Let us return now to the Lay of Leithian. Beren rode north to the Pass of Sirion, and coming to the foothills of Taur-nu-Fuin, he looked out across Anfauglith, the Gasping Dust, and saw afar the reeking peaks of Thangorodrim, the mountains of Hell. There he dismissed the horse of Curufin, bidding it run free in the green vales of Sirion, and being now alone on the threshold of Death he made the Song of Parting in praise of Lúthien and the lights of heaven. He sang aloud, caring not that he should be heard, for he looked for no escape.
But Lúthien heard that song from afar and coming with Huan she met with Beren again between the waste and the wood. Huan had long pondered in his heart the best counsel for the succour of these twain, for he loved them, and so consenting to the prayer of Lúthien, he went again to Sauron's Isle and took there the hame of Draugluin and the bat-fell of Thuringwethil, a messenger apt to fly in vampire form to and from Angband. And so, clad in these forms by the arts of Lúthien (she in the form of Thuringwethil, he in the form of Draugluin), they went north over the sands to Angband until at last they came to the drear dale which led to the gates of Angband. Black chasms opened beside the road, out of which forms as of writhing serpents issued, and on either cliff there rose tall battlements upon which carrion birds cried with hideous voices. Before them was the Gate itself, a tall and wide arch at the foot of the mountains.
But they were stopped at the Gate by Carcharoth, the great Wolf, who seeing them come from afar was filled with doubt, for rumour had long gone forth from the south that Draugluin was dead; and so he stayed them and sniffed them suspiciously. Then Lúthien, casting aside her foul raiment, stood forth bright beneath the mountain, and lifting her hand she cursed the Wolf, saying: ''O woe-begotten spirit, fall now into dark oblivion, and forget for a while the dreadful doom of life.'' And thus they won the passage of the Gate...
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