[Now when Eärendil was long time gone Elwing became lonely and afraid; but as she wandered by the margin of the sea he found her.] Ere long they were summoned to Valimar; and there the decree of the Elder King was declared to them.
Then Eärendil said to Elwing: ‘Choose thou, for now I am weary of the world.’ And Elwing chose to be judged among the Firstborn Children of Ilúvatar, because of Lúthien; and for her sake Eärendil chose alike, though his heart was rather with the kindred of Men and the people of his father.
Then at the bidding of the Valar Eönwë went to the shore of Aman, where the companions of Eärendil still remained, awaiting tidings; and he took a boat, and the three mariners were set therein, and the Valar drove them away into the East with a great wind. But they took Vingilot, and hallowed it, and bore it away through Valinor to the uttermost rim of the world; and there it passed through the Door of Night and was lifted up even into the oceans of heaven.
Now fair and marvellous was that vessel made, and it was filled with a wavering flame, pure and bright; and Eärendil the Mariner sat at the helm, glistening with dust of elven-gems, and the Silmaril was bound upon his brow. Far he journeyed in that ship, even into the starless voids; but most often was he seen at morning or at evening, glimmering at sunrise or at sunset, as he came back to Valinor from voyages beyond the confines of the world.
On those journeys Elwing did not go, for she might not endure the cold and the pathless voids, and she loved rather the earth and the sweet winds that blow on sea and hill. Therefore there was built for her a white tower northward upon the borders of the Sundering Seas; and thither at times all the sea-birds of the earth repaired. And it is said that Elwing learned the tongues of birds, who herself had once worn their shape; and they taught her the craft of flight, and her wings were of white and of silver-grey. And at times, when Eärendil returning drew near again to Arda, she would fly to meet him, even as she had flown long ago, when she was rescued from the sea. Then the far-sighted among the Elves that dwelt in the Lonely Isle would see her like a white bird, shining, rose-stained in the sunset, as she soared in joy to greet the coming of Vingilot to haven.
Now when first Vingilot was set to sail in the seas of heaven it rose unlooked for, glittering and bright; and the people of Middle-earth beheld it from afar and wondered, and they took it for a sign, and called it Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope. And when this new star was seen at evening, Maedhros spoke to Maglor his brother, and he said: ‘Surely that is a Silmaril that shines now in the West?’
And of the final departure of Beren and Lúthien? In the words of the Quenta Silmarillion: None saw Beren and Lúthien leave the world or marked where at last their bodies lay.
APPENDIX
REVISIONS TO
THE LAY OF LEITHIAN
Among the first, perhaps even the very first, of the literary tasks that attracted my father after the completion of The Lord of the Rings was a return to The Lay of Leithian: not (needless to say) to continue the narrative from the point reached in 1931 (the attack on Beren by Carcharoth at the gates of Angband), but from the beginning of the poem. The textual history of the writing is very complex, and no more need be said of it here beyond remarking that whereas at first my father seems to have embarked on a radical rewriting of the Lay as a whole, the impulse soon died away, or was overtaken, and was reduced to short and scattered passages. I give here, however, as a substantial example of the new verse after the lapse of a quarter of a century, the passage of the Lay concerning the treachery of Gorlim the Unhappy that led to the slaying of Barahir, the father of Beren, and all his companions, save Beren alone. This is by far the longest of the new passages; and—conveniently—it may be compared with the original text that has been given on pp. 94–102. It will be seen that Sauron (Thû), ridden here from ‘Gaurhoth Isle’, has replaced Morgoth; and that in the quality of the verse this is a new poem.
I begin the new text with a short passage entitled Of Tarn Aeluin the Blessed which has no counterpart in the original version: these verses are numbered 1–26.
Such deeds of daring there they wrought
that soon the hunters that them sought
at rumour of their coming fled.
Though price was set upon each head
5to match the weregild of a king,
no soldier could to Morgoth bring
news even of their hidden lair;
for where the highland brown and bare
above the darkling pines arose
10of steep Dorthonion to the snows
and barren mountain-winds, there lay
a tarn of water, blue by day,
by night a mirror of dark glass
for stars of Elbereth that pass
15above the world into the West.
Once hallowed, still that place was blest:
no shadow of Morgoth, and no evil thing
yet thither came; a whispering ring
of slender birches silver-grey
20stooped on its margin, round it lay
a lonely moor, and the bare bones
of ancient Earth like standing stones
thrust through the heather and the whin;
and there by houseless Aeluin
25the hunted lord and faithful men
under the grey stones made their den.
OF GORLIM UNHAPPY
Gorlim Unhappy, Angrim’s son,
as the tale tells, of these was one,
most fierce and hopeless. He to wife,
30while fair was the fortune of his life,
took the white maiden Eilinel:
dear love they had ere evil fell.
To war he rode; from war returned
to find his fields and homestead burned,
35his house forsaken roofless stood,
empty amid the leafless wood;
and Eilinel, white Eilinel,
was taken whither none could tell,
to death or thraldom far away.
40Black was the shadow of that day
for ever on his heart, and doubt
still gnawed him as he went about,
in wilderness wandring, or at night
oft sleepless, thinking that she might
45ere evil came have timely fled
into the woods: she was not dead,
she lived, she would return again
to seek him, and would deem him slain.
Therefore at whiles he left the lair,
50and secretly, alone, would peril dare,
and come to his old house at night,
broken and cold, without fire or light,
and naught but grief renewed would gain,
watching and waiting there in vain.
55In vain, or worse—for many spies
had Morgoth, many lurking eyes
well used to pierce the deepest dark;
and Gorlim’s coming they would mark
and would report. There came a day
60when once more Gorlim crept that way,
down the deserted weedy lane
at dusk of autumn sad with rain
and cold wind whining. Lo! a light
at window fluttering in the night
65amazed he saw; and drawing near,
between faint hope and sudden fear,
he looked within. ’Twas Eilinel!
Though changed she was, he knew her well.
With grief and hunger she was worn,
70her tresses tangled, raiment torn;
her gentle eyes with tears were dim,
as soft she wept: ‘Gorlim, Gorlim!
Thou canst not have forsaken me.
Then slain, alas! thou slain must be!
75And I must linger cold, alone,
and loveless as a barren stone!’
One cry he gave—and then the light
blew out, and in the wind of night
wolves howled; and on his shoulder fell
80suddenly the griping hands of hell.
There
Morgoth’s servants fast him caught
and he was cruelly bound, and brought
to Sauron captain of the host,
the lord of werewolf and of ghost,
85most foul and fell of all who knelt
at Morgoth’s throne. In might he dwelt
on Gaurhoth Isle; but now had ridden
with strength abroad, by Morgoth bidden
to find the rebel Barahir.
90He sat in dark encampment near,
and thither his butchers dragged their prey.
There now in anguish Gorlim lay:
with bond on neck, on hand and foot,
to bitter torment he was put,
95to break his will and him constrain
to buy with treason end of pain.
But naught to them would he reveal
of Barahir, nor break the seal
of faith that on his tongue was laid;
100until at last a pause was made,
and one came softly to his stake,
a darkling form that stooped, and spake
to him of Eilinel his wife.
‘Wouldst thou,’ he said, ‘forsake thy life,
105who with few words might win release
for her, and thee, and go in peace,
and dwell together far from war,
friends of the King? What wouldst thou more?’
And Gorlim, now long worn with pain,
110yearning to see his wife again
(whom well he weened was also caught
in Sauron’s net), allowed the thought
to grow, and faltered in his troth.
Then straight, half willing and half loath,
115they brought him to the seat of stone
where Sauron sat. He stood alone
before that dark and dreadful face,
and Sauron said: ‘Come, mortal base!
What do I hear? That thou wouldst dare
120to barter with me? Well, speak fair!
What is thy price?’ And Gorlim low
bowed down his head, and with great woe,
word on slow word, at last implored
that merciless and faithless lord
125that he might free depart, and might
again find Eilinel the white,
and dwell with her, and cease from war
against the King. He craved no more.
Then Sauron smiled, and said: ‘Thou thrall!
130The price thou askest is but small
for treachery and shame so great!
I grant it surely! Well, I wait:
Come! Speak now swiftly and speak true!’
Then Gorlim wavered, and he drew
135half back; but Sauron’s daunting eye
there held him, and he dared not lie:
as he began, so must he wend
from first false step to faithless end:
he all must answer as he could,
140betray his lord and brotherhood,
and cease, and fall upon his face.
Then Sauron laughed aloud. ‘Thou base,
thou cringing worm! Stand up,
and hear me! And now drink the cup
145that I have sweetly blent for thee!
Thou fool: a phantom thou didst see
that I, I Sauron, made to snare
thy lovesick wits. Naught else was there.
Cold ’tis with Sauron’s wraiths to wed!
150Thy Eilinel! She is long since dead,
dead, food of worms less low than thou.
And yet thy boon I grant thee now:
to Eilinel thou soon shalt go,
and lie in her bed, no more to know
155of war—or manhood. Have thy pay!’
And Gorlim then they dragged away,
and cruelly slew him; and at last
in the dank mould his body cast,
where Eilinel long since had lain
160in the burned woods by butchers slain.
Thus Gorlim died an evil death,
and cursed himself with dying breath,
and Barahir at last was caught
in Morgoth’s snare; for set at naught
165by treason was the ancient grace
that guarded long that lonely place,
Tarn Aeluin: now all laid bare
were secret paths and hidden lair.
OF BEREN SON OF BARAHIR & HIS ESCAPE
Dark from the North now blew the cloud;
170the winds of autumn cold and loud
hissed in the heather; sad and grey
Aeluin’s mournful water lay.
‘Son Beren’, then said Barahir,
‘Thou knowst the rumour that we hear
175of strength from the Gaurhoth that is sent
against us; and our food nigh spent.
On thee the lot falls by our law
to go forth now alone to draw
what help thou canst from the hidden few
180that feed us still, and what is new
to learn. Good fortune go with thee!
In speed return, for grudgingly
we spare thee from our brotherhood
so small: and Gorlim in the wood
185is long astray or dead. Farewell!’
As Beren went, still like a knell
resounded in his heart that word,
the last of his father that he heard.
Through moor and fen, by tree and briar
190he wandered far: he saw the fire
of Sauron’s camp, he heard the howl
of hunting Orc and wolf a-prowl,
and turning back, for long the way,
benighted in the forest lay.
195In weariness he then must sleep,
fain in a badger-hole to creep,
and yet he heard (or dreamed it so)
nearby a marching legion go
with clink of mail and clash of shields
200up towards the stony mountain-fields.
He slipped then into darkness down,
until, as man that waters drown
strives upwards gasping, it seemed to him
he rose through slime beside the brim
205of sullen pool beneath dead trees.
Their livid boughs in a cold breeze
trembled, and all their black leaves stirred:
each leaf a black and croaking bird,
whose neb a gout of blood let fall.
210He shuddered, struggling thence to crawl
through winding weeds, when far away
he saw a shadow faint and grey
gliding across the dreary lake.
Slowly it came, and softly spake:
215‘Gorlim I was, but now a wraith
of will defeated, broken faith,
traitor betrayed. Go! Stay not here!
Awaken, son of Barahir,
220upon thy father’s throat; he knows
your trysts, your paths, your secret lair.’
Then he revealed the devil’s snare
in which he fell, and failed; and last
begging forgiveness, wept, and passed
225out into darkness. Beren woke,
leapt up as one by sudden stroke
with fire of anger filled. His bow
and sword he seized, and like the roe
hotfoot o’er rock and heath he sped
230before the dawn. Ere day was dead
to Aeluin at last he came,
as the red sun westward sank in flame;
but Aeluin was red with blood,
red were the stones and trampled mud.
235Black in the birches sat a-row
the raven and the carrion crow;
wet were their nebs, and dark the meat
that dripped beneath their griping feet.
One croaked: ‘Ha, ha, he comes too late!’
240‘Ha, ha!’ they answered, ‘ha! too late!’
There Beren laid his father’s bon
es
in haste beneath a cairn of stones;
no graven rune nor word he wrote
o’er Barahir, but thrice he smote
245the topmost stone, and thrice aloud
he cried his name. ‘Thy death’, he vowed,
‘I will avenge. Yea, though my fate
should lead at last to Angband’s gate.’
And then he turned, and did not weep:
250too dark his heart, the wound too deep.
Out into night, as cold as stone,
loveless, friendless, he strode alone.
Of hunter’s lore he had no need
the trail to find. With little heed
255his ruthless foe, secure and proud,
marched north away with blowing loud
of brazen horns their lord to greet,
trampling the earth with grinding feet.
Behind them bold but wary went
260now Beren, swift as hound on scent,
until beside a darkling well,
where Rivil rises from the fell
down into Serech’s reeds to flow,
he found the slayers, found his foe.
265From hiding on the hillside near
he marked them all: though less than fear
too many for his sword and bow
to slay alone. Then, crawling low
as snake in heath, he nearer crept.
270There many weary with marching slept,
but captains, sprawling on the grass,
drank and from hand to hand let pass
their booty, grudging each small thing
raped from dead bodies. One a ring
275held up, and laughed: ‘Now, mates,’ he cried,
‘here’s mine! And I’ll not be denied,
though few be like it in the land.
For I ’twas wrenched it from the hand
of that same Barahir I slew,
280the robber-knave. If tales be true,
he had it of some elvish lord,
for the rogue-service of his sword.
No help it gave him—he’s dead.
They’re parlous, elvish rings, ’tis said;
285still for the gold I’ll keep it, yea
and so eke out my niggard pay.
Old Sauron bade me bring it back,
and yet, methinks, he has no lack
of weightier treasures in his hoard:
290the greater the greedier the lord!
So mark ye, mates, ye all shall swear
the hand of Barahir was bare!’
And as he spoke an arrow sped
from tree behind, and forward dead