A hope not yet faded

[Cutholen]

An elf, through the years, attracts many names.  I was first known as Gwauthorn, my adar eneth; given to me by Gwaulind, son of Gwauhal who woke beside the lake.  And no other name I knew as I grew, carefree in sun and breeze on the banks of the Duilwen.  Oh fresh waters that flowed west and to the sea.  You sang to me in my youth of mountain heights and shaded reaches, and of the haste to the west, to Valinor.  And Ulmo’s still I hear in many streams … but it is faded.

Carefree I was, by Duilwen’s flow, and heedless of the breaking of the leaguer of Angband – of Glaurung’s rapacity, of the honour of Dwarves and men in battle’s strife, of the rape of Tol Sirion.  Heedless, especially, of the destruction of the land of pines, and of Barahir’s desperate, steadfast stand.  I was ony twelve when the Sudden Flame leapt from Angband.  I was first learning to hold a bow, and Ossiriand was still shielded by the Nyss Dengin.

Yes, the Kin Slayers.  Are you surprised at the vehemence with which I say it?  It is a curse to say their name, as they were a curse to all around them.  And are we not, even now, facing doom because of the work of even the best of that brood?  Hah, I have said too much of them.  I must spit out the taste of them before I can continue my tale …

I was heedless, as I said, of the plight of Beor’s folk.  He had brought his people across the Ered Luin into Ossiriand and my people, my father amongst them had threatened them with ambush and destruction if they were not removed from our land.  We would be as “unfriends” to them for they hewed trees and slaughtered beasts.  We would have no part of them.  And so, by various ways, they came to live in Dorthonion – beautiful, but unshielded from Morgoth’s wrath.  And so Barahir and his twelve companions became outlaws in their own land, until in grief and desperation, they were betrayed.  Only one survived that betrayal.

But though I heared of Dagor Bragollach, whispered amongst my elders, it was of the fall of Finrod’s fair tower upon Sirion that I heard, and of Fingolfin’s mad challenge.  Of humans I heard nothing, for we esteemed them not.

It was about this time I received my second name, from Timgwen, my mother. Caunthuren, she called me, or in the modern form, Cutholen; and so I am called still, the hidden bow of the green elves.

[Cutholen]

If heedless we were at the time of the battle, in a few short years we felt its consequences.  Orcs began appearing on the borders or our land, and the bow's of the Laegrim sang of war for the first time since the rising of the sun. 

More disconcerting were events in Menegroth, in the halls or our lord, Torthingol.  Just ten years after the battle word arrived that a man had appeared in Thingol's halls - grey and haggard.  A man without home or people, of the line of those men we had rejected as our unfriends.  And this man, before Thingol's face, had asked for the greatest treasure in all Beleriand - Luthien's hand as wife.

This tale you know, but how can you know how it effected we of Ossiriand.  Thingol was our lord, had been our lord since our first awakening though we had been briefly seperated over the passage of the years.  And Luthien his daughter, we loved her as who could not.  Whether by sight or reputation, we know her and she was dear to us.  And now, in brief span we heard her lost and grieved for who could stand before the throne of Angband, and for a mere man the greatest treasure of Doriath had caste herself to ruin.  And then we heard her returned and wed to that man.  And then we hear, mere months later, that the man has died, and Luthien also wasted away and parted through grief.  So a second time we mourn our Luthien.

The wonder is, as you know, that she returned to us by miracle beyond reckoning, and Mablosgen and Tinuviel dwealt among us once more, not in far of Menegroth but amidst the Laegrim on Tol Galen.  My mother and I had removed south to Tol Galen by this time, to be more secure from the Orc raids, and there we dwelt with the new lord of Ossiriand, Thingol's heir, Mablosgen (or Camlost in the modern form).  There also we dwealt with Luthien, who for Beren's sake chose the mortal's path.

And we laegrim, unfriends to humans, and to Beor had as our lord the human Beren, Beor's heir.

[Cutholen]

Though we lived on Tol Galen, my mother and I, we did not often see Mablosgen and Tinuviel.  They lived apart from us, and where much taken with each others company.  Nor did we see fit to intrude unneeded on the King's daughter and her husband, brought to life from Valinor.  But still, we supplied them with their needs so that Tinuviel could live, as Mablosgen insisted, in a manner befitting the King's daughter; so errands there were, enough, that we could see them from time to time.  And in times of festival, they would come to us and celebrate together the passing of  the seasons.  Then were moments of wonder, for Tinuviel would stand in the firelight, her face ruddy from the flames, her raven hair cascading across her shoulders, and she would sing ...

How can I describe her voice to you who have not heard it?  Perhaps the birds in Valinor give voice to songs so sweet that they can give a basis of comparison.  But I have not been to Valinor, and no bird on Middle Earth gives voice to a song like hers.  I am not wordsmith enough to forge in your mind a reflection of her song, but I can tell you how it affected we who heard.  It caught us completely.  When Luthien sang, we became entranced; hearing nothing else, seeing nothing else but her for we could not tear ourselves away from her song.  And when she stopped the world would return to us who had been caught up from it, the rustle of leaves, the crackle of fire, and slowly, as though even Ulmo had paused to hear the song, the babble of brook.

What call has Valinor to me, who have heard Beren's Nightingale sing?  Should I ever take the ship west I will go knowing that I am not going to the greatest beauty I shall ever know, for Tinuviel did not return again to Valinor.   

[Cutholen]

However beautiful the daughter of twilight, however enchanting her song; it was her husband who impressed me more.

At first this was not so.  At first I wondered what the daughter of the king could see in this man.

He was not handsome in any conventional sense.  He was hairy of face.  That's what I first noticed, who had never seen a human before.  The hair of his beard was almost white, as also at his temples.  Only on top did he keep much of the black hair of his youth.  His skin was ruddy and rough, with wrinkles on his brow and about his eyes.  His was a face such as you would find on a shepherd, old and long in years (as these things go for men), whose days were numbered in sunlight and cold wind  and storms faced without shelter.  It was a hard face, a wild face, but not a handsome face.

That was how he looked living at a peace, and returned to life from Valinor.  How much less a man he must have looked when first Luthien saw him?  He was haggard and unkempt, a man who had lived without shelter or succour for seven years.  A man hunted by werewolves, pursued till he escaped through Ered Gorgoroth, the mountains of terror, and so through the mazed wilderness in which dwelt Ungoliant's get.  Whether he passed them by stealth or force of arms we do not know, for only one has passed that way and he would not speak of it.  And so he came through Melian's girdle, wild and marked by horror, so much so that Luthien thought him a beast when first she saw him.

Horror marks a man.  It marks an elf as well, so that  those who escaped Morgoths dungeons were often not recognised even by their own kin.  Indeed, if the sages are to be believed, even the orch that plague us are but our kin upon whom horror upon horror has been visited till they are beyond recognition even as to race.  And man or elf, those that horror mark often become, whether they will it or no, the tools the dark enemy.  Horror does not only mark the flesh - it warps the soul.

And Beren had seen horror, such as few had seen amongst man or elf before or since.  And this you could see when you looked in his eyes, even on fair Tol Galen.  But this also you could see, it had marked him but not warped him.  Here was a man unbowed.

It was this that Luthien saw when he heard his voice and turned to him.  He was a man of honour, which no loss or horror could take from him.  And so, because he loved her, which also you could see in his eyes; no horror or loss would shake that love from him.

This was a man in whom the daughter or Melian coud rest her love.  This was a man for whom Felagund could give his kingdom, and his life.  This was a man through whose hands a silmarill could pass, and feel no lust for it.  This was a man ...

And eventually, growing by the sweet waters of the Adurant, I saw that in him too.

[Cutholen]

As I have said, Tinuviel and Mablosgen kept much to themselves.  This changed a few years after they came to us, for Tinuviel gave birth to Dior.  With the birth of Dior, Tinuviel kept closer company with the women of Tol Galen, who helped her with the care of the young Dior.  I too helped with young Dior.  Indeed, it was strange for me.  I saw him when but a new born, so small and helpless, and saw him grow.  And grow he did.  I was just a young lad at the time - not, I am told, unusual in size for my age.  But by the time he was fourteen, Dior was my match for size, though I was forty one.  And a scant four years later he had reached his full growth, and surpassed me in stature.  I, of course, would not reach my full stature for another fourteen years.

This was my first encounter with the speed with which men live their lives.  It was matched also in the body of Mablosgen whose hair at this time became whiter and whiter, though his body remained hale.

Through much of this time, Dior and I were similar enough in size to play together, so unlike most elves, I had a companion in my youth.  Indeed, as I was the only person on Tol Galen within thirty years of Dior's age, I was his constant companion for much of this time.  In addition to a fast friendship, this brought me into closer company with Mablosgen, who taught me alongside his son, as often as not, the arts of stealth, and survival, and of warfare.  He also taught us something of the art of communication with the birds and beasts, who aided him when he was outlaw in Dorthonion.  For this reason I have always followed his example, and will not eat meat.

These were years of joy amidst sorrow for us.  Sorrow for when Dior was just two, Morgoth smashed the armies of the Noldor in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.  This was sorrow enough, but did not affect us closely for the armies of Doriath did not go into that battle.  Thereafter, however, the orcs did not just harried our borders but pressed deep into the forests of Ossiriand.  They payed heavilly for their assualts, for they were slain by arrows from unseen bows, or found themselves in the paths of the guardians of the woods, who still lived in Ossiriand.  Yet not always were the elves unseen, and sometimes some one from Tol Galen would return no more to that island of waters.

Dior and I took in these times what delight we could, and being young, that was much.  His delight reached its peak in the spring of the four hundred and ninety fifth year of the sun, when he married Nimloth, daughter of Galahil of the royal house of Doriath.  Though only twenty five, he had outstripped me, and become a man while I was still a child.