Beren and Lúthien

by J. R. R. Tolkien

  Suddenly is all that place filled with the sound of elven horns, and one [? brays] with a clearer blast above the rest, and it is the horn of Beren, the huntsman of the woods. Then is the air thick with the slender arrows of the Eldar that err not neither doth the wind bear them aside, and lo, from every tree and boulder do the brown Elves and the green spring suddenly and loose unceasingly from full quivers. Then was there a panic and a noise in the host of Naugladur, and those that waded in the ford cast their golden burdens in the waters and sought affrighted to either bank, but many were stricken with those pitiless darts and fell with their gold into the currents of the Aros, staining its clear waters with their dark blood.

  Now were the warriors on the far bank [? wrapped] in battle and rallying sought to come at their foes, but these fled nimbly before them, while [? others] poured still the hail of arrows upon them, and thus got the Eldar few hurts and the Dwarf-folk fell dead unceasingly. Now was that great fight of the Stony Ford . . . nigh to Naugladur, for even though Naugladur and his captains led their bands stoutly never might they grip their foe, and death fell like rain upon their ranks until the most part broke and fled, and a noise of clear laughter echoed from the Elves thereat, and they forbore to shoot more, for the illshapen figures of the Dwarves as they fled, their white beards torn by the wind, filled them with mirth. But now stood Naugladur and few were about him, and he remembered the words of Gwendelin,* for behold, Beren came towards him and he cast aside his bow, and drew a bright sword; and Beren was of great stature among the Eldar, albeit not of the girth and breadth of Naugladur of the Dwarves.

  Then said Beren: ‘Ward thy life if thou canst, O crook-legged murderer, else will I take it,’ and Naugladur bid him even the Nauglafring, the necklace of wonder, that he be suffered to go unharmed; but Beren said: ‘Nay, that may I still take when thou art slain,’ and thereat he made alone upon Naugladur and his companions, and having slain the foremost of these the others fled away amid elven laughter, and so Beren came upon Naugladur, slayer of Tinwelint. Then did that aged one defend himself doughtily, and ’twas a bitter fight, and many of the Elves that watched for love and fear of their captain fingered their bow-strings, but Beren called even as he fought that all should stay their hands.

  Now little doth the tale tell of wounds and blows of that affray, save that Beren got many hurts therein, and many of his shrewdest blows did little harm to Naugladur by reason of the [? skill] and magic of his dwarfen mail; and it is said that three hours they fought and Beren’s arms grew weary, but not those of Naugladur accustomed to wield his mighty hammer at the forge, and it is more than like that otherwise would the issue have been but for the curse of Mîm; for marking how Beren grew faint Naugladur pressed him ever more nearly, and the arrogance that was of that grievous spell came into his heart, and he thought: ‘I will slay this Elf, and his folk will flee in fear before me,’ and grasping his sword he dealt a mighty blow and cried: ‘Take here thy bane, O stripling of the woods,’ and in that moment his foot found a jagged stone and he stumbled forward, but Beren slipped aside from that blow and catching at his beard his hand found the carcanet of gold, and therewith he swung Naugladur suddenly off his feet upon his face: and Naugladur’s sword was shaken from his grasp, but Beren seized it and slew him therewith, for he said: ‘I will not sully my bright blade with thy dark blood, since there is no need.’ But the body of Naugladur was cast into the Aros.

  Then did he unloose the necklace, and he gazed in wonder at it—and beheld the Silmaril, even the jewel he won from Angband and gained undying glory by his deed; and he said: ‘Never have mine eyes beheld thee O Lamp of Faëry burn one half so fair as now thou dost, set in gold and gems and the magic of the Dwarves’; and that necklace he caused to be washed of its stains, and he cast it not away, knowing nought of its power, but bore it with him back into the woods of Hithlum.

  To this passage from the Tale of the Nauglafring there corresponds only the few words of the Quenta cited in the extract cited on p. 235:

  In that battle [Sarn Athrad] the Green Elves took the Dwarves at unawares as they were in the midst of their passage, laden with their plunder; and the Dwarvish chiefs were slain, and well nigh all their host. But Beren took the Nauglamír, the Necklace of the Dwarves, whereon was hung the Silmaril . . .

  This illustrates my observation on p. 231, that my father ‘was drawing down into a brief compendious history what he could also see in a far more detailed, immediate, and dramatic form.’

  I will conclude this short excursion into the Lost Tale of the Necklace of the Dwarves with a further quotation, origin of the story as told in the Quenta (pp. 236–7) of the deaths of Beren and Lúthien, and the slaying of Dior, their son. I take up this extract with words between Beren and Gwendelin (Melian) when Lúthien first wore the Nauglafring. Beren declared that never had she appeared so beautiful; but Gwendelin said: ‘Yet the Silmaril abode in the Crown of Melko, and that is the work of baleful smiths indeed.’

  Then said Tinúviel that she desired not things of worth or precious stones, but the elven gladness of the forest, and to pleasure Gwendelin she cast it from her neck; but Beren was little pleased and he would not suffer it to be flung away, but warded it in his [? treasury].

  Thereafter did Gwendelin abide a while in the woods among them and was healed [of her overwhelming grief for Tinwelint]; and in the end she fared wistfully back to the land of Lórien and came never again into the tales of the dwellers of Earth; but upon Beren and Lúthien fell swiftly that doom of mortality that Mandos had spoken when he sped them from his halls—and in this perhaps did the curse of Mîm have [? potency] in that it came more soon upon them; nor this time did those twain fare the road together, but when yet was their child, Dior the Fair, a little one, did Tinúviel slowly fade, even as the Elves of later days have done throughout the world, and she vanished in the woods, and none have seen her dancing ever there again. But Beren searched all the lands of Hithlum and of Artanor ranging after her; and never has any of the Elves had more loneliness than his, or ever he too faded from life, and Dior his son was left ruler of the brown Elves and the green, and Lord of the Nauglafring.

  Mayhap what all Elves say is true, that those twain hunt now in the forest of Oromë in Valinor, and Tinúviel dances on the green swards of Nessa and Vána daughters of the Gods for ever more; yet great was the grief of the Elves when the Guilwarthon went from among them, and being leaderless and lessened of magic their numbers minished; and many fared away to Gondolin, the rumour of whose growing power and glory ran in secret whispers among all the Elves.

  Still did Dior when come to manhood rule a numerous folk, and he loved the woods even as Beren had done; and songs name him mostly Ausir the Wealthy for his possession of that wondrous gem set in the Necklace of the Dwarves. Now the tales of Beren and Tinúviel grew dim in his heart, and he took to wearing it about his neck and to love its loveliness most dearly; and the fame of that jewel spread like fire through all the regions of the North, and the Elves said one to another: ‘A Silmaril burns in the woods of Hisilómë.’

  The Tale of the Nauglafring told in greater detail of the assault on Dior and his death at the hands of the sons of Fëanor, and this last of the Lost Tales to receive consecutive form ends with the escape of Elwing:

  She wandered in the woods, and of the brown Elves and the green a few gathered to her, and they departed for ever from the glades of Hithlum and got them to the south towards Sirion’s deep waters, and the pleasant lands.

  And thus did all the fates of the fairies weave then to one strand, and that strand is the great tale of Eärendel; and to that tale’s true beginning are we now come.

  *

  There follow in the Quenta Noldorinwa passages concerned with the history of Gondolin and its fall, and the history of Tuor, who was wedded to Idril Celebrindal daughter of Turgon king of Gondolin; their son was Eärendel, who with them escaped from the destruction of the city and came to the Mouths of Sirion. The Quenta continues, fol
lowing from the flight of Elwing daughter of Dior from Doriath to the mouths of Sirion (pp. 236–7):

  By Sirion there grew up an elven folk, the gleanings of Doriath and Gondolin, and they took to the sea and the making of fair ships, and they dwelt nigh unto its shores and under the shadow of Ulmo’s hand . . .

  In those days Tuor felt old age creep upon him, and he could not forbear the longing that possessed him for the sea; wherefore he built a great ship Eärámë, Eagle’s Pinion, and with Idril he set sail into the sunset and the West, and came no more into any tale. But Eärendel the shining became the lord of the folk of Sirion and took to wife fair Elwing, the daughter of Dior; and yet he could not rest. Two thoughts were in his heart blended as one: the longing for the wide sea; and he thought to sail thereon following after Tuor and Idril Celebrindal who returned not, and he thought to find perhaps the last shore and bring ere he died a message to the Gods and Elves of the West that should move their hearts to pity on the world and the sorrows of Mankind.

  Wingelot he built, fairest of the ships of song, the Foam-flower; white were its timbers as the argent moon, golden were its oars, silver were its shrouds, its masts were crowned with jewels like stars. In The Lay of Eärendel is many a thing sung of his adventures in the deep and in lands untrod, and in many seas and many isles. . . But Elwing sat sorrowing at home.

  Eärendel found not Tuor, nor came he ever on that journey to the shores of Valinor; and at last he was driven by the winds back East, and he came at a time of night to the havens of Sirion, unlooked for, unwelcomed, for they were desolate . . .

  The dwelling of Elwing at Sirion’s mouth, where still she possessed the Nauglamír and the glorious Silmaril, became known to the sons of Fëanor; and they gathered together from their wandering hunting-paths.

  But the folk of Sirion would not yield that jewel which Beren had won and Lúthien had worn, and for which fair Dior had been slain. And so befell the last and cruellest of the slaying of Elf by Elf, the third woe achieved by the accursed oath; for the sons of Fëanor came down upon the exiles of Gondolin and the remnant of Doriath, and though some of their folk stood aside and some few rebelled and were slain upon the other part aiding Elwing against their own lords, yet they won the day. Damrod was slain and Díriel, and Maidros and Maglor alone now remained of the Seven; but the last of the folk of Gondolin were destroyed or forced to depart and join them to the people of Maidros. And yet the sons of Fëanor gained not the Silmaril; for Elwing cast the Nauglamír into the sea, whence it shall not return until the End; and she leapt herself into the waves, and took the form of a white sea-bird, and flew away lamenting and seeking for Eärendel about all the shores of the world.

  But Maidros took pity upon her child Elrond, and took him with him, and harboured and nurtured him, for his heart was sick and weary with the burden of the dreadful oath.

  Learning these things Eärendel was overcome with sorrow; and he set sail once more in search of Elwing and of Valinor. And it is told in the Lay of Eärendel that he came at last unto the Magic Isles, and hardly escaped their enchantment, and found again the Lonely Isle, and the Shadowy Seas, and the Bay of Faërie on the borders of the world. There he landed on the immortal shore alone of living Men, and his feet climbed the marvellous hill of Kôr; and he walked in the deserted ways of Tûn, where the dust on his raiment and his shoes was a dust of diamonds and gems. But he ventured not into Valinor.

  He built a tower in the Northern Seas to which all the sea-birds of the world might at times repair, and ever he grieved for fair Elwing, looking for her return to him. And Wingelot was lifted on their wings and sailed now even in the airs searching for Elwing; marvellous and magical was that ship, a starlit flower in the sky. But the Sun scorched it and the Moon hunted it in heaven, and long Eärendel wandered over Earth, glimmering as a fugitive star.

  Here the tale of Eärendel and Elwing ends in the Quenta Noldorinwa as originally composed; but at a later time a rewriting of this last passage altered profoundly the idea that the Silmaril of Beren and Lúthien was lost for ever in the sea. As rewritten it reads:

  And yet Maidros gained not the Silmaril, for Elwing seeing that all was lost and her children Elros and Elrond taken captive, eluded the host of Maidros, and with the Nauglamír upon her breast she cast herself into the sea, and perished, as folk thought. But Ulmo bore her up, and upon her breast there shone as a star the shining Silmaril, as she flew over the water to seek Eärendel her beloved. And on a time of night Eärendel at the helm saw her come towards him, as a white cloud under moon exceeding swift, as a star over the sea moving in strange course, a pale flame on wings of storm.

  And it is sung that she fell from the air upon the timbers of Wingelot, in a swoon, nigh unto death for the urgency of her speed, and Eärendel took her into his bosom. And in the morn with marvelling eyes he beheld his wife in her own form beside him with her hair upon his face; and she slept.

  From here onwards the tale told in the Quenta Noldorinwa, largely rewritten, reached in essentials that in The Silmarillion, and I will end the story in this book with citation of that work.

  THE MORNING AND EVENING STAR

  Great was the sorrow of Eärendil and Elwing for the ruin of the havens of Sirion, and the captivity of their sons, and they feared that they would be slain; but it was not so. For Maglor took pity upon Elros and Elrond, and he cherished them, and love grew after between them, as little might be thought; but Maglor’s heart was sick and weary with the burden of the dreadful oath.

  Yet Eärendil saw now no hope left in the lands of Middle-earth, and he turned again in despair and came not home, but sought back once more to Valinor with Elwing at his side. He stood now most often at the prow of Vingilot, and the Silmaril was bound upon his brow; and ever its light grew greater as they drew into the West . . .

  Then Eärendil, first of living Men, landed on the immortal shores; and he spoke there to Elwing and to those that were with him, and they were three mariners who had sailed all the seas beside him: Falathar, Erellont, and Aerandir were their names. And Eärendil said to them: ‘Here none but myself shall set foot, lest you fall under the wrath of the Valar. But that peril I will take on myself alone, for the sake of the Two Kindreds.’

  But Elwing answered: ‘Then would our paths be sundered for ever, but all thy perils I will take on myself also.’ And she leaped into the white foam and ran towards him; but Eärendil was sorrowful, for he feared the anger of the Lords of the West upon any of Middle-earth that should dare to pass the leaguer of Aman. And there they bade farewell to the companions of their voyage, and were taken from them for ever.

  Then Eärendil said to Elwing: ‘Await me here; for one only may bring the message that it is my fate to bear.’ And he went up alone into the land, and came into the Calacirya, and it seemed to him empty and silent; for even as Morgoth and Ungoliant came in ages past, so now Eärendil had come at a time of festival, and wellnigh all the Elvenfolk were gone to Valimar, or were gathered in the halls of Manwë upon Taniquetil, and few were left to keep watch upon the walls of Tirion.

  But some there were who saw him from afar, and the great light that he bore; and they went in haste to Valimar. But Eärendil climbed the green hill of Túna and found it bare; and he entered into the streets of Tirion, and they were empty; and his heart was heavy, for he feared that some evil had come even to the Blessed Realm. He walked in the deserted ways of Tirion, and the dust upon his raiment and his shoes was a dust of diamonds, and he shone and glistened as he climbed the long white stairs. And he called aloud in many tongues, both of Elves and Men, but there were none to answer him. Therefore he turned back at last towards the sea; but even as he took the shoreward road one stood upon the hill and called to him in a great voice, crying:

  ‘Hail Eärendil, of mariners most renowned, the looked for that cometh at unawares, the longed for that cometh beyond hope! Hail Eärendil, bearer of light before the Sun and Moon! Splendour of the Children of Earth, star in the darkness, jewel
in the sunset, radiant in the morning!’

  That voice was the voice of Eönwë, herald of Manwë, and he came from Valimar, and summoned Eärendil to come before the Powers of Arda. And Eärendil went into Valinor and to the halls of Valimar, and never again set foot upon the lands of Men. Then the Valar took counsel together, and they summoned Ulmo from the deeps of the sea; and Eärendil stood before their faces, and delivered the errand of the Two Kindreds. Pardon he asked for the Noldor and pity for their great sorrows, and mercy upon Men and Elves and succour in their need. And his prayer was granted.

  It is told among the Elves that after Eärendil had departed, seeking Elwing his wife, Mandos spoke concerning his fate; and he said: ‘Shall mortal man step living upon the undying lands, and yet live?’ But Ulmo said: ‘For this he was born into the world. And say unto me: whether is he Eärendil Tuor’s son of the line of Hador, or the son of Idril, Turgon’s daughter, of the Elven-house of Finwë?’ And Mandos answered: ‘Equally the Noldor, who went wilfully into exile, may not return hither.’

  But when all was spoken, Manwë gave judgement, and he said: ‘In this matter the power of doom is given to me. The peril that he ventured for love of the Two Kindreds shall not fall upon Eärendil, nor shall it fall upon Elwing his wife, who entered into peril for love of him; but they shall not walk again ever among Elves or Men in the Outer Lands. And this is my decree concerning them: to Eärendil and Elwing, and to their sons, shall be given leave each to choose freely to which kindred their fates shall be joined, and under which kindred they shall be judged.’