#secret gate

original auntieblues

Lúthien whirled around, but her thoughts whirled faster. Daeron had betrayed her. He had truly betrayed her trust a second time, something so painful that she could not allow herself to think about it just now. All her hatred was instead focused on the elf before her, her own father. Fleetingly, she thought of the knife that hung by her side. He would not expect that, and would not defend himself if that meant harming her, either. One quick stab, almost painless, and then, you see, I am the one to make the rules, and can do as I please. The next moment had her stumble back, appalled by her own thoughts. Had she truly come so far as to think of murdering her closest kin? She, who had grieved for cousins she had never known, and whole-heartedly shared her father’s and uncle’s hatred towards the kinslayers? Had she just now truly considered killing her sire? Daeron, clearly seeking to steady her, placed his hands on her back, and she snarled at him. “Don’t touch me! You… I loved you, ever! Since we were elflings, you were my very best friend. I were ever dear to me as a brother. I trusted you. I forgave you. I thought you cared for me, truly cared for me.” “I do, Lúthien, I care for you more than I care for my own life…” he pleaded, but Lúthien wouldn’t even let him finish, drowning his words in a derisive laugh.  “Sure. Just as much as my dear father, ey?”  Once more, she turned to the King, who stood still as a statue, his expression impossible to read even for Lúthien.  “I know you are angry, and also how unjust this must feel to you, but you need to see sense. I don’t know what this human did to you to make you act…” Again, Lúthien’s hand longed for the hilt of the knife. “What he did to me? Did to me? You…”  But words failed her, indignation striking her momentarily dumb. Again, her father spoke, just as evenly as before. “You will not go after Beren. He knows the task. If he indeed is the man he believes himself to be, than he will be true to his oath.” “And you think you will hinder me? The daughter of Melian the Maia?” Lúthien thought she saw her father wince ever so slightly at her words, but if so, he swiftly recovered. “You will not leave my realm. Ai Lúthien, do not make me lead you back to Menegroth like a prisoner…” She laughed mirthlessly. “Like the prisoner I am, you mean?” “If there is no other way in which I can keep my only child safe, then yes.” Silence spiralled horribly between them, until finally, Lúthien broke it. “Fine then.” she said, tears of anger and despair falling from her eyes. “I shall bow to the law of the King. Put me in chains, if you will, and watch me bleed to death from the hurt you have inflicted upon me. But make no mistake, lord, you will bleed with me, for I am your daughter no longer!” She meant to wound as much as she possibly could, and it pleased her greatly that she knew her words to find their mark. As for Daeron… she turned once more, surveying the minstrel haughtily. “Get yourself gone from under my eyes, Daeron. Once and for all.” And with that, she followed the king back to Menegroth in silence, her heart aching as never before. She had finally lost them all.

Secret Garden Entrance...

“Have you heard me, Lúthien?”  She jerked out of her daydreams, noting the heat creeping up her cheeks. Couldn’t it have been anyone else but her father who found her so deeply in thought about Beren that she had not noticed anything around her. She looked rather guiltily up at Elu, who gazed back at her gravely. “No. I am sorry, my mind wandered.” She knew something was very off when her father did not return her smile, and was confirmed in her suspicions by the austerity in his tone when he answered. “Clearly. If you can spare me a moment, I should like a word with you.” “Since when do you ask my time as if it were an audience?” Lúthien asked, bewildered. Her father, however, did not answer, instead gesturing her towards the edge of one of the many fountains that played within Menegroth. They sat down on the rim, and Lúthien bathed her hand in the cool water, greeting the spring like a living thing, a pet dear to her. The King still said no word but watched her quietly, until Lúthien could no longer bear it. “You’re frightening me, Ada!” she said at last, leaning her head against his shoulder, or rather attempting to, for he held her off. Lúthien stared at him. Never before had he dejected her in her showing her affection.  “You frighten me, too, Lúthien.” he said quietly instead. A cold dread settled in the pit of Lúthen’s stomach at those words, and at the sincerity she sensed behind them. Whatever could have befallen to have him act like that? “How so?” “You spend a lot of time in the woods of late.” Lúthien inwardly flinched. But he couldn’t possibly know about Beren. “I do so every summer, Ada… since when does that cause you any concern?” That’s none of your business, was what she had really wanted to say, and she would have done had not her father seemed so unusually grave.  “You are right, of course. What you do at you leisure is indeed nothing to concern me… but if Doriath’s law, my law is broken, it is my concern.” There was a strange rushing sound in Lúthien’s ears now. He knows, she thought, and fear flooded her body.  “What do you mean?” was all she could get herself to say, desperately playing for time. He bowed his head, contemplating his own hands. “I think you know…” he said quietly at last. “…but if you want me to, I’ll tell you. Daeron came to see me…” Lúthien did not need to hear any more, and her heart ached. Daeron. Her dearest friend. How could he have done her such wrong? The King seemed to notice that Lúthien was not listening anymore, and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t. Please. How could he?” But her father only shook his head sadly. “Don’t go blaming Daeron. He was caught between his loyalty to his friend and that to his king, and his concern for your welfare has tipped the scale in my favour. But how could you, Lúthien? Men are not permitted into Doriath, you know that full well…” She laughed, an entirely mirthless laugh that more resembled a snort. “Ha… no, I never heard of such a thing. It’s not like you remind everyone who would listen of how much you hate the Second-born…” Elu did not react to her taunt in any way, which made Lúthien all the angrier. If they indeed needed to have this fight (and truth be told, she had known deep down that it would come to this ever since she had fallen in love with Beren), then she wanted her father to at least make as much of a fool of himself as possible. “I do not hate them, as I do not spare them as passionate a feeling as hate, I mistrust them, hence my laws.” “And it doesn’t make you consider one bit that a man passed through the Girdle? Does that not tell you anything? Do you mistrust your own wife if…” “That is quite enough, Lúthien.” he said, and though he had spoken those words without heat, Lúthien knew that she had really crossed a line there. Well, if you don’t like me jumping to unjust conclusions, don’t do it to me, either. Keep your nose out of my love life, then I’ll keep my nose out of your’s, she thought viciously, and perhaps her wrath showed on her face, for her father again reached out a placatory hand. “Just… just tell me who he is?” “No.”  Lúthien was adamant in this. She needed to know that Beren was somewhere safe before she told anyone anything, and however much her father pleaded with her to tell him -in everything between desperation and anger-, she did not yield. At last he gave her a long, scrutinising look, then said with a sigh: “Alright. I swear to you an oath that I will not harm your… lover, nor imprison him. He walks safe and free. Will you now tell me who he is?” A vivid image of herself, Daeron, Galathil and Celeborn sitting scowling before their parents came into her mind.  Just tell us what happened, we won’t get angry… She almost laughed at the memory. “I honour your oath, Adar, and I trust you to keep it. Give me until tomorrow to explain to you and Nana. Alright?” She needed to find her mother, to talk to her. She would understand, and certainly would have a solution? Why Lúthien had not thought of asking Melian for advise before she did not know herself. Only that for such prudent a move it was now too late.  

She noticed her very own error too late. Upon setting foot in the Hall, playing along the lines of yesterday’s conversation had seemed prudent, but even as she spoke, praising Beren’s deeds, she realised how weak she had made her own position. Behave like a child and you’ll be treated like a child, she chided herself, but the damage was already done. This time when she looked into her parents’ faces, she got no clue as to what either of them were thinking, but her heart leapt a little when her father bade her let Beren speak for himself. If he did not make the same mistake as she had, they might still stand a chance to end this to everyones satisfaction. Well, almost everyone’s. The next moment, however she would have loved to kick Beren in the shins, or else a bit higher up, she thought savagely. He had obviously got his courage back, but now he so grandiosely overdid it that Lúthien groaned inwardly. And of course her father rose to the bait. Lúthien would gladly have buried her face in her hand and denied that she ever had anything to do with either of them. Males! she thought. Males of any race. Need they all be so idiotic?  She wasn’t even truly shocked when her father named a Silmaril as her bride-price, was even somewhat relieved. Yes, Beren in his pride had of course set out to fulfil his oath, but even he must know this was ridiculous, just like her father knew. She would let tempers cool a bit, then set out to get all their heads on the right way again, and hopefully, they would all be able to settle the matter without anyone getting harmed. 

Lúthien was at a loss of what to say. She stood beside her mother, who sat by the roots of a tall beech-tree, her arms wrapped around her knees, and wept. Seldom before had she seen Melian cry, but not knowing why her mother was so upset was even more alien to her than her tears. True, Lúthien thought, while she gently stroked Melian’s back, she had not spared her family much thought since Beren had left Menegroth, but every time she had actually talked to her mother -mostly to ask her if Beren was in any danger- she had seemed just fine. “Please, Nana, tell me what’s bothering you. I’m getting scared.” But Melian only shook her head, wiping her eyes on her dress. “Beren’s fine for now, Lúthien. No need to be scared, as I told you.” Lúthien winced- she had indeed first been scared that her mother had foreseen Beren’s death and was so upset because she knew what that would mean for herself, Lúthien. Only now that Melian had done naught but reassure her that all was yet well did she realise how disgustingly selfish that thought had been. She resumed the stroking of Melian’s back, still very ashamed of herself, but more determined than ever now to find out what ailed her mother, and help her if she could. “You did, and I am deeply thankful for that. But I’m not worrying about Beren at the moment, I’m worrying about you. Will you not tell me what makes you so sad?” Melian did not answer straight away, but let her gaze roam over the woody glen, stretching out her fingers to let one of her birds hop onto it. “You know… you’re not the only one who fears for their beloved.” she said finally, her voice still thick with tears. Lúthien felt herself tense both in a fit of anger and bewilderment. Still she kept her voice even and compassionate for Melian’s sake, determined to help her, not make her sorrow worse. “What do you mean?” Melian again took her time in answering. “I know that you are angry with your father, and rightly so. I am, too. I would love to say ‘I don’t know what got into him’, but the problem is, I do. I know how terribly he fears losing you…” “Well…” Lúthien interrupted heatedly, unable to keep her temper “… why did he hurt me so, then?” “He did not mean to. But he was so frightened that he saw nothing else, no consequences. And that’s…” Tears again began to roll down Melian’s cheeks “… that’s exactly what troubles me so. Do you understand what he did? Have you listened to Galadriel? Ah Lúthien, I fear so much for Elu and our people. Much I have done to protect this realm, to  above all else protect you and your father, but it seems that all that was vain. I cannot protect you against the perils of your love, but Elu, at least… oh, should I lose him, nothing would ever seem good nor fair to me again on either side of the sea.” Lúthien knew not whether she had ever head Melian fretting over anything like that and was not at all sure if her mother was actually still talking to her. “Have you told him that?” she asked carefully. “No. That is it- I’m still so very angry at him that I just cannot bring myself to. It was that thought that brought me to tears in the first place… that doom might befall Doriath and we had never laid aside our quarrels. And make no mistake, just because I see your love to Beren differently from your father, I am by no means less worried about you, either.” Melian’s words deeply touched Lúthien’s heart, leaving her lost for anything to say. She was, as Melian had said, so very angry with her father that she did not even mind the idea of him falling under the Doom of the Noldor, but she knew in her heart that she did care nonetheless, just like she still deeply loved Daeron, who was her best friend and who had acted out of love to her, just like her father. In her wrath, Lúthien had accused them both of darker motives, of Daeron betraying her to her father because he thought he might then win her hand, and of her father selling her for gems. Neither was true, she well knew. Both had feared for her safety. Fools. Fools, all fools, her Beren not less. How could he still think of recovering a Silmaril? She would have expected him to have seen sense by now, but apparently, he had not. Yet still, she too delayed leaving Doriath to seek him out and convince him that that stubborn fool she called her father had not truly meant him to go gem-hunting, that he had just wanted Beren to be gone for good. Did she, deep down, want Beren to have a try? But no, that question she was able to answer at once. She most certainly did not want him to get himself into any danger, nor did she want her family and people to have anything to do with the curse of the Ñoldor. Somehow, anyhow, she needed to put everything right again.

Lúthien stretched comfortably in the warm grass, drawing an admiring sigh from the man beside her, and when she opened one eye to look at Beren, she saw his gaze wander over her slender form. His desire was as obvious as it was innocent, and she laughed as she turned onto her side, cupping his face with her hand and kissing him gently. “You still scratch…” she whispered. Not that that put her off in the slightest. If anything, she found his beard interesting. Beren grinned into their kiss, but then drew away, listening, a look of alarm on his face. Lúthien was aware of the wardens as well, but she only grinned and gestured Beren to be silent ere she threw her long hair around them like a mantel.  Had one of them chosen to stretch out their hand, they might have been able to wrap them around the ankles of the two elves that wandered by, singing gaily. When they had past and their voices could no longer be heard, Lúthien threw back her hair, laughing at the befuddled expression on Beren’s face. “How did you do that?” he asked, sounding as perplexed as he looked. “I can avoid being seen if I don’t want to be. No need to be so astounded, my love.” Beren clearly was, though, gazing at Lúthien with a frown upon his face. “Elf-magic working on Men I understand. But of Elf-magic working on Elves I have never heard before.” “Why, but I am no mere elf!” Lúthien replied, her tone feigning offence. “For I am the daughter of Melian, who dwelled with the One ere Arda was wrought.” Beren looked at her, blankly. Then he just said: “Ah.” Lúthien giggled, Beren’s astonishment being both very comical and very endearing. He seemed vaguely annoyed by her amusement.  “Oh well, why tell me sooner, anyway. Honestly, Lúthien, we’ve spent all summer together and now you remember to tell me that you are some half-divine being?” he asked, very sarcastically.  Now it was Lúthien’s turn to look bemusedly back at her lover.  “I never sought to hide that from you, I just thought you knew. I mean, you know I am the King’s daughter… have you never heard of Doriath being held by its Queen’s might? Why do you think it is called the Girdle of Melian?” “I have, but… I didn’t think…” he stammered. “No, obviously not. Are you scared of me now?” she asked, the laugh in her voice not entirely obscuring her insecurities. This time it was Beren who grinned, though still looking somewhat unnerved, and kissed Lúthien gently. “Nay, love, not of you…”  “You need not be scared of my mother, either, unless you were a servant of the enemy.” Lúthien reassured. “Gentle she is, and wise, and she must approve of you, as she has said naught to the contrary.” “She knows?”  Beren sounded somewhat alarmed still. “I’m sure of it. I don’t think much slips her notice within the Girdle.” Beren, still looking mildly troubled by that information, apparently decided it was time to steer the conversation somewhat away from that subject. “So… your hair can make you invisible?” “What… no, of course not. I’m an incarnate being just like you, after all. But it may obscure me, and hide me in plain sight, like a spider will be camouflaged against the bark of a tree and not seen unless it stirs.”

Panic was still clouding Lúthien’s every thought, even after two days of knowing, and weeks of careful preparation. The thought of Beren, her Beren, captured by that abomination that called himself Sauron and held captive was very neigh unbearable, as was the fear of coming too late to safe him. At least, Lúthien thought, she would not have to do it alone. Daeron would be with her, and that was a tremendous relief. It paid off now that she had not had the heart to tell him that she had long since forgiven him, for he had been so eager to get back into her favours that he had agreed to come despite his misgivings. Part of her felt guilty for that, knowing how much Daeron was loathe to leave Doriath to go on some adventure, an adventure, moreover, with the mission of rescuing the man she loved, inevitably changing their relationship forever, and be sure to earn him his king’s wrath. It was selfish to use Daeron’s love for her for her own ends, she was well aware of it, yet it could not be helped if Beren was to be saved. And if he wasn’t, Lúthien reasoned, Daeron would lose her anyway, for she knew with absolute certainty that she could not survive losing Beren. Her mother’s words still rang through her mind, nothing should seem good nor fair… That was precisely how she herself felt, too. The very idea of life without Beren seemed to take all the warmth from the sun. Funnily enough though, that thought had something very reassuring, for if she felt for Beren the same way her mother felt for her father, then her feelings were beyond any doubt true and not, as her father still was convinced, fleeting as summer in the north. Yes, one day, Beren would die, her mind knew that, but her heart refused to believe it or indeed think about it ere it was inevitable. She would tackle the problem then, in many, many years. Her feet made no sound as she hastened to the little glade where she would meet Daeron, moving swiftly through the woods that had so long been her home and that she now was to leave. Already she saw him standing there, hooded, his head bowed as if in grief, and when she drew nearer, she saw that his shoulders shook in a way that told her only too clearly that he was indeed crying. Pity gripped her heart, but she could not release him from this predicament, she needed him too badly. “Let’s go.” She breathed once she reached him. Slowly he looked up at her, his fair face streaked with tears. “I’m sorry, Lúthien. So sorry.” Daeron sobbed. “But I could not let you walk to your death!” “And neither can I.” said a voice behind her.