pulled her hands away from her face, knowing he would have to condone himself, but she sprang to her feet.
“I deny your love and your aid?” she hissed. “What love and aid have you given me in my hour of need? I once called you my brother! I have always known you to be my friend, but I cannot now call you my friend.”
Like a well-aimed blow, the words pierced into Daeron’s heart. He may never be able to reveal his true feelings and wed her, the daughter of the king, but he could not bear the thought of her despising him for this, the thought that their friendship could be turned to hatred!
“Lúthien, I vow that I will always love you.”
Sorrowfully, she said, “In other words, I must fare alone. Tell no one of this.”
She left him in a hurry and Daeron was at a loss. He knew it would be futile to follow her, but he was afraid that she was about to set out to do as she had threatened. Then an idea came into his head. It was not the first one he might have preferred, but it was all that he could think of. There was no solution that was quicker. He ran to King Thingol's halls.
“My Lord!” he cried breathlessly. “Lúthien has gone, and I fear that she has gone to seek Beren. She came to me and asked me to aid her! I am afraid that she may destroy herself in her madness! What should I do, my lord? I could think of nothing but to come to you.”
Then Thingol looked on him in astonishment and said at last, “You have been true to me all of your life. There shall be love between us ever more. You are a prince in my eyes, master of music. Send for Mablung and Beleg and bring my daughter to me before she is harmed.”
******
Lúthien blinked back tears, wishing she could look back. She wanted to say farewell to Menegroth, her beloved and most hated home. She wanted to say her farewells to her mother. She wanted to ask her if what she had spoken was true. Was there no other way to save the one she loved? Did she have to do this alone? Now that she had escaped, she no longer knew where she was going or what she must do. She wanted to say goodbye to her father. He would never forgive her for this. She wanted to say farewell to Daeron; to reconcile with him. She knew that she would never have the chance. She knew it even then, in her heart. She wanted to look back, to turn back . . .
But I cannot! I will never see them again. Not mother or father, Daeron or Mablung and Beleg. I shall never laugh again.
She wandered into the woods of Neldoreth and stumbled, as Beren had, before the stream of Esgalduin. There she sat and mourned.
“Endless roll the waters!” she said. “To this my love has come at last! To heartache and loneliness, and enchanted waters that are pitiless.”