Lúthien's Tale

Warning: for flagrant slander of several Silmarillion characters, especially Daeron!

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The thing no-one ever mentions about Doriath is that it was absolutely deadly.

I mean that. Completely moribund. Duller than water in a very dull ditch.

Still is, I expect, but no-one’s going to get me back with wild horses. You just couldn’t have any kind of life. At least I couldn’t. Doing embroidery, and chattering with the elder ladies? I don’t think so. Talking to the flowers? Oh, spare me! There was hunting, but even the animals in Doriath were fat and slow. Anyway you had to ride horses, and I never cared for that.

And Father – well, Father was convinced I was a delicate blossom of the forest, who must be protected from every breeze or passer-by. In practice that worked out as treating me like an idiot child. Mother wasn’t so bad, when you could get her to talk sense, but too often she was off gazing in pools of water, and her idea of treating me like a grown-up was to spin long stories about the Mysteries of the Ainur.

If the Ainur were all that great, I wanted to know, why had she left them to go off with Father? Mother just used to get a kind of smirk on her face, and say I’d understand when I was older.

In my opinion Mother was underrating me. True, I was still a maiden – Father would have castrated anyone who tried to change that – but that didn’t mean I was a complete innocent. In fact Nellas used to go into quite a lot of detail about the iniquities of males, and how they were only after One Thing, although since she never spoke to any I couldn’t think how she knew.

I thought about Males of course. And about marriage and how Father would have to start treating me like a grown-up. But the Sindar men! Pretty, I grant you, but their idea of an exciting time was to help the trees grow faster. The only ones with anything about them were Mablung and Beleg, and Mablung was a bit too much of the rock-like square-jawed type whilst Beleg – well, I might have gone for Beleg if he’d shown the least sign of interest in me, but he never did.

Besides all the Sindar men were afraid of Father. And Father would never have thought any of them good enough.

You’d think things would have livened up a bit when war broke out, but Mother’s Powers kept it all well outside the borders, and of course I wasn’t allowed anywhere near. After the men came back they all drank a lot and sang songs about Orcs. Not Father though, Father was depressed because Uncle Elmo hadn’t come back at all. Mother chose this time to give me the big talk on Elven resurrection, which I think myself was a bit overdue, after all I’d been full-grown for several centuries, but better late than never I suppose.

Why was Father so depressed if Uncle Elmo had only gone on a sort of gloomy trip abroad, I wanted to know? Because Elves are only restored to life in Valinor, said Mother, so Father won’t see Uncle Elmo again unless he dies himself or builds a really exceptional ship and leaves all his people behind. I thought this was very unreasonable, because why shouldn’t Uncle Elmo be restored back in Doriath? Mother just said one shouldn’t question the Valar, which I thought was a bit rich considering she’d eloped with Father.

It wasn’t long after that that some cousins I didn’t even know I had showed up. It’s amazing what one’s parents can keep hidden, no-one had ever told me I had an uncle named Olwë who lived in Valinor. I can’t think why not. The cousins did perk things up temporarily, but I can tell you I was cross Father wouldn’t allow any more of these foreign Elves past the borders, because I was sure they had to be more interesting than anything in Doriath. That was rather odd really, considering how he got quite maudlin over how fond he’d been of his good friend Finwë (someone else I’d never heard of), but he wouldn’t let most of Finwë’s descendants into Doriath and I found out later he never even asked after his old friend’s health. Males really are strange.

Aegnor was my favourite cousin, he laughed a lot and wasn’t in awe of Father at all. Unfortunately he and Angrod stopped coming after the big row when Father found out about what had happened in Uncle Olwë’s city. He threw a tremendous fury, officially banned all the foreign Elves except Cousin Eärwen’s children (which made no difference since they were all unofficially banned anyway) and issued some peculiar edict about language I never did understand.

What mattered to me was that my chance of meeting more of those interesting new Elves (and if there were any others like Aegnor it would have been only too worthwhile) was gone for good, and I’d effectively lost two of the new cousins. Angrod – who always was a bit of a brooder – took great offence over Father taking offence with him for something that wasn’t his fault. Aegnor either felt the same way or found Doriath too stultifying for words, which I wouldn’t blame him for, but it was a real blow since I’d been counting on him to convince Father to let me visit them in their new homes in the north.

I liked Finrod a lot as well, but you couldn’t talk about your problems to Finrod. There was just something so terribly innocent about Finrod, that he’d wound up taking part in a rebellion was hard to believe. I’m sure he must have done it while thinking of something else. Oh, I didn’t mention the rebellion part of it, did I? Father professed to find it all shocking. I thought it was fascinating, and wished more than ever I could meet some of these rebel Elves. Say what you would, I was sure they’d add a bit of spice to life.

I once asked Finrod about some of his relatives on the other side. According to Finrod they were all really good sorts and sacking Alqualondë had been a terrible misunderstanding. According to Finrod everyone was a good sort. Except Morgoth. I don’t think he had anything good to say about Morgoth. Dear Finrod. You couldn’t help liking him.

As for Galadriel, who I thought would be sympathetic, when I tried talking to her about how much I wanted to get away from Doriath she just went off onto a long tale about crossing the Helcaraxë, which I really think must have sent her a bit peculiar. Or maybe it was trying out Mother’s mirrors. Anyway she spent most of her time drifting round with a funny smile, when she wasn’t making doe-eyes at Cousin Celeborn who seemed remarkably slow to get the message – but you know what I think about Sindar men. Galadriel was no good at all.

The most interesting things that happened for the next few hundred years was the messengers Father occasionally deigned to send to King Fingolfin coming back with new Orc songs, which rather confirmed my opinion of these Noldor elves. They say the Sindar are better singers, but the Noldor have much more amusing tricks with language. That one of these songs could be the highlight of a decade gives you some idea of how truly scintillating life in Doriath was.

Oh, but I was so bored! Bored and bored and screaming bored!

Why didn’t I leave? Well, I did begin to think about it. But what would I do with myself? I didn’t know anything. Put me outside Doriath and I’d be hard put to it to tell which way was north. I was useless. I’d been raised to be useless and I had no idea how to begin looking after myself. Working that out didn’t improve my mood at all.

I did feel a bit ashamed of myself after Morgoth’s next attack, especially when we heard Aegnor and Angrod had died. We didn’t see Finrod again after that, although Galadriel was still around and just as vague as ever. In a way though it just made it all the more frustrating, there were all these life-and-death things happening out there and I seemed likely to be stuck with being Daddy’s Little Princess for the rest of Arda. I told myself I was a hopeless wimp. It didn’t help.

Actually I was on a prolonged sulk when I met Beren. I’d taken myself off in order to have lots of time to dwell on the utterly tedious state of my existence. It would have been better if I’d thought that anyone would worry, but Mother never did and Father never noticed. For someone who considered himself a doting parent he could be remarkably oblivious to my presence or absence.

I’d never met anyone like Beren.

Beren hadn’t met a woman in years, so I probably shouldn’t be too flattered by his ravings about starlight grace and beauty, and certainly not the ones about the ethereal wonder of my song. Beren didn’t have very good Sindar at that time, and he couldn’t follow the words. I never did have the heart to tell him I was singing one of Beleg’s Orc songs. With gestures.

Nor did I tell Beren that on first sight I rather thought he was an Orc. Of course I hadn’t seen any real orcs then, or I would never have been so silly, but he was wild eyed and had this strange hair on his face and was really desperately in need of a wash. That was why I ran away, I wouldn’t have done if I’d known who he really was. Well, I had no weapons, and didn’t know how to fight anyway and if the Orc understood Sindar then it wasn’t likely to be very happy with me.

He called after and it was rather a nice voice, although hoarse, so then I thought he wasn’t an Orc after all. So I slowed down. I didn’t stop though, because he was following and that was really very interesting. All sorts of possibilities. I really didn’t feel like letting myself be caught too soon.

I nearly overdid it. I hadn’t known how tired out he was. When I realised he wasn’t following any longer I pouted rather, then I thought maybe I could go back and pretend I’d dropped something. I found him face down on the grass.

I’d realised what he was by then. I’d heard vaguely about these Mortal creatures, who looked a lot like Elves except the men could grow beards like Naugrim, and who died just like the animals of the forest. Father had taken against the whole idea and issued another one of his Bans, which really was getting to be rather a habit with him. I hadn’t thought much about them at all, but this one was a decided break in the monotony, in fact he was the most interesting thing to happen in centuries. Which again gives you some idea of what life in Doriath was like, since it wasn’t until I’d got him cleaned up a bit I realised he was really very dishy in a haggard sort of way.

If this was a mortal I regretted not meeting some earlier.

It got me a while to get him to even say anything. But I was still fascinated. He had with him a whole aura of life outside the dull, dull woods, an aura such as not even my cousins had carried. And if he looked like that life had been hard on him, that only gave him the more glamour in my eyes.

I was determined not to lose sight of him too fast, luckily he had no particular desire to go anywhere, and I did eventually get him to say a bit more than ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and ‘my lady’. Not very much more though. And it was rather frustrating that he seemed to regard me as though I was some sort of vision that would shatter if he touched it. How could I possibly tell him my own thoughts were getting more earthy every day (as he washed a bit more and seemed less half-dead) without shattering all his romantic illusions? He really was very sweet with it though.

This might have gone on a lot longer if it hadn’t been for Daeron the Creep. He really was. He’d been hanging round after me for years, and not at all in nice way. I wasn’t frightened of Daeron, because he would never have risked Father’s fury by laying a hand on me, but being round him was rather like having a woodlouse run over your bare foot. Unfortunately Father was convinced his devotion to me was very pure and poetic, which he wouldn’t have gone on believing for a moment if he’d known some of the things Daeron carved on trees, but Father had never bothered to learn the Runes and no-one was about to get up the nerve to interpret. I wouldn’t have put it past Daeron to steal my underwear.

What he actually did was tell Father I was meeting Beren. Predictably enough Father threw fits. Mortals on Father’s personal chart ranked somewhere slightly above rodents and orcs and definitely below a decent horse or hunting dog. I decided I wasn’t having with any of that nonsense, I was going to introduce Father to Beren properly, and if I threw a big enough tantrum I’d probably be allowed to have him stay. After all he wasn’t doing any harm and was really quite presentable when he could remember not to wander around with his mouth hanging open. I did get Father to promise he wouldn’t hurt him, because you never knew with Father when he got in one of his Moods (I mentioned about what happened with Angrod didn’t I?) and then I hoped for the best.

It didn’t happen. Beren chose this moment to stand on his dignity, and start going on about his distinguished family and his father being a friend of Finrod (although that one might have worked under other circumstances). Then he announces he wants to marry me.

Really, no subtlety. Although I suppose I should have given him a few tips on how to handle Father, but I thought he’d leave the talking to me. Putting lots of words together wasn’t usually his strong point. True, he looked very manly and noble and I did respect him for standing up for himself, but the timing wasn’t good at all.

Then Father goes and asks for a Silmaril as the price of my hand. I mean really, how insulting, bargaining me away like that, what did he think I was? Of course I knew he didn’t really want the wretched stone, he was just trying a sneaky way to get rid of Beren, but it was still pretty demeaning having him say it like that in public. Hypocritical of Father too, considering everything he’d said about the Noldor being obsessed with the things. Beren thought it was insulting to me as well, and for a few moments I was really madly keen on him for saying so, but then he had to go and buy into it and instead of saying he refused to be a part of treating me like a commodity he actually he said he’d go and get one of those shiny things for Father.

I was so angry! Speechless with fury and with both of them. I planned on ignoring Beren really hard but unfortunately he rushed off before I got the chance. So I had to content myself with sulking at Father which wasn’t very satisfactory because he tended not to notice. I kept up the not speaking routine for quite a while, then I started to worry about Beren.

I had a horrible feeling he was one of these people who take ‘do or die’ extremely literally. And I didn’t like the thought of that at all. Beren might be a tremendous orc slaughterer but I doubted he’d have the first idea of how to go about stealing a Silmaril.

I didn’t have the first idea either, but in a way I’d got him into this. And since I was the one who’d been wanting life to get more interesting it didn’t really seem right to just play the wilting damsel at home. Besides it would serve Father right if I went off. If I was feeling a bit more forgiving to Beren – since the whole Silmaril thing at least wasn’t his idea – I was just as mad as ever with Father.

So I did what I never thought I’d do and asked Mother for a bit of help from her mirrors. And Mother told me that Beren had gone and got himself caught by Sauron.

Oh, dear.

At that point I really did do some hard thinking. I suppose I have in all honesty to admit I hadn’t really been serious about Beren. Not serious as in wanting to bind myself to him forever and have his babies. If anyone had asked what I did mean, I suppose I would have had to say I didn’t know. There was perhaps a vague idea in my mind that whatever I did with him wouldn’t be a lasting problem because mortals weren’t lasting. I hadn’t realised he’d got it quite so badly, and I certainly hadn’t expected him to start talking about marriage, especially to Father. So now I had to make my mind up.

In the end what tipped the balance was the thought I owed it to him. I mean Beren was terribly sweet and maddeningly attractive and I could happily have spent years and years with him, but I hadn’t reached the point of thinking I couldn’t live without seeing him again. But I had rather led him on, even if I hadn’t known he was taking it all so seriously, and this was what had come of it and I didn’t want to have that on my conscience for all eternity. And after all the sulking I’d done over Doriath being dull I really would be the biggest hypocrite west of the mountains if I chickened out of helping Beren now.

Once I thought of it like that I started to feel better. I’d wanted an adventure and I was getting one, even if going up against Sauron the Stinker (nickname courtesy of one of Beleg’s songs) was a bit more than I’d bargained for.

I made a real effort to plan it all out. Not the least of my problems was working out where to go. All the maps in Doriath were centuries out of date and I didn’t know where Sauron’s fortress was let alone how to get there. The result of the sad lack of up to date geography records in the Hidden Kingdom was that I actually found myself trying to be nice to Daeron the Creep. Thing is that Daeron was one of the few elves who had actually been outside Doriath recently and rather more likely to answer questions from me than Mablung or Beleg.

Unfortunately it turned out that being a Creep didn’t mean Daeron was stupid and off he went running to Father again. Father’s reaction this time really was beyond words. Keeping me shut away like a prisoner! How dare he! I won’t even begin to comment on what made him decide on a house up a tree. Of course I was more resolved than ever that I was going to get out of there and find Beren.

This was one time that Father’s views about what a weak and helpless little thing I was actually came in rather useful. In truth I wasn’t Mother’s daughter for nothing, and I hadn’t ignored all her lessons. The mirrors might be wishy-washy, but some of the other stuff was rather neat. You shouldn’t believe that story about the hair though (sounds like one of Daeron’s fantasies to me), I didn’t need anything so complicated to get past the guards unnoticed. As for climbing down the tree that was no problem at all. I did say Father really didn’t know the first thing about me, didn’t I?

The hard part came later. I don’t think I’m unrealistic, but I hadn’t really known how hard and desolate and just dreadfully stony the lands to the north were going to be. It rained. It rained a lot, and I wasn’t used to it, in Doriath Mother always kept the weather nicely regulated. I was cold and hungry and I hadn’t got any lembas because although Mother had insisted I learn how to make it up a tree is not a place for cooking. This maybe sounds terribly whiny and I daresay none of it would have meant much to Beren, but it meant quite a lot to me especially as I was completely alone and not even sure I was going in the right direction.

I must have done pretty well there though, because I was just sitting on a rock thinking how much my feet hurt (not romantic, I know I should have been worried about Beren, but it’s not easy to be romantic when your feet hurt and your clothes are damp and you’ve run out of food) when a couple of riders out hunting appeared. I could see they were Elves, so naturally I stood up to ask if they knew where I was.

So that was how I ran across Celegorm and Curufin. I did pause for thought a bit when they introduced themselves, knowing what I did about Alqualondë and why they were on Father’s most hated Elves list. But I reckoned there was no harm in asking them how to get to Nargothrond. I was feeling horribly cold and filthy, and thought Finrod was my best chance of a bath, some food and clean clothes, and if I could work it right proper directions. No matter how worried I was about Beren there was no point going round in circles. I made a point of smiling nicely, which usually got things done for me in Doriath, and although I must have been looking a long way from my best it seemed to work quite well.

And when they said they were staying at Nargothrond themselves naturally I took the chance to go back with them. I wasn’t sorry for the opportunity either, because they really were a very sexy couple. Of course I hadn’t forgotten Beren – but a girl can look.

And it wasn’t until we got to Nargothrond (impressive – not as big as Menegroth but Finrod’s decorators had some striking notions) that Celegorm told me Beren had already been and gone and taken Finrod with him (poor Finrod, just the sort of thing he would do) and he had the nerve to say that since neither of them was likely to come back why didn’t I marry him instead!

Truth is, if I’d met Celegorm before Beren I might have been tempted. Although if he really thought marrying me would make Father like his family better he obviously didn’t know much about Father! But one thing I was certain of was that life with Celegorm would never be dull. And he was gorgeous, although rather too aware of it.

But I couldn’t do that to Beren, and besides Celegorm seemed to me to be being a bit shifty on the subject of Finrod. So I said no. Unfortunately Celegorm wasn’t very good at taking no for an answer, and even though Nargothrond wasn’t actually his (I never met Orodreth, he must have been either a fearful drip or very sneaky) he had the nerve to lock me up. His idea of suitable prison quarters was a bit better than Father’s but I wasn’t anymore reconciled. Unfortunately Celegorm – or maybe that bit was Curufin, anyway one or both was a bit more practical than Father, and had taken very firm steps to make the bolt on the door chant proof.

Not dog proof, however. Dog proof? Well, it matters. Celegorm had this hound. Not exactly an ordinary dog. Mother told me once that in the early days some of the Maia took animal form and even mated with other animals and had offspring which seems a bit weird to me, but probably no more so than becoming a Balrog. Anyway, I think Huan must have been descended from one of these. And he could open bolts with his teeth.

I’d never been drooled over by a dog before, but he was whole lot more gentlemanly about it than Daeron. I thought I just might be able to get him on my side (no good trying to sneak out until I was sure he wouldn’t go straight to Celegorm). I couldn’t speak Dog (Celegorm could, I think) but I just hoped he could understand Sindar. As it turned out he could talk it too, although he didn’t feel like doing that very often.

It was Huan who told me what had really happened with Finrod, and of course that made me angry all over again. Angry with Beren, to start with, going to Nargothrond for supplies was one thing but after all his brave talk to Father he’d no call to go trying to get Finrod to do his Silmaril stealing for him! Angry with Celegorm and Curufin, of course, although I suppose if you’ve sworn an unbreakable oath to kill anyone who steals the family jewels it’s fair to give people warning beforehand. (Not that I really understand about Oath swearing and why people do it, I think it must be a male thing). Angry with Orodreth, who hadn’t stuck up for Finrod, and with everyone else in Nargothrond except the ones who’d gone off with Finrod. Oh, and angry with Father still, since he started it all, but really that goes without saying.

Huan and I had a long talk, and the next part was fairly easy. He got me out of Nargothrond no trouble and he offered to let me ride on him. I wouldn’t have agreed to that, except we really did need to hurry. It wasn’t the worst part of the adventure but it was surely the most uncomfortable. A dog’s back is not designed for riding, it was terribly bony and I was very bruised and shaken when we got to Sauron’s tower.

It really was very big. Since Finrod built it I’ll refrain from making any of the obvious comments. But I must admit to being anxious. I’d come all this way, and now I’d got here, and I’d actually thought I could take on this whole place singlehanded!

But then again, why not? Sauron was a Maia, but I was a Maia’s daughter. Mother’s power had stood firm against the hordes of Morgoth. I was no ordinary elf but a child of the Ainur (Mother’s talk sounded a bit different when I was thinking of tackling Morgoth’s chief lieutenant) and if anyone in Beleriand could tackle Sauron I could. And I was going to.

So I stood on that bridge and I sang my challenge.

Sauron’s idea of an answer was to send a werewolf, which Huan dealt with. Sauron, not very imaginatively sent another werewolf, and went on sending them until the supply was exhausted. Why he didn’t send several at once I’ve no idea, but perhaps being stupid is an essential qualification for being Morgoth’s chief lieutenant. Sauron had some guts though, because in the end he turned into a werewolf himself (he seems to have had a bit of a thing for wolves) which had me worried for a moment but Huan was still equal to the situation fortunately.

And whilst he’d got Sauron pinned down I pointed out that if he went back to Angband disembodied Morgoth wasn’t likely to be very impressed. It worked. He told me all I needed to know about the Power he had put into Finrod’s island to make it his. And then, and then I stood on the bridge and I sang. And the gates opened, and the walls fell flat.

Oh, but that felt good! Such a rush of power! I could almost see why Maia like Sauron turned evil, if it meant you got to do things like that often. And the freed prisoners were awfully impressed.

Finding out it was too late for Finrod sobered me up though. He really didn’t deserve that. Well, most people don’t deserve to get killed by a werewolf, but certainly not Finrod.

Beren was so dreadfully upset about getting Finrod killed that I forgave him. We got the other freed prisoners to help us bury Finrod, and what was left of the companions who had come from Nargothrond with him. And I told Beren about elven resurrection and the Halls of Mandos, which made him feel better. It made me feel better too. Rebellion or no rebellion I couldn’t think any Vala with a spark of decency would keep Finrod in the Halls long. And Valinor was his home and he still had family there.

Beren started displaying some Father-like ideas about an elven maiden wandering about in the wild, but I told him there was absolutely no way I was going back to Doriath and he’d just better start teaching me how to manage. So he did. Beren turned out to know a lot of clever things about finding food and shelter, and the wildlands seemed a lot less rough when I had company. Even the weather felt milder, or maybe it just seemed that way because Beren was there. And I felt, well I don’t quite know how to describe it, but I felt competent. Like I could really take care of myself. Like I was somebody who’d earned a place in the world, and not just Melian and Thingol’s pampered daughter.

Huan went back to Celegorm. It must have been a dog thing.

I’d have been content to just stay with Beren and live the way we were, but Beren had got it into his head he’d made a vow to my father about that dratted stone. I hadn’t heard a vow. I’d heard a boast. But Beren didn’t see it that way. And I supposed that if he felt he’d got to get a Silmaril, then we’d got to get a Silmaril. Of course it was we, I told him. I wasn’t going to run out on him now.

I could have done without Celegorm and Curufin showing up again just then. Seems Orodreth had developed a backbone and thrown them out of Nargothrond. That pair really were sore losers. I can’t think why else Curufin would have attempted to kidnap me, after all there was no way I was going to marry Celegorm now.

So Curufin had dragged me onto his horse and I was attempting to elbow him in the stomach, and Beren jumped right up behind him in a rather impressive way, and of course we all fell off the horse. I land at the bottom of the heap and am winded and Beren’s attempting to throttle Curufin and Huan has decided he’s on our side again and is growling at Celegorm. Quite a business.

Once I’d got my breath back I had to tell Beren to stop strangling Curufin, or else we’d most likely have the whole House of Fëanor seeking vengeance on us sooner rather than later and from all I’d heard they were altogether too good at killing people. Beren decided he was going to keep the knife and the horse and it didn’t seem a convenient moment to tell him I really don’t like horses. Being a Male he had to rub things in, and Curufin displayed his sore loser qualities again and tried to shoot me.

Of course it was very noble of Beren to put himself in the way, but really I could have dodged the arrow quite easily. I suppose he wasn’t used yet to elven speed of movement. So there was a pretty pickle, Beren was bleeding all over everywhere. Fortunately Huan saw Celegorm and Curufin off or we really would have been stuck.

I managed to patch Beren up. I was quite proud of myself there, though I did know a bit about healing. When he was feeling better he stopped going on about the Silmaril for a bit, and I finally managed to persuade him to stop treating me like something from a pedestal. Different races we may have been, but I was only flesh and blood.

Although it might be just as true to say I was my mother’s daughter!

It was very nice while it lasted, but next thing I know I’m waking up one morning and Beren has disappeared. He’s taken the horse as well.

My first reaction was that Nellas had been right after all, and all Males were Bastards (I’d learned that word from Beren, mannish languages are much better than Sindar for cursing). I told Huan that. At some length.

When I’d calmed down a bit however, it occurred that Beren might have gone off because he was thinking about Silmarils again and wanted to protect me. That sounded more and more likely the more I thought about it, so I decided Beren wasn’t a bastard, although I was still annoyed with him for getting a fit of the Father’s. Who’d rescued whom from the dungeon, I’d like to know? And what chance did he think he had of getting the stone without me?

Of course I had to go after him. I wasn’t going back now. And anyway I loved Beren. Despite his irritating points.

I talked it over with Huan who reckoned disguise was a good idea. Well, as I said before, I had learned a few things from Mother. Rather more than I’d realised actually. Being a bat turned out to be fun. And if it gave Beren a nasty fright, that was really no more than he deserved. It took Huan and me both to convince him he was being an idiot by not taking me, but if he was stubborn so was I. So in the end we both headed off for Angband. Which turned out to make Sauron’s place look small. And Morgoth also believed in outsize guard-dogs.

As things turned out that wasn’t a problem, I was really getting the hang of this Ainur magic by now, and I soon sent it off to sleep. Going further took quite a lot of nerve though. I think even Beren was pale, although he wouldn’t admit to being scared. And I, well perhaps I was more Ainur than I thought, because the whole place quite honestly did reek of evil and it made me feel sick. Not that there wasn’t plenty of actual reek as well. Being evil had obviously corrupted Morgoth’s sense of cleanliness. The place was dank with filth and I could swear there were things lurking in the shadows. But as we were there, there was really nothing for it but to go on, no matter how much I was starting to think this really hadn’t been a good idea at all.

We got into the throne room, which stank even worse than the rest of the place. Beren slunk off behind the throne, which was the biggest piece of sense I could remember him showing. True, I had told him to leave things to me, but I hadn’t been convinced he’d listen.

The plan didn’t seem so good once I was actually there. In fact it seemed completely mad, but then the whole idea had been mad from the beginning. And there was certainly no other way out.

So I sang to Morgoth.

I don’t feel I ever really got the credit I deserved for putting Morgoth to sleep. I’d like to know who else in Middle-earth (apart from Mother of course) would have had the slightest hope of doing that!

It was dreadfully tiring though. Which is why I had to leave the actual Silmaril stealing to Beren. Big mistake. I don’t know what it is about Males and shiny pieces of jewellery, but Beren got it into his head he’d rather like all three Silmarils. When he started trying to cut the second one out Morgoth began to wake up.

So we ran for it. What else was there to do? Unfortunately Morgoth’s wretched guard dog had begun to wake up as well and I’d just about had it. Overwhelming the mind of Morgoth was exhausting work (though they did say Morgoth’s power wasn’t what it was, he’d put too much of it into orcs and things, but never mind that). Anyway I really didn’t feel up to dealing with the dog. And all Beren could think of was to wave his hand in front of it. The one with the Silmaril in.

The dog bit it off. After all the trouble we’d been to!

Sometimes I really do wonder how Beren ever managed to survive as an outlaw. No common sense.

We got a lift from some eagles, which was a real stroke of luck since I was fresh out of ideas and Beren had collapsed. It may have been just as well he missed hearing what the chief eagle had to say about Manwë, being used as a ferry service, and amputees bleeding all over the feathers. It might have been quite amusing at another time but I wasn’t in the mood.

Anyway the eagles dropped us off near Doriath. Patching up Beren this time was a real struggle, and for a while I was worried he wasn’t going to make it, but Beren had a tough constitution for a mortal and he pulled round.

This time I put my foot down. No more chasing after Silmarils. We could either go on the way we had before or we could go back to Doriath and this time I’d do the arguing with Father. Beren opted for Doriath. I’d have preferred the wild, but Beren still wasn’t very well, so Doriath seemed better in that sense, and I did owe it to Mother to let her know I was all right.

It turned out that Father had been fairly tearing his hair over my absence (well, it was his own fault) and he was so pleased to see me back again he practically fell on Beren’s neck. Well, that’s an overstatement, but he did say we could get married. And I decided to forgive him for being such a pig over Beren in the first place since he had been terribly worried about me.

Unfortunately it turned out we hadn’t heard the last of Morgoth’s wretched guard dog. Having a Silmaril in its belly had sent the thing completely berserk and it was rushing all over the country and had even got through Mother’s Girdle (which can’t have been functioning as well as it used to).

I thought the mad dog ought to be Father’s problem, but Beren, predictably enough had other ideas, and off he insisted on going with Father and Huan and some others, although what use he thought he was going to be when he was far from adjusted to having only one hand, I couldn’t think. I decided I’d had more than enough of the whole stupid business, and nothing was going to get me hunting mad dogs on horseback. Anyway I reckoned Huan would look after Beren.

My mistake, not that what happened was Huan’s fault, I’d foolishly overlooked Beren’s habit of throwing himself in front of things. Although I doubt it would have made any difference if I’d been there. Next thing I heard Huan was dead and Beren was badly hurt. The mad guard dog was dead as well, and someone had cut the Silmaril out of its stomach, which seemed to give Beren some satisfaction. I couldn’t have cared less about the wretched stone.

Beren went and died on me.

I screamed, I remember. I screamed and beat on the ground. Because I couldn’t bear to lose him now, I just couldn’t, not after everything we’d been through, it wasn’t fair. I screamed myself to exhaustion. Then Mother was there.

If you really want to be with him again, she said, there might be a way. Even the souls of mortals don’t leave the world at once, they tarry a while in the Halls. What’s the good of that? I said. Even if I killed myself and went to the Halls, it’s life with Beren I want, not a chance to talk to him in Mandos, before he goes wherever mortals go. There might still be a chance, said Mother.

Then she said that there must have been some High Purpose behind Beren coming to Doriath, otherwise her Girdle would never have failed. It might even be a plan of Eru himself. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of being manipulated by Eru, but Mother hadn’t finished. She knew I was already pregnant, and she said the Valar might consider it very important the child should be born.

“If you leave your body and pass to Mandos,” she said, “then the Valar must restore you for the child to be born. And you are free to refuse restoration, for the Valar may not coerce a spirit in this matter. If, as I think, there is some great purpose that hangs on the birth of this child, then….”

Then the Valar might be willing to do a deal. I thought about it and decided it was worth trying. Mother warned me I would have to hold very hard to the refusal to be rembodied without Beren, but I didn’t think I’d have much trouble there. Being rembodied in the normal elven way would mean going to Valinor, and from what I’d heard about Valinor it was only slightly less boring than Doriath.

And by this point I’d have gone back into Angband to find Beren. Mandos didn’t sound too bad by comparison. And all I really had to do was put my mind to it. Being part Ainur gives you a good deal of control over the body.

Of course people always want to know what happened in Mandos. I’ve heard the stories and they’re very nice. I’d like to think they were true but the fact is I don’t remember a thing. All I know is it obviously worked.

As for what happened straight afterwards – well, that’s private.

I was quite firm on one thing though, I was not going back to Doriath. Not even with Beren beside me. I didn’t mind dropping in to see the parents and tell them I was back, but I wasn’t having our child brought up there. No way.

So we came out here, to Ossiriand. The southern part, well away from any orcs. Father’s great-nephew Galathil had married one of the Green-Elves and moved out here some time since, they’re a bit wary of strangers, especially Men, but with Galathil to put in a good word we were accepted soon enough.

Oh, the Silmaril. Well, Father kept it, although he did have a letter from Fëanor’s sons asking for it back. Father said the tone was arrogant, which from what I remember of Celegorm and Curufin seems likely enough, although I have to say that Father would consider any letter not addressing him by at least four titles to be impolite. I thought the stone was Trouble, but Father and Beren both went very Male over not handing it back, and I didn’t care enough to argue.

And that’s really all the story. That’s how the daughter of Thingol and Melian came to be living in a log cabin in the wilds hunting for her own supper (not on horseback of course) with her husband and dressing her son in the plain clothes of the Green-elves. I’m sure you won’t find any lack of Elves in Doriath who are ready to tell you I lost my mind, but the truth is I found it, and much more besides. I’ve told Beren Dior can go to Doriath when he’s grown, if he wishes, but no child of mine will grow up without a choice.

I did a good deal for Beren, and have never felt inclined to deny it, but Beren did far more for me when he rescued me from being the pretty, useless daughter of Doriath.

As for becoming mortal, which I’m sure you know was Mandos’s price for bringing Beren back, no, I don’t mind that. I’m sure mortal Death can’t be that bad, or Eru wouldn’t have invented it. I daresay that when the time comes I’ll be quite ready for another adventure.

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