A shadowy figure attempts to fare out of the castle in the middle of the night. Following is a scent of flowers that gives away the identity of this escapee. It is Lúthien, whom Lords Celegorm and Curufin were hosting as a guest; a guest they confined to a room while they schemed. Her presence has alerted you, which is why you meet her now.

If one must point fingers, the blame must lay on the hound who has taken to guarding her. Guarding her against the lechery of her captors, failing to protect the interest his masters have in keeping her in Nargothrond.

"Knoweth thou this; holding me is pointless." Lúthien's lips purse into a frown as her voice rings forth with the clarity of water. Having been revealed, she lowers her dark hood, letting it pool on her shoulders in a ripple of ink, the colour blending with the black of her hair. "My father would think poorly of these ill-meaning deeds. A marriage proposal will never stand. Besides, my heart is already given to the Man I pursue."

At that, she looks North, imagining the woes befalling her beloved in the dungeons of Gorthaur. Clasping slender hands to her chest, she begs with pleading eyes that glimmer bright as if the tears she has shed before would start again. "If thou art as noble as thy title doth proclaim, lend me thine aid. Send thou forces to rescue Beren and his company!"