Full Circle

Author’s Note: The following chapter contains a rehashing of events from Yr 457 - 468. I ask those of you who have read The Silmarillion to please bear with me as this chapter is mostly for those readers who have not. Most of this chapter contains the epic and edited version of the tale of Beren and Lúthien, a tale that warrants telling in great detail, as it most certainly will affect numerous storylines revolving around Buffy, after the fact. Please note that snippets of this chapter come directly from The Silmarillion itself. Those words belong to the good old Professor, J.R.R. Tolkien.



Chapter Eighty-Five: Destiny



Thuringwethil delivered the news to Morgoth regarding Sauron’s seizure of one of the elvish strongholds in Western Beleriand, delighting the Dark Lord to no end. With his most trusted servant now stationed on Tol Sirion, no man or beast could pass through that valley without being detected by the Necromancer. More importantly, that watchtower was strategically located in the heart of the Noldorin empires of the sons of Fingolfin and Finarfin, or so he believed.

Still suffering from the painful wounds inflicted by the former Noldo King, Melkor Bauglir turned his wrathful attention toward the destruction of Fingolfin’s House in particular. He wanted both Fingon and Turgon dead. It was time to raise the bounty on their elvish heads.

Morgoth dismissed the vampire-maiden, ordering her to return to Minas Tirith. He then turned his horrible, cruel gaze to the four Elf Lords that stood paralyzed by fear before him. He cursed them, binding their will to his.

“Now return to Himring and act as my eyes and ears. At my command, you will come back to Angband and relay all that you learn. Now go!” he ordered, scowling at the ‘former’ Lords of the Houses of Maedhros, Maglor, Caranthir and Luinil.

The four men, Tincdan, Ovoron, Gúrvel, and Aeron then departed the bowels of Hell for Himring.

Upon their return to Maedhros’ land, they were welcomed back into the fold, telling their loved ones the story that Morgoth had concocted on their behalf. Those in Himring listened in shocked disbelief as they were told of the foursome’s heroic escape from their captors, how they had hidden in the wilds of Dorthonion until they could safely make their way to Himring. None realized that the Elf Lords were under the thrall of the Dark Lord, thus, they resumed their high-ranking positions that they had held prior to Dagor Bragollach, and would continue to attend the most secret of councils.

Morgoth did not just unleash his spies on Buffy and the sons of Fëanor. He did the same with the Noldor in Western Beleriand, and in those areas under the dominion of Man. None except the people of Doriath and the Falas were free from the returning thralls of the Dark Lord.

Everything was going according to Melkor’s plan.

He hobbled over to the portrait of Buffy that hung on the wall of his Great Hall. A malicious grin came to his face knowing that he had successfully decimated the House of Bëor, thwarting the prophecy involving his beloved Melisse. His blackened hand reached out, touching the face of the Slayer, stroking the painted canvas gently.

“Soon, it will be you and I, my love,” he whispered. “Whom will you run to when all that you love are dead?” He laughed, the sinister sound echoing within the mammoth chamber.

Little did he know that there still lived men from the bloodline of Bëor.

While Morgoth calculated his next move, Sauron was perfecting his most infamous of skills - the art of necromancy. Utilizing his talents, he summoned those tormented souls that had lost their way to Mandos, corrupting them to do his bidding. He sent them into the woods of Dorthonion, to act not only as his spies but also as phantoms seeking to inflict madness and despair on all whom they encountered.

Unfortunately, one of Buffy’s few female Captains, Aerial, who had perished during the war, and twin sister of Aeron, left the Land of Seven Rivers for the north, in search of her lost brother. When Sauron spotted her ghostly form, he ensnared her with his magicks, forcing her to submit to his will. She was then ordered back to Ossiriand to act as a spy for Morgoth, and to keep the Dark Lord informed of the goings-on in the regions in southern Beleriand.

It was during the summer of Yr 457 that the evil Maia sent a troop of yrch to assail Brethil, where the people of Haleth/Haladin (the Second House) dwelt with the Sindar of Doriath. Word was quickly sent to Thingol, who still claimed lordship of those lands, and to their aid he sent Beleg Strongbow and many of the elves from the Western March, who were in fact, Buffy’s Maiar in disguise.

Together, Man, Elf, and Maia attacked the yrch at unawares. Among the attackers were Húrin and Huor, the sons of Galdor the Tall of Dor-lómin, who had been sent to their uncle, Haldir at the start of Dagor Bragollach. Though Huor was only thirteen years old, he refused to be left behind with the women and children and fought valiantly beside the mightiest of his kinfolk.

During that clash, the company with which the youngsters fought became separated from one another along the northern fences of Brethil. As the yrch pursued them across Brithiach, the ford on the upper Sirion that divided Brethil and Dimbar, Ulmo sent forth great mists, concealing Huor and Húrin from the eyes of the enemy. The young men lost their way in the hilly regions beneath the sheer slopes of Crissaegrim. They were spotted by Thorondor, who sent two of his brethren to retrieve the young men, for fate had more in store for them than they ever bargained for.

The Eagles took the mortals, the first ever to set eyes upon Turgon’s Hidden Kingdom, to Gondolin. The son of Fingolfin welcomed the young men from the House of Hador (Third House) warmly, as Ulmo had sent him many visions regarding the mortals of that House, and because of that, the Noldo King treated them kindly. Turgon was dismayed to learn from the Huor and Húrin that the Siege had ended, and that many of the Noldorin fortresses in the north were lost. He was especially troubled to learn that Maglor’s Gap had fallen.

As the Elf Lord sat deep in thought, he realized that even Buffy, a Vala Queen, was powerless to thwart the Doom placed upon his kindred. It became clear to Turgon that the hope of the Noldor lay in the West, with the Valar themselves, who were the only ones that could lift the Curse from his people.

After a year, Turgon allowed the young men to return to the wars that plagued their people, since they did not know the secret way to his kingdom. Since the Eagles had brought them to Gondolin, the only way the Noldo Lord would allow them to leave was by the same means. The brethren of Thorondor then took the young men back to the woods that they called home, much to the amazement of their kinfolk who deemed that Huor and Húrin had died by the enemy’s hand.

Once Huor and Húrin had left his realm, Turgon sent a company of elves, in secret, to the Mouth of Sirion, to build ships to sail to Valinor, to seek the pardon and aid of the Valar. None of the ships would ever make it to the Blessed Realm, as they would be lost on the bewitched seas. Only a few of those elves would return to Middle-earth.

As the years passed, Morgoth’s spies proved to be most useful in providing him with much information. Although he was livid to discover that Barahir still lived, and that he, along with his outlaw band from the First House, were assailing his minions in Dorthonion. He then raised the bounty on the head of the descendent of Bëor, offering a reward on him equal to that on the sons of Finwë.

Gorlim was one of the twelve surviving mortals that had joined forces with Barahir. When he had returned from the war, he had found his house plundered and his wife gone. Grim in face and mood, and having nothing to lose, he became the fiercest warrior of the remnants of the First House (even though he himself was not a direct descendent of Bëor).

There were times when Gorlim thought that his wife had not been killed, merely lost in the wilds of the woods, and often, he would wander alone to his old house, searching for his beloved, Eilinel. This soon became known to the enemy and yrch hid in the woods along the fields, watching and waiting for the mortal to return.

Therefore, it came to be in the autumn of Yr 460, that Gorlim made the trek from the hidden lair of his companions along the shores of Tarn Aeluin to his former dwelling. There, he saw his wife through the window of his home, half-starved and crying that her husband had forsaken her.

Before Gorlim could run to her, the enemy captured him and brought him to Sauron. For the mortal had not seen his beloved wife, merely an apparition conjured by the Necromancer. In the dungeons of Minas Tirith, the hapless mortal was tortured until he revealed the whereabouts of Barahir and his companions. Sauron rewarded Gorlim’s treachery with a brutal death, feeding his remains to the wolves that inhabited Tol-in-Gaurhoth (Island of Werewolves), as Tol Sirion was now called.

The evil Maia then dispatched companies of yrch to the lair of Barahir and his companions, surrounding their dwelling so that none could escape. Before sunrise, two days later, the outlaw band was attacked whilst sleeping and cruelly slain, their bodies dismembered. As proof to Sauron that he had done the deed, and that he was entitled to collect the promised reward, the Orch Captain that had killed Barahir cut off the hand on which the mortal wore the ring of Felagund.

As fate would have it, one mortal was not present during the raid - Beren, son of Barahir. Beren had been sent on a reconnaissance mission at his father’s request and was far from the lair when the attack took place. While the surviving heir of Bëor slept, Gorlim’s wraith came to him in a dream, revealing his betrayal and telling Beren to flee to the lair in hope of saving his kinfolk.

By the time that the young man had arrived, the carrion fowl were already eating the flesh of the dead, including that of his father. After burying Barahir, he swore to avenge his father’s death. With his wrath stirred, he began his search for the yrch that had killed his father.

The following night, Beren stealthily came upon the company of the enemy at Rivil’s Well that had slaughtered his kinfolk. Hiding behind a large boulder, Beren listened and watched as the Orch Captain boastingly recounted the tale of the slaying of Barahir, mockingly waving the severed hand in the telling. The young man saw the ring of Felagund reflecting the flickering flames of the firelight, inciting him to action.

Leaping from behind the rock, holding his wooden shield in one hand, his sword in the other, Beren slew the Orch Captain and reclaimed the hand of his father. Protected by destiny, the mortal fled back into the wood, as the arrows of the enemy whizzed wildly about him, not one reaching their mark.

Once safely in the depths of the forest, Beren placed the ring of Felagund on his finger and began his wanderings through Dorthonion. He was now a lone outlaw who would do deeds of surpassing valor.

While Beren sought revenge on the enemy, hunting down the minions of Morgoth with a vengeance, Buffy remained in Himring with her people. Together with the Noldor and Green-elves, she taught the Easterlings the Sindarin tongue, the lore of Elves and Man, and anticipating future battles, the intricacies of warfare.



In the Yr 462, seven years after Dagor Bragollach, Morgoth sent out a great force to Hithlum, attacking from the passes within the Shadowy Mountains from the north and east.

Fingon, a few years before, had decided to return to his fortress in the north, and in his absence, delegated control of Eithel Sirion to Galdor. The castle was besieged by the enemy, and Galdor fell in the same spot as his father, Hador had years before. If not for the bravery, strength, and endurance of Húrin, the enemy would have claimed yet another Noldorin fortress as their own. For the young Captain and his company drove the yrch from Ered Wethrin, slaughtering them as far away as the sandy plains of Anfauglith.

Húrin then became lord of Dor-lómin, and ruled the people of Hador. He was a mighty lord, but in times to come, much sorrow would befall his House. His wife was Morwen, daughter of Baragund (who was kinsman of Barahir and one of those outlaws slain by the yrch), from the line of Bëor. She would give birth to their first child in Yr 465, a son named Túrin, whose life was beset with tragedy and doom like no other.

Things did not fare as well for Fingon in the north, for many of Morgoth’s servants were eager to claim the bounty for his head. The enemy greatly outnumbered the armies of the Noldo King. The opposing forces battled one another along the plains of Hithlum. Fingon surely would have perished at this time if not for the timely arrival of Círdan, who brought a great fleet of ships up from the Firth of Drengist to aid the son of Fingolfin.

Both the Sindar and Noldor attacked simultaneously, forcing the yrch to scatter and flee. The archers of Fingon pursued the enemy on horseback, slaying them before the very feet of the Iron Mountains. Thus, the Eldar claimed the victory in that unnamed battle. And for a few years afterward, had respite from war.



Word of the deeds of Beren in Dorthonion began to spread like wildfire, for that mortal did not fear death, but in his desperation, sought it out. Every orch he came upon, whether alone or in great numbers, he slew. His only friends were the birds and beasts not touched by the evil of Sauron, and they aided him willingly in many of his adventures. The son of Barahir’s love for his only companions was so great that he forsook eating the flesh of any animal and killed only those that were under the sway of evil.

Even when Sauron raised the bounty on his head to the same as that on the Noldo Princes, the yrch still fled at the mere rumor of his approach, angering the Necromancer more so. The evil Maia then summoned those tormented spirits that roamed the wilds and imprisoned their feys into the bodily forms of beasts and birds. Because of the wickedness of their spirits, the animals that they possessed became creatures both menacing and terrible. Sauron then ordered the monstrous beasts back into Dorthonion to hunt down Beren, and bring him his head.

For a while, the mortal was able to elude the evil creatures of Sauron, but in the winter of Yr 464, Beren could no longer endure the foulness of those demons which were hunting him, and was forced to flee from the place that he had come to call home. With the land covered in snow, he headed south through the Mountains of Terror, and from the top of a precipice, he could see the fair lands of Doriath in the distance. In his heart, he felt a sudden determination to enter the land of Thingol, the first of mortals ever to do so.

Perilous was his journey, for Beren had to cross the untamed Valley of Dreadful Death, Nan Dungortheb, which had become more evil than when Buffy and company had passed through several years earlier, for Sauron had woven greater spells of woe about that land. So horrific was that trek that Beren would not speak of it afterwards, and the mere memory alone caused him great anguish.

Wandering through the shadows of despair, and suffering great torments, the mortal finally escaped that wicked region and reached the northern fence of Doriath. Driven by both his determination and fate, he passed though Melian’s spells of enchantment and the Girdle, and, at last, entered the kingdom of Elu Thingol.

With his back bowed from weariness and his spirit crushed, he entered the forest of Neldoreth in the summer of Yr 465. Slow was his gait as he stumbled along amongst the towering hemlocks and beeches beneath the silver light of the moon. Then he came upon a glade beside the Esgalduin and there Beren beheld Lúthien dancing upon the green grass to the music of Daeron.

All the pain of his torments that the son of Barahir had felt, dissipated once he set eyes upon the loveliness of Lúthien, the fairest of all Ilúvatar’s children. He fell under her enchantments much like Thingol had done when he had encountered Melian ages before. Beren loved her with all his heart and the memory of her was forever burned in his mind. But as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone, breaking the mortal’s heart.

Ensnared in her spell, he sought long and hard for the maiden that he named Tinúviel, daughter of twilight, as he did not know her true name. Like a wild beast, he searched through the wood, looking for the woman that had stolen his heart. Autumn came and went, followed by winter, yet he only saw her from afar, and she always vanished upon his approach.

Finally, on the eve of spring, in the hours before dawn, Beren encountered Lúthien dancing upon a green knoll overlooking the river. Once again, he was spellbound. The maiden then lifted her voice in song, singing an enchanting melody that ushered out the winter and welcomed the spring. The ice-covered waters broke asunder, the river flowed in harmony with her song, and flowers sprang up from the cold earth where her feet wandered.

Then Beren found his voice and he cried, “Tinúviel!” His words echoed through the woods, causing Lúthien to stop, and she looked upon the mortal with wonder. Moved by love, he joined her atop that hill.

She studied him with her grey elvish eyes, and then took his hand in hers. For Lúthien returned his love, bringing an even greater doom upon herself. Together they stayed upon that hill, talking and holding each other until the sun began to sink behind the trees. Then she disappeared from his grasp, leaving Beren in a swoon of bliss and grief. He lay on the ground bewitched by the beauty of his beloved, and fearing that Lúthien had forsaken him, a shadow fell upon his heart. But she had not.

She returned to him, and secretly, they began their courtship, spending their days together throughout spring and summer. Great was their joy, but Lúthien, knowing her father well, knew that he would most certainly disapprove of her choice of suitor.

Beren was not the only one to love Lúthien, as Daeron, Thingol’s minstrel, did as well. When he caught sight of the lovers meeting in secret, he betrayed them both to the Lord of Doriath.

Thingol was livid when he learned of her trysts, for he loved his daughter more than all things in the world, holding her in higher esteem than all the elvish princes combined. To hear that she was running around with a lowly mortal, whom he thought nothing of, grieved and amazed him even more. He questioned her about her lover, but Lúthien refused to say anything unless her father promised not to kill or imprison Beren. To that, Thingol agreed.

He then sent out his servants to bring the outlaw to him. Lúthien hindered his guard, bringing the mortal before her father’s throne, as if he was an honored guest, and not as the criminal that Thingol deemed him to be.

“Who are you that dare enter this realm which is forbidden to your kind?” barked the King, narrowing his scornful eyes upon the mortal.

Beren was fearful, and did not answer. He was overwhelmed with, not only the splendor of Menegroth, but also the majesty of Thingol and Melian.

“He is Beren, son of Barahir, lord of Men,” answered Lúthien proudly. “He is foe of Morgoth, the one whose deeds even the Elves sing about... ”

“Let Beren speak!” said Thingol, silencing his daughter. He fixed his wrathful gaze on the mortal. “What ill-fate drove you from your lands to mine, breaking my law?” he queried. “Can you not give me a reason why I should not punish you for you insolence and folly?”

The mortal lifted his head, looking into the eyes of Lúthien. He then quickly glanced upon the face of Melian. His fear melted away and he stood tall, as one proud from the line of Bëor.

“Fate has lead me here, O’ King, and by perilous paths I have come. Only few of Elven-kind dare walk the road I have taken to get here. I have found that which I had not searched for, but what I would have forever. For it is above all the treasure in this world. No Elf Lord or fires of Morgoth can keep from me what I desire - Lúthien, your daughter, the fairest of all the children of Ilúvatar.”

Silence fell upon the hall. All the occupants feared that Thingol would have Beren slain for his boldness.

“Death you have earned with you words, and death you would have if I had not sworn an oath in haste,” replied Thingol slowly. “I repent of my earlier words, baseborn mortal, for one who creeps by stealth into my realm, passing through the Girdle of Melian, must be in league with Morgoth, either as a spy or perchance a thrall.”

“Death you can give me earned or unearned,” replied Beren, “but I will not accept being called baseborn, spy or thrall. For the noble deeds of my father, Barahir, did Felagund give him this ring on the battlefield in the north. My House does not deserve to be referred to by such names from any Elf, whether he be a king or not.” The mortal lifted his hand, revealing the ring of Finrod Felagund on his finger.

Then Melian leaned in close to her husband and whispered for him to heed her words and forego his wrath, for Beren would not be slain at the hands of Thingol, and that the son of Barahir’s fate was about to be wound with his own.

Thingol turned his gaze upon his only child and thought that the mortal should die for laying his hands on his beloved daughter.

“I see the ring, son of Barahir,” replied the King after several minutes, “and I can see that you are proud and account yourself mighty amongst your kindred. But your father’s deeds are not enough to win the daughter of Thingol and Melian.” A small smile came to his face, a chilling smile. “For I too have set my sights on a treasure that I have not been able to obtain. Since you fear neither Elf nor the fires of Morgoth - I say this to you, Beren: Go now and bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown, then, if Lúthien desires, she may set her hand in yours. Then you shall have my jewel, and though all the fate of Arda lies within the Silmarils, you will hold me generous.”

And with those words, Thingol unknowingly wrought the Doom on Doriath and ensnared himself in the Curse of Mandos.

Those present knew that their Lord had just given Beren a death sentence, for not even the Noldor had been able to retrieve a Silmaril of Fëanor. They knew that Morgoth coveted those gemstones more than anything, and that they were housed in the bowels of Angband, surrounded by many swords and numerous Balrogs.

“For what a little price do Elven-kings sell their daughters,” Beren laughed. “But if that is your will, Thingol, then I will do it. And when we meet again, in my hand will be a Silmaril, for you have not seen the last of Beren, son of Barahir.” Then he looked into the eyes of Melian before bidding Lúthien farewell. He then bowed before the King and Queen before pushing his way through the guards, departing Menegroth alone.

Then Melian turned to Thingol and warned him of his ill-conceived counsel, and that he had just doomed either their daughter or the King himself.

And Lúthien fell silent, and no longer sang in the woods of Doriath, for a shadow had crept into the kingdom of Thingol.

Once he had left Menegroth, a feeling of hopelessness overcame Beren. He knew that he alone did not possess the power to pass through the gates of Angband unhindered, and sought one that could aid him in his Quest. Turning his feet westward, he began the trek to Nargothrond, to call upon Finrod Felagund to fulfill his oath.

At last, beneath the misty rains, he reached Talath Dirnen, the Guarded Realm, that stretched between the Sirion and Narog. Concealed amidst the fields and woods of that region were numerous Noldorin archers, who kept an unceasing watch upon the land and whose marksmanship was accurate and deadly.

Long before Beren came upon that road, the elves marked him and surely would’ve killed him had he not held the ring aloft, crying out, “I am Beren, son of Barahir, friend of Felagund. Take me to the King!” Even though the mortal saw no one, he sensed that he was being watched and every few minutes he loudly repeated his words.

A group of hunters called him to a halt. Upon seeing the ring of Finrod Felagund, they bowed before the scruffy-looking mortal and did not slay him. They waited for nightfall before leading Beren to Nargothrond, as they did not want him to learn the way to the hidden kingdom of their Lord.

When they reached Nargothrond, the mortal was ushered to a private chamber where Finrod waited. The Noldo Lord didn’t need to see the ring to know that one from the line of Bëor and Barahir sat before him. Beren cried as he told the Elf Lord all that had befallen his father, of his joy and love for Lúthien, and of the Quest on which he had been sent.

Finrod listened in amazement, though a heaviness filled his heart. For he now knew that his doom was before him and that, in keeping his oath, he would meet certain death.

“Surely, Thingol wishes you dead, son of Barahir,” he said to Beren. “But my uncle does not know what he asks and I see that the Oath of Fëanor is again at work. For the Silmarils are cursed with an oath of hatred and any that names them in desire awakens a greater power, for the sons of Fëanor would suffer none to win or possess a Silmaril, for it’s what drives them. They would lay all realms in ruin to reclaim what was once theirs. Even now, Celegorm and Curufin dwell in my Halls, and though I am King, they hold a great power in my realm, and lead many of their own people here. The brothers have shown me friendship in every need but I daresay they will show you no love or mercy if they learn of your Quest. But I am a man of my word, and will fulfill my oath, thus ensnaring us all.”

With a heavy heart, Finrod called forth his people into his Great Chamber, and both sons of Fëanor came along with their people. The son of Finarfin then spoke of his vow to Barahir, to aid his kin in their time of need, and of Beren’s Quest. He asked his chieftains to help.

But then Celegorm arose from the throng, and drawing out his sword, cried, “Be he friend or foe, whether demon of Morgoth, or Elf, or child of Men, or any other living thing in Arda, neither law, nor love, nor league of hell, nor might of the Valar, nor any power of wizardry, shall defend him from the pursuing hate of Fëanor’s sons, if he take or find a Silmaril and keep it. For the Silmarils we alone claim, until the world ends.”

Many other words he spoke and with no less potency. And after him, spoke Curufin, more softly, but with words as moving as his brother, conjuring in the elves’ minds, visions of war and the ruination of Nargothrond. So great a fear that he set in their hearts that no Elf from the realm would go into open battle, but hunt all strangers by ambush and stealth, killing them with wizardry or poisoned dart, forgetting the bonds of kinship and falling from the valor of the elves of old.

The sons of Fëanor murmured that Finrod was not a Vala to command them and they turned away from the son of Finarfin. For the Doom of Mandos was truly at work and dark thoughts stirred within the brothers’ hearts. Thinking that Felagund should go off to a sure death, Celegorm and Curufin plotted a way to usurp the throne of Nargothrond. Not only did they have the gift to sway the Noldor with their speech, but they were from the elder line of Finwë, entitling them to that kingdom.

Finrod took off his silver crown and threw it at his feet. “No oaths of faith to me must you keep, but I must keep mine. Yet I would hope that there would be at least a few of you that would follow me and not send me forth as a beggar thrust from the gates.”

Of all those in Nargothrond, only ten came forth. One of them, Edrahil, took the crown from the floor and asked Finrod to leave it with a steward until his return.

Finrod then gave the crown to Orodreth, and the regency of Nargothrond now lay upon his shoulders. Celegorm and Curufin said nothing, but left the hall with smiles on their faces.

One evening, in autumn, Finrod and Beren set out with ten companions, following the Narog to its source - the Falls of Ivrin. When they reached Ered Wethrin under a starlit sky, they came upon the campsite of a company of yrch. They killed them, taking their gear and weapons.

Finrod then wove his magics about his companions and himself, changing their bodily forms so that they resembled yrch. Disguised as such, they continued marching north, hoping that they’d be able to pass by Tol-in-Gaurhoth unnoticed by the ever-watchful eyes of Sauron.

Yet the Necromancer grew suspicious when he saw the yrch band, for they were walking rather quickly and did not stop and give a report of their deeds, as was commanded of all the servants of Morgoth. He then sent out his own guard and had the group brought to him.

Then began the contest of power between the disguised Finrod, and Sauron, dueling each other with songs of power. The power of the King of Nargothrond was great, but the Maia’s was even greater, besting the Noldo in that challenge.

Sauron then stripped their raiment from them, and they stood naked and fearful before him. Although their races were revealed, none would give their names or their purpose. Therefore, one by one, they were cast into a deep and dark pit, and the evil Maia threatened to kill them unless one of them revealed their true purpose. Yet none would betray their Lord.

Those tossed into the hole waited alone in silence for some time. When Sauron grew weary, he would unleash one of his wolves through a tunnel from the dungeons of the tower, and the beast would attack his prey as the Noldor and Beren listened to the horrific screams of the victim. The wolf’s prize was the flesh, which he ate completely before the next poor soul was thrown into the pit.



When Beren was tossed into the hole, an overwhelming feeling of horror overcame Lúthien. She went to her mother, who told her that her lover lay in the dungeons of Sauron, without hope of rescue. Lúthien knew in her heart that none could save Beren except her, so she planned to leave Doriath for Tol-in-Gaurhoth in order to aid him. She then sought the help of Daeron, who once again, betrayed her to Thingol.

The King was astonished by his daughter’s behavior and grew fearful. Not wanting to lock her away in Menegroth, he had a little wooden house built for her in the mammoth three-trunk beech tree outside the gates of his Halls, which the elves afterward called Hírilorn. Lúthien was locked away in that house, and the ladders removed so that she could not escape.

But that maiden was a daughter of Melian, and she too, possessed powers of the Ainur. While sitting in her dwelling, hundreds of feet above the earth, she began to sing one of her songs of enchantment, which caused her hair to grow to a great length. She wove a cloak from the hair to conceal her from all eyes, and cast a spell of sleep about it. With the remaining hair, she made a rope and lowered it out her window. She swayed her bewitched hair above the guards’ heads until sleep found them. Then she escaped through her window, beneath her enchanted cloak, and vanished from Doriath.

As chance would have it, or perhaps fate, both Celegorm and Curufin had gone on a hunt with their hounds as Sauron’s wolves were entering the Guarded Plain of Nargothrond. Huan found Lúthien running through the woods like a shadow along the western eaves of Doriath, as nothing could escape the scent of that hound. He then brought her to Celegorm.

Lúthien, learning that he was a Noldo Prince, told him who she was before casting off her cloak. So great was her sudden beauty, that Celegorm immediately became enamored of her. He spoke to her kindly, promising to help her, but only if she would come to Nargothrond first. Lúthien had no idea that the sons of Fëanor already knew of Beren’s Quest, or how dear that matter was to them.

Once they had reached Finrod’s Hidden Halls, the brothers took away her cloak and locked her away in a deep chamber. She was forbidden to speak to any, save the brothers. After having spoken with Lúthien, they knew now that Felagund and Beren were prisoners of Sauron, without hope, and waited eagerly to hear news of their deaths.

With Finrod dead, the brothers would claim the lordship of his kingdom. Not only that, but Celegorm was determined to make Lúthien his bride, which would bring him one step closer to being the heir of Menegroth as well. Immediately, messengers were sent to Thingol, urging the King to allow the son of Fëanor to wed his daughter.

Huan was grieved at heart by Lúthien’s imprisonment, for he had fallen under her spell of enchantment upon their meeting. Often, he lay outside her door, her only companion at times, and she would speak about Beren and his many deeds, and their love for one another. Being a hound of Valinor, Huan understood all her words, and it was fated to be that he himself would be able to speak in the tongue of the elves, but only on three occasions. Since he had gone into exile with his master, Celegorm, he too fell under the Doom of Mandos. Moreover, it was said by Oromë long ago that death would come to Huan but not until he had faced the mightiest wolf in Arda.

Therefore, Huan devised a plan to help Lúthien to escape. Coming to her at night, he brought her cloak, and spoke for the first time, telling of his plan. He then led her out through the secret exit and they fled north together with Lúthien riding on his back. They traveled at great speed, as that hound was swift in limb and did not sleep, whether by day or night.



Both Beren and Finrod were both thrown in the pit of Sauron, lying naked in a pool of blood, the bones of their companions strewn across the floor. The Necromancer proposed to keep the elf for last, for he could perceive that he was a Noldo of great might and wisdom, and he believed that the secret of the errand lay with the golden-haired elf.

A wolf was unleashed, ordered to kill Beren. As the beast came for the mortal, Finrod summoned all his power. He then burst from his bonds, and using only his bare hands and teeth as weapons, wrestled with the creature, slaying it. Yet, he himself received a mortal wound and knew that death was upon him.

Turning to Beren, he said, “And now I must go to my long rest in the Timeless Halls. Long it will be before I am seen amongst the Noldor again. Perhaps we will not see each other again, in this life or the hereafter, since the fate of our kindreds are apart. Farewell.”

And so died Finrod Felagund, the fairest and most beloved of the House of Finwë in the dark pit of the fortress he himself had built. He had honored his oath.

Beren mourned his loss with great despair.

At that moment, Lúthien arrived. Standing upon the bridge that lead to the tower, she then sang a song of power. Beren heard her song, and the nightingales singing in the trees on the isle and it seemed as if the stars above shone all the brighter. He deemed that he was dreaming, but he sang a song in answer, a song he had made up in praise of the Seven Stars, the Sickle of the Valar that Varda had wrought and had hung in the north as a sign of the fall of Morgoth. Then all strength left the mortal and he fell into darkness.

Lúthien, hearing his voice, then sang a song of greater power, causing the wolves to howl and the isle to tremble.

Sauron smiled upon hearing her voice, knowing that she was the daughter of Melian. He wished to take her captive and turn her over to Morgoth for his reward in doing so would be great. Therefore, he sent out one of his wolves to the bridge, but Huan slew it. Still, he sent another and another. One by one, they all died from the bite of the hound.

The Necromancer then sent out Draugluin, the sire of all wolves, the fiercest of those wretched creatures. Long was the battle between the wolf and the hound. Yet Draugluin managed to escape from Huan and fled back to his master, near death.

“Huan is there!” he said with his last breath.

Sauron, knowing well the fate of that hound, changed his own form to that of the mightiest of wolves. He himself would challenge the hound of Valinor.

So great was the horror of his approach, that Huan leapt aside. Then the evil Maia leapt upon Lúthien and she swooned before his fell spirit and foul breath. But as he came, she cast her cloak before his eyes, causing him to stumble, for a sudden drowsiness overcame him. Then Huan sprang upon him, and they fought a great battle. When the hound had him pinned down, his jaws clamped around his throat, Sauron tried to free himself by changing his form, from wolf to serpent, from serpent to his own monstrous form, yet he was unable to escape Huan’s clutches.

Lúthien then approached the pinned form of Sauron. She declared that he should be stripped of his bodily raiment and his fey sent back to Angband to face his Master’s judgment.

Unable to overthrow the hound of Valinor, as it was fated to be, Sauron willingly let his fey leave its hröa. Taking the shape of vampire, with blood dripping from his throat, he fled to Taur-nu-Fuin, and filled that forest with his own special brand of horror.

Lúthien stood upon the bridge and sang another song of power that caused the stone to separate from stone. The gates came down, the walls opened and the pits laid bare. All the captives and many thralls then came forth, shielding their eyes from the brightness of the moon, but Beren was not among them.

Huan and Lúthien searched the isle for him. They found Beren in one of the pits, laying next to the body of Finrod, in a catatonic state. Lúthien, thinking that he was dead, wrapped her arms around him, and fell into darkness.

When the sun rose the following morning, Beren rose with it. Seeing the sleeping form of his lover beside him, he lifted her in his arms, waking her. Though he was filled with sorrow, he was happy to see her once again. They then buried the remains of Finrod upon the hilltop of his isle. Green grass grew upon the son of Finarfin’s grave, and none dare defile it in after days.



Beren and Lúthien, in their contentment, took to wandering the forests again. Even though it was winter, the weather had no effect on them as they were joyful as young lovers in springtime.

Huan did not go with them. Being loyal to his master, he once again returned to Celegorm in Nargothrond, where things did not look good for the sons of Fëanor.

Many of those held captive in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth were in fact Noldor from Nargothrond. Upon their return, they spoke of the deeds of Lúthien and all that they had heard. A clamor rose amongst the elves when the treachery of Celegorm and Curufin was revealed. And the elves, even those from their own Houses, turned from the brothers and pledged their loyalty to Orodreth. Even Celebrimbor, Curufin’s own flesh and blood, turned away from his father.

Many of the elves said the brothers deserved death, but Orodreth, who was now rightful King of Nargothrond, refused to have the sons of Fëanor slain, saying that that would bring the Doom of Mandos to fulfillment. Instead, he banished Celegorm and Curufin from his Halls with no provisions, and the King swore that, thereafter, there would be little love between his House and that of the sons of Fëanor.

The brothers didn’t care about the turn of events. They left the halls, mounted their horses, and took off northwards, deciding that they would join Maedhros and Maglor at Himring. And Huan, being ever faithful, followed his master.



In their wanderings, Beren and Lúthien found themselves in the Forest of Brethil, near the northern borders of Doriath. Once he had seen her safely to her lands, Beren proposed to fulfill his vow, but Lúthien refused to be left behind, telling her lover that he could forgo his oath and live in the wilds of Beleriand or continue on his errand, but either way, she would accompany him.

As the lovers spoke of these things, walking and talking without heed to anything else, Celegorm and Curufin were fast approaching through the forest. The brothers espied them from afar, and steered their horses in their direction. Celegorm charged at Beren, wanting to ride him down, while Curufin swept up Lúthien and placed her on his horse.

Beren sprang aside from Celegorm and came before the speeding horse of Curufin that was about to pass him. And he then did something for which he would be renowned by both Men and Elves. He leapt up, taking Curufin by the throat from behind, and hurled the elf backwards and off his steed. They fell to the ground as the horse reared and neighed, sending Lúthien flying onto the grass.

The mortal then wrapped his hands around the elf’s throat, as Celegorm came riding up with spear in hand. Then Huan forsook his master and leapt before the horse, causing the animal to steer away from Beren. Celegorm cursed both hound and horse.

Quickly getting to her feet, Lúthien forbade the slaying of Curufin, and Beren released him. But he took his gear and weapons, including Angrist, the knife wrought by Telchar of Nogrod, which could cut through iron as if it were green wood.

Beren then flung Curufin back to the ground and took his horse for the service of Lúthien.

Curufin cursed Beren as he climbed onto his brother’s steed. The brothers then made as if they were riding off, and the mortal turned away, no longer heeding them. But Curufin, being filled with shame and malice, took Celegorm’s bow. A ping sounded as he released an arrow, sending it directly at Lúthien. Huan leapt up and caught the arrow in his mouth, so Curufin sent another toward the maiden. Beren leapt before it, the arrow hitting him in the chest.

Huan chased the sons of Fëanor away, before finding an herb in the wilds to bring back to Lúthien. She tended to Beren’s wound with the herb, her love and magics, and soon healed her lover. They then continued on to Doriath.

Before sunrise the following morning, Beren decided that he must continue with the Quest, for he could not see Lúthien living a nomad’s life. While she slept, he placed her under Huan’s protection before setting off for Angband, on his own.

Beren, riding Curufin’s horse, rode north at great speed. When he reached Anfauglith and saw the mighty peaks of Thangorodrim in the distance, he dismissed the steed. A feeling of dread and doom came upon him as he looked across the desolate wastelands. Knowing that he was going to a sure death, he sang the Song of Parting that he had written in praise of his beloved Lúthien.

Then Beren heard Lúthien singing in answer, as she had followed behind, riding atop Huan. When she came out of the wood, he was dismayed. He did not see the fair maiden that he loved but a wicked minion of Morgoth accompanied by one of his wolves. For both Lúthien and Huan had disguised themselves as two of the Dark Lord’s servants - Thuringwethil and Draugluin. When they cast off their raiment, Beren was glad, yet he did not want his beloved to go with him into the depths of Angband.

No matter how much he tried, he could not dissuade her.

Huan then spoke for the second time, counseling the lovers. Their fate was already sealed, and though all seemed hopeless, they needed to continue on their Quest.

Lúthien then arrayed Beren in the skin of Draugluin, and having woven her magics about him, none could tell that he wasn’t the beast. Together they set off to cross the sandy plains toward the gates of Thangorodrim.

Dismay fell upon the lovers when they saw Carcharoth before the gates of Hell. The mighty wolf of Morgoth watched them closely, knowing that something was amiss, as reports had already come to Angband of the death of Draugluin. Stopping the couple, he slowly walked around them, sniffing them with his keen nose. Something was off, the wolf could tell.

Lúthien then pulled off her raiment and revealed herself. But before Carcharoth had time to react, she waved her enchanted cloak before his eyes, and he fell to the ground, fast asleep. Thus, Beren and Lúthien were able to pass through the gates and down the labyrinth of stairs to Morgoth’s Great Chamber.

While Beren furtively made his way beneath Melkor Bauglir’s throne, the Dark Lord stripped Lúthien of her disguise. Undaunted by the eyes of Morgoth, she revealed her true name and offered to sing for him.

Upon seeing her beauty, Morgoth conceived in his thought an evil lust, more dark in design than any that had entered his heart since he had fled Valinor. And as he pondered over those dark thoughts, he unwisely allowed the daughter of Melian to move about freely. He had lost sight of her, and then from the shadows of his chamber she began her song of enchantment, blinding the evil Vala with her words. Though his eyes desperately searched for her, he could not see her.

All his acolytes fell into a sudden slumber, and all the fires were quenched by her song. The light from the Silmarils then blazed forth, shining a white light within the chamber. Morgoth’s crown became heavier, and slowly he began to slip from his seat, his eyes still searching for Lúthien.

Springing before him, she then cast her cloak before his eyes, causing the mightiest Vala to fall out of his chair and onto the floor, asleep. The iron crown fell from his head and noisily rolled across the floor. Then all was silent.

Lúthien then roused Beren, who had also fallen under her spell, and he cast aside his wolf-raiment. He then pulled Angrist from his belt, and used the knife of Curufin to pry a Silmaril from the crown. The light of the Jewel glowed through the flesh of his hand, but did not hurt him. It then came to his mind, to take all three Silmarils from the iron crown. As he pried the jaws that locked the next Jewel in place, Angrist snapped, and a shard of the blade struck Morgoth’s cheek, stirring him from his slumber.

The Dark Lord groaned as he started to come to, the sound causing the host of Angband to move in their sleep.

Filled with terror, Beren and Lúthien fled, heedlessly and without disguise. Yet none hindered or pursued them, for Carcharoth, now wide-awake, was waiting for them at the threshold of the gates.

When the wrathful wolf caught sight of them, he sprang upon the fleeing lovers.

Lúthien was spent and had not the time or energy to stay the wolf. Therefore, Beren stepped before her, holding the Silmaril aloft in his right hand.

Carcharoth stopped, suddenly afraid of the Jewel in the mortal’s hand.

Beren thrust the Silmaril into the wolf’s face. “Go!” cried the mortal, “for here is a fire that will surely consume you.”

The mighty wolf was undaunted by the holy light. Suddenly, his jaw sprang shut on the mortal’s hand, biting it off at the wrist. Swallowing the Silmaril, it burned his insides, causing Carcharoth much anguish. Howling in pain, he fled Angband in his madness, killing all creatures that he passed on the way.

Beren fell to the ground in a swoon, as the fangs of Carcharoth were venomous, and death was upon him once again. Lúthien drew out the poison with her lips, and mustering her dwindling power, she staunched the wound.

They then heard a clamoring of great noise, for those that dwelt in Angband were now wide-awake.

As luck would have it, Thorondor and two of his brethren espied the doomed couple from above, and suddenly, they swept down and grabbed the lovers, taking them high above the earth.

In Morgoth’s anger, the ground began to shake violently; thunder sounded and bolts of lightning leapt from the ground upwards. So great was the Dark Lord’s wrath that even those that dwelled in Hithlum became fearful.

Lúthien wept throughout the journey, knowing that her lover would die from his wound. Beren did not speak nor did he open his eyes. The Eagles took the couple to the borders of Doriath, and to the same exact spot where the mortal had left Lúthien sleeping.

Huan came to the lovers, and Lúthien attempted to heal his wound with the same herb as she had before. But Beren fell into a dark sleep, close to death. His lover remained by his side and after much time she began to lose hope.

Suddenly, Beren’s eyes opened, and he heard Lúthien singing softly and slowly beside him.

Soon he was healed, although his face remained graven from the torments he had endured. And he and his beloved took to wandering the fair woods again.

Lúthien would have gladly given up all claims to Menegroth, her people, her home in order to be with her mortal lover. But Beren was a man of honor, and he would not have his beloved wandering about in the wild, without home and the fair things with which one of such noble birth should be surrounded. Therefore, after a while, Beren persuaded Lúthien that they should return to Menegroth. She reluctantly agreed.



Dark days had fallen upon the Halls of Menegroth and silence filled the woods, for a great grief had come upon those people when Lúthien was lost. Long the elves searched for her. Even Daeron had gone out on his own looking for the woman he loved. Wandering down unfamiliar paths, he passed over the Blue Mountains into the eastern regions of Middle-earth, never to be seen in Beleriand again.

Often, Thingol turned to Melian for counsel, but she refused to give it, saying that he himself had brought this doom upon their daughter and would have to wait and see how events would unfold. While Lúthien was gone, the only news the King received was the message from Celegorm, declaring that both Finrod and Beren were dead and that his daughter was in Nargothrond, and that the son of Fëanor wished to wed her.

That made Thingol wroth and he gave thought to waging war against the realm of Felagund. Yet when he sent his spies out, he learned that Lúthien had fled, and that Celegorm and Curufin were driven out from the Hidden Halls. Unfortunately, for the King, he did not have the strength to assail the seven sons of Fëanor.

He hoped that Buffy would aid him, and not forget how he had succored her in her time of need. He had recently sent messengers to Himring, asking that she and her kin help find Lúthien since Celegorm and Curufin had not kept her safe, nor returned her to father and home.

However, Buffy never received Thingol’s plea, as his messengers met sudden peril on the northern fences of Doriath - the crazed form of Carcharoth. Nothing hindered that wild beast, and he easily passed through the enchantments that Melian had placed about the lands, for fate drove him and the power of the Silmaril was his torment. Only one of Thingol’s messengers survived the onslaught of the Wolf of Angband - Mablung. It was he that brought the grim tidings to the King.

Even at that time, Beren and Lúthien were coming from the west, and a great host of elves followed them. Then Beren led his beloved to her father’s throne, and all looked at the mortal with wonder, thinking that he was dead. But Thingol did not look upon him with love because of all the grief brought to his House.

Then Beren knelt before the King and said, “I return as I had said. I now come to claim my own.”

“What of your Quest?” asked Thingol.

“It is fulfilled. Even now a Silmaril is in my hand.”

“Show me!”

Beren then held out his clenched fist, and slowly opened his fingers, but his hand was empty. Then he held aloft his right arm, and named himself Camlost, the Empty-handed (although both men and elves would later call him Erchamion, the One-handed).

Thingol’s heart softened at the sight. Beren and Lúthien then sat before the King and told their woeful tale, while all listened in amazement.

While Thingol thought Lúthien’s love for the mortal was a strange thing, he couldn’t help but see that Beren was unlike all other mortals, that he was amongst the greatest in all Arda. Therefore, knowing he could not hinder their love, he yielded, and Beren took the hand of Lúthien before the throne of her father.

The joy of the people of Doriath was marred by the discovery of the cause of the Great Wolf’s madness. When Beren learned that Carcharoth had entered Doriath, he was resolved to fulfill his oath and complete his task. Preparations were then made for the Hunting of the Wolf. Those that would pursue the beast were Beren, Thingol, Mablung, Beleg and Huan the hound.

The following morning, they departed Menegroth. As Lúthien stood before the doors of Menegroth, a shadow fell upon her heart.

The hunters crossed the Esgalduin and turned east and north, following the course of that river until they finally came upon Carcharoth in a dark valley where the river rushed over the steep falls. There the wolf drank the sweet waters, quenching his horrible thirst. Carcharoth espied the hunters, and as they stealthily surrounded him, he crept into the brush and hid.

Beren stood beside Thingol and soon became aware that Huan had gone. Suddenly, a great baying sounded from the thicket, as the hound had become impatient and took it upon himself to dislodge the wolf from his hiding place.

Carcharoth avoided Huan and leapt from the thorny bushes toward Thingol. Beren jumped before the King, with a spear in hand, but the wolf pushed it aside and sunk his venomous teeth into the chest of the mortal. In the next moment, Huan leapt upon the wolf’s back, and there fought the two beasts in a great battle, to the death.

While the beasts fought, Thingol knelt beside Beren and saw that he was gravely wounded.

After Huan had killed Carcharoth, he stumbled to Beren’s side, for he too had received a deadly wound. He then spoke for the third time, bidding the mortal farewell. And then he died. Beren did not speak but placed his hand on the hound’s head.

Beleg and Mablung then hastily came to Thingol’s side, and upon seeing the wound on Beren, they cast aside their spears and wept. Then Mablung took a knife and he slit the belly of the wolf open. Inside, he saw the mortal’s hand still clutched around the Silmaril, which burned like a white flame. As he reached for the Jewel, the hand disintegrated, and the light glowed within the shadows of the wood. Mablung quickly took the Silmaril and placed it in Beren’s left hand.

Beren held the Jewel aloft and told Thingol to take it. “Now the Quest is achieved,” he said slowly, “and my doom full-wrought.” And he spoke no more.

The elves then made a bier and they set both Beren and Huan on it, and slowly they made their way back to Menegroth. At the feet of Hírilorn, Lúthien met the hunters. She threw her arms around her husband and told him to wait for her beyond the Western Seas. Beren looked at her one last time before his fey left him. Then the light was quenched from the eyes of Lúthien Tinúviel, and she succumbed to her grief.

Lúthien fled to the Halls of Mandos, where Beren was waiting. And she knelt before Mandos, crying, and sang a song so moving and sorrowful about the hardships of the two kindreds. Her words reflected the sorrow of the Elves and the grief of Men, the beloved children of Ilúvatar. And her words moved even the sternest of the Valar, and Námo took pity on her plight.

Námo then summoned Beren and there in Mandos he was reunited with his beloved. But Mandos did not have the authority to change the fates of the Children of Ilúvatar. Therefore, he went to Manwë and sought his counsel.

Two choices were given to Lúthien. Because of her sorrowful trials, she could be released from Mandos to dwell in Valimar amongst her mother’s kin until the world’s ending, or she could return to Middle-earth, and take Beren with her, for the mortal was not permitted to dwell in the Blessed Realm. But if she chose the latter, she would become mortal, and be subjected to a second death, the same as Beren.

She chose to go back to Beleriand, forsaking the Blessed Realm, and forfeiting her kinship with all that dwelt there.

Mandos then sent their feys back to their bodily forms in Doriath. Those that saw them were happy and fearful. And Lúthien went to Thingol and healed his sorrow with a touch of her hand. But Melian, upon looking into her daughter’s eyes, saw her doom, and turned away, seeing a new grief she had not expected, for now death would separate mother and daughter until the world’s ending.

Beren then took Lúthien’s hand and together they left Menegroth alone, fearing neither thirst nor hunger. Traveling by foot, they crossed the bridge before turning south. This would be the last time they ever walked through the beautiful woods of Doriath, for the lovers had already decided where they wished to live out the rest of their lives in peace - Ossiriand. Not only was it far from the evils of Morgoth, but it was also under the domain of Lúthien’s old friend, Buffy, whom she now knew to be a Vala.

When they reached the ford at the River Ascar, the Green-elves called them to a halt. Tarlanc, the chieftain of that company, then came forth. Upon seeing Lúthien, whom he knew, he greeted her warmly, permitting her to enter, but not so Beren.

“The laws of our land state that no mortal may pass through our borders under penalty of death, as decreed by our Queen, Bellaseth Dagnir,” Tarlanc said to Beren. “I’m afraid that you cannot enter this realm.”

“And would you restrain one from the House of Bëor?” he asked, reaching into the pocket of his cloak. “One who bears the symbol of Luinil?” Beren then pulled out the Cross of Brolach, holding it before the chieftain’s face.

The Green-elves gasped, whispering to one another when they saw the token that Buffy had given Brolach, Beren’s forefather, centuries before.

Tarlanc took the Cross, examining it closely, almost expecting it to be a forgery of the original.

“Come now, Tarlanc,” said one of his kinsmen with a chuckle. “If you cannot see that Beren is a descendent of Bëor you must be blind! That heirloom proves that he speaks truly and the Lady would no doubt permit his passage.”

The chieftain glared at Gelir. “One cannot be too sure nowadays. The enemy can be quite cunning, as we have seen in the past.” Tarlanc handed back the Cross after determining that it was authentic. “I beg your forgiveness, lord,” he continued with a slight nod of his head. “Though it is not permitted to allow you to enter these lands, I will suffer the consequences if Orchal deems my decision unwise, for possession of that token is enough for me to allow your entry. But first, I must take you to Lindon where you must face Orchal, the Regent of Ossiriand, the one in which your fate now lies.”

“Take me to him,” answered the mortal, undeterred by the elf’s comments.

A small band of Green-elves then led Beren and Lúthien through the woods to the nearest lift that took one to the city in the treetops. They were brought before the throne of Buffy where Orchal now sat, holding her lapis lazuli scepter. The lovers then told their story in full to those congregated in that chamber, many weeping at the telling.

Every single elf looked upon the couple with wonderment in their eyes, Orchal no less.

“Not since the days of Sargon the Great, have I renewed hope and faith in Man,” said the dumbstruck Green-elf at the end of their tale. “Surely, any that has seen death, and returned, as many that live here have, has earned the right to dwell in these lands. My heart tells me that Bellaseth would have it no other way, and that, if she were here, would welcome you kindly and with much love and honor.”

Not only did the Green-elf allow them entry, but he also named them Lord and Lady of Ossiriand, a coveted title indeed! And he offered to them the finest halls in all that land - Lindecoa, on Tol Galen, which he afterwards renamed, Dor Firn-i-Guinar (the Land of the Dead that Live), for now that name had more meaning.

Orchal obviously had a change of heart, and of all the mortals that would now find welcome in those lands, none did that Green-elf love more than Beren Erchamion.

Beren and Lúthien wandered throughout the woods of Lindon as Orchal had Buffy’s dwelling readied for them. After hearing their woeful tale, he wanted all evidence of the sons of Fëanor removed from Lindecoa, so that the lovers would have no reminders of their torments surrounding them. All those lovely things wrought by the brothers, all the portraits that adorned the walls, everything, was hauled away to the vaults on the western edge of that isle.

By the time that the lovers boarded their ship for Tol Galen, Orchal had already sent messengers to Buffy in Himring, urging her to come home immediately…