The last words left Lúthien's lips, beautiful and fathomless, curling in the air before dying in the perfect veil of silence reigning over the Hall of Mandos. The power of her song still slightly vibrated within the immemorial place, almost shimmering in the inky darkness surrounding her. Lúthien opened her glistening eyes, crystalline tears rolling on her cheeks, and looked at the impassible face of Mandos. She could smell the bittersweet perfume of her flowery crown, the one she had so carefully woven for her wedding and had so dearly kept, even when Beren had died. Now the petals were slowly starting to fall, fluttering around her head, sliding on her shoulders and the white fabric of her dress in a colorful yet melancholic rain. She patiently waited for the Vala's judgement, hope swelling in her heart. She had put her whole soul into the song, the very core of her being, all the memories she had of the hardships she had gone through with her lover, and the countless smiles he had brought to her face. She had poured the loving warmth of sunshine on their skin, the cold stone of the sorcerer's dungeons, the malevolent curse of Fëanor's sons, and had woven them for what had seemed to be an eternity of silence as Mandos had listened to her words. The god had stayed still, but Lúthien had seen the emotion glittering within his timeless eyes, the way he had slightly bent to better hear her song. Now he was silent, considering the tiny Elf before him, her heart full of innocent and untainted hope. The flowers were falling at her feet, swallowed by the living darkness of the Hall. Mandos was mournful, for he had loved Lúthien's song; the melody had curled around his hear in a tight grasp, filling his being with stunning awe. Part of him wanted to reward the Elven princess, to grant the happiness she had rightly deserved, but a more selfish part wished for another of her songs and despaired to see her face, so bright with life, desert his domain for good. So he came up with a trial, one that would definitely prove Lúthien's worth and her ability to leave the Hall.
"You may go," Mandos finally said.
The god's face was alike to a statue's, perfectly still, frozen in the continuous flow of eternity, but his eyes were kind. Lúthien shivered slightly as the words echoed in her mind, flowing smoothly into her thoughts, melting within the darkness.
"However, it is not of my power to take away the gift of Men. Shall you look or call to Beren, his soul will remain here, and you will never set eyes on him again."
Lúthien nodded, troubled but grateful. She gracefully bowed, flowers falling into her locks. She startled when cold, icy fingers intertwined in her hands, and turned around, stunned. The ghost of a face was floating behind her, twisting and curling into blueish spirals of smoke, breaking and dissolving in the darkness as if it didn't even have the strength to maintain its shape. Lúthien vaguely recognized Beren's features in those smokey snakes rising in the air; the sharpness of his nose, the thick eyebrows, the lively eyes, all coming together in a fleeting, shimmering image. The face stared at her, the thin streaks of blue smoke rising briefly into a pained smile, before miserably breaking apart; the smoke dissolved everywhere, lingering in the darkness, before gathering again. Lúthien looked back at her hand, where remnants of smokey fingers were clinging to her shaking wrist. She couldn't see anything else apart from this voiceless, eerie bundle of smokey streaks floating in front of her, bearing the features of her husband's face. Lúthien turned, doing her best to shake off her uneasiness, and bowed once again before Mandos. She knew this was the only chance the god would allow; she couldn't afford any mistake. She loved Beren with all her heart and imagined the sunlight, outside of that otherworldly cavern, touching his face, solidifying the blue smoke. She saw the colour melt into warm, beige skin, and a real smile coming on Beren's rosy lips. He would be filled with life, and she would finally be allowed the happiness she had so tirelessly striven for. Without another word she turned away, the icy touch of Beren's spectral fingers lying on her skin.
Lúthien did not count her steps as she kept advancing between the timeless pillars. She knew that time did not exist in the Hall of Mandos, and that looking for any direction was hopeless. She trusted her instinct, the only thing that had safely guided her when she had first entered Mandos's domain, humming to herself as her bare feet brushed the cold, smooth stone beneath her. Pillars twisted above, weaving into immoderate, grotesque arches, while some simply burst out of the ground to rise into broken towers, their crooked tip swallowed by darkness. Lúthien saw the whole place as a strange imitation of some lost Elven palace, in a weak attempt to comfort the souls gathered here. There were pieces of fallen castle, fine tapestry lying on decaying walls, carved wooden doors standing alone in the darkness, leading absolutely nowhere. Lúthien recognized rusty weapons and scattered jewels at her feet, some clearly of a design completely alien to her, perhaps from a time even older than she could perceive. Eras seemed to have blended into one, each bringing its own characteristics, and all the belongings the dead had cherished and loved during their lifetime. Lúthien wasn't afraid, for she knew Mandos's domain to be primarily a place of rest for lost spirits; she was rather curious as she caught sight of translucid figures wandering silently in the darkness. Her attention was entirely focused on her frozen hand, and the cold pulsing on her skin. She was calm for now, and listened confidently to the very faint sound, barely audible, of Beren's footsteps behind her. Her throat ached with the desire to talk to him, but she restrained herself, looking straight ahead of the pillars. A very pallid light lingered on their smooth surface, like glittering stardust, amplified by Lúthien's keen eyes. The light whirled, similar to a fallen constellation, and Lúthien instinctively followed it. Her hand ached at Beren's cold touch, but she ignored it. She was confident in her step and her capacity to overcome Mandos's trial, when a curious sound disrupted her thoughts, breaking through her assertiveness.
Lúthien stopped, a tinge of worry pulsing in her heart. Beren stopped behind her, his fingers curling desperately around her split wrist. Lúthien listened carefully, eyes closed, only to have pure, crystal-clear silence answering her, but her worry did not vanish. She slowly advanced, one step at a time, and heard it again. Someone else was following her, advancing as carefully as she did, in order to match her steps. Lúthien suddenly sped along, worry turning into insidious fear, and the footsteps grew louder behind her. She shivered when the echoes of the ghostly feet scuttering on the floor became noisier and noisier, breaking the tranquil silence of the place, until it filled the darkness, lingering against the pillars. Ghostly streaks of smoke now shimmered in her field of vision, and Lúthien felt as if a whole group had gathered behind her. She kept walking, faster and faster, hoping to lose the intruders, but the size of the assembly only seemed to increase, almost running as she did. Lúthien gave a squeeze to Beren's hands, and felt him weakly squeeze back, his frozen nails sinking involuntarily into her skin. She thought about singing, to maybe appease the spirits behind her, but she was too scared to properly focus. She had lost trail of the glittering stardust on the pillar, and darkness had closed in on them, only pierced by the spectral auras of lost souls.
Suddenly, dozens of hands slammed into her arm, while a chorus of pleading screams exploded in her head. Lúthien cried at their icy, lifeless touch roaming her skin, almost falling back. The pain ringing in her mind was insufferable as all the spirits pled in a cacophony of strangled cries, begging her to bring them back, to accompany them out of the Hall. Invisible hands grasped her hair, her shoulders, her elbows, clung to the fragile fabric of her dress, pulling her back, shouting their voiceless curses in her head, their nails leaving a small trail of frost on her skin. Others tried to get a hold on the hand holding Beren's, fighting in ghostly shrieks just behind her back. Fresh panic overwhelmed Lúthien, and she fought the irresistible urge to turn back, to ensure that Beren was safe. She remembered the fragile spirals curling into a face, so frail and vulnerable, and thought about those spirits whirling about, their spectral, icy fingers clawing at Beren's face, dissolving the blue smoke. She clung to Mandos's severe gaze, his command and the threat lurking in his words. Lúthien thought about this and kept going, forcing herself to walk, step by step, worry worming in her belly; she had no choice but to trust that Beren was safe. She heard a loud, ripping sound as the fabric covering her arm was torn, falling into white lumps of frozen pieces. Her arm was slowly going numb from the cold, while fingers kept clawing at her in a desperate attempt to regain the surface, to feed off of her warmth.
"Leave me be!" Lúthien shouted back at them, but the whirlwind of ghostly voices poured in her mind like an endless torrent, pulsing in her head, crushing her thoughts.
She could see others now, bold enough to come into her field of vision, lingering between the pillars. Faces danced in the darkness, smoke curled around her feet, while floating eyes flashed her pleading looks. Lúthien recognized the characteristic, chiseled features of Elves, some smooth, other scarred by countless battles. They were her people, and for a moment Lúthien couldn't help but pity their tormented gazes, their thirst for a second chance; she was seeking the same opportunity, in a way. The wail of a mother, the distant shout of a fallen warrior, they all took shape in her mind, and Lúthien stumbled, her eyes blurred by tears, when a great hush fell over.
Stunned, Lúthien cautiously opened her eyes. The spirits had all retreated, leaving in their wake an empty silence. Lúthien carefully listened; she did not like their sudden flight, they who had been so determined and eager to go back with her. With her free hand she absent-mindedly brushed her other, naked arm, feeling the irregular edges of the torn fabric, tilting her head.
Her hand was completely numb; she couldn't even feel her lover's presence anymore. She painfully rubbed her arm in an attempt to warm her drowsy nerves. Tiny streams of blood ran on her frost-covered skin, dropping on the floor along the petals stuck in her hair. She ordered her fingers to move, and they painstakingly did so, squeezing the empty space where Beren's hand was supposed to be; Lúthien felt nothing.
That thought sent a jolt of panic through her, and Lúthien almost turned back, torn by the desperate need to see Beren's face. He was completely silent, if he was there at all; Lúthien once again focused Mandos's face, her dream of being reunited with Beren, the sunlight on his lips. She could do it; she had to. Slowly she calmed down, listening to her regular breath, feeling her heartbeat, the only sounds she could perceive in that desolated place, when a warm glow of light enveloped her. A new presence came in her mind, but Lúthien immediately sensed its benevolent nature, soothing her nerves; shimmering pictures of sparkling, green forests and clear streams filled her head. Lúthien smiled, recognizing at once her savior.
The calm, gentle face of Finrod was smiling at her, shimmering in the frail light. His body had a more material aspect, more discernable than Beren's, as if Finrod had somehow solidified during his time in the Hall. Lúthien noticed his pale skin, devoid of any of the scars that had once marred him, and his golden hair, which had gotten all its shine back.
She was happy to see him, even though his face was shrouded in sadness. His smile was tainted by untold regrets, and Lúthien's joy faded, replaced by bittersweet memories. The last she had seen of him had been his body, bloody and mangled, barely recognizable. She had so much to tell him, to talk about, but she understood that they had no time left. Finrod only beckoned her to come, turning away, and Lúthien fell into step behind him. Still she had that nagging doubt about Beren; she didn't feel anything in her hand.
"Is Beren well? Do you see him?" she tentatively asked, her voice eerily echoing in the silence.
Finrod only cast her a resigned glance, his blue eyes full of regret, and Lúthien understood that he was forbidden to talk. She remembered the trial was for her only, and she didn't know if Finrod was allowed to help at all. He kept advancing, a golden aura shining softly around his head, weaving among his hair. His presence reminded Lúthien of the gentle warmth of a summer breeze, brief but comforting. With her other hand she tried to touch him, to hold his arm, her fingers brushing past the shimmering, delicate fabric covering his arm. He cast her a sorrowful glance, slowing down when he saw that she couldn't keep up with his pace. His lips quivered, parting slightly as if he was finally going to speak, but Finrod decided against it and shook his head, defeated. Lúthien suffered greatly from seeing him like this, so close yet so far away, barely graspable, and her heart ached even more to know that it was probable the last time she would be in his company.
Finrod's pace was sure and confident, and soon they got back on the right path, with the dots of light weaving like fallen stars around the pillars, yet Lúthien couldn't push back the increasing worry rotting in her heart. She felt like the space behind her was completely empty, like Beren had long evaporated, his floating features lost to the darkness.
Suddenly Finrod turned to her, his smile radiant, and showed a distant whitish light, piercing the merciless darkness. A warm gust of wind, carrying back the strong, vibrant smell of life came to them, and Lúthien almost bounced with joy. She could already smell the rich, thick scent of the earth, see the calm rustling of the grass, hear the joyful song of the stream leaping from stone to stone.
The Elven princess rushed to the entrance, her need to feel life again overwhelming her fear. Finrod accompanied her, more reserved, lingering before the shimmering rays penetrating the cave. Lúthien felt the king's hesitation and suddenly stopped, a horrible doubt overshadowing her previous joy. She opened her fingers in the dark, but felt no hand grasping her skin. She had stopped just in front of the mouth of the cave, warm sunlight flooding her face, and yet she wouldn't go forward. Finrod had joined her, his eyes locked on the unreachable light of the sun. His skin glimmered in the golden light; Finrod felt the distant sting of pain, the fangs of the wolves piercing his flesh. The king closed his eyes, regret swelling in his heart, and turned toward Lúthien, happy that he had at least the chance to bid her farewell, but froze upon seeing the doubt on her face.
Lúthien stood completely still, her hand mechanically opening in the dark. Uncertain, confused, she kept remembering all that had happened, the feeling of Beren's hand on hers, wondering if she had lost him somewhere. Now she could only feel the void, wondering if the cave hadn't managed to trick her in some way, to deceive her senses. She didn't notice Finrod, the horror on his features, urging her to get out of the Hall.
Finally the Elven princess couldn't bear it any longer. She glanced behind her shoulder, unable to forget her worry, before fully turning.
Beren's face was there, its features twisted in such a snarl of pure pain that Lúthien immediately backed away. Two streaks of smoke, barely holding the mouth together, opened on an agonizing, ghastly shriek, screaming its disappointment at her, and Lúthien fell, stumbling on her dress, icy shock spreading through her. The thing that wore Beren's face rushed at her, and thousands of others, whirling in an inferno of vengeful cries. For a moment Lúthien couldn't move, the voice of Mandos pounding in her mind. She barely caught a glimpse of a golden halo, pushing her out of the cave, and then she was in the sunlight again, panting with fear, her hands clawing at the grass.
The cave leading to the Hall was still, the sunshine breaking against its thick, unfathomable obscurity.
Lúthien was completely deaf to the world around her as she gloomily deeper into the woods, her torn dress dragging behind her. She ignored the nightingale's song, the cheerful welcome of the trees, the kind look of animals as she passed them by. Ashamed to go back to her parents, despairing never to see her lover again, she walked and walked, with no destination in mind; there was only Beren's shriek, repeating over and over in her mind. The white of her dress was now soiled with mud, heavy with the water of streams. Her feet ached, with some cuts slightly bleeding as she had walked on rocks, but she paid it no mind. The world she had so dearly longed for had lost all its colours, all its joy, for how could she enjoy it alone, without Beren? Lúthien didn't care about it anymore; most of all she wanted to forget, and so she kept on walking.
Soon Lúthien arrived to a little pond, lost deeply inside a forest. She didn't how much time had passed, nor that it truly mattered to her; however, the quietness of the place soothed her a little, and she sat on the mossy bank, willing her heart to rest a bit. The lily pads swirled gently on the water, pushed by the fresh breeze that had risen. A song, broken by fatigue and unrest, briefly escaped her lips, before dying in the wind. Lúthien closed her eyes, her mind and body exhausted, and slept.
She didn't notice it at first. In her doze the howling of the wolves was just as beautiful and natural as any other sounds in the forest. She inwardly listened to its rising trill, weaving between the trees, before falling gravely on the pine-needle covered soil of the forest. She didn't think anything of it and simply shifted in her sleep, her hand slightly brushing the lily pads while the sun was slowly setting down above her.
Then the howling rose again, coiling around the trees, crawling on the leaves, and Lúthien awoke with a jerk. She immediately noticed the fearful silence of the forest and stood up, her hands clenching the mossy rocks. All the birds had fled, and even the wind seemed to have died, its mournful melody having long faded between the branches. Darkness had slid among the trunks, like black tendrils slithering on the grass. Small, whitish dots were glittering in the dark, hidden deep in the thick black shroud now ensnaring the pond. Lúthien took a small step back, before realizing the wolves were everywhere. One stepped out of the darkness, its claws crushing the blades of grass, its red tongue lolling like a crimson snake between its teeth. Its lips were curled back in a mocking snarl as it advanced in the clearing, its peers following closely behind. Lúthien watched them, backing away toward the water, unable to think of anything. Her own lips were closed, her throat tight with fear.
She glimpsed it at first, a mere shadow hovering between the trees, its golden eyes piercing the darkness. Then Lúthien recognized him.
He had been following her for days now, lingering in front of the cave, not daring to set foot inside for he was now a perjured one, having rejected the gods and being rejected by them. He had loved her voice as much as he had loathed its power, mesmerizing but deadly. He hadn't expected to be defeated so easily, but fate had struck her as well, and so she was here now, alone and mourning a love that he knew was doomed from the beginning. His wolves snarled and growled, circling the forest, crying out in anger and frustration. They longed to lash out, to tear the Elf apart, but were forced to keep back for now, restrained by their master.
Lúthien didn't say a word as Sauron came closer, accompanied by the menacing growls of the wolves. She knew that escaping was impossible now, and she didn't have the strength to fight the sorcerer; however, she hid it as best as she could and waited, solemn, for him to come to her.
A heavy silence, pregnant with tension, rested on the small clearing and the two immortal beings, who were carefully watching each other. The sorcerer's face was completely empty, his eyes as dull as two polished gems; even Lúthien had trouble standing his gaze.
Finally the sorcerer spoke first, his emotionless, blank features morphing into a mask of genuine concern.
"Have you found him?"
Lúthien stayed silent for a few seconds, uneased, anger whirling silently in her heart.
"No," she simply retorted, feeling her own face twist into a snarl. "Leave me be. I do not want to speak to you."
She turned to leave, disgusted, but felt a strong grip on her wrist. She turned back, fear rising inside her.
"Would you sing for me then?"