Dancing In The Dark by Grundy  

Rotten Ice

“Lúthien’s met someone.”

Galadriel raised her eyes from the work in front of her to discover Nimloth looking out of sorts.

“Are we not pleased for her?” she asked cautiously.

Lúthien had not been exactly unhappy of late, but she had been less than pleased that she and Nimloth were the only ones who had yet to find their mate. (Though in fairness, it wasn’t as though Nimloth’s younger brother had found anyone before his death in the most recent wave of assaults from the north. But one could hardly point that out with the loss still feeling fresh.)

Thingol’s children and their Iathrin cousins were a close bunch. Galadriel would have expected them to share in Lúthien’s excitement and her happiness if she had finally found the one she believed to be her match.

“We would be thrilled were her Beren an elf,” Nimloth snorted.

“Is he not?”

Galadriel was confused.

Thingol had never permitted many outsiders within his borders, and even fewer now that the Noldorin kingdoms in the north had fallen. Most of the few Noldor who had been allowed the freedom of Doriath were either dead or no longer able to make the journey due to the general situation. The dwarves also couldn’t cross the plains safely anymore – not that Beren sounded like a dwarven name.

“He is a Man.”

Oh. That was a wrinkle – and by her cousin’s tone, a thoroughly unwelcome one. Nimloth had previously been curious to see the Aftercomers. She had listened with interest to Ingo’s tales, and occasionally Gildor’s, on her visits to Nargothrond.

“You’ve soured on Men?”

“I do not think a Man is right for Lúthien,” Nimloth said pensively. “Ingo did not believe Aegnor should marry an adaneth, why should I feel differently about this adan and Lúthien?”

Galadriel said nothing.

She knew, far better than Ingo did, how highly Aiko had thought of his Andreth. He had loved her, regardless of their fates. She was certain not marrying her would be a regret he carried until the end of Arda – and that it had been a bitter subject between him and Ingo, one unresolved before his death.

But at the same time, she knew that her older cousin, intelligent and perceptive though she might be, knew very little of Men. She did not wish Lúthien to suffer Aiko’s heartbreak, but nor did she wish her to suffer the lifetime of Arda sundered from her mate.

“It may prove little more than a passing fancy,” Galadriel said lightly. “We should not put too much weight on it, lest we make more of it than it is.”

“It’s more than just a fancy,” Nimloth retorted. “She’s been meeting him since the thawing. Yet she hadn’t breathed a word about it to anyone, not until someone told her father. Now she’s brought him here.”

“Here?” Galadriel repeated in astonishment. “To Menegroth?”

Quite aside from the natural question of ‘what will Uncle say?’, how had Lúthien even met a Man in the first place? He should not have been able to pass Melian’s borders, let alone linger within them for months unnoticed by any but Lúthien.

“She wants to marry him.”

“That is how it usually goes when one recognizes one’s mate,” Galadriel said briskly, uncomfortably certain her great-uncle would say a great deal. He’d found Celeborn’s bond to a kinslayer difficult enough to accept, he wasn’t about to countenance his only daughter binding herself to a man.

She wasn’t too sure Daeron wouldn’t have a fair bit to say on that score as well.

“What?” Nimloth spluttered. “I was counting on your good sense - you can’t possibly think this is a good idea!”

“I do not know yet whether Lúthien marrying this Beren is a good idea. I’ve not met the man, and there seems to be as much variation among Men as among elves. I am, however, certain that open disapproval or trying to dissuade her is a bad idea.”

“I cannot argue there,” Nimloth said, her expression as sour as those fruits that had to age several weeks before one could eat them.

Galadriel couldn’t tell if that meant Nimloth had already tried, or simply agreed that Lúthien was likely to double down if pressed to give up her new love. She hoped it was only the latter. If Lúthien had already been pressed on the subject and declared she would not be talked out of it…

The more she thought on it, the more the word ‘disaster’ came to mind.

“What says Aunt Melian to all this?”

“Nothing as yet. Though I suppose she may well have had words for Lúthien alone.”

Galadriel wondered if Aunt Melian could shed light on how the Man had managed to meet Lúthien in the first place.

“She may also have a somewhat different view of the matter.”

Nimloth regarded her in surprise.

“She is a maia, yet she married an elf,” Galadriel pointed out. “Her daughter marrying a man may seem equally unremarkable to her.”

“Elves do not depart Arda for all time,” Nimloth said, obviously fighting to keep from the tone one used to explain things to the very young.

“Does that matter to a maia?” Galadriel wondered aloud.

Nimloth had no answer to that, as Galadriel had suspected she wouldn’t. As tight-knit as the royal family of Doriath might be, she doubted the younger generation would have dared enquire about the details of something as personal as the bond between Melian and Elu.

“You usually find ways to avoid court, but you will come this evening, won’t you?” Nimloth now sounded slightly desperate. “She’s bringing him –”

“Beren, you said his name was?”

“Yes, stop trying to change the subject. She’s bringing him. So you can meet him and maybe find some reason we can give other than ‘you can’t marry a Man, don’t be daft’. Lúthien listens to you.”

“And then does as she likes afterwards.”

“You have more success talking sense into her than any of us.”

“Say rather that she likes hearing my thoughts because I have a different view, being brought up differently than the rest of you,” Galadriel laughed. “I would not claim to have any more success ‘talking sense into her’ than anyone else.”

“But you will come?”

Nimloth wasn’t to be dissuaded from her point. And really, there wasn’t much way around it. By the sound of it, Uncle was likely to summon all of them.

Besides, Galadriel was curious to see the mortal that could interest Lúthien.

“Yes, I will.”

---

Uncle did not need to summon them. A combination of curiosity, disbelief, or outrage had all his kin set to attend before he said anything. Nor were they the only ones. Everyone who was anyone in Menegroth – or even Doriath – had found their way to the great hall by mid-afternoon. No one was in their absolute finest, but looking around it was clear Menegroth had dressed to impress.

Galadriel took her place with Celeborn, Oropher and his wife, and Nimloth. They had grown used to missing Eöl at such moments, but Belthil’s absence was still new enough to sting, and Nimloth was not the only one who felt it.

Daeron was standing at his father’s side rather than his mother’s, which Galadriel was sure meant he was for once not his sister’s ally. Uncle’s face showed plainly that he was not at all pleased with what a spectacle this was turning into.

Lúthien was not in the hall yet, but Galadriel supposed that it fell to her to present him.  She waited until everyone else had assembled to make her entrance with her ‘guest’.

Galadriel was unsurprised to find that Beren was moderately attractive. Rather good looking as mortals went, actually, judging by her limited experience. He was tall among Men, though not above average among the princes or king of Menegroth.

Lúthien must have arranged clothing for him, for Galadriel couldn’t imagine how else a Man who had been living in the forest alone for months would be so nicely attired, and in colors that suited him so well.

His hair was a golden brown, his face marked by care and worry but not ill-favored. He looked old enough to have a beard in the mannish fashion, but he was clean-shaven – probably a wise decision when being presented to so many elves who had only heard of Men.

But it was his eyes that caught her attention. They were highly unusual – and very familiar. She couldn’t say why. She was certain she had never seen eyes that shade before. And yet somehow she knew them.

She knew perfectly well it was useless to try to force foresight, but in this case she attempted it all the same – and nearly fell over.

Whatever it was about Beren’s eyes her spirit recognized, it was potent.

Beloved?

Celeborn was all concern, but she waved him off. This wasn’t something she could explain in public.

What’s more, she wasn’t sure she wanted Aunt Melian’s attention drawn to this. And she certainly didn’t want to be Uncle Elu’s excuse for anything.

Lúthien led Beren directly to her father’s seat.

“Who are you,” Uncle demanded bluntly, “that come hither as a thief, and unbidden dare to approach my thrown?”

Beren raised a single eyebrow.

Lúthien jumped in before he could speak, which was unfortunate, as Galadriel was sure she was not the only among the king’s kin who would have loved to hear the man’s reply.

“He is Beren son of Barahir, lord of Men, mighty foe of Belegurth, the tale of whose deeds has become a song even among the elves.”

Galadriel suppressed her astonishment. Barahir was the man who had saved Ingo’s life in the North. If his son was of the same stuff, Lúthien’s choice might not be such a bad one after all.

“Barahir is known to us,” Uncle said repressively. “Beren is not.”

“Really?” Lúthien asked. “Curious, when the Enemy in the North has set a price on his head nearly as high as that one on the golodhrin king.”

There were a few barely suppressed snickers scattered around the hall. Clearly Beren’s name was not unknown to those who knew more of what was passing outside their borders. But it was the first Galadriel had heard of there being a price on his head – or Finno’s.

“Let Beren speak!” Uncle commanded. “What would you here, unhappy mortal, and for what cause have you left your own land to enter mine, which is forbidden to such as you? Can you show reason why my power should not be laid on you in heavy punishment for your insolence and folly?”

Laying it on a bit thick, isn’t he? Oropher murmured. Last I heard, Beren’s land was taken by Belegurth and his father slain.

Beren looked to Lúthien before he answered, and Galadriel felt it was only for her sake that his answer was as civil.

“My fate, O King, led me hither, through perils such as few even of the elves would dare. And here I have found what I sought not, but finding I would possess forever. For it is above all gold and silver, or any jewel. Neither rock, nor steel, nor the fires of Morgoth, nor all the powers of the elf-kingdoms shall keep from me the treasure I desire. For Lúthien your daughter is the fairest of all the Children of the world.”

Oh my. Uncle’s met his match for a sharp tongue, Galdriel remarked to her husband and his cousins.

And for foolishness, Celeborn sighed. That was no way to win Uncle’s blessing.

“Death you have earned with these words,” Uncle snapped.

His young kin were all shocked speechless. It might not be kinslaying, not exactly, but…

“All mortals die,” Beren snorted.  “I hear tell the elves say it is our gift. But it is not the gift I would have of you.”

“Death  you should find suddenly, had I not sworn an oath in haste – of which I repent,” Uncle replied, glowering in Lúthien’s general direction. “Baseborn mortal, who in the realm of Morgoth has learnt to creep in secret as his spies and thralls-”

“Death you can give me earned or unearned,” Beren interrupted. “But I will not accept from you baseborn, nor spy, nor thrall. By the ring of Felagund, that he gave to Barahir my father on the battlefield of the North, my house has not earned such names from any Elf, king or not.”

He held the ring aloft as proof of his claim, and Galadriel knew people in the hall other than herself would recognize it. She could hear the whispers, and knew many who could were also speaking to their companions silently.

Aunt Melian leant over and said something for her husband’s ears alone. He looked at her in surprise, but did not appear entirely amenable to her counsel.

“I see the ring, son of Barahir,” Uncle announced. “And I perceive you are proud and deem yourself mighty. But your father’s deeds, even had his service been rendered to me, avail not to win the daughter of Thingol and Melian. See now! I too desire a treasure that is withheld.”

That was news to the entire hall – including Daeron, Lúthien, and Melian by their faces.

“Rock and steel and the fires of Morgoth keep the jewel that I would possess against all the powers of the elf-kingdoms. You say that does not daunt you. Very well! Bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Belegurth’s crown. Then, if she will, Lúthien may set her hand in yours. Then you shall have my jewel, and though the fate of Arda lie within the Silmarils, yet shall you hold me generous.”

Foresight shrieked so loudly Galadriel could barely keep from clapping her hands to her head, useless thought it would be.

If Uncle had hoped to frighten Beren into giving up on Lúthien, he failed utterly.

“For little price do elven kings sell their daughters,” the man laughed. “For gems and things made by craft? But if this be your will, I will perform it. When we meet again, my hand shall hold a Silmaril from the Iron Crown. You have not looked the last on Beren son of Barahir.”

He turned to Aunt Melian and bowed as politely to her as though the audience had gone well, and left the hall.

Lúthien tossed one furious look at her father before running after him.

“You have devised cunning counsel indeed,” Aunt Melian said, speaking to Uncle, but her voice carrying to all corners of the hall. “But if my eyes have not lost their sight, it is ill for you whether Beren fail in his errand or achieve it. You have doomed either your daughter or yourself. And Doriath is now drawn within the fate of a mightier realm.”

Whatever retort Thingol made to her did not reach them above the hubbub as everyone in the hall reacted to the Queen’s words.

“That certainly went well,” Galadriel sighed.

---

The drama was not yet over, though.

Lúthien came, furious with her father but still set on Beren, to join the knot of her kin who gathered in Oropher’s rooms to talk over the day’s events.

Given that Daeron was also there, the next half hour was anything but peaceable as the children of Melian and Thingol had the worst fight anyone had ever known either of them involved in.

In the midst of it, Galadriel’s suspicion that Daeron had been the one to tell his father about Beren was proved correct.

“How could you?” Lúthien demanded angrily. “Father is trying to get Beren killed because of your foolishness!”

“My foolishness?” Daeron shot back. “He’s mortal, Lúthi, doomed to die. Did you think even for a second about what that would mean for you if you bound your spirit to his?”

“Mother says time and distance are no barriers to her kindred,” Lúthien snorted. “He might not be in Arda after he goes beyond the circles of the world, but I would still be bound to him and know his spirit. It would be enough.”

“You can’t be sure of that. We don’t have any way to know if it works that way for us – Father’s an elf!”

“Mother bore us. Do you really think we got nothing of her kindred?”

“I think nothing good can come of this match, whether we’re Mother’s kindred or Father’s. And I think you knew that, too – otherwise why did you hide him from Father all these months? That mortal’s been within our borders since last summer and you were aware of it, even if you only started speaking with him in thaw.”

“How do you know when I first spoke to him,” Lúthien demanded angrily. “You weren’t there!”

“Do you actually suppose no one else knows where you go rambling or what you do while you’re outside Menegroth? You’re the eldest and Father’s heir, are you fool enough to imagine that even within the borders you are not guarded?”

“I do not need any guard!”

“Really? You throw yourself at the first mortal you’ve ever seen, that doesn’t speak of good sense or self-preservation to me! You should count yourself lucky it was only me watching out for you, and no one else!”

“Lucky? Lucky?”

Lúthien’s voice was as heated as her brother’s, and both were coming perilously close to Song in their mutual anger. Oropher’s wife was looking a bit green around the gills.

“ENOUGH!” Celeborn roared.

“Cease this foolishness,” Oropher said, his temper no less than Celeborn’s for all he was so quiet about it. “Else your quarrel may be the death of us all!”

“It may be that yet,” Galadriel said into the sudden silence. “Uncle called for a Silmaril. If Beren brings one here…”

“He won’t,” Daeron snorted. “A mortal cut a jewel from the Iron Crown? Be serious.”

“He will, because I’ll be helping him,” Lúthien announced.

“You won’t, because I’ll be telling Father.”

“Out!”

Daeron and Lúthien’s heads both swiveled toward Oropher in shock.

“You can’t order me,” Daeron began, but they could all hear the uncertainty beneath the outraged pride.

“In my rooms I think you’ll find I can,” Oropher snapped. “You’ve made quite the scene, and you know damn well Lothuial is in no condition right now to be so upset, much less subject to such a charged atmosphere. For that alone, I’d be within my rights to tell you to leave. And if you don’t think so, I suggest you come with me to Uncle now.”

He looked fierce enough that Daeron hesitated only a moment before making his exit.

“I’m sorry,” Lúthien said, her voice gone small. “Do you want me to go as well?”

“No, I want you to sit down and explain yourself in a civilized manner. Daeron may have been an ass about it, but we’re all owed some answers. Particularly as Galadriel’s quite correct that a Silmaril in Doriath has far more serious implications than Uncle has stopped to consider – as does getting one of the last chieftains of Men killed on a fool’s errand. And those are our options now, because that mortal of yours is as likely to give up on trying to get the jewel as the sun is to rise in the west tomorrow.”

“He won’t be killed,” Lúthien said firmly. “I do mean to go to his aid. Until I can join him, he’ll go to Finrod.”

At those words, foresight slammed into her as abruptly and as hard as a collapsing ice tower. For the first time in her life, Galadriel fainted.