Getting Away
The sun had just set, and the pink and purple was abundant in the sky; the stars were just coming out.
Beren was singing a song Lúthien had taught her.
Beren finished, smiling expectantly at Lúthien, waiting for her praise. She was very happy with her singing skills. Clearly it was nothing compared to the princess, but it was way better than anything she'd sung before.
Lúthien clapped, and Fidget took off into the air, cawing and flapping his wings in his own ridiculous way, applauding his friend.
"You are making wonderful progress!" Lúthien said, smiling proudly.
"Your turn!" Said Beren, giving a little bow. Lúthien's voice was magical, and it was the most beautiful thing Beren had ever heard in her life.
Listening to her songs was also a way for Beren to forget her situation and lose herself in the musical dreamland.
Lúthien rose from her seat. "Sure." She said, a faint smirk playing on her lips "But my songs require dance; if you could just get up and dance alongside me, I will sing for you."
"But I can't dance!" Beren protested. "You literally dance even when you're walking; how am I supposed to keep up?"
"Don't worry, my dear prisoner, I'll make sure you keep up." Saying so, Lúthien pulled Beren up onto her feet.
Then she started singing.
The same words Beren had sung, but from her mouth, they sounded otherworldly; Beren lost herself in the song.
The sound of Fidget flapping and the leaves rustling slowly faded away, until all she could hear was Lúthien's voice.
Lúthien guided, and Beren found herself moving as though she had been born dancing.
Along with the princess, she ran in the grass, twirling and leaping at all the right moments.
Then Beren also started singing.
When she sang with Lúthien, her voice was not drowned out, and nor did it appear harsh or brash next to it.
Their voices melded together in harmony; Beren's verse, although it was still sung in her own humanely imperfect voice, was not outshined by Lúthien.
It felt like the song went on forever- or was it only a fleeting moment? Beren truly could not tell. It was as if they were in their own little world with its own rules.
When they finally did finish, Beren's sudden skill again left her and she panted against Lúthien, feeling a bit dizzy. Yet her mouth was stretched in a wide grin.
"I must say that you are a naturally talented dancer!" Said Lúthien, smiling up at Beren, eyes twinkling mischievously.
Beren was trying to catch her breath. "Very clever!" She huffed out, laughing. "That felt good. Really good."
"Of course it did." Lúthien slipped her hands out of Beren's, and walked towards the cabin. "I shall now be taking a bath. How would it please you to join me?"
"No thank you!" Said Beren. Whatever elves did, one thing she would never do was get naked in front of someone else.
Especially now after she'd got the completely different body.
Beren felt a little tired after all that dancing, so while Lúthien took a bath, she went back inside, wanting to sleep.
Inside she took off her slightly smaller robes- they belonged to Lúthien before- and slipped into a Nightgown. Which apparently was an old one of Thingol's, so it was way too big for her.
Taking a basin of water from the table, Beren sat down in front of the mirror to wash her face. Not taking a bath for just one day wouldn't hurt.
Tying her hair back with a red ribbon, Beren splashed some water onto her face. Taking her scented soap bar, Beren wetted it and rubbed the lather onto her face, gently scrubbing the sweat and stickiness out of her skin.
Washing the soap off, Beren stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Her cheeks were chubbier than they used to be; her features were softened by a layer of newly formed fat. Staring down her front through the open dressing gown, Beren saw that her chiselled abs were now smoother than before; she could only make out the slightest definition. Holding up her right arm, Beren pinched her forearm. Too much fat.
She had never exercised seriously in her life. When she was first transported here, she'd been hunting, running, and doing her other everyday activities, along with the high protein no carb diet she had been forced to follow, it was no surprise she had an athlete's build. Now for the past few months, she'd slacked off a lot. Never once working her body, and eating whatever she liked.
This could not go on. She was here to get the Silmarils, and to get the Silmarils, Arien had told her to seduce Lúthien; however, Lúthien could not be with a sloppy man like her.
But had she done anything so far to get Lúthien? She hadn't.
It was always the princess who helped Beren, who never did anything for her in return.
All along, Beren was just taking advantage of her for her own selfish motives.
The original Beren had been lost in Doriath, unexpectedly meeting Lúthien when he was passing by. One could truly call it fate.
Living together for years, they had slowly fallen in love with each other.
One day they were discovered, and enraged, Thingol demanded that Beren be brought to him; but Lúthien refused, and would not bring her lover out unless her father promised not to imprison or hurt him in any way.
In mockery, Thingol demanded that Beren bring back a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown if he wanted to marry Lúthien.
Beren did then what no sane person would have done, and he left Doriath to bring back a Silmaril.
It was clearly a death sentence, but still he went on.
Even after almost dying, several times, he was still bent on finding the Silmaril; Beren had wanted only Lúthien's hand, and the Silmaril he only pursued for her.
Beren herself, on the other hand, only wanted the Silmarils and pursued the Princess for them.
It was cruel; pathetic, to believe that Lúthien would put herself at risk for her, when Beren wanted only to use her.
Beren pounded her fist on the table in frustration.
There was no way she could get the Silmarils without help; she knew the predestined way was the only way to achieve her goals. Yet that path, although she knew it would lead her to the goal in the end, lay on lands she would not be willing to tread.
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Beren rechecked if she'd taken everything she needed: some food, water, her weapons, her robes- they were comfy, and she couldn't live in battle gear all the time. Then finally, after six whole months away from them, she put her leather boots on again.
Looking down at herself, Good she thought. At last she looked like Beren again.
Lúthien was asleep, and Beren did not plan to wake her up.
Drawing the hood of her cloak low, she quickly and silently walked out of the little cabin.
Beren was fond of the place, and of the comfort she had sorely missed since she left her own home.
But leaving still felt freeing; a weight pressing onto her mind lifted, as through her dilemma she finally reached a conclusion.
She had to go. Away from here, away from Doriath, and forget that Lúthien had ever existed.
She broke into a run, aiming for the edge of the woods.
She'd managed to cross the girdle of Melian once, and she'd do it again, with the help of Fidget.
The beech trees got smaller and denser as Beren got further and further; the bushes appeared more frequently and mosquitoes swarmed everywhere.
Beren didn’t really remember the way, so she had to rely on the crow to guide her.
The dawn was oncoming, and slivers of the pale light peeked in through the dense leaves of the trees. Beren had run for a long time.
Her throat and mouth were parched, and she felt dizzy. She shouldn't have pushed so hard.
Whistling at Fidget to stop, Beren leaned against a tree, taking in a shallow breath.
She needed water.
Taking down the waterskin attached to her shoulder, She was just taking a sip when something landed down from the branches overhead.
A redheaded elf was pointing his tensed longbow straight between Beren's eyes.
Time seemed to have slowed down, and very slowly, four more elven warriors dropped down from several other trees nearby.
She'd finally managed to get away, and now she was discovered
She couldn't afford to be stopped.
Beren ran as fast as she could, dodging the elf and his bow, hoping to get away.
Her throat was still parched, her legs still ached, but somehow she managed to get away- till a sharp pain shot out from her calf, and she crashed down to the ground.
Beren screamed.
It was over. She wasn't going anywhere.
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Lúthien followed the trail, slightly harder because of the soft leather that made them, but easy enough because of the soft muddy ground.
She had woken up to the uncannily quiet night, feeling rather uneasy.
When she'd gone inside the cabin to check, she'd been welcomed by the empty mattress of the usual occupant. Beren was gone.
His gear and clothes were gone too, so she had been confronted by the realization that he'd run away.
Then she'd finally decided to follow him.
Lúthien ran along the trail, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Beren was headed toward the boundaries of Doriath. He wanted to escape from her.
She had made it clear before that he was only held captive for his own safety, but he still ran away. Was he really a spy of some sort?
A faint scream pierced Lúthien’s eardrums.
Beren. She noted. Beren was in danger.
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Daeron had never before seen in his three thousand years, a mortal Man in Doriath.
And he was confident no other Elf had, either.
Yet here he had restrained one that wore elvish attire. Stolen, perhaps?
“We will bring him back to the King.” He said, and turning to his assistant “Search his belongings and strip him off his weapons.”
The man was still groaning on the ground from the arrow sticking out of his calf, but letting him keep his weapons was always dangerous.
Ailwi crouched over the man and gently broke the arrow off. The man went tense with pain, but still did not utter a single sound. “We will patch him up when we get back.” The elf told- almost asked- Daeron. He hummed in response. They could do whatever they wanted later. But now, he had work to do.
Daeron quickly flipped the man over, earning himself a grunt of pain, and pulled his sword out of its scabbard.
“This sword is an outstanding creation of dwarven craftsmanship” He decided.
Indeed, the sword was one of the greatest he had ever seen in his life, which was very impressive, and suspicious,seeing it was in the hand of a mortal.
“Give me the bag.” He said. Who knew what else this man had? With all he was carrying, he almost suspected the man to be a spy for the Noldor.
Quickly opening the bag, Daeron looked inside, trying to make out what was in there.
The only things that caught his attention were the wrapped elvish bread and some oddly familiar deep blue fabric.
“How does he have our food?” He wondered, rather confused. Who could the mortal have gotten it from?
Then Daeron pulled out the blue fabric. It was a blue dress with golden lining.
That colour. He knew the colour and the embroidery very well. He'd seen the princess wear it once. It was one of Lúthien's.
Why did this mortal have a dress of hers?
Daeron let out a rather unsteady breath. He'd underestimated this man's threat.
“How did you get this… this dress?”
The man vacantly stared back at Daeron, his wide eyed gaze dazed and disoriented, and finally replied “It's mine”