It was three days after Lúthien had spoken to him in the library, and Daeron was sitting at his desk, writing. He had many songs that he had not yet put down on parchment. He did not really need to record them, he had no difficulty calling them to memory, but he enjoyed writing. A song ended with the final chord, but when he put down with runes it could linger on.
On oak trees' winding twisting twigs
The shriveled sheaves are shuffling
Red as rust and rustling
Within the whispering wind.
Branches bare of summer sprigs
Returning to a reverie
Dwelling deep in memory
Of laden, leafy limbs.
Gabbing geese on wind and wing
Are fleeing summer's faltering
And austere autumn's altering
Of wide and watery homes.
Would that I like geese might fly
And leave this land of chill and change
To seek the south where stars are strange
And winter is unknown.
He looked down at the strong, straight lines which were silently singing for anyone who chose to read them. Now this song could go on for as long as the parchment would last, constant and unchanging. Perhaps someday he might even find a way to record the melody as well as the words.
He sighed. He was not writing only for a love of letters. He found that it kept his mind from dwelling on things he would rather not remember. But now that he had finished the song he found his mind drifting back to the last time he had seen Lúthien. He had met her at the north entrance at dawn, just as they had agreed. But Daeron had not been alone. Thingol and his guards had been there as well. Daeron could still see the look of hurt on Lúthien's face when she realized that it had been Daeron who had told them of her plans.
"You told me that you would do anything for me!" she had yelled to him as the guards had taken her away.
"Anything to protect you," Daeron had corrected softly.
It had been awful, to hurt the one he loved like that. But what choice had he had? He could not have allowed her to leave for Angband. He could not have done anything else. Thingol would see that she stayed here in the forest where she belonged. She would be safe now, safe as a ship in a harbor. Yes, it had hurt, but her safety was more important than his happiness. Or even her happiness.
