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Hounds there were in Valinor with silver collars. Hart and boar, the fox and hare and nimble roe there in the forests green did go. Oromë was the lord divine of all those woods. The potent wine went in his halls and hunting song. The Gnomes anew have named him long Tauros, the God whose horns did blow over the mountains long ago; who alone of Gods had loved the world before the banners were unfurled of Moon and Sun; and shod with gold were his great horses. Hounds untold baying in woods beyond the West of race immortal he possessed: grey and limber, black and strong, white with silken coats and long, brown and brindled, swift and true as arrow from a bow of yew; their voices like the deeptoned bells that ring in Valmar's citadels, their eyes like living jewels, their teeth like ruel-bone. As sword from sheath they flashed and fled from leash to scent for Tauros' joy and merriment.
In Tauros' friths and pastures green had Huan once a young whelp been. He grew the swiftest of the swift, and Oromë gave him as a gift to Celegorm, who loved to follow the great God's horn o'er hill and hollow. Alone of hounds of the Land of Light, when sons of Fëanor took to flight and came into the North, he stayed beside his master. Every raid and every foray wild he shared, and into mortal battle dared. Often he saved his Gnomish lord from Orc and wolf and leaping sword. A wolf-hound, tireless, grey and fierce he grew; his gleaming eyes would pierce all shadows and all mist, the scent moons old he found through fen and bent, through rustling leaves and dusty sand; all paths of wide Beleriand he knew. But wolves, he loved them best; he loved to find their throats and wrest their snarling lives and evil breath. The packs of Thu him feared as Death. No wizardry, nor spell, nor dart, no fang, nor venom devil's art

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could brew had harmed him; for his weird was woven. Yet he little feared that fate decreed and known to all: before the mightiest he should fall, before the mightiest wolf alone that ever was whelped in cave of stone.
Hark! afar in Nargothrond, far over Sirion and beyond, there are dim cries and horns blowing, and barking hounds through the trees going. The hunt is up, the woods are stirred. Who rides to-day? Ye have not heard that Celegorm and Curufin have loosed their dogs? With merry din they mounted ere the sun arose, and took their spears and took their bows. The wolves of Thu of late have dared both far and wide. Their eyes have glared by night across the roaring stream of Narog. Doth their master dream, perchance, of plots and counsels deep, of secrets that the Elf-lords keep, of movements in the Gnomish realm and errands under beech and elm?
Curufin spake: 'Good brother mine, I like it not. What dark design doth this portend? These evil things, we swift must end their wanderings! And more, 'twould please my heart full well to hunt a while and wolves to fell.' And then he leaned and whispered low that Orodreth was a dullard slow; long time it was since the king had gone, and rumour or tidings came there none. 'At least thy profit it would be to know whether dead he is or free; to gather thy men and thy array. "I go to hunt" then thou wilt say, and men will think that Narog's good ever thou heedest. But in the wood things may be learned; and if by grace, by some blind fortune he retrace his footsteps mad, and if he bear a Silmaril – I need declare no more in words; but one by right is thine (and ours), the jewel of light; another may be won – a throne. The eldest blood our house doth own.'
Celegorm listened. Nought he said, but forth a mighty host he led; and Huan leaped at the glad sounds, the chief and captain of his hounds. Three days they ride by holt and hill the wolves of Thu to hunt and kill, and many a head and fell of grey they take, and many drive away, till nigh to the borders in the West of Doriath a while they rest.

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There were dim cries and horns blowing, and barking dogs through the woods going. The hunt was up. The woods were stirred, and one there fled like startled bird, and fear was in her dancing feet. She knew not who the woods did beat. Far from her home, forwandered, pale, she flitted ghostlike through the vale; ever her heart bade her up and on, but her limbs were worn, her eyes were wan. The eyes of Huan saw a shade wavering, darting down a glade like a mist of evening snared by day and hasting fearfully away. He bayed, and sprang with sinewy limb to chase the shy thing strange and dim. On terror's wings, like a butterfly pursued by a sweeping bird on high, she fluttered hither, darted there, now poised, now flying through the air – in vain. At last against a tree she leaned and panted. Up leaped he. No word of magic gasped with woe, no elvish mystery she did know or had entwined in raiment dark availed against that hunter stark, whose old immortal race and kind no spells could ever turn or bind. Huan alone that she ever met she never in enchantment set nor bound with spells. But loveliness and gentle voice and pale distress and eyes like starlight dimmed with tears tamed him that death nor monster fears.
Lightly he lifted her, light he bore his trembling burden. Never before had Celegorm beheld such prey: 'What hast thou brought, good Huan say! Dark-elvish maid, or wraith, or fay? Not such to hunt we came today.'
' 'Tis Lúthien of Doriath,' the maiden spake. 'A wandering path far from the Wood-Elves sunny glades she sadly winds, where courage fades and hope grows faint.' And as she spoke down she let slip her shadowy cloak, and there she stood in silver and white. Her starry jewels twinkled bright in the risen sun like morning dew; the lilies gold on mantle blue gleamed and glistened. Who could gaze on that fair face without amaze?

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Long did Curufin look and stare. The perfume of her flower-twined hair, her lissom limbs, her elvish face, smote to his heart, and in that place enchained he stood. 'O maiden royal, O lady fair, wherefore in toil and lonely journey dost thou go? What tidings dread of war and woe In Doriath have betid? Come tell! For fortune thee hath guided well; friends thou hast found,' said Celegorm, and gazed upon her elvish form.
In his heart him thought her tale unsaid he knew in part, but nought she read of guile upon his smiling face. 'Who are ye then, the lordly chase that follow in this perilous wood?' she asked; and answer seeming-good they gave. 'Thy servants, lady sweet, lords of Nargothrond thee greet, and beg that thou wouldst with them go back to their hills, forgetting woe a season, seeking hope and rest. And now to hear thy tale were best.'
So Lúthien tells of Beren's deeds in northern lands, how fate him leads to Doriath, of Thingol's ire, the dreadful errand that her sire decreed for Beren. Sign nor word the brothers gave that aught they heard that touched them near. Of her escape and the marvellous mantle she did shape she lightly tells, but words her fail recalling sunlight in the vale, moonlight, starlight in Doriath, ere Beren took the perilous path. 'Need, too, my lords, there is of haste! No time in ease and rest to waste. For days are gone now since the queen, Melian whose heart hath vision keen, looking afar me said in fear that Beren lived in bondage drear. The Lord of Wolves hath prisons dark, chains and enchantments cruel and stark, and there entrapped and languishing doth Beren lie – if direr thing hath not brought death or wish for death': than gasping woe bereft her breath.
To Celegorm said Curufin apart and low: 'Now news we win of Felagund, and now we know wherefore Thu's creatures prowling go', and other whispered counsels spake, and showed him what answer he should make. 'Lady,' said Celegorm, 'thou seest we go a-hunting roaming beast,

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and though our host is great and bold, 'tis ill prepared the wizard's hold and island fortress to assault. Deem not our hearts or wills at fault. Lo here our chase we now forsake and home our swiftest road we take, counsel and aid there to devise for Beren that in anguish lies.'
To Nargothrond they with them bore Lúthien, whose heart misgave her sore. Delay she feared; each moment pressed upon her spirit, yet she guessed they rode not as swiftly as they might. Ahead leaped Huan day and night, and ever looking back his thought was troubled. What his master sought, and why he rode not like the fire, why Curufin looked with hot desire on Lúthien, he pondered deep, and felt some evil shadow creep of ancient curse o'er Elfinesse. His heart was torn for the distress of Beren bold, and Lúthien dear, and Felagund who knew no fear.
In Nargothrond the torches flared and feast and music were prepared. Lúthien feasted not but wept. Her ways were trammelled; closely kept she might not fly. Her magic cloak was hidden, and no prayer she spoke was heeded, nor did answer find her eager questions. Out of mind, it seemed, were those afar that pined in anguish and in dungeons blind in prison and in misery. Too late she knew their treachery. It was not hid in Nargothrond that Fëanor's sons her held in bond, who Beren heeded not, and who had little cause to wrest from Thu the king they loved not and whose quest old vows of hatred in their breast had roused from sleep. Orodreth knew the purpose dark they would pursue: King Felagund to leave to die, and with King Thingol's blood ally the house of Fëanor by force or treaty. But to stay their course he had no power, for all his folk the brothers had yet beneath their yoke, and all yet listened to their word. Orodreth's counsel no man heard; their shame they crushed, and would not heed the tale of Felagund's dire need.

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At Lúthien's feet there day by day and at night beside her couch would stay Huan the hound of Nargothrond; and words she spoke to him soft and fond: 'O Huan, Huan, swiftest hound that ever ran on mortal ground, what evil doth thy lords possess to heed no tears nor my distress? Once Barahir all men above good hounds did cherish and did love; once Beren in the friendless North, when outlaw wild he wandered forth, had friends unfailing among things with fur and fell and feathered wings, and among the spirits that in stone in mountains old and wastes alone still dwell. But now nor Elf nor Man, none save the child of Melian, remembers him who Morgoth fought and never to thraldom base was brought.'
Nought said Huan; but Curufin thereafter never near might win to Lúthien, nor touch that maid, but shrank from Huan's fangs afraid. Then on a night when autumn damp was swathed about the glimmering lamp of the wan moon, and fitful stars were flying seen between the bars of racing cloud, when winter's horn already wound in trees forlorn, lo! Huan was gone. Then Lúthien lay fearing new wrong, till just ere day, when all is dead and breathless still and shapeless fears the sleepless fill, a shadow came along the wall. Then something let there softly fall her magic cloak beside her couch. Trembling she saw the great hound crouch beside her, heard a deep voice swell as from a tower a far slow bell.
Thus Huan spake, who never before had uttered words, and but twice more did speak in elven tongue again: 'Lady beloved, whom all Men, whom Elfinesse, and whom all things with fur and fell and feathered wings should serve and love – arise! away! Put on thy cloak! Before the day comes over Nargothrond we fly to Northern perils, thou and I.' And ere he ceased he counsel wrought for achievement of the thing they sought. There Lúthien listened in amaze, and softly on Huan did she gaze. Her arms about his neck she cast – in friendship that to death should last.