There's a soft sound in the woods bordering her current glade. Larger than a fox, more cautious than a deer. Almost intentional.

There's a Man there, one of the Second Born, her features weathered despite her clear youth, her expression stunned and almost...

Not hungry, but lost. Searching.

She stops, drawing back in on herself.

"Who are you?"

"My name's Beren."

"Your song sounded... Familiar. Like something I dreamed once. Who're you?"

"...Lúthien. Called Tinúviel."

"...You're really pretty." She pauses and blushes a bit. "Uh. It'd be dumb to ask if you live here..."

"I - did you write that song?"

"All my songs are my own, Beren of the Second Born. How come you to be here?"

"I walked. I'm from the north - the mountains, in and around Dorthonion. I'd been raiding the orcs up there, but... They've gotten my scent pretty thoroughly, so I decided to head out for a bit. See if I couldn't cause trouble elsewhere. Give them time to stop looking for me."

"You have passed the Girdle into Doriath. If trouble it is that you seek, best look elsewhere."

"Doriath's - that elven kingdom? I thought no one could leave or enter."

"Without effort or invitation, this is so, orc slayer."

"Pretty sure I wasn't invited, but - I didn't even notice a boundary."

"Come then, you must sit and speak to me of your travels. I have food if you hunger, water if you thirst."

"Both, honestly." She steps into the glade.

"And... I don't mind an opportunity to chat with a pretty girl at all, but I'd like to hear something of this land, too. What it's like to live under peace, or just - what people outside my little circle of the world are like."

"An equal share of tales, then."

She goes over to her basket and spreads a blanket on the ground, takes out a flask of water and a loaf of bread, cheese and a knife.

"Alright," she says with a smile, stepping over to sit on the blanket. "Thank you."

Lúthien sits as well, and begins talking of Doriath while Beren eats. The forest and the river, Menegroth which was carved by the dwarves for Elu Thingol's palace. The court and its fineries, the bards and artists and writers, her favorite works and quiet places to be alone in.

Beren clearly enjoys Luthien's tales, fascinated.

She talks of Dorthonion, then - she was thirteen when the Battle of Sudden Flame happened nine years ago. Her uncle was the chieftain of the House of Bëor at the time, and he and almost all of his men fell defending their homes. Her father regathered their people, rescuing some elven lord in the process. They weren't able to cover a retreat of their own folk, though the elven armies fled - any Man in the highlands died or joined the resistance - and her father convinced those still standing to do what they could to bleed the orcs in the area dry. Their numbers whittled down over time, some fleeing, most dying. Still, they managed to get some of their more vulnerable survivors out.

And then four years ago one of her father's men was tricked by the Enemy and tortured, and the Enemy used that information to kill her father and his people. Beren herself was captured briefly, but she tricked her own captors in turn, escaping and proceeding to deal as much damage as she could - more than her father's men had in the five years of their own resistance, for she had come to care for nothing but revenge. But in time every survivor had been freed, and she'd bled her enemies until there seemed little point, and so she decided to leave and see what else she may make of the world.

(Her gaze is sometimes distant, but her tone's light and her story smoothly and richly woven, and she doesn't seem particularly emotional about recounting the events.)

What a fascinating account. Lúthien hangs on her every word. This is a far better- and far closer- story of events outside Doriath than she's ever heard before.

Heee.

Beren goes into detail about the people she's known - especially before the battle, when there were more people living normal lives around - too, and into stories she's heard second or third hand. She covers her own exploits in no small detail, but with a frank manner - she doesn't seem to be bragging.

She's competent. The people who oppose her tend to die. That's all there is to it.

That seems like enough.

"Will you fight me?" she asks. "As a- spar?"

"Of course."

"Do you have a weapon?"

"Only a bow with me. Father had a sword commissioned for me in a moment of weakness, but he doesn't like to be reminded of that. I wasn't able to bring it with me this time."

" - How would you defend yourself, then?"

"No one but you has gotten through the border in- well, ever. Any animal I would hear in more than enough time."

"'It hasn't happened before' doesn't mean 'it will never happen.' Nothing seriously injured my father, ever - until the blow that killed him. Nothing broke the defensive lines of the Noldor - until the Battle of Sudden Flame."

"Everything falls, eventually. You can hold it off. You can't stop it."

"You can prepare yourself so you land on your feet."

"I've gotten through this barrier. You have my stories, but - for all you know, I'm an agent of the Enemy. Perhaps Sauron in a clever enough disguise it fooled even Doriath."