[the Hall -- there is a general air of bewilderment among Luthien's audience,
    not unlike that sometimes to be seen in college lecture halls, usually
    accompanied by a blackboard completely covered in chalk equations and a
    professor who has quite forgotten that there are students present]

Finrod: [rueful]
        You were right -- I think I'd have to be you to understand what it was you
        were doing. --Or perhaps Nessa. You're working completely outside any paradigm
        I know.

Luthien: [apologetic]
        Sorry, I tried.

Finrod:
        It was when you started talking about realigning potentialities as if they
        were axes of crystallization that you lost me.

Luthien: [lecturing again]
        Well, music already does operate in the planes of space and time, invisibly,
        so really I'm only adding a visible four-dimensional element to the Work--

Finrod: [laughing helplessly]
        I understand the general theory -- very generally. It's the application of
        it that leaves me baffled. Somehow you're dragging the Circles along with
        you, when you do what ever it is you were doing, instead of simply moving
        in them -- with or against their motion -- the way ordinary people do. I can
        See what you're doing while you're describing it, but I can't hold onto it.

Captain:
        Now you know how the rest of us feel most of the time, Sire, when you get
        theoretical.

Finrod:
        Oh, I'm not that bad, am I?

    [deafening silence]

        Very funny.

Steward:
        Sometimes I understand you, my lord. And -- I believe -- your sister does
        as well, usually.

Ambassador: [smugly]
        I see that your Working, my Princess, has much in common with the girdling
        Labyrinth of our own defenses that your mother made, with its narrowness of
        range and duration increasing its intensity correspondingly.

    [frank aside]

        --Of course, I know nothing of how she made her Great Work, either.

Finrod: [struck with a sudden distracting idea]
        You know, what I'd like to do, Luthien, is take a look at the astrographic
        projections of that time sequence and see if there were any confluences among
        the Constellations that might have worked in your favour as well--

Aredhel:
        Yes, well, that's not going to happen any more than my father's lunatic element
        are going to get themselves a working chronometer synchronized to Outside, I'm
        afraid. I don't get the impression that the Weaver is so happy with you right
        now that she'd fetch you some star charts if you only asked nicely.

Finrod: [deadpan]
        I thought I'd just have some smuggled in. I figure I can suborn the help into
        bringing them, in exchange for new riddles from Overseas that no one's heard
        here yet.

    [he manages to keep up the innocent look for a moment longer while his Lawful
    relatives just stare at him, and Luthien puts her head down on her knees to hide
    her laughter]

        Sorry, Father, Aunt 'Danel, I just couldn't resist. The look on your faces--

    [wiping his eyes]

        --almost worth the look she's giving me now.

    [Amarie's expression would go very well with Huan's earlier growling]

Angrod: [dubious]
        Could you even use an astrographic projector? That's a bit different from
        blasting holes in the floor, isn't it?

    [his oldest brother shrugs]

Finrod: [mischievous]
        It would be an interesting challenge, in all respects. --Sorry.

Elenwe: [trying not to smile too obviously]
        Nay, is't so, Ingold? I do misdoubt thee somewise.

Luthien:
        I've got my doubts too.

Nerdanel: [to Finarfin, blandly]
        Am I much mistook, brother? for I had thought me sure in recollection, that
        this thine eldest, even as most wise, of thine offspring present was.

    [Finarfin struggles to keep a solemn countenance -- but loses out when one of
    the Ten whispers loudly from the ranks:]

Fourth Guard:
        --It's all Beren's fault.

    [none of this diverts Amarie at all]

Finrod: [sighing]
        Ah well -- time for my lady to scold me for impiety.

    [he assumes a solemn expression which only gets a more steely-eyed glare as its
    reward]

Amarie:
        Naught have I to say unto thee, my lord, presently; for ne'er have I held
        skill at the making of japeries, no more will I contend thee thy mastery
        thereto.

    [to Luthien].

        But I do wonder that thou hadst such opportune moment and golden within thy
        grasp and didst not strive for it thine own self.

Luthien:
        I beg your pardon?

Amarie:
        Wherefore, thou alone might wield such power, even as thou alone might enter
        there, -- and yet--

    [very serious]

        --thou madest no use of place nor power to amend the ruin of fell Morgoth's
        spirit, that thou hast most piercingly and thoroughgoing e'en now described.

Luthien: [blinking]
        Did anything I said give any indication that Morgoth wants to be healed?
        Healing isn't just a matter of power, any more than the extent of injuries --
        particularly when they're self-inflicted, let alone continually. It's like
        trying to stop someone from fading -- I could barely get him to accept an
        hour's respite from his pain.

Aredhel:
        Why didn't you at least kill him?

    [Luthien is not the only one who finds this suggestion a bit incredible]

Luthien:
        Um. Because we're not Tulkas and Tavros?

    [raising her hands in frustration]

        If your father couldn't do it, do you really think we could've managed to
        defeat him, even if he was -- temporarily -- asleep? Besides, even if we
        had damaged his house beyond repair, what would have happened then? I've
        no idea. But I'm fairly sure we wouldn't have gotten out alive, because
        there'd still be an army alive there -- which was the whole point of the
        endeavor.

Aglon: [half to himself, taut]
        But you didn't even free a single slave.

    [Luthien gives him a sad, understanding glance, and does not argue with him]

Ex-Thrall: [calmly -- too calmly]
        You don't know what you're talking about.

    [after one glare, he deliberately ignores her -- but she doesn't ignore his
    comment. Addressing the company at large:]

        There's no realistic way that any one individual -- or two -- or twenty --
        might find their way through the warrens of Angband to its mines and smithies,
        unguided, and there where all are sleeping as well as guarded, waken only those
        guarded -- and not their guards! -- unchain them -- still without waking those
        guards, and lead them out, without again, arousing their guards -- thralls who
        would barely be possessed of enough wits to comprehend were they full awake,
        and whose fear should make them unwilling to believe enough to aid themselves,
        rather than raise the alarm themselves for mere confusion --

Aglon: [hoarse]
        Be quiet!

Ex-Thrall: [still disregarding him]
        --and who have enough reason to think it but another game of the King's
        devising, or his Commander's, to taunt them with phantom rescuers?

    [blunt]

        --It could not be done. Better give them an hour's true dreaming, than a
        half-hour's false hopes with more punishment at the end.

    [the Warden of Aglon has risen and now strides across the dais to stand over her,
    burning with rage]

Aglon:
        Silence, you--

Ex-Thrall: [flinging out her hands]
        Say it, all of it -- I welcome it, all of it, as no more than truth--

Aglon:
        Fiend!

    [she nods, grinning madly]

        Monster--

Ex-Thrall:
        --True, true--

Huan:
        [pained yelping whines]

    [he continues making unhappy noises through the following fight]

Angrod: [embarrassed as much as distressed]
        Oh, for Pity's sake!

Aredhel: [looking around exaggeratedly]
        I don't see her about, do you?

Aglon:
        Death is far too kind a fate for you!

    [the Ex-Thrall grovels before him, half laughing, half crying, at his insults]

Nerdanel: [pained]
        Ingold--

Finarfin:
        Aye, my son, canst thou do naught to cease this spectacle of misery?

Finrod: [flatly]
        I could probably break it up -- for the moment. She doesn't wish me to,
        though, he doesn't answer to me at all, and it won't resolve a thing, any
        more than exiling Feanor did.

Eol:
        Aren't you going to do something about them, O my powerful cousin?

Luthien: [quietly]
        When I figure out what would be best, yes.

Aredhel: [bitter smile]
        Well, the half-divine ancestry's not in question: all talk and favoritism.

Aglon:
        To think I once considered you a friend! You--

    [savagely]

        You're not worthyto be named Eldar--

    [the former Healer bows her head in acceptance, while her most recent companion
    looks for reinforcements]

        You're more truly Dark than he is--

    [pointing to Eol]

        --his crime was only passion, only one accidental blow, but yours--

Eol: [disgruntled]
        Don't patronize me -- it wasn't an accident, I knew what I was--

Aredhel: [coy]
        So you were trying to hit me?

    [the Teler Maid scrambles over to the Captain, tugging at his arm]

Teler Maid: [urgent]
        Will you not speak for her? You, her friend?

Captain:
        No.

    [as she gives him a Look of outrage -- grimly intense:]

        I haven't the right.

    [she freezes at his words]

Aglon:
        You spider, to wind your webs of deceit around those who trusted you, and
        feed upon their lives!

Teler Maid:
        Do I?

Aglon:
        Demon!

Ex-Thrall:
        Ah, yes--

Captain:
        I don't know -- do you?

Teler Maid:
        Do not be cryptic with me!

Captain: [sad smile]
        I'm not, Osprey.

    [in the midst of her distress, something changes in the Sea-Elf's face and she
    stiffens]

Teler Maid:
        --Yes.

    [she gets up and stalks back to the two Noldor ghosts, her arms akimbo]

        Stop it.

    [they don't notice her. Getting in between them:]

        It is enough, I tell you! You hunt her so you need not hear yourself, see
        yourself in the midst of all that baying racket. You have not the right --
        you are not one of them from yon darkened Tower nor the Dark Lord's hells
        -- no more you are your brother, to ask for vengeance of suffering.

    [the Ex-Thrall starts beating her head on the floor; the Lord Warden stares at
    his contradictor in amazement, and disdain]

Aglon:
        Hold your tongue, infant.

Teler Maid:
        Nor will I. Until you shall.

Aglon: [passionate]
        She is evil. She has murdered her own people, helped the Dark Lord in his
        tyranny, and freely, for only her own cowardice and gain--!

Teler Maid: [calmly reasonable]
        And so have you the same. Thus you are without right to judge her, being
        full well as bad.

Aglon: [eyes blazing]
        I am not Dark!

    [he leans over her menacingly]

        Take it back, Latecomer, or--

Teler Maid: [not budging]
        Shove me yet again, will you not?

    [folding her arms and giving him the full glare]

        Aye, smite me even-- how can I stop you? None but you can do it. But I will
        speak you true, even as our dear lord Olwe spoke to yours, whether you heed
        my words as little as yours heeded his!

    [the Warden makes a sweeping gesture with his arm]

Aglon: [weary and frustrated]
        You have no part in this. Go, get out.

Teler Maid:
        Should law submit to fear?

Aglon: [exasperated righteousness]
        I won't hurt you, girl.

Teler Maid:
        Nor will you her.

Ex-Thrall:
        Maiwe, leave me -- I deserve nothing better.

Teler Maid:
        You cannot see the North Star in your mirk and so are drifting without course
        or bearing. You are no fit judge of your own self. --Or do you think you are
        a better judge of your deeds and worth than Lord Namo, Lady Vaire, and the
        Lady Nia all together? Hold you now they are wrong, for not saying those same
        terrible things to you?

    [turning back to the Lord Warden]

        I know you would say so, just as I know you think you are ill-used -- but, well--

    [she shrugs]

        --you are a fool.

    [too angry for further speech, the Warden of Aglon strikes her hard across the
    face, knocking her backwards -- the Captain grits his teeth, but gestures his
    command to stay put, watching his friend for her response to guide his own.
    Shocked and ashamed at his own actions, the Feanorian lord stands nevertheless
    defiant, as the Princes move to deal with him -- but the Sea-Elf gets up first.
    Rubbing her cheek, blinking away tears, she still faces him down unafraid. There
    is in her voice the same cold tone heard before in Luthien's, when giving judgment
    -- and echoing that of the Star-Queen . . .]

Teler Maid:
        Your answer is the same as ever was, to them that refuse your tyranny -- hard
        word, and harder hand.

    [tilting her head on one side, looking him up and down]

        --Was that not how it befell your own King at high Formenos, my kinsman?

    [the Lord Warden flinches as if struck in return, and draws back, recoiling, shaking
    his head in denial, but she does not retract or ameliorate her words, or her icy --
    and triumphant -- Look]

Aglon:
        I -- I am not--

    [he chokes up, unable to continue, panting and wild-eyed, clutches tearingly at
    his hair for a moment, and suddenly crumples to the dais in a shuddering heap
    before her feet, as if struck by the arrow that killed him. (Huan howls once,
    and tries to hide by jamming his head under Luthien's elbow.)]

Teler Maid:
        See? You cannot say it, can you?

    [she goes and sits down again, with the tired air of someone who has proven a
    point but wishes it hadn't been necessary, utterly blasé, to the astonishment
    of most of the onlookers. Glancing around at the Captain and the rest of Finrod's
    partisans:]

        Thank you -- for not rescuing me then.

    [people are trying not to stare at the tormented Warden, huddled grimacing on
    the stones with the agonized expression of one trying heroically not to break
    down and cry, almost the mirror image of his victim . . .]

Aegnor:
        That was . . . brutal.

    [it isn't clear which action he's referring to, as he looks from the Kinslayers
    to his mother's former assistant with a taken-aback expression. The Sea-Ef shrugs
    carelessly]

Teler Maid: [to the Ex-Thrall]
        I did mean what I said to you, no less.

    [continuing as the former Healer raises her head]

        You would do better to wash your face than bruise it on these stones.

    [she nods pointedly towards the Waterfall, but does not get up to help her -- or
    make her -- follow the recommendation, and after a moment the other woman rises
    unsteadily and makes her own rather shaky way over to the pool, where she kneels
    down, silhouetted in the shifting lights; the Alqualonder has no words, however,
    for the Lord Warden]

Ambassador: [troubled]
        You do not care about his pain?

Teler Maid: [shaking her head]
        Not so much.

    [she plays with her bracelets for a moment before explaining]

        I had much pain when I did live, from the thoughtlessness of such as he, and
        when the terrible Dark descended on us by our waters, he and his lords came
        not to us to offer any heartening word nor consolation, but only took thought
        of how we might serve them, and they to use us and -- I did not much care for
        dying.

    [tossing back her braids]

        His pain moves me not so great that I would suffer me to end it, when all
        that does concern him is to 'scape it, not to mend what makes it.

Angrod [looking between his former acquaintances of House Feanor]:
        You have pity to spare for her, but --  none for him?

    [again the Elf of Alqualonde shakes her head]

Teler Maid:
        She does not lie to herself any longer.

Aredhel: [caustic]
        Hm. So your mercy is purely conditional -- you save it for the ones who yield
        to you, just like Manwe and the rest of them.

Teler Maid: [shrugging]
        It would not do him any good. He only hurts because he will not give up the
        Darkness that is in him, and when he is reminded of it, it pains him, but he
        will not bear to have it out. Once a fishhook is in you, it must hurt to get
        it out, for either you must drive it through if it is little, or cut free the
        barb if it is great, but if you leave it in -- there is less pain but never
        shall it heal, and 'twill be far worse of injury after.

    [frustrated sigh]

        He might be free, had he only courage for it as much as he wishes it.

    [the Feanorian lord convulses, his hands clawing at the floor, but will not
    look up -- or vanish]

Ambassador: [frowning in distress at an erstwhile enemy's suffering]
        --Much truth, but little kindness.

Teler Maid: [impatient]
        Why do you look for it in me? The sea is salt, not sweet.

Steward: [softly]
        Many grains . . .

Finrod: [sad smile]
        How wise you've grown, Maiwe -- and how much Insight you've gained.

Teler Maid: [still impatient]
        I have been dead longer than any else of you -- longer than one here has
        been alive!

    [she nods towards the Youngest Ranger]

        -- and things I have learned here -- though I would not heed the lesson.

    [she gives Nienna's student a Look half-sulky, half self-amused]

        How might I not know these things?

    [forlorn]

        I cannot tell myself any longer that 'twas all others' doing that I was
        wretched in Tirion -- though no more was it mostly mine the blame of it.

    [scowling at the Lord Warden again]

        I would like to kick him -- but that would not help him any either, I think.

Apprentice: [helpful]
        Oh, you never know.

    [defensive, at various Looks from apparent elders]

        Well, it might--

Luthien: [very dry]
        No, I really don't think so.

Apprentice: [pleased aside]
        But it did help what it was meant to --

    [glancing at the Teler Maid, who is smirking in spite of trying to look serious]

        --it made her smile again . . .

    [The Ex-Thrall returns, still looking somewhat in shock and haggard, but remarkably
    calm and sane, if gloomy. Part of this, no doubt, is due to the fact that not only
    has she washed the tearstains from her face, but her collection of rags and cast-offs
    appropriated from deceased owners has been replaced (as we see when the cloak slips
    back when she sits down) by a different garb: now she is arrayed in the semblance
    of light & rather ornate armour with an embroidered surcoat, though without sword
    or bow -- the sort of thing a Noldorin Healer might wear when riding out through
    disputed territory . . .]

Luthien:
        Better?

Ex-Thrall:
        I . . .  think so.

    [she makes a vague gesture with her fingers]

        But . . . hollow. And empty.

Teler Maid:
        So is a hull, before 'tis planked and loaded.

    [the Noldor shade gives a faint half-smile]

Ex-Thrall:
        I . . . there is not much left of me, now, having given up my shame.

Luthien:
        You know about that, from our vocation. It takes time to restore flesh, and
        spirit, too.

Ex-Thrall:
        I know. But I do not know . . . I am worn out with battering against my cage,
        and now that the bars are gone . . .

    [she shakes her head again, looking lost]

Youngest Ranger: [earnest]
        It's all right. You've time. --You're not so plainly crazy now.

Ex-Thrall:
        No?

    [he shakes his head in answer]

Youngest Ranger:
        No more than the rest of us.

    [checks]

        That might not be much of a comfort, though.

    [she smiles at him, an exhausted but genuine smile]

Ex-Thrall: [quietly]
        I can live with that.

    [she exchanges a meaningful Look with Finrod]

        --Perhaps . . . someday. Perhaps.

Finrod:
        --Someday.

    [his confidence makes her smile again for a moment, before turning a sympathetic
    eye to the one who has moved into the state she has finally vacated.]

Ex-Thrall:
        Oh my friend . . .

    [sighing]

        Too strong to seek oblivion, yet too fearful to bear justice, -- and too proud
        to admit error. I hope you are not held in such chains for so long as I.

    [slowly the Lord Warden straightens into a crouch to snarl at her, baring his teeth
    in fury, -- then flinches aside, squinting as if blinded by the sight of her. As he
    trembles there, whatever harsh response he was about to make forgotten, she holds
    out her hands to him]

        Will you let me help you? Or will you scorn the pity of one such as I?

    [still flinching, lifting a hand to shield his eyes, the Warden of Aglon looks at
    her, and is amazed to see that she is crying for him. With a visible struggle, he
    reaches to her in turn, still fighting against his own inclinations]

Aglon:
        Please -- help me, my Lady--

    [the Healer's ghost crawls over the step to him, catching his arm and letting him
    fall against her shoulder as he breaks down at last in unresisting tears. She holds
    him quietly throughout as he cries, unstrung as someone pulled out of the water
    after a shipwreck, her eyes closed, saying nothing. The Captain looks at Aredhel.]

Captain:
        You're wrong, Highness. She's here.

    [the Exiled princess shivers, and looks away with a petulant frown]

Apprentice:
        Who?

Captain:
        Our good Lady, of course.

    [Nienna's Apprentice looks about, baffled]

Apprentice:
        No she isn't.

    [frowning]

        Unless you're being all weird and dead and mystical about it.

    [pause]

Captain: [raising an eyebrow]
        Fire, eh?

Apprentice: [forced lightness]
        You're not making any sense -- still.

Captain:
        There but for Doom, you?

Apprentice: [through his teeth]
        You. Promised.

Captain: [innocent]
        What are you talking about?

    [his former adversary gives him an askance Look of renewed wariness, while the
    living Eldar struggle for self-possession following the recent events, and Luthien
    and the Steward together attempt to comfort the giant Hound, who is still whining
    and trembling like a puppy in a thunderstorm]

Amarie: [shaken, but controlling it well]
        Is't ever thus, such woe and even such searing of remorse its pangs, amongst
        the houseless held herein?

Elenwe: [bright]
        I fear me so. 'Tis far pleasanter in veriest truth to bide upon Taniquetil's
        airy foot, amid Valimar's fair harmonies, than under the mountain-roots, where
        lamentations do rarely stir the silence that here prevaileth.

Amarie: [sharply biting off each word]
        I am here, as I am bid, but for duty, nor for any pleasure of mine own, thou
        mayest well of that assure thyself.

Captain: [curiously]
        I always wondered that he never tried to lure in any -- Vanyar -- at all.
        You sure the Lord of Paranoids didn't try recruiting you?

    [the Apprentice glares at him]

Apprentice:
        No.

    [scowling admission]

        --Not interested.

Finrod:
        I'm afraid all of us have gone through something of the sort -- or shall,
        eventually, or at least so one hopes. --Self knowledge hurts.

Nerdanel: [quietly]
        Ingold -- be thou aught more gentle. 'Tis an ill place for we that live,
        thou must comprehend.

Captain:
        What, you, or him?

Apprentice: [terse]
        Him.

    [he shuts down, glowering at the floor, while the Captain watches him with a mix
    of concern and professional curiosity]

Aredhel: [sweetly]
        As long as they don't have to know about it, it won't bother them, and we
        wouldn't want anything troubling their precious peace-of-mind now, would we?

Finarfin: [upset]
        Niece, 'tis not that we would not to contemplate, but rather--

Aredhel: [interrupting]
        Oh yes it is, you know I'm right--

Aegnor: [interrupting her interruption]
        Morgoth's mercy, can't you just shut up?

    [rolling his eyes]

        Hey, maybe Turgon threw you out -- is that it?

Luthien: [looking up]
        Ahem.

Angrod: [wearily]
        You shut up, Aegnor, you're just making it worse.

Fingolfin:
        There's a certain measure of truth in what 'Feiniel says, you know.

Aredhel:
        Oh, thank you so much, Father!

Eol: [nudging her meaningfully]
        I'm right about you not being able to stand your own people, aren't I?

Luthien:
        Huan's having a nervous breakdown and none of you are helping.

Teler Maid: [frowning, annoyed]
        Why must they all fight like children? There's no point in this.

    [she frowns at the low-grade snarling among the Noldor royals which continues
    in the background, while the rest of the Ten exchange here-we-go-again Looks . . .]

Apprentice: [stifled]
        He didn't even bother.

    [in an indignant rush]

        --Other people besides Finwe's scions have glamorous older siblings besides
        whose accomplishments yours pale into nothing too, you know.

    [sighing, resigned]

        I suppose it's all for the best, really.

Captain: [dubious]
        --"Suppose" . . .?

    [raising his eyebrows]

        I think maybe I understand why you're assigned here a little bit better.

Apprentice: [upset]
        No, I didn't mean it that--

Captain: [with a friendly shove]
        I'm teasing you.

    [shaking his head]

        You're far too good-natured. You'd make as bad a -- minion -- as Himself
        did. Or me.

Steward: [to his ex, quietly]
        Because of fear, and witness of suffering that one is helpless to end, and
        all the old unrest, the unhealed injuries we gave each other before some
        left this shore.

    [to Luthien]

        He might care for being brushed, do you think, my Lady?

Luthien: [doubtful]
        Perhaps. I think it's more the discord that's getting to him, though.

    [loudly]

        --Does anyone mind if I keep going?

    [but she is only looking for one person's response. The Ex-Thrall does not look
    up or leave off consoling her compatriot, but nods, raising her hand to continue]

        All right, then. So anyway, as I was saying -- as soon as my Working was damaged,
        we forgot all about everything except getting out of there before it unraveled
        completely and just fled -- I wouldn't have thought I had the strength left for
        it, one moment I was wobbling like a newborn fawn, trying not to black out from
        overexertion -- I was shakier than I was right after Huan caught me--

    [the Lord of Dogs paws at her knee plaintively]

        It's okay, you know it is -- I was just using it as an example--

    [scratching his ears]

        --but when Morgoth started stirring, I was up and running as fast as anything,
        dragging Beren along behind me -- except when he was dragging me, careening into
        corners and columns and jumping over sleeping snakes as if we were doing one of
        those warriors' competitions, only not carrying spears -- trying not to get
        disoriented and go down a side hallway. It was all empty and quiet and the
        silence itself was just terrifying.

Finrod: [bemused]
        Because it was quiet?

Luthien: [nodding]
        Before there was so much noise -- vibrations and thumpings and screeching like
        branches in a storm, and shouting; and hissing sounds like giant snakes, or
        when you pour water over a fire -- or quench a sword, probably that's what it
        was, tempering, only much, much louder -- and now it was just us, the only
        noise was ours, and we kept panicking and grabbing each other and turning
        around because it sounded like we were being chased, but--

    [with a self-mocking smile]

        --it was only us, each time, our echoes chasing after. And then we saw the
        light up at the tunnel's end, where the Gate opened, and it hurt so badly,
        the terror of hope, that it almost seemed we could make it, and then a
        darkness rises up and covers it like a thundercloud, -- only one with red
        glowing eyes -- and we stopped all in a tangle.

Huan:
        [very loud snarl]

Finrod: [darkly]
        Carcharoth. --The part you told me, in very brief, earlier.

Luthien: [nods]
        Yes. He'd wakened, and gotten up and turned around at our approach, staring
        at us with this crazed, blank, expression, sniffing and growling, looking
        like he was completely terrified and angry and ready to fly at us for both
        reasons, the way dogs get sometimes around strangers. I knew we were doomed
        because I'd used all my strength in quelling his Master, and I didn't know
        how I could bind him again -- but I had to try. And then--

Amarie: [interrupting]
        He had naught of gratitude for thy prior mercy?

Luthien:
        Why should he?

Amarie:
        For that thou hadst released him from his pain, nor wrought harm nor sought
        ye thus, against him?

Luthien: [flatly]
        I tricked him and humiliated him and made him a slave to my power. --That's
        how he saw it. No, he wasn't grateful. Why? Did you think he would have
        recognized me as a friend, and let us go, or even helped us, let me ride
        him like Huan, or fought against his pack-mates to defend us? He was a
        Hellhound. That was the life he knew. You didn't really think that the
        fact that I was able to pity him, would make him able to reciprocate, or
        change all that?

Amarie:
        Should, belike.

Aredhel:
        Still the same naive impractical idealist, Amarie. The world's a harsh
        and bloody place, I'm sorry to have to tell you.

    [Amarie only looks at Luthien, ignoring the insult]

Luthien:
        In a perfect world, perhaps. But we haven't got one.

Teler Maid: [completely wrapped up in the story -- and her hair -- again]
        What did happen then?

Luthien:
        Well,--

    [she stops again and takes a deep breath; Huan looks up at her worriedly, whining]

Finrod: [concerned]
        Are you going to be all right?

Luthien: [sighing]
        Oh yes. I can think about it if I sort of shut my mind against it, like the
        gates of Menegroth, and tell it without dreaming it. That's how I managed
        to tell Mom and Dad and everyone.

    [she braces herself and goes on:]

        I was standing there, staring at him and then he pulled himself together,
        and sprang at us -- and as I was trying to pull together enough semblance of
        rationality and courage to fake my way through dealing with him again, Beren
        pushes me out of the way and storms past me with the jewel held up -- and
        you have to remember that it was getting brighter all the time, they all had
        been, from the moment Morgoth lost consciousness, as though they didn't dare
        to shine around him, or refused like songbirds in a cage.

    [gesturing, holding up her right hand]

        And Carcharoth halts, like an ordinary Warg confronted with a torch, but
        Beren doesn't -- he caught him by the scruff of his neck, as if he was just
        a bad dog, and Commanded him in this voice that didn't even sound like him,
        to yield to the Light that was the Doom of all fell creatures, and brings it
        up towards his eyes, blazing like all the lights in the sky at once, stars
        and moon and sun and the aurora in one fierce point, and the Wolf cringes
        away for an instant, and then in reaction, flips his head back and strikes
        like a fish taking bait, and--

    [abruptly she clenches her fist]

        --his teeth took Beren's hand off, and he bolted it all down--

    [she flinches, wrapping her arms tightly around herself and rocking a little.
    Finarfin unconsciously reaches out towards her before recollecting himself.
    General reactions among those who haven't already heard the story of awe and
    horror]

Finrod: [hollow]
        It wasn't supposed to be him.

    [he looks stricken and anguished]

Luthien: [baffled]
        What?

Finrod:
        It should have been me. There are ways to take light that's stored in crystal
        and use it for other things than simply more light, later on. In Healing, to
        remove Dark influences, or in other Arts, to cut very fine lines--

Luthien: [confused/impatient]
        I remember Galadriel talking about that, sometimes, showing Mom how it worked,
        and about getting some sort of array made in Belegost to amplify it, she said,
        but -- frankly I was bored by it, and I didn't see much point -- it seemed like
        so much extra work, but--

Steward: [wry]
        Aye, my Lady, but we poor Noldor, that have not the perfect and absolute pitch
        of your folk and blood, find such devices of easier use -- and more certain --
        than the sung note, betimes.

    [the Teler Maid gives him a very suspicious Look]

Finrod: [abstracted]
        Ideally it all works together, thought, device, and voice. But regardless--

    [closing his eyes]

        If I had been the one there, with the Stone, I could have turned the power of it
        into a weapon, to blast the minion of the Dark senseless, blind him where he stood,
        and clear our path to safety, from safety. Beren -- had no chance. None at all.

Aredhel:
        Why do you think it would have answered you? You've no more right to it than the
        mortal, -- or anyone else except our cousins.

Finrod:
        Didn't you hear? It came to his hand like a tame bird -- they wanted to be free.
        It tried -- it spoke to him, but being human he had no more hope of comprehending
        how to wield it than of channeling its power against the Wolf. He was like a child
        using a longbow to strike at an attacker, with neither the full understanding nor
        the strength to apply such knowledge as it should be.

Captain:
        Sire -- I believe it has been definitely and unquestionably established that
        neither you nor we are guilty of anything but bad luck for having been betrayed
        to our deaths. And as Edrahil will point out if I don't, so I'll be quick --
        with regards to fortune, guilty is not the appropriate word, any more than
        guilt is to the situation.

Elenwe: [earnest]
        Heed thee thy friend, Ingold.

    [sounding as if she's picking up an older argument]

        'Twould help thee perventure more, an thou didst more time devote unto quiet,
        even as contemplation, thereby to find thee rest; nor seek thee ever all things
        unto thy will ordaining most restive to go.

    [Luthien puts her hand on Finrod's cheek and turns his face towards hers]

Luthien: [gently]
        She's right, -- at least about not blaming yourself. I'm afraid I can't imagine
        you not trying to manage everything.

    [he manages a wan smile and busies himself comforting Huan with nose-scratches]

Teler Maid:
        And what did ye then?

Luthien: [with a bitter laugh]
        I fell apart. It was just -- too much, to have come so far and tried so hard,
        and fail at the last moment like this. I just screamed and collapsed on the
        floor and started crying. But he didn't. He pushed off the wall as he fell
        and staggered over to fend off the Wolf from me with his left hand--

Eol:
        What good did that do?

Luthien: [shrugging wryly]
        None.

Angrod: [indignant on Beren's behalf, now . . .]
        It was a selfless and courageous gesture--

Eol:
        Ah yes, so she could watch him get eaten, but he wouldn't have to witness
        her fate. --Realistically, now--

Aredhel: [taut -- not ironic at all now]
        --Eol, you soulless rock -- at least he got between her and harm.

    [she is rubbing unconsciously at her shoulder]

Eol:
        Oh, come -- you never wanted me to protect you, as if you were some frail,
        sniveling child-woman. Try for a little consistency, dear, if you please--

Aegnor: [aside, through clenched teeth]
        --Finrod, make them be quiet before I kill them both.

    [simultaneously Elenwe taps Fingolfin on the arm, but is only anticipating by
    a moment, as he is already preparing to overcome his revulsion and talk to his
    son-in-law]

Fingolfin:
        Master of Nan Elmoth. Mark my words very well. --Show our kinswoman and her
        story due respect, because I enjoy chopping you into pieces far too much
        for my own good.

    [they enter into a staring war, neither one willing (or able) to back down]

Aredhel: [poisonously sweet]
        Darling, no one will think the worse of you for not facing the High King of
        the Noldor in single combat, again.

    [Nerdanel shares a wry Look with her (living) brother-in-law]

Finarfin: [with a very familiar rueful smile]
        --Of certitude.

Eol: [calmly, (& sounding like he probably did in Turgon's hall)]
        I'm not afraid of your father.

    [she gives an exaggerated sigh]

Aredhel:
        Why must you insist on reinforcing everyone's impression that you're insane?
        I have a hard enough time as it is.

Eol:
        It's your curse, my love -- as you are mine.

    [her father stands up, slow, deliberate, and yes, majestic]

Fingolfin: [not breaking his stare with Eol]
        Aegnor. Arm me, if it please you, in Fingon's place -- but I will not need
        you to stand as second.

    [his nephew gets up very quickly and enthusiastically]

Finarfin:
        Doth he not perceive how thy daughter hath ensnared him in yon challenge to
        thy wrath, Fingolfin?

    [indeed, the White Lady is looking very smug]

Apprentice: [happy to be of use]
        It's very difficult to tell, your Majesty. He's perverse enough to not care
        whether or not she thinks she's manipulating him successfully, because then
        he can look down on her for thinking him stupid. And there's a level on which
        he doesn't mind getting hurt because he's proud of his hardiness, and another
        which he doesn't like to admit, where he partly thinks he deserves it because--

Eol: [interrupting loudly]
        Luthien, my sweet little cousin, I do apologize for troubling you with our
        unseemly backwoods squabbles, so far unlike the graciousness of your noble
        father's court, and I pray you continue with your fascinating narrative,
        I pledge uninterrupted henceforth, for all of me.

    [Luthien closes her eyes in exasperation at his words, but nods in acceptance, and
    Fingolfin kneels down again in the circle of listeners; Aegnor following suit a
    little more reluctantly]

Steward: [snorting]
        What an apology!

Captain: [straightfaced]
        What apology?

Angrod: [wide-eyed]
        What? An apology? From Eol -- and I missed it?

Steward: [apologetic]
        I must apologize, gentles -- 'twas but a false alarm.

    [the Sea-Elf (who in the latest semi-fracas has once again migrated over to Elenwe's
    protection) clamps her hands over her mouth to prevent an inappropriate giggle]

Aegnor: [aside]
        Now I'm going to kill them.

    [Finarfin gives his younger son a baffled, disappointed Look]

Finrod [aside]
        No you're not, and you're going to stop joking about killing people, too --
        it's upsetting Father.

Luthien:
        I'm afraid I've lost my place.

Nerdanel:
        Thou hadst e'en now told how thy wounded love did yet strive for to shield
        thee 'gainst thy red-jawed foe.

Luthien:
        Yes, thanks -- Carcharoth wasn't even trying to attack us, then, he was just
        standing there, with a puzzled expression in his stance, still growling with
        his hackles up, but not really even paying attention to us. And then he flung
        back his head and started howling, as if he was being beaten, yelping almost,
        and all the Wolves in Angband must have wakened at his cries, because the
        echoes just didn't stop--

    [her cousin from Beleriand looks extremely disgruntled]

Eol:
        There's more?

Apprentice: [correcting]
        There's a lot more.

Eol:
        ? ? ?

Aredhel:
        And you promised you'd be quiet!

    [she laughs delightedly]

Luthien:
        Not that much more. He started bucking like a fractious colt, or like a young
        deer, flinging himself about as if he were trying to shake off embers in his
        coat, but couldn't, and after crashing up against the walls on either side --
        blindly, not looking for us, he turned and bolted out through the archway into
        the open, still howling as he went, leaving the path completely unguarded for us.

    [Huan wags his tail]

        --It was almost too late, other echoes were coming up from the depths, the
        Glamhoth's shouting and a deep bellowing like a wild bull -- and the floor
        started to shake, well, everything did, including the ground. Beren was in
        a very bad way, not much use at all--

    [suddenly very fierce and daunting]

        --and don't anyone go saying anything about that being nothing new, or the like, understand?

    [not even the least prudent is moved to levity]

        --but I was able to get him up again and on his feet for a bit, and we
        stumbled out of there like blind little puppies creeping out of their den,
        making as much regress as we did progress, I'm afraid, going this way and
        that.

    [shaking her head]

        I don't know how I did it. Each time, it seemed as though I'd come to the
        end of my strength, as if all I could do was curl up in a corner and wait
        for the end, and . . . somehow, from somewhere, I found just enough more
        to get up and keep going for as long as it took, after I'd given up. Well,
        you know about that from the War, I don't need to tell you--

Finrod:
        But do you need to talk about it?

    [she starts to answer, then stops, temporarily unable to speak; he puts his arm
    around her shoulders]

        I know. --I know.

Luthien: [thinly]
        We went as far as we could go, and then I couldn't even carry him any longer,
        and it seemed like I was wearing more of his blood than could be left in him,
        and it was obviously silly to think that we might get away, now, it didn't
        make any difference if we gave up here or a few paces farther, so I found some
        shelter and started working on his arm while everything fell apart behind us,
        and there was so much noise I could hardly hear myself singing, and I knew it
        wouldn't be long before they found a way around the landslide, but I couldn't
        just let him die like that, without doing anything--

    [the Healer nods understandingly, from where she is holding the Lord Warden in
    his grieving]

Finrod: [reluctant to interrupt]
        --Landslide?

    [Luthien wipes hard at her eyes]

Luthien:
        I'm sorry. I'm getting this all out of order again. I forgot you didn't already
        know all this.

Warrior: [quietly]
        We heard about it from Beren -- except he didn't remember most of it.

Luthien: [ragged laughter]
        I wish I didn't. I was beside myself trying to think what to do, because on
        the one hand I needed to get the poison out, but he couldn't stand much more
        blood loss, and he was so cold already from shock that I couldn't tell if I'd
        put the tourniquet on tight enough, or too tight, and I could hardly find enough
        edges on either of our clothes that weren't already soaked to start ripping
        bandages from--

    [shaking her head]

        But I was going to tell you about the situation. Morgoth lost his temper and
        with it his control over Thangorodrim -- I don't mean in the sense of not being
        in charge of it, but of what it all was doing. He's got his power spread all
        through it the way mushrooms spread all through the leaf-mould in a forest,
        whether you can see them growing or whether they're just an invisible web
        throughout the soil. When he realized what had happened, he was even more
        furious than Carcharoth and that anger rippled out into the rock and all the
        formations he's made, and the front part of the peaks fell down and caved in
        the gate arch behind us, and fire and fumes came spilling out of the mountain,
        just like during the Bragollach.

Angrod:
        That must have been terrifying beyond belief for you

    [she shrugs]

Luthien:
        I hardly noticed it. I finally did when I started wondering why no Wolf-Riders
        were galloping up to arrest us. But I was too busy being worried for Beren, then
        and after. The lightning was a more immediate worry, anyway.

Angrod:
        Lightning?

Finrod: [biting his lip]
        Indeed.

Luthien:
        Sorry. He started trying to blast us from inside. Bolts were stabbing down all
        over the place, knocking down yet more rockfalls from the cliffs, and scaring
        all the vultures from their haunts -- it was all incredibly noisy and disorienting.

Fingolfin: [dark amusement]
        His mark is not that good, it seems, for all that you were at his gates, and no
        moving target.

Apprentice: [officious]
        Lightning isn't as easy to aim as people think. It isn't like an arrow, a
        straight path from here to there, at all -- it has to grow. That's why it
        so often looks like a tree.

Amarie:
        Nor doth King Manwe lightly brook such presumptuous meddling in his own consecrate
        element, nay, so little as Lord Ulmo amid the waters. 'Twould be a struggle counter
        to the very airs that bear that power, who may doubt, that his fell brother must
        wage to wry from them the thundery fireslash.

Finrod: [to Luthien]
        You don't think it was your cloak helping to protect you?

Luthien: [shrugging]
        It's not really a physical shield at all -- it's primarily camouflage, and a
        focusing device. The only thing it blocks is light, and I doubt that it would
        stand up to lightning, any more than I could.

Finrod:
        But mightn't it have been preventing him from seeing you clearly enough to aim?

Luthien:
        Maybe. But I think they're probably closer to the way of it. Anyway, it wasn't
        a -- a meaningful danger, it wasn't something that I could do anything about
        or that we could avoid, and there was so much danger all around, with the fires
        belching out and hordes of minions on the way and all of it that the only danger
        that mattered any more, was that of Beren dying from exsanguination or shock.
        --At least I knew from having treated him earlier how much more careful and
        thorough I had to be, and I did manage to stop most of the venom from moving
        up his arm and minimize the damage as well as accelerate the normal recovery
        processes, but other than that there wasn't much I could do except hold him.

    [swallowing hard]

        He -- he kept trying to smile at me, the whole time I was working on him, and
        after, when I made my own death-song telling him that I loved him and that I
        wouldn't have it any other way, if that meant never knowing him, and he kept
        just kept whispering "I'm sorry," until he lost consciousness.

Ambassador: [aside, in a tone of calm realization]
        More than the curt word of revelation, in my Lady's anger, that this Man did
        for rash impulse or arrant pride or mad anger choose to set himself in my lord's
        defense -- and died for it! -- these glimpses of endless defeat upon defeat,
        and vain hopes dashed from triumph, and still to strive bravely without hope,
        but always, always love -- my resentful disdain and blame have entirely shattered.
        Should we indeed meet again -- I must hold him no more a stranger, far less enemy!
        --but as an Elf, and brother to me upon our Earth, for all that reachless gulf
        between us.

Luthien:
        I just wish -- that -- somehow -- it hadn't taken that for people to finally
        appreciate him.

    [Huan licks her face]

        I know, you always did. --Good boy.

Finarfin: [aside]
        I would this might be apprehended in spirit of the utterance, than in seeming,
        but no matter--

    [to Luthien]

        Good my kinswoman, I do admit of curiosity, that did befall the Silmaril ye
        twain did seize, and was so swiftly rapt from ye in's turn, or did the Dark
        King recall and tear it from his servant's flesh, else hath the monster borne
        it afar to undiscernéd loss?

Luthien: [pulling herself together]
        That's right, you left before -- it comes later in the story, though, we didn't
        find out until quite a long whiles after.

Fingolfin: [surprised]
        Your misadventure came not to its ending there, Highness?

Captain:
        It gets worse, Sire.

Finrod:
        I keep hearing . . . odd rumours, about this next part.

Luthien:
        Well, it seemed to come out of nowhere, but afterwards it all made sense.
        I'd wrapped him up in my cloak to keep him warm, and thinking that it was
        too bad that we couldn't even see the sun through all the fumes and the
        heaps of slag everywhere, and the wind kept getting stronger, flinging
        ashes all around. Then it got even darker, and I looked up, thinking it
        must be Morgoth come out finally to crush us in person, only it wasn't.
        It was the Eagle and his thanes, coming through the smoke towards us,
        dodging through the spires and gorges as if they were chasing down prey,
        and the closer they got to us, the worse the lightning got -- but it seemed
        to melt away from them, or they to avoid it without effort, riding the
        storm as if it was nothing more than a thermal.

Huan:
        [happy tail-thumps]

Luthien:
        The Enemy must have realized this, because pretty soon they started firing
        arrows from the battlements, not just a few random ones, but volley after
        volley like hail, as if someone were finally coordinating things. But that
        didn't stop them, Thorondor just came right in with Landroval and Gwaihir
        flanking him as outriders -- well, you know what I mean -- and picked us
        both up as carefully as if he were in his own nest, minding his claws around
        his babies, and took us all that distance we had taken days to cover before
        in a matter of heartbeats, not hours.

    [with a brittle laugh]

        I was crying so much anyone below must have thought we were a very quick-moving
        rainstorm, because I didn't think he was going to live, and even if he somehow
        did make it through this, I couldn't see how we would manage past it, how he
        could go on after a defeat like that, the worst one of them all, and all of it
        because of me--

    [the Ten have been waiting for this -- the Ranger leans over and taps one of the
    Royal Guards on the arm]

Ranger:
        See? I told you what was going to be different: Beren did everything and it was
        all her fault, not the other way about. --Pay up.

    [as the other Elf-warrior resignedly hands over some trinket]

Youngest Ranger:
        I told you not to take his bet.

    [Finrod closes his eyes]

Captain:
        Oh lads, give it a break.

Teler Maid: [frowning]
        So . . . the more one does know, of things, or folk, the less of chance
        there is.

    [she nods to herself, looking narrowly at the Steward]

Luthien:
        Logically I know it wasn't, but sometimes . . . believing it is hard.
        Anyway they carried us, straight south to the borders of Doriath --That's
        when I saw Gondolin off in the distance.

    [simultaneous]
Finrod:
        But you didn't go there.

Elenwe:
        Made ye no sojourn in the halls of mine own dear ones?

Luthien:
        No. Huan was waiting for us, and they brought us back to him. --They were
        very impressed by Huan

    [she concentrates on playing with the Hound's collar and petting his ears]

        --as they ought to have been! He'd explained to them what it was we were
        about, and requested them to keep an eye out for us and do whatever they
        could to help us. They were very sorry we hadn't managed it -- sorry the
        way I was sorry, not just that we hadn't got them from Morgoth -- and I'm
        starting to sound like Beren again, not being very clear about who or what
        is what or who--

    [she's trying to be bright and in control and failing miserably]

        Thorondor kept telling me all about it, trying to keep me distracted, on the
        theory I suppose that one can't very well carry on a conversation and have
        hysterics at the same time. Though he did seem interested in everything I
        could remember to tell him about our adventures inside Thangorodrim.

    [sniffling, pulling herself together]

        He had an awful lot of awful things to say about Morgoth -- apparently, way
        back in the very old days, he was busy capturing ordinary hawks and eagles
        and trying to figure out how their wings worked . . . by cutting them off
        and using them as patterns for machines.

    [she shivers, her expression dismayed at the idea -- and shared by everyone else,
    regardless of political alignment]

        They really want him punished quite badly.

Third Guard: [aside to the Youngest Ranger, impressed]
        You were exactly right about the Eagles doing their Work on their own.

Youngest Ranger: [nodding]
        --Just like us.

Luthien: [woebegone]
        We ended up back where we started. Almost exactly. With Beren wounded and
        unconscious again, only this time we didn't have Horse, or the Angcrist, or
        the disguises -- though we wouldn't have been able to try again with them,
        I know -- or the Silmaril. He should have listened to me the first time.

    [softly, as Amarie closes her eyes and laughs quietly, half-crying,  in turn]

     [Elsewhere -- the Corollaire.]

    [A wind sweeps through the grass around them, which has risen to summer height,
    full of wildflowers, and rustles in a prolonged susurrus like waves on a lakeshore.
    Butterflies flicker over it like reflected lights from water. They and the bees
    also feeding there land frequently on the two companions, fearlessly.]

Beren: [frowning]
        So the King and Queen weren't just being . . . rhetorical? --rhetorical, when
        they asked me for my opinions?

Yavanna:
        Why would you think they were?

Beren: [ironic laugh]
        Well -- I'm just a Man. Why would the Powers That Be think I could help them?
        You wouldn't expect that.

Yavanna:
        But you're part of the Answer. You're the Third Theme, you Children, and we
        don't understand the Answer, yet. It was more hopeful, I suspect, than actually
        thinking you would have a solution, but since you were so adamant that you did
        understand the problem better than any of us, -- it was worth a try. Manwe's
        very open to suggestions. He's good at listening, our King.

    [he frowns again, resting his chin on his arms]

Beren: [grumpy]
        Besides, it took so long for me to get there, it seemed like they were trying
        to put me off, like they didn't want to deal with me, like the Doomsman didn't
        want me to either.

    [she gives him a Look of affectionate frustration, as a teacher dealing with a
    brilliant smart-alec:]

Yavanna: [patient]
        Where are the Halls of Mandos, Beren?

Beren: [cautious]
        Under the Mountains of the West.

    [in a very different tone]

        Is that West as in here, west, or West as in west?

Yavanna:
        Yup. --Where do Manwe and Varda dwell?

Beren: [not sure where she's leading]
        On top of Mount Everwhite.

Yavanna:
        The highest peak in all the worlds-realm, yes?

    [he nods]

        Can you step from the roots of the earth to the heights in one stride?

    [pause]

Beren:
        So it was my fault that it took so long. Just like I couldn't see them properly.
        It was me.

Yavanna: [shrugging]
        Fault? Say your nature, rather.

Beren: [ironic, but self-deprecating, not angry]
        What's the difference?

Yavanna: [serious]
        A matter of perspective. Is it better to see everything from a distance, in
        relation to each other, or one thing up close, in all its glory?

Beren:
        I think it would be better to see both.

Yavanna:
        Yes, but we can't. Not at the same time. Can you?

Beren:
        No, but -- I'm not a god, either.

Yavanna:
        --And?

    [pause]

Beren: [aside]
        They're right -- that really is annoying.

    [he looks at her sidelong, rubbing his chin]

        Huh. --But you can't compare me to the King -- to Finrod.

Yavanna:
        Why not?

Beren:
        It -- it just -- I'm not--

Yavanna:
        Have you not done all that he has done -- loved, cherished, striven against
        the Dark, suffered for those you love? How are you different, in that, from
        the Eldar?

Beren: [gesturing vaguely]
        Yes, but we don't make things like they do, or know things, we--

    [she laughs]

Yavanna:
        The Noldor aren't the only people in the world who matter, dear one. They're
        not even the wisest, though they'll argue that. You know that the Vanyar
        consider them flawed, for caring so much about material possessions and the
        making of them, rather than paying attention to the universe that is all around
        us, and placing such things as high in their regard or higher, than persons.

    [pause]

        Does that make you feel better?

Beren:
        No.

    [pause]

Yavanna:
        Why not?

Beren: [agitated]
        Because that's really daunting, if you guys are taking us seriously and
        thinking that we're the same as the Elves, really, only not but then yes,
        really, in terms of what we can do, or maybe could do -- and thinking that
        we could maybe help Fix the universe, because that means you're thinking
        that on the level where it really matters, I'm not any different from Feanor.
        --Or Finrod. --Or Tinuviel. And I think about us, and all the stupid stuff
        that goes on just trying to get through a normal day without killing yourself
        or somebody else let alone when it all goes to hell, and I think --Who are
        they kidding? We're not like that, we can't do that.

    [shaking his head]

        And then . . . and then I remember: Yeah, but you did. You just fetched the
        Powers in Beleriand a good one and walked away from it, for a while at least.
        Morgoth was as scared of you as he was of the High King, for a bit there. And
        that's just me. Why shouldn't they take us seriously? And that--

    [whistling in dismay]

        I don't want that kind of responsibility. This is so much bigger than Dorthonion,
        and I never really saw that when I was alive. It's like -- if you threw a rock
        in a temper tantrum and found out you'd started an avalanche. That's not right.
        We shouldn't be able to change the World.

    [the Earth-Queen says nothing, but pats his arm with a sympathetic smile as he goes
    on glumly]

        Plus I was rude and insulting. I told off Manwe and Varda like it was a council.

Yavanna: [dismissive]
        Oh, don't worry about it -- I do it all the time. As gods go, I'm positively
        hasty -- though not quite so impetuous as Tulkas! Manwe's used to hearing us
        rant, Tav' and me; they wouldn't expect anything different from you.

Beren:
        No, I wasn't just obnoxious -- I insulted -- her.

    [chagrinned and glum]

        Because I couldn't -- she isn't like --

    [with an exasperated sound]

        I made it sound like I thought she wasn't beautiful, because I couldn't think
        of Morgoth thinking of her that way. But -- she was just so -- cold and strange,
        compared to you, or even the Lady of Spring,

    [Yavanna giggles, shaking her head]

Yavanna:
        You poor thing. Don't be embarrassed. You don't think she didn't understand?
        The Queen of the High Airs isn't shortsighted! You Saw the work of her hands,
        and loved her through it. Of course you couldn't See her directly -- she's a
        lot more complex and powerful than I am. It must have been very difficult for
        them to reveal themselves in a way that you could comprehend. Your folk don't
        fall in love with Stars, do you? Though of all Men I'd be least surprised at
        you.

    [she winks at him]

Beren:
        Tinuviel isn't--

    [breaks off]

        Actually, if the first time I ever saw her was putting down Carcharoth, I might
        have just worshipped her and been too overawed to look at her.

Yavanna:
        And even your own people who know them best, are daunted by the Elves. For the
        most part.

    [Beren sighs]

Beren:
        Yeah, aiming high seems to run in my family -- and so does missing the landing
        and busting a wing like a hard-luck hatchling on its first flight. What is it
        with us?

Yavanna: [dry]
        Or -- what is it with them? You're referring to that business with the King's
        son and your kinswoman, I take it. It's more that the Elves aren't any better
        at not interfering than we are. People are interesting and fun to be around,
        as well as dangerous and capable of breaking your heart. We can't stay away
        from each other.

Beren:
        When you say we, you mean--

Yavanna: [nodding]
        Us.

    [he sighs resignedly]

Beren:
        But was that bad, or not?

    [she shrugs]

Yavanna:
        It has mixed results. Would you rather they hadn't adopted your family, but
        left you to your own devices?

Beren:
        No. But . . . I'm not sure what I'm trying to say. --It just isn't fair.

Yavanna: [sighing]
        No, people rarely get what they deserve, good or bad. Why do you think Namo's
        so gloomy all the time? Enforcing justice after the fact isn't very satisfying.
        --Is it?

Beren: [frowning]
        Uh-uh. But -- that's who he is. He doesn't want his job any more?

Yavanna:
        Oh no, more that he wishes he was unnecessary, that there were no more incidents
        of violence and oppression for him to keep track of. But he can't give it up,
        any more than I can, no matter how much we lose.

    [pause]

Beren:
        I was pretty obnoxious to him, too.

Yavanna:
        I'm sure he was prepared for it.

Beren:
        --Yeah. He even told me I was gonna--

    [he laughs bitterly, swatting at the stalks of grass and making their tassels swing
    back and forth]

Yavanna: [putting her hand on his head]
        Trust me, you are nowhere near his least favorite person. You've got a very long
        way to go before you're in Melkor's league. We might be frustrated with you,
        sometimes, but -- that's because you're so much like us. I'm sure you haven't
        really hurt anyone's feelings beyond a moment. Not like the Noldor, or that punk
        loser of a water-elemental--

    [he smiles a little, but doesn't say anything. Concerned:]

        You do believe me, don't you? You're not agonizing about it again?

    [he shakes his head quickly]

Beren:
        I'm still a little . . . croggled . . . at the way you talk about things . . .
        like . . . well, making the World, or . . . calling another god a loser. --That
        wasn't Morgoth, I mean.

Yavanna: [shrugging]
        Oh, we . . . have words with each other. I've called people far worse things
        than that. We all have tempers, and some of us don't have much patience to go
        along with them. But at least -- and it's a good thing for the World -- when
        we get angry with each other we tend to throw words about, and not thunderbolts,
        or mountains. No matter how much we annoy each other, we find constructive ways
        -- or at least fairly harmless ones -- of dealing with it.

    [shaking her head]

        I can't imagine what agony it must have been for Melkor to go around all those
        days pretending he was happy and liked people, when all the time he was just
        plotting his revenge and hiding how much he hated everyone and hadn't recognized
        the problems with his behaviour after all. No wonder Nia calls him schizophrenic
        and compartmentalized! Why would you do that to yourself? It's so much easier to
        just confront somebody when you've got a problem, and get it over with. Or at
        least make it clear to everyone that boundaries have been overstepped and one
        is not happy about it. And no, pretty green rocks are not going to make up for
        it, even if they have been carved to look like new little leaves just opening
        and they're wearable, because shutting somebody out of a decision that important
        and treating them with that much disrespect, and it is disrespect even if you
        didn't think it was, because you ought to have known better and if you didn't
        think of me at all, well what does that say, hm? and jewelry isn't going to fix
        anything--

    [breaking off mid-rant]

        Um. Ah, did you say something?

Beren: [wide-eyed]
        No ma'am. I wasn't saying anything.

    [aside]

        I'm just sitting here listening to you talk to yourself about your husband.
        And playing with bees.

    [holds up one crawling on his knuckles]

        Want a bee? They're pretty cute. Would a bee make you feel better?

    [biting back a chagrined smile, the Earth-Queen carefully accepts the proffered
    insect, laughing at herself a little, but with a suspicious blinking, while Beren
    leans comfortingly against her shoulder. Meaningfully he says:]

        Nobody can drive you crazy like the people you love. I know.

    [Yavanna nods, sniffing]

Yavanna: [bright, but a little ragged]
        --Bees came out pretty well, didn't they?

    [the Hall. The mood of the audience is still tense & strained, though the Lord
    Warden has calmed down and is sitting up listening, shoulder to shoulder with the
    Ex-Thrall, who has given him the cloak and is clearly his guide-protector now]

Luthien: [bleak]
        . . . There's only so many times one can say "I told you so," before there
        really isn't any point in it. Either the person you're saying it to agrees
        with you, and then there's no more satisfaction in saying it again -- or
        they won't agree with you, and saying so again just starts a fight. Or else
        you end up not talking to each other. He just got sadder, and sadder, and he
        hardly talked, not even to argue with me, and he never sang again.

    [she shakes her head, on the verge of breaking down again]

        It was just all so wretched and -- and -- I don't want to talk any more
        right now because I don't think I can.

    [she rests her head against her hands, fighting for control, while Finrod sadly
    consoles her in silence. Huan, his head lying over her feet, sighs deeply, his
    ears mournful]

Teler Maid: [aside]
        Wherefore do them that would love go ever at odds with each other? For I see
        now it is not we two alone, nor Noldor blood that causes it, as I did think--

    [frowning at the floor]

        --unless it be merest difference, that makes us to differ so--

    [troubled]

        Can there be happiness only between the simple and the same? For it seems
        unequal must any friendship be that's between kind and kind, no matter what
        their kinds, and where there's imbalance then it must split, I think, as a
        flawed spar under sail's weight, for the weight of the world all broken.

    [Aegnor closes his eyes, and the Steward looks at her with anguish]

        But -- nor can two that are equal in skill and might and worth so easily
        abide each other without rivalry--

    [she looks innocently from Aredhel and Eol to Nerdanel, and then to Finrod and Amarie]

        --no more than kingly brothers, be they Elf or god. Or cousins.

    [the representatives of House Finwe shift uneasily]

Elenwe:
        Nay, for my love as myself did ne'er seek mastery upon each the other's will,
        but in our agreements as our disagreeing, we did stand as Tree and Tree, that
        might shine now alternate, now in unison, yet ne'er might one supplant the
        other, nor strivest the same.

Finarfin: [sad]
        Thou kennst, Maiwe, no more it was the way of it with mine own lady Earwen,
        that we did make matter of birth eke royal, as of Kindred's precedence,
        therewith to hold sway anent ourselves.

    [sighing]

        --'Twas graver matter far, when we did in end dispute.

Nerdanel:
        Nor did thy good lady's true-love contend against his kin, nor his brother-
        prince seek honour over sibling, saving in respect to mine own lord, and that
        trouble, I confess, e'en as his and mine, was of root far darker e'en so deep,
        than merest likeness or unlike.

    [Fingolfin gives her a grateful Look]

Ambassador:
        Our own King and Queen are more different than any other couple on this
        earth -- except--

    [looking involuntarily at Luthien, he is suddenly overcome. The Apprentice
    starts to say something, then pauses and recollects himself.]

Apprentice:
        The same with the gods -- most of them don't fight all the time. If that's
        how it is with people, that the only way to interact is in terms of power
        and control, then--

    [frowning fiercely]

        --we might as well all pack it up and go home, because the Dark's already won.

    [the Captain nudges him warningly, but in the general discomfiture his small slip
    is not noticed]

Teler Maid: [doubtful]
        I do hear ye, and yet . . .

Captain: [loud and definite]
        Sameness doesn't make for peace. --No more than lesser ability makes people
        content with life.

    [to Finrod]

        Do you remember that mortal couple in Dor-lomin, Sire?

Finrod: [a bit dry]
        Contrary to popular opinion, I wasn't personally acquainted with every inhabitant
        of Beleriand during my lifetime. --Which cou--

    [checks, glances involuntarily at the Steward]

        Oh. That story. I--

    [meaningfully]

        I don't know that it's appropriate, really. Do you think so?

Captain:
        Why? Because it's got an obnoxious mortal in it?

    [Luthien flinches, and her shoulders go stiff]

Finrod:
        Ah -- yes.

    [he gives his friend a pleading, bewildered Look -- the Captain continues in cheerful
    innocence]

Captain:
        It isn't about Beren, though. --Or any of his House.

    [Aegnor grinds his teeth; his brother disregarding, continues to lock stares with
    his liege]

        Have I failed you, Sir, thus far?

    [Finrod ducks his head, conceding this round. To Luthien, who is giving him a
    melancholy Look not unlike Huan's]

        --You'll like it too, I promise.

Luthien: [sad smile]
        Does it have a happy ending, my lord?

    [he has to think for a moment]

Captain:
        Not really, I suppose. But it's interesting. And it's got a duel of music in it.

    [she perks up a little at this and gives an encouraging nod, as the Steward in turn
    hunkers down lower, trying to disappear. The Sea-Elf, meanwhile, has begun to give
    her former co-worker a knowing glare, folding her arms and giving him a Look of
    combined annoyance and reluctant amusement]

Teler Maid: [tolerant]
        Very well. Let us have this story of the Secondborn, which--

    [she pauses significantly]

        --shall either show that I am wrong yet again, about the way of things, or else
        that 'tis worse even than I did say, for that none might bide peaceably and in
        friendship, high or low degree.

    [her defensiveness has an almost playful, sparring tone, however]

Steward: [aside]
        Holy Stars, why ever did I ask for help?

    [given permission, his friend launches at once into the story]

Captain:
        We were visiting the High King's lands on a horse-trading expedition -- at least,
        that was part of it, the rest of it's classified, not that it matters any more,
        I suppose--

Fingolfin:
        'Twould hardly add much of interest, I fear, our private negotiations over
        the siege garrison duties.

Captain:
        No, it wasn't all that interesting at the time, even -- sorry, your Majesties,
        but you know I'm right. Not compared to the springtime we were missing for it.

    [both Angrod and Aegnor cannot help but chuckle in agreement]

        However that was, we ended up staying the night on the way there as guests
        of a lordling of Men, whose household was most conscious of the honour and
        prestige it would give them to have King Felagund under their roof. There's
        a mortal musician there, a harper as it would happen, and his lady as well,
        who played the flute for his accompanying. He was not kind to her. He spoke
        sharply to her, without any cause for it, and blamed his mistakes upon her
        playing, and did not once thank her for her aid, nor smile at her, except
        to show his contempt at her excuses. --He was nervous, of course, because he
        had not thought to entertain a King that night, far less one so far and widely
        famed, and his playing suffered for it. And none of us had thought the worse
        of him, at all, if he hadn't taken his temper out on her. And even after,
        when he had settled his nerves, and his fingers, he still had no apology nor
        gentleness for her, and she had no hope in her eyes left, that there would
        be any.

Teler Maid: [terse aside]
        I did play the pipe, on a day.

Captain: [as if he hasn't heard her]
        We were seething at it, and while some that dwelt there were ashamed for it,
        none of their folk considered it a harsh enough matter to warrant rebuke. And
        the feast wore on like a foggy day, and try as we might to dismiss it as but
        a false note, and their business, nor our own, still the words and silences
        between them -- that most humans would not even have marked, so privately
        they carried on their siege and defense -- soured all the viands at the board.
        And then Edrahil snapped -- I think it was hearing the harper playing a tune
        -- or a variant of it -- that Himself had composed in Estolad, and gets up
        and goes over to his place.

        "You play an Elvish song, Man