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Title: Watching Doom Come
From the moment Luthien Tinuviel had led Beren into the presence of her king and father, Thingol, she had had a sense that something important and terrible was about to happen. That sense was only amplified by the words of Melian, her mother, concerning the mortal. At the same time, Luthien was puzzled. How could the fate of one man affect that of her father?
Then, when Thingol spoke, she understood. “Bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown.” Willing or no, he had brought them into the struggle over the Silmarils, something which until then he had kept out of his realm. At the same time, Luthien heard Beren speak, accepting the quest. With his words his fate was set. Luthien swore to herself however, that she would do everything within her power to change the doom Beren had set upon himself, or at least to delay it.
That was months in the past, and until mere days past, when the tales of the great ravening wolf, Carcharoth had set her husband to planning the wolf hunt, she thought she had been successful, once the quest had been completed. Luthien had agreed to stay behind in safety this time. Now, the same sense she had had back when Beren had agreed to the quest was back. All she could do now was watch, wait and hope.
Down the path the hunters came, slowly carrying two litters. Luthiens' foreboding was borne out and she understood what Beren's doom was to be. On the first was Beren, badly wounded, but holding the Silmaril the two of them had taken. The second held the body of the wolf. The next thing Luthien realized, she was standing next to him, speaking to him. Then, as she stood there, his doom took him, victorious though he was. Beren died, still holding the Silmaril. Title: Thingol's Folly
“Bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown.” My fathers' words held an incredible ring of finality, looking back on them now. They cost the man now my husband first his hand, and then his life and led to the destruction of an entire realm. All this because of words said in anger.
To demand that Beren bring him one of the three Silmarils, something that Feanor and his descendants had sworn to recover at any cost, and yet had not succeeded at was meant to be an impossible task. We succeeded, but it involved Doriath in much evil, and prevented perhaps a greater success in the war against Morgoth. For, due to the words of the sons of Feanor, Doriath refused to take part in the alliance against Morgoth, instead fencing themselves off from the world.
It was folly to become involved in the Oath of Feanor in this manner, and my mother in all her wisdom warned against this course. But, perhaps it was not folly to stay out of the alliance, for at least two of the sons of Feanor were, according to rumor and warnings, plotting to kill Thingol.
Since then, Doriath was plunged into needless wars with the Dwarves, leading to the death of Thingol, my father and much destruction. I know not whether it is the Silmaril itself, or the Oath of Feanor, but the thought of the gem, and even moreso the sight of it seems to inspire greed and violence.
And yet, now that the deed has been done, hope has been brought back to the alliance against Morgoth, something which was greatly needed. Perhaps some good will come from our quest, though for myself, I see only its great cost and more evil to come from it in future days. Title: Wolves
Luthien looked down on Beren's body, still warm, for all that his spirit had fled. Melian told me when Beren left that his fate was somehow intertwined with wolves. From the tales he told me on our quest, that was certainly true, though I had hoped, after he lost his hand that he had beaten that fate, though I see now that I was wrong. Instead, his was also that of Huan, our loyal hound.
She remembered. Rescuing Beren from the dungeons of Tol Sirion, once a Noldorin stronghold. There I faced what he had: the wolves of Sauron. When Huan overcame them, even Sauron himself in wolfish form, and I made my way to the dungeon, I saw the bodies of his companions, killed and mutilated by the beasts. He too was lying there and I thought he also had been killed. Afterwards, once we had cleansed the island and buried Finrod there, he told me of what had happened and how they had been captured.
That was not their last encounter with the wolves of Sauron and Morgoth however. We were successful, but for Carcharoth, the Red Maw. Now I know he was the mightiest of the wolves to ever live. For to die by the mightiest wolf to live was the fate of Huan, and so it has come to pass. But not only Huan was slain, grief though that is, but also my love and my will to live.
Title: Eyes of Ice Though her focus was on the dire and desperate situation she found herself in now, there was a tiny corner of Luthien's mind remembering things she had heard in the past. She was facing Morgoth, or Melkor as her mother's tales had named him, the most powerful of the Valar and the leader of those who had set themselves against Manwe and the others in the West. Facing him without any disguise or aid other than her own powers. Those had been stripped from her some time before.
Mother, in her tales of the Valar, always described his eyes as icy, that one stray corner of her mind observed. As one of the Maiar, she would have seen him and known. I never understood until now. It is one thing to hear descriptions, and another to actually see what is described. 'Ice' doesn't even begin to describe his eyes. They are intense, piercing, cold, and yet hot at the same time. Fitting for one who found fascination in the changes of temperature in the extreme.
Few outside of the Ainur had seen the eyes of Melkor and lived to talk about the experience afterwards. And yet, her song was able to fool those terrifying eyes long enough to send their owner into sleep and permit Beren to fulfill their errand and quest. But, she was sure that the freezing gaze of Morgoth would haunt her dreams for a long time to come.
Title: The Future Many of the Eldar have some form of forsight, as does Melian, my mother. I wonder what comes to their minds when they hear of my father's decree.“Bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown.” he said to Beren. I know that Melian saw nothing good in his decision, though she never told me what she saw. For myself, I saw only ruins, the ruins of Doriath which came with either Beren's success or failure. My happiness amid the ruins. They were not my fault or that of Beren, but due to Thingol. There was also a thread of hope, and hope to come buried in all the misery this decision was to bring. I knew not how that would come about due to our deeds as all I saw of us was our deaths, until we were sent back by Mandos. All I could think of was that our success showed that victory was possible over Morgoth. Not likely, but possible all the same. Now I know. Our son, Dior, and his children on down into the far distant future will have an important role to play in Middle-Earth. I know not what that role will be, just that it exists. Luthien looked down on the face of her sleeping son, marveling that something so small would have such a mighty role to fulfill. I see the ruin of Doriath for the final time in his future, but also love and hope.
Title: War, Crafted by Skill “Bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown.” My father's words which set into motion so much. Now that I've seen the damage these jewels have caused, I wonder if Thingol truly understood what the Silmarils were to the kin of Feanor and those he led.
Before the coming of the Noldor from Aman, jewels were something found deep in the earth, with the exception of pearls, found in the great oceans. But for all that, they were no less dangerous to acquire. To us of the starlit Middle-Earth, they were beautiful to see, a form of decoration and wealth, and even something to craft into even more beauty. Before the return of our Noldorin kindred, they were rarely if ever something to start a war over. Much less start a war over specific jewels such as the Silmarils. They have been the cause of much sorrow.
Before the coming of the Noldor, we of the kingdoms of Middle-Earth had never seem gems which shone with a light of their own. The precious stones of the earth merely reflected the light shining around them. Many of the Noldor had brought these and other wonders from Aman. We had thought at first that the stones found in Aman were different. Never did we think it was possible for one to craft gemstones. These stones were greatly valued for trade in Doriath, and by the Dwarves. This is one skill that those folk never mastered.
Never having seen the silmarils of Feanor, I thought the idea of defying the Valar over three jewels, even jewels crafted and not found, was preposterous. The stories seemed to be exaggeration.
Beren and I succeeded in the quest, and he did indeed give my father a Silmaril before dying. Somehow, I moved the Valar to pity and despite the fact that Beren had died, and I had chosen to do the same, we were permitted to Middle-Earth for the duration of a lifetime.
Thus was I able to see the end of my father and of Doriath, my home. For the sons of Feanor demanded that Thingol hand over the silmaril to them. He refused, despite the counsel of my mother.
In spite of the threat implied in the words of the sons of Feanor, it wasn't them who killed Thingol, it was the Dwarves who, inspired by greed, killed him and stole the treasures of Doriath.
Though the treasures were reclaimed, it led to war between the kingdoms of Belegost and Doriath. However, by the time the Dwarves had arrived, the Silmaril, now held in the Nauglamir, had been set to me.
I shall keep it safe and in time, pass it on to my son. Unfortunately, more than just an heirloom will be passed to him. I will also be handing to him a future of war.
Title: Oaths and Rash Words An oath sworn must be kept until the conditions have either been fulfilled or the oath released. That is our way. Did my father forget this with his rash demand? When he demanded one of the Silmarils from Beren, he entangled Doriath within the snares of the Oath of Feanor. All of the Eldar in Beleriand know about the oath sworn by Feanor and his sons.
He had sworn an oath to me, you see, an oath that he would not either kill my love, nor imprison him. That oath he had to keep, no matter how angry he was. However, he sought to find a way of getting rid of Beren and thought that an impossible quest would manage it. In doing so, though, he may well have doomed his land and people.
I am even more impressed by Beren, though and they way he responded to Thingol and his anger. Neither with anger of his own, nor with rash words to meet the rash words he had been faced with, but with incredible dignity. It was a good thing that I convinced my father to swear that oath to me.
If by some small chance, Beren succeeds, and I intend to help him with all my strength and abilities, we will become a focus of the sons of Feanor, perhaps the focus. They know that it will be nearly impossible for them to defeat Morgoth. For, though Feanor is dead, his sons must still keep his oath. With the oath they swore, there is no way to release it. They swore by Iluvatar himself, and there is no way for him to release them from the oath, which is what it would take.
Title: The Worry of Love She is of the Eldar, those who live as long as Arda, and yet, she says she loves me. What is there in one of the Edain for one who has lived so long? I know what names the Eldar have for my folk, including 'engwar' or 'the sickly'. Death comes for us all too soon. The reward the Enemy has placed on me means that my life will most likely be even shorter. My life will be little more than a blink for one so long lived, and what will she have after that but memory?
And yet, I am falling in love with her in return. There could be few more dangerous for me to love than Luthien, the daughter of Thingol, the ruler of the Hidden Kingdom. As it is, I am wandering in a forbidden land. This will only compound his anger.
Title: Shadows of Terrors Past He sits next to my daughter, talking quietly. They are just far away enough that I cannot hear what they are saying, but I can easily see his face. There is a light in his eyes which only appeared after Thingol had yielded and allowed them their love. And yet there are shadows still there in his eyes. It is only to be expected after the life he has led. Few of the Eldar have experienced what he has, let alone any of the Edain. Certainly he is the only one who has managed to pass my defenses, let alone to have done it from the direction he did, and the shadows were particularly evident when I first saw him.
Luthien has been talking to me, asking for advice, and apparently it has been only recently that Beren has been able to sleep without being troubled by his dreams. Luthien had been aiding him until that point, as that is her particular gift: the enchantments of sleep. I know of no other who could have affected Melkor that way.
She too has shadows of terror in her eyes from this quest, something which grieves me deeply. But, that is the way of life. Parents wish to protect their children, but as they grow to adults, we are not able to protect them from all the hurts of life, else they won't experience all the happiness either.
I watch the two of them together, and each understands the other, the silent moments, and the others. Beren seems to know when to attempt to cheer my daughter, or when his silent presence is enough, and she knows the same for him. Each of them is able to lift the grief of the other when they slip into memory.
There are days when I doubt that we will ever know of everything they have been through, and there are times also when I wonder if we even want to know of all the details of their experiences. Beren has said to Luthien and myself several times that he will not speak of his first journey into my land, that it is something he never wishes to remember, and although he has spoken of that time generally, none of us has or will press him for details. Neither Luthien or myself wishes to see the shadows in his eyes return to the strength they had of old.
Title: Beren's Tale Slowly, Beren was becoming a part of the life of Doriath. Once he had been accepted as Luthien's suitor by Thingol, and he had healed from the wounds inflicted by the great wolf, Carcharoth, he began to make a place for himself among the elves, and was beginning to join in the everyday events. Often after the night-meal was finished they sat around the fire in the great hall of Mengroth, telling tales. Generally, as the group was made up mostly of the warriors and hunters, the tales were those of hunting exploits or deeds done in battle. Sometimes though, others would tell tales too. Occasionally, Thingol would talk of the great migration Westwards, or even of his visit to Aman. Very rarely, Melian would tell a tale to the group of the creation of Arda.
Though he sat there as a part of the group, and had for the past several days, usually seated beside Thingol's daughter Luthien, Beren spoke little most nights, and had yet to recount a tale to the group, though he had been asked. Usually there was a slightly sad and thoughtful look on his face at these times.
Tonight his thoughts must have been more evident on his face than they had been in the past, for Luthien leaned over and spoke quietly, not wanting to disturb the current tale teller. “If you are not happy here, we don't have to stay. Leaving won't cause any great offense.”
He shook his head and replied equally softly. “No, I'm all right, it reminds me of my father, that's all. We used to sit and tell each other tales and stories like this, especially during the long winter evenings. Sometimes it would be like tonight, boasting about a hunting triumph or some deed from the last fight against orcs and Morgoth's other servants. Other nights would take on a more serious tone, and one of the men would recount the tales of one of the great battles, or a tale he had heard from the Eldar. Once in a very great while, Barahir, my father would tell of his rescue of Finrod, from whence he got the ring.” Involuntarily almost, Beren gestured with his remaining hand, showing the ring in question.
Although his speech was still quiet, the others in the room had fallen silent in an attempt to better hear him and his story. When Beren fell silent at that point, one of those listening spoke up, startling him, as he had not realized, lost in his memory, that he had become the recipient of the listener's attention. “Will you not tell us of what your life was like?”
Luthien's nod seconded the request. Though she had often heard tales and rumor of his deeds before his arrival in Doriath, as had the others in the room, Beren had told her little of that time, and she hadn't wanted to press him too much. Now seemed to be a good time to learn more of her love and his past, directly from himself.
The sole man looked around the room at the Eldar present, and finally, not having seen any mockery, only genuine interest, he began to speak, at firsts hesitant and somewhat uncomfortably, until he got into the flow of his story. As he spoke, Beren kept his attention focused on Luthien. “We were a close group. How could we not be, hiding from Morgoth for so long? Despite the life of the outlaw, some of us had wives and families. Although that was what kept us going, it was also our downfall. When we were finally found, the group was living on the heights of Dorthonion. Morgoth had captured the wife of one of the men, Gorlim and used her as his method of inducement. Because of this, he was able to discover our location.”
Here Beren paused for a minute and bowed his head. Despite the fact that it had been several years in the past that the events he was describing had occurred, talking about them was harder than he had thought, and this was the first time he had been able to tell of the events, not having had anyone to talk to safely until he met Luthien in the previous months.
The listeners remained respectfully silent until he began to speak again, still looking down. “Of the entire group, I was the only survivor, and that was only because I had been away from the camp at the time of the attack. I returned to find the others had been attacked and-” here his voice broke and when he continued his tale, Beren had jumped ahead in time. “Once I had buried my father and the others, I went after the ones who had attacked the camp; Morgoth's orcs.”
“They had taken the ring Finrod had given to Barahir as token that they had been successful in their task. Something must have been guiding me, for I was able to recover their trophy and escape the group unharmed.”
Beren continued to speak, telling of the years he spent alone in the wilds, and of his occasional returns to the site of his father's cairn, only pausing when one of the listeners added a log to the fire as it burned down. “That I could not do often, for fear that the servants of the Enemy would be watching it, waiting for my return. When I could, I did, to make sure that it was not crumbling away like the shelters that were our homes are.”
He ended his tale with his decision to turn to the south and towards the Hidden Kingdom as it became too dangerous for the man to remain living in the regions around Dorthonion. “That I wish not to speak of, for the horror is too great for me to ever wish to think of again,” he said.
When his tale had ended, Beren had been speaking for at least an hour, and he found that he was holding the hand of his lady, though he had not noticed her taking his one hand at some point in his narrations. The end of his tale seemed to signal the end of the evening, with none of the others taking up the mantle of tale-teller.
Title: Until the Servant too is Defeated Beren and Luthien had just finished telling the tale of their deeds in the Quest for the Silmaril before the throne of Thingol. To her mother, once everyone else had left, Luthien said, “Beren has yet to say a word about his journey into Doriath. When I have asked him, he refuses, saying that even speaking of it would be too much for him.”
Melian nodded, “The regions of the Ered Gorgoroth on our borders are a horrible place. Unfortunately there will always be somewhere like that until both the Master and his servant, Sauron are defeated. While the Master will now be defeated, thanks in part to the achievements of you and Beren, the defeat of the servant will come in some future Age, after a deed thought to be as difficult as the task you undertook.”
Title: Seeds of Destruction “...Bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown...”There was a sense of something great and irreversible in those word spoken by my father, and even more so at Beren's proud response: “...And when we meet again my hand shall hold a Silmaril from the Iron Crown...”These words echoed again and again in my memory even after Beren left to begin his quest.
I could see the astonishment on the faces of those watching us, that Thingol, who had been so careful about not entangling us of Doriath in the conflicts between the Noldor and their great enemy, would say this, and also, that Beren, one of the Edain would accept that terrible quest. For, if Beren succeeded and brought the Silmaril to my father, the sons of Feanor would undoubtedly attempt to claim it. And, certainly they would have a legitimate claim. My father however, would be unlikely to accept that claim. Even here, we know of the oath the sons of Feanor have taken. Because of their oath, there is no means available to us by which we would be allowed to keep the Silmaril, other than war, creating two enemies where now we have one: both the Noldor thanks to that oath, and Morgoth.
If Beren fails, on the other hand, especially if he is captured, he will probably bring down on us the attention of the Enemy. Something which, to a certain extent we have been able to avoid. Whether my mother's defenses and the armed might of Doriath would be enough to defend us is not something we can discover until those circumstances occur.
Either way, it seems that the seeds of the destruction of Doriath have been sown. If Beren succeeds, at least some hope will be brought to Beleriand of success in the end.
Title: The Black Enemy of the World| Morgoth. The Black Enemy of the World. Not even his true name, but it is the only name by which he is now called. He has been our enemy from the time we awoke, far to the east of here. Thingol has said that many times, adding that he has been our enemy from before the time we knew his name. Of all of us, he would know, having led the Teleri from their awakening in Cuivienen. There have been times of quiet, some short, and some very long, lasting an age or more.
Though all, both Eldar and Edain have seen his orcs and other servants, some, such as Sauron or the Balrogs, more terrifying than the others, few here in Beleriand aside from the Noldor have seen Morgoth with their own eyes.
It was probable that I would be one of that few when I rook it upon myself to help Beren with the quest my father laid upon him, and inevitable once we embarked upon the plan of approach we did. The descriptions come nowhere near the reality. Morgoth's eyes are the most terrifying thing. They are at once icy cold and hotter than the hottest fires. They say that his eyes alone have been enough to break his captives of their wills, as much as the torments he has devised.
Few have seen him and returned to tell the tale, and fewer have escaped him unbroken. A very, very few have entered his presence deliberately and still managed the latter here in Beleriand.
Title: Victory and Loss Despite the victory she had won, Luthien's heart was heavy with grief. In spite of the joy of being reunited with Beren, she grieved the loss of Finrod. Both ally and friend, he had been a great help to Beren, and it had cost him his life, as he had foreseen. Of the companions he had brought with him, none had survived, leaving Beren alone in the quest, as he had been when he started. He and Luthien had buried the bodies of each of them, cleansing the island of the horrors of Sauron as they went.
Now, with the burial of Finrod Felagund, their sad job was complete. Finally, Luthien broke their self-imposed silence. “We have sent him back to his master, and cleansed his stronghold. However, the victory is only temporary: until he is finally defeated for good, Sauron will create another such place of darkness and evil.”
Title: My Word Held There were times when Luthien suggested to me that I abandon the quest set for me by her father, Thingol. There have been times when I thought it impossible, which is what he had intended, for he wished me never to return to claim her. Despite her suggestion, though, I never seriously thought about giving up.
As she had said when describing my choices, if I had abandoned the quest, it would have left me to a life of wandering. For myself, that would be no hard choice. If Luthien were to remain with me, though it would be quite different. She deserves far, far better than an uncertain and dangerous life of vagrancy.
In addition, I have never willingly broken my word. Although I did not swear an oath to fulfil the quest, and the wording made it quite possible for me to abandon the quest,I still made a promise. One that I eventually managed to keep, though in the end it cost me my life. For, when I did meet Thingol again, my hand did hold the Silmaril we had managed to steal from Morgoth. As such, he accepted the promise as kept, even though I no longer had the hand in question.
Title: Is This Destiny? The path set for my feet is northwards. I have followed it from the friendlier southlands, the home of Luthien Tinuviel. It is not a visible path, but the path set on my heart. In order to win the heart of my love, this is the path I must take. Soon I will no longer need the Sun's overhead path to show me my direction. Soon enough, the mountains over the end of my road will be a visible guide to my feet, even without elvish sight.
As my feet carry me forwards, towards an unknown fate, my mind travels backwards to the event which brought me to this road: As she led me towards the throne of Thingol, ruler of Doriath, Luthien told me that my fears were needless; she had obtained her father's sworn oath that I would neither be put to death, nor imprisoned. Although that put my mind to ease on that front, it did not prevent the rise of other fears. Namely, the punishment he would decide on. For, I had done the forbidden. I had entered into the land where no mortal had yet set foot, and, beyond that, I had fallen in love with his beloved daughter. Luthien led me before him, not in the manner of a prisoner as he had intended, but as an honoured guest. Although I was, at first, unable to speak on account of fear, I soon found the needed words. I do not know where they came from, still, as it is as if something else was speaking through me. Then, he spoke naught but insults towards me and my ancestors. At that, my pride returned and brought words of my own to me. My reply may have worsened the fate he plotted for me, but it may also have given me a chance of winning the one whom I love. “Bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown...” Clearly, despite his oath to his daughter, Thingol intended my death, though he could have no direct hand in it. I spoke of fate in front of his throne, or rather the words that came to me were of fate, for everyone knows that it should have been impossible for me to enter the land of Doriath, but I did. Now, I wonder as I go northwards to what is most likely to be my death. Is this my destiny? Or, is something leading me to success? It is impossible not to know that there are some for which their destiny is already set. The foremost example is the Doom of the Noldor. We Men have been in Beleriand long enough to have learned of that dreadful doom. Perhaps the help of Finrod and his companions will be enough for me to win through. Whatever happens though, at least Luthien is still safe in Doriath. She knows as I do that this is meant to be an impossible task. I wish though, that I could have said farewell to her. Beren shook himself out of his thoughts of the past as they came to the end of the day's travel and his travel-companions began the task of setting up their camp for the night. He still wondered though, if it was his fate to die on this quest.
Title: Success and Failure This time I traveled, my thoughts ran ahead of me to the south. Last time, on my way to Morgoth's stronghold in the north of Beleriand, my thoughts lingered behind me. On Luthien. On her father Thingol, the ruler of Doriath. On the situation I had ended up in. Pondering on destiny.
On my first venture northwards, I had left Luthien safe in Doriath, or so I thought. Then, I traveled with Finrod and his companions. She had, however, rescued me from certain death in the prison of Sauron, although she was too late for Finrod. Together we buried him and his companions, before we continued on the quest.
Beyond all possibility of hope we succeeded. Entering into the fortress of Morgoth. That was always the easy part. After all, he had placed a bounty on my head years ago. Capturing Luthien would have been an equally great prize. Entering his fortress in a way that left us any hope of escape was a much more difficult proposition. I would never have managed without Luthien's help.
We succeeded at freeing one of the Silmarils from Morgoth's crown. Something which none other had managed, not even Feanor, said to be the mightiest of the Eldar. I, one of the Atani, with the aid of Luthien Tinuviel, daughter of Melian, the Maia and Thingol, succeeded at what was meant to be an impossible task. It is this which makes me more certain that this was my destiny.
He looked down at his right wrist, seeing the healing stump that was all which remained of his hand. But, almost as soon as we took the Silmaril, I lost it. We were attacked by Carcharoth. Not only did we fail, but I lost my hand as well.
The two were returning south to Doriath. While Luthien was certain that Thingol would relent on hearing their tale, Beren was more doubtful, for he had said “For when we meet again my hand shall hold a Silmaril from the Iron Crown.” Now he was returning, with neither hand, nor Silmaril. Presumably, the Silmaril was still in his hand, but within the wolf.
Even if Thingol relents, and claims that I have fulfilled the quest, as Luthien believes, I will know that I have failed, and have not yet truly won the right to ask for Luthien's hand. Should the chance come, I must kill Carcharoth and take back the great jewel. Only when I have presented it to Thingol, will I have succeeded in my quest.
Title: From East To West Trapped in the house her father had had built for her, Luthien was watching the shadows cast by the rising sun. Long fingers of darkness reaching out from the east. They seemed to her this morning to represent the fear from which both the Edain and the Eldar had fled into the western part of Beleriand. She was thinking of the tales she'd been told of their past by both Melian and Thingol. Even the lights are moving from the east now, shadows reaching west from our ancient home that is no more. Since the fall of the two Lamps, trouble has always followed from the East.
From what she had heard, the same thing was true for the Edain, although few would talk of it. New waves of the Edain came ever so often, most fleeing the evil, but some had brought it with them, serving the great Enemy willingly and fighting against even their own kin.
Title: Lost Without Him For all the years I've lived, I've never felt this emotion before. Beren, son of Barahir, for so short a time my husband is now dead. He fulfilled the quest Thingol, lord and king of Doriath, and my father, set him in truth, giving him a Silmaril from his own hand, and as a result lived only long enough to see me once more. For all I've known him for a tiny span of my life, I can no longer imagine my life stretching ahead out of sight without him. I have lost my husband, and now am lost myself.
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