The Sons of the Valar, the Valfǫður, and Túrin Turambar, Part Two

Continued from Part One

Túrin at the Last Battle

Clearly, in "the sons of the Valar" and "the sons of the Gods" the martial context is paramount. Understandably, while the references to them at the War of Wrath are many, the references to them at the Dagor Dagorath are few. From the in-world perspective of the writers of the works mentioning them, the War of Wrath is in the past, a matter of history and song, but the Dagor Dagorath lies far in the future. It is a matter of prophecy, speaking of a dead man returning in a battle at the world's end. 

That Túrin would be there is consistent with the development of his role in the legendarium from the first. In The Book of Lost Tales we find the first prophecy which mentions that he will be present at the last battle. This first prophecy is recorded, it seems, in two overlapping parts. The first part of this first prophecy appears in the chapter of The Book of Lost Tales called "The Hiding of Valinor." It states that Fionwë and Tulkas will both fight Melkor, but that Fionwë 

shall in the end be Melko’s bane, and shall destroy the world to destroy his foe, and so shall all things then be rolled away(LT I.219).

This is a very Ragnarök ending, a point to which I shall return. For now, note that Túrin is not mentioned here. Note also that neither he nor any other Man has yet entered the main narrative of The Book of Lost Tales, even if Eriol appears in the frame narrative. With that, let us turn to the second part of the first prophecy. In the frame narrative of the (later) chapter, "Turambar and the Foalókë," it is prophesied that 

Turambar indeed shall stand beside Fionwë in the Great Wrack, and Melko and his drakes shall curse the sword of Mormakil.  (LT II.116)

In contrast to the earlier passage Tulkas goes unmentioned here. It does not say that Túrin will kill Melkor, though some have interpreted it that way. In fact it says nothing at all about the death or Melkor or the end of the world. It has no need to tell us these details in "Turambar and the Foalókë" because it has already done so in "The Hiding of Valinor." Relevance determines who is included and who omitted in each passage. What we have here is a single prophecy repeated in two different chapters by two different narrators each of whom chooses to focus on details they find more important. An Elf narrates "The Hiding of Valinor," but a Man tells "Turambar and the Foalókë." This view of the prophecy harmonizes with its portrayal in subsequent works.

In the prophecy as recorded in the "Sketch," Túrin explicitly replaces Fionwë as the slayer,* but they are still fighting side by side, and Tulkas is once again present (Shaping 40). Túrin is also prophesied here to be the avenger of "the children of Húrin" (Shaping 40). In the "Quenta Noldorinwa" and "Quenta Silmarillion" Túrin, Tulkas, and Fionwë again join together against Melkor, whom Túrin slays; and he is now called the avenger of "the children of Húrin and all Men" (Shaping 165; Lost Road 333). Thus, Túrin's part increases in scope and importance in each new version up through the 1937 "Quenta Silmarillion," and all along the way he is associated with Fionwë, who is preeminent among the Sons of the Valar (Lost Road 333). Túrin's slaying of Melkor makes it possible for all three of the Silmarils to be reunited and given back to Fëanor, which enables the revival of the Two Trees and the renewal of the World. 

The second version of the prophecy, as given in the last paragraph, is most likely what Tolkien has in mind when he writes to Milton Waldman in 1951 that 

[My] legendarium ends with a vision of the end of the world, its breaking and remaking, and the recovery of the Silmarilli and the ‘light before the Sun’ – after a final battle which owes, I suppose, more to the Norse vision of Ragnarök than to anything else, though it is not much like it.

(Letters² no. 131 p. 208) 

Tolkien was back to working on the Silmarillion at this time, and this later version of the "Quenta Silmarillion" preserves the ending of the 1937 text. There it says that the world will "be broken and re-made" but the breaking seems part of the process of recovering the Silmarils rather than the total destruction spoken of in The Book of Lost Tales: "Fionwë... shall destroy the world to destroy his foe, and so shall all things then be rolled away"(LT II.219). This earlier ending is far more like Ragnarök. Tolkien's characterization of the ending of his legendarium in the Waldman Letter -- "though it is not much like [Ragnarök]" -- describes the later version aptly, and apologetically.

That the original ending was more like Ragnarök may well afford us a clue about The Sons of the Valar and Túrin's place among them. As we turn back to The Book of Lost Tales, keep in mind Túrin's enduring association with Fionwë who is himself closely identified with The Sons of the Valar. First time readers of The Book of Lost Tales often find it surprising that Men never leave the World after they die as they do in the later, more familiar parts of the legendarium. To some degree their fate resembles that of the Elves. The Vala Mandos judges the spirits of deceased Elves and keeps them in his halls until he finds them fit for reincarnation (LT I.76-77). While Men are never reborn, after death they go to Nienna, who judges and sorts them according to their deserts (77). The wicked she casts out to be tormented by Melkor (another surprising feature found only in The Book of Lost Tales, and nowhere else). Those neither too good nor too bad -- the great majority -- go to dwell in a part of Valinor called Arvalin, where they "wait in patience till the Great End come" (77). The few deemed truly good remain with Nienna until some or all of them go to dwell with the Valar, where they also wait "until the Great End come" (77). What are they waiting for? The text does not ask or answer this question. 

Two answers suggest themselves, both of which can be true. One need not exclude the other, but I believe that Tolkien has one primarily, perhaps exclusively, in mind here. The first is that Men, as it says in "The Music of the Ainur," will take part in the Second Music "after the Great End" (LT I.53). I am not going to quibble about the possible shades of difference between after versus until here. For, if one is waiting "until the Great End come" to sing, but does not know when it will come, one can begin to sing only in reaction to its arrival and, therefore, "after the Great End." The use of the subjunctive "come" in "until the Great End come" also emphasizes the uncertainty about when that event will take place, while "after the Great End" speaks of the end and the singing as certain. While these details should be noted, they are not decisive either singly or together.

The second possibility is that the spirits of these Men are waiting for the Ragnarök-like battle at the Great End, in which Túrin, Tulkas, and Fionwë fight against and slay Melkor, completely destroying the universe along the way. In Norse myth Ódin gathers those who have died in battle to Valhǫll, that is, to Valhalla, 'the hall of the slain.' There they wait, feasting and fighting, until Ragnarök, when they will come forth to fight for the gods against the giants. These warriors, as Snorri says in the Gylfaginning become Ódin's óskasynir, his 'adopted sons,' for which reason Ódin is called Valfǫður, 'the father of the slain' (sec. 20). 

Óðinn heitir Alfǫðr,  þvíat hann er faðir allra goða. Hann heitir ok Valfǫðr, þvíat hans óskasynir eru allir þeir er í val falla. þeim skipar hann Valhǫll ok Vingólf, ok heita þeir þá einherjar.

Odin is called All-father, because he is father of all the gods. He is also called Father-of-the-Slain, because his adopted sons are all who fall in battle. For them he prepared Valhalla and Vingolf, and they [i.e. his adopted sons] are called the einherjar.

Sigurd will be one of the dead warriors returning at Ragnarök to fight for Ódin. Tolkien seems to be interpreting Sigurd's name mythologically rather than philologically. By this I mean that for the purposes of his story he preferred to look at the Old Norse version of the name, Sigurð, as if it were composed of the elements Sigi and urðr, which respectively mean victory and fate. In other words, the Master of Doom. That, of course, is the meaning of Turambar. In the Qenya Lexicon, which dates from the earliest days of the legendarium, Tolkien glosses the name Turambar with a note to compare it to Sigurð. The editors of the Qenya Lexicon comment on this note (Parma Eldalamberon 12, pp. 95-96):

The reference to Old Norse Sigurðr implies that it is a calque of Turambar, -amarto ‘Conqueror of Fate (II 86), i.e. sigr ‘victory’ + urðr ‘fate, destiny’, though scholars usually interpret the second element of the Old Norse name as derived from vǫrðr ‘watcher, guard(ian)’.

That some of Túrin's story draws on Sigurd's has long been known, and Tolkien himself declared as much (Letters # 133 p. 209). Most obviously, Túrin slays Glorund/Glaurung in much the same way as Sigurd does Fáfnir. That the name Túrin claims for himself as he seeks to defeat the dragon echoes Sigurd's makes sense. In the 1930s, moreover, Tolkien will construct a version of Sigurd that draws on Túrin. For the Sigurd of The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún is prophesied to return at Ragnarök, where he, not Thor, will kill the Midgard Serpent and quite literally save the world from destruction (53-54). So, Sigurd's replacement of Thor parallels Túrin's replacement of Fionwë as the slayer of Melkor, just as Sigurd's return from death parallels Túrin's return from death. We should also note that in Old Norse the element óska- in óskasynir lays emphasis on the wish or choice of the adopter. Another word for "a chosen, adopted child" is óskabarn; a Valkyrie is also an óskmӕr, a "chosen maiden," chosen by Ódin of course. So the óskasynir could also be called Ódin's chosen sons. Tolkien repeatedly refers to Sigurd as "the World's chosen," "the chosen of Ódin," and "the hope of Ódin" (53, 54, 65, 70-71, 73, 93, 121, 184-85, 179, 298). Christopher Tolkien himself calls this reversed inspiration of Túrin upon Sigurd "extremely probable" (184-85).

For Tolkien, then, what the spirits of the dead Men in Valinor seem to be waiting for is the Last Battle at the Great End, when they, along with Túrin, will join "the Sons of the Valar" to fight against Melkor. Does that mean that the dead will be counted among the Sons of the Valar, as Túrin is? I am strongly inclined to believe so given the evidence, especially the parallel with the einherjar, who are Ódin's chosen sons, whom we know are present at Ragnarök but nothing more, and who also do not appear ever to return before the final battle. What then of the statement by Tolkien with which we began?

But of Men in that day the prophecy of Mandos doth not speak, and no Man it names, save Túrin only, and to him a place is given among the sons of the Valar. (Lost Road 333).

The phrasing of this sentence is of a kind that Tolkien uses more than once to create a sense of awe and mystery by suggesting facts it does not reveal, affirm, or deny. We might call it a non-assertion assertion. Its portentous vagueness at best suggests; it cannot confirm or deny.We first encounter it in the sentence with which "The Music of the Ainur" ends:

Yet while the Sons of Men will after the passing of things of a certainty join in the Second Music of the Ainur, what Ilúvatar has devised for the Eldar beyond the world’s end he has not revealed even to the Valar, and Melko has not discovered it.’ (LT I.60)

 It is repeated with some variation in the Silmarillion:

Yet of old the Valar declared to the Elves in Valinor that Men shall join in the Second Music of the Ainur; whereas Ilúvatar has not revealed what he purposes for the Elves after the World’s end, and Melkor has not discovered it. (S 42)

Compare also the coda at the end of the Silmarillion:

Here ends the SILMARILLION. If it has passed from the high and the beautiful to darkness and ruin, that was of old the fate of Arda Marred; and if any change shall come and the Marring be amended, Manwë and Varda may know; but they have not revealed it, and it is not declared in the dooms of Mandos. (S 255)

Similarly but with a more positive spin, Aragorn's last words confidently and convincingly promise much, but reveal nothing:

In sorrow we must go, but not in despair. Behold! we are not bound for ever to the circles of the world, and beyond them is more than memory. Farewell!” (RK App. A I.v.1063)

If the prophecy about Túrin's return does not speak of Men or name any Man but Túrin, that really tells us only that the prophecy tells us nothing about Men other than Túrin. It does not say no Men were present. It does not say no other Men were counted among the Sons of the Valar. That would be our inference. But inferences about prophecy are notoriously dangerous, and this prophecy mentions only the most important players: Morgoth, Tulkas, Fionwë, and Túrin in the first part, and Eärendel, Fëanor, Yavanna, and Ilúvatar, in the second. Gods and heroes, all of them. As the avenger of all Mankind, Túrin stands at centerstage. He has at last met his fate and overcome it, just as just as the dragon had told him he would have to do (LT II.87). The doom Melkor had laid on him expired with his death, but his triumph at the Last Battle suggests that Ilúvatar had greater plans for Túrin beyond death, much as Tolkien's Ódin had more farseeing hopes for Sigurd (S&G 70-71):

‘Whom Ódin chooseth

ends not untimely,

though ways of men

he walk briefly.

In wide Valhöll

he may wait feasting –

it is to ages after

that Ódin looks.’

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*Since Tolkien wrote the "Sketch" to supply background for The Lay of the Children of Húrin, we may reasonably guess that the "Sketch" gives us some idea of what he intended to include in the parts of the Lay he never wrote.


I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude for the amazing usefulness of The Digital Tolkien Project in this and all my posts on Tolkien. Indispensable.

As if the Story of Túrin Weren't Already Tragic Enough

While analyzing the death scenes of Nienor Níniel and Túrin in the chapter "Turambar and the Foalókë" in The Book of Lost Tales, I noticed that parts of the last words of each character seemed to be iambic verse. 

Before leaping to her death in a waterfall, Níniel addresses the river with a statement that begins and ends with the same sentence: "O waters of the forest whither do ye go?" I believe the text in between also scans as iambic with slight variations like an extra unstressed syllable or a very brief switch to trochees. 

For reference, an iamb or an iambic foot is two syllables long, the first unstressed, the second stressed. In the following example, I have indicated the stressed syllable with an acute accent:

Tomórrow ánd tomórrow ánd tomórrow

A trochee or a trochaic foot, which we'll also be looking at today, is the opposite of an iamb, a stressed syllable followed by an unstressed syllable. Trochees go fast. The word trochee derives from the Greek verb τρέχω, meaning run. Iambs walk; trochees run. Here's another example from Macbeth, but this time trochees:

Doúble, doúble toíl, and troúble

Fíre búrn and caúldron búbble

The prose text "Turambar and the Foalókë" reads :

“O waters of the forest whither do ye go? Wilt thou take Nienóri, Nienóri daughter of Úrin, child of woe? O ye white foams, would that ye might lave me clean—but deep, deep must be the waters that would wash my memory of this nameless curse. O bear me hence, far far away, where are the waters of the unremembering sea. O waters of the forest whither do ye go?” (LT II.109) 

Recast as verse, it might read: 

"O waters of the forest whither do ye go?
Wilt thou take Nienóri, Nienóri, daughter
of Úrin, child of woe? O ye white foams,
would that ye might lave me clean—but deep, deep must be
the waters that would wash my memory of this (5)
nameless curse. O bear me hence, far far away,
where are the waters of the unrememb'ring sea.
O waters of the forest whither do ye go?”

To begin with, I thought it was just the opening sentence, but the repetition of the same phrase in the closing sentence made me wonder about the words in between. After studying the scansion for a while I noticed that structuring it with six beats per line yielded eight full lines of what we might call iambic hexameter. Now in English we are far more used to iambic pentameter, which is thought to best reproduce the rhythm of the spoken language. The ancient Greeks, however, felt that what they called iambic trimeter accomplished this end. And? So? We count iambic feet differently than the Greeks did. For us it's one iamb per foot, and a line of verse composed of five iambs is iambic pentameter. The Greeks thought of an iambic foot as having two iambs. So a line of Greek iambic trimeter has the same number of beats as a line of English iambic hexameter. 

Iambic trimeter, as Tolkien well knew, is the standard form of verse for dialogue in Greek Tragedy. Since schoolboys were often required to translate English poetry into Greek or Latin verse, Tolkien had very likely translated lines of Shakespeare into Greek and set them in iambic trimeter. The story of Túrin and his family owes much to the story of Oedipus and his family. Tolkien said so himself, and his opinion of Greek Tragedy was clearly quite high (Letters² #131 p. 210; #156 p. 297). In this same section of "Turambar and the Foalókë" the character Tamar (Brandir) reproaches Túrin with the suicide of Nienor Níniel, saying that she died "blind with horror and with woe, desiring never to see thee again" (LT II.111). This very Sophoclean line recalls Oedipus who blinded himself so he would not have to see his children who were also his siblings in this world, or his wife who was also his mother in the next. 

Just because I can make the scansion work does not completely persuade me, however. Certain parts work better than others. What most inclines me to think that Tolkien was consciously mimicking Greek Tragic Trimeters in Nienor Níniel's final words is that Túrin's final words seem to be doing the same thing. First the prose: 

“Thee only have I now—slay me therefore and be swift, for life is a curse, and all my days are creeping foul, and all my deeds are vile, and all I love is dead."

The last twelve beats of this sentence can easily be seen as two lines of iambic trimeter:

"life ís a cúrse, and áll my dáys are creéping foúl,
and áll my deéds are víle, and áll I lóve is deád."

It does not surprise me in the least to think that Tolkien embraced this tragic form to enhance the last words of his most tragic characters. If he can draw inspiration from the tragedy of Oedipus Tyrannos, he can also draw inspiration from one of its most characteristic forms of verse.

Foalókë & The Digital Tolkien Project -- How it Helps my Work, part 2

At the end of last year I shared a post on how The Digital Tolkien Project helps my work, in particular in studying the story of Túrin as told in The Book of Lost Tales. I now have a little more to show on the same subject, picking up more or less where I left off.

Parallel to this use of Turambar is that of Foalókë, the other name in the title. Tolkien employs Foalókë eighteen times in this story (Tauber, “‘Foalókë’ in The Book of Lost Tales. ”). The first two times come when the narrator is giving the title at the beginning (LT II.70). The last sixteen all occur after Túrin has met the dragon and the dragon has won his hoard (91, 94-99, 103-04, 105-06, 108, 108). Significantly, for according to the “Qenya Lexicon” Foalókë designates a lókë, a dragon, who guards a foa, a hoard (“The Qenya Lexicon” 38).[1] The single use of just lókë, moreover, is found precisely at the narrator’s transition from characterizing lust for gold as a trait common to all dragons to identifying and explaining the actions taken by Glaurung in pursuit of his lust: “Thus it was that this lókë….” (LT II.85). Túrin becomes Turambar and Glaurung becomes Foalókë in the same scene.

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[1] With foalókë Tolkien is likely thinking of OE hordweard, “guardian of the hoard,” a poetical word used several times of dragons in Beowulf (Fulk et al. 2293, 2302, 2554, 2593; “DOE: Hord-Weard”). It’s not impossible that Tolkien intends lókë to remind the reader of the treacherous and deceptive Norse god, Loki. He thus implies to the reader the untrustworthiness of a dragon through the similarity of the sounds.

Túrin's "tide of ill" in The Book of Lost Tales (LT II.87)

In The Book of Lost Tales the narrator of Túrin's story says of his choosing to pursue the orcs who had taken Failivrin (Finduilas) captive says that his life could have turned out differently if he had done so. As the last clause of sentence indicates, the dragon, Glomund (Glaurung), was of the same opinion and refused to let that happen.

Maybe in that desperate venture [Túrin] had found* a kindly and swift death or perchance an ill one, and maybe he had rescued* [Finduilas] and found* happiness, yet not thus was he fated to earn the name he had taken anew, and the drake reading his mind suffered him not thus lightly to escape his tide of ill. 

(LT II.87)

That last phrase--“to escape his tide of ill”--is quite lovely, but as enigmatic as it is evocative. Does tide here allude to the unstoppable tides of the ocean, or does it mean time or season as in yuletide? The latter meaning is older by far. Old English tid** appears in the Old English version of Bede's Ecclesiastical History of England, in the gospel of Matthew in the Lindisfarne Gospels, and in Beowulf (147). The former is not found before the 14^th Century. 

In The Book of Lost Tales Tolkien uses tide in both senses, but mostly in reference to the sea. The context, however, normally contains one or more other words that establish the connection to the natural phenomenon. 

So, for example:

"but the Ainur put it into [Tuor's] heart to climb from the gully when he did, or had he been whelmed in the incoming tide" (LT II.151).

"The went the Man of the Sea out when the tide began to creep in slow and shallow over the long flats" (LT II.317)

"When that tide again forsook the Hungry Sands..." (LT II.318).

But there are examples where it refers to time. Thus, high-tide*** in the first example below refers not to the sea but to a high-time, that is, a time of celebration or festival, like Christmas. And day-tide**** in the second means simply daytime.

"this year you will celebrate the death of Karkaras with a high-tide greater than even before, O King" (LT II.231).

Of this converse of Eriol and Vairë upon the lawn that fair day-tide came it that Eriol set out not many days thereafter (LT I.95).

Some of the poetry from the war years, which Christopher Tolkien includes in The Book of Lost Tales, also signifies time by tid:

Still their old heart unmoved nor weeps nor grieves, 
Uncomprehending of this evil tide, 
Today’s great sadness, or Tomorrow’s fear 

(LT II.296)

So, again, which meaning of tide is Tolkien using here? While it could be a figurative use of tide to suggest the overpowering, irresistible force of evil, as it is at LT II.232--"valiantly they warded the palace of the king until the tide of numbers bore them back"--the "tide of ill" which the dragon has in mind is the calamitous life of woe and sorrow to which Melkor had cursed Túrin and his family. As the narrator indicates earlier in the sentence by saying that Túrin and Finduilas might have "found happiness," he is thinking about a span of time, not being swept away by the force of a moment. Tolkien being Tolkien, however, he might mean both (as a reader rightly commented below).

_______________________

*In less archaic English we would say "would have found" for "had found," and "would have rescued" for "had rescued" and "would have ... found" for "had ... found."

** “Tide, N., Sense I.1.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford UP, December 2025, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/5003698957.

*** “Day Tide, N., Sense 1.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford UP, September 2025, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/9829095802.

**** “High Tide, N., Sense I.1.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford UP, September 2025, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/1021614943.

The Digital Tolkien Project -- How it Helps My Work

The Digital Tolkien Project, founded by my friend, James Tauber, and brought to life by James with the help of so many dedicated and talented fans and scholars, is perhaps the most significant Tolkien related project since The History of Middle-earth was published in the 1980s and 1990s. Yes, I have just compared James to Christopher Tolkien. But I would argue that the compliment is well-deserved and so not flattery. 

I consult The Digital Tolkien Project pretty much every day. Sometimes just out of idle curiosity about Tolkien's use of a word, but more often my purpose is driven by a desire to consult it about something I am working on, either for this blog or for publication. I am currently over 200 pages into what I hope will be my next book, which will study how the Great Tales and (what I call) the Great Themes, such as Fate and Free Will, Divine Justice and the Problem of Evil, Death and Immortality, shape the legendarium in the years 1916-1937, that is, before Tolkien set aside the Silmarillion to write The Lord of the Rings. (I hope there will be a subsequent volume later on in which treat the same subjects after he returned to the Silmarillion.)

Today I want to provide an example of how The Digital Tolkien Project helps me in my studies. Below I have added an excerpt from the first of my chapters on Túrin in the early legendarium, here specifically in "Turambar and the Foalókë," the very first telling of his story, published in The Book of Lost Tales. So here's a single paragraph of my draft chapter, which I will no doubt rewrite quite a few times before I am done with it. But all those stats on the words drake, worm, dragon, Túrin, and Turambar, whose use by Tolkien suggests so much, come from The Digital Tolkien Project. Yes, I could have counted them all myself, but not so easily or accurately, or without having to separate out all the times Christopher himself uses these words in his notes and commentary.

The final words of the prophecy in “Turambar and the Foalókë” are also the final words of the tale: “and Melko and his drakes shall curse the sword of Mormakil” (LT I.116). A drake is of course a dragon, and in The Book of Lost Tales it is Tolkien’s preferred word for such creatures, appearing 23% more often than worm and 59% more often than dragon.[1] Turambar, the other word in the title, occurs 101 times in “Turambar and the Foalókë”: 99 of these 101 instances come after Túrin names himself Turambar in his first meeting with the dragon (LT II.86).[2] By contrast, Túrin appears 116 times in “Turambar and the Foalókë:” 83 of these 116 instances occur in the first sixteen pages of the text (69-86); the remaining 33 come in the last thirty pages of the text, that is, after Túrin renames himself (86-116). All or nearly all of these uses are the direct speech or reported direct speech or thought of Morwen, Nienor, Húrin, Thingol, Airin, Brandir, Glaurung, and Túrin himself. It is not simply the narrator speaking of Túrin in the normal course of narrating his actions. 24 of these 33 instances of Túrin occur in the portion of the tale devoted to the search for him undertaken by Morwen and Nienor (91-99). Turambar never appears in this section. In a tale whose title may be translated as “The Conqueror of Fate and the Drake” Tolkien’s use of words like drake, Túrin, and Turambar here disclose their essential significance to the story. Once Túrin proclaims himself the “Conqueror of Fate,” the narrator unironically accepts this declaration because he knows something the reader does not. He knows and believes the prophecy about Túrin’s return. Even when explaining the meaning of the title at the beginning of his tale, he follows up by emphasizing the connection in Men’s minds between this tale and the evils they suffered from Melkor and his drakes, a statement echoed by the prophecy in the tale’s final words (69-70, 116). It will not do to leave a Conqueror of Fate and drakes out of our calculations.

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[1] In “Turambar” Tolkien uses drake 27 times; worm 22 times; dragon 17 times; and serpent 3 times. Tolkien’s seeming avoidance of serpent might indicate a desire not to recall the serpent of Genesis 3.

[2] Eltas twice employs Turumart, which he glosses as Gnomish for Turambar, once when giving the title of the tale and once when explaining the meaning of the name Turambar (LT II.70, 86).

"Foul" and "Vile" in The Book of Lost Tales

The Book of Lost Tales uses the words "foul" and "vile" in pretty much the way you'd expect.

"Foul" describes the following beings or things associated with them:

• Orcs: LT II 14, 159, 193, 232
• Karkaras (Carcharoth): LT II 34, 38, 239
• Melkor: LT I 55; LT II 37, 42 
• Glaurung (Glorund): LT II 85, 86 (3 times), 98
• Thingol, reproached by Tinúviel for Beren's "foul captivity" by Melkor: LT II 37 
• Brandir (Tamar), his "foul speech" that Nienor committed suicide, as described by Túrin: LT II 111
• Ungoliant (Wirilómë): 152
• Water, as polluted by blood or evil: LT II 38, 287

"Vile" describes the following beings or things associated with them:

• Glaurung: LT II 106, 107
• The dragon's hoard is Thingol's "vile reward": LT  II 135

"Foul" occurs more often in direct or indirect connection with the dragon than with anyone or anything else. So, too, of course, it occurs most often in "Of Turambar and the Foalókë," seven out of a total of sixteen times in both volumes of The Book of Lost Tales. Túrin and Morwen both address Glaurung with this word, calling him "foul worm," and "foul beast" (LT II.86, 98). It appears four times in a single page when he first enters the tale and meets Túrin (LT II 85-86). "Vile" is twice applied to Glaurung, again in "Of Turambar and the Foalókë," and once in a deleted passage by Húrin when he scornfully gives him Glaurung's hoard from Nargothrond as his "vile reward" for what he wrongly thinks is Thingol's failure to care for Húrin's family (LT 135).

There is one final passage to look at, in which both words occur in the same sentence. Here, Túrin, having killed Glaurung, learned that his wife is actually his sister and that she has killed herself, and then killed the man who gave him the news, asks his sword to kill him:

"Thee only have I now—slay me therefore and be swift, for life is a curse, and all my days are creeping foul, and all my deeds are vile, and all I love is dead.”

(LT II.112).

Given the usage of these two words in The Book of Lost Tales, one might conclude that Túrin feels he has become as evil as Glaurung himself.

_______________________

I noticed not long before finishing this post that the second half of Túrin's words to his sword can be read as two lines of iambic pentameter:

and all my days are creeping foul, and all

my deeds are vile, and all I love is dead.

(The first half of the sentence is not far off either)

 

From a Gift in Death to the Gift of Death: Túrin and the Doom of Men

In The Book of Lost Tales death is not the Gift of Ilúvatar to Men, at least not in the sense we usually think of it, and perhaps not at all. The spirits of Men do not leave the world for points unknown outside the physical universe. They are just as bound to Arda as the Elves. Just as the Elves do, Men go to the Undying Lands upon their death. There Fui Nienna judges them based on their deeds while alive, and she sends them to various afterlives within time and space where they will remain until the world ends. While Nienna's role with Men is set up as parallel to Mandos' with the Elves, unlike the Elves, Men never return to life and the Great Lands (Middle-earth) as the Elves do.

With the Sketch of the Mythology first written in 1926 it becomes apparent that Tolkien's conception of death for Men has begun changing. The Sketch was meant to provide background for The Lay of the Children of Húrin, which allows us to conclude that the Lay would very likely have seen death in the same way. Now, Men depart the world entirely after a time spent in Mandos, which seems to house the spirits of both kindreds, though apart from each other. No role for Nienna is mentioned. No one knows where the spirits of Men go after Mandos or who has charge of them once they leave. It is the same in the Quenta Noldorinwa of 1930 and its successors later in the mid-1930s, the Ainulindalë and the Quenta Silmarillion of 1937.*

The Book of Lost Tales says that death is "one with this gift of power" given to Men by Ilúvatar. "This gift" has already been described earlier on the same page:

"But to Men I will give a new gift, and a greater," [said Ilúvatar]. Therefore he devised that Men should have a free virtue** whereby within the limits of the powers and substances and chances of the world they might fashion and design their life beyond even the original Music of the Ainur that is as fate to all things else. This he did that of their operations everything should in shape and deed be completed, and the world fulfilled unto the last and smallest.

(LT I.59)

Now the Sketch and the Quenta Noldorinwa do not mention this, since their accounts of the Music are almost non-existent, but the Ainulindalë does, with a very interesting difference, which appears in bold:

"But to Men I will give a new gift," [said Ilúvatar].  

Therefore he willed that the hearts of Men should seek beyond the world and find no rest therein; but they should have a virtue to fashion their life, amid the powers and chances of the world, beyond the Music of the Ainur, which is as fate to all things else. And of their operation everything should be, in shape and deed, completed, and the world fulfilled unto the last and smallest.

(Lost Road 163).

By adding these words here Tolkien brings death to the fore and gives it (at least) equal weight with the power bestowed by Ilúvatar, which was previously not the case. He also binds the experience of the hearts of Men, which are within this world while yearning for another that is attainable only through death, to the astounding power or virtue he is giving them within this world. 

Without these new words here, the declaration later on in both texts that death is one with this power/virtue, death seems concomitant with the power or perhaps even a limit placed on it, as it does in "The Music of the Ainur." With these words, however, Men's power almost seems to proceed from their mortality and freedom from the circles of Arda. Indeed the word "freedom" is by far the most significant change in this latter sentence.

"The Music of the Ainur" in The Book of Lost Tales reads: "It is however of one with this gift of power that the Children of Men dwell only a short time in the world alive, yet do not perish utterly for ever..." (LT 59). 

The text of the 1930s Ainulindalë reads: "It is one with this gift of freedom that the children of Men dwell only a short space in the world alive, and yet are not bound to it, nor shall perish utterly for ever" (Lost Road 163).

The emphasis has shifted here. In "The Music of the Ainur," the power/virtue gifted to Men is of primary importance. Death comes along with or limits this power. In the Ainulindalë death is at least as important, and probably more so, because the power derives from the nature of Man's relationship to death.

Parallel with this development, as it were, we find the evolving story of Men. In The Book of Lost Tales Men are few and more often than not treacherous and hostile. The Elves, the Noldor in particular, look down on Men from the moment the Valar tell them that someday Men will exist (LT I.150). The stories of Túrin and Tuor play key roles in the narrative and are told at length, but The Book of Lost Tales belongs to the Elves even more than the Silmarillion does. That Men are meant to play a crucial part in the defeat of Melkor and the completion of Ilúvatar's plan for the world is equally clear. The elves telling the man, Eriol, these lost tales in the frame narrative know this, and Ulmo's attempts to bring Elves and Men together, especially in "The Fall of Gondolin," demonstrate it. Túrin's life is a catastrophe. Tuor fails to save Gondolin. And Tuor's son, Eärendil, also fails because he arrives too late. (If you are wondering why I've not mentioned Beren, it's because in The Book of Lost Tales he is an Elf, not a Man.)

Throughout the 1920s the significance of Men continues to grow, however. Tolkien spends the first half of the decade almost exclusively on Túrin and his family in The Lay of the Children of Húrin and the second half on The Lay of Leithian, in which the decision to recast Beren as a Man brings death into the story of Beren and Lúthien in a very different way than had been the case in The Book of Lost Tales where both Beren and Lúthien had been Elves. Eärendil now succeeds in his mission to persuade the Valar to rescue Middle-earth from Melkor. Perhaps most telling of all is the growth in importance of Túrin, not during his life -- which remains disastrously horrifying -- but after his death. His afterlife becomes a matter of apocalyptic prophecy. Beginning in The Book of Lost Tales it is prophesied that he will return at the end of time to fight in the Last Battle against Melkor. The Sketch develops this further, making him the one who will slay Melkor on that day, thus avenging himself and his family. The Quenta Noldorinwa and the Quenta Silmarillion go further still. Túrin will not only avenge himself and his family, but all Men.

It won't be surprising then to find that Men as a whole become more prominent in the background to the Great Tales. While the majority of Men in the wars of the First Age still side with Melkor, there is now more than one group of Men, the Men of Dor-Lómin, who prove loyal to the Elves. The House of Hador, from which both Túrin and Tuor (now first cousins) descend. The House of Bëor, to which Beren belongs, appears, as does the House of Haleth, which Túrin comes to lead before the end. These three groups become the Edain, "the Fathers of Men," and as a reward for their sufferings and their service against Melkor, the Valar create for them an island of their own called "Andor," which means "The Land of Gift," but which those who dwelt there came to call Númenor. Though the Númenóreans also receive greater lifespans than other Men, they have an increasingly difficult time accepting that death is a gift, or understanding it even though they do accept it. In both "The Fall of Númenor" and "The Lost Road," the texts of the 1930s in which Tolkien created Númenor and with it the Second Age, death comes to be explicitly spoken of as a gift, "which cometh to Men from Ilúvatar" (Lost Road 25). Even Elendil himself, who accepts that it is a gift, nevertheless seems at a loss to grasp how that is so:

"But Death is not decreed by the Lords: it is the gift of the One, and a gift which in the wearing of time even the Lords of the West shall envy. So the wise of old have said. And though we can perhaps no longer understand that word, at least we have wisdom enough to know that we cannot escape, unless to a worse fate."

(Lost Road 65)

Significantly, the power/virtue we have seen associated with death in earlier texts goes unmentioned. Yet another power receives attention. For Sauron -- also called Thû or Sûr in these texts -- promises the Númenóreans dominion over the earth and eternal life within the world. These he calls "the gifts of Morgoth," which he claims the Valar are keeping from them, but all Men need to do to get what is rightfully theirs is to conquer the Undying Lands (Lost Road 15). This goes rather badly. Númenor is destroyed utterly. Its king and army who "had set foot in the land of the Gods were buried under fallen hills, where legend saith that they lie imprisoned in the Forgotten Caves until the day of Doom and the Last Battle" (Lost Road 15).

This last detail recalls the fate of Men after death in The Book of Lost Tales. All except the most wicked are said to be waiting "in patience till the Great End come" (LT I.77). That they wait patiently suggests they are aware that they have something to do at the end. But what? This may refer to the Second Music in which all Men will participate (LT I.60; Lost Road 163). Yet there may be something else or something more. I would argue that they, too, are waiting for the Last Battle. It's certainly true, as we saw above, that after The Book of Lost Tales Men leave the world entirely after a time in Mandos. But if Túrin can return from Mandos for that battle, why not his fellow Men whom he is fighting to avenge? 

In The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún, yet another text of the 1930s, Tolkien invents a prophecy that Sigurd, a character with a significant influence over the character of Túrin, will return from Valhalla at Ragnarök and slay the Midgard Serpent, thus saving the world. With him will come the einherjar, the mortal warriors chosen at death to fight alongside the gods at the Last Battle. As Christopher Tolkien observes, it is very difficult not to see Túrin now in Sigurd, since there is no such prophecy about him in Norse mythology and he does not return (S&G 53-54, 63-64, 184) The influence is now flowing from Túrin to Sigurd. And as we also saw above, the prophecy that Túrin will return to fight that day is present from the first telling of his tale in The Book of Lost Tales. Even when every other detail of Túrin's afterlife disappears after The Book of Lost Tales, the prophecy about the Last Battle not only remains, but is further elaborated and given greater significance, from his only being present at the battle in the first version to his being the avenger of all Men in the Quenta Noldorinwa and Quenta Silmarillion.*** 

Nor is this all. Túrin's replacement of Fionwë as the slayer of Melkor accomplishes much more than vengeance. For Fionwë, his prophecy says, "shall destroy the world to destroy his foe" (LT I.219). Túrin, however, saves the world. (Be honest. You never saw that coming.) In the same way, Tolkien's rewritten Sigurd saves the world. In fact, Túrin makes possible the healing of Arda. With Melkor dead, the Silmarils are recovered and returned to Fëanor, who, coming back from Mandos himself, unlocks them and allows Yavanna to use their light to revive the Two Trees. The world is remade.

If we look back now at the other details of Túrin's afterlife, which may not be as forgotten as they seem,**** we may perhaps descry the beginning of death becoming a gift. Túrin died with a great deal of blood on his hands. I am not speaking of those he killed in battle, but of those he should not have killed at all (Orgof/Saeros, Beleg, Brodda, Orlin, and Tamar/Brandir). He abandoned Finduilas. He committed incest and suicide. When he arrives in the afterlife, Nienna and Mandos will not allow him or his sister, Nienor, to enter their realm. Eventually, at the "prayers" of their parents, the Valar have "mercy" on the siblings, and purify them in a "Bath of Flame" in which "all their sorrows and stains were washed away," and they dwell happily among the Valar. Everything from the prayers of Húrin and Morwen to the final happiness of Túrin and Nienor is described in one sentence, but that is not the whole sentence. The first part of the sentence tells what has already happened, but the second shifts from past to future, briefly and powerfully delivering the prophecy of Túrin's return (LT II.116). And there the story ends, leaving the audience in silence.

Many will surely see in the prayers and mercy and the washing away of the effects of Túrin and Nienor's misdeeds and misfortunes in a bath of flame references to Christianity, and in particular to Matthew 3:11 and Luke 3:16 where John the Baptist speaks of one who will come after him and baptize with fire and the Holy Spirit instead of water. And I have no doubt that Tolkien means to invoke these ideas. But let's not be hasty. According to standard Catholic doctrine, once a person dies repentance is no longer possible. Nor, for that matter, do we see any sign of repentance. 

We may also reasonably think of Purgatory, but the cleansing of Túrin and Nienor is an exception if the only comparable event is the purification of (the Maia) Urwendi and her maidens so that they can survive sailing the Ship of the Sun. But it is quite interesting to note that their purification prepared them for something greater than they could do otherwise. In that sense it not only purified, but enhanced them. Also, since all the faithful who have not atoned fully for their sins before death go to Purgatory for a time, the cleansing by fire undergone there is not going to be exceptional, as it is here, but rather common. Túrin's "sins" -- note that Tolkien does not use this loaded word -- are by no means trivial or venial.

Even ignoring the Christian echoes in this account of his afterlife, Túrin is so stained that the gods of the dead, Nienna and Mandos, want nothing to do with him, or even with his far more sinned-against sister. Yet he shall return to fight beside Tulkas and Fionwë and to discomfit Melkor and his dragons in the Ragnarök-like battle on the world's last day. Even before his role evolves into being the slayer of Melkor and avenger of Men, it is not unreasonable to think that Túrin's purification in the Bath of Flame is more than a cleansing. As with Urwendi and her maidens, it is a preparation for something greater and more demanding.

By blending Christian imagery and ideas into this largely pagan afterlife, Tolkien evokes a greater sense of the divine than would have been the case otherwise. The cleansing of Túrin and Nienor is an unexpected act of mercy by the gods, which arises from pity in response to the prayers of Húrin and Morwen (or Úrin and Mavwin as The Book of Lost Tales calls them). Unexpected, too, is Túrin and Nienor's reversal of fortune in the afterlife, as the "doom of woe and death of sorrow" to which Melkor cursed them and their parents comes to an end with their deaths, and the tides of fate flow towards a reunion and a love that is pure and heroism of the sort to be expected from the son of Húrin and Morwen and the foster-son of Thingol and Melian (LT II.71,115-16). And maybe not from the son only. For an early, unincorporated note records that Nienor, too, will return for the Last Battle (LT II.138; she is there called Vainóni). 

It is true in The Book of Lost Tales, as it is later in the legendarium, that a destiny or fate exists which is prior to all the destinies, dooms, or curses pronounced by the Valar and Melkor, and which can shape even their actions (LT I.142, 147, 151, 209). The Valar collectively know much of things to come, but Ilúvatar did not reveal everything. Some things are hidden, some unnoticed, and some not understood because the Valar cannot understand all of Ilúvatar's mind and purpose. There are things that happen "not without the knowledge of Ilúvatar" and "not without the desire of Ilúvatar" (151, 180). He also at times prompts the Valar and Maiar in various ways, as he does Manwë, Aulë, and Urwendi to use the last of the light of the trees to build the Ship of the Sun and the Bath of Flame (180, 185, 187-88). This particular prompting is significant in two ways. First, as we know, Túrin and Nienor also enter the Bath of Flame. Second, the first rising of the sun is connected to the awakening of Men, "who were waiting for light" (237). Men, to whom Ilúvatar gave the  power to go beyond the Music, awaken with the sun's rising. Túrin, the man whose Great Tale is the first we come to in The Book of Lost Tales as well as being its most shockingly memorable, bears the brunt of the special enmity and the curse of Melkor. This dark and troubled character, who quite literally makes the worst of his fate, at least as far as Melkor's doom is concerned, is cleansed after death in the very Bath of Flame that prepared Urwendi to sail the Ship of the Sun and awaken Men. Cleansed, he will play a significant part in the Last Battle against Melkor at the end of the world. As the legendarium evolves, he will go on to be the slayer of Melkor and the avenger of all Men. His deeds that day will not heal Arda by themselves, but they will clear the way for Fëanor to return at last from Mandos and to devote his art, the gift Ilúvatar bestowed upon the Elves, to its proper end. 

Nothing Túrin did in his life merited the purification and enhancement he received after death. Quite the opposite in fact. (This is even truer of Fëanor who suffered far less except in his own opinion, but his role at the end of the world isn't in The Book of Lost Tales.) This unmerited purification is what Tolkien would call grace. "Every gift of grace raises [the recipient] to something that is above human nature," says Thomas Aquinas (ST 2-2.171.2 ad 3). We need to draw a distinction here. Aquinas identifies two different kinds of grace, that which sanctifies and that which he calls gratuitous. Sanctifying grace brings its recipient closer to God; gratuitous grace helps its recipient help others (ST 1-2.111.1c, 4c; SCG 3.155). As such, gratuitous grace may empower that recipient, though temporarily and without changing their nature, to perform miracles, to prophesy, and so on. Gratuitous grace is sometimes also called actual grace because it is directed to acts. It is this grace that better explains what happens with Túrin after his death, if we are to view it through the lens of Tolkien's faith. Even so, that same faith must note that Túrin never repents. However distraught he may become after killing Orgof/Saeros, Beleg, Brodda, Orlin, and Tamar/Brandir, he never changes except to become worse. That same faith must also note that after death repentance is impossible. So, while the idea of the grace of Ilúvatar offers a reasonable explanation for Túrin's cleansing and enhancement, the metaphysics of Arda are not the same as those of the primary world, where Tolkien practiced his faith. The grace of Ilúvatar is not the same as the grace of God as Roman Catholicism understands it.

In The Book of Lost Tales the death of Túrin and Nienor is not the catastrophic ending to The Tale of the Children of Húrin, full of pity and horror, that it later becomes, or seems to become. But because the story continues even unto the ending of the world, their death becomes a turning point not just in their story, but in the story of the world. For in it we can see the first signs of the gifts of Men: the power to go beyond the Music and help to complete Ilúvatar's design for the world; and the connection between this power and Death. As Túrin's role on the last day becomes more significant and central, the gift that he receives in death will become the Gift of Death.

_________________________________

* Prior to the writing of the Ainulindalë as a separate text its story of creation appeared in the second chapter of The Book of Lost Tales, called "The Music of the Ainur." The Sketch and the Quenta Noldorinwa contained much less detailed accounts in their first chapters. This could indicate that Tolkien was planning to shift the story of the Music into its own text as early as the mid to late 1920s.

** Within the legendarium "virtue" almost always means "power." Think of the "virtue" lembas possesses to give Sam and Frodo the strength to go on. By contrast, within Tolkien's letters "virtue" almost always has its more common modern meanings, such as a superior quality or particular excellence of character.

*** In The Book of Lost Tales the killing of Melkor at the Last Battle is explicitly attributed to Fionwë, who is better known by his later name, Eonwë (LT I.219). While Túrin fights beside him and causes Melkor to rue his presence, he does not kill Melkor (LT II.116).

I am limiting my comments here to the story of Túrin and its various forms before Tolkien set the Silmarillion aside in late 1937 to write The Lord of the Rings. So, I do not address whether Christopher Tolkien was right or wrong to leave the Second Prophecy of Mandos, where Túrin's return is prophesied, out of the published Silmarillion. While I agree with Douglas Charles Kane's argument in Arda Reconstructed that Christopher made a mistake here, the evidence that Christopher uses to justify the omission of the prophecy dates from after Tolkien's return to the Silmarillion after 1949. 

**** Consider Christopher's comment on the difficulty of knowing whether his father's removal of something from a particular text meant it had been abandoned for good or only for the time being. 

"The wizard Tû and the Dark Elf Nuin disappeared from the mythology and never appear again, together with the marvellous story of Nuin’s coming upon the forms of the Fathers of Mankind still asleep in the Vale of Murmenalda—though from the nature of the work and the different degrees of attention that my father later gave to its different parts one cannot always distinguish between elements definitively abandoned and elements held in ‘indefinite abeyance’"

(LT I.233, italics added)

***** Gratuitous has had a sad time of it in recent times. Commonly now, at least in much of the US, it means uncalled for or unjustifiable, as in a gratuitous remark or criticism. Here, it means freely given without expectation of return. The phrase is the standard English translation of the Latin gratia gratis data, literally grace freely given.

Lúthien Unbound?

In his introduction to the Lay of Leithian in The Lays of Beleriand, Christopher Tolkien writes: 

My father never explained the name Leithian 'Release from Bondage', and we are left to choose, if we will, among various applications that can be seen in the poem. Nor did he leave any comment on the significance - if there is a significance - of the likeness of Leithian to Leithien 'England'. In the tale of Ælfwine of England the Elvish name of England is Lúthien (which was earlier the name of Ælfwine himself, England being Luthany), but at the first occurrence (only) of this name the word Leithian was pencilled above it (II. 330, note 20). In the 'Sketch of the Mythology' England was still Lúthien (and at that time Thingol's daughter was also Lúthien), but this was emended to Leithien, and this is the form in the 1930 version of 'The Silmarillion'. I cannot say (i) what connection if any there was between the two significances of Lúthien, nor (ii) whether Leithien (once Leithian) 'England' is or was related to Leithian 'Release from Bondage'. The only evidence of an etymological nature that I have found is a hasty note, impossible to date, which refers to the stem leth- 'set free', with leithia 'release', and compares Lay of Leithian.

(Lays 188-89)

In September of 1978 I was a freshman at NYU taking my first class in Ancient Greek. One of the first verbs a student becomes acquainted with is the verb λύω/lúo. It's a common verb, meaning "set free, release, undo, let loose," and it is very regular in the way it's conjugated. There's nothing exceptional or odd about it. So it's a good verb to practice with. Now in English verbs have three principal parts, that is, forms which allow you to make all the other forms. So "sing, sang, sung" or "walk, walked, walked" supply the building blocks. In Greek regular verbs commonly have six principal parts, and there's a discernible pattern to them which makes learning them easier. The principal parts of λύω are λύω, λύσω, ἔλυσα, λέλυκα, λέλυμαι, ἐλύθην/lúo, lúso, élusa, léluka, lélumai, elúthēn. 

Did that last principal part--ἐλύθην/elúthēn--catch your eye? Or maybe your ear? Because it sure caught mine 46 years ago. The Silmarillion had come out a year before and I was reading The Lord of the Rings two or three times a year at that point. So the combination of form and meaning-- a standard translation of ἐλύθην/elúthēn would be "I was set free" or "I was released"--fairly leaped off the page at me. All I could think of was Lúthien and the long poem about her and Beren called The Lay of Leithian and that leithian means "release from bondage."* λύω is the verb you use if you are talking about freeing slaves or prisoners.

I asked my Greek teacher about ἐλύθην/elúthēn after class. Her name was Stephanie and she was probably the best teacher I ever had. She was so good at making things clear, at correcting you without making you feel like an idiot, and she so obviously loved teaching Ancient Greek. I know how she felt. It was later my favorite course to teach as well, but I didn't do it anywhere near as well as she did. In any event in 1978 Tolkien was still largely looked down on in academic circles. As I recall, she said she supposed a connection between this verb and the words Lúthien and leithian was possible, but I could also tell she wasn't really keen on having a prolonged discussion about it.  

As we worked our way through the truly immense verbal system of Ancient Greek, we learned more and more forms of this and other verbs. When we came to the form λυθεῖεν, once again my eye was caught because this form can be transliterated in several ways, that is, we can change the word letter by letter from the Greek alphabet into our own. The Greek letter upsilon, |υ|, is commonly represented in English with |y|, as in analysis for the Greek ἀνάλυσις -- and yes, that derives ultimately from the same root. But as the English spelling upsilon attests, |υ| is not always represented by |y|. The diphthong |ει| -- pronounced like |ay| in day in Attic Greek (think Plato) or |ee| in Koine Greek (think the Gospels) -- can be transliterated as |ei| or |i|. So λυθεῖεν could be transliterated lytheien, lythien, lutheien, or luthien. As we can see, Lúthien sounds like it could have its origin here. 

How should λυθεῖεν be translated? By form it is the third person plural aorist optative passive. The aorist tense often refers to past time, like a simple past, but not necessarily. It can also refer to something that happens suddenly. So, for example, the form ἐδάκρυσε/edakruse can mean "he wept" but is often better taken as "he burst into tears." And what's the optative? It's like the subjunctive, only more so. It doesn't refer to facts but to possibilities, intentions, hopes, and fears, to things that have not yet become real and may never become real. So λυθεῖεν by itself could be translated as a wish: "May they be set free" or "I wish that they be set free." Which of course would be a very significant name for a character like Lúthien, who comes by this name as Tolkien makes her more powerful and able to release or set free from bondage more things and people. As Clare Moore has shown in her article on Lúthien in Mallorn 62 (2021), with each successive version of her tale, Lúthien's power and importance grow.

Tolkien was keen on the sound of words. He specifically cited Ancient Greek as a tongue that gave him "'phonaesthetic' pleasure" (Letters #144 p. 265).** It may have been hard to resist the combination of sound and meaning to be found in Lúthien.

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I hope that the list I've created below helps to clarify the name changes Christopher Tolkien refers to in the quoted passage to start this post. I use > to indicate "becomes" or "changes into"

1. The Tale of Tinúviel in The Book of Lost Tales, vol. II (1917-18)

• The daughter of Thingol and Melian is named Tinúviel, and never called Lúthien. 

2. Ælfwine of England in The Book of Lost Tales, vol. II (1917-1918)

• Lúthien = Ælfwine > Ælfwine = Ælfwine 
• Luthany*** = England > Lúthien = England ("Leithian" pencilled above 1st use of Lúthien for England)

3. The Lay of the Children of Húrin in The Lays of Beleriand (1918-1925)

• The daughter of Thingol and Melian is named Lúthien. Beren, not knowing her name, calls her  Tinúviel.

4. The Lay of Leithian in The Lays of Beleriand (1925-1931)

• The daughter of Thingol and Melian is named Lúthien. Beren, not knowing her name, calls her  Tinúviel.

4. The Sketch of the Mythology (1926) in The Shaping of Middle-earth.

• Lúthien = Lúthien, daughter of Thingol and Melian
• Lúthien = England > Leithien = England

5. Quenta Noldorinwa (the 1930 Silmarillion) in The Shaping of Middle-earth.

• Lúthien = Lúthien, daughter of Thingol and Melian
• Leithien (Leithian 1x) = England

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*Yes, I know that we only had very small snippets of the Lay at that time, but we knew that within Middle-earth at least such a poem existed and what it was called.

** John R. Holmes has suggested that Tolkien coined the word "phonaesthetic," either in the cited letter or at around the same time ("'Inside a Song': Tolkien's Phonaesthetics," in B. L. Eden, Middle-earth Minstrel: Essays on Music in Tolkien 2010 p. 30). While Tolkien clearly could have coined such a word, the word already existed thanks to the linguist J. R. Firth, who appears to have coined it in his 1930 book Speech (Oxford University Press, p. 52). The word also appears in a 1950 article in the journal Essays and Studies. Tolkien knew the journal if not the article. His Homercoming of Beorhtnoth Beorhthelm's Son first appeared there in 1953, plus he owned a couple of issues of the journal from previous years (See Oronzo Cilli, Tolkien's Library, 103, 367). A google ngram search shows that the word suddenly came into much wider use (among linguists, that is) in the late 1940s and peaked in the 1970s.

*** 'Luthany' seems to come from a poem called "The Mistress of Vision," written by Francis Thompson, a poet of whom Tolkien was quite fond:

The Lady of fair weeping,
      At the garden’s core,
      Sang a song of sweet and sore
      And the after-sleeping;
In the land of Luthany, and the tracts of Elenore.

It's interesting to learn -- thanks to Andrew Higgins's paper, 'O World Invisible We View Thee' The Syncretic Nature of Francis Thompson's Visionary Poems,' which is available here -- that in 1968 George Carter suggested in an unpublished PhD dissertation that Carter suggested that "Thompson constructed 'Luthany' by anglicizing the Ancient Greek aorist passive infinitive of 'luo' – 'luthenai', which means 'to be broken' (Carter 1968, p. 62)."

In translating λυθῆναι/luthēnai as 'to be broken' Carter is thinking of another line in Thompson's poem -- "Pass the gates of Luthany" -- and arguing that this means "Pass the gates when they are broken." In the absence of other evidence, this translation and interpretation seem quite forced. "Unlocked" or "open" seem more plausible translations. λύω can be used of opening doors or gates, but, as far as I can tell, not of breaking them. I can see the resemblance between the English and the Greek here, but not more than that.