Their dinner with Finrod lasted until midnight and Luthien resorted to her notebook. The maps were too large to copy in full, too informative to ignore...
...until she realized.
"Please wait. I think I know a way to take this knowledge along."
Finrod and Beren paused their talk and were silent. She stepped near the map of North-Western Beleriand they'd been discussing, and observed it for a minute. Then she turned and requested that they both look elsewhere and think of a place they cannot find by memory. Finrod picked the rapids of Turnwater while Beren chose the bridge of the old Nevrast-Doriath-Nogrod trade road. Then, Luthien asked them to try finding their answer from her song, and into her song she put her entire memory of the map, though words were few and insufficient to describe it.
"I can see it - it's the third rapid from the springs! It bends out eastward," Finrod exclaimed.
"I find a wooden bridge at the latitude of the crossings of Teiglin. It is not detailed. I feel the bridge has crumbled", Beren said.
"It was actually a stone bridge, but crumbled it is," Finrod mentioned. "And this violates a natural law I thought to apply, but let the judges be lenient on you, dear wrong-doer."
"She has done this before, and is a hardened outlaw thus," Beren joked, "I think her mother's bad life choices influenced her, though, so we can excuse her."
"If I weren't so glad to have found a solution, I'd like to sing you a song about your ears, for you see them not, but they are green like a wood-goblin's tongue", she parried smiling. The king however looked like an elfling who has found a new toy.
"I think this proves that songs of illusion aren't information transfer! They are merely an introduction to start such transfer between minds. I started thinking so when working on some Feanorian ciphers, short words of nonsense that typically represent a sentence that makes sense. The two have really little in common, but the effect is similar. Without you, I'd have needed to see Melian, and I'd have never dared to bother her with this request alone. Thank you!"
"When I sing, I always choose what to share of my mind. It did not occur to me that one could do otherwise," Luthien said.
"That is strange to me. I don't deliberately do that... but I might be doing it anyway without knowing," Finrod wondered.
It took a quarter of an hour for Luthien to visualize the maps they needed, and doubting what she actually could, she asked Beren if he wanted to know the way to the pools of Ivrin, a place known for their beauty of nature. He tried and found the way, but didn't see anything detailed. Finrod said that this was natural, if Luthien had never been there, and she confirmed she hadn't.
When it finally came to talk of weapons, Finrod was not optimistic.
"You cannot expect much help of weapons. On a defensive position in a mountainside behind a river, we here can expect weapons to help us. Over there... try for example to imagine a balrog. Three hundred elves may stand against it, but if it really wants, it rushes through the company unhindered, for it's a massive creature surrounded by a blaze of fire. Very few of these have ever fallen in battle."
"But are they cunning?", she asked.
"Good point. They are his servants. He expects absolute loyalty and won't take no for an answer. That is a weakness, as he is suppressing many qualities of intellect in them, which could be why the nameless one avoids his court. But they are Maiar, twisted and deformed by their own choices and him, but still Maiar."
"Thanks for the warning, I just lost the interest to try outmatching them."
"You may have to. Everywhere he's been observed, he goes with at least six."
"Surely even a dark lord wishes privacy sometimes? Surely he sometimes wears a helmet and leaves his crown behind?"
"I wish I knew... after the duel with Fingolfin, he has avoided battle... but the crown has always been there. Also, there might be dragons. Dwarves fought one, losing a thousand warriors and their king, and wounded it somewhat. Orcs later boasted with Glaurung coming behind them. That was its name. And if balrogs can appear to be dim-witted, that definitely cannot be said of Glaurung. It is cunning, it is smart, it talks well and its talk is almost hypnotic. If a person is unprepared, it can weave words that make them lose all attention."
Luthien seemed to be considering something, when Beren asked "How far would they see us at night, and how far during day?".
"You should expect to be noticed when you appear on horizon during day. At night, you might get close, but many of the garrison have excellent night vision. Pitted against a good seeing-glass however, eyes always lose the match."
"Night is also more conductive to illusions," she added.
"So basically, our weapons must keep us safe against stray orcs, and will be useless there."
"Precisely so. Keep the pick-axes or something made of heavy steel, though. If you have good enough fortune to find the crown abandoned, you might find the Silmarils firmly stuck there. Don't be afraid to use any amount of force to extract them - nothing that you can do will break them. Unknowing of the power they contained, we actually enjoyed a wager back in Valinor..."
"A wager to break Feanor's most cherished work?", she asked, looking surprised.
"A wager to break just one. When Feanaro was still younger and mischievous, but already proud of his creation, he announced a challenge and was confident to let everyone try. None of the Valar took any interest... but some Maiar honestly tried. And, now that I remember it clearly... the nameless one kept distance. He was present, but tasting wine in a nearby wood. I think he was put off by the idea of breaking one. Perhaps by their beauty, perhaps because their light already hurt him... or even by knowledge of what success might bring. Being the prankster he was, Feanaro was probably pleased with having the upper hand. There was a rivalry between the two of them. None had thought an elf would ever make such things. I think they became so absorbed in the process of making more and better, that they forgot how to enjoy rest and how to wonder at others' creations."
Finrod sighed.
"I didn't want the old times to end this way... with treachery and murder and claims that if you aren't with us, you're against. I was younger, eager to explore. I believed that justice could be restored by making Morgoth taste his own medicine. I lost that illusion when news of Alqualonde caught up with me in the blizzards. When I set foot on Arda, I felt old already."
They parted ways. Beren and Luthien needed to rest well, as their journey would start next day. Finrod needed to read some reports.
Heading out of the gate on their horses next day, it became apparent what Celebrimbor and Faldin were building.
A great shaft of metal had been assembled from pipes welded together, and ran diagonally through rock near the gate. It reached the bridge near the center of its longest span. Scaffolds had been lowered on the opposing side of the bridge and a large wedge-shaped piece was being installed. The inward end of the shaft was anchored into rock with a bearing and great gear, and into the teeth of the gear there attached a threaded shaft, ending with a large crank with four handles.
"It's a mechanism to pull the bridge down sideways", Beren commented. "My intuition tells me that their mechanism will greatly enlarge the force of anyone turning that crank. I would guess at least a hundred times."
"More than plentifully. I would guess ten thousand," Luthien said. "By what the dwarves of Menegroth taught me, I saw four transitions of power that increase force. First the hand-crank is much greater than the worm-shaft. Then the worm-shaft is much smaller than the main gear. Then the screw threads in the center are much smaller than the main gear... and finally the wedge applies greater force sideways than the force it's pulled with."
They rode northward along the bottom of the canyon. Narog had carved its way deep through the plateau. Sun only shone here at noontime, and plantlife was modest. Instead of tilling fields, elves who lived here wrought wood and metal, traded or fished. Their landing bridges by the river were different from the ordinary, standing on high poles. The reason was only obvious if one knew that Finrod had sought and found a way to divert Narog's power this way and that. If a stranger came to these lands and went swimming, local elves would quickly bring their attention to signposts.
"What do they say?", asked Beren.
"They warn of rapid changes in the water's depth and current, of which warning will be given by blowing a horn three times: once shortly, once for a medium length, and finally for long."
Signposts disappeared after a few miles and the canyon shallowed into a valley. Workshops became rare among farms and orchards, for the city required more food than forest was willing to part with, and these were the places where it came from.
Narog was still deep and bigger boats were occasionally seen, but nothing worthy of the name "ship". Ships docked at Nargothrond and didn't venture upstream out of the canyon.
Roads were good and by the end of their first day of travel, they had covered about thirty miles. Beren suggested setting up a tent but Luthien spotted a house far away.
"If we ask for shelter, we might spare some time and get moving sooner in the morning."
"I agree that it's practical, but in company of strangers, we cannot discuss our plans and I can't try to kiss you."
She smiled and stopped her horse, dismonting, and he did the same. Before walking on with their horses trailing behind, they shared a hug and a little kiss.
"Thank you. I like you so much, yet cannot properly put it into words. With a kiss and a hug, I feel I can express myself better."
"I like that form of expression, at least until the journey turns us dirty like dwarves who are extracting a wagon train from mud."
The wooden house was of modest and practical design, built halfway into a tree-covered hill with its door and windows facing east. The influence of Nargothrond could be felt here too - it had windows of glass and wood was neatly sawed, not crudely cut with axes. The roof was made of baked stones which Finrod had arranged to be made in quantity, using another method borrowed from dwarves. Brick-makers in other parts of the world still compressed their clay into molds, but here they fed a mixture of clay into mills which extruded it through a profiled slot, where it was cut to length and taken for drying and baking.
A ring of bushes encircling the house was still young, indicating it had been settled recently.
There was no gate, as elves were not keen on raising livestock, so Luthien walked directly to the door, to have a woman open the door a few steps before she reached there. She had light-brown shoulder-length hair and wore working clothes.
"Greetings, and apologies for disturbing you. I am Luthien and that is Beren. We are traveling northwards. I know that there's a village about twenty miles further, where we could find an inn, but it occurred to me to ask if you could accommodate guests? We'd be glad to make up any inconvenience we cause. Still, our need for shelter isn't dire, as we have a tent. If we'd complicate your life needlessly, just say so."
"Hello. I am Naurgil, and I live here with Tawarost, my husband. Let me ask him too, and I can tell you soon."
Naurgil disappeared into the house and soon emerged together with Tawarost, who smiled and bowed. He wore hair slightly longer than her, dark strands of gray neatly done in a braid. His clothes had a design characteristic of construction work - padded knees, many pockets and simple design.
"We are glad to invite you, please accept our roof and food. Rarely do travelers stop here, as most try to reach the inn. If you come from southward and aren't tired, we might even learn of what goes on in the city. Rumor has reached here that great changes are afoot."
"Thank you," Luthien and Beren both said in Sindarin, as that was clearly the tongue of this household.
She continued "From the city we came indeed, and rumours of change are unfortunately true. I will share all that I can."
Naurgil advised them to leave their horses near the vegetable cellar. Beren undid the saddles and saddle-bags and Luthien told the animals that they could graze on grass, but nothing else. They appeared to understand her words and took to trimming the lawn. She was not entirely certain of her word being sufficient, however. "We'll have to keep an eye out to make sure they don't discover anthing tastier."
"Don't worry, my field is outside the bushes, over there," Naurgil pointed upward along the valley. "You can have the room at the right from the front door, we usually keep it ready if family should stop by, preferring ourselves the upper floor, as sun shines stronger there in morning."
The kitchen was on the ground floor and Tawarost had put a kettle on the stove and brought both cups and herbs, offering guests tea. Bean soup with fish was likewise to be had, and dried bread with butter. This year's vegetables weren't ready yet, but onions were already providing greens.
Naurgil and Tawarost had indeed moved here recently. She was of the green elves, and had grown up on the banks of Teiglin near north-western Doriath. Her family had moved here to stay away from war. He was of the Sindar and had settled in Nargothrond from south, to maintain a store on behalf of his parents and brother, who traded goods both upstream and down from Nan Tathren, along both Sirion and Narog. They had met in Nargothrond and befriended. Eventually when Tawarost's brother moved to Nargothrond, he'd given up business for a quiet life with Naurgil. The work he most liked was boat-making, while she preferred keeping an orchard and small field, but they both went to the river for fish and could build simple things when need would arise.
They were sad to hear that Nargothrond was likely discovered by the enemy. It could mean that their livelihood here stood threatened.
Luthien felt tears well up in her eyes, thinking of what processes their quest for the Silmaril could unleash. If the dark lord's strike landed here, this house might be ashes soon. Naurgil and Tawarost might need to flee downstream to Nan Tathren and rebuild their life from scratch.
Life itself was uncertain and vulnerable, however. It stood threatened and could be lost. If war would arrive in Nargothrond first, it might cut them off from a southward path. If that happened, they would be able to save nothing of their household for rebuilding, and might have to dare great danger to reach relatives.
Naurgil was the first to say that perhaps, if the worst came to happen, they should stay and fight. Both of them could fight. There was an old sword and two bows on the wall. They had no plan of getting killed however. Just like she and Beren didn't.
"I mean no disrepsect to Finrod, who has helped maintain peace and achieve great prosperity here," Tawarost explained, "but sometimes personal plans must outweigh those of countries and kings. I would not make a last stand and wait to be encircled."
"Neither would I," Naurgil spoke. "I would proceed south through densest forest, and if orcs came my way, I would do what I must with them. I would not go to meet them in open fields, nor would I retreat behind walls and gates. I would feel like a target without freedom of making my own move."
They spoke of lighter topics too, like what the season had brought and which fish lived in the river. Naurgil recommended which berries and mushrooms to notice on the way north.
Finally it happened that she asked where Beren and Luthien had come from. He told of the failed defense of Dorthonion, of elves and humans falling before innumerable legions of orcs. Of his father and their band of rebels. Of their discovery and fight to death, and of his slow escape southward over the Mountains of Terror.
When her time came, Luthien said that her parents had always lived in Doriath from its beginning. She said that her father had met her mother in the Years of the Stars, before the great travel west. Naurgil seemed not aware of the significance of her story, but Tawarost seemed to be matching it up with things he knew.
"So when Beren proposed to marry me, my father demanded the impossible to keep us apart. We decided to try the impossible."
Eventually Tawarost said. "There is only one Luthien of Doriath whom I have heard of and who resembles you. Rumours mentioning her have traveled along the rivers."
"I'm afraid that I am that Luthien. Neither am I proud of my father, nor would I have sworn to do this without his demands. I am not proud of this, for my actions could plunge other people's lives into danger and disarray. Stopping here in your household has made me terribly aware of possible consequences. Up there in the north, a wrong word or a look in the wrong direction can mean our death, or make targets out of places where we came from. Tell me please if you disapprove of this quest, for only some things are irreversible at the moment. Future can still be altered."
The silence was longer than usual, before Tawarost replied.
"I am pained to hear of such trouble with thick-headed parents. Ours were understanding and supportive. How the world turns, however, is not ours to foresee. An attack from the north might come anyway, any day when he deems himself ready. Peace against the force that dwells there... has always been flimsy. I am not a warrior and wouldn't pledge myself to fight for a king, but even I have contributed to the city's defenses. Do what you must, take care doing it right. Whether good or ill will result from it... I cannot determine, and surely you can't either. Even if you've been forced to take this course, and it may not be a wise course... the course you are taking is just."
"I couldn't say it more precisely," Naurgil added. "But if you find yourself facing certain death, please don't risk it. That stone is accursed anyway, and retreiving it may not do anyone much good. The one who holds it deserves to be opposed and overcome... but in your place, I would not go there to take it."
Luthien thanked them and Beren, who had fallen silent at her story, likewise did. They promised to take care.