Daeron glances up at the tall pines that cast their shade upon the ground. By now, he is sure he is not on the path to Angband and must admit he is lost. Taking up his silver flute, he plays a tune to distract himself from his predicament. His fingers glide over the instrument, absentmindedly making melancholic melodies.

He left the guarded realm of Doraith in pursuit of Lúthien, who snuck out of her confinement in Hirilorn to chase after her love, Beren. Worried harm may befall her, he followed her to watch over King Thingol's daughter. However, having seldom ventured out of Doraith, Daeron discovered he did not know the paths well at all. He could have sworn he passed a tree exactly like the one ahead an hour ago.

Maybe, he reasons, being lost is not so bad. He could try to retrace his steps, but he would rather not. Not yet. He must keep going, out of loyalty towards Lúthien.

Hearing leaves crackling under feet, he notices someone approaching but finishes his song before replying. "Well, I did not expect to encounter anyone in such a place." The minstrel gives a sweeping bow before he crosses his arms, tucking his pipe under one. "What brought thee hither? Art thou as confounded as I in these woods, or dost thy presence have greater purpose?"