A Deed Unforgiven by LadySternchen  

Chapter 4- Lúthien

Lúthien smiled at Finrod, barely able to conceal her tears, noting as she did so that there was a rather telling glint to her cousin’s eyes at well.

Life in Nargothrond was ever blissful, ever since they had finished carving and building the caves into an underground city that painfully reminded Lúthien of Menegroth, different though the two cities were. But as in Menegroth, water ever played within Finrod’s halls, casting glittering lights on the walls and ceilings. But strong, feisty Narog was much different from ever-whispering, playful Esgalduin, and so were the decorations within the caves. The true beauty of Menegroth had lain in the subtle carvings of the living rock, so that at times it was difficult to tell who the maker of an artwork was- the skilled hands of the craftsmen of Nogrod, or indeed nature itself. And then there had been her mother’s tapestries that seemed to transform rock into bark, leaf or bird, and the lighting. Light had ever shone within Menegroth, shifting and playful as the wind and water that had been the breath of the caves, devised by the bright minds of their own people. Candles would be placed near certain bodies of water, which cast the flickering light to yet another carefully placed pool, until all of Menegroth had been lit by a network of flame and mirrors.

Here in Nargothrond, things were much different. Here, nature seemed to compete with the craft of the Noldor, each seeking to outshine the other in splendour, while still coming together in perfect harmony. There were no hidden mirrors to bring light to the halls, but torches, torches that at times burned in strange colours and sentient fumes. Lúthien had still not worked out what exactly it was that made the fire change colour, and Finrod would not tell her, insisting that a king needed some secrets at least.

Maybe it was truly that which made the difference- the halls of Nargothrond were the halls of Finrod, gay and friendly and joyful and very nearly too bright to look upon, but also strong and steadfast and true. The caves of Menegroth had likewise been the image of her parents’ spirits, not created by incarnate hands but only enhanced by them, bearing the playful mystique and unfathomable wisdom of her mother, and the hidden power and quiet joy in everything beautiful of her father.

Still, the similarities between the cities were enough for Lúthien to feel very much at home within Nargothrond, the remembrance something dear to her. Galathil, on the other hand, had felt differently, and had departed for the Falas not long after Nargothrond had been finished, unable to bear to be each day reminded of the home he had lost.

Now, however, he had returned once more to celebrate the wedding of his brother with Finrod’s little sister, an occasion that had Lúthien’s heart brimming with happiness.

There Celeborn stood, dressed all in blue and silver, hand in hand with Galadriel. Her garment was white, shimmering with many pearls- a gift, and a reminiscence, from her mother. Lúthien wondered if everyone had been just as lenient towards their marriage had they grown up together rather than sundered by the sea. Galadriel and Celeborn were, after all, second cousins, but no-one seemed to care, so she did not, either- it was so very clear that those two were meant for one another.

Again, Lúthien glanced at Finrod, fully expecting him to step forward. Surly, as the king, the honour of marrying his sister and brother-in-law would fall onto him? Finrod, however, did nothing of that sort. Instead, he grinned first at Galathil, then at Lúthien, who instantly understood, heat flushing her cheeks. She glowered at Galathil, who had evidently told the tales on her, and spoken to Finrod of long-gone childhood games. Oh, no doubt Finrod had found the story of her ‘marrying’ Celeborn and Daeron highly amusing. Galathil had the grace at least to look somewhat embarrassed as well, though he had to fight hard to keep himself from giggling as he met her gaze, so his remorse could not be so very earnest.

Thus it came to be that it was Lúthien after all who guided Celeborn and Galadriel through their wedding ceremony, fighting to keep fits of laughter at bay, but also tears. There was no denying the pinch of longing and regret that arose in her heart, for she was now indeed doing the duty her mother had once done, when Melian had still been queen. Lúthien missed her horribly, and wondered time and again how Melian fared, if she had reached Aman safely, if she had recovered from the pain and shock of losing her husband, and the manner of losing him. But Lúthien would not allow herself to think about her father now, nor dwell on thoughts of her mother. This day belonged to Galadriel and Celeborn, and to merrymaking and bliss.

Now that dark thoughts had slunk their way into her mind, however, she could not so easily get rid of them again, or indeed prevent even more sorrowful musings capturing her attention. Galathil had brought terrible news with him, news of yet another disappearance- Daeron, who had initially followed the greater part of the Eglath to the Falas, had set off for Nargothrond only days ahead of Galathil and his company. Only in Nargothrond, he had never arrived, nor had Galathil’s party caught up with him on the way. Lúthien’s heart ached at the thought of her dearest friend, and the horrors he must have met along the way. Nothing less than the forces of evil could keep him from seeing her once more, or be at Celeborn’s wedding. But there was nothing to be done about it at the moment, not while the festivities of a wedding within the royal house of Nargothrond were still in full flow.

Nonetheless, Lúthien found herself retreating from the merrymaking whenever thoughts of Daeron overwhelmed her, and then would at times get so immersed in them that she hardly noticed what was going on around her. On one of those occasions, three days after the wedding, Celeborn walked in on her like his- to deep in thought that she did not immediately notice that her cousin was actually talking to her.

“Lúthien, can you hear me?”

“What…? Oh, forgive me, Celeborn, I got lost in my thoughts.”

Celeborn tilted his head slightly.

“Not too happy ones, apparently.” he said shrewdly “I asked whether you would accompany us once we leave for the Falas?”

“You are leaving? How comes no-one told me? It is usually I who learns of all the going-ons within Nargothrond first!”

Lúthien’s indignation about not being told sooner almost drowned out the sudden sadness that came with Celeborn’s words. He only laughed, though, patting her gently on the shoulder.

“Lúthien dear, that is what I am doing right now, am I not? We only just made up our mind about it. I long to see my mother again, and Elmo and Thônwen, and introduce them to my bride, actually. And Galadriel yearns to see the sea once more, and live by it for a while. She is not one for living in caves, as she puts it. At least not indefinitely.”

For a moment, Lúthien allowed herself to imagine standing by the shores of the sea again, to feel the breeze caress her hair, to hear the gulls. She wondered how the waves might look under the new sun. Surely that must be a sight to behold. She wanted to see all that, and to meet her family again, she truly did, but still she shook her head regretfully in the end.

“I do not think I will, though I would love to. But I… I cannot face it yet. It hurts too much still.”

For a moment, Celeborn just stared bewilderedly at her. Then his face fell, and he embraced her consolingly.

“Oh Lúthien, I… forgive me. I never considered that Elu died at Eglarest, and that it must be hurtful for you to even think of that place. I would never have asked otherwise.”

“No… it’s alright. He died in Círdan’s arms after all, hearing the sea that he loved. But I was as thinking about Daeron as much as Ada as a matter of fact. I dread to learn the truth behind his disappearance one day.”

Celeborn nodded gravely.

“So do I.” 

For a while, they just stood side by side, with Lúthien frantically wiping her eyes, trying to stop the flow of her tears.

“I’m sorry.” she sniffed “You must think me such a crybaby. Daeron was your childhood-friend as he was mine, and also, you and Galathil lost your father just like I lost mine…”

“I do not think you a crybaby in the slightest. I know this is not so much about Elu’s death than about what happened to him before. My father died quick and clean, and still I spent these past nights crying myself to sleep, thinking about him. He should have been here. He should have been at my wedding.”

Lúthien herself now tightened the embrace, consoling Celeborn as much as drawing comfort out of it herself.

“I miss them all so much.” she mumbled against Celeborn’s shoulder. “But I know how proud Galadhon would have been to see you as a groom. And he would have adored Galadriel and Finrod.”

“Verily.” Celeborn agreed with a noise that was half laugh, half sob.

It was still with a lump in her throat that Lúthien watched them leave a few days later. She did not rue her decision to stay in Nargothrond, yet still she could not pretend that the sight of her cousins leaving did not make her feel rather lonely. Finrod was often away, wandering Beleriand with his fraternal cousins, and all his brothers had lands of their own now. Lúthien still felt a little alien in Nargothrond sometimes, even if she had been here longer than most of its inhabitants. But they were all Noldor, and their demeanour so very different from that of her own people. She missed her own kin.

That dread feeling only intensified over the time that followed, not least because Lúthien was haunted by nightmares of her friends and kin, tortured by henchmen of the enemy. Celeborn had sent word as soon as they had reached the Falas safely, but that did little to put Lúthien’s mind at rest. She had almost made up her mind to travel to the sea after all, when Finrod returned from one of his wanderings with rather intriguing news.

“You will not believe what I found, no, whom I found.” he said, beaming so brightly that Lúthien could not help but listen, intrigued, as he began to tell her about the Aftercomers, the Second-Born, Men.