Lúthien and Beren’s Quest for a Silmaril: Lúthien’s Perspective (9/29 Assignment)

        In a time of increasing violence between the inhabitants of our world and great fear for what the future held, it was a pleasant break to meet Beren, mortal son of Barahir. This period of Arda’s history was plagued with the evils of Morgoth and the desires for his power, so my encounter with Beren had been like a breath of fresh air. He found me in a moment of peace; embracing the nature of Arda through dance and changing the seasons with song. My charms had enchanted him right away, as he enchanted me soon after. He referred to me as Tinúviel, meaning “Nightingale” or “Daughter of Twilight.”
        While I only ever cared for Beren, there were many others who were just as enchanted by my charms. Daeron, the minstrel of Doriath, had cared for me too, although his actions indicated otherwise. My father Thingol was a stern man. When Daeron had informed my father about my relationship with Beren, I knew I had to expect the worst—and I was correct. While my father made a hasty oath promising to not slay nor imprison Beren, his task for him was just that. My heart nearly sunk upon hearing that Beren was to collect one of the Silmarils from Morgoth’s crown. How was that fair? Not a single inhabitant of Arda had ever been able to succeed in such a feat. I had found out afterwards that my mother, Melian, disagreed with this order of Thingol’s, but it was too late for her to argue with him.
        I am eternally grateful for the assistance and generosity offered to Beren in his quest for a Silmaril by Finrod Felagund, son of Finarfin. Together, the two went against Sauron, ultimately ending up in the Dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth. It is with great regret and sorrow that I learned of Felagund’s death in the dungeons. I felt incredibly helpless at the time, as I had been prohibited from helping them escape. Despite these obstacles, I was still eager to assist. Miraculously, I was able to stealthily escape Doriath with a cloak for disguise and a sleep spell for defense, though I didn’t get far. On my journey, I had encountered a Noldor Elf called Celegorm, son of Fëanor. Like myself, he was also eager to obtain a Silmaril, following a grave, vengeful oath he had taken upon his father’s death. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been so naive. Shortly after meeting him, I was betrayed; brought all the way to Nargothrond. Luckily, with the help of Huan, I was able to make an escape.
        When the long journey had brought us to Sauron’s dungeon, I used my abilities to sing a song of great power. The gates opened, his prisoners released. After a treacherous trek out of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Huan, Beren, and I arrived at the Gates of Angband. Through the use of disguise and my enchantments, we were able to make an entrance and tip the crown from Morgoth’s head, retrieving a Silmaril . . . until it was taken. This moment was followed by an extremely bloodied battle, filled with violence and loss. Beren was killed and my soul with him, bringing us to Mandos together. Surprisingly, he had pitied us, giving Beren and I an option that no souls had ever received: the chance to return as mortals.
        Upon meeting Beren, I had always desired mortality. Other Valar questioned my decision, but there was never really a decision to be made. Mortality was the greatest gift. When we returned, we knew we had to leave Doriath. It was not the same place I had grown up in. Morgoth’s evils and my own unpleasant memories encouraged us to seek permanent shelter elsewhere. We settled in Ossiriand, eventually raising a son there called Dior. It was a better life, one I had always dreamt about. The journey was immensely strenuous, yet we had both prevailed, allowing us the opportunity to experience whatever came next together.