We now reach the final step in Elf-courtship. For if you should be given a task to complete, it will be your own, and I cannot foresee it. I would be forced either to utter vague proverbs (e.g., "through darkness one may come to the light") or go into copious and useless detail (e.g., when you are clothed with the hame of Draugluin, try not to be afraid of yourself). Therefore, I have only this last piece of wisdom: if your betrothed wishes to share in your quest, you should consent, and . . .

Step Seven: Don't You Leave Him

Even when quests are appointed to a single person, they are seldom fulfilled by a single person. You may be surprised to find yourself with at least one companion.

There are two sorts of fear that may tempt you to go alone. Fear for your companion's safety is natural - - especially if the companion is your betrothed. But be careful that the desire to preserve safety and the desire to preserve your dignity are not confused. You may desire to look destined and chosen and doomed, to gaze afar and say "Farewell, sweet earth," and other noble things. You may wish - - especially if the Elf-lord has been insulting - - to prove the race of Men can do well enough without help. But you will learn the folly of vanity and the right of others to choose their own risks. If you cling to personal dignity, you will discover its emptiness when the most beautiful of Ilúvatar's creatures is drawing out poison from the stump of your wrist.

Perhaps I should have stopped worrying about protecting Lúthien when I awoke in the ruins of the dungeon she had demolished. But I was concerned for more than her physical safety. Through me, Lúthien had come to know both pain and fear; remaining with me, seeing the world as it was under the dominion of Morgoth, she would know them all the more. And since she had given up so much for my sake, I could not bear to take her from her home and comfort, too. I did not understand that she saw both of them only in staying with me.

However, if you need further persuasion not to leave, consider the following:

1. Leaving is rude.

Even if you abandon someone in a place of safety, such as Rivendell or the Shire, it is considered bad manners to disappear without warning. It is particularly sensitive for those Elves with memories of burning ships and Grinding Ice.

"It is rather sensitive for Hobbits, too," said Merry (even hiding among the Lothlórien boats, I cannot stop people from looking over my shoulder). "As a matter of fact, we are thinking of forming a Society for the Solace of the Nearly-Bereft and Abandoned. The meetings will consist of eating lots of food."

"But you do that anyway," I said.

"Of course, but that's for sustenance," said Pippin. "This is for sustenance and consolation. We could have it on Tuesdays, between tea and second breakfast."

"You mean between luncheon and tea," said Sam. "We could call it 'First Tea' or 'Second Luncheon.' Or maybe 'Mourning Tea' or 'Weepingses.' What do you think, Mr. Frodo?"

"Frodo is not invited," said Merry. "We do not welcome the bereavers."

"Would-be bereavers!" said Frodo, with a laugh. "I failed, thanks to you."

"You failed once. Not at Amon Hen (except for Sam catching you, of course) . . . or, technically, the Grey Havens. And you failed because of carelessness. Beren, you had better put that in your book: Hobbits may not have the keenest ears, but they'll notice if you keep talking to yourself. And they may not have the sharpest eyes, but they'll notice if you keep gazing longingly at the scenery."

"What if Bilbo and I brought seed-cakes to the meetings?" said Frodo.

"Well," said Merry, after a moment of thought, "we'll call it 'Weepingses.'"

2. Leaving would be a waste of time, since Elves will find you one way or another.

Eluding an Elf is very difficult, as you hardly need to be told. Even if you can keep silent and act naturally, merely thinking about your escape in an Elf's presence may be dangerous. However, that did not stop our Dwarvish company from offering suggestions.

"You need Dorwinion," said Fili and Kili. "The more, the better."

"That was getting old before your grandfather's beard began to grow," said Galion, "if indeed Dwarvish beards ever begin. You were uncommonly lucky on that occasion. What would you have done without the Dorwinion?"

"Or the burglar with the ring?" Bilbo said under his breath.

"Certainly. There is no need to discuss everything again. Escape cannot depend on Elvish sleep - - or Dorwinion, Autumn feasts, invisible burglars, and the like."

"But do Elves really sleep at all?" said Sam. "It's always confused me."

"No," said Gildor, "and yes."

"We are not being secretive," said Glorfindel. "How can we explain when we do not understand what sleep is for mortals? We can only observe its unpleasant results."

"I have always wondered why mortals sleep during the night," said Elladan. "I used to think it was because they are Children of the Sun, and I pitied them for missing the starlight. But I have seen them, sometimes, sleeping even while the sun is up."

"Well, I have always wondered why Men are just as exhausted when they wake as when they lie down," said Elrohir.

"Do Men lose all their senses in sleep?" Glorfindel asked. "For surely they cannot see; but it is said they hear sounds, and may answer if someone speaks to them. Yet their senses have not fully returned when they wake: they behave as though they have been drinking Dorwinion themselves, speaking strangely and staggering about. Therefore I think mortal sleep must be like a swoon - - or being overcome with wine."

"I knew it would return to that," said Galion.

"But the Lay of Leithian says Lúthien slept, and that's how Beren got away," said Sam. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Beren."

So I told them what I tell you now: Elves may not need rest as regularly as mortals, but sometimes they do need release from weariness or sorrow. When she slept, Lúthien had suffered both, after putting forth her power to heal me from the arrow of Curufin. And along with all this, the question of whether or not she should go with me lay still between us. I can only guess she sought such comfort as she could in deep dreams. After all, she is of Lorien's folk on her mother's side, and dreams are one of her gifts.

In the end, it hardly mattered: even though I did manage to slip away, and Lúthien's tracking abilities are not a matter of song, she persuaded Huan to help find me instead.

"Of course you were found," said Túrin (even hiding in a tree cannot prevent someone looking over my shoulder, it seems). "Common sense should have warned you not to stand still and sing at the top of your voice. If you wish not to be found, you must move constantly, in absolute quiet. It is one of several good reasons I seldom sing." He struck a mournful chord on the harp in his hands.

"Then why will you sing now?" I asked.

"I have a gift for laments. I am making one for Thranduil's moose, which accidentally trod upon a Dwarf's footprint and perished of disgust. Or perhaps Tauriel sought revenge for her lord's unromantic racial prejudice, and her target practice went awry. In sorrow and remembrance, Thranduil took the lifeless antlers of his friend the moose and adorned his throne with them."

"You speak as though you expect me to understand; but I understand nothing except the danger of singing about Thranduil."

"Ah, but these fan-fictions are marvelous inspiration," said Túrin. "Did you know Thranduil is obsessed with clothes, practically swims in wine, and has a temper worthy of Smaug himself?"

"He will have Smaug's temper if he hears that," I said. "Do you not see how he already suffers for his son's sake? Can you not write about something else?"

"Perhaps. Indeed, it would be better to help your writing instead. For not idly am I called Wildman of the Woods, who - - with an entire company of outlaws - - eluded Beleg the March-warden. Not for all his subtlety and stealth and speech with the forest creatures could he discover - - "

"Túrin, I am urging people not to elude Elves. I do not wish to tell them how."

"Now, when Beleg began teaching me to hunt, he said Men might be called the heavy-handed, but they are no less the heavy-footed. So if you wish to tread lightly, you must - -"

"Túrin, I am saying you want to be found! Recall what happened because . . . well, because Mablung could not find your mother and sister when they were lost."

"Of course you wish to be found if you are lost and hapless," he said, giving me a Look, "but not if the Elves are seeking to drag you back to Menegroth, try you unjustly, and cast you into a dungeon because one of their chief counsellors wronged you."

"Thingol wouldn't have tried you unjustly!" I said. "He would have pardoned you, considering the circumstances. He did pardon you!"

"It is easy to pardon an outlaw who is not there to be punished," said Túrin. "And I should give pardon, not receive it. What is Thingol's pardon to me? Surely you haven't forgotten what he would have done to you."

"Thingol had his faults," I answered, "but it seems to me that after the Quest of the Silmaril, he thought better of Men - - which is one reason he fostered you in the first place. And others were kind to you as well: Beleg and Mablung and Nellas - -"

"Nellas who?"

"Túrin, I cannot debate with you and write at the same time."

"Very well," he said. "Write what you will - - and so will I."

3. Leaving is a mistake if you are meant to go together.

All stories are not the same. Arwen did not accompany Aragorn, after all, and no one thought it unusual. Even Lúthien did not plan to go with me in the beginning, for she thought I would have other companions, as Aragorn did. If Thingol had offered any aid from his people, or if Finrod's company had not been captured by Sauron, she would not have left Doriath. And after I tried to reach Angband alone, she might never have caught me if not for Huan; nor could she have persuaded me without his help. All this convinces me (to use Frodo's words) that we were meant to go together.

"Yet one may be meant to go alone," said Túrin. "When I went forth to slay that accursed worm, I asked for companions. But only two would go, and both of them were lost. That is why I alone am called the Bane of Glaurung. I should never have brought them."

"Who can tell?" I said. "Certainly one alone may do great deeds. But did you not need Finduilas? Did not Gwindor tell you to save her if you wished to be saved from your doom?"

There was nothing but the sound of leaves in the wind for a moment, as Turin looked down at his harp. Then at last, "Yes," he answered. "Gwindor said so."

I was ashamed of myself, but before I could apologize, he shook his head and said gravely, "Never mind. You have my pardon." Then he began to sing about Thranduil's moose, and now I have not the heart to stop him.

Now we have already discussed the problem of pride. But if you do not think too much about your own importance, you may fall into the opposite error: believing you are not needed at all. This mistake is more difficult to correct; but to that end, I would offer the following principles.

-The Principle of the Fellowship

It is important to remember that the Children of Ilúvatar do not differ in their worth, but in their gifts. This is true of each race as a whole; and the differences in perspective, ability, and behavior that result from these gifts are all useful - - perhaps even vital - - in undertaking a great work. We may consider the Fellowship of the Ring and the Last Alliance as examples. In a sort of reverse example, among the many tragedies of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad is the fact that it might have been won if not for treachery.

This principle is also evident on a much smaller scale, between individuals. No Elf can do everything. Not even Lúthien was given every gift. During your quest, you will probably discover that your own talents or characteristics, as ordinary as they may be, complete those of your companion or save him when he cannot save himself.

In fact, being ordinary and unremarkable could make it all the more likely that you will be called upon to do something important, as the following principle illustrates.

-The Principle of Burglars

It seems to be the nature of things that where the wise and great cannot quite succeed, the "small" and "humble" may. When there are no Heroes to be had, look instead for a Burglar. So says Olórin. I once asked him to explain why this should be, but it turned out to be a mistake, of course.

"Explain?" he said. "You are as bad as Pippin. Haven't I explained enough? Go look it up, if you want to know. I'm sure someone has written it down somewhere. And stop frowning, my friend: he who frowns at a wizard has left the path of wisdom."

Therefore I will only counsel you never to worry about whether you can do "great" deeds. Often it is difficult to tell which deeds may turn out to be "great" in the end. The vital thing is to do what is best in the time given to you. I think someone once said that, but I can't remember who.

I should know about these things, after all. I am something of a Burglar.

One last thing: if you and your companion(s) should become separated from each other, don't pay attention to Túrin: try singing. It has worked too often to be an accident.

One other last thing: if, while you are singing, you perceive the foul shape of a servant of Morgoth approaching, take care not to attack it until you are certain it isn't your companion in disguise.


I can think of no more counsel to write; and that is all for the best, since I have been discovered again. The Hobbits, with Olórin, have decided to hold the first session of Weepingses under this tree.

"We heard you're comparing yourself to us," said Pippin. "That hardly seems fair."

"Although we understand why you would," said Merry. "But it's not everyone who can help slay the Lord of the Názgul, after all. We can't all be knights of the Mark."

"Or unusually tall," Pippin added.

"Well, for that matter, we can't all pick trolls' pockets," said Bilbo, "or steal Arkenstones."

"Your turn, Frodo!" said Merry. "Speak up and stop being so modest! We can't all be polite to Lobelia Sackville-Baggins."

"How did you know where I was - - or what I was writing about?" I asked.

"Legolas was sitting in one of these trees and heard you muttering to yourself," said Frodo. "And he says he knows you aren't writing your memoirs for your own amusement, and he's going to find out why. Are you finished now? You have my pen."

"And my ink," said Bilbo.

"And my penknife," said Merry. "Come down - - there are extra cakes."


So here (at last) ends this practical guide. If it has passed from the high and the beautiful to the ridiculous and bizarre, that was of old the fate of Arda Marred; and if any change shall come . . .

. . . Olórin says there's room for a little more.


A/N: Well, it's been much too long. I would say I moved and got a new job . . . and it would be true, but not a really good excuse. My procrastination moved with me. So thanks for your patience - - and impatience.

This is the last regular chapter (because courting Elves is totally easy) but I do plan to write an epilogue. See you in eight months!

(Just kidding. I hope.)