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It is for a reason that the locals call our place Dor Firn-i-Guinar, the Land of the Dead that Live. And the parts of the name that matters is "the Dead". I often wonder whether I have really returned from the death, whether I truly live. My groin does live, or at least has lived for some time, because I managed to beget our son Dior Aranel. But my body is weak, my mind is slow, and my heart is cold. And after my wife Luthien received the Silmaril following her father Thingol's death, I got wrinkled and unfirm. This aging was too fast to be natural, as if accelerated by the damn jewel that deprived me of my right hand and my first, true life. Luthien wearing the necklace with it is the vision of greatest beauty and glory that has ever been, but when I voiced my concerns, she confirmed them. She pulled my hand under her tunic and pressed it onto her belly so that I could feel her flesh; and under the smooth, deceptively perfect skin I sensed big lumps.
'You are right, dear,' she said. 'That accursed thing is killing us, and this time it will be permanent. We won't be able to hold on for much longer.'
'I should have left it to the Dwarves,' I remarked. 'Why don't we just get rid of it? We can give it to Feanor's sons who want it so much. What about sending it to Curufin?'
'This is the apparent solution but it is wrong. My mother initially advised my father to do it, but then changed her mind. Feanor's jewel is very important for the fate of Middle-earth, and we are its guardians - for now. Like it or not, this is our fate, and we must live up to it.'
After that, she left me, though I longed to converse more with her. Sometimes I ask myself what, other than her bodily beauty, made me fall in love with her ages ago. My mother once cautioned me to stay away from beings that look like Men but do not speak. As a criterion, this wasn't very useful (my captivity in Tol Sirion taught me the hard way that the orcs and many of the other foul creatures are fluent speakers), but now I think there was something in her words. Luthien barely speaks these days, and while she is still beautiful, loyal, brave and wise, she is also aloof and weird, and her most apparent quality is that she isn't human. Oh how much I want to meet some Men, even of the accursed tribe of Uldor. I haven't seen a Man since my father and his companions were murdered.
Well, to be fair, I also do not speak much nowadays.
The day when our son turned of age, I woke up early with a cry from a nightmare about Finrod's death. As every time when I remember him and his valiant companions whose names I never learned, I wondered whether the entire adventure was worth it. Then I remembered our son, and felt guilty for almost wishing him away. Dior was the best boy in the world, and deserved the world. He soon came to greet me, and I gave him the shield I had ordered to be made as his present.
Then Luthien joined us (did I mention that we have slept in separate rooms since Dior's birth?) and greeted us:
'Good morning, Beren! Good morning and happy birthday, Dior! As you know, on this birthday the Men of your father's tribe come of age, and have the rights and responsibilities of adults. You do not seem quite adult yet - I suppose this is my heritage, for we Elves grow more slowly. But we haven't any time for waiting, so let's follow the Mannish custom.'
I was amazed, for I hadn't heard my wife utter so many words at a time since our first deaths. Apparently the matter was very important to her. She continued:
'My mother Melian the Maia told me some prophecies, and I have also had prophetic dreams. This jewel - the Silmaril - must be returned to Valinor, the land beyond the Sea where it has been created. My mother wanted to do this task but could not because she was too exhausted. We - your father and I - have been through a lot, and are also too exhausted. But you can take the Silmaril, go to the sea shore and seek our kin, the people of Cirdan the Shipwright. They can build a ship for you and give you companions for your journey, so that you return the Silmaril to Valinor and ask the Lords of the West to help the Middle-earth before it's too late.'
'Oh mother, this is unthinkable!' Dior objected. 'I have responsibilities to Nimloth.'
'Do you remember that I advised you not to marry so hastily?'
'But we had to marry without delay, because... eh... at the last Midsummer feast, we drank too much, and did something we shouldn't, and... eh... she is pregnant.'
I held my breath but Luthien didn't show any emotion. She either somehow knew this already or didn't care.
'Then it is even more important that you sail, either with your wife or without her,' she said. 'Because only in this case the child in Nimloth's womb will have a happy future - or indeed any future.'
I flinched but Dior didn't seem to realize the significance of his mother's prophecy. He stomped.
'I don't want to travel anywhere, except to Doriath!' he exclaimed angrily. 'It is not my fault that this jewel is here, but once it is, I claim it as my heirloom, and I firmly refuse to go into exile to throw it away! If you ever give it to me, I'll use it to raise anew the glory of the kingdom of Doriath! I have spoken!'
Luthien's face froze, and her eyes looked glassy as if she had died again.
'Then, Dior, I name you Eluchíl, and let this be my present for your birthday!' she said in a grave voice. 'As for the jewel, I'll keep it for the time being. I'll keep it for as long as I can, hoping that you will gain wisdom and change your mind. When I cannot keep it anymore, it will pass to you, and you will do with it whatever you wish.'
'Oh Mom! You proclaim me my grandfather's heir!' shouted Dior in joyful excitement, his anger completely forgotten. The poor boy was tone-deaf, and the dark foreboding in his mother's words had completely escaped him. 'What a wonderful present! I'll try to be worthy of this name. And of course you'll keep and wear the Silmaril, you brought it beyond hope out of the terror of Morgoth, so it is yours forever! And you are so beautiful wearing it. With it on your breast, you make our island so fair, so fruitful, so filled with light! Now forgive me, I'll leave you to return to Nimloth. She is feeling unwell - she does so before breakfast.'
When he closed the door behind himself, I bluntly asked Luthien:
'Did you name him Eluchil because your father craved the Silmaril, died for it, and ruined his family and kingdom over it?'
'Yes, I did. You guessed correctly,' she replied. 'The Silmaril must be sent to Valinor one way or another. I offered our son the easy way and he refused. Please try to talk to him, knock some sense into him. Maybe he'll listen to you and reconsider. Otherwise... it will happen the hard way. Unspeakable evil will be unleashed, my homeland will be destroyed, and so will be our House.'
Her pale face and glassy look reminded me of Melian and, for a brief moment, even of Sauron. Then she turned away, stood up and left the room. I remained alone with my gloomy thoughts.