Beren and Lúthien

by J. R. R. Tolkien

But there of Finrod’s children four

  20were Angrod slain and proud Egnor.

  Felagund and Orodreth then

  gathered the remnant of their men,

  their maidens and their children fair;

  forsaking war they made their lair

  25and cavernous hold far in the south.

  On Narog’s towering bank its mouth

  was opened; which they hid and veiled,

  and mighty doors, that unassailed

  till Túrin’s day stood vast and grim,

  30they built by trees o’ershadowed dim.

  And with them dwelt a long time there

  Curufin, and Celegorm the fair;

  and a mighty folk grew neath their hands

  in Narog’s secret halls and lands.

  35Thus Felagund in Nargothrond

  still reigned, a hidden king whose bond

  was sworn to Barahir the bold.

  And now his son through forests cold

  wandered alone as in a dream.

  40Esgalduin’s dark and shrouded stream

  he followed, till its waters frore

  were joined to Sirion, Sirion hoar,

  pale silver water wide and free

  rolling in splendour to the sea.

  45Now Beren came unto the pools,

  wide shallow meres where Sirion cools

  his gathered tide beneath the stars,

  ere chafed and sundered by the bars

  of reedy banks a mighty fen

  50he feeds and drenches, plunging then

  into vast chasms underground,

  where many miles his way is wound.

  Umboth-Muilin, Twilight Meres,

  those great wide waters grey as tears

  55the Elves then named. Through driving rain

  from thence across the Guarded Plain

  the Hills of the Hunters Beren saw

  with bare tops bitten bleak and raw

  by western winds, but in the mist

  60of streaming rains that flashed and hissed

  into the meres he knew there lay

  beneath those hills the cloven way

  of Narog, and the watchful halls

  of Felagund beside the falls

  65of Ingwil tumbling from the wold.

  An everlasting watch they hold,

  the Gnomes of Nargothrond renowned,

  and every hill is tower-crowned,

  where wardens sleepless peer and gaze

  70guarding the plain and all the ways

  between Narog swift and Sirion pale;

  and archers whose arrows never fail

  there range the woods, and secret kill

  all who creep thither against their will.

  75Yet now he thrusts into that land

  bearing the gleaming ring on hand

  of Felagund, and oft doth cry:

  ‘Here comes no wandering Orc or spy,

  but Beren son of Barahir

  80who once to Felagund was dear.’

  So ere he reached the eastward shore

  of Narog, that doth foam and roar

  o’er boulders black, those archers green

  came round him. When the ring was seen

  85they bowed before him, though his plight

  was poor and beggarly. Then by night

  they led him northward, for no ford

  nor bridge was built where Narog poured

  before the gates of Nargothrond,

  90and friend nor foe might pass beyond.

  To northward, where that stream yet young

  more slender flowed, below the tongue

  of foam-splashed land that Ginglith pens

  when her brief golden torrent ends

  95and joins the Narog, there they wade.

  Now swiftest journey thence they made

  to Nargothrond’s sheer terraces

  and dim gigantic palaces.

  They came beneath a sickle moon

  100to doors there darkly hung and hewn

  with posts and lintels of ponderous stone

  and timbers huge. Now open thrown

  were gaping gates, and in they strode

  where Felagund on throne abode.

  105Fair were the words of Narog’s king

  to Beren, and his wandering

  and all his feuds and bitter wars

  recounted soon. Behind closed doors

  they sat, while Beren told his tale

  110of Doriath; and words him fail

  recalling Lúthien dancing fair

  with wild white roses in her hair,

  remembering her elven voice that rung

  while stars in twilight round her hung.

  115He spake of Thingol’s marvellous halls

  by enchantment lit, where fountain falls

  and ever the nightingale doth sing

  to Melian and to her king.

  The quest he told that Thingol laid

  120in scorn on him; how for love of maid

  more fair than ever was born to Men,

  of Tinúviel, of Lúthien,

  he must essay the burning waste,

  and doubtless death and torment taste.

  125This Felagund in wonder heard,

  and heavily spoke at last this word:

  ‘It seems that Thingol doth desire

  thy death. The everlasting fire

  of those enchanted jewels all know

  130is cursed with an oath of endless woe,

  and Fëanor’s sons alone by right

  are lords and masters of their light.

  He cannot hope within his hoard

  to keep this gem, nor is he lord

  135of all the folk of Elfinesse.

  And yet thou saist for nothing less

  can thy return to Doriath

  be purchased? Many a dreadful path

  in sooth there lies before thy feet—

  140and after Morgoth, still a fleet

  untiring hate, as I know well,

  would hunt thee from heaven unto hell.

  Fëanor’s sons would, if they could,

  slay thee or ever thou reached his wood

  145or laid in Thingol’s lap that fire,

  or gained at least thy sweet desire.

  Lo! Celegorm and Curufin

  here dwell this very realm within,

  and even though I, Finrod’s son,

  150am king, a mighty power have won

  and many of their own folk lead.

  Friendship to me in every need

  they yet have shown, but much I fear

  that to Beren son of Barahir

  155mercy or love they will not show

  if once thy dreadful quest they know.’

  True words he spoke. For when the king

  to all his people told this thing,

  and spake of the oath to Barahir,

  160and how that mortal shield and spear

  had saved them from Morgoth and from woe

  on Northern battlefields long ago,

  then many were kindled in their hearts

  once more to battle. But up there starts

  165amid the throng, and loudly cries

  for hearing, one with flaming eyes,

  proud Celegorm with gleaming hair

  and shining sword. Then all men stare

  upon his stern unyielding face,

  170and a great hush falls upon that place.

  ‘Be he friend or foe, or demon wild

  of Morgoth, Elf, or mortal child,

  or any that here on earth may dwell,

  no law, nor love, nor league of hell,

  175no might of Gods, no binding spell,

  shall him defend from hatred fell

  of Fëanor’s sons, whoso take or steal

  or finding keep a Silmaril.

  These we alone do claim by right,

  180our thrice enchanted jewels bright.’

  Many wild and potent words he spoke,

  and as before in Tûn awoke
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  his father’s voice their hearts to fire,

  so now dark fear and brooding ire

  185he cast on them, foreboding war

  of friend with friend; and pools of gore

  their minds imagined lying red

  in Nargothrond about the dead,

  did Narog’s host with Beren go;

  190or haply battle, ruin, and woe

  in Doriath where great Thingol reigned,

  if Fëanor’s fatal jewel he gained.

  And even such as were most true

  to Felagund his oath did rue,

  195and thought with terror and despair

  of seeking Morgoth in his lair

  with force or guile. This Curufin

  when his brother ceased did then begin

  more to impress upon their minds;

  200and such a spell he on them binds

  that never again till Túrin’s day

  would Gnome of Narog in array

  of open battle go to war.

  With secrecy, ambush, spies and lore

  205of wizardry, with silent leaguer

  of wild things wary, watchful, eager,

  of phantom hunters, venomed darts,

  and unseen stealthy creeping arts,

  with padding hatred that its prey

  210with feet of velvet all the day

  followed remorseless out of sight

  and slew it unawares at night—

  thus they defended Nargothrond,

  and forgot their kin and solemn bond

  215for dread of Morgoth that the art

  of Curufin set within their heart.

  So would they not that angry day

  King Felagund their lord obey,

  but sullen murmured that Finrod

  220nor yet his son were as a god.

  Then Felagund took off his crown

  and at his feet he cast it down,

  the silver helm of Nargothrond:

  ‘Yours ye may break, but I my bond

  225must keep, and kingdom here forsake.

  If hearts here were that did not quake,

  or that to Finrod’s son were true,

  then I at least should find a few

  to go with me, not like a poor

  230rejected beggar scorn endure,

  turned from my gates to leave my town,

  my people, and my realm and crown!’

  Hearing these words there swiftly stood

  beside him ten tried warriors good,

  235men of his house who had ever fought

  wherever his banners had been brought.

  One stooped and lifted up his crown,

  and said: ‘O king, to leave this town

  is now our fate, but not to lose

  240thy rightful lordship. Thou shalt choose

  one to be steward in thy stead.’

  Then Felagund upon the head

  of Orodreth set it: ‘Brother mine,

  till I return this crown is thine.’

  245Then Celegorm no more would stay,

  and Curufin smiled and turned away.

  ******

  Thus twelve alone there ventured forth

  from Nargothrond, and to the North

  they turned their silent secret way,

  250and vanished in the fading day.

  No trumpet sounds, no voice there sings,

  as robed in mail of cunning rings

  now blackened dark with helmets grey

  and sombre cloaks they steal away.

  255Far-journeying Narog’s leaping course

  they followed till they found his source,

  the flickering falls, whose freshets sheer

  a glimmering goblet glassy-clear

  with crystal waters fill that shake

  260and quiver down from Ivrin’s lake,

  from Ivrin’s mere that mirrors dim

  the pallid faces bare and grim

  of Shadowy Mountains neath the moon.

  Now far beyond the realm immune

  265from Orc and demon and the dread

  of Morgoth’s might their ways had led.

  In woods o’er shadowed by the heights

  they watched and waited many nights,

  till on a time when hurrying cloud

  270did moon and constellation shroud,

  and winds of autumn’s wild beginning

  soughed in the boughs, and leaves went spinning

  down the dark eddies rustling soft,

  they heard a murmur hoarsely waft

  275from far, a croaking laughter coming;

  now louder; now they heard the drumming

  of hideous stamping feet that tramp

  the weary earth. Then many a lamp

  of sullen red they saw draw near,

  280swinging, and glistening on spear

  and scimitar. There hidden nigh

  they saw a band of Orcs go by

  with goblin faces swart and foul.

  Bats were about them, and the owl,

  285the ghostly forsaken night-bird cried

  from trees above. The voices died,

  the laughter like clash of stone and steel

  passed and faded. At their heel

  the Elves and Beren crept more soft

  290than foes stealing through a croft

  in search of prey. Thus to the camp

  lit by flickering fire and lamp

  they stole, and counted sitting there

  full thirty Orcs in the red flare

  295of burning wood. Without a sound

  they one by one stood silent round,

  each in the shadow of a tree;

  each slowly, grimly, secretly

  bent then his bow and drew the string.

  300Hark! how they sudden twang and sing,

  when Felagund lets forth a cry;

  and twelve Orcs sudden fall and die.

  Then forth they leap casting their bows.

  Out their bright swords, and swift their blows!

  305The stricken Orcs now shriek and yell

  as lost things deep in lightless hell.

  Battle there is beneath the trees

  bitter and swift, but no Orc flees;

  there left their lives that wandering band

  310and stained no more the sorrowing land

  with rape and murder. Yet no song

  of joy, or triumph over wrong,

  the Elves there sang. In peril sore

  they were, for never alone to war

  315so small an Orc-band went, they knew.

  Swiftly the raiment off they drew

  and cast the corpses in a pit.

  This desperate counsel had the wit

  of Felagund for them devised:

  320as Orcs his comrades he disguised.

  The poisoned spears, the bows of horn,

  the crooked swords their foes had borne

  they took; and loathing each him clad

  in Angband’s raiment foul and sad.

  325They smeared their hands and faces fair

  with pigment dark; the matted hair

  all lank and black from goblin head

  they shore, and joined it thread by thread

  with Gnomish skill. As each one leers

  330at each dismayed, about his ears

  he hangs it noisome, shuddering.

  Then Felagund a spell did sing

  of changing and of shifting shape;

  their ears grew hideous, and agape

  335their mouths did start, and like a fang

  each tooth became, as slow he sang.

  Their Gnomish raiment then they hid

  and one by one behind him slid,

  behind a foul and goblin thing

  340that once was elven-fair and king.

  Northward they went; and Orcs they met

  who passed, nor did their going let,

  but hailed them in greeting; and more bold

  they grew as past the long miles rolled.

  345
At length they came with weary feet

  beyond Beleriand. They found the fleet

  young waters, rippling, silver-pale

  of Sirion hurrying through that vale

  where Taur-na-Fuin, Deadly Night,

  350the trackless forest’s pine-clad height,

  falls dark forbidding slowly down

  upon the east, while westward frown

  the northward-bending Mountains grey

  and bar the westering light of day.

  355An isléd hill there stood alone

  amid the valley, like a stone

  rolled from the mountains vast

  when giants in tumult hurtled past.

  Around its feet the river looped

  360a stream divided, that had scooped

  the hanging edges into caves.

  There briefly shuddered Sirion’s waves

  and ran to other shores more clean.

  An elven watchtower had it been,

  365and strong it was, and still was fair;

  but now did grim with menace stare

  one way to pale Beleriand,

  the other to that mournful land

  beyond the valley’s northern mouth.

  370Thence could be glimpsed the fields of drouth,

  the dusty dunes, the desert wide;

  and further far could be descried

  the brooding cloud that hangs and lowers

  on Thangorodrim’s thunderous towers.

  375Now in that hill was the abode

  of one most evil; and the road

  that from Beleriand thither came

  he watched with sleepless eyes of flame.

  Men called him Thû, and as a god

  380in after days beneath his rod

  bewildered bowed to him, and made

  his ghastly temples in the shade.

  Not yet by Men enthralled adored,

  now was he Morgoth’s mightiest lord,

  385Master of Wolves, whose shivering howl

  for ever echoed in the hills, and foul

  enchantments and dark sigaldry

  did weave and wield. In glamoury

  that necromancer held his hosts

  390of phantoms and of wandering ghosts,

  of misbegotten or spell-wronged

  monsters that about him thronged,

  working his bidding dark and vile:

  the werewolves of the Wizard’s Isle.

  395From Thû their coming was not hid

  and though beneath the eaves they slid

  of the forest’s gloomy-hanging boughs,

  he saw them afar, and wolves did rouse:

  ‘Go! fetch me those sneaking Orcs,’ he said,

  400‘that fare thus strangely, as if in dread,

  and do not come, as all Orcs use

  and are commanded, to bring me news

  of all their deeds, to me, to Thû.’

  From his tower he gazed, and in him grew

  405suspicion and a brooding thought,

  waiting, leering, till they were brought.

  Now ringed about with wolves they stand,

  and fear their doom. Alas! the land,