"I never could believe you'd challenge an Orc Chieftain to a duel before all his garrison." Emeldir assured her elder son. "I didn't raise my children to be reckless fools."

"You didn't?" Beren, Adanel and Bregon chorused in ragged unison, three left eyebrows lifting in an expression very familiar to Luthien.

Their mother gave them the same look right back. "Well, not fools anyway." she amended.

Beren grinned and resumed his story. "Without the help of the birds and beasts and the land itself I'd never have lasted as long as I did." He shook his head. "But by my second winter alone it was clear my choices were certain death or maybe death trying to escape. I decided to try to escape." His eyes darkened. "The pass of Anach was too far, and to well guarded. My only possible route was over the Ered Gorgoroth - and through Nan Dungortheb." There was dead silence as he took a ragged breath, Luthien's hand tightening reassuringly on his shoulder. "I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."

"It's a tale I'd rather not hear." his mother said as quietly. "The edges of the vale were dreadful enough."

His eyes flashed up in horror. "Mother!"

"We had no choice." Emeldir answered defensively. "Dimbar was full of Warg riders. We used the Mindeb as a shield and followed the east bank down to where it ran into the Sirion, then crossed by raft into Brethil."

"Those of us who lived through it will have nightmares about that journey for the rest of our lives." Bregon said, looking far older than his years. "I don't want to hear or even imagine what you went through, Brother, all alone."

"Not alone." Beren said softly.

His wife looked at him puzzled but his kin seemed to understand. Then Emeldir's words registered. "You took children into the Dungortheb?!" she gasped appalled.

"Barely within its borders." Adanel half contradicted. But Luthien knew what the river valley of the Mindeb was like, she had nursed March Wardens who'd been forced into it and shared their nightmares. (1)

"They're alive." Emeldir said flatly. "As they would not be had we taken any other road."

"I will never know how long that journey took," Beren resumed. "but it must have been measured in weeks not months or I would not be here now." He smiled grimly. "It seemed like forever. But finally I stumbled into the Forest of Neldorath and met my Tinuviel."

...

The Forest of Neldoreth was the demesne of the Princess Luthien, none dwelt there or entered it save by her leave or in her company. In truth this was no hardship to the people of Doriath. Though they knew the Girdle defended the northern wood, as it did all the Hidden Kingdom, they still preferred the protection of running water between their dwellings and the Dark Realm and were more than willing to leave the beech-wood empty, a park and pleasance for their beloved Princess.

It was in the summer of the four hundreth and sixty third Year of the Sun that Luthien first became aware of a strange presence lurking in her woodlands. Of eyes watching her as she danced and sang and played with her maidens in the beech and hemlock groves or on the niphredil starred meads. Yet her companions sensed nothing, not even her minstrel Daeron the Wise. Her mother, Queen Melian, assured her nothing could pass through the walls of power and illusion that fenced the woodland realm and her father the King sent his best trackers and huntsmen to comb the beech-wood and they came back empty handed, having seen and heard and felt nothing amiss.

Luthien pretended to accept their assurances but she knew better. There was something, nay somebody, haunting her woods. As summer turned to fall, and then to winter she went often to Neldoreth alone, and sang and danced hoping to draw the lurker to her. Sometimes she felt eyes upon her that did not belong to bird or beast but never could she catch so much as a glimpse of his shadow. She was not afraid, Luthien had never been afraid for never in all her long years had anything been allowed to threaten her. But she was fairly consumed with curiousity and brimming with frustration at her failure to solve the mystery. Then one drear night at winter's end as the stars began to fade Luthien, chilled by her long cold watch, lifted her voice in song invoking Vana the Spring Maiden and danced to warm herself upon the brown winter grass. And turning in the dance she saw him, standing just within the glade.

Her first reaction was delight and some confusion. He was tall as an elf but bearded like one of the naugrim - what manner of creature was this? Then she looked into his eyes, pale grey like the dawn sky as the stars faded, and a panic fell upon her. Blindly she turned to flee - and a voice cried a name that halted her in her tracks; "Tinuviel!"

Tinuviel, daughter of the twilight, was a name for the sweet singers who served her mother. The fear left her as suddenly as it had come and she stood still, waiting for him. A hand reached out to stroke her hair, then the other joined it cupping her face between them. "You're real." he breathed.

"So are you." was all she could find to say. And her own hands reached up to explore. Trace the brows above the clear eyes, then down over finely modeled cheekbones to a beard almost as long and much shaggier than a Naugrim's. "What are you?"

"A Man." he said on a note of surprise. "Have you never seen one of the Edain before my Tinuviel?"

"Never!" wonderingly. "Are they all as beautiful as you?"

"Beautiful!" he laughed out loud. "You are the first to ever call me that, sweetheart."

"Are all your people blind then?" she asked disbelievingly. His hands slid down to rest on her shoulders. Her heart was beating wildly and her breath came quick, as if she'd been running.

"No, just somewhat more particular." the amusement left his face. "You are beautiful, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. And fearless and free and wild to hold."

Luthien was accustomed to praises of her beauty, even bored by them. Her wisdom, her singing, her grace had all been praised to surfeit by singers beyond counting. But nobody had ever spoken of her courage or her spirit before. Looking deep into the silvery mirrors of his eyes she saw not Luthien, pampered and cossetted darling of Doriath, but a winged, elusive thing, sweet voiced and bright eyed - Tinuviel!

The eyes came closer until she was drowning in them and his lips touched hers gently, then with more force, arms tightening around her. And she felt herself melting like wax left in the sun - until he suddenly pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he said breathing hard, yet abashed, "I shouldn't have done that -" And Tinuviel put her hands behind his head and pulled him in for another, longer kiss.

...

1. Think Withywindle valley multiplied by something like two hundred percent.