Chapter Forty: Veryanwë
Glorfindel had been gone all of the previous day and most of the night.
Idril and Lalwendë waited together in the dark hallway outside the room where the lords of Gondolin were taking counsel. It was raining heavily outdoors, which was a relief; for the past week, the air had been hazy and tasted of woodsmoke. Idril was displaying a good deal more patience than Lalwendë felt.
'Maeglin won't stop watching me,' Idril said beside her, breaking the silence. Lalwendë glanced over; her face was drawn.
'Be careful with him,' she said.
'Why should I? He is my own cousin, and over the past years he has caused me to lose all respect for him.'
'Because unrequited love is one of the most powerful things in the world, and it can do terrible things.'
Idril sighed. 'Alright. But I will not entertain his affection.'
'Nor should you.'
'Since my father made him Lord of the House of the Mole, he seems to consider himself worthy of me.'
'It is hardly a question of worthiness.'
Idril nodded slowly and sighed, changing the subject. 'Do you think this meeting has something to do with the smoke?'
Lalwendë pursed her lips. 'I don't doubt it.'
'I hope nothing is very wrong,' Idril said. She kept talking, but Lalwendë didn't listen, instead lost in reflection.
The last time she'd slept, she'd dreamed of Fingolfin. He'd been dressed in full battle armour, a plumed helm on his head and his great sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He'd grinned at her, when he saw her, but in her dream she'd frowned at him.
'Lalwen!' he'd said. 'You disappeared centuries ago, and now you reappear as though no time has passed.'
'You're a fool, brother,' she said to him. 'Don't do this. We need you. Your people, they all need you.'
'There will be another king of the Noldor,' he replied, shrugging and smiling. 'Besides, I'm foolhardy, never foolish.'
'It will be the beginning of the end,' she'd said, shaking her head. 'I know it.'
But he didn't seem to hear her. Instead, he'd turned his gaze to something behind her.
'Morgoth!' he'd bellowed, brandishing his sword. 'Come out and face me, coward!'
Taken aback, she had turned to see what he was looking at, only to discover they were standing before the gates of Angband. Her dream suddenly morphed into the usual nightmare of being chained high on the mountain above Morgoth's lair, and she had awoken in a sweat, Glorfindel's hands holding her steady.
'Lalwen?'
'Hm?'
'Is everything alright?' Idril asked.
'I was just thinking,' she replied quietly. 'I have a bad feeling about this.'
Just then, the door opened, and a tired, pale Turgon exited, followed by half a dozen of his lords, some of whom shot glances in Lalwendë's direction. Idril stood swiftly and hurried after her father. Lalwendë stood too, and made her way towards Glorfindel.
'Something bad?' she asked, frowning. He nodded and took her arm.
'Come with me.'
He took her to a small library, and closed the door to shut them in. It was stiflingly quiet, and the few lit candles cast only a dim light. Glorfindel sighed in the stillness, running his hands over his face. His shoulders slumped a little. Lalwendë bit her lip, waiting for him to start.
'There has been news from the outside,' he said. 'The Siege of Angband has been broken. Morgoth's army is at large.'
'Valar,' Lalwendë whispered.
'Hundreds and thousands of elves and men have died. Morgoth sent out his dragon and burned down entire forests. There is nothing left of the woods of Ard-galen but bones and dust.'
Lalwendë clenched her teeth. She'd known a day like this would come, but she'd hoped it would be centuries later. She felt sick. She wanted to see Fingolfin.
'What is being done?'
'Anyone in the north – the Noldor, Sindar, settlements of Men – they are all on the move, trying to find safer places to stay. The princes of the Noldor are attempting to gather their forces for counterattacks, but most of them have been taken by surprise. They are ravaging the land, killing everything in their path. Nothing can stand against that dragon.'
'What about further south? Doriath?'
'Doriath is kept safe by Melian's spells, for now,' Glorfindel said. 'Galadriel is safe. But – Lalwen…'
Her breath caught in her throat. 'What?'
'Finrod came very close to death, but was rescued at great cost. And her other two brothers are dead. Aegnor and Angrod were both killed in the onslaught.'
Lalwendë felt like throwing up. Finarfin would be devastated – but he wasn't in Middle-earth. Finarfin didn't even know. Two of his sons slaughtered, and he didn't even know. She felt Glorfindel's arms wrap around her, and she pressed her face into his chest and started to cry.
'There's more,' she heard him murmur. 'Lalwen, you need to sit down.'
She felt cold as he led her to a chair and knelt before her, holding both of her hands in his. Tears were dripping down her face, and now terror mixed with her grief. What news was worse than the death of her nephews that it had to wait until last?
Glorfindel began to speak slowly, as though he were trying to work out how to best communicate the news. 'The sons of Fëanor are in retreat, and the sons of Finarfin are all defeated. It seems your brother believed that the Noldor were in ruin.'
Lalwendë tasted bile at the back of her throat. 'Fingolfin went to face Morgoth, alone,' she whispered. Glorfindel looked startled, and she shook her head. 'I dreamed of that, but nothing more.'
'He challenged Morgoth at the gates of Angband, knowing he wouldn't refuse and lose face in front of his army,' Glorfindel went on, his eyes trained on her. 'Morgoth came out to face him, and they did battle.'
Lalwendë's hands tightened on Glorfindel's. She knew where this was going, but she felt she was held together by feeble pieces of string while the words remained unsaid. She started to shake.
'Fingolfin humiliated Morgoth early on, they say,' Glorfindel said. 'He injured Morgoth grievously, seven times. But it wasn't enough. He grew tired, and…'
'He's dead,' Lalwendë finished for him, when he trailed off. Glorfindel nodded, his eyes filled with pity and grief.
'He was killed at the last,' he said. 'I'm so sorry, my love. I'm so sorry.'
She collapsed into him and sobbed, barely registering as he caught her. It was the prophecy of Mandos at work again, death and pain and terror coming to them all for the kinslaying that most of them hadn't even been a part of. It hurt so much. It felt like she was being destroyed from the inside out.
It felt like the beginning of the end.
Glorfindel stayed with her for hours, despite the new duties Turgon had placed on him and the lords of Gondolin. He moved her to her room, in a daze, and disappeared for most of the day. He returned at dusk to find her sitting, red-eyed and hollow-chested.
She looked up as he came in. He was watching her with concern, his face lined with tenderness.
'Laurë,' she said hoarsely, 'if I didn't have you here, I'd have – nothing.'
He didn't reply, but he came over to sit beside her and pull her into himself, pressing her to him like he could hold her together if he tried hard enough.
'The eagles brought his body to Gondolin,' he whispered. 'It's at the top of one of the mountains. Turgon is going there now.'
She pulled back. 'Take me there.'
'Lalwen, my love, you don't have to.'
'I need to see him. It.'
He stood up and got her cloak, then helped her stand and draped it around her. 'Come with me.'
She didn't remember the trip to the top of the mountain, overwhelmed as she was by grief. All she could think about was Fingolfin, on his knees in a muddy field. Fingolfin, bloody and dead. Fingolfin, holding his first-born son. Fingolfin riding with her through the valleys of Aman. Fingolfin's last words to her – goodbye, Lalwen. Said with the surety that they would meet again.
At least he'd never had to hear how his daughter Aredhel had been murdered by her own husband. That was the only, minute consolation Lalwendë could think of. It made her feel worse.
It was snowing and windy when they reached the summit of the mountain, overlooking the whole city of Gondolin. Turgon was kneeling over… something dark. A few yards away, Thorondor – one of the eagles which had helped rescue Lalwendë and Maedhros from the cliffs above Angband hundreds of years ago – was watching on morosely.
'I'm – here, if you need me,' Glorfindel said quietly, letting go of her. Lalwendë nodded, unable to speak, and slowly closed the distance between herself and –
Fingolfin.
She knelt beside Turgon and looked down at the body of her brother. It wasn't something she'd imagined she'd ever have to see; it was broken, battered, defiled. It looked like someone had tried to tear it apart.
And yet, his face, under his helm, was exactly the same as it had always been. It was fixed now in a faint frown, but she could imagine it changing to a swift grin, the eyes lighting up and filling with mirth. Her heart ached, and she reached out to trace a trembling finger over his jaw.
It was her father's face. She'd never seen her father's body, after he'd been killed by Morgoth in single combat, but she knew it would have been like this. Like father, like son. Yet again, Morgoth had won.
Turgon had been silent until then, when he began to cry. Lalwendë, her own eyes dry by now, turned to him and pulled him in, feeling his torso shake against her. Turgon had lost his wife, his brother, and his sister to Middle-earth. Now it had taken his father as well.
'We will go on,' she said. 'We'll remember him, but we will go on.'
Turgon straightened and nodded, sniffing and wiping his face. 'You're right,' he muttered. 'It's what my father would have wanted. But this…' he glanced back down at the body, then screwed his eyes shut. 'I will never forget this. It will not go unanswered.'
Over the next few hours, the three of them – Fingolfin's sister, son and friend – worked together to build a cairn over the body. It stood tall in the dark twilight as snow began to spiral from the low-hanging clouds. Lalwendë was shivering.
She'd wanted Fingolfin to come to her wedding. Now she would never see him again.
'Time to go home,' Glorfindel said firmly, pulling her flush against him. She registered his warmth dully, and she leaned further into him. He sighed and slung an arm over her shoulders.
'Thank you for coming,' Turgon said to him quietly. 'I know you were here for Lalwen, but… it was right that you came. My father would have been glad.'
'I'm glad I was here,' Glorfindel said. 'Whenever you need me, I'll be there.'
Turgon nodded, and turned to make his way back down the mountain.
For the next week, Lalwendë couldn't bring herself to eat or sleep. She sat in the gardens, or in her chambers, staring at nothing in particular and thinking of Fingolfin. She'd lost a brother when Fëanor had died, and nieces and nephews when Aredhel, Argon, Angrod and Aegnor had been killed. She'd lost her own father, and left behind her siblings and mother. Now Fingolfin, whom she'd followed to the end of the world, was dead.
If not for Glorfindel, she'd have nothing.
He was with her every minute of the day that he could spare. He was mostly silent, holding her hand or cradling her against him or running his fingers through her hair. He never asked her to move on, or even try to feel better. He took her as she was, and just loved her.
She caught him looking at her when he thought she was preoccupied. He was quick to look away, or smile at her in reassurance, but she always caught his expression. It was something between worry and devastation; as well as grieving for the friend he'd lost, it was breaking his heart to see her like this.
That was partly what galvanised her to move on; there was a large part of Lalwendë that hurt every time she saw Glorfindel upset. But in addition, it was clear that the world outside their haven in Gondolin was darkening. If she was going to die…
Well. She wasn't going to do it with tears in her eyes, and before it happened, she was going to keep living.
She was waiting on the balcony for Glorfindel one night, a week after they'd built Fingolfin's cairn on the mountaintop, the moon spilling silver light into the city below her. She heard Glorfindel enter, and moments later his arms had wrapped around her from behind, his face buried in her neck.
He murmured something that she couldn't make out, and she frowned despite the small smile playing on her lips.
'Hm?'
'I love you, Lalwen,' he repeated, pulling away far enough so that he could be understood. Her smile fading, she turned in his arms and kissed him deeply. He hummed in surprise, but folded over her to return the kiss, holding her as close to him as he could. She felt whole.
He had ways of communicating what he felt. Speaking might not have been one of them, but this… this was. She could feel it in the intensity of his kiss, in the possessiveness of his hand on the back of her head and the safety of his arm around her waist, in the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her chest. He loved her, desperately. She could feel it.
'Laurë,' she said, pulling back and breathing hard. 'We're getting married.'
He looked dazed, slightly windswept by the way she'd kissed him. 'I… what?'
'Marry me.'
He frowned and shook his head. 'Lalwen…'
'Laurë, please. It's now or never.'
He shook his head again and brought his hands up to cradle her face. 'Not now, melda. It should be a day of joy, and right now we're grieving. You especially.'
She stared up into his beautiful, dark eyes, taking a moment to think. There was no peace in Middle-earth, granted, but the way things looked at the moment, there wouldn't be peace again for a very long time. And yet…
He was frustratingly right, yet again. If they married now, the memory would be tainted by Fingolfin's death, mere days beforehand. She sighed.
'You know, if you really don't want to marry me, you should just tell me instead of coming up with excuses on my behalf,' she said. Glorfindel just smiled.
'I want to marry you,' he said quietly, kissing her forehead. 'Very badly. You know that.'
'I do,' she agreed morosely. 'And you're right. So… I'll give you a year and a day, then I'm marrying you. And if something happens before then… I suppose we'll know it was never meant to be.'
Glorfindel's beautiful smile widened. 'The only thing that I know for certain in this world is that we were meant to be,' he said, and he kissed her again.
A year and a day later, they were married.
Elvish marriages typically involved exchanging rings at a feast of the houses of the bride and groom. But Glorfindel had no family, and Lalwendë's immediate family lived in Valinor.
They decided they both were happy with a small feast, and Lalwendë laughed at the relief clearly written on Glorfindel's face when she agreed. Ecthelion and Egalmoth were to stand in as Glorfindel's family, and Turgon, Idril and Maeglin represented Lalwendë's house – the House of Finwë.
Lalwendë dressed in blue and white, and wore a crown of flowers on her loose hair. Glorfindel was dressed in white, but he wore his golden armour too, a golden flower – the symbol of his house – emblazoned on the front. He was so beautiful that Lalwendë felt like crying when she saw him in the gardens of Gondolin.
He looked overwhelmed when he caught sight of her, in the light of the setting sun. Surrounded by their small group of friends as they were, he didn't embrace her; instead, he took her hand in his and pressed his lips to it for a long moment.
'A display of affection in public?' Ecthelion laughed. 'Are you feeling alright, Glorfindel?' Glorfindel shot him a look, but he didn't let go of Lalwendë's hand.
'Exchange your engagement rings first,' Turgon reminded them, smiling widely. Lalwendë slid the silver ring Glorfindel had given her years ago off her finger. The topaz glinted in the dying rays of the sun as she handed it back to him, and he handed her his.
He slid her engagement ring onto the little finger on his left hand – the only finger it would fit on, she realised with a smile.
'I don't think I'll be able to wear yours,' she said. 'Your fingers are too big.'
'So long as you wear the wedding ring, I don't care,' he replied, and she laughed.
Struck with an idea, Lalwendë brought her locket up to her lips. 'Pirindë,' she whispered. It clicked open, revealing the glowing blue lantern crystal, the rolled-up piece of parchment, and the strand of Galadriel's hair. To the collection, she added Glorfindel's engagement ring. Then she clicked it closed.
'There,' she said. 'Now it's safe forever.'
Glorfindel nodded mutely, and Egalmoth handed him a small package. Inside were two slender-banded golden rings. Glorfindel took one, and she the other. He took her right hand, ready to slide the ring onto her index finger, but Idril interrupted them.
'Wait!' she exclaimed. 'You ought to say something.'
'It's traditional,' Turgon agreed. Glorfindel immediately looked uncomfortable, and Lalwendë's smile widened.
'I'll go first,' she said, taking his right hand in hers. It was warm and steady, as always. 'Laurë, I'm very much in love with you.'
Behind him, Ecthelion snorted. Idril put her hand to her heart, smiling.
'I think all the time about what might have become of us if I'd realised how I felt sooner. Maybe we could have stayed in Aman, and I could have told Findis and Finarfin and my mother all about you. Maybe I wouldn't have spent four miserable centuries pining for you in Hithlum.'
Glorfindel's hand twitched in hers, as though he were trying to keep himself from reaching out to her. His dark eyes were intent on her, drinking in the sight of her face. She smiled.
'But I think that no matter where I am, no matter when or how or why, so long as I am with you, I'll be alright. I never knew how lonely I was until you came and fixed it, and – and I know you felt the same way, so I promise you, as long as I'm alive, you'll never be alone again.'
Ecthelion wasn't laughing anymore, and Idril had tears in her eyes. Lalwendë smiled again and slid the ring onto his index finger.
'So – that's all. I love you, Laurë,' she whispered. 'More than I can tell you.'
He nodded, his eyes downcast, then – surprising her – he dropped his forehead to press against hers.
'I love you too,' he said. 'Every time I close my eyes, I see you. You are – Lalwen, you are everything to me. Ilquanya. Estanya ar tellanya.'
'Beautiful,' she whispered, her smile widening.
'Very well put,' Ecthelion agreed warmly. Glorfindel slipped the ring onto her finger.
'Time to eat,' Lalwendë started to say, but she was silenced when Glorfindel seized her and kissed her firmly. She looped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as Ecthelion cheered and Turgon laughed.
It was everything he'd wanted to say but couldn't, and Lalwendë could tell. There was love there, a passion so deep it ran into obsession. It was more need than want, and with an intensity that was jarring. He loved her. He would try to be everything she needed. He would never leave her alone.
He pulled away after a few moments that felt like hours, and Lalwendë stared up at him, completely breathless.
'When she said time to eat, I didn't think she meant that,' Egalmoth muttered, and everyone laughed.
'May Eru bless you both, and bless us all!' Turgon said, and just like that, they were married.
It was the best meal of her life. She was surrounded by friends and seated next to Glorfindel, whose hand had fixed itself to her leg under the table. The food was hearty, and there was music and laughter and perfect joy.
'Glorfindel,' Turgon said halfway through, offering him a small wooden box. 'Here is our gift to you, on behalf of Lalwen's family.'
Glorfindel lifted his hand from Lalwendë's knee to open it. Inside was a raindrop-shaped golden gemstone, fixed to a silver chain.
'It's topaz,' Idril said happily. 'Lalwen's gemstone of choice, as I'm sure you know. Enerdhil the smith was the one who shaped it and put it together.'
Glorfindel ducked his head to put it on, and let it hang outside his armour. He exchanged a glance with Lalwendë, smiling.
'Unsurprisingly, Glorfindel doesn't have a gemstone of choice,' Ecthelion said, pulling out another wooden box and offering it to Lalwendë. 'In fact, I'm not even sure if he knows what a gemstone is. So, we had this made for you instead.'
'Thank you,' she said, opening it. Inside there was a delicate golden brooch in the shape of a celandine flower. She laughed. 'For the House of the Golden Flower!'
'Of which you are now the Lady,' Turgon said.
'It's beautiful,' she said putting it on. 'Everything is just beautiful. Thank you, thank you, thank you!'
That night, they retired to the quarters they now officially shared. Glorfindel kissed her and kissed her even before they were inside, unwilling to take his hands off her. She laughed joyfully and pushed him away.
'Take off your armour, melda, or I'll be crushed,' she said.
He loosened the straps of his pauldrons impatiently, then worked them off and tossed them to the ground. 'No one has the time for this,' he grumbled. She laughed again.
'I love you, Laurë.'
He stole another kiss from her before she could object. 'I adore you.'
That night they made love. It was like a dam had broken for him, like he'd discovered a whole new way to be close to her, and he couldn't seem to get enough of it. In each other, they found solace against the outside world.
Years passed, and the world outside Gondolin grew darker still. One day, Turgon called the eleven lords of Gondolin into a conference. Lalwendë, for reasons she wasn't sure of, was invited too. She was relieved when she saw Idril at the table too, and she smiled at the other woman. Idril returned it with a hint of worry.
'I have called you here,' Turgon began, 'because I have made the decision to send envoys forth to travel to the coast.'
His announcement was met with stunned silence. Lalwendë's breath caught in her throat; this could mean all manner of things, but it also meant – perhaps, someday soon, she might be permitted to be free and leave Gondolin. Glorfindel caught her eye across the table as Turgon continued.
'The world outside… it is darker than we can imagine. Our people and their allies are hunted like beasts, and everything that is beautiful is burned and twisted by Morgoth and his servants, chief among whom is a sorcerer of great and terrible power named Sauron. Many Sindar and Noldor have been taken prisoner and enslaved in Angband. Morgoth uses some of them as spies among their own people, chaining their wills to his.'
'Ought we not to declare war on Morgoth?' Ecthelion asked, leaning forward. 'Our army is mighty, and Morgoth may perhaps be overconfident.'
'No,' Turgon said firmly. 'We are safe in Gondolin, for now, and I cannot justify exposing us at such a dangerous time.'
'What purpose will the envoys serve, then?' Egalmoth asked.
Turgon sighed. 'Unless aid comes swiftly and unforeseen, I believe this is the beginning of the end for the whole of the Noldor people,' he said quietly. 'I want our people in the Bay of Balar, building ships in case the day comes when we need to make our way west.'
'West, as in… Valinor?' Maeglin asked uncertainly.
'If that is the only way left open to us, yes,' Turgon said. 'That is all for now; we will select the envoys from among your houses, and you will be notified.'
Everyone stood to make their leave, but Turgon cleared his throat. 'Glorfindel and Lalwendë, stay a moment.'
They exchanged another glance and moved to sit nearer the king. Turgon waited until the door had closed behind Idril before he spoke again.
'This news is not secret, or perhaps even noteworthy,' he said. 'But I wanted to hear your thoughts on it, as two people who witnessed the silmarils in Fëanor's hands and perhaps understand their influence on this war better than others.'
'What happened?' Lalwendë asked.
'Have you heard of Beren, son of Barahir?'
'I have not,' Lalwendë said, and Glorfindel shook his head.
'Nor had I until recently. He was a single, mortal man who proved to be such a thorn in the sides of Sauron and Morgoth that the price on his head was equal to that of Fingon, the High King of the Noldor.'
'By the Valar,' she murmured.
'Somehow, Beren found his way into Doriath despite the spells of Melian. There, he fell in love with the princess, Lúthien, and she with him.'
'Thingol wouldn't be impressed,' Glorfindel remarked.
'He was furious,' Turgon said. 'He told Beren that the only way he would allow him to marry his daughter was if Beren broke into Angband and stole a silmaril from Morgoth's crown.'
'An impossible task,' Lalwendë said.
'So it would seem. But he went to Nargothrond and requested to be brought before Finrod Felagund, to ask for help.'
Lalwendë pursed her lips, thinking of Finarfin's last living son. Finrod was brave and honour-bound, and she suspected he wouldn't have hesitated to help Beren infiltrated Angband. A feeling of foreboding started growing in her belly.
'Finrod and a handful of his people agreed to help Beren,' Turgon said, 'but Curufin and Celegorm, Fëanor's sons, were staying in Nargothrond in hiding, and of course they were furious. Still, Beren and Finrod left on their quest.'
Lalwendë couldn't stand the suspense. 'Is Finrod…' she began before faltering. 'Did he…?'
Turgon didn't look at her while he continued. 'They were waylaid by Sauron, and to protect his friends, Finrod did battle with him.'
'No,' Lalwendë whispered. She could feel Glorfindel's eyes on her from across the table. 'They cast spell upon spell on one another until Finrod finally faltered. He and Beren and their companions were imprisoned in the dungeons to be picked off one by one, by Sauron's wolves. That is how Finrod died.'
'Yet another one gone,' Lalwendë whispered. 'Finarfin's sons are all dead.' Glorfindel reached across the table to take her hand, and numbly, she let him. Turgon shook his head.
'I cannot think why Finrod would have accompanied Beren on his quest,' he said quietly. 'It's suicidal. That much is clear; Thingon designed the task to be deadly.'
'Poor Galadriel,' Lalwendë whispered. 'Her brother was the fairest of all of us. Everyone loved Finrod.'
'The story is not finished,' Turgon went on wearily. 'Because by then, Lúthien had escaped from her father in Doriath, and went to Nargothrond where Celegorm and Curufin received her. But, learning that she wanted to help Beren in his quest for the silmaril, they imprisoned her there. It is said that she escaped with the help of Celegorm's own hound, Huon, who brought her the keys to her cell and carried her out of Nargothrond on his back.'
'I've heard of that dog,' Glorfindel said. 'They call him the Hound of Valinor.'
'It doesn't surprise me,' Turgon said. 'Now, only Beren survived in Sauron's dungeons. Lúthien advanced, and by casting enchantments, she drew Sauron forth from his gates. Together, she and Huon fought him until he was forced to give up his body and flee, in spirit form, back to Morgoth. Lúthien took control of the island and freed Beren.'
'She sounds like her mother,' Lalwendë said with admiration.
'The hundreds of prisoners that she freed from Sauron returned to Nargothrond and turned their anger on Fëanor's sons,' Turgon continued. 'They knew that Curufin and Celegorm hadn't even attempted to rescue them, and thus they were cast out from Nargothrond with no followers. They rode away, intending to find Maedhros their brother, but they came across Beren and Lúthien instead. Curufin, after being bested in combat by Beren, shot him with an arrow. If not for the spells of Lúthien, he would have died then and there.'
'Curufin and Celegorm are falling futher and further into darkness,' Lalwendë muttered. 'Maedhros will be so disappointed.'
'After he was healed, Beren and Lúthien went northward and entered Angband under the disguise of Lúthien's spells,' Turgon said. 'She sang a song so powerful that every servant of Morgoth, and Morgoth himself, were sent to sleep, just long enough for Beren to cut a single silmaril from his crown. However Carcharoth, Morgoth's wolf, woke also, and when Beren and Lúthien had almost escaped he jumped upon them and bit off Beren's hand, the silmaril in it. It burned Carcharoth from the inside out, and he ran away while Lúthien staunched Beren's wound. The hosts of Morgoth awoke, and they were set upon.'
'How did they escape this time?' Glorfindel asked wryly.
'The same way we have, once or twice,' Turgon said. 'Thorondor and his eagles rescued them and flew them away to the border of Doriath, where they dwelt for a time until Beren was well again. They went to Thingol and told him the story of all that had happened, and Thingol softened and allowed them to marry.'
'At least there's that,' Lalwendë said morosely. Glorfindel's hand tightened around hers.
'Carcharoth the wolf, still driven mad by the silmaril inside him, came south and entered Doriath, overcoming Melian's defences,' Turgon continued. 'Thingol, Beren and Huan the hound went forth to kill it. The wolf leapt at the king, but Beren jumped in his way and was wounded. Huan finally killed the beast, but he, too, was wounded to the death. Before Beren died, the silmaril was cut from the belly of Carcharoth and put in his hand. He gave it to Thingol, and said he had fulfilled his promise.'
'So Doriath holds a silmaril,' Glorfindel said.
'Exactly,' Turgon said. 'This is why I want your opinions.'
'The silmarils are cursed by Fëanor's oath,' Glorfindel said quietly. 'The sons of Fëanor would sooner see all the elven kingdoms in ruin than to see a single silmaril in the hands of someone else. It seems clear that Curufin and Celegorm have become so desperate that they are without honour.'
'He's right,' Lalwendë agreed. 'The silmarils are at the centre of all the bloodshed and misery of the Noldor. By winning a silmaril, Thingon has unwittingly drawn Doriath into the War, and brought doom on himself and his people.'
'I think you are right,' Turgon said heavily. 'Things might be bad now, but they can get worse.'
'Half of this war is about pride,' Lalwendë said. 'Morgoth was too proud to be chastised by the Valar. Fëanor was too proud to let the death of our father go unanswered. Both wanted to spite the other, and for a silmaril – Fëanor's pride and joy – to be stolen from Morgoth by a mortal man… that is a blow. His fury will be terrible.'
'We should brace ourselves,' Glorfindel agreed. 'I know you don't yet want to lead Gondolin to war, my friend, but there is a doom on all our heads. Soon it might become inevitable.'
Turgon sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. 'Valar help us all,' he muttered. 'There's one more thing, too.'
'What is it?' Lalwendë asked.
'Apparently Lúthien died of her grief, as has been known to happen,' Turgon said. 'But – word has it that Beren and Lúthien have been seen again, alive – and mortal.'
'They didn't die?' Glorfindel asked, frowning.
'Or they came back to life,' Turgon said quietly. 'That is what the messengers say, but I don't know whether or not to believe it.'
'It couldn't be,' Glorfindel muttered. 'The Noldor are cursed, and death is… death is final.'
So apparently Finrod can cast spells? And there's a talking dog? And Lúthien sings magic lullabies? idk seems sus Mr Tolkien.
Anyway guys I must confess that I kind of forget exactly what 'ilquanya, estanya ar tellanya' means, because I translated it a little while ago. But it has something to do with 'my everything, my world'. S
