Dramatis Personae & Cast, in order of appearance
[this is how I'd cast them - you're free to supply your own actors, of course.]

    The Human Bard Gower (appearing courtesy of The Rose Playhouse)
        Derek Jacobi (appearing courtesy Henry V)

    Luthien, called Tinuviel, Princess of Doriath
        Claudia Black (appearing courtesy of Farscape)

    Orodreth, Prince of Nargothrond
        Hugh Grant (appearing courtesy Sense and Sensibility)

    Celegorm, Son of Feanor
        James Marsters in suave, charming, and gentlemanly mode (courtesy Mutant Enemy)

    Curufin, Son of Feanor
        James Marsters in sly, caustic and vicious mode (courtesy Mutant Enemy)

    Finduilas, Princess of Nargothrond, daughter of Orodreth
        Gelsey Kirkland (appearing courtesy the Baryshnikov Nutcracker telecast)

    Celebrimbor, Son of Curufin
        Alexis Denisof (appearing courtesy Mutant Enemy)

    Gwindor, a Lord of Nargothrond
        Ioan Gruffydd (appearing courtesy A&E's Horatio Hornblower series)

    Huan of Valinor
        Special guest appearance as Himself

       Assorted Nargothronders of both Houses: Rangers, Citizens, and Knights
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gower:
                            In longsome time
        fair Luthien to Nargothrond hath fared
        by pathways strange and secret under star
        and light of moon, 'scaping the trammels set
        by love that seeks too hardily to save
        drawn forth from that shelt'ring snare
        by binding far stronger than that rope of hair
        her path sheer straight from Hirilorn's crown
        --a track more steep than scales Gorgoroth down.
            Now as a prize to the Elven city borne
        taken in her hasting flight by the Hound of Celegorm,
        the Nightingale of Doriath with close-pent wings
        rants against her cage; weeping, herself she flings,
        -- having exchanged but snare for snare --
        in futile dread and rage and hot despair.
            Rising her sureness of yet one treason more
        by hours: first Daeron, jealous; then swore
        Elu Thingol, and yet forswore, though formal-true;
        then Daeron again, breaking his vow implied:
        whereon her father cedes wisdom to fear and pride
        prisoning her, whilst mourning her mother stood aside.
            This new betrayal less false than all of these,
        that she, and only she, is purposed to deceive,
        -- not self, in fond disguise of pure devotion.
        Of all her kindred, all whom 'friend' should claim,
        but one, as yet, hath proven true: -- the same
        who clear once called by her heart's true name.
 
 

    [The great hall (or probably, indeed, a great hall) of the fortress-palace of
    Nargothrond. A banquet is underway. In the high seats are the Regent Orodreth
    and his household, and in the places of honor, Lords Curufin, Celegorm, and their
    entourage. Especially honored on the royal dais is Luthien of Doriath.  She does
    not look the part of an Elven princess of high degree.  Her hair is bobbed short
    and rather wildly curly, her clothes are defiantly the travelworn white dress
    and blue wrapper, and she is not at all serene, but rather pale and stressed-out
    yet nonetheless determined. (She looks a bit like an older version of Trina
    Schart Hyman's illustration of Ronia, the Robber's Daughter by Astrid Lindgren,
    as a matter of fact, if Ronia were wearing a costume designed by Sir Lawrence
    Alma-Tadema instead.)

Orodreth:
        Dear lady, you've not touched your plate at all.  Is our food too rich for
        one accustomed to simpler fare?

Luthien:
        No, my lord Regent -- it's only that I have no appetite when I think of Beren
        in pain and privation.  How long till your army can ride forth?

Orodreth:
        Highness, it is not that easily arranged. Such -- such things take time --

Luthien:
        -- It's been two days since you brought me here.  Two entire days!
        He could be dying!

Celegorm: [aside to Curufin]
        We could be so lucky --

Curufin: [low]
        Hush.

Luthien:
        --And I've seen no sign yet of any readying whatsoever. You told me, my
        lord Curufin, that you would expedite the preparation of a rescue mission,
        and I'd like to know what progress has been made. You haven't kept me
        updated at all.

    [Conversation all around drops off to an all-time lull, for a variety of reasons;
     even the background music dies down as the harpers attempt to play low enough that
     they can follow the exchanges.]

Curufin: [very polite but patronizing nevertheless]
        Lovely princess, it takes time as I explained before, to ready such things
        as equipment and provisions and horse and armor and all the equipage of war.
        You can't just grab a spear, a shield, and go, you see.

Luthien: [frowning]
        That's funny, because we never stand down completely.  Are you trying to tell
        me that Nargothrond is so complacent about your secrecy that you're completely
        unprepared for combat?

Curufin: [indulgent patience]
        Planning an expedition to Angband is not like routing a few squads of probing
        Orcs, milady. There are plans to be made, complex preparations, and much work to
        be taken care of, lest we simply run headlong into catastrophe as your friend
        has done.

Luthien:
    [coming to a new level of suspicion]
        I see. Forgive my lack of understanding -- I've never waged a war, you see.

    [to Orodreth]

        You will let me know as soon as your men are ready to ride forth? And if there's
        anything I can do to help things -- mend gear, bake lembas, fletch arrows or
        ready medicinal spells -- I'll gladly work night and day until all's done.

Orodreth: [coolly, but not with obvious sarcasm]
        Highness, we certainly are grateful for your offer of assistance, but
        Nargothrond scarcely needs such further heroic efforts from yourself. But we
        will certainly keep you advised of what progress has been made.

    [Celegorm shoots him a narrow look, displeased. Celebrimbor raises an eyebrow, but
     keeps his thoughts to himself. The Regent's daughter and her fiancee look distressed.]

Celegorm: [changing subject by force]
        Dear Lady Luthien! The voices of Melian and her fair daughter are renowned
        throughout the lands. Surely in return for your welcome and guesting here,
        you could spare us one shortest of songs?

    [Luthien stares at him in disbelief.  Something snaps.]

Luthien:
        Yes. -- I will sing you a song that you have perhaps not yet heard.

    [She rises and gathers herself as if going into battle; the cold gleam in her
    eyes betrays the fact that she is also very much her father's daughter, however
    different their styles of combat.]

Bard:
        Your Highness, what mode shall the accompanying flow be cast in?
        The primal mode of Starrise, or the threnodic mode of Moonrise, or
        the simpler, yet more vigorous strains of Sunrise?

Luthien:
        None. There's no accompaniment. It should be a duet: I'll take both parts.

    [hums note softly, finds the octave. Takes a deep breath and forges onward.]

                 O fare thee well, I must be gone
                    and leave you for a while --
                  Where e'er I go I will return,
                      if I go ten thousand miles!

               O ten thousand miles it is so far
                    to leave me here alone,
                  While I may lie, lament and cry
                    and you, you'll not hear my moan!

                O the crow that is so black my love
                    will change his color white --
                  I'll never be false to you my love
                      till the day, day turns to night!

                O the rivers they all will run dry
                    and rocks melt in the sun --
                  I'll ne'er prove false to the one I love
                      till all these things be done!

    [There is silence -- the hush of profound appreciation that is Elven applause.]

Orodreth: [at last]
        Superb . . . superb. Is that one of your renowned Daeron's songs? Menegroth
        is justly proud of her sons -- and daughters!

Luthien: [in a small precise voice]
        No. That is one of the songs of Dorthonion. My Beren learned it from his
        mother Emeldir, who sang it with his father Barahir and learned it of her
        father who was also named Beren, who gave it to my Beren's grandmother
        when first she came to dwell in Dorthonion from Hithlum. It is a very old
        song. It was believed that his grandfather's mother sang it first. I am
        glad you like it.

    [She sits down and demurely sips her wine, with no indication in her manner of
    having just suffered defeat, nor that she was attempting any Working in her song.
    There is a different kind of silence in the banquet hall.]

Curufin: [to Celegorm, undertone]
        That is not happening again.

    [The royal apartments, now occupied by Orodreth's household, and with a much less
    "lived-in" look to them -- though not cluttered before, it's clearly not a place
    belonging to an artist-architect-strategist-explorer-linguist-loremaster-musician,
    now -- merely a central location for government. Curufin and Celegorm are once again
    making free of the place, but the feel is very different when they come in and sprawl
    in the chairs by the fireplace. Orodreth is trying to work at the table, despite their
    presence. Huan is, once again, apparently dozing on the hearth.]

Celegorm:
        I never get over how nice these digs are. Cousin Finrod certainly didn't stint
        himself. You've done well by the move, hey, Orodreth?

Orodreth: [flat voice]
        I don't recollect that you were lodged in the kennels prior to and including
        this summer. If you wanted improvements you'd only to make them. That is, after
        all, what everyone else did.

Curufin: [ignoring this, continuing discussion with Celegorm from outside]
        I wonder if they're really betrothed, or if she's only saying that to make it
        sound more respectable?

Orodreth: [dryly]
        Yes, clearly that's of the most tremendous and pressing concern to Her Highness.

Celegorm: [ignoring this too]
        I doubt it -- he wasn't wearing any rings but the signet, and she's certainly
        not got one either.

Curufin:
        Well, naturally -- where would he get any silver to make one? Not that he'd know
        how in any case. And even if she supplied both of them, it would be too obvious
        -- no chance of keeping it secret if she started wearing a ring all of the sudden.

Orodreth:
        I didn't get the impression she was trying to be secret about it, myself, but
        rather that she thought it was no anyone else's concern but their own. --Is that
        even a custom of Middle-earth originally? It could well be something our parents'
        generation came up with, back home. I wouldn't know about that myself, of course:
        I was never the one interested in "was" and "might have been" and "could be" --

Celegorm:
        --What's the matter with you? Weren't we boon companions before, always with
        the merry jest and the shared glass and the riding to the hunt and the cheer
        of good fellowship, Orodreth?

Orodreth:
        Well, yes, but that was before you led a revolution against my . . . House --
        we were all equals, in those days.

Curufin: [sweetly poisonous]
        And now you are ruler, my lord --

Orodreth: [icy]
        Now I am Regent, my lord -- a mere placeholder, and no more. When are you going
        to tell her? Or are you planning on waiting for her to get tired of waiting first?

Curufin: [colder still]
        I thought we had reached an understanding in which you, and your House, were not
        going to interfere with us, and ours. Is that not so? Or am I mistaken, Lord Regent?

Orodreth: [sardonic smile]
        My concern is the well-being of this City, and its realm, and its people. Apart from
        that, and outside of that, is not my concern. How you rule the affairs of your own
        household, so long as you do not risk Nargothrond by it, is your own business.

    [goes back to scanning and occasionally signing parchments. The brothers exchange Looks.]

Curufin: [going back to their conversation]
        Dark-elf or not, it's unbelievable that any of our Kindred, however distant,
        could fall so far--

Orodreth [shaking his head]
        The daugher of Melian, a Dark-elf? Do you actually believe your own -- talk?
        --My lord.

Celegorm: [with the exasperated tone of someone going over something for the nth time]
        Even if he wasn't a mortal, can you imagine anyone -- and of royal blood! --
        being so lost to propriety as to strike up a relationship with a chance-met
        stranger of no estate and think it feasible that an alliance of blood and honor
        should be undertaken between them? Doesn't she, at least, understand that marriage
        is a binding not simply of individuals but of houses and traditions, that there
        are all kinds of implications for everyone else around them, and that no one,
        not least a scion of a ruling House of the Eldar, can act on their own whims
        without regard for these facts?

Orodreth: [as if observing to himself, aloud]
        Oh no, it isn't as though anyone else in that family has ever run into someone
        in the woods by accident and spent time with them exclusively and not told anyone
        about it nor consulted with others nor sought advice before making it final and
        fait accompli, now, is it?

    [nonplussed silence from the brothers]

        --One might, in fact, consider it practically a family tradition . . .

Curufin:
        You know, I don't care for your tone at all -- my Lord Steward of Nargothrond.

Orodreth: [not looking up from the scroll he is reading]
        And unless you're interested in taking over all the mind-numbingly tedious tasks
        of management which now fall to me, with far less assistance, and in which you've
        never shown the least bit of interest heretofore, -- that fact is signally
        irrelevant, my lord cousin. --Unless your brother is perchance planning on forgoing
        some of his own sport to take up the slack . . . ?

    [long silence]

Curufin: [chilly]
        --It's good we understand each other, isn't it?

    [offhand, to his brother:]

        Pass me that lute, will you?

    [testing the strings, to Orodreth:]

        Whose is this? Finduilas'? She shouldn't leave it tuned up, it'll ruin the frame,
        you know.

Orodreth:
       --Have you not your own chambers, my lords?

Celegorm:
        Yes, but they're not so nice as yours.

    [There is a brief staring contest, before Orodreth shakes his head in disgust and
    gathers up all his parchments and writing equipment in angry, exasperated gestures.]

Orodreth: [curt]
        If anyone's looking for me, I'll be working in the privacy of my own old office.

    [leaves with his portfolio and scribe's case while Curufin plays a cheerful little
    syncopation on the strings, discordantly out of tune]

Celegorm: [sadly]
        I don't think our cousin likes us very much any more.

Curufin:
        You did notice that he wasn't absolutely committed without reserve on the matter
        of noninterference?

Celegorm:
        I guess we aren't going to tell him about the Letter, are we? --How's that coming
        along?

Curufin: [smiling in anticipation]
        Almost there. I've still got a few phrases that need work, and there are a couple
        of legal technicalities I want to be sure of before I send it off. I'll have the
        final draft done for you to look over in a few days.

Celegorm:
        The one bad thing is, we won't be able to see Elwe's face when he gets it.
        I wish there were some way to scry that scene!

Curufin:
        True, alas. That would be -- amusing.

    [sighs]

        Ah well, if wishes were horses then -- beggars -- would ride, indeed --

    [They exchange grins. On the tiles Huan, head on paws, gives a soft worried whine.]

Gower:
        Having crossed the gulf, the narrow bridge (though not sword but hair)
        Tinuviel will brook no longer biding, as caged woodthrush seeks the air--

    [An empty hallway in Nargothrond. It shouldn't be spooky-looking at all, only
    deserted and rather winding, so that you can't see very far along it, because
    it follows the natural contours of the cavern from which it's been carved. Luthien
    appears around a curve, walking very carefully, one hand on the wall as though
    it were pitch-dark not pleasantly lit.]

Luthien: [under her breath, to herself]
        -- I never get lost. I don't understand it -- everything feels jumbled,
        disorganized, I can't find any center to it --I can't find East, I can't find
        West, all I can tell is up from down -- and I'm not even sure about that --

    [she sags against the wall]

        Oh, Beren, I'm no use to you at all! I've accomplished what? nothing -- I can't
        seem to make anyone understand the need for action -- you'd think they'd see the
        need for urgency right off, though -- There's something wrong here, some fog or
        darkness clouding everyone's mind, it seems, that they can't think straight, can't
        keep their priorities straight --

    [even more worried]

        I wonder -- no, surely not -- but -- I wonder if -- perhaps with the King being
        gone the wards are breaking down and Morgoth's managing to influence people somehow?
        I've heard of it, I know he tries it all the time with us and Mom stops him: is
        this what it would look like? Everybody muddled, acting like nothing's happened
        and everything is normal, no matter how crazy it is under the circumstances? Going
        about their daily business when they should be mobilizing like there's no tomorrow?

    [frowns, shaking her head]

        . . . but then I thought we had all the time in the world, too, even though I
        knew better, and now I grudge every hour I wasted this Spring -- so perhaps it's
        just that they can't help it, and I've changed so much that I can't understand
        us now . . .

    [There's a noise behind her and she jumps up straight and whirls around in a single
    movement, facing that way -- never forget that she's been a dancer longer than most
    civilizations have lasted. Sharply:]

        Who's there?

    [There is no answer: she girds up her shawl and strides around the arc of the
    passage, camera following]

        Who is -- Ah!

    [Huan is standing there, looking a bit apprehensive]

Luthien:
        Ohhh! --Hello. Come here--

    [she holds out her hands and claps at him, making chirping noises]

        Come on, don't be scared, good boy--

    [Huan comes closer, shy-dog mode -- though if he were not a Hound one might think
    he was embarrassed instead]

        Good dog!

    [he sniffs her hand, then licks it, and she scratches his ears]

        I'm sorry, I don't have any treats for you. I was wondering where you'd got to.
        --I wish you were my dog. That would surprise them at home, wouldn't it -- you
        wouldn't let them shut me up in a tree if you belonged to me, I'll bet. Where
        have you been? Oh, but you're a working Hound, I suppose you've been out doing
        your job, hunting Wargs.

    [Huan wags tail; she pats him hard on the neck like a horse]

        Beren would like you so much, he used to have dogs -- I wonder if you met him
        while he was here? I'm sure you'd love him too--

    [Huan leans against her and whuffs in her hair: she wipes her eyes against his
    coat. From the same direction as Huan Celegorm comes around the passage and sees them]

Celegorm:
        Huan!

    [they are both startled by this]

        --Don't be frightened, my lady, he won't hurt you.

Luthien:
        Oh, I'm not. --I know.

Celegorm: [apologetic]
        You seemed a bit shaken up when you were last around him.

Luthien:
        Well, I was. Literally.

    [Celegorm gives her an awkward smile]

Celegorm:
        Yes, I know -- I'm -- I'm sorry about that, Your Highness.

Luthien:
        I think twelve apologies is enough, milord, don't you? No harm was done. And the
        time could be better spent, I'm sure.

Celegorm:
        Ah. --Right. What are you doing wandering around all by yourself? Can I help you?

Luthien:
        I don't know. I was trying to find the Regent's office, and someone gave me
        directions -- several someones in fact --  but I think I must have taken a wrong
        turning somewhere. Or several.

Celegorm:
        You know, you really shouldn't be just roaming about without a guide -- it could
        be dangerous, my lady.

Luthien: [narrows eyes]
        Dangerous?

Celegorm:
        There's all kinds of stuff goin' on here, you know. Workings you probably never
        even heard of, high-powered security features and maintainance and construction--

Luthien: [dryly]
        I imagine that I can avoid walking into a hot stove or tripping into a cistern
        on my own, Lord Celegorm.

Celegorm:
        Where are your ladies? Not slacking off on the job? Shouldn't you have an assistant?

Luthien:
        I sent them away. I'm not used to having so many people around all the time.
        I haven't seen more than one or two people at once for weeks now -- until you
        caught me.

Celegorm: [ignoring the hints]
        Oh. But -- who looks after your things?

Luthien:
        I do. Why?

Celegorm:
        I wish you'd accept some new clothes. You -- you shouldn't be obliged to go around
        in those awful old rags.

Luthien:
        I told you, I don't feel comfortable taking charity from Nargothrond without
        having presented myself properly as a guest seeking asylum to the King my cousin,
        given the unofficial and destabilizing circumstances of my arrival. There's been
        enough strife in our families as it is . . .

    [aside]

        . . . and I'm harder to ignore this way . . .

Celegorm: [blandly]
        He wouldn't mind, you know.

    [Huan's tail stops wagging and his head droops under Luthien's hand]

Luthien:
        I know. But I still just don't feel right about it. And besides -- this outfit has
        sentimental meaning for me: it's the first dress Beren saw me in. And I made it
        myself, it isn't something my mother made for me -- I didn't take anything they
        gave me -- so for a lot of reasons I'm rather attached to it.

Celegorm:
        But -- the edges, the what-d'ye-call-ems, hems, are all coming off. Getting to be
        less and less attached to it, so to speak.

Luthien:
        It's not so bad. I can just rip the loose bits off.

Celegorm: [embarrased]
        But, well, I mean -- they're going to get awfully grubby, aren't they?

Luthien: [shrugs]
        I wash them in the sink and put them on chairs in front of the fire at night.
        That's what I did while I was on the road. Only streams, of course, not a basin.
        That would have been a little much to carry along.

Celegorm: [distressed look]
        But -- surely -- you weren't just hanging about the woods in the altogether,
        waiting for your garments to dry?!

Luthien:
        Oh, no, I just wore my cape until I finished wringing them. Damp clothes are just
        an annoyance, anyway. They dry out fast enough if you keep walking quickly.

    [Celegorm looks at a loss -- the expression of someone in the difficult situation of
    wanting to say that's barbaric and revolting but recognizing that it would be impolitic
    to say so, and also wanting to find some way to excuse it just because of who the person
    responsible is...]

Luthien:
        Anyway, where is my cape? Surely the Sages can't still be trying to figure out how
        it works? They ought to ask me, if they can't figure it out, though I probably won't
        be able to help them duplicate the results, since I made it all up as I went along.

Celegorm:
        Ah. --Yes. You'd have to check with my brother about that, I really couldn't say
        myself. He'll know how they're coming along -- ask him when you next see him,
        all right?

    [aside]

        Which'll be quite a while if he can help it.

Luthien:
        Maybe you can help me find him after we talk to Orodreth, then?

Celegorm:
        My lady, I'll be happy and delighted to spend the day with you.

Luthien:
        The day?! Surely it won't take that long to get to Orodreth's office!

Celegorm:
        What? Oh -- I mean, it might take a while to get in to see him. He's awfully busy,
        you know.

Luthien:
       Then can we go find Lord Curufin first, and ask him about my cape?

Celegorm:
        Oh, he isn't around right now -- he's out with the Border Guard right now.

Luthien:
        So can we go find him?

Celegorm:
        Well -- they've ridden a good ways out --

Luthien:
        And?

Celegorm:
        It's dangerous out there, your Highness . . . besides, what do you need it right
        now for? You're not planning on leaving us so soon, I hope!

Luthien:
        So? It's mine. And I'm not comfortable having it out of my hands. It is part
        of me, after all.

Celegorm: [chuckles]
        Was, you mean.

Luthien: [narrow look]
        My hair is still mine. I didn't give it away.

Celegorm: [grinning]
        So, if you gave me a lock, then --

    [pulls a curl and lets it spring back]

        --would that mean you had a, hah,  split personality?

Luthien: [annoyed]
        Please don't touch my hair. --Can we go and find the Regent's office, now, milord?

    [As Celegorm bows and starts walking leisurely back along the way he and Huan came,
    she steps up the pace so that he has to hurry to stay level with her. Something falls
    from the edge of her blue wrap and hits the floor with a sharp clink.]

Celegorm:
        Oh --

    [halts her]

Luthien:
        What is it?

Celegorm:
        You lost a star. --Part of a star, at least. A ray, looks like--

    [He bends and picks up the gem for her.]

Luthien: [blankly]
        Oh.

    [keeps walking, disregards it]

Celegorm:
        Don't you want it? I can have someone sew it back on for you--

Luthien: [shrugging]
        I can do that. It -- just -- isn't very important, really.

Celegorm:
        May I have it?

Luthien: [blinks]
        You've a shortage of quartz, my lord?

Celegorm: [laughs]
        I was going to make it into something else for you, since your mantle's such
        a wreck; I thought it might make the heart of a nice pendant. Though actually
        I'd get my brother to do it -- he's the artist of the family.

    [pause -- Luthien just looks at him]

        What? Don't you wear jewelry in Doriath? Or just things made from natural stuff,
        like, oh, flowers and leaves and all?

    [pause continues]

Luthien: [flatly]
        Aren't there really more important things to be devoting your energy to? --Such
        as getting the rescue mission underway?

    [pause]

Celegorm: [utmost sincerity]
        --We Noldor are good at multitasking, your Highness.

Luthien:
        Ah.

    [Huan's head and tail go lower]

Celegorm: [hurt]
        You don't sound as though you believe me. I'm crushed, Lady Luthien, absolutely
        crushed--

Luthien: [troubled]
        Well, I'm not entirely reassured by what I've seen -- or haven't seen. And you
        still haven't explained why you pretended you didn't know what I was talking
        about when you met me, or why you pretended to be "Lords Atarin and Turcofin of
        Nargothrond" --?

Celegorm:
        We weren't pretending. Never said we didn't know what you were talking about,
        did we?

Luthien:
        But -- you know what I mean -- you certainly implied it --?! And you did lie
        about your names and all, didn't you?

Celegorm: [hurt]
   &bbsp;    I wasn't lying. Nargothrond is our home now, ever since the War drove us out
        of the North Country, just like your friend Barahirion.

Luthien:
        And your names?

Celegorm:
        We use names from both sides of the family in Aman. The custom's catching on
        here too, I've noticed. One from your mother, one from your father -- plus the
        extras everyone picks up along the yeni. So those really are our names, you see.
        Just not all of 'em.

Luthien: [musing]
        Well, I suppose it saves a couple the trouble of actually having to agree on
        something, doing it that way.

    [Celegorm laughs -- Luthien gives him a frowning look: it wasn't meant to be a joke.
    They start walking again]

        But why did you let me go on like that, like a complete idiot, and not tell me
        you knew all about it or who you were until we reached the City?

Celegorm:
        Well, if we'd said, "Oh, hullo, we're some of Feanor's boys, just happening
        through in your direction with an armed party," wouldn't you have taken off
        again like a pheasant breaking? After all the harsh words your father's had
        for us?

Luthien: [very dry]
        Given the way things have been going between me and my family, lately, I'd be
        far more likely to assume gross exaggeration and given you the benefit of the
        doubt -- but I suppose you couldn't've known that. . .

Celegorm:
        And how were we to know that you weren't some phantom or figment of the Enemy's
        making, sent to lure us into an ambush or whatnot? I mean, it isn't every day
        that my Hound brings me a gorgeous girl instead of a disgusting dead wolf, you
        know. Not until you were inside the City's defenses and didn't disappear or turn
        into a wraith or something fell like that.

Luthien:
        --I've heard of those . . .

    [the Carillion is heard in the halls]

        Oh! There's that bell-thing again -- it's been another what, four hours? Six?
        Can we hurry, please?

    [She darts on ahead, forcing Celegorm to catch up to her, Huan trailing him with
    tail dragging the tiles until they are out of sight around another curve.]

Gower:
        Those who venture, forsaking paths, in forests dark and dolesome,
        may well find it harder far, returning to ways wholesome--

    [The royal apartments. Most everything that was Orodreth's is out now. Through one
    of the inner chamber doorways Curufin can be seen -- he goes as if to open a small
    box lying on one of the tables, but hesitates, drawing his hand back before touching
    it. Instead he opens a large flat case next to it and starts to reach in, but stops
    as Finduilas comes stalking quickly into the suite. Hastily he shuts it and turns
    around, coming out into the antechamber.]

Finduilas: [acid]
        So are you just moving in and taking over openly, now?

Curufin: [shrugs]
        Ask your father, Sparkly.

Finduilas:
        I did. I want to hear your version.

Curufin: [mild]
        What does it matter, since you've already made up your mind?

Finduilas:
        --So you are.

Curufin: [raises hands]
        I didn't say that. You did.

Finduilas:
        But you implied it.

Curufin: [surprisingly unsarcastic throughout]
        No, you did. --Did you want something other than to snarl at me, little cousin?

Finduilas:
        I'm here for my music things. And the Nauglamir.

Curufin:
        Yes, I was surprised to see he'd forgotten it . . .

Finduilas: [biting]
        You know he won't touch it. If it weren't so valuable he'd leave it on the
        throne with the Crown, but he says there's no sense in tempting people.

Curufin:
        Well, you know where it is.

    [Finduilas sweeps past him and comes back out with the large case under her arm.]

Finduilas:
        Is that her cape in that casket beside it? The one that feels like there's
        water or wind coming off of it?

Curufin:
        Why do you ask, when you already know?

Finduilas: [caustic]
        What are you keeping it for, anyway? Shouldn't it be in the Research
        Department for study? Or else give it back to her?

Curufin:
            Little cousin, are you being naive or just affected?

Finduilas:
        Oh! I hate you. Don't talk to me!

Curufin:
        I know we've had our differences --

Finduilas:
        Differences? You take over our home, and you call that -- "differences"? You
        threatened us with civil war, and those are "differences" --?

Curufin: [holding up his hand, overriding her interruptions]
        --Did I ever do that? No. That was the construction your uncle and his partisans
        put on my words, forcing a confrontation for reasons of their own. Ask yourself
        honestly why, after so long a time without difficulty -- whith everything at
        last back to normal, or as close to normal as we will likely see in Nargothrond
        -- he should put us in such a position, fabricating an incident whereby such a
        clash was made inevitable? If that is not at all suspicious, I don't know what is--

    [pause]

        But that's neither here nor there. I won't argue with you when you've made up
        your mind -- especially when you know you agree with me . . .

Finduilas:
        Stop making it sound like I'm the one being unreasonable -- what do you mean,
        "agree with" you?

Curufin: [shrugs]
        --You don't want to hear what I have to say, so what does it matter?

Finduilas:
        Stop that! You're treating me like a child -- again.

Curufin:
        I beg your pardon. It's difficult being the one to see what those who haven't,
        alas, the same tragic experience can only imagine, and build opinions based on
        lofty ideals and half-heard facts not fully understood. I'm afraid I tend to get
        a bit impatient, which comes out in sarcasm.

Finduilas:
        Don't try to win me over to your side. I'm not stupid.

Curufin:
        I would never suggest it. Merely -- young, and easily led.

Finduilas: [haughty]
        May I remind you, cousin, that I crossed the Grinding Ice, too.

Curufin:
        Indeed. --And why did you have to undergo that ordeal? Who led your group into
        that disastrous adventure? --We didn't tell you to follow us; it isn't my family
        you should be blaming for that expedition, now, --is it?

Finduilas:
        Oh, be quiet! You twist everything around --

Curufin: [interrupting]
        Yes -- that's what your sweetheart tells you, and I'm sure it's far more pleasant,
        as well as easier, to listen to him than to me.

Finduilas:
        --Gwin doesn't tell me how to think!

Curufin: [clearly disbelieving]
        No? Well, you should know best . . .

    [she does not answer]

Curufin:
        I don't expect you to change your mind about me. But I would request that you
        ask yourself -- you don't have to answer me, either -- just ask yourself,
        honestly, without worrying about what you should think, about permission--
        do you truly think that it's a good thing? --This business of one of us, getting
        romantically involved with a mortal?

Finduilas:
        I don't see that it's anyone's business but theirs.

Curufin:
        Oh, you haven't thought about it at all, then.

Finduilas: [tossing her head]
        You're impossible. I don't want to hear your rationalizations.

Curufin:
        Of course not. You might have to actually think, then. --No, don't stamp your
        foot at me and stomp off, these shoot-from-ambush-and-run tactics aren't worthy
        of a Noldor princess. If you really believe I'm wrong, you'll be able to prove why.

    [Finduilas just gives him a Look, but doesn't say anything to contradict him, or leave.]

Curufin: [mock surprise]
        What, you're going to give me a chance to explain myself? I'm staggered by your
        generosity, your Highness! How can I repay you?

Finduilas: [dryly]
        --Don't press your luck, cousin.

    [but she is starting to smile though she fights it]

Curufin:
        Certainly not, I wouldn't dare -- all right, then, how is this? The ex-Lord of
        Dorthonion is undoubtedly a warrior of great prowess in the fight against our
        common adversary. I would never deny that. But is that enough? Does that actually
        mean anything, when you come right down to it?

    [Finduilas starts to interrupt, but he holds up his hand, and she waits]

        Consider the facts -- the inescapable facts of the world -- which you surely know
        far better than she, on a practical level, not an intellectual one, having spent
        so much of the time since the Return actually in day-to-day contact with Men, not
        simply having heard about them secondhand from the extremes of hostility and
        favoritism, as she. You are aware of the brevity of mortal lifespan. You have heard
        more than mere legends and romantic tales -- you also have heard the true and dreary
        stories of petty squabbles and small concerns that involved the Beorings and their
        allied nations over the centuries. But all that--

    [He frowns, looking troubled and reluctant to go on -- she gives him an impatient look]

        All that -- might not matter, were the Lady Luthien not who she is, but a simple
        woodland maiden with no other role in society. Her right to ruin her own life,
        her foolish self-deception as to the inevitable tragedy of such a union, would be
        hers alone. But that is not, unfortunately, the case. --She is, after all, like
        you the heir to a great responsibility, the throne of one of the few Elven dominions
        capable of withstanding the Enemy's assaults in these sorry days--

Finduilas: [interrupting]
        --I'm not the heir to the throne!

Curufin:
        --If not you, then who is? Why else does your father enlist you to do his work
        with him? He, at least, understands the need for prudence, howsoever his
        romantic ideallism wars with his sense of duty.

Finduilas:
        My father can't stand you.

Curufin: [raises his hands helplessly]
        We do not always know our friends -- nor, I venture to say, even like them,
        contradictory as that may seem.

Fiunduilas: [sarcastic expression]
        Friends.

Curufin:
        Say, at least, that we have common cause -- that we -- all of us -- value
        Nargothrond and this realm's people above any abstractions of "duty" and "honour"
        and that as a consequence, we are bound to be misinterpreted and misjudged by those
        who let heart rule head. --Have you not experienced that yourself? Are not you,
        and your future father-in-law, made scapegrace for the unwilling recognition of
        that duty by your fiance?

    [she does not answer]

        I see that you do.

    [Finduilas goes as though they had not had this conversation to get her lute and
    folders of sheet music. Her hands are shaking, her knuckles showing on the Nauglamir's
    case  and she drops the portfolios -- while kneeling down to gather them up one handed,
    the lute strap slips off her shoulder. Curufin scoops it all together, puts the lute
    back up for her and hands her the music folios. She glares at him, her expression very
    still now, not scornful, just hostile.]

        Thank you for at least hearing me out, Highness. Just -- think about it, that's all.

    [She says nothing, and walks out with head held high. After she is out of sight,
    Curufin smiles.]

    [The Throne Room. It is deserted and dim inside. Huan enters, very slowly, almost
    plodding, his head and tail still dragging. He approaches the throne and stands there,
    not moving, before collapsing down suddenly with a huff and putting his nose down on
    his outstretched forelegs. He lies on the lowest tier of the dais, not asleep, anxious.]

Gower:
        Blindly spun, the webs, snares and toils of deceit,
        haply may snare not only purposed prey, but other feet--

    [The antechamber to Orodreth's apartments -- it's more of an indoor formal garden,
    with benches and carved planters integral to floor and walls and some water in raised
    squared channels -- very Amarna in style, in fact. Luthien and Celegorm are sitting
    across from each other on an angle of benches, while an Aide of the Regent sorts
    scrolls from boxes into a rack in an annex on the side which has apparently been
    converted into an outer office. He keeps giving them Looks, covertly. There is a
    definitely closed look to the double doors leading to the inner rooms -- they don't
    look like they're meant to be opened at all.]

Luthien: [earnest]
        So I've been thinking it over, and I think, personally, that we shouldn't rely
        on our forces alone, but ought to send word to your other cousins out West and
        try to get some reinforcements for the assault -- probably keep them for surprise
        and ambuscade on a retreating path, that seems like it might be most effective.
        Of course, you might have already thought of that. Anyway, what do I know about
        offensive missions, and perhaps it's completely foolish?

    [She waits expectantly -- Celegorm is looking at her earnestly, his head a little on
    one side, kind of smiling, but with a bit of a glazed expression. He doesn't answer.]

Luthien:
        --Are you even listening? You look like someone whose next words are going
        to be -- "I think I know why the clouds are white sometimes and why they change
        colors others." Or maybe, "Do you think one could build a flet that would go
        all the way across the river?"

Celegorm:
        Eh? What? No, no, I'm paying attention -- I assure you, no one could possibly
        be paying more attention to you than I am right now. --You were saying--?

Luthien: [exasperated sigh]
        I was saying that after we deal with rescuing them I am going to insist on
        a full-fledged plan of attack. I understand why for reasons of propriety and
        the rules governing quests and all, my cousin might have refused your offer of
        assistance, but obviously a small covert-ops mission is too dangerous, and
        we've got to use all the resources at our disposal.

    [Orodreth's assistant gives them a sudden sharp glance from where he is
    working/eavesdropping, with an angry glare at Celegorm afterwards]

        My father might take exception, but so long as the exact words of his demand
        are fulfilled, I don't think it matters one jot who actually pulls the damned
        thing off Morgoth's crown and so long as we show up with enough of an escort,
        I'm not worried. Even if he tries to argue the legality of it, let me assure you,
        no one has ever won an argument with me when I'm right. I just don't think most
        things are worth arguing over, usually -- I guess I take after my Mom more that
        way, along with my hair. --Did that make sense?

Celegorm: [staring into her eyes again]
        Mm-hmm . . .

Luthien:
        And we should take Huan along, I imagine he must be just as good in a real
        fight as in a hunt--

Celegorm:
        Oh, he's a terror in battle, death-on-four-legs to Orcs just like wargs, always
        where the fighting's thickest -- Hey, there, you didn't mean "we" when you said
        "we" there, did you? As in you, yourself, did you?

Luthien:
        No, I meant "we" as in us, our side, that's all -- I can't think that I'd be
        anything but in the way, I'm no Galadriel, though I'm better-than-fair at
        patching people up afterwards.

    [aside]

        Though I'm beginning to think I'd better, so that there's one person whose mind
        isn't turned into mush by the Enemy!

Celegorm:
        No, I can't see anyone calling you "tomboy", even with that haircut, hah!

Luthien: [frowning]
        Where is Huan, anyway? I thought he was over there by the, I guess it's a
        pond, but obviously he isn't...

Celegorm:
        Oh, he always wanders about, shows up when you need him. He'll turn up for
        supper, too, you can be sure.

    [pause]

        You really do like him, don't you?

Luthien:
        I think he's wonderful. I wouldn't mind having a Hound like him at all.

Celegorm:
        I warn you, he eats like a horse.

Luthien: [half-smiling]
        Yes, but you wouldn't need a horse with him around, would you?

    [Celegorm laughs]

Celegorm:
        I must say I'm still surprised -- but not really I suppose -- more in awe of,
        your courage. I keep expecting you to be terrified of him.

Luthien: [wry]
        What, because he chased me up and down trees and all around the woods like
        I was some kind of giant black squirrel before carrying me back to you
        like a puppy?

Celegorm: [blinks]
        Er, yes?

Luthien:
        Why? I could tell -- once he stopped chasing me -- that he's Good and wouldn't
        ever hurt anyone not on Morgoth's side.

Celegorm: [admiring]
        You're awfully perceptive.

Luthien: [bitterly]
        Heh.

Celegorm:
        Hey, did I tell you that Orome himself gave Huan to me?

Luthien:
        Yes, you did. Now--

Celegorm: [oblivious]
        He taught me the language of nature, how to understand animal communication
        and tracking and weather and so forth, you know. That's why I'm such a great
        hunter, y'see.

Luthien: [actually interested for the first time in something he's said]
        Oh, really? That's just like Beren.

Celegorm: [taken aback]
        What? --You're joking.

Luthien:
        No, it's true. --I don't suppose he would have said anything if there wasn't
        a need for it -- it isn't like he brags about his accomplishments, "Oh, I'm
        this great hero and the Terror of the North and all," it's more like --
        "Oh, so you're that Beren?!" and you get back "Er, which one? You mean me or my
        grandad?" It was hours of that before I got him to admit that yes, he was the one
        in the legends Mablung had been hearing, and I can't remember when I heard so
        many qualifications and disclaimers in a single conversation. He used to be the
        best hunter in his homeland, too, before he gave it up.

Celegorm: [chuckling]
        Well, you know how it is, we all say we are, the best at huntin' or fishin' or
        any kind of a sportin' thing!

Luthien:
        Oh, no, I've seen him track things in the dark and charm animals out from cover
        to eat from his hand.

Celegorm: [nonplussed]
        Well.

    [pause]

        --I don't expect he learned it from a god, all the same.

Luthien:
        No, he's almost certainly self-taught.

    [she stops talking and looks rather fixedly ahead, then sniffles]

Celegorm:
        Oh, don't cry -- please don't, I can't stand to see a lady crying--

    [takes her hand]

        Everything's going to be all right.

    [clasps it in his other hand]

        --Trust me.

    [While she is trying not to break down, Finduilas enters with her various burdens.
    She is almost at the impromptu reception office by the time she notices them there,
    to her great and not-too-pleasant surprise. Setting down her music stuff on a bench
    she takes the Nauglamir into the annex and engages in a hasty whispered conversation
    with the Aide, before going over to where Luthien and Celegorm are sitting.]

Finduilas:
        Luthien. I -- I understand you've been waiting, to talk to my father.

Luthien: [nods]
        Y--yes. He's been in meetings all day. Or night. I'm not sure which it is now.

Finduilas:
        I'm so sorry. He's -- not going to be free for at least another bell. Probably two.

Luthien:
        Oh. Ohhh.

    [She shakes her head, taking a deep breath, and makes an exasperated noise]

Celegorm: [sympathetic but patronizing]
        I did try to tell you, milady . . .

Luthien: [distracted, shaking her head]
        Why--? I don't -- I --

    [she leans against a bit of decorative wall, panting]

Finduilas: [anxiously]
        You look faint -- Have you eaten at all today?

Luthien:
        I -- I'm not sure. I don't know what time it is down here --

Celegorm: [masterful]
        --Why don't we see about having something sent up to your rooms, and I'm sure
        our little cousin here will be happy to look after everything, and as soon as
        our good Regent gets free we'll have someone pop along to let you know, all
        right? No sense in you wasting your time and starving here for no good reason,
        is there?

    [Reluctant, but not really up to arguing with both of them, Luthien allows Finduilas
    to take her arm and lead her outside. Celegorm wanders around, looking at the art
    on the walls with a critical eye and surveying the results of the unpacking.]

Celegorm:
        What a mess this place is in! Though I dare say you've made a lot of progress.

    [The Regent's Aide gives him a foul Look; Celegorm keeps poking around the solar]

        So she likes Huan, eh?

    [grins]

Aide: [stiffly]
        Do you need to see His Highness about anything, my lord?

Celegorm: [waves hand languidly]
        No, not at all. Carry on with your filing and whatnot; I've got to see a dog
        about a girl myself . . .

    [He strolls out, whistling; the Aide slams a scroll case into its pigeonhole with
    a loud bang.]

Gower:
            --Met but with silence, the anxious traveler pursues
        answers -- prevented from her own pursuit, seeks clues
        to the dark mystery wrapped in Nargothrond's fair hues--

    [Interior of Luthien's apartments. The outer room is a small solar, from which a
    hallway leads to the private suite, and has a paneled door opening onto the hallway
    that is meant to stay open. Around the room are arched panels  made to look like
    windows, which are murals made of cut stones set in like stained glass and discreetly
    lit. The decoration is more naturalistic here than elsewhere in Nargothrond, less
    abstract, and it is of course exquisitely lovely. Luthien is standing there with Finduilas,
    looking frustrated as well as tired.]

Finduilas:
        Do you feel better now?

Luthien:
        Not really. --I think your dad's avoiding me.

Finduilas:
        Oh, no, I'm sure you're mistaken -- he -- he's just terribly busy. I hardly
        see him -- and I'm his assistant!

Luthien:
        Then why can't I talk to him?

Finduilas: [patiently]
        Because he's too busy.

Luthien: [leadingly]
        With--?

Finduilas:
        Well -- Nargothrond, of course.

Luthien:
        And--?

    [pause]

        The rescue mission--?

Finduilas:
        Oh -- well -- of course -- that too.

Luthien: [unconvinced]
        Hm.

    [walks over to the nearest of the artificial "windows" and runs her hand across
    the carvings]

Finduilas:
        Aren't those wonderful? That's the view looking west from our house in Tirion.

Luthien: [making conversation]
        The trees are very beautiful. They look almost like real beeches.

Finduilas:
        Oh, those aren't beeches, they're mallorns. They only grow in Aman -- they're
        sacred to Yavanna, you see..

Luthien:
        Well, they look like they'd be perfect for climbing. I can see why she loves them.

    [Finduilas gives her a funny look]

        Did you bring these with you? They seem -- awfully -- large.

Finduilas:
        No, my aunt made them. These are her rooms when she comes to visit, and she did
        all the decoration for them herself.

Luthien:
        Your aunt is an astounding person. I think she's the only Elf to ever master
        our double-harness loom in a single day.

Finduilas: [not trying to sound patronizing, but doing a darn good job all the same]
        Well, she is Noldor, after all.

Luthien: [frowning]
        Have you seenthe loom my mother invented? The one that weaves the same pattern
        on both sides, only with different colors? It takes most people two days just to
        set it up. And isn't your family half-Teler, anyway? What does that have to do
        with anything?

Finduilas: [nervous giggle]
        Well, -- obviously -- you understand --

Luthien: [clearly doesn't]
        How long does it take you to set one up? I know she takes the loom she made with
        her, so maybe you've worked on it. Mine was only a quarter-sized version and it
        took longer to make enough width because of that, and it still took me forever
        to warp it all in -- I think I must have spent half the night getting it strung.

    [curious]

        How come you never came to visit us, when your family did?

Finduilas: [awkwardly]
        Oh. Well. So far to go, you know.

Luthien:
        It isn't that far, I've traveled it. And I didn't even have a horse.

Finduilas:
        It's just . . . there were so many things to do here, and . . . you know . . .
        nothing really to do, by comparison.

Luthien: [dry voice]
        Yes, that's why your aunt stayed with us all that time, because there was nothing
        to do there.

Finduilas: [condescending]
        Oh, don't be so sensitive. I'm sure it's a wonderful place. You must be very
        homesick for it, I'm sure.

Luthien: [shrugs]
        It isn't my home any more. It was. But my home is with Beren now.

Finduilas: [shocked]
        But you must have some regrets, leaving your family and your home and everything
        you've ever known --

Luthien:
        There is one regret I have, yes.

    [brief pause]

       -- That I waited so long to follow after him.

    [recovering/covering, tapping on one of the mallorn images]

        How tall are they?

Finduilas: [a little thrown by the change and topic]
        Um -- tall -- I don't really know exactly . . .

Luthien:
        I wonder if they're taller than Hirilorn -- you could certainly build a house
        there, all right. Looks a good deal easier to get down from, though. Huh.

    [she shakes her head]

Finduilas:
        I can't imagine what you must have been thinking . . .

Luthien:
        Mostly -- I hope I tied that knot properly.

Finduilas:
        Oh! No, I meant -- for all of it.

Luthien: [gloomy]
        They can't do this to me -- How can they do this to me? -- Star and water,
        that's a long way down! Not in any particular order.

    [pause]

        --Was that what you were asking about?

Finduilas:
        Well . . .

Luthien:
        I mean, really there wasn't a lot of thought, just planning, if you see what
        I'm getting at. By the time I actually succeeded in escaping I'd already done
        all the agonizing over it -- there was just a lag between, unfortunately.

Finduilas:
        I more meant, have you really considered it? Do you think it was the wisest
        thing to do? Given the war situation, and your family, and your responsibilities
        to your kingdom and all?

Luthien:
        I'm sorry, are you trying to say I shouldn't have run away, I should have stayed
        stuck in a tree forever?

Finduilas:
        Not exactly, but, well, I mean they wouldn't have left you up there forever, really.

Luthien:
        Considering the fact that their preconditions for release were completely
        unacceptable, and considering how stubborn we all are, forever is exactly what
        we're talking about here.

Finduilas:
        But can't you see their point of view at all? I mean you can't really blame them
        for wanting you to be safe, especially with what you said they said about those
        Orc-raids having been targeted at you all along--

Luthien: [interrupting]
        I told you I think they were just saying that. Or rather my dad was, because Mom
        didn't say anything, which I think means it wasn't true, though not necessarily,
        because I've never heard her tell a lie in my life -- I don't think she can. Though
        come to think of it I haven't ever heard Dad tell one either. --But I still don't
        believe it, given the situation.

Finduilas: [shrugs]
        Anyway, you can't deny that there are Wolf-riders and awful Things out there --
        it only stands to reason that they shouldn't want you to get hurt by them. Imagine
        how they'd feel if you were captured by the Enemy!

Luthien:
        What, the same way I feel knowing Beren's a prisoner?

Finduilas:
        . . .

    [pause]

Luthien: [relenting]
        Look, I gave them every possible chance. If they didn't want this to happen then
        first, they shouldn't have lost it when they heard about Beren -- did you know
        that Daeron was actually hoping the search parties would shoot him, that's why he
        told my father? I was almost angry enough to throw him out of the tree when he
        admitted that -- and secondly they shouldn't have pulled that craziness about a
        Silmaril on us, and then they shouldn't have expected me to just sit there and say,
        "Oh, well," when my mom says he's been caught! What did she think I was going to do
        with that information?

    [she begins pacing back and forth agitatedly, rant gaining power, while Finduilas
    is being a Good Listener]

Luthien:
        So at that point, they could have given me a division and said "All right,
        you win, we're not going to approve, but at least you're going to go about it
        properly," but no -- we get hours of lectures as if I was some stupid little kid
        caught stringing triplines in the house or something dumb like that, and not
        listening to me at all, and then "Well, we're going to have to lock you in your
        room, but you'd get sick, and you'd probably get out anyway, so we have just
        the solution!" --And then thinking that somehow having Daeron lecture me instead
        was going to work, and not only that but make me "get over" Beren? "Oh, we'll
        just substitute him instead and she won't notice"--? "We like him better, so of
        course she will too"--? I mean, really now!

    [she pauses for breath, huffing indignantly]

Finduilas:
        But you can understand that, can't you? I mean, from a n-- a -- an outsider's
        point of view, Daeron has a lot going for him. He's even famous at the High
        King's court. Everyone loves his music, and even if the cirth aren't as pretty
        as our writing, they are fast and easy. And they've known him long enough to
        know if he's reliable and trustworthy and Good, after all.

    [pause]

Luthien: [very dry]
        If what my parents meant when they said all my life, that the most important
        things were truth and goodness and right judgment and so on, and I should only
        ever marry someone she saw really embodied all of them, -- was that I should
        really marry the old family friend and world-famous artist, composer, and
        inventor of a unique compressed data-storage system who just happened to have
        never thought of me as anything but a little kid until I finally found someone
        who embodied all those qualities -- then they jolly well should have said
        something before!

Finduilas: [discomfort]
        Should they have to? I mean . . . really--?

Luthien:
        Ah, come again?

Finduilas:
        Well, obviously they thought he was suitable for you, if they encouraged you
        to spend so much time together for so long.

Luthien:
        Actually it was because he made a very good babysitter when I insisted on climbing
        into my mother's yarn and trying to crawl through the looms. My father loves music
        but he isn't much of a musician himself, and they could always distract me with the
        flute. And then when I was older they all decided he could teach me too, and that
        would work out well. How was I to know that one day out of the blue he'd stop
        thinking of me as "cute little kid sister" and think "--A tender goddess!" instead?

    [snorts]

        --Idiot!

Finduilas: [shocked]
        But -- he's a genius, Luthien!

Luthien:
        I don't care how many disciplines Daeron counts as a Sage in -- he's still
        an idiot. The fact that he would think that getting my true love killed would
        make me like him better, or at all, just goes to show that lore isn't everything.

Finduilas:
        But don't you feel at all sorry for him?

Luthien:
        Of course. I started talking to him again, didn't I?

Finduilas:
        Well, yes -- but that was because you need his help again, you said. Don't you
        feel you were just using him, rather?

Luthien:
        No, it was long before that. I listened to his apologies for days before I made
        up my mind to escape and figured out how and enlisted him. But regardless -- are
        you trying to say, that because I needed his assistance, I should not have talked
        to him, but only if I hadn't needed anything of him should I have forgiven him?
        That seems rather cruel, not to mention counterproductive.

    [pause]

Finduilas:
        That doesn't make any sense.

Luthien:
        That's what I thought.

    [pause -- she leans back against a "window" and folds her arms]

        I'm sort of getting the impression that you disapprove of what I've done.

Finduilas:
        Well -- I did think it was incredibly romantic at first -- but then . . . I
        actually thought about it, and -- Luthien, how?

Luthien:
        Ah, "how" what? That covers an awful lot of territory.

Finduilas:
        Luthien, he's a child! He's not even half a yen old, and -- It's -- it's just
        wrong. In so many different ways.

    [long silence]

Luthien:
        Do you know how much older my mother is than my father?

    [pause]

        Neither does she.

Finduilas:
        How can you not know how old you are?

Luthien:
        Well -- there wasn't any way to reckon time for most of her life, so it's really
        a meaningless question. But the measurable part -- in the sense of there being
        landmarks, so to speak, is from before there were the Stars, before any of our
        people awoke, and before there were any differences between Elf and Elf in
        Middle-earth.

Finduilas:
       All right -- but that's different.

Luthien:
        How?

    [Finduilas just gives her an exasperated look, as though she is being tiresome]

        I'm serious -- this is what I keep asking, and not getting answers to.

    [starts pacing again as she talks]

        You're being just like them. "Oh, Luthien's gone crazy--" "He must have put some
        kind of Enemy sorcery on you--" "What's wrong with you? Don't you care about your
        mother and me?" "--You always used to be so responsible!"

    [Finduilas, getting tired of turning around every time Luthien does another turn
    up the room, takes a chair from the octagonal table in the center of the room and
    leans forward, being Very Serious.]

Finduilas:
        But don't you think they have a point?

Luthien: [short laugh]
        I'm here, aren't I?

    [pause]

Finduilas:
        I mean, really, to just get engaged to some random stranger you met out walking
        in the woods? Did you actually think they wouldn't get upset? Even leaving aside
        the problematic fact that he's a human and not one of the Kindred.

    [Luthien laughs out loud]

        What? Why are you laughing at me?

Luthien:
        That's the family legend, cousin! Don't tell me you haven't heard -- that's what my
        parents are famous for! It's this great romantic story they tell all the time,
        about how they met, how Dad heard Mom singing and left everything behind to follow
        her and when he touched her Time stood still for them and neither she nor he ever
        looked back to Aman after that. I've heard about it all my life from them, about
        how your priorities change when you meet the the right person and not worrying about
        what the world thinks and all. They're being raging hypocrites about the whole thing.

Finduilas: [nonplussed]
        Well, yes, true, --

    [recovering]

        -- but that was then. Things were different when they were young. The world is a more
        complicated place, now, and they have responsibilities, and so do you. You can't expect
        them to not be at least concerned, and to have grave reservations about it.

Luthien:
        Why? If they really trusted me to be wise and sensible like they said they did,
        then they would respect my judgment in this too.

Finduilas:
        Now you're being naive, on purpose.

Luthien:
        Naive?!

Finduilas:
        You don't really think that anyone looking at it objectively would consider it
        reasonable or appropriate for you to just enter into a relationship of such
        magnitude without consulting your elders or taking any advice first?

Luthien: [raising eyebrows]
        That's what they did.

Finduilas:
        Yes, but you're the Princess now, you're not just some private individual, not
        answerable to anyone. You have to take practical matters into consideration,
        including how it will affect the people around you -- because that's the most
        important decision in one's life, choosing whom one will marry!

Luthien: [dry]
        Then, wouldn't you agree, it's too important to be decided by committee?

Finduilas: [shaking her head in exasperation]
        Gwin and I thought about it for several decades, before we decided to get engaged,
        just getting to know each other and making sure it would be a good thing for both
        of us, and we made sure our families approved first. It's much less trouble--

Luthien:
        --Look, you may be indecisive as all get-out, but I've never been used to living my
        life as a reflection of other people's opinions. I've always gone and done exactly
        as I pleased, and my parents never had a problem with it. Until now.

    [Finduilas blinks at the sheer bluntness of her dismissal, but decides to overlook it]

Finduilas:
        But what did you expect would happen when you finally told them about him? Or
        were you even going to?

Luthien:
        I expected that they'd be reasonable and realize that that they'd been mistaken
        about humans all along, I expected that they'd be sensible enough to see his worth
        too and that they'd treat him with the respect he deserves. I meant to introduce
        people to Beren a few at a time, after he wasn't so nervous any more, and have them
        get to know him in a setting where he was comfortable.

    [bitter smile]

        --It never occurred to me that he wouldn't know who I was, which I suppose was
        rather arrogant of me, but I honestly assumed he realized I was the King's daughter
        and I had no idea otherwise until I had to find him and tell him about the problem,
        and he said, "You have parents?" in this shocked voice -- he thought I really was
        completely independent and on my own.

    [sighs]

        He wasn't angry though, he just sort of laughed and said, "It figures," in this
        gloomy way, that he hadn't had anyone trying to kill him for over a year and
        he shouldn't have expected it to last.

Finduilas:
        But then once you realized they were not going to be pleased, or sympathetic,
        didn't you have any second thoughts about throwing away your position and your
        happiness for a Man?

Luthien:
        Finduilas, he isn't just "a Man" -- he's Beren. Of all the people I know or
        have ever met -- he's the most beautiful.

    [Finduilas gives an astonished laugh]

        What?

Finduilas:
        Luthien! How can you say that?! Beautiful--?

    [Luthien just Looks at her]

        He -- he's so scruffy, Luthien! Even when he tries, he still looks such a mess!
        I mean, really, his hair -- couldn't you have at least cut it for him?

Luthien: [astounded]
        Is that what you think is important?

Finduilas:
        It isn't just that -- he's got scars. And his hair is already going pale the
        way theirs does--

Luthien:
        So? My father's hair is completely that color.

Finduilas: [patronizing]
        You don't know much about Men, do you?

    [Luthien gives her a Look again]

        It means they're getting old.

Luthien:
        Beren's not old, not even by human standards -- you were just complaining about that.

Finduilas:
        It isn't just that, it means that their bodies are starting to wear out.

Luthien: [an edge creeping in]
        I heard that Beren made it here from Menegroth half as quickly as I did. And I can
        go without sleep a lot longer than he can. That doesn't sound worn out to me.

Finduilas:
        But he was in awfully bad shape when he got here.

Luthien:
        --So was I. It's not much fun travelling cross-country by yourself, without anyone
        to help you and no proper gear. --But you know, you can do it, and -- you still get
        there. He's not "worn out" or old, Finduilas, he just went through a horribly
        stressful time and was very sick for a while afterwards. If you'd ever seen him
        fight you wouldn't even ask.

Finduilas:
        When did you see him fight?

Luthien: [shrugs]
        Well, not fight, exactly, but I've watched him practicing lots of times.

Finduilas: [bewildered]
        Why?

Luthien: [holding out her hands]
        Because it's beautiful. It's like a dance of another kind. Don't you ever watch
        your Gwin at training? Beren's spectacular -- I think he's as good as Mablung
        that way. Oh, and they have these dances with swords, real dances, that they do
        -- used to do -- for Arien, I finally got him to stop being self-conscious and
        show me, and they're amazing. And rather scary. Just the coordination and the
        sharp edges and everything--

Finduilas:
        -- Luthien, are you listening to yourself? Do you know how twisted that sounds?
        How -- how unladylike? My aunt is a little wierd that way, but with four older
        brothers encouraging her, everybody kind of expects it. But you -- I mean, you're
        not a warrior, and -- swords, for the gods?!

Luthien:
        What? Just because I don't do it myself doesn't mean I can't appreciate it.

Finduilas:
        But -- don't you think there's something wrong with using violence to honor the
        Powers? They don't approve of war and weapons.

Luthien: [raises eyebrows]
        News to me -- my mother doesn't have a problem with them as such. And didn't
        they do an awful lot of it themselves before we showed up? The Wild Hunt and
        the assault on Angband and all?

Finduilas:
        How can you have such a neutral attitude towards fighting?

Luthien: [shrugs in turn]
        Maybe because we'd been doing it for centuries before you all arrived. We don't
        have your superstitious attitude about it. Or about weapons.

Finduilas:
        Superstitious?!

Luthien: [shrugs]
        Well, you're obviously very uncomfortable with them, in a "we'd rather pretend
        it's not something we really do, just on the side, out of necessity," kind of
        way and I've noticed that before among you Noldor, a lot of you. You just, well,
        make a bigger deal about it than we do.

Finduilas: [superior tone]
        Surely you don't mean to say that you think War is a good thing?

    [Luthien stops pacing and puts her hands on her hips, giving her a very ironic Look]

Luthien: [very dry]
        Considering that there was a very real chance of us getting wiped out by Orcs
        before you ever showed up, and we stopped it only with appalling casualty levels,
        and considering that we still have to deal with incursions -- and therefore
        casualties -- on a regular basis along the borders, and considering that my
        mother, and her assistants, and that includes me, are the ones to deal with the
        consequences -- the chances of that are pretty fair slim, wouldn't you say?
        --How many poisoned arrows have you had to dig out of people lately, cousin?

    [Finduilas gives an incredulous laugh, not sure she's serious]

        What, you've never had to cut metal fragments out of someone before? Without
        letting them bleed to death while you're at it? It's not my idea of fun, either.

Finduilas:
        We have trained specialists to do that kind of work properly. Anyhow, you're
        changing the subject.

Luthien:
        No, I'm not. You already did.

Finduilas:
        Honestly, Luthien, that's rather childish, don't you think? The point is, that
        he won't live very long, no matter what. Not by our standards. And then what?

    [earnestly]

        Have you thought about this? About the fact he can't possibly live more than
        sixty years more, at most? And that for most of those -- if he lives so long --
        he'll be decrepit? And afterwards he won't be waiting for you in Aman, either.

Luthien: [wide-eyed]
         --Thank-you for putting it so clearly, I never would have guessed that, despite the
        fact that we rent a quarter of our western frontier to mortals and we've only been
        hearing about them from Finrod since they first showed up in Beleriand.

    [raising her voice slightly]

        Of course I understand that Beren's people are more fragile and short-lived than
        we are! What I don't understand is why you are all so blasé about the fact that
        your King is in prison, isn't it stranger that you don't seem to care about
        getting your people out than that I want to get my true-love out -- and you're
        treating me like I'm the irrational one here?

    [pause]

Finduilas:
        You don't have to be so rude. But I understand that you're still exhausted and
        extremely stressed, so I'm making allowances.

    [Luthien only stares at her, then runs her hands through her hair, making it stand up
    even more, and turns away to look at the "window" that shows mountains in the distance,
    putting her palm flat against the carving.]

Luthien: [leaden voice]
        --Yes. I'm that. Thank you, cousin.

Finduilas:
        And what if you have children? What will they be?

Luthien: [turning back]
        Er, --people?

Finduilas: [exasperated]
        Please try to be serious. I meant, would they be Elves or mortals? Can you even
        have children together?

Luthien:
        I don't know. As far as we know we're the first mixed-race couple in history.
        Except for my parents, of course.

    [raises her hands]

        --Does it matter?

Finduilas: [still more exasperated]
        Luthien, I'm trying to have a serious conversation!

Luthien:
        Why do you think I'm not? If we can, we can. If we can't, we can't. Worrying
        about it won't change things. Mortals aren't guaranteed children either --
        nobody's actually guaranteed anything in life, are they, really? I mean, look
        at what happened to the gods!

Finduilas:
        But what will you do after he dies? I know it isn't the same, but still -- it
        would be awfully strange to marry a second time. I can't imagine what anyone else
        would think of it, how they would feel, knowing . . . It almost seems indecent,
        frankly.

    [Luthien turns around abruptly]

Luthien: [disbelieving]
        Why would I want to marry anyone else?

Finduilas:
        But . . . but you'll be . . . you'll be all alone.

Luthien:
        I never wanted to marry anyone before I met Beren. Why should I think that would
        ever change?

Finduilas:
        But . . . eventually you'll meet your soulmate, of course, and what then?

Luthien: [gesturing widely]
        Finduilas -- he is my soulmate. I will never love another. --Who could compare?
        It would be unjust to anyone else to set him against Beren.

Finduilas: [nervous laugh]
        You're so melodramatic, Luthien. You can't mean it.

Luthien:
        --Are you so blind that you really can't see past externals? --That fine clothes and
        combed hair are the most important things to you? You'd never make it in the woods.

Finduilas:
        It isn't just that, it's everything. The -- the gulf, of background, culture,
        everything that goes with age -- I don't see how it could work. I mean, yes, he's
        certainly a hero, and I do appreciate his valiant efforts against Morgoth, but
        when all is said and done there isn't anything he can actually do except kill
        things, is there?

Luthien: [shaking her head, wry]
        Is that what he said? He's too shy. He sings beautifully. And he has the true
        dancer's grace.

Finduilas:
        Now you're sounding superficial. --Aren't you?

Luthien: [looking up at the ceiling]
        No, -- I was just trying to correct your misunderstanding that he has no talent,
        that he's inferior because he doesn't care about art. That's just not true.

Finduilas:
        But does he make anything? He said not, to Celebrimbor.

Luthien:
        Finduilas, when would he have had time to make anything, or learn to make
        anything? He was hunted like a wild animal for most of the last ten years, while
        he was hunting down Orcs and trying to defend the last holdouts who hadn't fled
        the North-country already. --Do you know he had to bury his father and family
        and all his friends? I cried when he told me how his dad didn't want to send
        him to find out if it was true that Sauron himself had come out from the Fortress
        to get them, because he was afraid he'd never see him again, and -- it was true,
        but not that way. Can you imagine living that kind of life?

Finduilas: [nodding]
        Oh, so it's that you felt sorry for him. Well, I can understand that, but -- to
        risk your life, your happiness, because of sentimentality is rather excessive.
        Spouses should be equals -- that's what "match" means, after all. Pity isn't
        enough to make a lasting relationship.

Luthien:
        No, I'd been seeing him for some time before he told me about the really miserable
        bits -- I only knew some of the legends of Beren, and frankly I was more than a bit
        intimidated and figured he'd think I was rather silly and useless compared to him.
        --And now you're going to say, "Hero-worship isn't enough to build a relationship
        on." Right?

    [Finduilas gives her a Look, but doesn't say anything.]

        I've got Ages of practice at this -- I only did it half the summer, I can probably
        do both sides of the argument if you want to leave.

Finduilas:
        Please don't be so hostile, cousin. I'm only trying to help you, because I don't
        think you've really thought things through. Being sarcastic doesn't help matters any.

Luthien:
        I'm tired of this being treated like a fool. I thought you were on our side, and
        now you're doing it too! Didn't you talk to him while he was here? You must have
        seen how kind and intelligent and noble he is --

Finduilas:
        --Luthien. Look me in the eyes and tell me: Do you truly believe he is -- could
        possibly be -- your equal?

Luthien:
        Yes.

Finduilas: [knowing look]
        You're just saying that.

Luthien: [angry]
        No, I'm not! --Well, yes, I am just saying it, but I'm "just saying it" because I
        just believeit. I wouldn't "just say" it if it was otherwise. What's wrong with you?

Finduilas:
        I'm just afraid that you've put yourself into the position where you have to keep
        saying and defending what you've started out because you're too proud and too
        committed to keeping your own opinions to actually be objective.  I don't think
        you're being fully honest when you say that you think you're really suited well.
        I think you're rushing into things. I grant completely that Lord Beren is a wonderful
        human being -- but he's still a human, not an Elf.

Luthien: [icy]
        You might have gathered I'm not very pleased with my parents right now, but one
        thing in my father's benefit -- he's at least consistent. He doesn't despise
        mortals but use them anyway.

Finduilas:
        You're putting words into my mouth, Luthien! That isn't what I said.

Luthien:
        No? Because it sure sounds like it. That you, at least, think they're good enough
        to fight your war and get killed in it, but not as good as real people.

Finduilas:
        You're reading things into what I said that aren't there. I just don't see how this
        can work. What can you possibly have to talk about, for example? How can you converse
        on the same level? --What do you see in him as a potential consort?

    [silence]

Luthien:
        --The world.

    [brief pause]

        Finduilas, the way he sees it -- the way he simply revels in learning about it,
        about everything, about music and trees and the names of the Stars and the stories
        and making things and everything -- it's as though I'd never seen it properly, all
        the things I thought I knew and understood and have taken for granted for centuries,
        and now he's learning them all for the first time, and I'm seeing it new as well--!

Finduilas: [very knowing tone]
        That doesn't sound anything like a match of equals. It sounds like you enjoy
        having him around because he's so much more ignorant than you that he can't help
        but look up to you, and that makes you in turn feel like a Sage, because it's
        incredibly flattering to have such unquestioning respect and admiration.

    [kindly]

        --Which is understandable.
Luthien:
        You're quite wrong about that. Beren isn't ignorant, he knows lots of things --
        his mind's like a dark mirror --

Finduilas: [frowns]
        --That doesn't sound attractive at all

Luthien: [exasperated]
        Haven't you ever seen a pool at midnight when it's so black you can't even see
        the trees in it, only the stars are reflected with absolute clarity and it seems
        like it goes on forever, it's so deep--? That's what his thoughts are like, he
        just observes, with this amazing detail, and the faintest light is caught and
        noticed -- and then it's as if it changes, like the same pool freezing over,
        only instead of ice it's silver, and everything's reflected brightly and light
        is cast on all kinds of things nobody else ever saw before, and that's what
        talking to him is like. --Why are you so worried about me when--

Finduilas:
        --Well, it is worrying. It's unprecedented, it's very strange, and you just keep
        trailing off when you're asked about him as if you're embarrassed about it all or
        talking as though unable to say anything sensible,  so what else are we supposed
        to think?

Luthien:
        No, that isn't it at all--! Do you -- you don't just talk about your private
        moments in public with everyone, do you? To people you don't know very well at
        all? Especially when everyone's been unsympathetic to it earlier and all your
        friends have deserted you.

Finduilas:
        Well, he left you too, so you could say he deserted you as well.

Luthien:
        No, deserting me would have been if he'd said, "--I'm really sorry, it's been
        great knowing you, but I'm going west to see if I can find any of my own people
        left and settle down with a nice mortal girl who doesn't have insane relatives
        giving me the choice between death, life imprisonment or a task that all the Kings
        of Arda and all their armies couldn't manage between them." Which, if he'd said it,
        I really couldn't have blamed him very well, either. Finduilas, Beren and I . . .
        he . . . he's -- I'm doing it again.

    [shakes her head, laughing bitterly at herself]

        All right, little cousin, you want details, you want to know it all, you want to
        understand. I will tell you -- but you have to promise not to be negative about it,
        not make sarcastic remarks while I'm telling the story.

    [she sits down on the bench across from Finduilas' chair, under one of the "windows"]

        So -- what do you want to know first?

Finduilas:
        Well, you've never even really explained how you two met -- I thought no one
        could get into Doriath without your mother's permission. Were you outside the
        borders somehow?

Luthien:
        No, he just walked right through them without even noticing them. And Mom never
        knew he was there, either.

    [darkly]

        --Which should have told them something right away.

Finduilas:
        How could it, if they didn't know he was there?

    [Luthien closes her eyes, rubbing her temples]

Luthien:
        I meant, when they found out.

Finduilas:
        Oh -- I see. So you really just ran into each other, completely randomly, without
        any introductions or anything, without knowing who the other one was, and decided
        that you were soulmates just like that. with just one look? Honestly, Luthien, that
        doesn't make any sense! How many people do you really know who haven't grown up
        together, or at least known each other for Great Years, before falling in love?

    [Luthien starts to open her mouth]

        And you're going to say your parents again, aren't you?

    [pause]

Luthien: [deadpan, loftily]
        --It was a very long look.

    [Finduilas glares at her]

        It was a little more complicated than that. It seemed like coincidence at the
        time, but I'm not sure really . . . was it coincidence for my parents? I just
        felt one night that I had to go to the upper reaches of Esgalduin -- I guess it
        was like Beren deciding he had to come down into Doriath, that that was where
        he was supposed to be, except that I didn't have any wargs hunting me, of course.
        I said to Daeron, "Let's go to Neldoreth, we haven't worked in Neldoreth for such
        a long time." And he said, "Because there's no one in Neldoreth," and I said,
        "Except trees," and he said, "Oh, well, trees! That's rather boring, don't you
        think? They're not very appreciative an audience." And I started teasing him about
        being too vain to be a proper Sage, that the truly enlightened don't care about
        applause and that he was just concerned to impress the Singers, and if he was that
        lazy I'd just go by myself, I didn't really need an accompanist-- So he made this
        show of "Oh, the things I put up with for little Luthien, catering to her every
        whim," and we went . . .

    [she stops, looking into the middle distance]

Finduilas: [reminding]
        Luthien . . .

Luthien: [wry laugh]
        --Right.

    [giving herself a little shake]

        Anyway, we went to Neldoreth, and Beren heard us and came to investigate -- and
        that's another sad thing about it all, Daeron hating him and Beren having no more
        idea of it than I, because he simply admired Daeron's performance skills and
        compositional abilities without limit. Daeron couldn't have asked for a more
        appreciative audience, Beren had never heard anything like it -- not that anyone
        has, of course, Daeron really is that good -- but not even remotely similar, their
        music's completely different from ours--

Finduilas: [patronizing]
        Well. In quality perhaps.

Luthien: [checking]
        What do you mean?

Finduilas:
        Well, Men don't really have any culture of their own -- they've borrowed it all
        from us, you know, starting with the language.

    [pause]

Luthien: [chilly]
        That isn't what Finrod says. He's always talked about the creativity of mortals
        and their ability to make new things, to adapt.

Finduilas: [uncomfortable]
        Oh. Well. He would.

Luthien:
        Explain, please?

Finduilas:
        Well -- everyone knows my uncle is an incurable extrovert, going around talking
        to everybody, Dwarves and the Nandor and the coastal folk and the locals and--

    [breaks off]

Luthien: [very dry]
        --Us?

Finduilas:
        . . .

Luthien:
        Sorry -- do go on--?

Finduilas:
        . . . but mortals have always been a particular hobby of his. Very likely
        because they are so ignorant and helpless on their own, not like the Naugrim
        or the native tribes.

    [Luthien gives her a shrewd look.]

Luthien:
        --Really. You don't say.

    [aside]

        I wonder where you got that from. Not from listening to him!

    [aloud]

        Well, I don't agree with you on the matter of culture. But anyway, you wanted
        to know about the romantic parts, and you were supposed to not keep interrupting
        me and making caustic remarks.

    [looks severely at Finduilas]

        Do you want me to go on, or not?

Finduilas: [contrite]
        I'm sorry. Please keep going.

Luthien: [tossing her head]
        Right, then. --Beren came right out, he had no idea how surprised we would be,
        of course, and Daeron shouted to me that there was a stranger, and took off,
        but I just stood there, I couldn't believe it, until I saw this shadow out in
        the open at the edge of the wood, and I still couldn't believe it, because I
        couldn't recognize anything about it -- I had no sense of any sort whatsoever
        looking at him, and Daeron was calling me like I was an idiot, and then I got
        scared and disappeared into the woods as well -- and he vanished too.

Finduilas:
        Vanished?

Luthien:
        Completely - there was no sign of him after, and we decided we must have been
        startled by shadows, or an animal, and laughed at ourselves afterwards, because
        we knew that no enemy could have come through the Maze.

    [getting indignant again]

        And there, you see, is the thing that's the crux of this whole stupidity. If
        Daeron really thought that Beren was a danger to us, to Doriath or to me --
        then why did he wait for almost half the year before even breathing a word of
        Beren's presence in the woods? He knew perfectly well that Beren was not evil,
        not dangerous, and not a threat, and any attempt to justify his behavior by
        claiming "good intentions" is just so much nonsense. If he really had them, he
        should have gone straight to my parents and our captains and got them out there
        that night, and not gone sneaking around for nearly two seasons dithering
        about it.

Finduilas: [trying to put the best construction on it]
        Well . . . perhaps he just wanted to be sure . . .

Luthien:
        You don't even believe that, and you're saying it. So -- was it at first sight?
        No, for me: I saw a shadow. One that frightened me -- but not like anything fell,
        not like the fear of hearing a wolfpack on the borders or waiting for casualties
        to come in from a battle or like the sense you get when the wind is blowing
        steadily out of Angband for days. It was like . . .

    [long pause, Finduilas clears her throat politely]

        --It was like the start you get when you're out on a clear day and not a cloud
        in sight and the sun is suddenly cut off, and you realize it's not a cloud --
        that shadow on the ground is wings, and you look up quick in hopes you don't miss
        them before they're past.

Finduilas: [short laugh, quickly stifled]
        Are you trying to say that he was a divine messenger?!

Luthien:
        No, I was saying it was like that, that sense that of something meaningful and
        important -- real fear, not because of anything so trivial as physical danger,
        but because you realize that here is something different: a change, a choice,
        -- a challenge, and you can either accept it or refuse it but you can't not do
        either. --Haven't you ever had anything like that in your life?

    [Findilas looks away nervously]

        Oh, of course -- the Return. That was a decision you had to make, right, not let
        other people make it for you. --Or did you?

Finduilas: [severely]
        You don't know what you're talking about, Luthien, so please stop.

    [forcibly returning the conversation to topic]

        But obviously that wasn't what made you decide you were soul-mates, or Daeron
        betray you -- it doesn't sound like under normal circumstances you'd ever have
        ended up together, from what you've just told me.

Luthien:
        Yes, --obviously -- there's more.

    [sighs]

        I couldn't help having this nagging conviction that there really had been
        someone there, and that because nothing evil could get through, I shouldn't
        have been afraid, and that I needed to find out who or what was there. So I
        went back, many times, and I even dragged Daeron into Neldoreth again once or
        twice, in case it was the flute-playing that had been the important part, but
        although I sometimes thought perhaps someone was there, some sort of unknown
        presence, I never saw him again.

    [smiling in spite of herself]

        --Until I decided to call the Spring there, and he came as if from nowhere
        and joined me in my dancing and I was so astonished I didn't even react at
        first -- here I'd been looking, and then when I wasn't, he appeared -- and
        I didn't know what to say or do, and he put his arms around me as if he knew
        me since forever, and I was so startled I just ducked away and ran. And he
        followed me, and called my name, and it was as if the whole silent forest
        called out to me then . . .

    [long silence]

Finduilas: [very strained]
        Was he afraid of you before that? Was that why he stayed hidden?

Luthien:
        No, he wanted to speak to me, but he couldn't manage to do so until that night.

Finduilas:
        Why?

Luthien:
        He didn't know why, he just couldn't. Every time he wanted to approach and talk
        to me it was as though he were bound and gagged, and he could only watch until
        I was gone, and then follow me.

Finduilas: [appalled]
        So not only was he a complete stranger, but you're saying he was crazy as well?
        And you wonder why your parents were upset!

Luthien:
        No! They didn't know about that. And he wasn't crazy. Not much. It was just
        something he had no control over.

Finduilas:
        That's part of what "being crazy" entails, Luthien.

Luthien: [gesturing fiercely]
        But you've seen him -- you know he's as sane as I am. It was just circumstances.
        --Not like Feanor, who did it to himself, from what everyone's said. Beren's not
        dangerous.

Finduilas:
        He's a warrior, Luthien, of course he's dangerous. Add mental disturbance to that
        and -- what were you thinking?!

    [silence]

Luthien: [very softly]
        He called my name. He called my name, and I knew from the first instant I heard
        his voice that he would never ill-wish me, never harm me, and I stopped and waited
        for him, because I had to, and he came running up to me and -- I saw him -- Not a
        shadow, but him, his eyes, he -- he was like the brightest of fire, brighter than
        anyone else I've ever met, and -- he kissed me, and everything . . . just . . .
        stopped . . . we could have stood there for hours, just looking at each other --

    [ruefully]

        --we did, because all the sudden the nightingales weren't singing, the blackbirds
        were, and the sky was getting light and I panicked because I was so far from home
        and it was the first day of Spring and everything we had to do for it that I hadn't
        even started and I was -- rather -- overwhelmed, and I went dashing off before he
        could call me again or before I even remembered to ask his name . . .

    [silence]

        Finduilas, he called my name --

Finduilas: [coolly]
        How did he know it? Did he spy on you and Daeron talking?

Luthien:
        No, you don't understand, it was my own name, not Luthien, not my old one,
        the first one anyone had ever given me -- except "little" and that's hardly
        a proper aftername, is it?

    [softly]

        He called me "Nightingale" . . .

    [Finduilas says nothing, with visible effort]

Luthien: [rapt]
        I went back home and all that day it was as if I was two people, not one, the
        calm ordinary one on the outside that everyone saw, just plain old Luthien,
        doing her rituals and tasks and practicing and walking around on the earth, and --
        someone new, someone who was soaring through the air, singing, as though the
        nightingale had become a lark, someone who didn't just belong as part of Doriath,
        but who owned the whole world, who could do anything, because a mirror had been
        held up to me and for the first time I saw that I had wings -- and no one noticed.

    [shakes her head, frowning slightly]

        And then at sunset I walked back to Neldoreth, and I was so frightened, I didn't
        know if it was real anymore, or if -- I just wandered around, hardly knowing what
        direction to take -- and I found him, as if I couldn't have not found him, and he
        was so different, not the tireless hunter who'd been following me but someone
        exhausted and sad, just lying there on the ground by the stream --

    [in a rush]

        -- and that's not what drew me, that he was weak, all right? --

    [sighing]

        and when I went up to him and touched his face and he looked at me and the
        amazement in his eyes -- I knew he'd been as afraid as I was that it wasn't
        real, that I wouldn't come back, and I knew I hadn't set my heart too high
        or in vain . . .

Finduilas:
        Why would you think otherwise?

Luthien:
        I didn't know what kind of spirit he was -- he'd disappeared before, he had come
        through the security system without getting caught in it, you never know who you
        might meet in a forest--

Finduilas: [trying not to smile]
        You -- you thought he was a Power in disguise, like your mother?!

Luthien: [intensely]
        I didn't say that, I only said I didn't know what he might be, I couldn't tell--
        I just knew then that he was real, that he was someone I could never have imagined,
        a strange dominion given to me alone to explore, and know, and understand, and that
        I could never have dreamed such richness existed, and that this was what I had been
        choosing towards since that first glimpse of a strange shadow on a Summer night --
        and so yes, it was a very long look after all.

    [longish silence, Luthien looks hopefully and anxiously at Finduilas, who is impassive.]

Finduilas:
        Well. That's a very unique story --if most unconventional.

Luthien: [snapping back into combat mode again just like that]
        You want unconventional, you should listen to my parents when it's really late,
        or early, rather, and the wine's been flowing and they're getting all sentimental
        and reminiscing about the oldest days. Then you'll hear the story about the first
        time my father saw my mother and she was taking a nap in some leaves and he touched
        her hair and got knocked out for probably years before he woke up and went looking
        for her again. I tell you, we've got nothing on them.

Finduilas: [dismissive]
        Oh, well, people are like that.

    [superior tone]

        But can't one sort of see why Daeron might feel justified in spying on you?
        If you'd been encouraging Beren--

Luthien:
        --Don't make me responsible for Daeron's neuroses! If he'd actually used that
        famous mind of his none of this would have happened. --Probably. I wasn't
        encouraging Beren to spy on me, I was trying to encourage him to reveal himself
        -- if he was really there. I didn't know. All I knew was that there seemed to be
        an invisible presence watching over me in Neldoreth -- a benevolent one -- but
        nothing I'd ever heard or sensed before, but still -- familiar, somehow.

Finduilas:
        That doesn't sound romantic at all -- it just sounds creepy.

Luthien: [frustrated]
        It wasn't creepy -- it was a little spooky that he was able to sneak up on me
        twice -- only the first time was sort of by accident, and it was really funny,
        actually, because there I was standing so perfectly hidden that he almost walked
        right into me, I must have jumped ten feet -- but that's because he just disappears
        when he's in the forest, he's not just quiet, no one can even sense him, not even
        Beleg -- except I can, now -- his mind just changes and becomes perfectly still,
        like a fox's.

Finduilas:
        That still sounds creepy.

Luthien:
        Well, it isn't -- you've met him, he isn't creepy, -- he's Beren. It -- I -- Oh,
        honestly! Do you think Huan's creepy, having him around, having him watching you?

Finduilas:
        You're just making it sound worse and worse.

Luthien: [raising her hands for a moment, letting them fall into her lap]
        You're just choosing not to understand.

Finduilas: [thoughtful]
        Wait - you said you hadn't worked in Neldoreth for a while; that means you
        weren't just dancing, you were wielding an awful lot of power, both yours and
        the land's, correct?

Luthien: [wary]
        Yes . . .

Finduilas: [meaningfully]
        So he got caught in a Working. I see.

Luthien: [wary]
        What's that supposed to mean?

Finduilas: [condescending]
        Mortals can't cope with power unshielded and without precautions. Something that
        has only the appropriate effect on one of us has much more drastic and unpredictable
        impacts on them -- though of course you couldn't be expected to know that. If he
        just wandered into the middle of it like that, with no idea even of what was
        happening to him, it would be almost like training the horses, like a yearling
        being calmed for saddle or a foal imprinting -- he wouldn't be able to help it.
        And with the forest's power invoked too, -- no wonder he never wanted to leave that
        area. He was simply bound to it, and you.

Luthien:
        No. That's not true.

Finduilas: [sympathetically]
        Look, I do understand why you wouldn't want to believe that, because well, it isn't
        very flattering to think that someone is only attracted to you because of something
        that might as well be no more than animal instinct, as well as the fact that you must
        be feeling responsible already for the difficulties it's caused, but one does have
        to face facts--

Luthien: [interrupting, shaking her head]
        --No, you don't understand -- perhaps it was like that a little, at first, but
        -- no -- Beren's not under any working of mine, you might as well say he put a
        working on me, with his voice! He really does love me--

Finduilas:
        But how could you tell? It doesn't sound like the action of a rational individual
        uncontrolled by anything to be willing to just obey a mad, impossible, and suicidal
        order without even stopping to think about it, does it? It sounds like -- and
        please don't get angry, cousin -- someone who's been brainwashed by the Enemy,
        really. Are you really sure that he's in love with you, or has he only been
        overwhelmed by your aura instead?

Luthien:
        Beren doesn't do anything without a reason -- granted it might be a really horrific
        reason, like taking on Sauron single-handed because there wasn't anyone else left to
        do it -- but he isn't this weak-minded person who just does things because someone
        else wants him to. It might seem like a completely insane decision to you, but if
        it's the only way to do it, like taking on an entire company of Orcs to recover his
        father's hand, or crossing the Ered Gorgoroth, then he figures out the most simple
        way and just starts and keeps on til he's done it. If my father had actually listened
        to me talking about him he wouldn't have expected that asking for the wretched
        jewel would ever deter Beren from claiming my hand. How can I d--

Finduilas: [breaking in]
        --Now you're making him sound rather frighteningly disturbed again.

    [Luthien runs her hands wildly through her hair again, with the suggestion of one
    only barely restrained from screaming]

Luthien:
        Either I'm not explaining very well or you're not listening very well.
        Beren is unlike anyone I've ever met, in the best way possible, and when I met
        him I finally understood exactly why your uncle would want to put so much time
        and effort into working with mortals when he doesn't have enough time to do the
        things he really wants to do anyway, and more than enough work already.

Finduilas: [sharply]
        I don't know what you mean. My uncle always does just what he wants, going
        off wandering about talking to people instead of finishing the projects he's
        already working on.

    [Luthien does not miss her discomfort at every mention of Finrod in the conversation]

Luthien: [rather condescending]
        --You don't know what he does, do you?

Finduilas: [defensive]
        What do you mean?

Luthien: [amazed]
        You really don't. I always wondered when he and your aunt would joke about how
        odd it was that they'd let a dilettante dreamer like him be in charge, whether
        they were really joking or whether it wasn't a bit serious. And now I know I
        was right.

Finduilas: [annoyed out of gentility]
        Would you please explain yourself or stop being cryptic, Luthien?

Luthien:
        Do you have any idea how many minor wars and territorial disputes he's stopped or
        averted, just by "wandering about talking to people?" Do you have any idea how much
        chaos you all threw Beleriand into by just turning up out of the dark and carving
        up the countryside? Cutting down trees and sticking up towers on sacred sites and
        insulting people you didn't even know existed? Not to mention the fact that a lot of
        the Kindred blamed you for the Sun anyway. If he wasn't so good at "wandering about
        talking to people" do you think things would have been so easy for you?

Finduilas:
        Why would anyone blame us for the Sun? Do you mean those tribes of nomads in
        the hills? Isn't everyone happy to have the light? --Except for fell things,
        of course. They should be grateful that we came to save them from the Enemy!

Luthien: [sighing]
        Oh, honestly, I'm too tired to try to explain a thousand years of politics and
        cultural upheaval to -- from scratch.

    [aside]

        --to someone who clearly hasn't been paying attention to the last half-millenium
        of them!

    [aloud]

        Short version -- Shade is nice. Finding your large familiar boulders chopped up
        and turned into a watchtower isn't. People riding through on big noisy animals
        with lots of other big noisy animals looking to kill other animals noisily is
        very disturbing to people who don't kill anything, ever. Sometimes it's hard to
        see what's so much more preferrable about you lot, and you've no idea the amount
        of damage that a determined bunch of saboteurs can do in a very short time. Part
        of the Singers' frustration with Men, I'm sure, was spillover from having been
        pushed out by Noldor for so long. "Oh no, not more of them, from the other side
        of the world!" and so on.

Finduilas:
        Surely you're exaggerating. --But you've changed the subject again.

Luthien:
        I'm not and I haven't. Pay attention when people talk, sometime, you'd be surprised.
        They have a word for you, you know. "Swarn" -- it means someone who's so stubborn
        that it's just impossible to work with them. Finrod think's it's funny -- but true.

Finduilas: [sighing]
        We were talking about -- about you and Beren, not about politics.

Luthien:
        I thought earlier you were saying it was the same thing. I agree, I just don't
        see it as a bad thing. It wouldn't hurt Doriath to have his perspective and lore
        to add to our own, how could it?

Finduilas:
        But are you being fair to him? Have you thought about it from his point of view?

Luthien: [dangerous]
        --Explanation, if you don't mind?

Finduilas: [voice of reason]
        How could he ever hope to have a normal life with you, even if your parents
        hadn't reacted so badly? Wouldn't it have been better -- from his standpoint
        -- to go to his own kind and find one of them for a mate? At least that way
        he could have had a home and a family and a place where he would have belonged,
        after all. Don't you think you're being rather selfish, even if he wouldn't
        ever say so?

Luthien:
        No, actually not. I'm not so arrogant as to say that no one else could have
        healed him, or that he might not have been able to recover on his own, but after
        what happened to him in Dorthonion all those years, and then the Mountains of
        Terror on top of that, he was not well at all. Even a season in Neldoreth had
        only begun to diminish his stress levels, and you know how peaceful that area
        is --

    [frowns]

        -- no, actually you might not, since you've never visited, but it is -- and he'd
        been isolated so long he could hardly talk. As you've so kindly pointed out, I
        haven't your family's experience of mortals, but I got the strong impression from
        Beren's stories that it isn't considered normal among Men to live year-round in the
        woods and on the heath in complete solitude, and that he wouldn't have fit back
        into their society at all. Though in Doriath, if he hadn't been human, no one would
        have blinked at it.

Finduilas: [genteel shiver]
        I still don't understand how you could have dared to let him touch you that night.

Luthien: [forced patience]
        Because I could tell he was Good the way I could tell Huan was Good even if
        I didn't know exactly what he was.

Finduilas:
        But you couldn't know that--

Luthien:
        Well, yes, I did--

Finduilas:
        But you were taking such a risk--!

Luthien: [giving up, flippant]
        No I wasn't, it's not as though anyone can catch me out in the open.

Finduilas:
        Our cousins did.

Luthien:
        That wasn't them, that was Huan.

Finduilas: [shrugging]
        Well, anyway that's irrelevant. The crucial issue is that you're not the same as
        he is, and vice versa, and you never will be. It can't end happily.

    [silence]

        I'm right, aren't I?

Luthien: [matter-of-factly]
        Nope. At least about us being different. That's the irrelevant part. I don't
        expect that things will be easy for us, or that we won't have unhappiness. And
        about endings -- I've seen far too many people die of grief -- though not lately,
        thanks to Mom -- either by fading or going out and getting killed with stupid risks,
        to think that anyone gets a happy ending. Not our Kindred, or his. --Haven't you?

    [Finduilas says nothing]

        And what you said before? That's not any different from my parents, either. My
        mother's not just immortal, she's an Immortal. Since as far as I can tell from her
        nobody knows what's going to happen when the world ends, and since you're so very
        sure that we're all just going to stop, and that's it, then they're in exactly the
        same position we are, by your standards.

    [pause]

Finduilas:
        But -- they'll have thousands upon thousands of years together, just like everyone
        else.

Luthien:
        So? That's just longer. It isn't different.

Finduilas:
        Did you raise that point with her?

Luthien:
        Of course.

Finduilas:
        What did she say?

Luthien: [bitter smile]
        What she always says, when you say something she doesn't like. Which is to
        say, nothing.

    [pause]

Finduilas: [rallying & going on again]
        But really, it comes right back to one thing -- the fact that he's mortal.
        He isn't like us, and he never can be. Their fate is different, and it doesn't
        make sense to become so involved with someone who can't belong to Arda the way
        we do, and whom you shan't ever see again after such a short time. You're only
        setting yourself up for misery, can't you see?.

    [silence]

Luthien: [slowly]
        So . . . from what you're saying, the logical conclusion would be . . . that
        the Trees weren't really valuable either, because they died. They shouldn't
        have been loved, either, then, isn't that so?

Finduilas: [shocked]
        Luthien! How can you say such things?

Luthien:
        What? It's true -- it does follow.

Finduilas: [standing up in agitation]
        But that -- that's -- that's blasphemy! You can't talk about the Trees that way!

Luthien:
        Why not? You're saying that Men aren't worth caring about because they don't
        live as long as we do. Well, everyone here has outlived the Trees, and if you're
        going to say it about one then you've got to say it about the other. You shouldn't
        have loved them so much in Aman, since they were mortal, too.

Finduilas: [appalled, gesticulating]
        You -- you just equated him with the Two Trees! Luthien, you -- I'm not going
        to listen to any more of this, you're just too outrageous, -- though I suppose
        you can't help it because you never saw them. But -- it -- it's absurd, ludicrous,
        indecent -- you can't compare any mere person to the Trees, it's an insult to
        the Earthqueen to even think of it, let alone a human!

    [Finduilas is overcome with sputtering agitation, shaking her head and
    looking away at the ceiling. Luthien just waits until she settles down.]

Luthien:
        Finduilas. You've met him. Look at me -- look me in the eyes, and tell me --
        that he isn't as much of a person as you or I.

    [silence]

Finduilas: [stubbornly]
        It's still wrong. It just is.

    [pause]

Luthien:
        Well, you don't have to approve. I'm not looking for that -- only help
        saving him. Which ought to be your top prior--

Finduilas: [over her]
        --You really don't care what anyone else thinks, do you? That's so arrogant!

Luthien: [bemused]
        Arrogant? Arrogant is people deciding that they know better than me what's
        good for me. Arrogant is people telling me what they think I want to hear and
        going and doing something else altogether. Arrogant is -- telling me I'm going
        to be grateful for it somewhere down the road.

Finduilas: [frowning a little]
        I really think you should have given Daeron more of a chance.

Luthien: [shaking her head]
        I feel like I'm walking around in circles. Now that we're back here again, can
        we stop? I'm terribly tired and this isn't helping any.

Finduilas: [instantly solicitous]
        Oh, of course! I'm so sorry. Can I get you anything before you go to bed?
        Something to drink?

Luthien: [sighs]
        No, thank you, cousin. Just -- make sure you get me up as soon as your father's free.

Finduilas:
        O--of course.

    [Finduilas leaves; Luthien stands still afterwards for several minutes before going
    over to shut the door. She pulls a pair of chairs out from the inlaid table in the
    middle of the solar to the fire, but then sits down in one of them, staring into
    the flames, instead of preparing for sleep. After a moment she sighs and leans back,
    looking up at the star-gilded ceiling.]

Luthien: [whispering]
        I can't even convince Finduilas now . . . --We're doomed . . .
 

Gower:
        Half-mad or horn-mad, the lunatic believes him sober-sane,
        and in his ranting plots perceiveth not the shape of his own bane--

    [The royal apartments -- Celegorm is rocking back in his chair, laughing, while
    Curufin walks up and down before the hearth, reading from a scroll in his hand]

Celegorm:
        Oh, that's just too perfect! Oh, I wish I could see his face then -- let's
        have that last bit again --

Curufin:
            Right, then:

    [reads]

        "Since you haven't managed to hold onto your own daughter, it seems you're
        not fit to have care of her, and (just as with the rest of Middle-earth) the
        task of caretaking having fallen to us, we will undertake to defend her from
        the perils of the dubious lands we found her wandering unescorted in -- and do
        (no doubt) a far better job of it. After all, we could hardly do worse, seeing
        as you've been unable to maintain the security of your vaunted borders,
        against even a solitary Mortal. With all due regards -- this by me, Curufin
        Atarin Feanorion of the House of Finwe, for Celegorm Turcofin Feanorion of the
        House of Finwe, of the Dominion of Nargothrond.

        PS: No need to send a present, we're provided for just fine here, and we'd not
        care to deprive you of any of the little you've managed to" -- heh -- "hold on to.
        But we do expect a good dinner when we come to visit next -- Father-in-Law."

Celegorm: [wipes eyes, gesturing]
        He's going to go completely critical -- absolute boilover and meltdown -- where
        do you come up with these things?

Curufin:
        My favorite's the bit where it goes:  "You really should be grateful to us,
        considering that we've taken care of the problem that you carelessly allowed to
        occur, and still more carelessly allowed to continue. Doubtless a little applied
        Noldorin ingenuity would have found a way around such an imprudent promise, but
        don't worry, your trespasser's out of the picture -- permanently -- and you've
        gained not one, but seven, sons-in-law (any one of whom far outranks the least
        of your subjects) so you've come out it well ahead all the same."

Celegorm:
        Or, or, what about: "If you'd wanted a Silmaril, you should have talked to us first--

Curufin:
        Oh yes --

    [reading]

        "--having seen your daughter's beauty and heard her voice, we would have rated
        her worthy of three, not one, and you could have joined our family and acquired a
        legitimate stake in them. But no harm done, despite your clumsy efforts to enlist
        our halfwit cousin (half-Teler, and no doubt a connection there) in your intrigue--
        obviously it's time for some fresh blood, fresh thought, fresh power in your House,
        wouldn't you agree?"

Celegorm: [a little worried]
        You know . . . Maedhros is not going to be happy when he hears about this. About
        any of it, actually.

Curufin:
        Well, to be perfectly honest, I don't really care what Maedhros will think about
        it.  It won't be as though he can actually do anything about it.

Celegorm: [more worried]
        You're not -- suggesting -- I mean, he is the head of our family--?

    [he gives Curufin an anxious look, hoping he's misunderstood]

Curufin:
        I love our big brother dearly, but let's be completely frank here -- ever since
        he came back he's been, let us say, a few arrows short of a full quiver. I mean,
        giving up the Succession? Can one even do that? So while I respect and acknowledge
        him as yes, the head of our House, I don't feel obliged to consider his opinion and
        even his orders -- especially potential ones -- as automatically binding on me.
        --Or you.

Celegorm: [relieved]
        Oh. --I agree.

Curufin:
        Once it's a fait accompli, he'll be obliged to accept it, and that it's for the
        best -- the advantages to having Beleriand consolidated into a single powerful
        force under one coherent rule will be unarguable. It's the only way we'll ever get
        them back, after all.

Celegorm:
        What about Fingon? A lot of people -- even ours -- do accept him as the High King,
        you know.

Curufin:
        Well, considering as His Highness is high up in his mountains and can't really
        come out of them, he's made himself largely irrelevant for all practical purposes.
        A nominal High King doesn't bother me one way or the other, especially given the
        numbers. If he wants to try conclusions with us, let him -- I'll just point out
        to him that a two-front war with a Dark Lord on his back porch is a really,
        really bad idea.

Celegorm:
        That's why I leave the plotting and planning to you. I get hung up on one detail
        or other and you have the gift for going around and making it all fit together
        properly.

Curufin:
        Yes, we do make a good team, don't we? --So, any thoughts on who we should send
        with it? It'll have to be someone we can trust, people who won't talk out of turn,
        you might say -- but at the same time someone we won't miss too much if Elwe reacts
        as I suspect he might and tosses them in the lock-up.

Celegorm: [frowning]
        That is a problem. Who can we spare for a couple-score years until we've finished
        consolidating here?

Curufin:
        Too bad we can't send Huan -- I can't imagine even Old Shadows would dare to try
        to toss him into a cell! --Where is he, anyway? I haven't seen him about for a
        while now.

Celegorm: [smugly]
        Ah, that's my plot. I've left him with Luthien, who's taken quite a fancy to him,
        thus winning me points in absentia as it were.

Curufin:
        Really? I'd think he'd be the last one she'd want to see. She was terrified when
        we found her.

Celegorm:
        Oh, you know, girls and nature and all -- sentimental, don't y'know? -- and he's
        so cute when he wants to be, just like when he was a puppy.

Curufin:
        Doesn't he get bored?

Celegorm:
        No -- he can never get enough attention, you know how it is with dogs.

Curufin: [grinning]
        Ah. She has snacks for him.

Celegorm: [grins back]
        That too. Oh, and it makes a handy excuse for coming by to chat with her when
        I collect him.

Curufin:
        Well, I'm glad that's going well. Now we have to figure out how we're going to
        get this out without Orodreth noticing -- or any tattletales noticing for him.

Celegorm:
        Oh, pfft -- him!

Curufin: [resting his arm on the back of Celegorm's chair]
        It's just the kind of thing he would kick up a row about. And we don't want that.
        The critical thing is to minimize strife -- let our enemies fight multi-front wars,
        not us.

    [Celegorm nods slowly in agreement.]

        Now, I'm guessing it will take about a fortnight at a reasonable travel speed,
        allowing for at least one autumn storm in there, just to be safe. We can arrange
        with our chaps on the Borders to take care of provisions for the messengers,
        and avoid drawing attention from Household by taking supplies...
   [the camera pulls away from their plotting, fadeout]

    [The Great Solar. Luthien wanders through, appearing vague and distracted, looking
    around in rather a lost way. People stop talking briefly and look at her nervously,
    but do not approach her or speak to her. One woman in the robes of a Sage starts to
    get up and then sits down with her few companions in their alcove again. At the
    Carillon's court Celebrimbor is there doing something to the Chronometer; he watches
    Luthien's approach worriedly, but continues with his adjustments.]

Luthien:  [aloud to herself]
        Oh.

    [stopping in front of the fountain]

        That's what I was looking for.

    [She fills her hands and bathes her eyes -- it's clear she's been crying a lot.
    Afterwards she takes the cup and fills herself a drink, and then sits down on the
    edge of the fountain and starts pouring cupfuls of water back into the basin with
    a fascinated expression. In the distance the Sage gets up again, pushing aside the
    hand of one of her companions who tries to hold her back, and moves determinedly
    towards the Princess of Doriath, coming up behind her]

Sage: [sharply]
        Your Highness --

    [But before Luthien has a chance to respond she breaks and flees back into the angles
    of the cavern, disappearing behind a column.]

Luthien: [puzzled frown]
        Yes--?

    [She looks around, but does not know who addressed her; after a moment she shrugs and
    goes back to playing absently with the water. Noticing something, she starts looking
    more closely at the ornate carvings and eventually gets up and kneels on the floor to
    see the base of the fountain better. When she doesn't get up Celebrimbor of all the
    people staring or trying not to do so obviously leaves off his work and goes over.]

Celebrimbor: [hesitant but concerned]
        My lady?

Luthien: [offhand]
        I've found another one.

Celebrimbor:
        Another what, my lady?

Luthien: [looking up at Celebrimbor, who kneels down next to her]
        Another serpent. See? He's right there, pretending to be a stem, but look, there's
        his eye, and there's his smile, behind that leaf. They're all smiling -- happy
        little serpents. I've found seven of them so far now. --Finrod made this, didn't he?

    [Celebrimbor nods]

        They're like Beren's ring. --It's such an odd device. Oh look, there's another one,
        eating a flower, or carrying it. What are they? They look like grass snakes a
        little, but the scales are different, they don't have those lines down them.

Celebrimbor:
        I'm afraid I don't know what they're called here, my lady, I -- I think they only
        live in Valinor. "Green-eyed golden house-snakes" I suppose would be the closest
        translation.

Luthien:
        Do they really eat flowers?

    [Celebrimbor nods]

        They're not -- that big, are they? Or are those supposed to be very small flowers?
        No -- there's one with a flag-iris, pulling it out of the water. Are they real?

Celebrimbor:
        Indeed yes, my lady.

Luthien:
        Oh, my.

    [pause]

        They still look sweet. Not like adders at all. --But surely they don't make things?
        How would they do it? I can see why, I suppose, it would be like making a fancy
        subtlety for them, but still I don't see how they could do it with just their mouths.

    [Celebrimbor looks at her rather anxiously]

        --Flowers. Wreaths. Making things with their food. --But they're serpents.

    [as he still looks blank, with a touch of impatience:]

        --On the emblem.

Celebrimbor:
        Oh. For some reason they struck my great-uncle's fancy. I think there was a story
        about it, something funny--

    [Luthien looks at him with mild interest, and he continues:]

        Oh, yes, now I remember. --Finarfin had made a garland for Earwen, when they were
        courting, and brought it to where she was working, but then he got distracted when
        he saw the project and set it down somewhere, and started, er, helping. Except then
        they got into a bit of a disagreement where the piece should go that she was carving,
        and he wanted to do something to bring out the grain of the wood and she wanted to
        leave it to weather, and they got rather cross about it, and he said something like
        "Don't let's fight -- I brought you flowers."

Luthien: [puzzled]
        --But what does that have to do with finishing wood?

    [Celebrimbor gives her an odd look and laughs politely]

Celebrimbor: [continuing]
        -- but then he couldn't find them, and she said he must have forgotten them, and
        it got a bit sharp again, -- and then they noticed that the pair of house-snakes
        had found them, somehow gotten the wreath off the bench, and were dragging it back
        to their hole. Except they weren't getting very far, because one of them wanted
        to stop and eat them right there, and the other was trying to keep going, and the
        string was slowing the first one down -- and Earwen started laughing and said,
        "Look! That's us!" So they decided to carve it for over the door, to remind them
        of . . .

    [pauses, then goes on with a hint of bitterness]

        . . . well, you know, need for cooperation and compromise and how silly they'd been
        and how easy it was to get caught up in one's own perspective without thought of
        anyone else having a valid point of view and so forth. And it just sort of stuck as
        a family joke, only after a few Great Years nobody even thought about it any more.

    [without changing his tone, quietly]

        --My lady, if you're troubled it would be better to speak to the healers and send
        for music rather than resorting to excess of wine for your spirits.

Luthien: [affronted]
        I'm not tipsy.

Celebrimbor: [regretful]
        Forgive my impertinence, but it's . . . apparent that you've had more in so short a
        time than your stamina will bear.

Luthien:
        I'm not. I haven't touched wine at all today.

Celebrimbor:
        Then what's wrong, my lady?

Luthien: [astounded]
        Is that a serious question?

    [pause]

Celebrimbor:
        I -- I meant anything most particular, right now. That -- I could help with.

    [Luthien sighs]

Luthien:
        I don't think -- I've slept more than half a watch or so a night -- since
        Beren was captured. Sometimes not even that. And I haven't been let go outside
        since I came here, everyone says it's too dangerous.

Celebrimbor:
        Well, there have been more wargs around this season than any time since the
        Fortress fell, so it isn't an exaggeration.

Luthien: [shrugs]
        I didn't see anything. And my people believe it's unhealthy to spend too long
        indoors, and I have to say it certainly seems to be true.

    [splashes her hand in the water]

        Maybe I'll just camp out here. I could probably sleep here all right. The
        fountain sounds so nice, I could almost forget I wasn't outside.

Celebrimbor:
        You're not serious--!

    [realizes she is serious]

        My lady, that's . . . not going to be possible. --You can't just, er, "camp out"
        in the Hall of Hours, as though it were a bivouac in the field!

Luthien:
        Why not? Finrod wouldn't mind if he were here. He lived on our main staircase
        practically all of one visit, copying the friezes -- we just put up extra lights
        and some ropes so no one would trip on him or step on the scrolls if he wasn't
        there, and Lord Edrahil kept bringing him meals and taking the plates way and
        poking him to make sure he ate and checking that he hadn't accidently rinsed
        brushes in his drinking goblet, and we all got so used to it that for months
        after they'd all gone we still were only using the other side of the steps . . .
        I wouldn't even be in the way, over by the wall here.

Celebrimbor:
        That's -- true . . . but . . . His Majesty isn't here and . . . that just isn't
        done, Your Highness.

Luthien: [uneven smile]
        If I do it then it will be, won't it?

Celebrimbor: [dismayed]
        It's . . . beneath your dignity, to sleep on the floor, my lady.

Luthien:
        No, it isn't.

    [pause]

        The other option would be to bring the fountain to my room. Which would be less
        convenient and not very considerate of everyone else. Though I'm sure my cousin
        would give me it if I asked as well. --If he were here.

Celebrimbor:
        Does it have to be this fountain, or would another do? I could probably make or
        find a smaller one, if you would like . . .

Luthien: [shrugging]
        It's the pitch of it. Some fountains just sound hollow, others annoyingly busy.
        This one is properly musical. --That's how I knew it was Finrod's work before I saw
        the snakes on it, because of the tone. He retuned all the fountains at Menegroth,
        which was nice of him, even though it rather annoyed my parents that he started the
        project without asking. I didn't realize how much of a difference it could make --
        did you even realize that, that water could be tuned like a drum?

Celebrimbor: [regretful]
        Yes, I know. We -- discussed it, a few times.

Luthien: [frowning, as if realizing something]
        You're Lord Curufin's son.

Celebrimbor:
        Yes.

    [He looks like he would say something else, sarcastic, but doesn't]

Luthien:
        Your uncle said I should speak to him about getting my cape back from the Sages
        but I haven't been able to track him down.

Celebrimbor:
        He . . . can be a difficult person to talk to.

Luthien: [earnest]
        Will you try to get hold of him for me, tell him I need to speak to him, that
        I need my cloak back, or at least to know when they'll be done with it? I'm
        getting worried about it, and I don't want to be rude or seem ungrateful, but
        I can't find anyone who claims to know where it is, except your father secondhand
        through Lord Celegorm.

Celebrimbor:
        I'm -- I'm afraid I don't have any control over his doings or goings, Your
        Highness, which are -- many.

Luthien: [forcefully]
        I understand these things. Believe me, I do understand about the troubles of
        rulers, and the business of running realms, and the responsibilities of lords.
        --Talk to him for me when next you see him. That's all I ask.

    [long silence]

Celebrimbor:
        I -- I will, my lady.

    [pause]

        Was there anything else you wanted here? Anything you need that isn't being
        provided for you?

    [Luthien stares at him for a moment]

Luthien:
        No. Huan wanted to come up here. I think it's up.

Celebrimbor: [looks around]
        Huan?

Luthien:
        He's not here right now. He went off somewhere while I was getting supplies.

Celebrimbor: [baffled]
        --Supplies?

Luthien: [a bit frustrated, repeating with emphasis]
        Yes, supplies. See?

    [she unknots a corner of her mantle and shows him a handful of dried fruit and pastries]

Celebrimbor:
        But . . . won't the household bring you whatever you ring for?

Luthien:
        Yes, but you never pass up the chance to grab something when you can. --Beren taught
        me that, though I never expected to have to use the knowledge. I can't walk past
        a hazelnut thicket now without checking, or a tangle of berry canes, or a birds'nest,
        in case there's something I can scavenge.

Celebrimbor: [faintly]
        You don't need to, now, my lady, you're safe and -- and provided-for, here.

Luthien: [shrugging]
        It gets to be a habit.

    [sighs]

        I wish I had the canteen I made out of reeds, it was such a nice compact one,
        but I dropped it when I was treed by Huan and forgot to pick it up.

Celebrimbor:
        --Reeds . . . ?

    [realizes too late to stop himself how annoying this is getting]

Luthien: [very slowly]
        The hollow things that grow in swampy depressions and along riverbanks. --And
        resin. The stuff that comes out of pine trees. It's very sticky. It makes the
        water taste odd but it keeps it in. --Did you not speak Sindarin much in Aglon?

    [Celebrimbor blinks, doesn't answer; after a moment she bites her lip]

        Um. That was really rude of me. I'm sorry. I'm just -- so horribly tired.

    [she fights successfully to keep from breaking down.]

Celebrimbor: [gently]
        Shall I escort you to your suite, Your Highness?

Luthien:
        No, I should probably wait for Huan. He might get worried if he came back and
        couldn't find me. I'll just stay here.

Celebrimbor: [still troubled]
        Very well, my lady.

    [He returns to working on his clock, and Luthien watches him for a moment before
    putting her head down on her knees. Curufin enters, obviously looking for his son,
    and stalks over to where Celebrimbor is taking something apart.]

Curufin: [quietly enough not to make a public scene, but not pleasantly]
        Are you still wasting your time with that toy? Shouldn't you move on to something
        else? Or are you going to compulsively tinker with it for the next Great Year, too?

    [Instead of answering, Celebrimbor nods over in the direction of the fountain. Curufin
    following his look sees Luthien asleep next to it and frowns, not expecting or pleased
    by this.]

Celebrimbor: [quietly]
        She's been looking for you to talk to you, Father. Do you wish to wake Her Highness?

    [Grimacing, Curufin turns quickly and strides off. Celebrimbor looks first relieved,
    then disgusted with himself at his stratagem. In the background Huan makes his way
    through the Hall of Hours, sniffing the air, and heads towards them. When he gets to
    where Luthien is sitting he stands in front of her, patient-dog-mode, huffing on her
    feet until she notices he's there and grabs his ruff to pull herself up. Trailing shreds
    behind her, she walks with a handful of his fur, as if they were arm-in-arm, and they
    go out without stopping or speaking to anyone else. A visible relief on the expressions
    of the crowd, save for Celebrimbor, who keeps working with a bitter & self-mocking smile.]

    [The apartments of Lord Guilin's House -- the style here is very high Noldor, even
    more so than in Orodreth's suite: more geometric and abstract, though still with
    natural and organic themes (more early Dynastic and Assyrian, less Amarna). There
    is a lot of glass in the ornamentation, both blown and cut, both functional and used
    for atmospheric effect of light and color. Finduilas and Gwindor are having an
    animated conversation in the main hallway.]

Gwindor: [arms folded, very abrupt]
        I can't believe you're going on with this. It's completely inappropriate.

Finduilas: [exasperated and pleading]
        It's been planned for months, Gwin. It would be far more awkward if we canceled
        it now.

Gwindor:
        It's still inappropriate.

Finduilas:
        We talked about it before -- if you were going to object you should have said
        something sooner.

Gwindor:
        If you will recall, Finduilas, -- I did.

Finduilas:
        Yes, but then you stopped.

Gwindor:
        Because you clearly had no intention of listening to anything I had to say.

Finduilas:
        Well, I'm sorry. But it's too late, to change it, now.

Gwindor:
        It's never too late.

Finduilas:
        Gwin, your father isn't going to cancel. Would you just -- oh, honestly--!

    [she breaks off, shaking her head, turns away and folds her own arms. Brief pause.]

Gwindor:
        Well, perhaps I won't be here.

    [Finduilas whirls]

Finduilas: [outraged]
        Milord, are you trying to be funny? Because you're failing dismally.

Gwindor: [just as haughty]
        I wasn't jesting, your Highness. If you insist on holding celebrations with your
        snobby Eastern friends, you can just count me out.

Finduilas:
        Gwin! They're your friends too.

Gwindor:
        Not any longer.

Finduilas:
        You're not serious, are you? Do you know how humiliating that would be, for you
        not to be here? You don't mean it really.

Gwindor:
        I mean it. If you refuse to use your wits and your sensibilities and mindlessly
        accept things as they are, it's my duty then to think for both of us.

Finduilas:
        How dare you!

Gwindor: [offhand]
        Someone's got to -- it might as well be me.

    [not so snottily]

        Please try to look at things rationally--

Finduilas:
        Do not try to slip out of this after those words, milord Guilinion! I will
        not put up with such arrogant, insulting, rude behavior without an apology!

Gwindor: [exasperated]
        Faelivrin--

Finduilas: [raising her voice still more]
        Don't you dare call me that right now!

    [Enter Lord Guilin]

Guilin:
        --Children, what's the matter? You're disturbing the whole household with your arguing.

Finduilas: [holding out her hands]
        Sir, your son is being impossible. Again.

Guilin: [sighing]
        Gwin, why must you take out your ill-humor upon your lady? Isn't there enough sorrow
        these days?

    [Gwindor rolls his eyes]

        Finduilas, dear, what is this trouble over?

Finduilas:
        He's being hateful about the Gathering tonight. Calling me insensitive and frivolous,
        as if doing nothing instead would help--

Guilin: [reproachfully]
        I'd hoped you were going to be mature about this, Gwin. I -- if you're going to attack
        anyone, attack me. Not the Princess. After all, I'm the one who made the decision; I
        should bear your scorn, not she.

Gwindor: [fiercely]
        Father, if you cared so much for my good opinion, then why haven't you taken it into
        consideration before making decisions? Keeping me sheltered like so much glass isn't
        going to bring back Gelmir. --Or the King.

Finduilas:
        Gwin! How can you be so cruel?

    [Gwindor stands still, his expression angry and pained, and suddenly slams his fist
    against the panelling. One of the elaborate sculptures on the wall separates from its
    mount and drops onto the stone floor, shattering. Finduilas covers her ears instinctively,
    cringing, waiting for the breakage, and bursts into silent tears. Gwindor looks appalled
    and ashamed.]

Guilin: [sadly]
        Son. --Did that aid anything?

Gwindor:
        Faelivrin, I'm sorry--

Finduilas: [sniffling]
        It doesn't matter, I'll make another one.

    [Gwindor goes over to her and puts his arms around her.]

Gwindor: [whispering]
        I'm so sorry, I lost my temper, I--

    [she shakes her head]

        I'll be here tonight. I promise. I won't say anything. --I'm sorry.

Finduilas:
        It's all right.

    [The Carillon sounds -- she starts.]

        Oh! I've got to meet my father for dinner. I need to go change and see about a
        lot of things first.

    [wipes her eyes]

        Please excuse me, Lord Guilin.

Guilin:
        Not at all, my dear. Please give him my regards. --Are you quite yourself again?

Finduilas: [bright smile]
        I will. Yes, I'm fine, thank you.

    [she gives Gwindor a quick kiss and goes off briskly. Her fiancee does not look away
    from his father's recriminating expression, but after Lord Guilin leaves he sighs and
    carefully begins picking up the broken pieces of blown glass.]

    [Luthien is sitting by the hearth with Huan, both of them watching the flames, him
    behind her rather like a sphinx with his head over/on her shoulder, (the way horses
    like to.) Celegorm, shown in by an attendant, looks around the solar for a moment
    before seeing them on the floor and is surprised. He has an ornate & longish box
    under his arm.]

Celegorm: [hesitantly]
        Er, hullo, I was just looking for Huan -- I see he's there with you still . . .

Luthien: [looking around]
        Yes, he's a little hard to miss.

    [She gets up and comes around the Hound and greets Celegorm with a polite nod as to
    an equal; he takes her hand and bows over it with just short of exaggeration. She does
    not look quite so drugged and haggard as before.]

Celegorm:
        Well, how's my little pup doing? Behaving himself?

    [Huan stretches and whines, wriggling, conveying I'm-a-good-dog-but-I-don't-want-to-move]

Luthien: [wistfully]
        Oh, yes. Do you have to take him away so soon?

Celegorm:
        No, not at all. In fact, -- I was thinking you might like to play a few rounds
        of chess to divert yourself, so I brought a set and a board along . . ?

    [looks at her with an expression of mild hopefullness]

Luthien:
        There's already one in this room,

    [remembering manners]

        --but that's kind of you. --Oh--

    [her eyes light up]

        -- wait! with two we could play mortal chess.

Celegorm:
        Mortal chess?

Luthien:
        Yes, Beren taught me how to play it. It's very interesting. I'll teach you, if
        you like. I find our version rather dull now, to tell the truth.

    [she takes the box and carries it over to the table, grabbing the other set off
    a sideboard as she goes]

Celegorm: [lightly]
        Hm. Wouldn't have guessed he could fit a set in that little kit of his. Or was
        it yours?

Luthien: [serious]
        Oh no. You can play it with rocks and acorns, or bits of stick with the bark
        peeled off some of them. All you need is two colors and one bigger than the rest,
        to be the king-stone. And some flat ground and a twig or a flat rock and charcoal
        to draw the lines.

    [she takes out all the pawns, leaving the rest of the figured pieces in the case.]

        Now if you'll give me the other set--

    [she takes out the red pawns only from this set and sets the pieces up tafl-style --
    the red pawns go in clusters at the centers of the four sides, the white pawns go in
    the middle of the board, and in the center of them one white king.]

Celegorm:
        Where do the rest of 'em go?

Luthien:
        That's it. Now we play.

Celegorm:
        You're joking!

    [Huan comes over and sits down between them, leaning his head over the table to
    watch the game curiously]

Luthien:
        No.

Celegorm:
        But you can't win this. Or -- that is, only red can win, all the time. The unlucky
        soul playing center certainly can't.

Luthien:
        Oh, you can -- it's just very hard. That's why I find it so much more mentally
        stimulating than ours, with everything all equal and balanced to start with. Very
        symmetrical, not very realistic. --Unless you could somehow bring out secret ones
        all of the sudden.

    [he is looking at her rather oddly]

        Just like in the Leaguer. This isn't realistic really, having everyone know what
        forces are on each side, since we're all trying to hide ours from the Enemy and he
        from us, and trick each other into mistaking what's what. --But at least this is
        more like what really happened. --And you can win it, which I think is a hopeful sign.

Celegorm:
        Even outnumbered. And surrounded.

Luthien:
        Yes. As long as you don't lose your leader. The trick is to keep moving and get free.

Celegorm: [rubbing his lips pensively]
        How do you take pieces, if they all move the same way?

Luthien:
        Any warrior trapped between two enemies is down. And you only move in straight
        lines, ahead, back, or either side. I go first -- see, like that. Now you go.

    [They go through the next few moves carefully]

Celegorm:
        Oh, you made a mistake, you just went two squares with him.

Luthien:
        No, that's right: you can go as far as you think safe. Generally you don't want
        to get out ahead of the line, though. Realism again.

Celegorm:
        Hey, wait, your chap's down -- he just went between two of my pieces.

Luthien:
        No, you can dash between two enemies already there.

Celegorm: [wry]
        Now you tell me.

Luthien:
        Sorry. It's just if you're engaged with one and someone else comes up behind you,
        then you go down. I believe that's an accurate reflection of how it works in real
        life, reduced to essentials, isn't it?

Celegorm: [heartfelt]
        This is a weird game.

    [moves]

Luthien:
        --Path!

Celegorm:
        Eh? What's that?

Luthien:
        I have to warn you -- I have a clear path for escape there. --That's another way
        games differ from real life.

Celegorm:
        So . . . if I move this warrior here, your king is blocked, and you don't have an
        out any more.

Luthien:
        Right. But he won't last very long, because I'm coming up alongside of him here,
        and now -- he's down.

Celegorm:
        But -- hmm.

    [he scowls at the board, a bit chagrinned]

Luthien:
        That's all right, I lost all the time at first, too. No matter what side I was
        playing. It took a few bouts before I got the hang of it.

Celegorm: [indulgently]
        Oh, you mean before he let you have a win.

Luthien: [sharply]
        Beren didn't let me win.

Celegorm: [nodding in patronizing fashion as he moves]
        Right, right.

Luthien: [snapping her piece down]
        He didn't. --He wouldn't dare, I'd know.

Celegorm:
        You really think I'm going to believe this can be won by the defending side?

Luthien:
        When you see it.

    [Celegorm moves, and she moves instantly, taking two of his pieces]

Celegorm:
         You can't do that!

Luthien:
        Both of them were flanked. It's just like draughts: as many as are in range.

    [he frowns, moves again, and she counters again]

        --Field!

Celegorm:
        What's that mean?

Luthien:
        It means I win. See?

    [points]

        Even if you could block this side, you can't get your troops over to the other side
        fast enough to stop me from breaking through here.

Celegorm:
        I'll be damned. You did win. --Are you sure you didn't cheat?

    [Luthien looks indignant -- his expression and tone change completely to sincerest
    gallantry]

        Oh, what am I saying? Of course you wouldn't cheat, you're a lady and far too fair
        and honorable for that. You've bested me in fair fight.

Luthien:
        I've had far more practice at it. Here, I'll set up again and you'll know what to
        do now.

    [she starts rearranging the pieces; after a moment Celegorm catches her first words
    and gives her a wary look

Celegorm: [aside]
        --Did she really say what I thought she said? . . . surely not . . .

    [aloud, staring hard at the board]

        Of course, you realize it's really ironic, dont'ya know, when winning consists
        of turning tail and running for dear life! You can tell no Noldor mind came
        up with this game--

    [he chuckles, but stops at her look and settles down]

        --All right, so I want to prevent you from bracketing my pieces, or they'll all
        be picked off and flattened . . .

    [suddenly stunned with realization]

       --Wait, I know this -- it's a confounded sandastan!

    [grinning]

        Hah -- my lady, you won't draw me into this hedge so easily again. Your move,
        I believe, Your Highness?

    [intensely they go through the next series of moves in silence.]

        Well. I think -- I've won. Your warriors can't get out out of that quadrant,
        can they? And your king can't get to the edge with my men there, right? So
        either you surrender now, or, you come out and get cut down one by one. Hm?

Luthien: [nodding]
        Very impressive, my lord.

Celegorm: [smiling into her eyes]
        I'm a fast learner.

Luthien: [not looking away]
        But -- if this were real life, that might not be the end of it.

    [She reaches into a box, takes out the rest of white pawns and sets them in a
    wedge at the opposite corner. Definitely--]

        --Keep playing.

Celegorm:
        Hey! You can't do that! --Can you?

Luthien:
        I just did. It's called -- the Serech Variation. Your move.

    [Silence. Huan whines. Celegorm swallows hard, and breaks from her glance to consider
    the board. After a moment, he makes an uncertain jerky slide, and she moves at once
    to counter. He gets back to business, and keeps pulling pieces away from her encircled
    king to throw them in front of her attack, but she just keeps moving, without stopping
    to consider the next move.]

        Path. --And field.

    [Celegorm stares at the board dismayed, and then looks up at her.]

Celegorm:
        But you lost just about all of your forces to do it.

Luthien: [coolly]
        And that, too, is more like real life -- isn't it?

    [Celegorm doesn't say anything, although he tries. She reaches around the board and
    catches both of his hands in her own, staring intensely at him]

        --You know what we have to do. You know how to do it. You've told me how it should
        be done. You've told me how Finrod befriended you and took you in and supplied your
        material losses out of his own stores without asking for any return or putting you
        "in your place" over it ever since the Sudden Flame -- and you told me I could
        depend on you. I am depending on you. --We are. Celegorm Turcofin Feanorion, will
        you redeem your pledge to me and your debt to the King and avenge your father all
        in one? --Which may perhaps even help effect a reconciliation not merely between my
        family  and myself, but between our Houses as well, if only you but throw off this
        mirk that clouds all our minds and press forward without further delay!

    [Celegorm stares at her, entranced, visibly torn, struggling to speak]

Celegorm:
        I --

    [his expression changes from receptive to baffled]

        --would, -- but--

    [he shakes his head sadly]

        --it isn't entirely in my control --

    [meaningful tone]

        not as though I were Regent, after all--

    [Luthien lets go of his hands, flattens hers on the table and stands up from her chair]

Luthien: [ominously]
        Are you saying Orodreth is a traitor? That he's delaying on purpose--!?

    [Celegorm is intimidated in spite of himself by her expression and backs down]

Celegorm:
        I -- I didn't mean to imply that, my lady, only, only, -- only that he -- well,
        it's difficult to say, being friends for many years, but -- he -- he isn't --
        well, you know, about the Fortress and all . . .

Luthien:
        Know what?

Celegorm:
        I really . . . shouldn't say . . .

Luthien:
        You've said already -- too much, or too little, my lord.

Celegorm: [sighing]
        He's got no nerve left for fighting. It seemed to happen with the onset of Sauron
        -- who as you might know is a spirit of no ordinary power and ability -- but I'm
        convinced it really all started with the Bragollach --

    [sp reading his hands regretfully]

        not that I can blame him, certainly, not like he's the only Elf to be undone by
        that disaster -- but giving up the Fortress without a fight, running back here
        without even a retreatin' action -- there's a reason why he's never held command
        or even taken the field since then.

Luthien:
        But he is not the only warrior -- soldier or officer -- in Nargothrond!

Celegorm: [more confidently]
        But he's in charge. He's the one who sets the tone, you know, that a command takes
        its lead from the commander, and so on. Without the will bein' there at the top,
        the bottom ranks can't have it either. Morale and whatnot, doncha know.

Luthien: [shaking her head, bewildered]
        But -- but that doesn't make any sense -- if he can't handle the responsibility
        of ruling, then it would make sense to do everything possible to get the one who
        can back safely--

Celegorm:
        True -- but, you know -- people don't always behave rationally, what?

    [rising]

        Oh -- Lady Luthien -- you won't mention to him that I told you about this, will
        you? He's very -- sensitive, about the rout -- understandable, of course.

    [he takes her hand and bows over it]

Luthien:
        Are you going so soon?

Celegorm: [awkwardly]
        I -- I must.

    [sudden inspiration]

        You asked me to see what I could do.

Luthien: [taken aback, uncertainly]
        Oh. Oh, good. Thank you. --May Huan stay a while longer? If you please, my lord?

Celegorm: [smiles]
        Of course, my lady.

    [He bows again and leaves, still a bit shaken, though covering it well]

Luthien: [beyond upset]
        --Oh!

    [leans on the table, her head hanging down]

        Did I actually accomplish anything? --I don't know--

    [Listlessly she starts putting the remaining chessmen away -- then struck by a sudden
    inspiration she picks up one of the white castles and turns it around in her fingers]

Luthien: [thoughtful]
        So cousin Orodreth was there . . . I'd not realized that. For years. That means
        he knows the area well -- and the Fortress.

    [A look of focussed determination comes over her face. She puts the piece away,
    tosses the end of her mantle over her shoulder like a cape and folds her arms squarely.]

        I need to talk to him. About everything. And the way to reach him is Finduilas
        -- I'm afraid I've got to catch her and not let go, even if I lose what's left
        of my mind as a result. --Oh well--

    [looks at Huan; without irony:]

        --Could I trouble you to find her for me, milord?

    [Huan gets up, wagging his tail slowly, not unwilling, but not enthusiastic, and he
    sounds rather troubled when he replies:]

Huan:
       [short bark]

Luthien:
        You don't have to stay while we talk, unless you want to.

    [Huan comes over to have his ears scratched before going out on his mission; Luthien
    goes over to a "window" and perches on the frame as if it was a real windowsill.]

Luthien: [musing]
        --He didn't even notice that I let him win the second time . . . it's worse than
        I realized! But I don't know what to do, except talk -- if it's being underground,
        really, I've got no hope -- but if it's being cut off from the sky, you'd think
        it would be the same at home -- hah, perhaps it is! -- but no, nobody stays all
        the time in the Thousand Caves. Or perhaps it's also the fact that Mom's there,
        and her presence counteracts the lack of stars. And then -- that could explain,
        actually -- with Finrod gone there's no one here who's strong enough to make up
        for the absence . . .

    [traces the joins along the edges of the carved trees with her finger]

        I wish Galadriel were here -- she wouldn't allow such a muddle and nightmare to
        go on. She'd know what to do, and do it. But instead -- we've just got me . . .

    [she sighs heavily and leans back on the frame, closing her eyes]

Gower:
                 A broken faith less easy to repair when riven,
        one finds; yet may the pieces, severally, be truly given--

    [The royal apartments. Celebrimbor enters from one of the farther chambers with a
    small chest and sets it down on the table, where there are a number of pieces of
    carved marble and bronze piping. Taking a piece of cloth from the chest he starts
    wrapping up the disassembled fountain and packing it in the box. One small basin he
    picks up, and blows across it like a flute, with a distant look. Behind him Curufin
    comes in, and he is all business again.]

Curufin:
        So first you sneer at me, and then you go and help yourself to our lamented
        kinsman's belongings. --I do admire your mental flexibility, son.

Celebrimbor: [not looking at him, going on packing]
        I helped with this project. There's a difference -- subtle, but I should think
        you'd appreciate subtlety . . . Father.

Curufin:
        You watch that disrespectful mouth, boy, unless you wish to fend for yourself in
        the Wilds. I could arrange for you to stand a season on the remote watches, you
        know. How much fiddling about, I wonder, could you manage out on patrol or in
        a roundhouse? I doubt you'd get such a dose of fawning appreciation from your
        comrades as you do around here.

    [Celebrimbor flushes but doesn't say anything else.]

        What are you thinking?

    [his son grimaces, but still doesn't answer]

        I asked you a direct question. Your continued silence is insolence. --What are
        you thinking there, Celebrimbor?

Celebrimbor: [looking at him defiantly]
        That -- as usual -- our mothers were wiser than ourselves.

    [it is Curufin's turn to flush]

Curufin: [biting off each word]
        I don't expect you to understand my motives, nor consequently to appreciate them
        -- but you could at least try to make an effort -- particularly when it's for
        your benefit--

    [Celebrimbor's expression hardens -- before things escalate further, Celegorm enters.
    To Celebrimbor:]

Celegorm:
        Get out, I want to talk to your father.

Celebrimbor:
        Presently -- I'm almost done.

Celegorm:
        Now.

    [He comes over and starts to grab a component and toss it in: Celebrimbor seizes
    the valve back from him and leans defensively over the table, blocking him.]

Celebrimbor:
        Don't touch any of this!

Celegorm:
        Snap at me and I'll muzzle you. --Punk.

    [Glaring, Celebrimbor quickly but carefully puts the remaining pieces inside and closes
    the lid. As he picks up the chest to go--]

Curufin:
        Where are you taking that lot?

Celebrimbor:
        To Her Highness of Doriath. She misses the sound of water. I offered to help.

    [as he is almost out the door]

        --I do follow through, when I make promises.

    [The Sons of Feanor give the grandson of Feanor a dirty parting Look]

Curufin:
        What's going on?

    [Celegorm wanders around the chamber for a minute, not answering right away, leaning
    on furniture and tapping on mantlepieces.]

        Well? Out with it!

Celegorm:
        I just had a . . . very troubling encounter with Her Highness.

Curufin:
        Sparkly? Or the other one?

Celegorm:
        Her Highness of Doriath, nitwit. Finduilas just looks down her dainty nose at me,
        and I just smile at her, and she just goes off in a huff. She's no trouble.

Curufin:
        What sort of trouble are we talking about, here?

Celegorm:
        She was putting some kind of trance on me, something that made me start to forget
        all about our priorities and all. I've never felt anything like it.

    [he looks at Curufin with desperate hopefulness, waiting for explanation and reassurance]

Curufin:
        Was she singing?

Celegorm:
        No. Not even humming.

    [pause]

        She just looked into my eyes, and I wanted to tell her everything and grovel on
        the rug and beg her pardon. Five minutes longer and I'd have been arming up to
        head out, I swear!

    [Curufin looks alarmed and angry]

        Oh, and she did invoke my full name.

Curufin: [thoughtfully]
        Well, naming is the second oldest form of power there is, after song -- though to
        hear our cousin go on about it they're the same thing. But if you were able to walk
        away from it without any difficulty I wouldn't worry about it. She isn't that strong,
        it can't have taken that much power to overwhelm a couple of Dark-elven sentries,
        probably already sharing a wineskin and careless with overconfidence. Concentrate
        on impressing her -- though I'd recommend not looking at her eyes.

    [Celegorm sighs regretfully]

Celegorm:
        Most prudent thing, I guess. Oh well. Besides, as long as I'm paying attention it
        isn't like she can get anything past my guard. Right?

Curufin:
        I'd think not.

Celegorm: [smugly]
        You'd be proud of me -- I managed to make Orodreth take the fall, and at the same
        time appealed to her delicate sensibilities not to bring it up to him. The way
        he's hiding from her, there's no chance she'll get the chance to, anyhow. Well,
        thanks for taking a load off my mind! --I think I'll go bother our good Regent for
        a bit, now that I think of it. He can give me some pointers on how to achieve
        rapport with Sindarin Elves, eh? Being related to 'em and all.

Curufin:
        Just don't give the plan away to him by accident. He may be unimaginitive, but he
        isn't a complete fool.

Celegorm:
        Don't worry, I won't breathe a word. I was thinking I'd make it seem like I'm
        worried about her health, her state of mind and all. I mean, obviously she's not
        quite normal, what?

Curufin: [smiling dryly]
        The "Mad Princess of Doriath." Obviously she needs the best care we can give her.
        --I like it.

    [they share a complicit grin]

        Well, much as I'd never admit it before him that I've overlooked anything,
        'Brim's reminded me there are all sorts of storage areas and work facilities
        about here that I've not investigated. So that should keep me busy for quite a
        while. Good luck on your, er, fishing expedition . . .

    [Celegorm claps him on the shoulder and goes out cheerfully; Curufin begins opening
    cabinets fitted into the marquetry and panelling of the apartments]
 

Gower:
        No hits so palpable, so lasting keen, shall e'er be felt
        as they that strike hearts where once friendship dwelt--

    [Orodreth's office. Boxes of scrolls and bound ledgers are lined up along the walls
    and next to his desk, and stacks of them and loose sheets of parchment cover the top
    of it. He is holding a page in his hand as though reading it but not looking at it.
    The door opens suddenly: he looks up, startled, then angry, as Celegorm strolls in.]

Orodreth: [biting]
        It is customary to knock, even if one is too busy and overwhelmed to manage to
        schedule an appointment, you know.

Celegorm:
        Oh, come off your high horse, cousin, I've seen you silly with wine too many
        times to take you seriously--

    [Orodreth continues to look around past him]

        What?

Orodreth:
        Where's your shadow? Or did he finally figure out how to make her invisibility
        cloak work?

Celegorm:
        Ha ha. Cur's busy.

Orodreth: [setting down the paper and shaking his head]
        That's a change.

Celegorm:
        You could at least be civil, you know.

Orodreth: [sighs]
        I could, I suppose. --What can I help you with, my lord? How may the Regent's
        office be of service to the House of Feanor today?

    [Celegorm grimaces but forges on]

Celegorm:
        You've been to Doriath; I haven't. --Don't say "Obviously" or anything like that.
        Just -- answer the question, all right?

    [Orodreth says nothing]

        What's it like there? Is she typical? All this independence and do-it-yourself
        and not seeming to notice the -- the -- grandeur of everything or the honor that's
        rendered her? I mean, it's almost like she's some kind of wild creature that doesn't
        recognize the work of people as being any different from trees!

Orodreth: [drumming his fingers on the desk]
        Typical? No. I would not say that. Not even before. But yes, Doriath is a very
        different place from anything our people have ever built. It has to be. There
        are so many different ethnic groups living there, with separate traditions and
        their own historical soveriegnties, and they mix them all up and swap them around,
        which makes it even more confusing to someone from Aman.

Celegorm:
        What do you mean, "swap 'em around" --? How do you do that?

Orodreth:
        Oh, Teler using Sindarin names, Singers borrowing Telerin musical instruments,
        Sindar copying Laiquendi pottery designs on leatherwork, and everyone trading
        songs back and forth.

Celegorm:
        But -- "sovereignties" --! That can't be what you meant.

Orodreth: [shrugs]
        Then I must have imagined the time that Angrod was arranging a fishing trip down
        to the Confluences and Elu told him to check with our great-aunt about whose it
        was then, as the local tribes had been exchanging it for stories and they'd had
        a Singing recently, and he wasn't sure who would have to grant us permission to
        take fish from the waters.

Celegorm:
        What, they gave it away for a song? You're joking!

    [Orodreth shakes his head; Celegorm snorts in disgust]

        Daft!

Orodreth:
        And of course there is the fact that the boundaries of Doriath proper are
        impenetrable, so that there is no need for the kind of careful watching and
        intensive security and secrecy that the rest of us must maintain outside.

    [leans back in his chair]

        After all, if no one can get inside, you don't need to worry about the presence
        of Enemy agents or invaders, and after a few Great Years of that I don't think
        anyone from Menegroth would even understand the basis for our policies and rules.
        It may be the model for this City, but it runs on a logic all of its own.

Celegorm:
        Is logic even the right word for it, eh?

Orodreth:
        Well, if there's no chance of invaders getting near your gates, what do you need
        to have people on them all the time for? The doors just stand open all the time,
        and you haven't wasted anyone's time that could be better spent on creative pursuits.
        And with all the preexisting cultures and lines of authority that converge there,
        there's little of what we would call formality -- does a Sindarin Lord outrank an
        Elder of the Following of Denethor? When a craftswoman of the local village recalls
        the Second Kindling and a war orphan with no name from father or mother is one
        of the foremost warriors of the land -- then best offer the same honor to all, and
        not worry about who ranks whom.

Celegorm:
        Sounds like a proper mess.

Orodreth:
        It works, though.

Celegorm:
        I don't see how.

Orodreth:
        No? Well, I have. It just does, somehow. I gather that when you have a minor
        goddess as Queen, many of the ordinary little difficulties of getting people to
        cooperate, and do their jobs responsibly, simply disappear on their own -- they
        don't require alternately bludgeoning and coaxing people into keeping up with
        their duties.

    [shakes head, ironic expression.]

        For instance -- you might find this story interesting -- we heard that in the
        aftermath of the Burning there was a spillover of enemy troops into Brethil,
        which isn't in Doriath but is technically part of their domain . . . as even
        you should concede, since they've managed to hold on to it, so to speak.

Celegorm: [uncomfortable]
        Oh come, don't be such a bad sport--

Orodreth: [impassive, slightly mocking tone]
        It was after I lost Tol Sirion, to put a precise date, and cause, upon it. My
        great-uncle won't have anything to do with the people who live there, they being
        mortals, which suits them admirably, as they're not much for government -- you
        might remember them, they used to stay in your brother's territory until they were
        almost wiped out by a fair-sized army of Orcs, and decided they'd prefer a home
        with a less exposed location, which is another story entirely -- but he still
        sent in Captain Strongbow and a massive relief force at lightning speed to deal
        with it before they were almost wiped out this time.

    [he does not appear to notice Celegorm's glare]

        --Though knowing Beleg, it probably went more like: "Orcs in Brethil -- I'm
        rounding up volunteers and we'll already have gotten there by the time you receive
        this and Her Majesty will already have told you so I'm not sure why I'm sending
        this at all."

Celegorm:
        Can't imagine anyone of my people talking to me that way. Or any Noldor ruler.

Orodreth: [bitter smile]
        --Can't you? Never paid much attention around here, did you?

    [Before Celegorm can figure it out]

        Elu really has to be upset to be handing out death threats and locking people
        up -- I can't think of anything to compare to it, except for when he threw us
        all out temporarily as a matter of principle and banned the Old Tongue for good
        measure, after he found out about the Kinslaying.

Celegorm: [frighteningly grim]
        Do not bring that up again, cousin.

    [Orodreth just looks at him, raising one eyebrow, not acknowledging the order]

    [brightly:]

         Go on, go on, I can't believe you don't have any more to say about it!

Orodreth: [raising his hands]
        What else is there to say? To describe it properly would take -- an Age, and
        then not be done. It's too much, too real, for that. But it's generally very
        easygoing, once you're inside -- Doriath is the sort of place where if you want
        to live in a tree, instead of a cave, no one will mind -- and they won't,
        ordinarily, make you stay there if you don't want to, either.

Celegorm:
        So -- is Elwe really a proper King at all? Sounds like anarchy to me.

Orodreth:
        Oh yes. Very much so. Make no mistake of that.

Celegorm:
        Why? If people just wander in and out, and no one's in charge and everyone
        is equal--

Orodreth:
        --Because he is the center of it all -- or rather, they are, for you can't think
        of Elu without Melian -- the axle upon which the Stars revolve, so to speak . . .
        and because all choose to follow, remaining in their Circle.

    [softly]

        --That's the heart of it, isn't it? That's all that matters -- the rest is
        just . . . ornament, when you think about it. It doesn't mean much, if there's
        no holding-to there, nothing to keep one from spinning off into the Void as
        one pleases . . .

Celegorm: [oblivious]
        So what's she like? I mean, really?

Orodreth:
        She isn't crazy, if that's what you're getting at. She just sees things . . .
        differently from . . . nearly everyone, that I know of.

Celegorm:
        What do you mean?

Orodreth: [shrugs]
        She has a strange way of looking at things, as though from an angle high up,
        or far below, the best I can explain it -- as though someone were to paint you
        a picture of a ship from under the sea -- you'd look at it and wonder what it
        was, before your mind adjusted to it and it would still be the same painting but
        you would understand it, now.

Curufin:
        You're talkin' rot, cousin. Things are things. How you look at 'em doesn't
        change them.

Orodreth:
        No? Then perhaps it changes one. Looking at them and thinking about them and
        not being able to go back to seeing them the old way only. But what do I know?
        I was never the Sage in our family -- you are of course free to agree with that
        humorously as you no doubt will--

    [standing up and pacing as he remembers, while speaking]

        What's a good example . . . ? --There are some flowering trees native to Doriath
        similar to summer-snow, but with dark-rose blooms . . . Once I remarked that I
        wished we had them growing around here, and the conversation turned to geographical
        distribution of species and migration patterns and the usual sorts of reasonable
        discourse you'd expect. Luthien was walking backwards practicing pirouettes on the
        gallery railing where we were sitting, by the way.