Meeting Her To Be Lover
"The WHAT?!" Beren cried, exasperated. No reply. Arien knew, as well as you and I, that Beren had heard it the first time. So she didn't bother to talk. "How am I supposed to do that? Go and ask Morgoth nicely to hand over the fucking Silmarils? Or am I supposed to steal them from his head? This is impossible!"
Arien rolled her eyes, unseen by Beren. "How wilt thou accomplish this deed; why, exactly how beren didst, I dare say!"
But Beren had not accomplished the deed, as our own Beren knew very well indeed. "He couldn't get even one! How am I to get all three?"
'''Tis thy concern, not mine how thou shalt accomplish this deed. Yet, I do councel thee to seek the aid of the Princess of Doriath even as Beren Erchamion was bounden to do; without her aid, this quest mayhap shall prove fruitless."
Fucking useless to argue! Cursed Beren to herself.
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Arien had had to show Beren around the whole day, as she had no idea where she was, why she was here, and what she was supposed to be doing.
She guessed that Beren was on spying duty, as that explained her solitude. Food here was an old boar which had been salted and stored by Beren himself, who carried a large bag of salt with him, probably to preserve food.
Apparently he also shared it with a young crow called Fidget, who reminded Beren terribly of her own cat back home. Fidget ate what Beren offered, and in return would share berries and fruit as he could find. Beren found it terribly endearing. Also Fidget was the only likeable person that accompanied her in the lonely forest.
Finally, Arien took Beren to a supposedly clean lake to wash up, as she was filthy; who knows when she had last washed herself, and Arien refused to tell her. At the lake Beren quickly washed herself, and dried up with her cloak. Which, surprisingly, dried her, but still did not get wet.
After cleaning herself, Beren just lazed on the ground, running her hand through the water, revelling in the cool touch, trying to forget her worries for the time being.
In the dark water, she could see the image of herself, clearer perhaps, than was usual in water. Slowly she walked further into the water, so as to see herself, rather curious about her new face.
Straw hair, of shoulder length, framed her oval face, and accentuated her rather pointed chin, although her stubble tried- and failed, to hide its shape. The lines of her face were rather harsh and precisely carved, quite unlike her actual face, which was soft and rounded, with short loose brown curls.
Her eyes were the same shape as before- large, hooded almond eyes- but the colour was changed. Her brown eyes were now a light grey.
Looking into her own grey eyes, she was held captive their gaze; and Beren stared into the lake. Struck by a sudden headache, she stumbled out of the water, trying to walk to her usual spot. But the headache got worse and worse, and finally she collapsed on the grass, holding her head, unaware that her mouth was screaming.
Beren's mind was assaulted with memories which she had never lived through; memories of Beren son of Barahir. Memories of the camp; memories of spying on the servants of Melkor; memories of "his" father and mother, of his family, and his last memory.
The memory of a man from the camp, a man named Gorlim.
Even in memory, Gorlim's body looked unlike any other, seeming to reflect and pass more light than it absorbed. He spoke, voice sad and tearful; and even in memory, him speaking was eerily similar to how Arien sounded.
"Beren, son of Barahir, I have failed your father.
I am Gorlim, the traitor, and I have revealed your father's hiding place to Sauron. I came to warn you Beren, to flee from this place, for Sauron's servants now know of you too."
Even as he spoke, the wraith of Gorlim's body turned, and dissipated, leaving Beren with the tears of grief and fury that were not hers.
For all she had mind for was Gorlim, and his injuries.
His right hand was mangled, and fingers broken, some torn clean off; his back was whipped to shreds, and none of the cloth nor skin could she see in his bloodied back.
With a pang she remembered from the book, that he had not betrayed them, even after such gruesome torture. Only when Sauron had threatened his wife did he yield.
It was sad to feel Beren's scorn for such a person, even if he had indeed caused the death of his father and friends.
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Beren was perched up on a tree.
The son of Barahir was skilled in hunting, and the skill in his hand was now passed on to Beren Aslan.
A herd if antelopes was grazing by, and no predator would try to hunt among a herd.
But as Beren had her bow with her, going near the herd was no necessity.
Focusing on a rather old female at the edge of the herd, she strung her bow with a used arrow she'd picked up again; arrows ran out, and they needed to be reused so she could hunt.
She let go of the arrow, which shot out and embedded itself right in the eye of the animal.
"I had not known thee to be so skilled in the marksmanship.
Thou doth make great progress, and thy prowess doth impress me mightily!"
"Oh shut up" Said Beren, rolling her eyes. "I can only do everything Beren did. He did this in my memories before."
Indeed, Beren had memories of "himself" hunting, and that made hunting easier for her, even on her first try ever. Because it felt like she'd done it before.
But this was the first time she'd actually hunted with her own hands, and even though she'd eaten meat before, actually killing the animal to eat it was something she'd never done before.
She knew it was normal, she knew she'd done worse before, but she still couldn't help but feel guilty about the blood of an animal on her hands.
Beren waited for the rest of the antelopes to move on before she could actually get her prey.
But then, her silence was broken by a panicking Fidget hurtling towards her through the air, cawing loudly.
His calls meant the dreaded signal.
Orcs.
Beren had to get moving, or she would be stranded on the tree.
But the death of the antelope should not be for nothing; so she quickly climbed down the tree and ran to the herd, with her sword out. Much to the protests of Fidget, who tried to stop her but failed.
The antelopes had noticed one of them fall out of nowhere, and they had moved away from it.
Beren went to the animal. It was too big for her to carry; so with two swings of her sword, she cut out its hind legs, and hauled them onto her shoulders.
She also wrenched the arrow out of its eye, putting it back into her quiver.
The sword in her hand shone a pale blue under the blood that coated it. The orcs were close by.
Shame. That meant she would have to run.
Fidget led the way, and Beren ran behind, just escaping the patrol of orcs who came to the scene to find the legless carcass of an antelope.
Looking from above, Arien smiled contentedly.
Her new man was extraordinarily competent.
He would be the one; she decided.
The one to who would bring her back to health.
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For six months, Beren had been on the run, fleeing from the forces of Sauron. This was going on forever, and she was more than a bit impatient.
"How will I ever get to Lúthien at this rate?" Beren cried to Arien. By now, with practice she could communicate with Arien without making any actual noise; which was quite handy when you were surrounded by orcs and hunted by wolves.
"Wait thou and tarry awhile." Came the impatient response. "Fret not, and thou shalt stumble upon her soon enough."
"NOT soon enough! I need some assurance and security!" Beren was tired of having no goal, of being nowhere closer to getting back home than she was before.
"I can't run around forever! How do you know I'll ever find this princess? Just randomly bump into her just like that?"
"O, but indeed 'tis precisely that which I did mean!
'Tis thy fate to find her, by braving the girdle of Melian, thou shalt enter Doriath and find its princess; thou hast my word that thou wilt accomplish both.
But indeed, mayhap I could do thee a favor and hasten fate a little."
Beren did not think much of what "hastening fate" meant, but she'd soon regret complaining to Arien about anything.
For the Sun now rose later and later, and set earlier than ever.
It was winter, but even for winter, only eight hours of sunlight was too little.
The orcs thrived in the lack of light, and Beren suffered.
Even with the cloak, with the lack of the head start she got due to orcs being unable to follow in the morning, she had an advantage. Now she was helpless and at high risk of being captured.
After throwing her in such a perilous situation, Arien had ditched her and was giving her the silent treatment.
Beren was utterly at a loss what to do.
So she just ran for her life for the next few days, surviving on scraps Fidget brought for her, all her food supplies finished.
Till one day when, like every other time, Fidget warned Beren of an oncoming orc patrol, but all Beren could do was stumble clumsily through the forest; she was dizzy, and her head felt ten times heavier.
The last time she had rested was already over a week past. Water was not something Fidget could carry, and her own supply was dry.
Beren just could not run anymore. Hell, she could not even see clearly; not seeing them, she tumbled over tree roots and rocks.It was a marvel she had not fallen and been killed already.
An arrow grazed her shoulder, the pain dulled by her cloudy perception.
The rest of the arrows were deflected by Beren's elvish cloak, but she did notice.
Stumbling blindly, perhaps because of her fate, or the fate of the body's original owner, Beren entered the Girdle of Melian.
The moment she did so, the orcs lost all sight of her, unable to pursue any further; confused as to where the man they'd almost captured had disappeared to.
Beren walked clumsily through Melian's Girdle, going on for as long as she could; indeed she was almost through.
But then her body gave way to her heavy head, her blurred vision darkened, and her body crashed down onto the ground.
She was almost through, with only just a few more yards to cross.
But Beren's body, overwhelmed by the overly quickened "fate" of Arien's, finally surrendered, and her consciousness left her lying under a great beech tree, looking ever so small and insignificant next to it's great body.
From a branch of the Beech tree, flew down a little crow, specifically, the little crow, Fidget.
He cawed loudly into his friend's ear; but Beren did not wake up. Usually when sleeping, that was enough to make Fidget's friend awaken. But today, he was hurt, so he couldn't wake up.
Fidget knew Beren was alive, but couldn't help him. And Fidget felt sad. He cawed some more.
You can imagine as well as any other how astounded Fidget was when he heard an answer to his calls. He froze. Then he quickly flew up into his tree to be safe.
The answering call was long. Really long. Still going on. It sounded somewhat like his human friend's caws, but a lot more rhythmic as well as enchanting.
Gathering up a little courage, Fidget followed the noise, careful not to go down too low just to be safe.
Going on, he finally came to a clearing in the woods, and there Fidget saw the one responsible for the calls. Something was moving. Running all over the place, and making sounds, almost like some of the other birds when they wanted to attract a mate.
It looked a little like his friend, but a bit different. It had a different colour, and it also looked prettier. Fidget decided that he liked it.
Since it looked like his friend, perhaps it could help him?
The "animal" Fidget had noticed was Lúthien, dancing and singing as was her custom.
Fidget went and landed right on Lúthien's shoulder, cawing loudly in her ear to get her attention.
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Fidget's gut feeling was indeed accurate, and in no time, he was dragging his new acquaintance by the sleeve of her dress to help his poor friend.
"I'm coming, slow down boy!" Tinúviel said to Fidget, laughing softly, not at all wary or suspicious of the crow's intentions, as she was under her mother's protection.
Until she saw Beren.
Ten yards from where she stood, there lay a man, a human mortal.
Now Lúthien was not stupid. She knew this could be a trap and whatnot.
But Tinúviel could see that this man was hurt.
She saw a wound from orc steel on him, and he looked starved to the bone.
Lúthien was not unkind. She wanted to help. But she could not just ignore the threat of an attack on Doriath like that.
So she looked around a bit, trying to see if anyone was there. The Girdle wouldn't just stop working all of a sudden, and she knew that. She relaxed a bit.
The bird cawed loudly, as if to say "What are you waiting for? Help him!"
So steeling herself, the princess went to the man.
No attacks.
Not an ambush, then. She reasoned.
Then was he a spy? She probably should hand him over to her father for interrogation.
But the man looked ever so hurt and fragile, she had no idea what an interrogation might do to him.
She'd kill him herself if he tried anything suspicious.
So she squatted down and stuck her fingers under the man's nose.
Warm vapours, slow but shallow, fell on her fingers. He was still alive, then.
Lúthien slipped an arm under his knees and the other she curled around his shoulder.
She noticed that he was burning with fever.
Knowing that he needed urgent care, carrying Beren, Lúthien swiftly ran back to her cabin in the woods.
_____________
Beren's head ached.
She felt sweaty and uncomfortable.
Probably because she was finally waking up after a whole day unconscious with over excursion and high fever.
Too warm under the overly thick blanket that Lúthien had draped over her, Beren finally got up.
The first thing she saw was a woman, a woman who looked like no one she'd ever seen before, nor would she ever see again.
Lúthien's hair floated about her, the very colour of the sky at midnight; and just like the night sky, occasionally, pin points of light twinkled through their shadows, like little flickering stars; the exposed skin on her hand that Beren caught from under her flowy blue robes was paler than Beren had ever seen on a human, and unlike on any human, it shimmered, emitting the silver white of glow of the moon.
Beren was captivated, and just a bit scared.
Lúthien, sensing her patient stir, turned to assess his current state, preparing to give some medicine she had read would work well on an aphadon such as him.
She was met with a wide eyed, awed, even shaken glare.
Having anticipated such a reaction, Lúthien smiled kindly, trying to appear a bit more approachable. She knew her appearance was striking and a bit intimidating.
"My dear man, you-"
"Tinúviel" He called, still staring.