"What."

"We're getting married."

"I came here to ask you for her hand, my Lord," Beren says, smoothly. "I am no servant of the Enemy, and I did not intend to intrude where I was not welcome. I apologize for our rough start and for not introducing myself sooner."

"And who are you, to dare to ask me such a thing?"

"Nobody," she says, "For none could ever be worthy of one such as her. She is more beautiful than any star, and there are none in this world who could match her wit and inner strength."

"I am merely someone who loves her, as any with a mind would, and I am humbled that she may love me back."

"To wed is her choice and none other's, but you are her father and important in her life - and so we would have your blessing."

He pauses, considering her. 

...That was actually really sweet. She squeezes Beren's hand.

Squeeze.

Melians turns to Thingol then. And, voice low but clearly audible: "Forgo your pride, my love. No blade nor chain of yours may lay upon her, for love alone may bind her limbs. Their fate does not lie here, though it will be entwined through us."

"That is my counsel, if you will have it."

"A grim counsel indeed," he says, "For my daughter is the most precious jewel in this world, and naught should lead her astray."

He turns to Beren, gaze heavy. "If you would ask for my daughter's hand, then there is but one task before you - bring in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown."

"Father-"

Beren just laughs, her voice rising harsh and sharp, as mocking as a crow's call, above the snickers and jeers of Thingol's court.

"You would sell your regard for so little, my Lord?" she asks. "I would lay the world at her feet; what is one little jewel?"

"You may have your Silmaril, if that is your wish, though know this, o King - "

"It is by no art of the Enemy that Doriath will fall, but by your word alone. All things in this world have a price. Take heed that you pay it."

"You have no right to threaten me."

"Prophecy is no threat, my Lord, merely truth - a more dangerous thing by far."

"Is that all, then?" She's not especially pleased with Elu Thingol right now.

"She is to leave this land. No succor will she find in Doriath."

She sketches the most cursory bow then turn and leaves the hall, tugging Beren with her.

None follow them out, and Beren keeps a tight grip on Luthien's hand, squeezing reassuringly. "Where to?" she murmurs. 

"My rooms. We need to pack."

"That wasn't how I wanted that conversation to go."

"I'm sorry."

"Mm. Not your fault."

"I do, you know. Want to marry you, that wasn't just me panicking."

"I want to marry you too. I meant every word I said."

"...Except most of the compliments or honorifics for your father, I didn't mean those."

Laugh. "He doesn't deserve them at the moment."

"He should listen to you and your mother more."

"Neither of us are very interested in most of the actual ruling business, unfortunately. He's lost the habit."