Chapter 10: Hirilorn

Ten
Hirilorn

Lúthien gazed in anguish upon the waters, and then she went to prepare for her journey. She crept back into the Caves and gathered all that she thought she might need. Laisie aided her. Lúthien knew that she could trust her old nanny and the rest of her own personal servants. They packed food, ropes, blankets, and clothing for any weather, and other survival paraphernalia. She pulled back her dark hair, away from her face. She wore rough spun wool and pants, a brown cloak and hood, leather boots, even perfume to further the disguise. Beneath the clothing she wore boiled leather. It was not much protection, but mail would weigh her down. She could not settle for more. Princess Lúthien always walked about in skirts barefooted and bareheaded with her hair usually long and loose. No one would expect to see her in such masculine dress and reeking of cheap perfume. Her dagger was of the steel of Valinor, but her mother had given it to her with her blessing. Queen Melian had given her daughter a sickle dagger to carry with her always when she came of age. Its purpose was symbolic protection, but Lúthien knew her mother would forgive her if she stained it with blood if she was ever threatened.
A sword hung upon her belt. She had felt utterly wicked when she took it from her father’s armory. The armorer had recommended it to her because it was the lightest of its kind. It was of Noldoli craft, some of the best steel in all of Arda. The swords and maces out of Valinor were too sacred for her to use simply because of their nature, and they were also too heavy for that matter. The armorer assured her that taking from the armory was not stealing. She was Thingol’s heir, after all. What was hoarded in the armory was hers to choose from. He also encouraged her to name her blade. She had named her sword Nightingale because it was so small and delicate. But even though it was not too heavy for her to carry and she had named it, she felt awkward with such steel in her hand and had not the skill of a swordsman. How would a sword serve her if she had little to no experience with swords at all? Any aspiration she had ever had of becoming a warrior had been driven away quickly by her father.
“I would rather not allow my child to play with swords,” Thingol had said. “Kingcraft has less to do with war than it does counting coppers, observing the harvests and festivities, and dealing justice.”
He had not exactly forbidden her to wield a sword, but he had not approved either. She watched Daeron practice with the master-at-arms longingly. Daeron constantly wanted to practice fencing with her and offered many times to teach Lúthien some tricks, but all they ever did was hack at each other with dead branches shaped into wooden swords. The kindly master had witnessed them at their play and was impressed. He offered Lúthien lessons too.
“You are slender as a willow wand and quick as a cat. You are silent as a shadow and possess a dancer’s grace. You have spirit, your father’s iron will, and your mother’s wisdom. Thingol has gone to war, and there may always be war so long as Morgoth and his minions dwell the earth. It may be necessary for you to don your armor as well one day and play the part of a warrior queen. I cannot imagine the way a Half-Maia would fight. There must be a divine spark in you, little princess. You have enormous potential. I can sense it simmering beneath the surface of your skin!”
This talk of her potential frightened the girl, and so she refused. If anyone ever mentioned her Maia-blood, she always became troubled. It meant that she was different from everyone else. It was not a bad thing, but nonetheless, she was different and alone.
“Father will find out,” Lúthien told the weapon master instead, and it was the truth. “He always finds out.”
She was not entirely ignorant of weapons, however. The Strongbow had taught her archery and woodcraft. Mablung taught her to ride a horse better than any Elf in the realm, and he also taught her to wield daggers.
“A dagger is a good choice. A bow is only good for long range and a sword requires taxing strength. A dagger requires speed and stealth, which you possess, Lúthien. If you are really desperate, you must use whatever is available to you,” Mablung advised her. “Even something as small as a dagger can kill. A blade is a blade.”
She could throw daggers accurately from a long distance and had learned how to slip the dagger safely in and out of her sleeve. She was quick on the draw and knew enough of anatomy to pinpoint an artery or vulnerable organ and deal her enemies a fatal blow. Even that might not be enough to protect her. Blood or no blood, blade or no blade, she was a maiden alone.
She said farewell to Laisie and her other servants and slipped from the Caves. She went to fetch her horse, and she stumbled and fell. She lay upon the ground for a moment, terrified to go on. A rush of thoughts were assailing her, and she felt such a terrible throe that she wept again. She was leaving Doriath for the first time in her life, and she felt lost without Daeron at her side. He had not lied when he had told her that Lúthien could not know her danger. In fact, Lúthien had never fully realized that she to what extent she had been shielded from all harm. She was innocent of evil, and she knew now that, if she went on, she would soon be forced to lose that innocence. Beyond the Girdle of Melian, evil and harm could be watching and waiting anywhere. She wanted desperately to turn back, but now she was also afraid to turn back.
Lúthien was not afraid of what harm could touch her when she had taken that last step past the safety and the familiarity of Doriath as much as she was of what her loved ones would do if she returned. Could Daeron ever trust her again or accept her back? If she had not been in such a confused and panicked state and really considered this through her guilt, she would have known that Daeron would have greeted her with open arms.
Then Lúthien thought of her mother. She had not spoken a word concerning Beren and the Quest until Lúthien had begged her. How would her father respond when he learned that his queen had provoked their daughter to fly? Had Melian told Thingol already of what she had asked? No. She would have been placed under house arrest faster than she could say undeserved. But now she wished she had kept her thoughts from even her mother.
She was mortally afraid of what her father would do once he knew she had gone as well, and of what would become of her now. She struggled with guilt and her own self-doubt when her thoughts returned to Beren, and she knew that she had to leave Doriath now if she did indeed wish to save him. She knew that no one upon the Earth would attempt to rescue Beren but she herself. If he truly was dead, as everyone believed and hoped, she could say her farewells to him at least. It was because of her that he had set out upon the Quest. She needed to redeem herself for such a sin. What came after must come. So at last, Lúthien slowly rose from the ground and continued running.
When she reached the stables, she called for her horse, but he did not come.
That is odd, she thought. Iavas should obey every command.
She went to his stall and found him gone. Only the ostler boy Jasper was there. He had agreed to have Iavas ready for her.
“Where is my horse?” she asked Jasper, but he did not answer.
“There is no need for you to worry about him, your highness,” said a voice.
Lúthien turned sharply to find that Beleg and Mablung had been there waiting for her, and there were guards there also. Even her efforts to disguise herself were worthless now, it seemed. Mablung and Beleg knew her too well.
“What are you two doing here?” Lúthien cried and halted when she saw Mablung and Beleg.
The two stared at her grimly with their arms folded before them.
“Your highness,” Mablung answered politely. “We were given orders that you were not to be permitted a horse, for your father seeks audience with you.”
Lúthien stared at Mablung and said, bold as brass, “I formally decline to see him!”
“Nay, dear lady,” Mablung whispered, and he took her gently by the arm. “We were given direct orders to escort you back to the Caves, and Thingol told us that we have been given authority over you. He greatly desires to speak with you. He will speak with you.”
“I do not need an escort, and I am not going home!” Lúthien said stubbornly, tearing her arm from his grip. “I pray you, bring me my horse! Those are my orders, the orders of your princess! I am leaving Doriath, and if you begrudge me my horse, then I shall go on foot!”
“You are acting like a little child.”
“No, you are wrong. Only now am I beginning to grow up and understand the world as it is! I am no longer a child, and when children grow, they are given their own free will!”
“But they also have several obligations and duties that cannot be put aside, especially if you are a princess.”
“And what would one of those duties be? To sit in idleness in the Caves and remain my father’s pet?” bitterness was in her voice. “I think not!”
Mablung and Beleg looked at each other sadly. They had warned her before, so they seized Lúthien by the arms and began dragging her back to the Caves, even though she struggled against them and wept bitterly.
“Let me go, let me go!” she screamed.
“Forgive us, your highness, but Thingol commanded it,” Beleg told her, not looking at her.
“You have always been loyal to my Father, but neither of you can deny that the king has no right to keep me here in Doriath against my will!”
“We agree full-heartedly with the king, Lúthien,” Beleg muttered. “And there is a powerful reason as to why Thingol will not let you leave. Now please stop fighting us.”
“I thought I had planned everything so carefully,” she said. “How did he find out?”
“Trust is a fickle thing.”
Someone betrayed me! And then she knew who it was. It was not Laisie or her servants. It was not Jasper the ostler either. It was not her mother either. It had to have been Daeron. Daeron had sung her song to Thingol the moment she had left him. The king had learned all that she had said and asked of him. Then, in fear and amazement, Thingol had ordered his people to bring her back to Menegroth before she could run away.
Lúthien did not stop her rebellion, worsened by the knowledge of her demise. Mablung and Beleg brought her into the Caves and let her fall to the floor. Then they both left the halls as soon as they had come and wept themselves. They pitied her terribly, and the sound of her weeping was horrible to hear because she was always laughing and singing. None had seen her cry besides the king and queen themselves and her friend Daeron. That was why he had left her alone when she had wept.
Her father immediately summoned Lúthien. She refused to come to him, so he came to her. He spoke with grief and amazement, but she did not look into his eyes, and her cheeks were not yet dry from weeping.
“Is it not true that you are planning to go to Sauron's tower alone and rescue Beren?” he asked his daughter softly.
“Daeron told you?” Lúthien sighed, and her voice was sad.
“Yes. He did. He claimed that you had even asked him to join you in your plight.”
“And it is all true, my dear Father. All of it. I admit that.”
Thingol was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Do you also admit that you were prideful and disobedient towards my commands?”
“It is you, my lord, who is being prideful and rash!” Lúthien snapped.
“I am sorry that I sent Mablung and Beleg after you, Lúthien, but I did not know how else I was going to bring you to your senses. It would not have been so horrible for you if only you had cooperated with them.”
“I doubt it would have been any different if I had obeyed their commands! Do I have your leave to go yet?”
“No. You have yet to hear me.”
“What do you want me to do, Father?”
“I want you to promise me this: You shall not think of Beren nor speak of him in these halls again. You are to forget him.”
“I cannot keep such a promise. It is impossible,” she said flippantly.
Thingol frowned, and his voice became less gentle, “Very well, but you must not try to convince any of our people to aid you again.”
“I can keep that promise,” Lúthien replied bitterly. “Because some people betray your trust.”
“There is the last and most important thing that you must promise me. You shall not attempt to leave Doriath again to try and rescue Beren.”
“That I most certainly cannot promise, Father,” Lúthien said stiffly. “I will go after Beren, and there is nothing you can do to stop me!”
Thingol narrowed his eyes. Lúthien grew afraid of her father for the first time in all of her life. Never before, even when she was about to face punishment as a little girl, had she seen him so angry before.
“Oh, I cannot stop you?” Thingol laughed grimly. “Then if you still feel this impulse to receive the torment of Morgoth's wrath-“
”Father, you are being harsh and unjust. I will never promise not to go after Beren!”
“You will promise me the last, or I shall deal with you harshly!”
Lúthien made no reply, but stared into her father's eyes, undaunted.
“Then I have no choice but to see to it that you do not get yourself killed in the madness of your heart.”
******
At the king's command, a house was built in which Lúthien was made to stay. It was made in angry love and half in fear. Some say that Thingol was being very obtuse by making his own flesh and blood a prisoner within her own realm, but he did not believe that Lúthien truly loved Beren, not unless some evil enchantment had been cast upon her. Thingol loved his daughter and refused to lock her up in the Caves where the light was only that of torches dim and flickering, yet he had to restrain her somehow. He was determined to keep his daughter in Doriath where she was safe. Thingol gathered all his councilors to decide what was to be done. Celeborn had never seen the king look so careworn, and the other councilors agreed. They decided at once that Lúthien could not be locked away in the Caves like a common criminal. None wished to see that fair maid suffer.
“I cannot deprive her the open air,” Thingol said. “Daeron, you can testify that she must see the moon and stars.”
“Yes,” Daeron answered. “But what sort of prison can we find that has no lock or key and can still hold her safely?”
“Her prison must be one that she can grow to love, for she may remain there for a long while,” Celeborn advised. “She often climbs in trees. Therefore, let her prison be a tree.”
He decided to build a house for her to remain in, but Lúthien could not escape it, for those that built the house itself built it between the three mighty trunks of Hirilorn.
Hirilorn was the queen of trees, for she was a great beech whose branches grew towards the sky and her top roofed the cavernous throne room of Menegroth. The bark of that tree was very smooth and its girth too wide, so that Lúthien, lover of trees and skilled in climbing them, could not climb down or wrap her arms about it to shimmy down, even if she tried to do so without the aid of branches and guards were posted there day and night.
Thingol led her into the house. She refused to look at him. All of her things had been brought there, and there were windows that let in the moon and sunlight. It was an appealing, comfortable house, but Thingol, turning to Lúthien, felt his heart slowly sink, for she had sat down in a chair with a blank look and stared at the table, her dark tresses falling all about her face.
“This is what I feared,” she said.
“I do not pity you.”
“The first thing I demand of my guards is a bottle of strong wine.”
“Lúthien,” Thingol struggled with his words. “You created your own prison. Once you make your promise, you may return to the Caves.”
“The Caves are a prison as well, Father,” she said the word with the greatest bitterness and rose her head and gave him a piercing glance. “At least when I had Beren, I felt free, for once.”
Thingol was wrathful and turned to leave and suddenly his daughter spoke again, and her words were almost a plea
“Father, if you do this then I shall never love you more and my body will wither and die in the prison that you make for me. For love you and my mother as I do, I am free to choose whether I go or stay in Doriath, for I am not in your thrall. And at the last Beren will release me and we will ride far away where you will never find us!”
“And how can he do that when he is in a true prison and beyond aid?”
“Leave her alone,” Melian said. “She is very sad.”
The two climbed down the ladder. Thingol saw the look on his wife’s face and sighed, feeling a pang of guilt. He could not endure her glance.
“Look,” he said to her. “No one wants to do this, Melian. This is as much an anguish to me as it is to her!”
“My lord,” she answered harshly. “I am a Maia, not Ilúvatar, but I am warning you now: By doing this, you are giving Lúthien everything she needs to hate you, and you are also giving her a greater reason to fly into peril after Beren.”
“Then must I allow my only child to leave now? Lúthien has grown, and along with her body, her peril has grown.”
“And so has yours!”
“What do you advise me to do, lady? Enlighten me!”
“The answer is very simple. Let her go!”
“And allow her to give herself up to the servants of Morgoth? Nay, lady. That is something I cannot do.”
“There is another thing you have forgotten, lord. Lúthien is swallowing her own bitterness now, and she is calling her own death to her. She only needs the will, and you are giving that to her! If any evil befalls our only child because of this, the blame can only lie on you. Why would you gamble at such high stakes? You will not let Lúthien go because you are afraid.”
“Of the Enemy laying hands on her, yes.”
“No. You are afraid that you will lose her, to Beren, forever.”
“I know what Lúthien needs,” Thingol said, no longer listening to his wife. “Lúthien needs a new suitor.”
“A new suitor?”
“Yes. Mablung and Beleg are perhaps worthy enough and would be glad to take Lúthien to wife so that she would forget Beren.”
“My lord,” Melian said, laughing grimly. “I doubt you could cause our daughter to forget or even forgive such a thing.”
“If you do not want to see our daughter so, then perhaps you can put a strain on her with your magic.”
“Restrain her? Over the power of evil I have some restraint,” Melian answered. “But to our daughter I could not, unless I were to break her mind, and I would not be willing to do it even if you commanded it.”
“Then we shall speak no more on this matter.”
The Queen looked at him darkly and said solemnly, “The wound is yours.”
******
Daeron came at once to visit Lúthien. He regretted betraying her, and he wished that he had not gone to the king in the first place. Many of the servants and guards around him spoke of the Princess in whispers, recalling how she had wept when she was taken back to her father. She had become miserable and the people began to miss the sound of her voice and the sound of her laughter.
“I saw them take her from the stables,” said one of the servants. “In all my days, I have never seen a maiden weep so, and this was much worse because the Princess is one that does not do so often. How long must she be penned?”
“I do not rightly know,” Laisie answered, “but you have forgotten that Lúthien has always had bounds set for her.”
The blame was mostly laid on Daeron. Somehow the word had been spread that he had betrayed the princess. Few would speak to him and avoided being seen with him. They were punishing him for causing her such suffering. Though they wished to see Lúthien safe, the last thing the people wanted was for her to be kept prisoner in her own kingdom. He knew that they were right. So now, her own kinsman was imprisoning Lúthien, and her spirit would be diminished, however slowly. He knew he could only repent of his deed and confess to Lúthien what he had done and ask her forgiveness, so he came to Hirilorn and asked the guards to call up to her.
“Nay, good fellow,” said one apologetically. “The Princess is most distraught. She has asked that there would be no visitors. She stays behind closed doors. We have not even seen her come out to the bay windows. My heart is sore at her captivity. I would set her free, if only I could, but I am loyal to the king.”
“No one can blame you for your gentle heart, worthy soldier,” answered Daeron. “What is your name?”
“Nimras.”
“I wish that my heart were as clean as yours.”
“Why do you say this? You seem an honest fellow.”
“Because mine has been blackened. Call to the Princess, friend, and you shall hold me grateful.”
“Why would you not call to her yourself?”
“She will deny me upon sight, I know it. Call for her highness please.”
“Very well.”
Nimras called up to Lúthien. She opened the door and sat upon the balcony there.
“What is it?” she called uninterested.
“Daeron the minstrel has come to visit you, my lady,” Nimras announced.
Her eyes flashed.
“On second thought,” she said. “I do not think I want to see any visitors today. Least of all Daeron!”
“Lúthien, please! I must speak with you.”
“No! I do not want to speak with you! You can go tell my Father that I have been thinking about Beren all day long instead! I am sure that a little more snitching on your own behalf would make you feel better, turncoat. Have a good evening!”
“Lúthien!”
She only shook her head and slammed the door of her tree house shut. Daeron went to the window instead, which was open.
“Come now, Lúthien,” he said. “Please. You must understand. I have been wishing for your forgiveness.”
“My forgiveness? Ha! You come to me and ask me to forgive you of this?”
She laughed dryly. Then she picked up her bowl of water and turned it over. Its contents poured down upon Daeron, soaking him wet.
“There! Perhaps you have finally learned your lesson: Keep your mouth shut! Now go away!”
“Lúthien!”
She shut the window and did not return. Daeron shook his head and shivered from the cold water. The guards stared at him, trying not to laugh.
“I told you: The Princess is most distraught,” Nimras said, and he did not smile.
“I would like you to raise up the ladder and let me in to see Lúthien,” Daeron answered.
Nimras cleared his throat and asked sincerely, “Would you be willing to take such chances, sir? The Princess' blood boils within her.”
“Lúthien and I have known each other since child-hood, and I hope to reason with her.”
Nimras shrugged and did as he asked. Daeron climbed up the long ladder and opened the door of the tree house. Lúthien was sitting in the doorway, her eyes wild, and when Daeron opened the door, she was startled at first. Then she was outraged.
“What are you doing in here!” she demanded.
“Lúthien, you hate me?”
“No, or at least I try not to.”
“Then will you sit with me for a moment and hear my confessions?”
“I already know what you are going to say, Daeron, and I do not want you here! Go away!”
“You are staying here!” Daeron grabbed her by the arm as she tried to run from him. “You cannot avoid me now, Lúthien.”
“Let me go!” she commanded. “Or I shall call for my guards!”
“No. I will not walk away this time, Lúthien. You are going to listen to what I have to say,” he said heatedly. “I have only been trying to protect you!”
“I do not want your protection!” she shouted. “I never wanted it! I only wanted your friendship, Daeron! I do not need an Elf or Man to protect me! And when I called upon you in need, you rejected me and you betrayed me!”
“You being the way you are do not need protection?” Daeron snickered.
“Go away!” Lúthien groaned, turning her back on him, but then she said, “Well, what is it that you so urgently need to confess?”
Daeron hesitated, then he took a deep breath and said, “Lúthien, it was I that followed you through those woods. It was I that discovered your secret meetings with Beren. It was I who told your father that Beren was here.”
“Oh, that I guessed already,” Lúthien muttered, but then her voice rose, and she swerved about. “But that had not crossed my mind until now!”
“Yes, Lúthien, and I ask for forgiveness.”
“You wish for my forgiveness?” Lúthien said darkly, taking steps towards him so that he backed away. “After you bring Beren back here and cause my Father to forget all you said to him, then, perhaps, I shall forgive you!”
“If I could, I would, Lúthien.”
“You betrayed me twice! And you are my best friend, Daeron! No, you are much more than my friend.” Lúthien's face contorted to an expression of pain, and she hesitated. “You... You are my brother. My brother. Why of all people did it have to be you!”
“That is all it takes in this world, Lúthien,” Daeron told her. “A friend.”
“Daeron, you remember how happy I was when I was still with Beren. You even told me that you had never seen me so happy before. But you destroyed that joy! With a little flapping of your lips, you managed to sever us apart!”
Daeron bowed his head with shame. Lúthien was very angry.
“Why did you do it? Why!” she shouted. “Was it some spontaneous thing, Daeron? Why did you do it!”
“Because I love you, Lúthien, and I always have. Ever since we were children, I loved you. Lúthien, my love betrayed! What madness possessed me when you came to me trusting, and I gave your secrets away? Forgive me. I had to tell Thingol out of love, and out of fear. Fear that you would leave and your beauty depart forever. So I told; I betrayed. I can still see the hurt in your eyes. When you looked at me, it was torment to bear. But then you were locked up; a nightingale in a cage because of me. My heart was in two to see you captured this way while I knew that I was to blame. Oh! To do it over again! I would not betray you, but lend you my aid, although my heart would wrench in two. Yet better that than this guilt!”
Lúthien drew her eyes away from Daeron. She had always known of Daeron’s love for her and wished it away. She loved him, but only as a sister might love her brother. He was her brother, no more, no less.
“Why reveal this to me now, Daeron?” Lúthien moaned. “Why did you choose this time?”
“I feared it was too soon, but now I fear it is too late.”
Lúthien considered this choice that had been put before her. She loved Daeron, and, unlike Beren, he was of her own kin. Beren may be dead at that moment, and she knew it. But it only took a few moments for her to decide.
“Daeron,” she said, “know this. You are part of some of my fondest memories. My love for you is pure.”
“And yet you warmed to a mortal so quickly!” he sighed and then repented, “I am sorry. I am jealous. That powerful emotion overtook me. I know it was wrong, but when I told your father that you were going to leave Doriath, it was for your protection, and not for my own benefit, as it was when I delivered Beren unto your father. I feared that you would be taken captive. And, Lúthien, I would have been devastated.”
“Get out.”
“Please, Lúthien-“
”I order you to get out!” Lúthien raised her voice to the top of her lungs. “Leave me be! This is the prison you made for me. Even though you regret it now, that does not change anything! You cannot undo all that you have done! The least you can do for me now is to leave me in peace! So get out!”
Daeron was sorely hurt by her words. He wanted to stay and beg for forgiveness for all the pain that she now suffered. But he climbed down the ladder and made for his home and he himself wept.
Lúthien repented of her words immediately. She opened her door and called for Daeron to come back, but he knew better.
“I said my love for you was pure. To prove that, I forgive you,” she called to him. “I forgive you!”
He heard. She knew that he had heard because he halted and then hid his face. He never again played his pipe in Doriath. He had saved his music for Lúthien. She stood there and watched him leave, tears falling from her eyes as they had never done before. And once again her thoughts turned to Beren, and she wished for him all the more. She knew that she would not change anything weeping and doing nothing else. She had a plan.
“Lúthien,” she said to herself. “Enough weeping like a little girl! You must be a warrior, not a delicate flower. Be joyful in all your trials! I personally have had enough of trials! It is time for some tribulation!”
She sprang to her feet, wiped away her tears, and called down to her guards.
“I would like you to bring me a spinning wheel and a loom so that I may pass away the weary hours.”
Nimras brought to her what she asked, but the asking of this wheel had sparked his curiosity, so he asked, “What will the lady weave?”
“I am going to weave out a miracle,” she answered and closed her door.
Nimras was greatly confused by this answer, but Lúthien collapsed at her door. For the first time, she had not fallen into a storm of weeping, but into silent laughter.
“They will give me everything I ask for, except my freedom,” she said bitterly. “Beren, I will get out of here. I have a plan. I will see you again and hold you in my arms soon. Hang on a little longer, and I will be right behind you.”
Lúthien began to prepare the spinning wheel for her work. Nimras came to her several hours later and gave her a gift that was wrapped in leaf wrappings. Lúthien opened the leaf wrappings to find several cakes. She recognized that they were lembas, way bread that was filling and pleasant. They were also nutritional, perfect for long journeys. Only her mother Melian could have made these, for she had concocted them and taught only Galadriel and her daughter the recipe. Lúthien smiled and packed the way bread away, telling Nimras to give her thanks to her mother.
Now Lúthien was not ignorant of spells and magic. After all, she was the daughter of a Maia, and very powerful in magics, and she believed it was time to use her knowledge and wit to escape. After much planning that came into her head as though they had been whispered into her ear, Lúthien conceived in her thought a plan to cunningly escape from her prison.
She called down to the guards that night, asking for a bowl of water and a bowl of wine. This the guards did and brought her the wine and the water. They raised up the ladder and handed them to her. She smiled a strange smile at the guard that handed them to her. Her smile had him so flummoxed that he almost fell from the ladder. He blushed furiously and began his decent on the ground. Lúthien laughed and closed the door softly behind her, and Nimras did not think anything of it.
Now over the two bowls with each window shut, Lúthien was in doubt. All Elves had a power within them that no mortal could ever possess. That power had held at bay the power of Morgoth years ago, but Lúthien had a much greater power than that of the common Elf. She was half Maia, and the magic of the Maiar was the magic and awesome power of Ilúvatar himself. However, her powers did not work unless it was Ilúvatar's will.
Now, Lúthien's Maia powers were flowing through her willfully as she called upon heaven for the power to make her hair grow. Then she blessed the two bowls and mingled their contents together in another, crushing powdered herbs into the bowl. She dipped her hair into the liquid and used the spell of sleep. Her hair had begun to weigh her down, and, drained by her efforts, she slept. As she slept, her hair began to grow rapidly. When she awoke before dawn, her hair was indeed long, and she cut her hair back to its normal length with her sickle dagger. Her hair would grow naturally ever after.
Then she spun with her wheel a long rope, and there was no yarn, wool, or thread, only her own hair. Lúthien gathered a few things before she climbed down from her window, food and clothing and the like. She slipped from her dress to breeches and a blue tunic. She knew she could not venture out alone without a weapon. Nightingale had been taken from her, and she did not dare wander through the Caves gathering all the rest they had taken from her. Her dagger would not be enough.
She carved a staff from a branch of Hirilorn herself. It was only for show. Her enemies would believe it was the source of her magic and strength. She wove a shadowy cloak that covered her from head to foot. It was a cloak made of her own hair, and enchanted with the same magic as the rope. It would be her true weapon. She wrapped it around her and knew that she was prepared.
At last, Lúthien threw down the rope from her window and let the tip sway in the wind. The guards below had no time to react to the rope. Drowsiness overcame them first. Soon, their eyelids became heavy and they dozed off.
She felt the earth beneath her feet and smiled. She had escaped from her prison; the prison that she should not have escaped from. Then she looked at the sleeping guards and laughed.
“I hope that my Father is not too harsh on all of you,” she said. “Especially you, Nimras. Sweet dreams.”
She pulled her hood over her head and let out a long, low whistle. Iavas came galloping towards her. She stroked him and climbed onto his back.
“At last! Are you up for a long ride tonight, Iavas? Yes, we are leaving Doriath. Beren is in trouble, and it seems that we are in this together. You shall be all the company I get. You know the way, Iavas. Noro lim!” she commanded and the horse obeyed, galloping off into the forests. She never glanced back, and she felt a joy as she passed through the girdle and entered into the Wild Lands. And so she escaped from Doriath unseen and began her journey to rescue Beren.
******
When Nimras and the other guards awoke at long last from their deep slumber, they saw that the princess had somehow escaped. They were afraid of the harsh punishment that Thingol would give them for dozing off, for they had no explanation as to how they could have all suddenly dropped off at that same moment. They were all decent fellows and had never fallen asleep on duty, but not even their clean record could spare them of sentencing. It was an uncanny coincidence, and they knew that the king would never buy their testimony, so in fear of their lives, they gathered their things and fled from Doriath.
Daeron was the one who had to report to Thingol that his daughter had gone, although he had vowed that he would never do so again. But he had come to see Lúthien once more, hoping that he could raise her spirits. He saw that all the guards were gone and was startled. He halted. But then he saw that there was one last guard that was staring down into the dirt. He recognized him as Nimras and called to him.
“Hi! There are supposed to be five of you!”
“They have fled,” Nimras answered quietly, full of shame. “For their lives, no doubt, but I am willing to face my punishment.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have failed in my duty.”
Daeron was horrified by what these words may mean, but he said, “Quickly! Raise the ladder and allow me to see Lúthien!”
Nimras laughed and nodded, saying, “I will raise the ladder for you, sir, but you will find no princess.”
Then Daeron realized that Lúthien had escaped and was now on her way to Sauron's tower alone and unaided. He fell to his knees in devastation and anguish and regret. Sobs rose in his throat, and then he wept.
“Lúthien!” he cried in lament. “Why have you gone? Did you know not that I was here for you and would have aided you? Now I am alone, and your blood is upon my hands also!”
At last, Daeron rose to tell the king what had happened, even though he did not want to. He had no other choice.
Thingol was very wrathful, but he too was grieved at the news. All the deep places of his court were in uproar, and he sent his greatest hunters and warriors, including Mablung and Beleg, into the wilderness and the woods of Doriath, seeking for his daughter and his only heir. Soon the woods were ringing with the search, but Lúthien was already far away through the dark woods towards the gloomy foothills and the Mountains.
Melian had only sighed when Daeron came into those royal halls and told her and Thingol the ill tidings of Lúthien's escape. She had expected no less from her own daughter, and she was also very proud of her, but she did not tell this to Thingol.
All of those people of the Sindar were most grieved, and many wept that their fair and wonderful princess was missing. No one could find her for all of their skill and hope, not even Beleg and Mablung, but Thingol kept them going on the search, and Daeron goaded the king strongly to keep searching for her all the while. But he would sit in that house where Lúthien had been imprisoned, mourning for her. Melian pitied him above all, for she had always known of the love he had had for her daughter, even though she had kept this only to herself.
She came to him where he sat. He did not notice her come in. She had not made a sound, and she slipped in so suddenly that he did not see her. Then she sat down beside him, and he jumped, startled.
“Pardon me, Daeron,” she said. “I just knew that I had to do something to save you from your gloom.”
“No, sweet lady, you cannot save me from my grief.”
“Daeron, do you not know that Lúthien is a maiden of Elfinesse like no other, and that she is safe?” Melian asked him.
“Do you know where she is?” Daeron asked eagerly, coming to the light again for a brief moment. “Surely you, as a Maia, can trace her?”
“No, Daeron, I cannot. She is clothed in her own arts of enchantment, so I cannot find her. But I know that she is safe, Daeron, so be comforted! Do not mourn for her as though you had lost her forever. You know that she loves Beren, and that she would have set out on her quest sooner or later. Do not take the blame of anything that befalls her. Whatever happens to her, it was by her own fate.”
“I thank you for your kind words, Queen Melian,” Daeron answered. “But I did betray her. If we do not hear tidings of her in the next few days, then I shall go myself to find her.”
Then Melian smiled and nodded with understanding. But she said, “Lúthien is bound to Beren. She has a special place for you in her heart, although she did not know your thought of her-“
”You knew I loved her?” Daeron cried in amazement.
Melian laughed and answered, “I know love when I see it, and you made it very obvious, Daeron! Her heart was given to Beren long before she knew it. That doom, I fear, was written upon her the moment she was born. Though you betrayed her, Daeron, you shall not be the last that does so. I cannot fight that doom for all of my power and love. I must be content knowing that Ilúvatar is guiding her now. You cannot fight the doom either, though you loved her also. So come down from your tomb, Daeron! Grieve no more. I long for Lúthien to return as well, but this is the beginning of the end. Yet all is well as ends well, as you children say.”
“You are wise, my lady,” Daeron said. “I will do as you say, but never shall I forgive myself. My heart shall be filled with regret until the earth ends.”
“Not with regret, I hope.”
But no tidings of Lúthien came. Thingol was in a state of mingled wrath and grief.
Daeron came to Melian, and he was very sad and downcast.
“My Lady, I must entrust this into your keeping.”
He gave his pipe to Melian.
“It is to be given to Lúthien if she is found or comes home again,” Daeron explained. “I intend to search for her myself.”
“Can nothing I say dissuade you?”
“You dissuaded me once, Melian. Could you do so again? Why not give it a try?”
“Somehow I know that I cannot delay your departure any longer,” she answered. “You require healing that Doriath cannot give. Not many here can compare their sorrows to yours, Daeron.”
“This is my fault, and I am afraid that I cannot endure my guilt. I wronged her, yet she forgave me still, and she called me her friend. Somehow that was worse; love undeserved than hatred well earned. Now she has left me forever, after the man who captured her heart. Lúthien! Beauty now forever past! I shall never again gaze into your eyes. I will sing until I pass away. Of Lúthien my love betrayed.”
Then Daeron the minstrel left Doriath in search of Lúthien and never returned. Many believed he had lost himself and darkness fell upon him. But others say that he lived and sang with regret beside the Sea. It was he that wrote the Lay of Leithian that told of Beren and Lúthien, and his songs thereafter spoke of Lúthien the fair and of his love that never did fade.