Scene III - Beleg

"And it is told that in that time Daeron the minstrel of Thingol strayed from the land, and was seen no more. He it was who made music for the dance and song of Lúthien, before Beren came to Doriath; and he had loved her, and set all his thought of her in his music."

-Of Beren and Lúthien, The Silmarillion

[Beleg is sitting by a bright fountain in the midst of the city square in England, reading a rather thick book, when Daeron comes up to him, rather slowly, and then stands before him. Beleg looks up at him after a moment.]

Beleg: Oh, Hullo, Daeron! What are you doing here? I never see you in cities. You’re always hiding out in the woods.

Daeron: It is true that often I abide in the forests, not wishing the company of mortal-kind, nor fellowship of any kind.

Beleg: Well, it’s good to see you here, then. Say, this is a really good book that just came out in the British bookstores. You should read it sometime.

[He holds up the book he has been reading. Daeron looks at it closely.]

Daeron: That is not the cirth. What tongue do you read?

Beleg: This? Oh, this is in French.

Daeron: A mortal book?

Beleg: Yeah.

Daeron: I knew not that the Atani wrote tomes, as we do.

Beleg: Yeah. They’re called novels. This one is excellent. It’s called The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas. He’s a new author in France. Came out about a century and a half ago.

Daeron: You speak – more of these mortal languages? Not just – English?

Beleg: Oh, yes. Well, I’ve learned a lot since I’ve been here.

Daeron: I see.

Beleg: Although it’s rather melodramatic.

Daeron: I beg your pardon?

Beleg: The book. But it’s well-written besides that.

[Daeron does not answer.]

Beleg: Sorry, I’ve been rude. You want to sit down here?

[He makes room on the rim of the fountain, which is slightly wet and littered with guano. Daeron looks at it rather disgustedly for a moment, then sits down. Beleg sets his book down beside him and looks up.]

Beleg: So, there must be something important. You never come out of your “silvan seclusion,” if you don’t mind the expression.

[Daeron does not share his sense of humor. He looks down for a moment, then says:]

Daeron: I – have come to ask you...

[Beleg waits patiently.]

Daeron: Will you tell me more about this ... Túrin?

Beleg: I’d love to. Let’s see ... Well, I met him when he was just a boy. I’m the one who found him and his mother’s servants wandering lost in the Maze. Did I tell already tell you about that?

[Daeron nods.]

Beleg: He was a moody boy. It was really hard to be friends with him, honestly. I think the only real friend he would accept, growing up, was-

Daeron: [suggesting:] Saeros?

Beleg: [stung with surprise, dismayed for a moment:] Saeros? Good grief, no. It was Nellas. You remember, that kind of introverted anti-social female who wouldn’t come into Menegroth, but was always swinging in the trees around Neldoreth?

Daeron: [a reminiscent look comes to his eyes] Nellas, yes. She used always to creep near when out I was in the woods, playing... with ... Lúthien.

[He speaks slowly, with sadness:]

I deem she believed we noticed her not whilst she was there. But she loved the music, I think. She loved Lúthien. Yet never she spoke with us, nor with any else.

Beleg: She spoke with Túrin. She loved him, Daeron.

Daeron [surprised]: Nellas, verily?

Beleg: [nods]: She was the only one he would speak with when he was a boy; and he was the only one she’d talk to. When he had just come, and was so silent and bowed with grief for leaving his mother, she followed him unnoticed as he wandered in the woods alone. And as he sat and wept under a tree she came up to him. She told him she wanted to show him a “secret” clearing that was her special place; and later he went there to cry in his grief. She always followed him, though; she was always there to protect him.

Daeron: [pensive:] Nellas... I cannot believe it. Ever she was a withdrawn and isolated maid.

Beleg: I think she finally drew out of herself a little bit when she saw Túrin’s need. Then later at times Túrin would call on her, and they would go into the glade and she taught him – many different things: about Doriath and the Eldar, and our customs, and about life and the ways of the world.

Daeron: And when began your friendship with him?

Beleg: Well, I had always liked him. I don’t know why. I guess he reminded me of Beren in a way –

[He stops, seeing Daeron’s face darken slightly.]

Beleg: [continuing:] – Since I had always liked Beren. Túrin had a nobility, and a sadness in him that drew me to him. When he was seventeen he went onto the marches with me. And then we became close friends.

Daeron: And Nellas befriended him ... and he was as Beren?

Beleg: He reminded me of him, yeah. And I always liked Beren.

Daeron: [his face growing dark:] I tire of your prating on the virtues of that mortal.

Beleg: [shrugs] Sorry. You asked about Túrin. I’m just telling you my experience with him.

Daeron: [annoyed:] Will you not do me the favour of speaking in our common tongue of Doriath?

Beleg: I would, since it is our old language, you know; but our times have changed, Daeron. They’re not the same as they were when Thingol still ruled in Doriath. If you want that again, go back to Valinor. You’ll find plenty that will speak the Doriathrin with you.

Daeron: [bitter:] I will never go to Valinor.

Beleg: [shrugs] Well, if you say so. But it is a pretty nice place. It was a wrench to let it go, at first – when I first came back here.

Daeron: I cannot go.

Beleg: Sure you can. Even old Celeborn finally took ship. Did I tell you that?

Daeron: [surprised to hear the name:] Celeborn?

Beleg: Yeah. I mean, I assume he did. I saw him a couple centuries ago - he was in North China at the time – and he told me how weary he was of Middle-earth, and was going to try to get himself a ship to get to the Blessed Realm. I haven’t seen him since, so I assume he did go. I offered my help building, but I never was the ship type myself, so I didn’t really know what I was doing, and he politely demurred.

Daeron: [in wonder:] Celeborn...

Beleg: Yes... What about him?

Daeron: Naught. Merely old memories – old memories that have brought back naught that I have felt since I met you again.

Beleg: [softly:] You see, Daeron, the world goes on without you.

[Daeron looks up at him sharply, as if in anger.]

Beleg: No, no, I didn’t mean it in a rude way. I meant the Song – the Music of the Universe, Daeron.

[Daeron doesn’t answer.]

Beleg: [softly:] I know Lúthien is gone, but that doesn’t mean that you have ceased to exist. There are those that care for you, Daeron, who want to see you again, who wait for you in Valinor.

Daeron: I care for none except the love that I have lost.

Beleg: [sighs] Well, if that’s the case you’re more selfish than I had ever imagined.

Daeron: [sharply, in anger:] Naught can you say of it! You know nothing of such torment and love lost!

Beleg: [softly:] Don’t I? Have you forgotten about Túrin?

Daeron: That was the love of brothers. I spoke not of that.

Beleg: No, but I did. It’s what Túrin taught me, in my years with him. He’s gone, Daeron. Gone forever, as Lúthien is. It is the same pain you feel, though in a different form. But the Music is still there – do you think the One will leave us desolate for ever? What about after the World ends? What will happen to us?

Daeron: My torment will end at long last.

Beleg: It will. But not, I think, in the way you intend.

Daeron: I know not what you mean.

Beleg: Dagor Dagorach, Daeron. The end of the Marring forever. The fulfillment of the Song.

Daeron: Never shall I now be fulfilled.

Beleg: Your music used to fulfill you.

Daeron: I play music no more.

Beleg: Perhaps that’s part of your problem.

[Daeron looks up at him.]

Beleg: When we were in Doriath, you used to sing for Lúthien, and every piece of music you played was composed with some thought for her. So – why did you stop playing?

Daeron: Lúthien-

Beleg: I know Lúthien is gone now, but that should not stop you playing music in her praise. You gave up music, your passion and your joy.

Daeron: My passion and joy were embodied by one, who is now gone.

Beleg: Right. But I mean, you are the best singer ever to live, even above Maglor of the Noldor. Music used to bring you joy. I’ll bet if you start to play music again, you will at last begin to heal.

Daeron: [shaking his head] The object of my song is gone.

Beleg: That doesn’t mean you still can’t sing in her praise, or in praise of all the other beauty in the world. There is so much beauty in the world, Daeron, that you’re missing, focusing only on the past and what you have lost. That isn’t life. That’s – a living death. The past is gone. Reflect on it, yes, sing of it. But don’t live it. Think of the beauty that there is in the world now, and sing of that. That is what Lúthien always did – her songs embodied the beauty in the world and the joy that she found in it. She wouldn’t have wanted you to limit your music to only one, rather narrow venue. I think many of us now – including yourself - could use the virtue and healing of your music.

Daeron: Even if I would, I can play no more. My flute will not wind.

Beleg: But isn’t that of your own doing?

Daeron: [with a hint of anger:] I wish it not. How many times as the years have passed have I wished I could die of grief! And yet my spirit would merely be reborn into torment again, or languish in the lightless halls.

Beleg: Not with your music it wouldn’t.

Daeron: I will never go to Valinor; and my flute will never wind again.

[With that he turns to go, leaving Beleg looking sadly after him.]