"Hopefully a bit more smoothly this time." (Quick kiss, before they're back in public and must behave.)

Then off to see Thingol.

Luthien's father is on his throne, his court clearly in session. Her mother is physically present as well, though her gaze is distant in a way that suggests she's currently tending to something far off - foresight, or the many magics protecting and aiding Doriath, or the like. 

Elu Thingol does not look at all happy. "Luthien," he says. "It warms my heart to see you again. Who is your guest?"

"Father." She bows formally. "This is Beren daughter of Barahir, who I intend to make my wife."

She bows, deeply and equally formally -

But she doesn't have time to say anything flattering before Thingol's icy, "What."

"My future," and current, "wife, Beren daughter of Barahir."

"We would ask your blessing, my Lord," Mygwainor says, voice smooth and polite. "I love your daughter, for she is more beautiful than any star, and there are none in this world who could match her wit and inner strength. I am honored and humbled that she would have be beside her. I am no one great, with no title nor dowry to bring, but in truth none in this world could be worthy of one like her."

She seems to have paused him in the middle of a building anger, and he considers her, expression grave.

Luthien takes her hand.

She squeezes Luthien's hand, reassuringly.

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."

"If that is the price you will sell me for, then so be it."

She squeezes Luthien's hand, smirking at Thingol. "I would lay the world at her feet; what is one little jewel?"

"You may have your Silmaril, if that is your wish."

She gets a little flutter at hearing that.

She smiles at her wife.

"Is that all, my Lord?"

"You are to leave this land. No succor will you find in Doriath."

"Of course."

She bows. "I will be gone shortly, then, my Lord." And she turns, glancing at Luthien with a raised eyebrow.

('Say goodbye to me at the gates?' she asks over osanwe.)

'Always, love.'

And off they go.

She collects a few things from Luthien's rooms - mostly supplies that'll be useful - and then kisses her wife at the gate, murmuring a goodbye. 

And she turns, and she walks into the forest.

Luthien watches until she's gone.

She isn't confined, this time. No need to, if she isn't trying to leave. 

It's almost worse, knowing that it'd be easier for her just leave. But she's older and wiser than the first time around, and it's only a few months in any case. She spends most of her time making better friends with the guards, Thorndess and the others, chatting, practicing, sparring.