Chapter 23: The Halls of Mandos

The Halls of Mandos

At the very moment life fled her veins; a smile at last crossed Lúthien’s face. She could see the strong features of her love as she died, waiting, holding out a hand for her. Reaching out her arms, she cried out to him, full of joy.
“Beren! Beren!”
But he vanished. It was as though she had been dreaming. She felt as though she had been falling through a bottomless hole for eons. She expected to land upon solid ground and shatter, but nothing happened. She opened her eyes, expecting to find herself back in the gardens where she had been standing before she fell and lost all her senses. She was greatly astonished to see that this was no longer so. She seemed to be floating now, and her surroundings began to materialize about her. It took her a moment to collect her thoughts. She had somehow found herself within gloomy halls of hazy gray. The place did not have an aura of either good or evil. The hall seemed to stretch on forever and had countless doors upon either side, closed, in some cases barred shut. There were also benches of stone upon which sat Elves in robes of gray. They appeared to be neither happy nor sad but deep in trance. No one greeted her or noted her presence.
“Hello? Can anyone tell me what has happened?” she asked aloud.
“They cannot hear you, child.”
She turned to the voice and found herself gazing upon a Maia. Part of her recognized her own ilk. The Maia was robed in white and had silver hair, but Lúthien could not tell if the Maia was male or female. Perhaps the Maia had not chosen a gender. But the Maia confirmed her fears.
“These are the Halls of Mandos. You have passed from your life in Arda, but do not fear. Upon judgment you may be reborn anew or remain in Valinor. The children here are reviewing their lives to prepare for judgment. Mandos will give you an allotted amount of time to review your own life and prepare your case.”
Lúthien was not listening. There was a terrible realization that she was dead. What would it mean to her people? To her mother and father? And so she was in Valinor, but where was Beren? She could have sworn she saw him! Had he truly gone forever beyond the Sundering Seas? Was there no chance that she would ever see him again?
She began to search the faces of the dead, continuing down the hall, but they were all of the Eldar. There were no men or women.
“Where are the Men?” she asked.
“Mortals?” the Maia was confused.
“Yes, mortals! Where is Beren?” she demanded.
The Maia looked unsettled, and even the dead seemed to come out of their stupors to listen to the commotion.
“Child, mortals do not pass onto the Blessed Realm. They have their own fate which none can know. But it is known that wherever he has gone, you cannot follow. You are also a strange case, for you are a child of Eldar and Ainur. Mandos must decide what is to be done with you. Surely your fate will be a pleasant one, if that is any comfort to you.”
“As the daughter of Melian, I demand to go beyond the Sundering Seas to find Beren.”
“You dare to make demands?” boomed the voice of Mandos, so terrible the pillars of the hall shook and the dead trembled.
“Yes!” she replied boldly. “For there is no justice beyond death if this must be! Reveal yourself and explain why Beren is denied any reward for his deeds and why we are sundered at all in life or death!”
To her surprise, the halls of Mandos melted away and she stood within a council chamber full of light, and out of the light came many shapes. They were the Valar, and they could take any form they wished. They seldom appeared before Men and Elves and never in their original forms. They did not look exactly 'human', but they were very fair to look upon and some of them looked human enough.
One was of female shape, the other of male shape. The woman was very tall and clad in flowing silver, glittering like stars in the darkest velvet night, and she wore a crown of stars. Her hair was the shadows of night, but her skin was so white that she seemed to blend in with the light. She was Varda, queen of the stars. She was most loved by the Elves and was also renowned among Men. She had keen hearing, so that she could hear all the cries of the people. She gave aid to those that asked for it, and she was the spouse of Manwë, lord of the Valar. So great was her beauty, even in such a form, she was astonishing.
Beside her was Manwë himself. He was the chief Vala to Eru, the god of all. He was also tall, taller than any man, and he wore robes encrusted with sapphires of the deepest blue, mirroring the sky, and in his hand he held a silver and sapphire rod. But his form was like to Elbereth’s: The form of light. His eyes were blue, and his hair was golden like the sun, but he was powerful and grim looking. Upon his head, he wore a king's crown. He had been Morgoth's brother, but now he did not claim kinship to him. Varda and Manwë stood together, the rulers of all the Valar. They were the king and queen of night and day and also of the skies. Their faces were majestic beyond description
Lúthien fell at their feet, and Varda touched her shoulder and said, “Stand, great heart.” So she staggered up, but could not look into her eyes.
Two more shapes appeared, followed by all of the remaining order of the Valar. Soon, they all fourteen of them wreathed about Lúthien, speaking to each other in a soft and melodious tongue which was Quenya, the high-speech, all of them beautiful, but all appeared grim.
The next Valier and Vala that Lúthien recognized was Yavanna and her spouse, Aluë. Yavanna was Mother Earth. She was very tall, and was clothed in all the raiment of plants. Her skin was like smooth white bark. Moss and vines covered her body like a dress. Her eyes were green, and her hair was golden. From her fingers, leaves grew. Her own spouse, Aluë looked very much human. He was clothed in armor, and in one hand, he held a large and powerful hammer. He was the Vala of craft and metals, and he was also Vala of the Earth. He too had always been an enemy of Morgoth, even though the two were more alike than any others of the Valar. He had always desired to make creatures of his own to teach and love, so he had created the dwarves.
The next couple was Lórien and Estë. Both were clothed in gray robes, but their faces were hard to see. Lórien was golden haired, Estë’s, brown. The color of their eyes could not be told. They would often change color altogether. Lórien was the Vala of sleep, and Estë was the Valier of dreams. She was the Valier of healing too. They were faint visions, as though they were fragments from a dream, and were surrounded by clouds.
Tulkas and Nessa were next. Tulkas held his sword in his hands. He was the Vala of battle, of course, and he himself had fought Morgoth and chained him up for three long ages. He wore golden armor. His hair was dark, and his eyes were also dark. Although he was the Vala of warfare, he was also a practical joker! He often laughed merrily and full-heatedly, but now he did not laugh and appeared grave. He pulled Nessa to him, and she was the sister of Oromë. She looked like an ordinary woman, but she wore the clothes of a hunter. A quiver of arrows was slung over her shoulder, and she held in one of her hands a bow. Her hair was a flaming red, and her eyes were blue. She was also the master of animals and Valier of dance.
Nessa's brother and his spouse appeared. Oromë came with his spear in one hand, and his great horn, Valaroma, in the other. The look in his eyes was even more grim than Manwë's. He was short-tempered and to see him angered was a terrible sight. With him was Yavanna's younger sister, also known as Vana, the Ever-young. She was clothed in flowers. She was very small and slender. She was beautiful, but could easily be mistaken for a child. She was golden haired like her sister, and her eyes also were green.
Standing beside Oromë, however, was a hound with fur like to a wolf's, but he was the enemy of all wolves. He was large in size and very noble looking for a beast, and Lúthien recognized him with one glance. It was Huan. He had become Oromë’s most loyal and favorite hound. She let out a gasp of surprise to see him, and he too was greatly surprised. He cocked his head and whimpered.
Two more Valar appeared, but separately, for they both traveled alone. First was Ulmo, the lord of waters. He was the most loved of Men, because he aided them more than any others of his kin. He did not look human at all. He had scales as skin and had grown a beard, unlike the other Valar, and it was green with seaweed. His eyes were blue, but they were deep and fierce. He wore a dark helm that was foam-crested and wore silver mail. Second was Nienna, the mourner. She was not spouse to anyone. She was the Valier of mercy, love, and pity. Many also called her the Valier of wisdom.
A last pair of Valar appeared, and they were the most dreaded. For it was Mandos and his queen, Vairë. Her eyes glowed red. Her face was hidden behind a dark hood. She was the weaver of death, they said. She was most feared of the Valar, save Mandos, himself. He was the grimmest of his kin. He was the judge of the dead and he also prophesied the Doom of the Noldor and had condemned the living. He forgets nothing, and he is unyielding. He is unforgiving and harsh, and if it were not for Ilúvatar, the race of Men and Elves would have been extinguished. Lúthien wondered that he had not joined Morgoth because he looked so evil and seemed always to be angry. He too wore a black cloak. His eyes were as cold as ice. They were gray and pitiless, and he had raven-black hair. He narrowed his eyes upon Lúthien and watched every move she made like a hawk.
Huan, who had been staring at Lúthien with disbelief and amazement, trotted towards Manwë and began speaking, but she could not hear. Manwë and Varda listened intently to his spoken words. Lúthien wondered what he was saying. When Huan finished speaking, Manwë nodded and called for Mandos. Mandos spoke with a stern voice, and Lúthien caught her name in their conversation. Then Manwë stepped down and addressed Lúthien in her own tongue.
“We know you, daughter of Melian, and welcome you to our halls.”
All of Valinor knew about the Quest for the Silmaril, for it touched them near. The making of the holy Silmarils had caused great war between the Valar and Morgoth, and also, Fëanor, whom the Valar had loved even when he rebelled against them, was slain for them.
“We expected that great matters would be called into question upon your death. But all souls must pass through Mandos. Otherwise you would have been brought before us the moment you breathed your last.”
“And as I feared she has disturbed the souls waiting in our halls,” Vairë said. “She challenged Mandos himself and brought them out of their trances! They shall have to be sent to Lórien to rid them of her words and put them into trance again. Their progress could be hindered by what they heard!”
Mandos snorted. “It makes no difference. Lúthien’s very existence disturbs the fabric of order. Little more than an abomination in my records. Melian practically turned her back upon Valinor and her own nature coupling with an Elf. It seems her daughter seeks her mate even lower. Imagine the outcome of a child of that union! Three-fold race! None of you appreciate the precious time and careful considerations I must make in deciding the fate of a single soul without having to be bothered with these anomalies! Perhaps Eru’s absence from Arda is truly for the better. What has ever come of the Divine mingling in earthly affairs? Grief!”
“My mother has done more good for the world than any of your efforts!” Lúthien lashed back. “For as long as you allow Morgoth to torment the world, you will have no choice but to mingle! He was once one of you! The Girdle of Melian has protected Doriath from him for ages, not you! You were the ones that loosed him upon us when you had the chance to keep him from this world forever. It seems that even the Divine can make mistakes. You cannot be immune to judgment yourselves!”
Mandos’ eyes flashed. “Tread lightly, child of Thingol. For I do not consider you of the Ainur as others might, nor will I be swayed by your beauty as easily as Morgoth was. For I am just, not vengeful or merciful. So do not expect pity or preferential treatment, especially not from me! You should accept the natural order as it is. Let Beren go and await judgment for your part in the rash deeds of your lives!”
“Justice is all that I expect, and you are refusing it to me for the sake of convenience! Beren and I recaptured a Silmaril and cast Morgoth from his throne! And what of Sauron, Draugluin, Carchoroth, and the sorceress? All of them vanquished because of us.”
“And you believe that there are no consequences for such actions, as good as you believe them to be? The Silmaril is in Thingol’s hands now, and the Sons of Fëanor will not rest peacefully while he has it. Morgoth will want revenge, but he may also become more cautious and cunning than ever. Sauron wanders harmless for now, but do you naively believe that he will remain that way? He will doubtless return to breed more wolves. The sorceress was but a fly, she had no real power. And did not many noble people die for your foolish cause? Huan paid with his lifeblood in your damnable quest! And what of Finrod and his loyal men? And what of the wedge you placed between the Noldor and Sindar? The threat of open war was very real.”
“Now is not the time to make attacks or hasty judgments,” Varda stopped him. “Lúthien is not responsible for any of that.”
“But she must be made to understand that she has a hand in it.”
“Whatever you say, Beren and I managed something neither you nor all the armies of Men and Elves could do. And yet Beren paid his own lifeblood before we were scarcely wed. And here I am! We seem to have been punished enough. Now you tell me we are to be separated forever? Is there nothing but hateful punishments after death?”
“I simply cannot give you the answers you desire. It is my part only to judge you,” Mandos said. “Every soul demands answers of me, as though the Valar are to blame for all of their little grievances and sins.”
“I simply want to know this: Where is the son of Barahir, Beren Echermion the mortal man? Why do I not see him standing here?”
“That is not for you to know,” Mandos answered curtly.
“So do you mean to say that when he died in my arms, that was the last of him? We shall never again see each other?”
Mandos nodded. Lúthien simply could not accept that. She began to weep.
“What if I refused to be judged? Even if I pass judgment, why would I want to go back to Middle-Earth or remain in the Blessed Realm?” she demanded.
Mandos was taken aback. No Man or Elf or other kin of earth had fallen before him and wept in such a way. Many did so once they had learned that they had not passed judgment and begged for mercy, but he was sure that Lúthien had never committed any unforgivable sin, despite all of his harsh words, nor had she spoken blasphemous words against Ilúvatar. Mandos was also puzzled and shocked when Lúthien asked the question she did, though he refused to show it.
“Refuse judgment! Refuse Valinor? Is there something more that you would desire?”
“I would not be happy even in the Blessed Realm without Beren, whom I love! she declared. “Losing him caused the darkness to fall upon me, and it eventually killed me. Is there no way that we can spend the rest of eternity together? You know that Beren and I suffered great loss and pain. Must we lose each other in such a way? You cannot give me my soul and then take away my heart!”
“Our granddaughter deserves better,” Manwë and Varda declared.
There was astonishment at this. None were more surprised than Lúthien. She had never suspected that Manwë and Varda were her kin. Melian had always been very mysterious about her parentage. Lúthien had suspected Estë and Lórien because she claimed to have escaped from their gardens. At times she hinted she was the kin of Yavanna. And her father speculated that perhaps she was the daughter of Oromë and Vana since she was Yavanna’s little sister and Oromë was always close to the Sindar. She had not confirmed any of these theories.
“Her lineage matters not,” Mandos said dismissively. “Only her deeds.”
“It is said that the soul of Beren refuses to pass on,” Oromë said. “What is to be done about that? Not even you, Mandos, can will him to pass.”
“He does indeed wander,” Varda insisted. “I have heard his sorrowful voice and Manwë has seen his restless spirit wandering the Sundering Shore. The spirits of Man often wander for various reasons and at various times. But Beren has touched a Silmaril and is unlike other mortals. He is not half-mad as other ghosts are. He remembers everything and he should pass on whenever he desires it. But something physically holds him back.”
“This is not the will of Eru,” Manwë said. “I know his mind above all others, but in this matter it is shrouded from me.”
Lúthien was filled with hope. Beren was wandering, as she and Melian had thought. That meant he was not yet gone forever, but neither would they be reunited. Unless she could do something…
“May I speak?”
“You must wait until I call upon you!” Mandos said.
“What of Beren?” she could not help herself. “What will become of him if he continues to wander? Why must he suffer it?”
“Men are not our concern after death,” Mandos said and for the first time she heard uncertainty in his voice. “They are purely Eru’s.”
“Perhaps it is a sign from Eru,” little Vana suggested.
“This matter cannot wait long,” Estë said.
“You must at least let me say good-bye to him, then. Please. If we are never to see each other again for an eternity, then let us say our final farewells. Please.”
“Such a thing cannot be done!”
“Mandos!” Ulmo spoke, and his voice was deep and terrifying. “We all know that Beren and Lúthien have rendered a greater service to us than any other creature of Middle-Earth. I would not deny them the right to say farewell.”
“Lovers should not be separated at all,” Nienna said. “Love is glory.”
“There are other dead awaiting judgment!” Mandos snapped. “Must I make them wait upon this girl simply because she is being troublesome? Or because she is of our blood? Justice does not consider such things. Those that are waiting in my halls have suffered too. They have had sorrows. And yes, each are beautiful. Why should they have separate fates than this one?”
“But their beauty is not her beauty and her sorrow is greater than their sorrow!” argued Nienna. “For this has never happened before. An immortal has never fallen in love with a mortal. Those waiting out there do not suffer the terrifying thought that they might be sundered forever from those they love. What are we to do if it happens again? Men are quite young, after all. Do you think Lúthien and Beren will be the last troublesome case? You cannot write this off so hastily!”
All of the Valar began to argue until Manwë demanded silence. The Valar began to empty the room, some speaking encouraging words to Lúthien as they went. Only Mandos, Vairë and Varda and Manwë returned.
“I shall allow you to plead your case before me,” Mandos told her. “But for now, you must wait until you are summoned. You may dwell in my halls until then reviewing your life and preparing your case. I promise you it shall not be long. I will allow you to join Beren’s wandering spirit upon the Shores of the Sundering Sea. After that, I do not know. Perhaps he will pass on if he sees you and then nothing can be done. If he does not… I will think on it.”
“Thank you,” Lúthien bowed, very grateful for this small victory at least.
Mandos stared at her with no emotion in his eyes. He simply shook his head, called to Vairë, and they both disappeared in a flash of light. All of the other Valar followed after his example, except for Varda and Manwë. Lúthien stood alone with the two, who stared back at her. Then Varda held out her hand to her.
“Rise, child,” she said. “There is no reason for you to be afraid. Enjoy your time in these halls, and may you look forward to life in the Blessed Realm!”
“Varda, I know it was you that convinced Mandos to let me plead my case. I have no way to thank you.”
She smiled and said, “I have heard your voice crying for aid many times, and I had no choice but to help you in this at least, little one. I shall always listen to your prayers and Manwë shall always be watching you lovingly. Farewell, granddaughter.”
Then, at the same instant, she and Manwë disappeared.
******
So Lúthien returned to the halls of Mandos. Lórien provided her a draught of the waters of his garden to send her into trance. Her life from birth to her death passed before her eyes, giving her clarity and understanding. When she was through pondering her life, Huan came to visit her. She hugged him in silence. He did not understand how Lúthien was going to convince Mandos to do what she asked. He knew Mandos. He had doomed the Noldor, and he had doomed Huan long before. It was true that Beren and Lúthien had brought hope and encouragement to all, but to ask Mandos of such a thing he thought was overmuch. No one had ever changed the Lord of Judgment’s mind or caused sympathy in his heart, and no one would. Huan did not speak of this to Lúthien because she seemed so grieved already. She knew that to see Beren again would be an unspeakable privilege; nothing short of a miracle.
She left the halls of Mandos and waited by the Eastern Shores of the dead, watching for Beren. And at last, after waiting for what seemed like an age, Beren appeared. He ran to Lúthien as soon as he spotted her. They called out to each other and fell into each other's arms. They both cried with joy. Neither had expected to see the other ever again. They knew this may be the last time, but they wanted to enjoy the last few moments they had together.
“You told me to wait for you. I could not leave you even if I tried.”
“I just wish we did not have to part at all,” Lúthien said bitterly.
“Yes,” Beren answered, his voice breaking, and when he spoke again, it did not sound like he believed it at all. “Perhaps we can pass away eternity with the memory of our love. It may not ease our pain, but it will help. I would never forget you, nor stop loving you.”
“Perhaps,” Lúthien agreed, but then she screamed and stamped her foot. “I will not stand for this! Why must we part? Why cannot we suffer the same fate? I remember telling you before: Wherever you go, I will follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond. Our dooms shall be alike.”
Beren smiled weakly. “Yes, I remember that. I just hope that I shan't forget those words.”
“We should have been allowed more time!” Lúthien cried. “We should have at least been able to enjoy a few years of wedlock.”
“But we did prove our love was strong. Is it stronger than death, little bird?”
Lúthien was silent, and then she said, “I just do not want to lose you again.”
The Sundering Shores was the realm between the realm of Valinor and beyond the Void. Walking along the shores were other souls of dead men and women, and Lúthien could hear them as they passed by, mumbling their stories. Some were aware of her, some were not. Some babbled frantically, others spoke slowly and clearly. She listened to them and came to understand their sorrows. She thought of the men of Brethil. They were Children of Ilúvatar, as were the Eldar, and yet their fates were so different. Most of the Valar ignored the Second-Born. They had no voice within Valinor. Lúthien began to feel that this was wrong. And she knew that if she pleaded her own case and not for all of those men and women wandering upon the shore and the elves and maidens waiting in the Halls of Mandos, she would be selfish. She and Beren represented the merging of the two races. Mandos would not be moved by one person’s suffering. But he could not ignore a symphony.
Lúthien was summoned to the Great Hall of Mandos, where he was sitting on his throne. Vairë was sitting beside him.
“The spirit of Beren has still not passed on as I hoped. That means you are granted an audience. I have given you the chance to move me, so move me,” he commanded.
“O Mandos, lord of the dead and Vala of prophecy,” Lúthien began. “Little love have you from my people because they have come to know that you are the great judge of our deeds. If you have any mercy or pity, or ears to hear, I beg that you listen to my words.”
“I have ears, and I also have good judgment,” Mandos answered, glaring at Lúthien. “Therefore, speak!”
“You know that Beren and I were- I must say are in love. We met in the woods of Doriath only two years or so ago, but it seems like ages. We have made many sacrifices for one another, and in the end, Beren made the greater sacrifice, but we never did wed or have the chance to bring forth children of our own. That was because my Father had always thought it forbidden for Man and Elf to wed...”
And so Lúthien told the complete tale of the Quest for the Silmaril. Mandos listened well, but there was not a flicker of emotion in his eyes. Lúthien was discouraged, and she grew silent once she had told the story. Still, Mandos only shook his head and told her that he could not and would not allow Beren to cross the Western Shores of the Dead.
“Is that all you have to say, Lúthien?” he demanded.
“No,” Lúthien cried. “No! I also have devised a song to plead for my case. You have heard my tale, but you do not know yet why Beren and I must not be sundered forever. You do not know what it is to feel the sorrow or grief of Men and Elves. Before you deny me to see Beren ever again, listen to my song, and please try to learn what mercy is.”
Then Lúthien sang the song she had prepared. When she sang, she began singing verses and singing things she had not thought of before. The words and thoughts poured out of her soul. Vairë had long since shed tears, and soon, even Mandos began to show pity in his eyes. Lúthien fell to Mandos' feet. Tears fell like rain upon his throne, and her voice was unaffected. She sang out strongly and clearly so that the dead in the Halls of Mandos could hear and were comforted and some became aware for the first time of the plight of Men and of how their fate could be interwoven with theirs. So beautiful and moving was Lúthien’s song that the Valar still sing it to this day and remember her and Beren though it was never put into writing.
Mandos bowed his head, and miraculously, and for the first time, a single tear fell from his eye and joined the tears upon the floor made by Lúthien. He was as surprised as Vairë was. He was so astonished that he put his fingers to his cheek where it was still warm and moist from his tear. It was a new and strange thing to him, and he was moved to mercy.
Neither Mandos, nor Lúthien spoke for a great while. Vairë left the hall, and Lúthien lay with her head buried in her hands, weeping softly. She had not seen the tear that Mandos had shed, and she was sure that Mandos was going to send her to the Blessed Realm, and she would never see Beren again.
Mandos announced, “Lúthien, I promise to do everything in my power to keep your souls together. But I must find a way.”
******
“He what!” Beren blurted out when Lúthien told him what had happened.
Beren was so surprised and filled with wonder that he only stared, open-mouthed, at Lúthien, who was singing and laughing as she had done so long ago. They did not even notice that Mandos was watching them closely. Lúthien had changed him. He now watched them and began to regret that they were two different kindreds. He wished the two could be together, but Men were destined to join Ilúvatar while Elves were bound to Middle-Earth.
Mandos knew now that Ilúvatar had planned something different for these two lovers. He appeared before Varda and Manwë, who were not at all surprised to see him.
“Having second thoughts, Mandos?” Manwë asked, laughing softly.
Mandos did not laugh. “Please,” he said. “I did not come here without reason. You know I came here to ask what to do about Lúthien and Beren. Shall we deny them of their love?”
“Shall we, Mandos?” Varda looked at him.
“I had granted the request that they could say their last farewells. I had not planned to grant any other such thing, but now, I feel that it is the will of Eru that these two should still be among the living and wedded.”
“You have come for Manwë's counsel. The only counsel he or I can give you is to wait for Eru's answer.”
“If you would consult our Lord, Eru, about this, I would owe you a tremendous debt, Manwë,” Mandos told him. “Lúthien moved me so deeply, I shed tears. Never has any Man or Elf done so, and I do not expect any one else to do so again. Lúthien's sorrows and beauty are greater than any other Elf I have judged, and Beren is likewise. I must know if there is truly no way for these two to be together.”
And so Manwë and Varda waited for the revelation. Mandos called Lúthien and Beren to him the next day. All of the Valar was there. Huan was at Oromë's side, his head bowed. Beren was prepared to board the ship that would take him to the lands beyond the Sundering Sea, but Mandos suddenly stopped him.
“It is not yet certain whether you have to return home yet, Beren,” he told him, smiling. “It is up to Lúthien to decide that.”
“What do you mean?” Lúthien and Beren both asked in unison.
“It means that you, Lúthien, have been given two paths to choose. The first: You may live in Valinor and dwell among the Ainur and Eldar. You shall drink from the waters of forgetfulness and forget forever all that you once knew. You shall dwell there until your griefs have been amended, and then you shall be reborn upon the earth so that the Eldar may have their Morning Star again.”
“Meaning, I would forget my family? My Mother and Father? My youth? Daeron? Huan? Will I forget about all that Beren and I achieved in life? I shall forget our love?”
“The very same. You shall live a new life. You would no longer remember the trauma, the pain, the suffering. Beren also shall be given a draught of the waters and sent home at last.”
“So we shall forget we ever knew each other? We shall forget even each other's names? We will not even have one memory of our love on the edges of our minds?”
“No, but if you were to both forget, you would become both happy and innocent again.”
Beren and Lúthien exchanged glances, and then Lúthien asked, “What is the second choice?”
“The second choice may be less pleasant. I cannot guarantee that you shall ever be happy again. If you decide to choose this path, it will be you, Lúthien that must sacrifice much. I would mercifully set free both yours and Beren's souls back to Middle-Earth, back into your bodies. Back to your old lives. Then you shall live together, become husband and wife, perhaps bear and raise children. But mind you! In doing so, you, Lúthien, must give up your immortality. You shall become a Woman of Beren's kin and you shall be given a second life. You will live out your days as mortal man and woman. In this way, you would face the Doom of Men: Death.”
Lúthien and Beren exchanged glances again.
“Will we both die together?” Beren asked. “In that way, neither of us will suffer to wait for death to claim us and deliver us to the deceased?”
“I cannot guarantee you will die at the same time.”
“And we shall both be together after we come back here? We would be allowed to spend eternity together?” Lúthien concluded.
Mandos nodded. “You shall both go beyond the Sundering Sea where all Men go. Now, Lúthien, which do you choose?”
“What?”
“It is your decision. Will you choose immortality, or love?”
Lúthien hesitated. The Blessed Realm was home of the Valar and a physical paradise. It was the most heavenly place in all the universe, save being in the presence of Ilúvatar himself. There, no harm could come to you. All the days in Valinor were joyous and peaceful. But she would forget everything she once knew. It seemed a great price for such bliss. Lúthien remembered the days when Beren and Lúthien were still meeting together in secret in Doriath. She could never be so happy in the Blessed Realm with no memory or past, but to receive the chain of mortality! To fall ill and die like all other Men and never be seen by her people again; this too seemed like a great price to pay. Lúthien was torn between her people, her family, life as she had always known it, and her love for Beren. She turned her back to all of the Valar and to Beren and watched the shores of the Eastern Sea. Beren might set sail on that ship, and she may never see him or remember him again if she willed it.
“I choose,” she announced slowly and gravely. “I choose the Doom of Men.”
“This is your last chance, daughter of Melian,” Mandos warned her. “The Doom of Men cannot be taken away once it is given.”
“I have already accepted the gift.”
“And being immortal, you would share in his mortality?”
“Yes.”
“And being free, you would receive his chain?”
“Yes. Yes!”
“That is your choice. Now you must live with it.”
Lúthien and Beren joined hands. Huan let out a howl, the Valar cheered, and they both suddenly fell into darkness. Lúthien awoke. She found herself alive in her own body within the tomb that they had been buried in.
“Tinúviel?” Beren stood beside her. “You did not have to give up your immortality to bring me back.”
“Of course I did. You died for me. So now we have settled the scores. You have made a sacrifice, and I have made a sacrifice. Now we shall go home.”
“Do you know what Huan's last words were to me before he died, Lúthien?”
“No. No one had told me he even spoke for a third time. What did he say?”
“He had said something akin to a riddle. He told me that he would see me again, and that you and I would meet and return to the earth. Now I understand what that riddle meant.”
He lifted Lúthien to her feet, and that was when she noticed that he had two hands once more. She laughed, and then Beren set her down, and kissed her. That was when Lúthien saw a bird sitting upon a branch of a tree. It was a large crow, and he had a tuft of white feathers upon his breast. He cawed at Beren, and he smiled and he stepped out of the tomb to greet it.
“Gorlim,” he said. “It is wonderful to see you again. I did not see you wandering the Sundering Shore”
The bird transformed, and Gorlim stood smiling before him, and he wore no longer the dull gray robes but robes whiter than mortal color.
“I was here looking after your body knowing you would return. It is good that you no longer need me, for your darkness has passed. You have what you desired, and you have fulfilled the Quest. I am prepared to pass on now.”
“So this is farewell, eh?”
“Yes. Farewell at last.”
“Farewell, Gorlim. Though I cannot reveal what lies beyond death still, I wish you all the happiness of the world.”
Gorlim vanished. There was a howl of what sounded like a wolf. The couple spun around to see Huan the Wolf-Hound, also restored to life. Beren and Lúthien cried out with joy, and Huan’s joyful barks sounded throughout the hills. A Maia stood beside him, a messenger of Mandos.
“For his part in the Quest, Huan was also allowed a reward,” he explained to them. “Though Oromë offered to make him chief of his hounds, he admitted that he did not wish to be parted from you two. Although he can never again speak with words, he shall be allowed to share your fate. Does this please you?”
“More than you know,” they replied. “Huan is the truest friend that we shall ever have.”
“So be it! I also have a message for you, Lúthien from Mandos. You may love Beren, but your love may yet be tested, and although Ilúvatar has given you this chance, he cannot protect you from danger or grief. Life may be bitter still and if you bear children they shall be faced with their own difficult choices. This cannot be prevented.”
“Yes,” she replied. “What is life without pain? Now I must go to my family and find the strength to say goodbye to them.”
******
Thingol was sitting upon his throne, alone. He looked thin and tired. He had not eaten or slept since Lúthien and Beren's death. It did not seem as though he could see out of his eyes. He knew that if he grieved like this much longer, he would soon follow his daughter. Nonetheless, his grief was unbearable. Melian feared for him and could think of nothing to bring him out of his stupor, and she had not the strength to try. She was devastated as much as he, though she concealed it as well as she could for her people. It was much easier to slip into depression, as had her husband.
She approached him with caution. She came to speak of the dead lovers’ tomb, a light subject that could drive the king to his brink. She used the voice of the Consort, for an intimate tone would surely break his fragile defenses.
“Gray-Cloak, the people are speaking of sealing the tomb. I believe it is time. The place is sacred and should not be disturbed. I am sure that those that reside in it would want it that way.”
She waited for his response, and there was none. Thingol did not bat an eye-lid. The lack of reaction worried her all the more. Lúthien had become thus before she died, apathetic and utterly unaware of her environment. She almost cried out then in despair and frustration. Was she to lose her entire family all at once? Could she do nothing about it? Without them, what would become of her? But she contained herself with all the self-will and poise of a Maia and turned her back to him.
“Very well. I shall see that it is done.”
And then Thingol laughed grimly, chilling her, and he answered at last, “Why do you play coy with me now of all times? Why will you not open up to me with your own pain? You think yourself so much stronger, and perhaps you are so, but that only means that you are facing your problem the hard way. Our daughter... and that... Men… are dead, and you still refuse to grieve? Wife... My love.”
And it was Melian whose defenses broke down. She wept like a child, and Thingol rose from his seat and gave her a joyless kiss.
“If it is politics you want, my Queen, then it is politics we shall have today. Even if it does concern our daughter’s corpse.”
They came to visit the tomb and found it empty.
Alarmed, Thingol called for his guards, and that was when he felt a hand upon his. He turned and saw his daughter standing before him and beside her was Beren.
They were alive, and yet they were not the same people they had been before being shut away inside the tomb. A light shone through them, and indeed Lúthien’s beauty had been enriched by her sorrows. She was even fairer than she had been before she had died. Beren’s presence had grown taller, and a light was in his face as well, a light that had never been there while he was but a living man.
King Thingol saw them and was aroused from his winter. He saw his daughter, standing before him, alive!
“What is this?” he cried. “Some new devilry? Or is this truly my daughter come back to life?”
“It is I, Father,” she answered. “Grieve no more. The Valar have granted us a miracle.”
He embraced her and kissed her. Then Lúthien and Beren told their tale, as much as they could. For no one can know too much about the realm beyond. Thingol sat down, dumbfounded and overjoyed and full of wonder at their tale. It was when Lúthien told her mother and father her choice and what it meant that they became silent again. Melian stared at her daughter with horror and she walked away into the forest. She forever bore the grief of the second loss of her daughter.
Thingol was no less grieved, but he knew that his daughter’s fate was not his own to decide. Mandos himself had declared otherwise.
“You are alive now,” he said to them. “And you are happy together. Now you will have your wish to be together forever even beyond death. Lúthien is happy with you, Beren. How can I find fault in that? Even though it means I will probably lose her again, I can take some small comfort knowing she is with you. With you she is happy. It is with you that she belongs.”
And at last, upon the hill of Esgalduin where the two had first met and fell in love, they were wedded.
Their wedding began at noon in the sunshine. Most of the Sindar left their caves in Menegroth to witness the union. Their mind-set of Beren had changed entirely. The story of the Quest for the Silmaril was already becoming a legend among them. Beren was thankful for his new status. He hoped the Sindar would view the rest of his kin in such a positive light.
When the two were wed, they shouted out, “Behold Lúthien Tinúviel and Beren Echermion! They cast Morgoth from his throne in a moment of triumph for both Men and Elves and are now the Dead that Live.”
Beren and Lúthien said their vows, and they were both very happy. They had done nothing but stare into each other’s eyes during the ceremony and clasped hands during the feast that followed, neither of them desiring food. After the ceremony, there was celebration. The minstrels of Doriath began to play and the children ran about playing while their parents danced and drank. But there was little joy and mirth to be seen after the wedding for Lúthien and Beren. Though the people did not know it yet, they had just lost their beloved princess and their mortal prince that they had adopted into their hearts. Before the night was over, Lúthien must say her final farewells to her mother and father, to the Sindar, to the Eldar, and to Doriath.
Beren wished to postpone his wife’s sorrow for as long as possible and encouraged her to remain in Doriath as long as she liked, but they had already agreed that lingering would be unwise. Lúthien could not remain because she no longer belonged. As soon as they could, they must leave. The Sindar insisted to see the couple dance. Now was the chance for the maids to say they had danced with a mortal for the first time, and even the youngest boys dreamed of a dance with Lúthien. Beren joined the wardens for a game of archery as Lúthien sang. But as the day waned and the moon waxed, they began to clear the hill and return to Menegroth, expecting several days of festivities on account of the wedding. The Sindar had long holidays after all, and weddings were no different.
Beren led her away from the merriment so that they were alone beyond the hill. There they stood for a moment, contemplating all that had passed before here. Never had Beren thought even in wild fantasy that they would come this far while it had been Lúthien’s deepest hope, frail though it had been. Now they might never return to the hill again.
“The king and queen are waiting for me on the other side. I must say my farewells,” Lúthien said. “Please, Beren. I must be alone with them.”
“Take as long as you need.”
She bowed before the king and queen, “My lord and lady. Father, Mother. It is time. Beren and I must leave.”
Thingol lifted her to her feet, and the king and queen embraced her.
“I know what you are thinking,” Lúthien said with tears in her eyes. “Why could I not have married an Elvin-lord like Mablung or a king like Finrod?”
Thingol laughed, and then he dried her eyes.
“If Daeron ever comes back, tell him that I love him and have forgiven him a thousand times over.”
“Do not weep. Now is a moment to treasure not to mourn for.”
“Hypocrite! You are weeping too!”
Thingol nodded and then Melian embraced Lúthien again, but it would be the last time. Lúthien clung to her like a desperate little child. She was no longer frightened of leaving, but she wished to savor every last moment. Thingol turned to Beren and they both disappeared together beyond the hills as the mother and daughter said their bitter farewells.
“I remember you waking in the dark and calling for me when you were a child. For thousands of years you were only mine and Elwë’s. You have not been a child for a long time. I suppose it was inevitable that this day would come,” Melian said. “Perhaps those of us in Doriath have been selfish keeping you from the world. A mortal death will allow you to be free of it.”
“I do not wish to be free of you, but it must be. Beren and I may never see you again.”
Melian’s smile faded and she stroked her daughter’s fine dark hair.
“I know. I knew you would marry, and a girl weds and becomes one flesh with her husband. You are mortal, and so much has happened here, some things that are best forgotten. I cannot ask you to remain. Your father and I loved you and raised you well, and you shall have fond memories. Keep those in your heart. I do not believe you shall be severed from us forever, despite what we know of mortal death: Nothing. Drive such thoughts from your mind.”
Lúthien could only nod. She felt if she held back tears any longer she would drown within them.
“I thought you did not regret your choice.”
“I do not. I only wish that I could be sure that we will meet again. Consolation is all I ask for.”
“The Valar could not give you that?”
“No. None. They do not know what becomes of mortals after death, and Beren will not speak of it, or not yet. He passed beyond the Sundering Seas briefly and said his spirit was sent back. Perhaps he does not remember, or he cannot describe it, or he feels I have never asked him to explain.”
“Life belongs to those that have it. You have enough to worry about without thinking of such things.”
Lúthien saw, to her great surprise, that her mother was very distressed, tears in her eyes. She embraced her again and began to whisper a prophesy into her ear.
“You shall bear a son soon, Lúthien. You must tell him who he is and what he is, and tell him that there is a kingdom waiting for him. Your descendants shall be the forerunners of history and your line shall never fail. Never regret your choice, Lúthien. Now go with Beren, and remember your mother, Melian the Maia, and do not forget your ancient home.”
“Never, Mother.”
“Farewell, Lúthien.”
Then the queen turned her face away, and Thingol was speaking to Beren on the other side of the hill. He never loved Beren and only now had relented. Beren was most uncomfortable. Thingol had sent him to his death after all. A grave look was upon his face.
“She is waiting for you, Echermion,” he said. “She sacrificed much to be with you, you know. I hope you realize that because I did everything in my power since the day she was born to protect her and her life’s grace. Then you came along and shattered it.”
He said this without being harsh, and Beren knew that every word of what he said was true.
“She is yours now,” Thingol continued solemnly. “You are hers. Despite all my attempts, I could not defy your love.”
“You almost destroyed us, your majesty,” Beren answered. “It was a sore test. It is plain that you used all your efforts. You are a loving father to my Tinúviel, as I said before.”
“And you are now my son. Your true father would no doubt be humbled by your deeds, and he too was a great man. I have grown wiser because of you, and no longer shall Men be called weak or thrall or thief, as I named you once without justice. I ask for your pardon.”
This staggered Beren. Then Thingol held out his hand, and in it was the Silmaril. Beren looked at it in wonder.
“You cut it from the Iron Crown. It is yours by bloody right. I tried to give it to Lúthien when you died. I grieved for you, which surprised me then, and she was faining. She cast it away from her and would never take it, much less look at it.”
“And she was wise to do so. This was the bride price, and I do not ever want to see that cursed thing again! You keep it. Lock it away within a mansion of stone and do not touch it! It is not our blood alone that is upon it! Many others died trying to reclaim it. Do not forget Finrod the beloved! Put it away!”
Thingol hid away the Silmaril and caught Beren’s eyes and smiled.
“You may go to her soon. I must have a moment.”
Beren gave the king a low bow. Thingol went to Lúthien and took his daughter’s hand.
“One last dance before we part, beloved.”
“Of course, Ada.”
Lúthien remembered how he had to lift her in his arms when she was a child because she was so small, and he was such a giant.
When the dance ended, Thingol said, “It is a pity that I shall never see my grandson.”
Nothing else he may have said could have caused her more sorrow, but she bit back the tears and answered, “Tell our people that I am now Tinúviel, Lady of the Edain, wife to Beren Camlost, for now I must leave the name of Lúthien behind me and become a Woman. Even now, I am changing, Father.”
Thingol cupped her face in his hands and studied her ears, and he saw they were no longer pointed. Then he wept bitterly, and then he kissed Lúthien for the last time.
“By Ilúvatar, I love you,” he said, “and may we see each other again beyond this world! And may you be with Beren forever! I bear him no ill will!”
Then Thingol, with great pain, gave Beren and Lúthien Iavas and supplies, and they left Doriath and never again returned save in another tale.
Thingol went to his wife.
“I almost wish Lúthien and Beren had remained dead. This estrangement from her, the uncertainty that we may never cross paths again in this life or the next haunts me. I cannot bear it.”
Afterwards, few ever spoke of Lúthien again in Thingol's presence, for it caused him great pain. He lost whom he had most loved, and Melian suffered of that same grief. She suffered great anguish, greater anguish than the Maiar has ever known.
Lúthien and Beren left Doriath, fearing no danger or hunger, for they had suffered enough of such during the Quest, and Huan went with them. They traveled eastward, wishing to avoid both Elves and Men for a time. In their wandering they came upon Ossiriand the land of Seven Rivers. They built a house for themselves in the Green Isle or Tol Galen which was inhabited only by a small number of Laquendi that came to revere Tinúviel and Echermion. For the most part the land was obscured and it seemed that spring and summer never faded there. Because they dwelt there, the land was often called The Land of the Dead that Live, and it became one of the last realms of Beleriand and survived even until the Fourth Age and perhaps longer.
The tale of Beren and Lúthien quickly spread to the other Elvin nations and sparked hope within the Eldar again, although the story was not complete. Very few knew the whole story of their quest, and over the years that followed, it became wholly untrue. Lúthien’s name was forgotten, and she was known only as Tinúviel, a fairy princess. Beren was no more than a common man that stumbled upon the realm of Faerie and became her mortal lover. The fairy king was angered and bade him bring the crown of the Dark Lord from Hell. Tinúviel followed him and was befriended by a talking dog and brought Beren back from the dead thrice. In the tale, Beren and Tinúviel still lived in the immortal land of Faerie, though both had paid the ultimate price for their love and suffered mortal doom.
The true story, however, was told among their descendants. After the Quest for the Silmaril, they lived together happily in the quiet woodlands in Ossiriand as Lord and Lady of the Laquendi. They raised a son named Dior Aranel together of three fold race: Maiar, Eldar, and Man. He was allowed the choice to live among the Elves or Man, and he chose the Elves, for Thingol needed an heir. Beren and Lúthien died together, though their bodies were never found. As for the Silmaril, it was passed to her son and then to his daughter Elwing. She and her husband Eärendil sailed away to Valinor with the Silmaril upon his breast. It passed away from this world like Lúthien and Beren.
Mandos had warned Lúthien that he could not promise them full happiness, yet she left several words with her son before she fled into the forests, knowing the hour of mortal death would soon come upon her. Lúthien Tinúviel was the first among the kin of the Eldar to die, but she died willingly and never once regretted her choice, and her line shall never fail.