Work Text:
"But Huan the Hound was true of heart, and the love of Lúthien had fallen upon him in the first hour of their meeting; and he grieved at her captivity. Therefore he came ooften to her chamber; and at night he lay before her door, for he felt that evil had come to Nargothrond. Luthien spoke oftne often to Huan in her loneliness, telling of Beren, who was the friend of all birds and beasts that did not serve Morgoth; and Huan understood all that was said. For he comprehended the speech of all things with voice; but it was permitted to him thrice only ere his death to speak with words.
Now Huan devised a plan for the aid of Lúthien; and coming at a time of night he brought her cloak, and for the first time he spoke, giving her counsel. Then he led her by secret ways out of Nargothrond, and they fled north together; and he humbled his pride and suffered her to ride upon him in the fashion of a steed, even as the Orcs did at times upon great wolves. Thus they made great speed, for Huan was swift and tireless." ~~"Of Beren and Luthien", "The Silmarillion" pgs 163 and 164
~~~~
Lúthien hummed to herself, lying on her bed in her subterranean chamber – her second locus of captivity.
Though there were no stars nor moon to see in this chamber, she sensed it was late at night. Some days, only servants coming with food and drink could help her tell the passage of time. She had a few scrolls in the room to read – otherwise all she could do was stare at the stone walls with their graceful golden decoration…and ponder. Pine. Wonder how, and if, she might ever leave this place.
She knew her song had power, but within these walls she had not the spirit to conjure that power. Her will felt dimmed, for the moment overshadowed by other wills.
She wondered: why that dimmed will? For she had stood down her father enough to escape his realm. Perhaps she was just tired…yes, exhausted to earthly bone enough to winnow the power of her blood, that of a land far beyond this one. Perhaps she could take this time to rest, reconsider, plan to rescue her great love – the one her father’s crafted bargaining took from her.
Amidst these musings, a scratch at the door, and then a deep-throated whimper – Huan. She smiled at the thought, an all-too-rare feeling these days. The hound of Oromë had become her closest friend…perhaps her only friend since departing Doriath.
The servants of the Fëanorian brothers would occasionally take her from her room for official dinners and the like. Celegorm would touch her arm or back, making her shiver in visceral displeasure. Huan would intently gaze at these actions, and a low, almost inaudible growl would signal his disapproval.
When the servants took her back to her chamber, the hound was the only one to offer his company. Laying outside her door, he would listen – and whimper and scratch at times, give little yips and yaps of commentary as she spoke. Beyond that, Luthien could simply feel his mighty, yet also sensitive presence. Her lonely soul needed that presence to feel still alive, still breathing, still connecting with and loving other beings.
“I miss him, Huan…miss him so much it aches to breathe.” she sighed. “My father, Daeron, your master and his brother…confinement. Only confinement. Yet he only expands me. They see limits, he sees possibility.”
Huan’s whimper in response held sympathy, she could swear; was it folly to think that he could understand what she told him of the weight on her heart, and truly understand it – like another of the Children could? Everything from and about him, every sound from his muzzle and glance from his round, deep eyes: it all signaled that he very much could.
“I hope that you can meet him,” she whispered, smiling again. “He loves all creatures who do not serve the Enemy. Long have they been his friends and allies.”
Huan yipped, a sound of approval and even delight. Lúthien giggled to hear it…oh how good that felt, to laugh! Lately only Huan’s happy yips and yaps could bring that to her. She continued.
“The way he would introduce me to friends of the forest, river, and plain as we walked, his eyes filling with wonder as he told me of them…those precious times when I could go to him in secret. When time would seem to stand still, yet also somehow race by before I would have to return to my father and mother,” she reflected.
Huan gave a little scratch at the door – a signal of his continued listening, she believed. So she kept speaking. She also suddenly felt a need to be physically closer to her only current friend, so she rose to her feet and settled on the floor by the door – resting against the wall’s well-chiseled stone.
“Apart from missing him, I worry…deeply worry. I do not know how he fares, yet I know the Enemy’s servants cannot be treating him well. My heart clenches to think of how that wonder must be gone from his eyes, instead reflecting only darkness and despair. My heart tells me he lives, however…I believe that my soul would somehow know if he were gone beyond this world.”
Breathing deeply, for a moment she let the silent weight of all these words fill the air. Huan was quiet too.
After a few more moments of that silent, yet heavy air, the hound offered another little yip. Then she heard his claws against the stone of the hall outside her door. Perhaps his master had just called him (and he could hear while she could not). She whispered a “goodbye, dear friend,” as she heard him walking against stone farther and farther away down the hall.
She sighed and settled back on her bed…another lonely night, chilled in these stony halls. How she missed the sun’s warmth and moon’s gleam...the songs of birds and grace of growing things.
Just as she felt herself falling into a deeper rest, another scratch at the door – Huan had returned! The scratch held a certain urgency, as did his following yelps: enough urgency for her to shake off her restful state and place her feet again on the rugged stone floor. Something told her that he wanted her to also feel that urgency…an urgency with a hint of excitement, of anticipation.
“What is it, dear friend? Why have you returned in such a state? What are you trying to tell me?”
She heard the lock of her door turning…could it be? Could Huan be somehow opening the door? The lock turning stopped, and Huan yipped – seemingly in flight frustration.
Lúthien could only stand frozen in shock…could he really be using a key? And should he be able to open the door, what then? Would she be discovered, and then further confined as punishment for daring to attempt escape? Would Huan also be punished for trying to help her? That she would not abide.
More sounds in the lock; the hound was trying again. The door seemed ready to open. He barked, low and quiet. Something told her to try opening it. She pulled at the long, curvilinear knob. After gritting her teeth for a moment in the effort, the door opened as she flung just a bit backward in the momentum.
There Huan stood. Through a toothy grin (she could swear), he still bit the key – and held her enchanted cloak: the very same through which she escaped confinement in Doriath. She felt her knees buckle at the sight…how? How had he accessed that, and the key? How had he managed to turn it? He was of Oromë, and no ordinary hound, of course – this she had known – but by the Powers, good Valar, no ordinary hound indeed.
He nodded and raised one paw, almost in a salute. She stepped forward and took his paw in her hand. She smiled and felt like she could think more clearly. He could always settle her in such ways.
With the cloak, she had a chance at escape. She had to help him escape, as well; she couldn’t bear the thought of him being punished for helping her. The thought of attempting escape also shook her to the bone, yet she also couldn’t dishonor the risk he’d already taken by not trying. She had to.
And she’d escaped a similar captivity once before, she reminded herself. Believe in you, she told herself. And believe in Huan.
Huan interrupted these thoughts, in a way that made her jaw drop and her face then freeze; he spoke. His voice was deep, resonant, seemingly with enchantment of another realm.
“My lady, come escape this place with me, this place where evil has begun to fester. I can lead the way out, to the light. This cloak can be our shield against eyes of those who would return us to thralldom of the spirit.”
Lúthien could only listen. Even for one with a mother from the very West, this was beyond what she could have imagined possible. The hound continued.
“How you spoke of your yearning earlier…your grief....it was the last spark needed to light my full loyalty to you, over him who mistreats you. I stand by you, will walk with you into any fire.”
Lúthien embraced him; still unable to speak, it was her expression of love for this creature in this moment, him who’d already risked so much to bring her from this place.
“Ride on my back. That way your cloak can shield us both,” Huan advised. “It is a humbling I have never experienced, yet for you I will suffer it.” She hugged him tighter.
He then lay so that she could straddle his back, then lifted to full standing once she was astride. She flung the cloak over and hoped that its enchantment did what was needed to keep probing eyes off them both.
Huan led them through a maze of long, torchlit halls – carved into and out of stone – and out to above ground. The moon and stars lit their path away from that place of her captivity. Only once did she hold her breath, fearing guards could hear if not see them. Otherwise, the halls were quiet as inhabitants rested in their chambers.
For a time even after they escaped those halls, she was quiet too, still shocked beyond forming words: at what Huan had done for her, that she was escaping that place, that she had another chance to find her love. Yet she was also content to have just listened.
That night, Huan spoke no more beyond what he had said in her chamber. Yet the words echoed through her mind. It was another way in which she could connect with this otherwordly creature – the one who had pledged loyalty to her over the one who had tricked and caged her.
Through their journey ahead, leading them to look right into the face of old evil and younger evil in the hearts of those in her own race, he would speak two more times. Then came his ultimate sacrifice.
Through the life that followed, the years shortened by her own sacrifice, that deep, clear voice rang in her memory. It helped her never forget how in her protection, he demonstrated the most tender care and the fiercest bite. He – at least the vision of him she still held in her heart – had her loyalty, too.