Lúthien! No woman's name is more accursed to me, save Elbereth! Oh, that seducing elvish vixen, that moriquend scum, that web-weaving little spider! She and her mortal monster, shameful thieves, cowardly cheaters, spineless idiots!
And they get the highest praise of heroes! Oh, the folly of my enemies, and their vanity! One they took of my Three, and only one, remember that! And with it they took the doom of Doriath, but it was not a doom of my making. As ever, my enemies squabbled among themselves like greedy beggars fighting for a loaf of bread and dropping it to the dogs in the end! The sons of Feänor, their mightiest and noblest, they were the doom of Doriath!
Of men I curse Eärendil first after Tulkas, my brutal binder. Yet what was he but a refugée? He had no home to go back to. And so he abandoned his own sons. I never denounced the one I had.
And he never betrayed me. I know you have heard a different story, Nienna. You have listened to Eönwë's bragging.
