Gower:
        The hour nighs, of this our task
        its ending -- and of ye we ask
        but thy patience, lending, till 'tis done --
        --Then to say, if we have won
        or, overbold, must make redress
        that have so forwardly transgressed
        and in this glassy square presumed
        to bound, as 'twere the Ring of Doom,
        the very gods--
                         With eagles' wing
        outmatching falcons royal, venturing
        our fancy's flight doth mount on high
        to pass the bord'ring sea, and sky,
        and withal Time -- for naught of wealth
        nor fame, nor glory, nor by stealth,
        nor war to grasp at deathlessness,
        seeking but mercy's sweet largesse
        we dare the holy shores of Westernesse--
 

    [Note: There are two settings -- this Hall, and elsewhere. Most of the action
    takes place here.]

    [A cozy family room in Aman, even if it is rather vast and all carved stone and
    tall ceilings, decorated in soothing shades of grey with discreet silver-white
    concealed lighting. There is a fountain at one side which is of the kind that
    is a sheet of water running down a shallow wide channel in the wall, almost
    invisible and inaudible, to silently fill a wide, shallow, rectangular basin
    the border of which is almost flush level with the floor.

    [Most of another wall is taken up by an enormous structure that somewhat resembles
    a harness loom, and somewhat resembles a system of barrel vaulting, and mostly
    resembles something built out of raw cosmic energy, and betrays a long history
    of tinkering and loving use. At the moment its main central section is alive
    with an expanse of shimmering light.  A majority of the Powers are seated
    around it watching in rapt attention.]

    [Tulkas (who might be played by Massimo Serato from El Cid, and sundry Italian
    swashbucklers and sword-&-sandal epics) leaps to his feet]

Tulkas: [roaring]
        NO!!! IT CAN'T END THIS WAY!!! THAT'S JUST WRONG!!! THAT'S NOT HOW THE STORY'S
        SUPPOSED TO END!!!

    [The rest of the Powers wince at the volume of his outrage. Across from him Orome
    is watching with a sardonically critical expression, his arms folded, leaning
    slouched way back in his chair with his ankles crossed. Lawrence Olivier from Hamlet
    (or possibly equally Kirk Douglas from Spartacus) might stand in for the Lord
    of the Wild Hunt]

Orome: [bitingly sarcastic patience]
        That's because it's reality, not a story, Tulkas.  Stories can end happily,
        because they're not true. In real life, there's no Power capable of preventing
        people from making idiotic choices and suffering the consequences.

    [from the chair next to him, his wife, the Lady of Spring -- who could be depicted
        by Claudette Colbert in Cleopatra -- reaches up and pats his cheek.]

Vana:
        Don't be obnoxious, Tav' darling. --Nia dear, why do you make us watch these
        depressing stories? All of your favorites turn out this way.

    [to the left of Tulkas, the Lord of Dreams, Visions and Inspirations, (aka Irmo, aka
    Lorien,) sighs deeply and rests his chin on his hands. Leslie Howard (The Scarlet
    Pimpernel, Gone With The Wind) could play the part]

Irmo: [sadly]
        I tried. I did try. I shan't attempt to conceal the fact that I don't care for
        her father at all, but I did my best, for her mother's sake, -- and for hers,
        too -- she really is a sweet child, and not in any way to be blamed for that
        confounded miscreant's actions--

    [On his left the Lord of the Earth shakes his head, grimacing. He is leaning back,
    but not as much in the sullen critic mode as in the thoughtful critic pose, his legs
    crossed and one elbow resting on the arm of his faldstool, ready to lecture. He is
    played, of course, by James Mason from 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea]

Aule:
        You couldn't have done anything, he was Doomed from the start. Look at how he
    threw away every opportunity he had for survival. If someone tries that hard to
    destroy themselves, the most that anyone else can do is -- get out of the way and
    look for cover.

    [on the floor, sitting in front of the chairs with her knees drawn up and her arms
    wrapped around them like a child, Nienna (who really should be played by Merle Oberon,
    also of Scarlet Pimpernel renown) looks up at Yavanna, who is seated rigidly on the
    other side of her little sister Vana; the Earthqueen could be well-portrayed by Sophia
    Loren from El Cid.]

Nienna:
        Are you going to be all right?

Yavanna: [biting off the syllable]
        No.

    [At equal distances from the Loom and the fountain is a nook with a sconce, two
    chairs, and a small breakfast table. This is occupied by Namo, Vaire, a pair of
    teacups and a dark, glossy sphere. The Lord and Lady of the Halls should be
    portrayed respectively by Gregory Peck (To Kill A Mockingbird, Captain Horatio
    Hornblower) and Virginia McKenna The Cruel Sea, Waterloo).]

Vaire: [sighing]
        I don't mind your sister inviting everyone over to watch the Loom, but really,
        she could have chosen better timing. But I don't like to say anything because
        she does so much to help.

Namo: [sets down his teacup and takes her hand in his]
        No, it's fine. I just wish they wouldn't be so loud. I come here to get
        away from people shouting at me. --Of course, they're not shouting at me,
        to be fair about it.

    [he lets go of her hand and picks up his cup again -- over it, in a very dry tone:]

        --Not yet.

    [she gives him a wry smile, which turns to a grimace at the next high-volume exchange:]

Orome: [raising his voice and dropping the bored facade for a moment]
        Yes, it WAS his fault. He didn't give her a chance to use her powers again,
        he just flung himself in the way without even the preliminaries of thought
        crossing his brain.

Tulkas: [to Vana]
        --You'd better hope you're never in danger when he's around. Sounds like he'd
        let you fend for yourself if a rampaging demon comes along!

Aule: [patiently]
        My valiant friend, I realize that your generous and sympathetic nature prompts
        you to defend all instances of courage and loyalty, but not every self-sacrifice
        is equally meritorious. When it is unnecessary, as in the situation under debate,
        it is simply at best a mistake and at worst histrionics. --I'm still not entirely
        sure about the next occasion, myself: I'd need to review it before reaching a
        decision.

Irmo: [frowning]
        I really don't think she could have done anything further at that point.
        Binding all the denizens of Thangorodrim within the immediate vicinity,
        not to mention resisting and overcoming the Powerful One in combat, would
        be a severe drain upon even my own abilities--

Tulkas: [all innocence]
        --You mean to say you can take Morgoth out, and you haven't done it yet?
        What's wrong with you!?

Yavanna:     [standing up so suddenly that her chair goes over backwards with a crash]
        Oh, you're all horrible. Horrible, HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE!!!

    [Everyone looks up at her, and is very quiet]

Aule: [after a moment]
        Where are you going?

Yavanna: [very tight control]
        Out. For a walk. Someplace where I can break things without hurting anyone--!

    [she strides off into the distant shadows and there is a resounding crash as of
    someone flinging a very heavy door violently open so that it rebounds off the
    wall, with breakages. A moment of utter silence follows.]

Aule: [grimacing]
        Ah. I forgot.

Irmo:
        Oh, that's right -- he's one of hers.

Vana: [rolling her eyes]
        Well, of course! Whose else would he be?

    [silence. Everyone looks at Orome]

Orome:
        Yes, but I am more rational about these things.

Tulkas: [to Aule]
        Go after her and tell her you're sorry, you dolt!

Aule: [shaking his head]
        That would be a very bad idea right now.

    [this builds up into a double argument, as the focus moves back to the tea table]

Namo: [wincing]
        I didn't recall there being a door over there.

Vaire:
        There wasn't.

    [sighs]

        At least--

    [pause -- they look at each other, and say together:]

Namo:
Vaire:
        --"it wasn't a supporting wall--"

    [rueful smiles]

Namo:
        Did you ever get an explanation of all that?

Vaire:
        An explanation? Yes. --One that made sense? I'm afraid the answer is no.

Namo: [scowling]
        You weren't being mocked, dear?

Vaire:
        No, not at all -- it was offered quite sincerely. I just don't believe
        it's possible, but I'm not sure what the real alternative would look like.

    [Her husband shakes his head, snorting]

        I made the mistake of asking one of them to show me how it was done, and I
        forgot it was the one who doesn't want to be noticed, so I had to pretend
        that I didn't realize it, or how nervous he was. --It really is disproportionate,
        isn't it? By comparison, I mean. You wouldn't think, considering who else is
        here, the amount of trouble so few could cause . . .

    [sighs]

        I'm afraid I lost my temper rather the last time someone started in about the
        usual, "Why are they permitted to carry? Why is no one else allowed a retinue?"
        and was very cross about it -- I actually said, in far too short a tone, "Because
        we're capricious and we enjoy playing favorites, that's why." Now I'm rather
        afraid it won't be recognized as sarcasm. What I should have said--

    [another rueful smile]

        --was, "It's an experiment of my sister-in-law's; she's trying to see how many
        idiotic questions it will take to completely destroy all vestiges of my patience."

    [After a  moment Namo lifts his eyebrows and gives a short chuckle, before patting
    her hand.]

        Who knows? It might even be true.

Namo:
        No, I . . . I think she'd mention it, if she were doing anything of the sort.

    [from the other side of the room]

Tulkas: [loud]
        But look, you've got to take into account all the things going against him--

    [the Lord and Lady of the Halls share another wince as the camera shifts back
    to the raging debate by the Loom]

        On the one hand you've got the rebels giving up defending his homeland, so
        does he give up? No, he keeps on trying even though there's nothing in it
        for him any more -- and does a smashing job of it, too, I want to make known.
        And you know I'm hard to impress when it comes to fighting--

Orome: [ironic]
        --Easily impressed when it comes to pretty much everything else, though.

Tulkas: [louder]
        --On the other hand you've got him making a decent go of it with no help,
        and no resources whatsoever -- and sticking to his ideals, too, all the way
        up to when they were betrayed. None of this, "Oh, we're the great Lords of
        the West, here to save you, so give us dinner and why don't you bake us a
        cake while you're at it," Returning nonsense.

Orome: [exasperated]
        You're exaggerating grossly again--

Tulkas: [ignoring him]
        And on the other hand, he's just a Man. Not even an Elf! And look what he did!

Orome: [snippy]
        What other hand? Most people only start out with two.

Tulkas: [ignoring him]
        You'd think we could have managed to give him a little more help, couldn't
        we? Couldn't we? Like something useful, like messages -- and messengers --
        that get there in time--

    [to Irmo]

        -- not that I'm saying it wasn't kind of you to help his friend find him,
        but it's not like it actually made any difference, eh? Or how about something
        specific, like Don't Go On That Hunt, Dummy, -- instead of more nightmares
        about overfed rogue Ainur?

    [as if remembering something unpleasant, Aule shakes his head and snaps his fingers]

Irmo: [angry/upset]
        I told you, don't blame me -- it's hard enough without the Trees, but there's
        nothing I can do with people who simply refuse to sleep. If they won't rest
        long enough for me to reach them, or keep creating so many images of Doom on
        their own that they can't tell them apart -- I can't give them any guidance.

Tulkas:
        So basically, what you're saying is, you can only help people who don't
        really need it.

Irmo:
        That isn't fair--

    [An elegant, confident individual, perhaps played by Sir Alec Guiness from
    Kind Hearts and Coronets, appears discreetly beside Aule's chair and gives
    him a graceful bow]

Aule's Assistant:
        Yes, my lord?

Aule:
        Would you go and make sure all the storm-doors and shutters are closed
        around the place? I don't want the firepits getting flooded out again this time.

Aule's Assistant:
        Of course, sir. --Ah, are you anticipating a recurrence of last year's
        gales this season, or is it merely precautionary, milord?

Aule:
        Anticipating. Very definitely anticipating.

Assistant:
        Oh dear.

    [pause]

        If I may make so bold, my lord, the Lady's temper can be quite trying at times.

Aule: [shaking his head with a gloomy look]
        Eh. It's partly my fault again. --I just hate it when she gets together and
        commiserates with Uinen. They encourage each other in this pointless emotionalism,
        and the electrical storms and the flooding make it so blasted difficult to get
        anything done. --Do you know what that project is they're working on together?

Assistant:
        Something about salt. That's all the information I have, sir -- she asked me
        for information about materials that would combine well with salt.

Aule: [nods]
        --Oh, that's right. They're studying "toxicity levels and self-sustaining
        filtration systems in marginal areas," as I recall. I should ask her how that's
        coming along. That would be a nice thing to do.

Assistant:
        A noble and conciliating gesture, sir.

Aule:
        --Have you seen my wife's secretary around anywhere?

    [his aide gives a derisive laugh]

Assistant:
        He's probably off watching frogs turn into tadpoles or talking to potato-beetles
        or something like that.

Aule: [frowns]
        Isn't it the other way 'round?

    [shaking his head]

        I don't remember. Anyway -- tell him to tell her I'm sorry, all right?

Assistant:
        Very good, sir.

Aule:
        And don't forget the skylights!

Assistant:
        Of course not, my lord.

    [he vanishes as quietly as he came]

Tulkas: [loudly offended]
        Yeah? Well, -- none of my champions have gone over to the other side!

Orome: [ice -- not quiet, either]
        Celegorm Feanorion has NOT been my responsibility since the Rebellion.

Tulkas:
        Good try, but you can't wiggle out that easy. If you'd done your job right
        he wouldn't have rebelled now would he? Huh? Got a snappy comeback for that one?

Orome: [shaking his head]
        What my sister sees in you I will never know.

    [pause]

Tulkas:
        That's pretty good, actually. --I need a drink to clear my mind.

Orome:
        You always need a drink, if that's the case.

Irmo: [raising his voice]
        --Can we please at least endeavor to keep this discussion both civil and to
        the point?

Vana:
        I do hope you didn't mean that as a serious question, Irmo darling.

    [Back at the tea table, the Weaver rests her forehead on her hand, laughing in
    spite of herself, and in dismay]

Vaire:
        Are you sure you don't want me to stay here and you go on the floor? Though
        it won't be any quieter, I'm afraid. I do wish it weren't against the Rules
        to manifest corporeally in several places at the same time. I wonder how one
        would go about doing so . . .?

Namo:
        It -- seems like the sort of thing that would be very inadvisable. Which is
        very likely why there's a Rule about it.

    [frowns still more]

        --Which you would your mind be in? Wouldn't the rest just be puppets then? Or
        would you divide your concentration among all of you? I'm not sure either.

Vaire: [smiles]
        And a divided concentration is just the problem. So do you want me to stay by
        the stone while you take my shift?

        [Her husband shakes his head]

Namo:
        No, I really don't have the patience for any more complaints right now.

    [deep sigh]

        Did I tell you about my last conversation with that fellow, the one who's
        always going on and on -- inaccurately -- about being the First Casualty
        in Beleriand?

Vaire: [interested]
        No, I don't believe you did.

Namo:
        We talked -- and talked, and talked, and he agreed with complete sincerity
        that yes, murder was a terrible thing, and yes, there is a moral responsibility
        as well for actions which, though not directly causing the deaths of specific
        individuals, nevertheless are both freely chosen and known in advance to be
        likely to cause casualties -- such as, for example, shooting fire-arrows into
        adjacent buildings to distract the defenders from their efforts, regardless of
        the fact that people are almost certain to be in those buildings, and not
        necessarily able to get out of them in time. And we talked about how Morgoth
        regards people as chattel in a similar way, and how persons are not things to
        be used and/or discarded for one's own purposes, and about the irony of performing
        such actions in a reaction against the behaviour of the Enemy.

    [odd smile]

        And after all that, he said to me, "But they deserved it."

    [the Weaver sighs, and raises her eyebrows with a wry expression]

Vaire:
        That does sound familiar, doesn't it?

Namo: [pensively]
        You know, it's one thing to know intellectually that this is going to go on --
        and on -- and on, for the foreseeable future, and -- quite another to experience
        it day after day after endless day.

    [his wife smiles sadly at him and gives his hand one last squeeze before getting up
    and leaving the table. The crystal ball on the table begins to glow.]

Namo:
        Oh good, someone's checking in. Perhaps they've got him.

    [He sets down his tea and pulls the palantir over to him eagerly. Vaire walks across
    to the Loom, weaving on mostly unobserved by the debaters]

Vaire:
        Is anyone still watching this?

    [nobody except her sister-in-law even notices her question]

Nienna:
        Please leave it open, would you?

Vaire:
        Not a problem, just fold it up when you're done.

    [she leaves, stopping to patch up the irregular hole in the wall -- which looks rather
    like what happens when a tree grows through a slab, only fast enough that the edges
    are still sharp and not eroded away -- with a wave of her hand, on her way to the
    tall pointed arch that is the actual door.]

Vana:
        Well, I thought he was rather cute, even if he was rather stupid --

    [to her husband]

        --rather like one of the puppies, hm?

Orome:
        My dear, puppies usually don't manage to leave scores of casualties behind them
        as a consequence of their mistakes.

    [she gives him a little swat and makes a face at him]

Tulkas: [roaring]
        CONSEQUENCES?!? If you're going to talk about consequences, what about the
        consequences of us not catching Morgoth? Huh? Huh? Before you start throwing
        big words like "consequences" around, what about the consequences of not
        providing adequate inspiration? In the Song, do I have to do it ALL myself
        to get anything done RIGHT?

    [the Lord of the Hall winces and puts a hand to his temple]

Namo:
        I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. What was that again?

Irmo: [raising his voice too]
    I'm getting tired of hearing you talk about something you don't and can't possibly understand--

Namo:
        A dog? What do you mean, a dog? Kelvar don't belong here, they don't need to
        come here, they can just start right over again -- you know that! Tell it to
        go home. --I don't care what size it is, it still doesn't belong here. Unless
        it's that rogue in disguise. Of course I'm joking. No, we haven't got him yet.
        --Yes, that's why I'm in a bad mood. --Just take care of it, will you?

    [he leans back, closing his eyes and shaking his head]

Aule: [cool voice of reason -- and sarcasm]
        Thank you for letting us know how you feel about it, Lord Astaldo. --Getting
        back to my earlier point -- I don't believe you can legitimately give someone
        credit for what they can't help. If the deed's done under any kind of a
        compulsion, it's invalidated to some extent. Obviously there's a compulsion
        operating here to fling one's self between other individuals -- regardless of
        longevity or depth of personal attachment -- and danger. If one cannot prevent
        one's self from getting in harm's way, the correct response -- and again, I'm
        going on logic here -- isn't admiration, but rather pity.

Tulkas:
        Oh, come on! He practically slaps Morgoth upside the head, and you can't even
        manage a "Good job, what!"

Vana: [mischievous]
        Well, he did hit Morgoth in the head, only it wasn't exactly on purpose . . .

Orome: [innocently]
        Hey, Aule -- what's that you always say about using the right tools for the job?

Tulkas:
        Yeah? Well let me tell you, your fancy tools wouldn't help either of you very
        much out in the Void! You should try it sometime, fighting like real gods with
        nothing but your bare power--

Orome:
        --Speaking of which, don't you get chilly running around in just a skirt?

Tulkas:
        It's not a skirt, it's a kilt, you dimwit! How many times have I told you that?

    [Vana giggles and hides it by snuggling against Orome's shoulder]

Irmo: [sternly and loudly]
        These insults are utterly pointless! Can we have some intellectual discussion, please?!

Namo: [shouting louder than any of them]
        Irmo! Nienna! Everybody!

    [when he has their attention -- normal tone:]

        Would you all please either stop acting like Eldar or go someplace else
        and argue? If you can't keep your voices down I'm going to have to ask you
        to take it to the Mahanaxar. You're not even watching the Loom any more.

    [there are guilty looks among his colleagues and kin -- considering glances are
    exchanged. Consensus -- No, they can't keep it down. They start getting up to leave]

Vana: [rolling her eyes]
        "Acting like Eldar," indeed! --Honestly--

    [they vanish, leaving the chairs behind]

Namo: [muttering to self]
        I suppose there's a certain logic to it, but I hate it when catastrophes
        happen in cascades like this. They seem to bring on unrelated incidents, as
        though chaos has come back into fashion all of the sudden.

    [he gets up and starts pacing up and down restlessly, obviously not happy at not
    being able to do anything -- then notices Nienna still curled up in front of the Loom]

        Nia, I could really use a little help right now. We have a crisis situation
        going on, the trauma department is overwhelmed with new arrivals, there's a
        discorporate rogue Ainu out there it looks like I'm going to have to track
        down personally, now I hear some kind of bizarre bureaucratic foul-up is
        giving my security people fits -- and you're watching the news.

Nienna: [patient annoying-sibling mode]
        -- Don't worry, I'm on it, I've got the situation in hand.

Namo: [flings up his hands and walks back to his chair]
        Fine. I give up. It's not as though anyone ever listens until it's too late.

    [sinking down with a sigh]

        What next . . . ?

    [Elsewhere: outside the Halls of Mandos, in the perpetual twilight at the roots
    of the mountains.  A series of low, shallow, wide stone steps leads up to the
    most imposing doors that have ever been built, or will be. No one is present,
    until Luthien enters (quite literally from the shadows) at the foot of the
    staircase. Like all the shades in the underworld, where everything is in shades
    of grey, she does not look "ghostly", i.e. translucent and out-of-place -- this
    place is made for them, after all; it's the living who would appear not to belong
    properly. She looks neatly but simply dressed, rather as she would have at the
    beginning of the play, but without any jewelry and her face is haggard.]

Luthien:
        Well. Here we are.

    [she looks up at the Doors and gives a huge sigh]

        The end of the journey. Nothing could be easy, could it?

    [she gives an odd laugh, shaking her head]

        The doors are closed -- I could still turn back now, perhaps even go home,
        or not: this isn't horrible, or particularly frightening. I've given up
        everything, for him, or so they'd say -- and it doesn't feel that way at all.
        It seems as if I could reach out my hand and take hold of the very elements
        of the universe like a skein of yarn this way, or see through to the Fire at
        the heart of everything, if I only looked hard enough, as if I could become
        anything I chose -- a tree, or an Eagle, or a Hound like Huan, or even one
        of the stars . . .

    [she wraps her arms around herself and shivers, beginning to walk back and forth
    as she talks to herself, moving up and down the lower terraces of the stairs]

        I don't have to go through with this -- no one is going to take this decision
    away from me -- and that's why I have to.

    [Her appearance shimmers and flickers while she paces, eventually mostly settling
    to the bobbed haircut and shadowcloak of her journeying, the former somewhat
    longer (and wilder) than when last we saw her.]

        Everything seems so distant, small and delicate and quite irrelevant, like
        the city I saw from the air. Not compared with the whole cosmos lying open
        to explore. --But that tiny little flower of a city is full of people, each
        with a life that's important to someone else, too, and things they've done
        and learned and new songs they've made, even if I couldn't see that. And I
        know that Middle-earth is important, even if it seems such a small part of
        the Music I can almost hear now.

    [smiling wryly]

        That's it, isn't it, the Song itself that's calling me to join in it, to be
        like a god myself, to make, and change the world, and once again do one better
        than my mother, even if no one ever knows it. Couldn't I do better than the
        rest of them, since I know how it is out there, since I've lived through it --
        and died -- all of it, the good -- the gloriously good -- as well as the
        unspeakably horrible -- couldn't I move through it and speak through it and
        change it like the Lord of the Sea? And wouldn't that be a better memorial
        to Beren than staying here as a ghost, giving up my endless life and the
        whole wide world outside, to be with him, if only they'll let me?

    [shaking her head]

        I know what he'd say. And then we'd fight.

    [gesturing with her hands]

        If only I'd come straight to the Halls -- it can't be this hard for everyone,
        can it? -- and then I could have just answered when they asked me, and I wouldn't
        have to think about it. But this -- there's no getting away from this, that
        once I cross that threshold, there's no going back -- even if Lord Mandos
        would let me. I can't just keep going on momentum alone, not stopping to think
        about it.

        [pause]

        And I'm afraid. I don't know what will happen, I don't know what I'll say,
        I don't know what they'll say. I might make things worse for him this way,
        though I can't think how. And if they refuse, what happens then? How can I
        stay there forever, knowing that I couldn't save him, and with no place left
        to go -- no action I can take, nothing to do but wait for the world to end to
        put an end to my pain? I thought nothing could be worse than the prospect of
        going home to my parents in failure --

    [checks, looking dismayed]

        --but what if they send me back? I can't stay there with what they did to us,
        dealing with that guilt and sentimentality and trying to make it up to me by
        being kind -- I really would go mad within a year of that. If they'd shown
        Beren some pity at the outset -- or thought at all about me instead of
        themselves -- this wouldn't have happened. But I won't be the victim to
        their consciences.

    [she snorts, starting to get angry]

        I'll go live as a hermit in the Seven Rivers district before that, or maybe
        go to the Havens and see the Ocean for real finally, or try to cross the
        mountains and find Celeborn and Galadriel and their following. I can do that
        now, or at least I have as good a chance as anyone does. I don't need anyone
        else in the world, if I can't have Beren, and if they "need" me that's just
        too bad!

    [she wipes her eyes roughly, and gives an ironic smile.]

        Silly, silly, silly -- getting all upset over possibilities that haven't even
        happened yet, and that I've no way to judge the most likely. I'm so tired of
        it all . . . only I'm not, or maybe I am. --But I can't stop, and I'm afraid
        to go forward, and no one can help me now.

    [she stands still for a moment, looking up the steps, and squares her shoulders.]

        Well. I didn't get this far waiting for people to open doors for me.

    [starts to approach the Doors, hesitates again.]

        Oh, I wish you were with me, Huan.  But this isn't like last time: I'm afraid
        it won't end happily. -- Then again, I can't think of a single story that does.
        Not the true ones, at least.

    [Sighs.]

        No more disguises. No more tricks.  All I can do is tell the truth now, and
        hope that that's enough.

    [She casts her cloak down on the steps: it melts and vanishes into the shadows]

        Beren -- I'm here.

    [She strides towards the Doors, and they melt away in front of her as she enters
        the Halls of Mandos.]

    [The Hall.]

    [Namo is sitting pensively by the palantir, fiddling with his teacup. Nienna
    is still on the floor in front of the Loom, watching with an odd, almost-pleased
    expression. An Elvish-looking individual (who could be played by Ewan MacGregor
    from the second Star Wars series) enters the hall and crosses quickly to where
    she is sitting. Ordinarily he seems like he'd be rather cheerful and self-possessed,
    but right now he's looking rather harassed and frayed, and it comes through when
    he addresses her:]

        --Master, everything's in chaos, nobody knows what to do, everyone's asking
        me for advice, some people are continuing to complain about certain other
        people and refusing to countenance the possibility that their problems just
        might not be as serious as those who have just come in and demanding to see
        the Lady of the Halls at once, and they're all unhappy with me because I'm
        not you!

Nienna:
        Apprentice mine, have you considered how much worse matters could be?

Nienna's Apprentice:
        Er -- no, I haven't, m'lady.

Nienna:
        Why don't you do that?

Apprentice:
        Was that a question question, or a suggestion question?

Nienna:
        What do you think?

Apprentice:
        Both.

Nienna:
        Let me know when you have an answer; I'll be interested in hearing it.

Apprentice:
        Certainly. But none of this helps with the fact that everything's in chaos
        and I really need Lady Vaire and she can't be everywhere at once!

    [Nienna sighs]

Apprentice:
        I know. I don't really need the Lady of the Halls, I just need to keep
        reminding myself that I have been delegated the authority and I do have
        the intelligence to solve small problems on my own and the confidence to
        not be overwhelmed by the troublemakers along with it. --But there are
        just so bloody many of them!

Nienna:
        You want me to come rescue you.

Apprentice:
        No. Well, yes. But not really. I want to be rescued, but I don't want the
        consequences of being rescued, to wit -- losing even more ground to the
        insufferable Feanorians and looking a total fool in front of everyone else
        and causing increased doubt and discord as a result. --I'm going back to
        work. Thank you.

    [he starts to walk away]

Namo: [sighing]
        When you said you had everything under control, I should have known that meant
        you were delegating.

Nienna:
        Of course. Micromanagement is poor Melkor's besetting weakness.

    [her brother closes his eyes and rubs his temples. Halfway to the door the
    Apprentice halts in mid-stride, pivots on his heel and hurries back over]

Apprentice:
        I almost forgot completely -- Sir, there's a young lady here who insists on
        seeing you personally and immediately. She says her mother used to work for
        your brother.

Namo: [looking blank]
        So why does she want to see me instead of Irmo?

Apprentice: [delicately]
        Er -- because she's here.

Namo:
        Oh. You mean she's discorporate. Why can't you just say so?

    [the Apprentice winces a little]

        Can you tell her I'm in the middle of about six different things and I will
        see her as soon as I can?

Apprentice:
        I've done that.

Namo:
        Can you explain that things are not going well and that while everyone's
        problems are important, not all of them are crises?

Apprentice:
        That too.

    [Namo sighs]

        She really won't take no for an answer. I keep giving it to her, and she
        keeps refusing it.

Namo:
        Can you tell her it isn't fair to the others ahead of her?

Apprentice:
        She says it's a matter of justice, and she refuses to go until her case is heard.

Namo: [shaking his head]
        Wait, wait, what do you mean -- "go" --? People don't just come and go from
        my Halls without leave.

Apprentice:
        Well, she apparently came on her own. It seems her consort was one of the
        recently admitted.

Namo: [snorts]
        Did you tell her her case was hardly unique?

Apprentice:
        I did, Sir -- but I'm not entirely sure I was correct. She doesn't seem to
        have come in the normal way at all. There was some peculiar talk about
        Thorondor and "hitching a ride" -- a quaint turn of phrase which I believe,
        though I'd have to consult the Archives to be sure, derives from a mortal
        practice concerning a crude form of wheeled vessel known as, erm, a "cart."
        I confess that ordinarily I would simply dismiss it as the normal, ah,
        post-discorporation trauma, or possibly prior mental derangement -- but
        there's something about her that causes me to be uncertain of that diagnosis.

    [pause]

        She really is very insistent, Sir.

    [pause]

Namo:
        You're intimidated by her.

    [Nienna's student makes as though to deny it, with indignation -- and then sighs]

Apprentice:
        Frankly, my Lord, yes. In all honesty -- she reminds me of Feanor.

    [silence]

Namo: [shaking his head]
        No. There cannot be two Eldar in the universe that obliviously self-centered
        and full of destructive energy. I refuse to believe it. Ea would disintegrate.

Apprentice:
        It's the obdurate refusal to be put off. --And the way she sounds totally
        believable saying the most insane things.

Namo:
        What are her names?

Apprentice:
        She only gave one -- "Nightingale." --She said it as though it should mean
        something, when I asked her who she was, and she told me her maternal
        parent was formerly in the employ of your sibling.

Namo: [musing]
        Nightingales, nightingales -- why do they sound familiar?

Apprentice: [hopefully]
        I could go check the Archive, if you'd like.

Namo: [snorts]
        So you can skive out of dealing with the discorporate? Fat chance. No -- I
        think there's some connection that I should remember -- why don't you go ask
        Irmo if "nightingale" means anything to him. There's an errand you can run.

Apprentice:
        Er, you could use the remote there -- why not just ask him?

Namo:
        Because you're annoying me. Because I'm waiting to hear from security about
        that rogue, among other things.

Apprentice: [disappointed]
        Oh.

    [starts to leave, turns back again]

        Sir, didn't Melian have nightingales? And aren't all these new patients from
        the place where she settled down? Dorl -- Dorith -- one of those Dor-- names?

    [long pause. Namo frowns, then sets down his teacup with a bang]

Namo: [wearily]
        All right. I'll talk to her.

    [he turns his chair about to face into the room]

Apprentice: [raising an eyebrow]
        --Actually, Sir, I think the word you want is --"listen."

Gower:
        --That Melian's daughter made her way
        to Mandos' Halls, and there did win
        her way as well, with imploring song,
        and of her thought and melody did spin
        a thread to bind the sternest and most strong
        to clemency -- this all do remember well.
        But of the rest, that followed ere the Choice
        little is said, and less considered: how still
        much ado was made, high counsels held, voice
        upraised to counter and to question,
        troubling the highest, making them to pause
        and ponder long with sad consideration
        this strange matter of their love, and cause
        that Luthien upholds, appeals, maintains
        with such unreservéd zeal that even yet,
        beyond the Bent World's verge, her strains
        are sung in deathless memory, past the set
        of Sun, of Moon, by gods and Elven-kind
        until the ending of all things shall find
        even the stars and that unstained land--
 

    [The Hall. There is a difference -- where the tea-table occupied an alcove under
    a lamp, there is now a vast double throne under an arch, with only the lamp, the
    occupant, and the stone sphere resting on the dividing arm of the throne the same.
    In the background, Nienna is still paying attention to the Loom. Before the throne,
    Luthien is looking up at Namo with a desperate expression. ]

Namo:
        I -- I'm sorry, I was thinking about what you'd just said -- I  . . . missed
        your last remark.

    [he wipes at his eyes, shaking his head a little]

Luthien:
        Might I please speak to him now, my Lord?

    [pause]

Namo:
        I . . . am not sure how to break this to you, but he -- he isn't here.

Luthien: [frightened]
        He has to be.

Namo:
        No, I'm afraid that isn't the case. Except for those who give themselves
        to the Enemy during their lifetimes, or have ties to their own place that are
        strong enough to override the call of their Fate, mortals do not remain in Arda.

Luthien:
        But he wouldn't have lingered back there -- he's not evil, he has no one
        left besides me, and he knows I'll come here too.

Namo:
        But Men don't stay here -- they go on from the Halls to their own destiny
        beyond Ea.

    [pause]

        I'm sorry.

Luthien: [becoming increasingly frantic]
        But I told him to wait for me!  I -- I came as fast as I could -- how long
        has it been? You didn't -- you didn't send him on without me -- please tell
        me you didn't!  Surely he would have explained --

    [greater apprehension]

        --but what if he couldn't --

    [sudden notion]

        --is Huan here?

Namo: [bewildered]
        Why would he be here? He isn't an Elf -- he belongs to Orome.

Luthien:
        No. He belongs to Beren now. And me. I'm sure he would be waiting for
        us here somewhere. He might be looking after him--

Namo: [frowning]
        That's the second time dogs have come up in recent conversation. Very peculiar.

Nienna: [from where she's sitting, not looking over]
        If you'd been paying attention to the news, or even what's going on under
        your own roof, you'd understand. You need to remember the big picture, not
        just focus on the organizational details, Namo.

Namo: [giving her an exasperated look]
        Be a little more cryptic, would you? Ah --

    [realization hits]

        Aaha. The kid with the dog.

Luthien:
        They're here? He's still here?

    [he nods, picking up the sphere]

Namo:
        --Security, please.  --Just how big is that dog, anyway? Uh-huh. I see.
        Can you put my wife on, please? --Vaire, things have just gotten a little
        more complicated. --If you can believe it.  I know.  Look, I need you to
        talk to that mortal again.  He hasn't been rude to you, has he? No, apparently
        he has some kind of aphasia problem, but he's not deaf. Would you ask him if
        he's Beren Barahirion? -- and if he is, tell him that Luthien is here and
        would like to speak with him, and ask him if he would be so good as to come
        over here.  His dog can come too. --Has the dog been rude to you? Well, I'm
        going to have a little talk with Orome about him.  -- Yes, that's right.
        Love you too.

    [sets down palantir, sighs and shakes his head with a pained expression]

        I find it difficult to believe that all this madness really is connected.
        It's almost enough to make one think that order is an illusion.

Nienna:
        Why do you think I've been watching all along? It takes patience to see
        the patterns.

    [her brother half-smiles]

Namo: [to Luthien]
        --Yes. He's here, beneath this roof, and will be here directly.

Luthien: [whispering]
        Thank you. --Thank you--

    [Enter Nienna's Apprentice, and Huan, who sniffs the air and looks towards the
    Loom, keening softly. Beren is between them, holding onto Huan's collar for balance.
    He is more bowed and tattered than in Act II, wearing a motley layered assortment
    of frayed rags and well-made tailoring (all far too large), his head low, his right
    arm held stiffly by his side. He looks like a defeated veteran of a long campaign
    stumbling home from the wars.]

Luthien:
        Beren.

    [he lifts his head and looks over blankly towards her -- and then he seems to
    recognize her and lets go of Huan to hurl himself at her in a controlled collapse
    as she runs to catch him, locking her arms around his back as he leans against
    her shoulder, eyes closed, oblivious to the rest of his surroundings. Luthien stands
    there holding him close, crying, unable to speak right away. After a few moments
    they straighten and look at each other, though she does not let go of him any more
    than he tries to step away:]

        Are you all right?

    [he nods. Worried:]

        Can you talk?

Beren: [with visible effort]
        Yes.

    [wry smile]

        It's hard.

    [suddenly]

        --Where's Huan?

Luthien: [more worried]
        He's right here, on the other side of me.

    [Huan comes closer; Beren does not react until the Hound whines]

        Beren, can you see?

    [pause]

Beren:
        I can see you. The rest -- is all grey and lights.

    [she is very upset, far more than he is]

        It's a little bit better now.

Apprentice: [who has been standing awkwardly to the side]
        There isn't much more to see than "grey and lights", I'm afraid.

    [at Namo's stern Look]

        No criticism of your Lady's decorating scheme was -- well, I'm afraid it
        was, rather, but, erm -- it could be a lot worse.

Namo:
        Why don't you go find something to do while they make their goodbyes, hm?

Luthien: [disbelieving]
        Goodbyes?!? What do you mean?!

Namo: [gently]
        So that he can be on his way.

Luthien: [horrified]
        What!?

Namo: [frowning]
        Isn't that what you wanted? Since you didn't get the chance to speak
        together before his dissolution?

Luthien: [shaking her head]
        No! I mean, yes but not just that, I want to stay with him -- him to
        stay with me, always.

    [she is on the edge of tears, and holds onto Beren tighter than ever. Huan
    presses up against them both, looking anxious]

Namo:
        But that isn't possible.

Luthien:
        Why not?

Namo:
        Because the One has organized the universe otherwise. He isn't supposed to
        stay here. But you know this. So make your farewells, and let him go.

Luthien: [mournfully]
        I may have emphasized the part about how we didn't get a chance to even say
        goodbye properly a little too much. My Lord, please, can't you make an exception?

Namo:
        No. I didn't make the Law.

Luthien:
        But you're in charge here.

Namo:
        I administer the Law. But I do not have the power to change it.

Luthien: [fraying]
        I didn't come all this way just to have him taken away from me again. I will
        not let this happen.

Namo:
        Luthien, I'm afraid you don't understand.

Luthien:
        I understand very well, my Lord, and I don't care.

Beren: [uneven smile]
        Haven't we done this before?

Namo: [sighing]
        Please try to look at it rationally. I agree that it is a terrible tragedy,
        but you knew that your husband was mortal and under a separate Doom before
        you married him. The tragic shortness of your marriage does not change that
        essential fact.

Luthien: [desperate]
        Then can we at least have an entire lifetime here before he has to go?
        We're owed at least that!

Namo:
        Very few people, in this world, get what they deserve. It shouldn't have
        happened this way, you're right.

Luthien: [hopeful]
        And?

Namo:
        And it's unfortunate. Most unfortunate. That's why I'm giving you a chance
        to have a good memory, before he goes.

Luthien: [strongly]
        --No. Beren is staying with me.

Apprentice: [nervously]
        Your Highness, that's not--

Luthien: [sarcastic]
        What, will he blast me if I defy him?

Namo: [dry]
        No, that isn't my style. You need to reconcile yourself to facts, Luthien.

Luthien:
        If someone says that to me one more time, I'm going to scream until the roof
        falls in. I know what the facts are. I want solutions! And acceptable ones!
        This -- saying goodbye to Beren so that he can be kicked out yet again like
        a trespassing vagabond -- is not an acceptable solution. You've got to do better.

    [the Lord of the Halls gives a short laugh and closes his eyes]

Namo:
        You understand I really do not have the time to spare, even though I'm making it.

Luthien: [snappish]
        Well, we jolly well didn't have it either. Don't try to make me feel sorry for
        you, it won't work.

    [the Apprentice covers his face with his hand]

        Why can't you even make an exeption to the rules?

Namo: [patiently]
        Because it is not a Rule, it is the Law. And it would not be fair to him.

Luthien:
        I don't understand--

Namo:
        I know.

Luthien:
        --How could it not be fair to him? He's the one who's been cheated most by
        all this!

Namo:
        You wish to keep him here, in this fragmentary state, because of your affection
        for him. But he is not made for this place, nor this state, because he is not
        like you.

    [gesturing]

        Look at him. Do you want to hold him in that, without any hope of being rehoused,
        without the natural properties that make such a mode endurable, alone and severed
        from his own kind, until you've decided that you've had him long enough? What
        does he think of all this? Have you even asked him, or simply laid commands on him?

    [Luthien looks defiant, but increasingly anxious]

Apprentice: [thoughtfully]
        Sir, could perhaps something be done -- to some small area, to make it less
        overwhelming to his senses?

Namo:
        I don't know. Nor do I know yet what his feelings on the matter are.

    [to Beren:]

        --Beren son of Barahir.

    [Beren starts and tries to focus on the Lord of the Halls]

        What do you want?

Beren: [after several attempts]
        I want Tinuviel to be happy.

Namo:
        Being happy and getting what one asks for are not always the same thing.
        --What do you want for yourself?

    [pause -- Luthien looks wretched and afraid]

Beren: [faintly]
        I want to stay with my wife.

    [she hugs him in relief]

Namo: [grim]
        As you now are, young Man?

Beren: [simply]
        I've known worse. This doesn't hurt.

    [silence]

Namo: [to where Nienna has been up till now]
        I'm surprised you haven't jumped in yet -- where's she gotten to?

    [sighing -- to Beren:]

    You're not making things any easier.

Beren: [a very faint smile]
        I usually don't.

Namo: [snorts, sounding exasperated, but not angry]
        I'm not sure what to do. This is unprecedented, and nothing I can recall
        from the Song gives me any hints, let alone specific directions. I'm going
        to consult with my peers about this -- fortunately they're already somewhat
        aware of your circumstances, so it shouldn't take too long to bring them up
        to date. Meanwhile you two might as well--

Huan: [interrupting]
        [loud single bark]

Namo:
        --three, might as well stay here as anywhere else. Then we won't waste any
        time trying to find you again.

    [to the Apprentice]

        You're sure you don't know where my sister might be?

Apprentice:
        Yes. Erm, no. That is, I'm sure I don't know where she is. I know many places
        where she might be.

    [the Lord of the Halls looks up at the ceiling]

Namo:
        Do you do this on purpose, or does it come naturally? --Has she given you
        any tasks that you're supposed to be doing right now?

Apprentice:
        I don't know, my Lord. --I mean, I'm not sure why I do it. My Master only
        told me to make myself useful about the Halls.

Namo:
        Good. --About the latter, not the first part of your statement. Go find my
        Lady, explain things to her -- quickly -- and ask her to meet me at the
        Mahanaxar. First, however, ask her what you should be doing and then go and
        do it. If nothing else, then I'll have you handle coordinating security --
        that should help curb your taste for adventure, seeing how these stakeouts
        really go down.

Apprentice:
        Certainly, Sir.

    [he gives a rather extravagant bow, and strides jauntily out, though not without
    a backwards concerned look at the three shades. The Lord of the Halls picks up his
    cup from the other arm of his throne (where it was not a moment before) finishes
    the last of his tea and rises from his throne. Setting down the cup he vanishes,
    without another word. Beren reacts, starting.]

Beren:
        What's gonna happen now?

Luthien:
        I don't know. I -- I --

    [shaking her head]

        I'm going on nothing but instinct right now. I don't know why they all need
        to discuss it. And I have no idea what they'll decide.

    [Behind them Vaire appears for a moment, glances across at the trio with a
    sympathetic expression, and with a fond shake of her head dismisses the teacup
    sitting on her husband's chair. Another quick gesture dismisses the muddle of
    chairs and dims the light of the Loom to a faint glow. She disappears without
    them noticing her, with the possible exception of Huan. Beren sinks down onto
    his knees, closing his eyes. Luthien drops down in front of him]

Luthien: [anxious]
        What's wrong -- Beren, love, what's the matter?

Beren: [looking up at her, vaguely]
        I'm tired. --And I got chilled and couldn't get warm again.

Luthien:
        Have they hurt you somehow?

Beren: [slowly]
        No. Some people -- I'm not sure what kind of people they were. They weren't
        Elves, I'm pretty sure. They came, and  . . . talked at me kind of loudly.
        They -- they weren't real happy with me being there in the entryway. But
        nobody did anything except talk. I -- wasn't listening to most of it anyway.

    [he reaches out his hand, and Huan bumps his head under it]

        He came along and started licking my face . . . and made me move and kind of
        curled up around me . . . and after that . . . I wasn't cold. He growled at
        them when they came by to yell at me, too, and after a while they stopped.

    [he smiles, rubbing Huan's ears]

        He's a good dog. Isn't that right, boy?

Huan:
        [whines]

    [Luthien pulls Beren close against her side, and he leans his head on her shoulder.
    Huan moves to lie couchant behind them, right at their backs.]

Luthien: [whispering]
        Shh, it's all right, don't be afraid -- we're here now, I won't let anything
        else happen to you. Just rest, you're safe, we've got you, we've got you . . .

Beren: [not opening his eyes]
        Sounds good . . . to me . . .

    [she is weeping silently, but not letting him know it as she alternately smoothes
    his hair and rubs gently at his wrist. Across the room as she is trying to blink
    away the tears, the glow of the Loom attracts her attention, and she strains to
    make out what it is. At that moment the quiet of the hall is shattered beyond repair:]

Tulkas: [shouting in the distance]
        Well of course it's unprecedented, everything's unprecedented, you know we're
        just making it up as we go along!

    [Following this proclamation the speaker himself appears, striding in out of nowhere
    to where the three are, much to the astonishment of the lovers. Huan does not leave
    where he is lying pressed up against Beren and Luthien, but he gives a short happy
    bark and thumps his tail on the floor]

Tulkas: [shaking his head in disgust]
        They call me "simple" -- but not everything is this complicated. Some things
        are simple.

    [looks around and snorts in disgust]

        What is it with this obsessive need of Vaire's to tidy everything? How much
        work is it to leave a few chairs around?

    [manifests a heavy, carved chair of the royal fald-stool with arms and back type,
    flings self down in it. (Note: there are no obvious sfx -- no flashes, no "magical"
    sounds -- it's just there.) Manifesting a drinking horn:]

        You want anything? A drink? Say the word --

    [Beren, a bit wild-eyed, shakes his head; Luthien is marginally more composed.]

Luthien:
        Oh -- no thank you, my lord. We are quite -- adequate -- as we are --

Tulkas: [to Beren]
        --Good work with those little spiders. Too many to clean out, of course, but
        you made a nice dent in the population.

Beren: [startled into blurting out a response]
        Little?

Tulkas:
        Should've seen their mother.

    [shakes his head sadly]

        I'll regret not catching her to the end of the world.

    [he takes another pull of his drink]

Beren: [aside]
        So will the world.

Tulkas:
        That's what I said.

    [Beren looks confused.]

        Now, mind you, I don't go in for all those fancy gadgets, myself -- I'm
        more the hands-on type -- but heh, even I can see why you wouldn't want
        to come to close quarters with those things. How come you never used a,
        a whatsit, poky-stick-thing -- you know, a "spear?" Seems a lot better
        than going after those things with a -- sword -- farther away, right?
        Why didn't you make yourself one?

Beren:
        Um -- 'cause I'm not a smith?

    [Tulkas looks a bit confused at this]

        I didn't have the tools, or the time, and I wouldn't have known what to do
        with them if I did. And a spear can be damned inconvenient for hauling around
        in rough terrain -- anything taller than you is gonna catch on stuff. Plus
        there's the problem of if you throw it you haven't got it, but if you hang
        on to it, it can become a liability. Spears are best for open country and
        pitched battle. Otherwise--

    [it clicks, suddenly, and he looks horrified]

        Ah. Sir. --My lord. --Oh gods -- help me--

    [Tulkas looks around]

Tulkas:
        No one else here, unless you're counting Huan. "Otherwise--?" You were saying--?

Beren: [quietly, rushed]
        Otherwise it can become just another thing to slow you down.

    [bowing his head]

        Sir.

Tulkas:
        Oh yeah. I'm with you there.

    [getting louder]

        I mean, it's all just a way of hitting harder in one place than another. I
        don't know why other people go on about weapons as if they're so much better
        than brute force, especially the more moving parts they have. They're not any
        easier. All this business about "it's so easy, you just pull it and the bow
        does the work for you," and nothing about how it wants to go in all different
        directions, including back into you and along your arm--!

Beren: [startled into forgetting]
        Somebody said archery was easy? I would never agree with that.

Tulkas:
        But you were really good at it.

Beren:
        Yeah, but I started practicing when I was what, four? five? and I kept
        practicing, and I twanged myself good more'n a few times there -- first
        time I tried fooling around with a full-size bow I gave myself a bloody
        nose, and my first recurved hunting job -- ouch. --Of course I shouldn't
        have been too impatient to put on a vambrace before testing it. But yeah,
        anything that can punch through an elk, or a warg, or an armored Orc,
        before it can get close enough to damage you, is going to have a hell of
        a lot of power and need extreme control to make that power go where you
        need it to, and only there.

    [he stops, and starts to panic again -- Tulkas does not seem to notice, but
    Luthien hugs him]

Tulkas: [smiling triumphantly]
        I'm going to have you tell my brother-in-law this. Someone needs to take
        him down a notch. Besides, you understand when brute force is the right
        thing -- that bit with Feanor's brat, when he grabbed her? On the horse?
        -- No hesitation, no stopping-to-think-it-over -- exactly what I would
        have done. Perfect.

    [gestures with his horn towards Beren and drinks a toast]

        Of course, I helped a bit. You've always tended to be a little too thoughtful
        and cautious -- except towards the end there -- and sometimes you just need
        to act without distractions. Not the time and place for it

Beren:
        Y--you're Tulkas, right--?

Tulkas: [shrugs]
        Last time I checked. I think that's what they're still calling me.

Beren:
        Ah . . .  okay. So -- when I pulled Curufin down, that was really you? Your
        power working through me? I should thank you for saving Luthien then?

Tulkas: [shaking his head]
        Oh no, I just helped with the distractions. It was all you. Besides, you
        already did. I'm one of the Valar, right? Don't you remember thanking us?

Beren:
        . . .

Luthien:
        How do you know all this -- milord?

Tulkas:
        Oh, I was following the story off and on from a long ways back -- even before
        what's-his-name, the guy who didn't come back -- Thingol -- got my attention
        begging me to smite him couple-three times a day. Nia said this was one I'd li--

Luthien: [interrupting, outraged]
        You didn't!

Tulkas:
        --Of course not. That's not how it works, anyway, and your dad knows it.

        [snorts]

        Besides, I didn't need to.

    [glares at Beren]

        What were you thinking, you dimwit? You had every chance handed to you to go
        off and have a decent life with your girl and what do you do, you go and
        yourself killed, for a bargain which nobody in his right mind would have
        considered taking up -- can we say "rigged contest," hm? -- and you can't
        claim it was an accident, how often did you try to get yourself killed
        before you succeeded? Every time she said "Let's just go and live in the
        woods," would it have, huh, killed you to say "yes"? Obviously not. Believe
        me, I wanted to clobber you a couple times there.

    [the disgruntled Power recovers from his rant with another drink]

Beren: [quiet]
        I'm sorry, if that helps any.

Tulkas: [looks around expectantly, then shakes his head]
        --Nope, nothing's changed. So I don't think it did.

    [Beren looks even more baffled.]

        Well. What are you going to do now?

Beren:
        Do?

Tulkas:
        Right, what are you going to do about this situation you got yourselves into?

Beren:
        . . .

Luthien:
        I got us into it too. But at this point it isn't up to us. What can we do?

    [pause]

        That is to say, we're dead.

Tulkas:
        I know that. How much of a simpleton do you take me for? There's always something
        you can do. It might not work, but at least--

    [There is a sudden gust of wind through the place and a tall, athletic woman (who
    might well be played by Maureen O'Sullivan, the original "Jane") in swirling but
    rather abbreviated drapery appears behind Tulkas, and puts her hands over his
    eyes, exclaiming:]

        Guess who!

Tulkas:
        Hmm . . . I think . . . but no, can't be sure--

Nessa:
        Silly!

    [She leans over and gives him a quick upside-down kiss]

        Sure now?

Tulkas: [frowns, shakes his head]
        Not quite.

    [they share a rather-more-protracted moment]

        I think -- but . . .

    [he ducks before she can thwack him on the head, grinning]

Nessa: [moving around beside him]
        Where did all the chairs go?

Tulkas:
        You know Vaire -- leave something alone for a moment, it gets cleaned up and
        put away. Here, sit on my lap, we only need one chair anyway.

    [Nessa plunks herself down on his knees, grabs the mead-horn and takes a big
    gulp before passing it back and leaning against his shoulder.]

        So what's going on? Anything interesting?

Nessa: [scornful expression]
        Pfft. Talk, talk, talk, "Rules" -- talk, talk, talk, "mortal" -- talk, talk,--

Tulkas: [interrupting]
        Who's saying what?

Nessa:
        --You know how it goes. Somebody says one thing, someone else says another,
        and after it wrangles around for a while the first person's saying what the
        third said and the third and second are disagreeing with themselves and
        everyone else is just shaking their heads.

Tulkas:
        You left out shouting.

Nessa:
        You didn't let me get there --

    [pokes him in the ribs]

        --talk, talk, talk, "War," -- talk, talk, talk, "Melian" -- shouting: "That
        scoundrel who seduced my finest employee and convinced her to throw away her
        career and become a housewife--"

Tulkas:
        --That's got to be Irmo--

Nessa: [nods]
        --More shouting. Back again to "mortal -- Rules -- War." It's soooo boring.
        --This chair is not big enough for the two of us.

Tulkas:
        That's because you insist on trying to sit sideways.

Nessa:
        Well, how else can you feed me grapes? If I face forward, you stick them
        in my eye.

Tulkas:
        We don't have any grapes, silly.

Nessa:
        Well, get some!

    [Beren gives Luthien a cautious Look; she only raises her eyebrows in answer. This
    is not what she expected either.]

        Never mind, I'll fetch them.

    [Nessa holds out her hand and manifests a large cluster, pulls off one and pops it
    in her husband's mouth before giving him the rest of the bunch. Tulkas looks at
    both occupied hands, shakes his head and sets the drinking horn down on the floor,
    on feet which might not have been there a moment before. He starts feeding her
    grapes while she crosses her feet on one arm of the chair and leans back on the
    other. Tulkas starts teasing her, holding them just a little too high, and Nessa
    tickles him in return. This was not such a good idea, as in the resulting upheaval
    the chair really proves to be too small and she falls halfway onto the floor out
    of his lap. Huan has to get up and come over and "help" at this point with excited
    noises and nose-pokings]

Nessa:
        Huan, get away! This is stupid--

    [she glares at the arm of the chair and gives it a whack with her hand]

        I'm going to fix this, just wait a moment--

    [There are no obvious sfx at this point, either audio or visual enhancement,
    just as with the previous manifestations]

Beren: [whispering to Luthien]
        Were they talking about your parents--?

Luthien: [almost incapable of speech]
        I -- I'm -- I think so--

Beren:
            Did you get that -- that -- bit, about -- being angry at --

    [breaks off, astounded -- loudly:]

        --That's a hill. A real hill, from outside -- at least it looks real--

Nessa: [beaming]
        Thank you!

    [instead of a heavy fald-stool with arms, the divine couple are now sitting on a
    grassy hillock with some shrubs growing on it, allowing for much easier reclining.
    It is a fairly decent-sized prominence, not inconspicuous at all. ]

        Would you like one too? We have plenty around our hall -- I can get another,
        no problem.

Beren: [rushed]
        Uh -- thank you very much, my lady, but I really don't want to put anyone to
        any trouble on my behalf.

Nessa: [between grapes]
        Well, I don't think you're obnoxious at all. That was very polite.

Luthien: [temper starting to flare]
        Who's saying Beren's obnoxious?

Nessa: [shrugs]
        Different people. My brother, like he's got room to talk. People with no
        senses of humor. Or romance.

    [to Tulkas]

        My turn.

    [she sits up and takes the fruit and they switch places. To Luthien:]

        I was so pleased with the way you used my Art to put old Melkor in his place--

Tulkas: [chuckles]
        Heh. That's one way of putting it.

Nessa:
        What?!?

Tulkas:
        You were shaking me and screaming and whacking Tav on the arm and yelling "See?
        See? Don't you ever call Dance a frivolous waste of time again!" until everyone
        told you to sit down and be quiet.

Nessa:
        I didn't hear that.

Tulkas:
        That's 'cause you were shouting.

Nessa:
        Pfft.

    [she silences him with another grape]

        You want to talk about obnoxious? He -- Melkor --  used to swagger about like
        he was Eru's gift to Valier -- and no idea how to win friends, much less hearts.
        No understanding of what conversation meant. He honestly thought that we wanted
        to hear him talk about himself.

Luthien: [defensive]
        Well, if someone's interesting, that's all right.

Nessa:
        You met him. Did he have anything the least bit interesting to say? The "art of
        conversation" involves an exchange of ideas, right? He couldn't ever grasp that
        there's this basic difference between a conversation and a monologue. Do you know
        how annoying it is to have someone just ignore everything you say to them?

Luthien:
        Well, up until recently I'd have had to say -- no, but--

Beren: [muttering]
        I'm sorry--

Luthien:
        I wasn't talking about you, I was referring to Celegorm. And my father. You
        listened, you just disagreed with me.

Beren: [gloomy]
        I was right, though--

Luthien: [sharply]
        No, you were not. If you had listened to me from the very beginning, milord,
        you would not have lost your hand, and you wouldn't be incapacitated in a fight,
        and you wouldn't have gotten yourself killed. Am I not right? Beren? Am I not
        right about that? Even the gods think so, weren't you listening--

Beren: [louder]
        But it wouldn't have worked then either--

Nessa: [loudly as if shooing a cat, dropping the grapes and clapping her hands]
        Wssht!

    [they jump -- the Patrons of Spouses look at them very seriously and severely]

        What are you fighting about?

Tulkas:
        Sounds like you're fighting over something that's already over.

Luthien:
        Er . . .

Nessa:
        Why?

Beren:
        Uh -- I guess because -- I've been doing it so long --

Luthien: [firmly]
        We've been doing it--

Beren:
        --we -- just don't know how to stop.

Nessa:
        That's not a good enough reason. Is it?

    [they shake their heads meekly. Huan thumps his tail and gives a sympathy whine]

        --Where were we?

Tulkas: [helpfully]
        Talking about my ex-rival. Whose head I am someday going to pound flush level
        with his neck.

Nessa:
        That's right.

    [gives him another grape -- to Luthien:]

        I'm betting all he said was, "Nobody appreciates me, I don't get the respect
        I deserve, everyone else is having such a great time, poor me, --you watch,
        they'll all be sorry someday" -- am I not right?

Luthien: [deadpan]
        That was pretty much all, except that you left out the bit about, "Get down
        here or I'll shoot you down with a lightning bolt."

Tulkas: [flat]
        Oh, how nice. He's got a new hobby. Indoor target practice. Joy.

Nessa:
        No, he used to do that.

Tulkas:
        Not indoors.

Nessa:
        Well, how would we know what he was doing all that time in Utumno? --This is
        a silly argument. Let's stop.

Tulkas: [amiably]
        All right.

Nessa: [gesturing towards Beren with her arm]
        Did you ever get a proper Acclamation? Did your family ever acknowledge him
        as your consort?

Luthien: [a bit dry]
        Haven't you been watching us all along?

Nessa:
        No, I had work to do right around then. Summer, you know.

Luthien:
        Well.

    [she sighs]

        They did give us a feast and all, but I'm not sure that I would call it a
        proper celebration. It wasn't very celebratory, you see, what with Carcharoth
        on the loose and so many people having been killed by his rampages and
        everyone all packed into the Caves for safety and the whole place completely
        disorganized as a result. No one was very cheerful, to put it mildly. Poor
        Mablung looked like a ghost -- he shouldn't even have been up yet, but trying
        to make him or Beleg stop for their own good is like telling Beren to take
        care of himself --

    [Beren looks away, embarrassed]

        --and my mother didn't look much better, and Dad was trying so hard to be
        polite and not say anything distressing, but there really aren't a whole lot
        of conversation topics left that don't end up somewhere unpleasant, and how
        much can you say about the weather? And Beren was so nervous -- and so was I
        -- and we weren't used to sitting at table -- out in the woods by the campfire
        I'd cut things and hold them for him, but our timing was all off and we kept
        knocking everything over. And then everyone pretended they didn't notice, and
        that was even worse. Beren was almost in tears, and I was trying not to get
        angry, and it wasn't working very well . . .

 Nessa:
        Oh, you poor kids!

Luthien:
        . . . and we were both so exhausted and frayed that trying to be social was,
        frankly, a waste of time, and then there was all this fuss with Mom over
        whether we should have my old rooms, or the best guest suite instead, and
        since every available chamber was full of refugees who would have to be
        shuffled around, I thought it was irrelevant, especially given our living
        conditions for the past year, and they didn't understand that it was a joke
        when I said "Just give me a sword and I'll make a lean-to of branches like
        I usually do," and so I got lectured about The Dangers of Carcharoth! as
        though I were an idiot, and then I said, "Well, is my house still up in
        Hirilorn?" and that killed conversation completely for a bit.

    [shaking her head]

        And then Mom wanted to give me their room, and neither one of us wanted that,
        and Beren tried to help by suggesting that we could sleep on the floor in one
        of the storage caves, and they thought that was Not Funny either, and then
        they realized that it wasn't supposed to be a joke, and things got touchy
        again for a little while, and then we had another round of mutual apologizing.

Nessa:
        So what did you end up doing?

Luthien: [completely unable to stop now that she's started talking about it]
        Hirilorn, actually. No one else was staying there, no way up it for Carcharoth
        -- and the army stationed all around the gates of Menegroth below -- and
        ultimately everyone agreed it was the best solution. Not perfect, mind you --
        I had to guard Beren up the ladder like you do with small children to the house
        door, and then he got upset all over again about how high up it was -- he'd only
        seen the tree once at sunset and it was a lot more impressive actually being in
        it -- because of me climbing down from it, and then we fought about me sleeping
        on the floor with him because my bed was too small for us both and he was being
        all self-sacrificing again and I had to cry before he'd stop it, and then we
        fought about him going on the Hunt the next day, because he insisted that it
    `   really was his fault about Carcharoth and besides Mablung was going in spite
        of his injuries, and we were both feeling so Doomed that I couldn't tell if
        it was a real perception or not, and I tried to make a joke about this being
        familiar, up in the moonlight with sentries down on the lawn and he got upset
        again about the fact that I had to rappel down, and about the fact that they