Act III – The Outlaws

SCENE IX

Minstrel:

Túrin, believing himself an outlaw that the King would pursue, did not return to Beleg on the north-marches of Doriath, but went away westward, and passed secretly out of Doriath, coming into the woodlands south of Teiglin.

[Scene: Several flash images of Túrin walking alone in the woods. Then Túrin walking through a small village, with various cottages and huts scattered on the sides of a dirt road. As he walks along, all the people in the street look frightened upon seeing him, and back away, and those people near their houses go inside and shut the door. Túrin looks puzzled by all this, and tries to go up to a boy of about twelve to speak to him, but the boy looks frightened and runs away like a hunted rabbit. Soon almost everyone is gone, except for an old man who sits by the side of the road, in the front of his house. Túrin walks up to him.]

Túrin:

                Excuse me, sir. Why do all flee from me in fear? Is my appearance so frightful?

                [The older man sits up and looks at him.]

Man:

                Nay, son, ‘tis not that. Come in, and I shall tell you more.

[Túrin comes through the gate and up the steps to the porch where the man is sitting. He then notices that the man is leaning on a crutch, and his foot is shriveled and small. Túrin stops and looks at him for a moment with pity and reminiscence in his face, but the man does not seem to notice his fascination with his withered appendage. He gets up and leads Túrin inside, shutting the door behind him. The inside is one room, bare and dry, with only the bare necessities. A fire does burn on the hearth, but that is the only brightness in the entire room.]

                Would you like some food, son?

Túrin: [nods]

                If it please you, sir.

[The man gathers a little loaf of bread and cheese on a wooden plate and hands it to him. The man sits down by the fire, and Túrin across from him.]

Thank you. Would you tell me, then, why all these flee from me, as if I were one of the Enemy’s minions?

Man: [nods]

Yes. You see, we have had difficulty these last winters with a band that comes raiding into our village – and these are very like to the Enemy’s minions, though not orcs, as you would think. The Gaurwaith have been raiding all down the river all the winter.

Túrin: [curious:]

                The Gaurwaith? The Wolf-men?

Man:

Aye, as little as you would think. These are a group of men – of outcasts, of bandits – either those that were exiled from their own lands and homes, or made outcasts from their own society. There are about fifty of them in this band, and they come into our land, during the winter, stealing our food, our tools and goods, and even our daughters and wives. We here live mostly by hunting and husbandry, and life is hard for us. We must defend our homes from them, and we hate them scarcely less than orcs. That is why we call them the Wolf-men.

Túrin: [slightly amused:]

So will the men of your town come with their weapons then, to find me and slay me if they think me one of them?

Man:

Nay, I would not worry about that. The Wolf-men never come openly into the town – they always creep secretly at night to steal. I knew that you were not one of them, for your raiment is not that of a hunted vagrant. Indeed, I deem that you come from an Elven realm, from your clothing, and your manner of speech, which is rich and beautiful.

Túrin: [with a wan smile]

                Then you have more wisdom than those others who flee from me.

Man: [smiling]

You may stay here tonight, if you wish. I grow lonely here by myself. I lost my son in battle against the orcs two years ago, and you remind me somewhat of him.

Túrin:

                Gladly will I stay. Thank you.

[Scene change: it is morning. Túrin leaves the house of the older man, bidding him farewell at the door, and heading out once again into the wilderness. Some curious folk come to their doors to see him go, wishing for one last look at the majestic stranger. Túrin walks for a long time along, until he comes to a wood that is much greener than the others he has passed. He goes along for quite a while, until he comes into a wide open glade under the sky. Then, looking around, he sees that he is surrounded: a tight ring of men have circled about him, with bows bent straight on him. He stops. Before they say anything, he speaks. He shows no fear whatsoever.]

Túrin:

                Who are you? I thought that only Orcs waylaid Men; but I see I was mistaken.

[One of the company of men steps forward, evidently the leader. He is tall, a big man, with fair hair, his unsteady eyes hard and pitiless.]

Forweg: [harsh:]

You may rue the mistake, for these are our lands, and we do not allow other Men to walk in them. We take their lives as forfeit, unless they can ransom them.

                [To their discomfort and surprise, Túrin laughs.]

Túrin: [laughing:]

You will get no ransom from me, an outcast and an outlaw. You may search me when I am dead, but it will cost you dear to prove my words true.

[The circle tightens around him, and several of the men grumble and look angry. Túrin stoops suddenly to pick up a large rock on the ground by the stream, about the size of two human fists, and at that moment, one of the men in the group lets his arrow fly, and it goes right over Túrin’s bent back and into the trees beyond. Túrin, leaping up, throws the stone with all his strength at the one who had shot the bow at him. The man falls onto the ground, his skull broken with a sickening crack. Túrin turns to the captain.]

I might be of more service to you alive, in the place of that luckless man. If you are captain here, you should not allow your men to shoot without command.

Forweg: [shocked:]

I do not, but he has been rebuked swiftly enough. I will take you in his stead, if you will heed my words better. I am called Forweg.

[All the outlaws then lower their bows, except two, who don’t seem to agree. One of them, a man of about fifty perhaps, says:]

Ulrad: [displeased:]

                A strange way to gain entry into a fellowship: the slaying of one of the best men.

Túrin: [turns to him]

Not unchallenged. But come then! I will endure both of you together, with weapons, or with strength alone; and then you shall see if I am fit to replace one of your best men.

                [He strides toward them, drawing his sword. The older man, Ulrad, backs away.]

Ulrad: [frightened:]

                No, no, I will not fight.

[The other man who had also disagreed, perhaps in his mid thirties, a dark scruffy-looking man, throws down his bow, and looks Túrin up and down, then says:]

Andróg: [shaking his head]

I am no match for you. There is none here who is, I think. You may join us, for my part. But there is strange look about you; you are a dangerous man. What is your name?

                [There is a pause; then Túrin says:]

Túrin:

                Neithan, the Wronged, I call myself. [Neithan pronounced ‘Nathan’]

Andróg:

                And I am Andróg, of Dor-lómin.

                [at the name of that place, Túrin starts suddenly.]

                Do you know it as well?

                [Túrin does not answer]

Forweg: [to Túrin:]

                We are all outcasts here for a reason, some more dire than others.

Andróg: [as if unaffected by guilt or grief; almost flippantly:]

                I was driven forth from Dor-lómin for the slaying of a woman.

                [then an older man, in his mid-sixties, says:]

Algund:

                I also fled form Dor-lómin, to escape the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.

[Túrin looks at them darkly and with some measure of disgust, perhaps thinking first of Morwen, then of Húrin.]

Ulrad: [to Túrin:]

And what of your past? Why are you an outlaw and an outcast, as you say? You seem to have fallen from some high state – those arms that you have are made by Elven-smiths.

Túrin: [reticent:]

                I have suffered injustice. But I will say no more concerning it.

                [pause]

Forweg:

                Nonetheless, if you can hold your own, you are welcome among this band.

Minstrel:

Túrin did not yet dare to return to Dor-lómin, for the land was beset with enemies, and one man could not hope alone to overcome them and pass through. So Túrin abode for a time among the outlaws, and because he wished to live and could not be ever at strife with them, he did little to restrain their evil deeds. Yet at times pity and shame would wake in him, and then he was perilous in his anger.

[Scene change: the lighted hall of Menegroth. Thingol and Melian are sitting on their thrones, with a great company of people in the hall. Mablung stands right in front of the thrones, and seems to have just finished speaking.]

Thingol: [sighs]

Alas! How has this shadow stolen into my realm? Saeros I accounted faithful and wise; but if he lived he would feel my anger, for his taunting was evil, and I hold him to blame for all that chanced in the hall. So far Túrin has my pardon. But the shaming of Saeros and the hounding of him to his death were deeds I cannot pass over. They show a hard heart, and proud.

[there is a long silence; then he speaks sadly:]

This is an ungrateful fosterson, and a Man too proud for his state. How shall I harbour one who scorns me and my law, or pardon one who will not repent? Therefore I will banish Túrin son of Húrin from the Kingdom of Doriath. If he seeks entry he shall be brought to judgement before me; and until he sues for pardon at my feet he is my son no longer. If any here accounts this unjust, let him speak.

[There is complete silence in the hall. Thingol looks around for a moment, then lifts up his hand and opens his mouth to speak. At that moment Beleg comes hurrying in the hall through the main door.]

Beleg: [cries out, in haste:]

                Lord, may I speak?

Thingol: [frowns]

                You come late. Were you not bidden with the others?

Beleg:

Truly, lord, but I was delayed; I sought for one whom I knew. Now I bring at last a witness who should be heard, ere your doom falls.

Thingol: [frowning]

All were summoned who had aught to tell. What can he tell now of more weight than those to whom I have listened?

Beleg:

You shall judge when you have heard. Grant this to me, if I have ever deserved your grace.

                [pause]

Thingol:

                To you I grant it.

[Beleg then hurries out of the hall again, and comes back a moment later, leading in Nellas by the hand. She looks tiny and insignificant in that big place, shrinking from the stone walls and all the people in the hall. She looks frightened as all the people look at her as she and Beleg pass up the hall to the King’s chair. Beleg stands beside her before the thrones, and she casts her eyes onto the ground, awed and overwhelmed.]

Speak, maiden. What have you to say that concerns this matter?

[It is several moments before Nellas can answer, opening her mouth to speak several times in vain. At last sounds come out:]

Nellas:

                Lord, I was sitting in a tree –

                [Then she falters, in awe of speaking to the King. He smiles.]

Thingol:

                Others have done this also, but have felt no need to tell me of it.

Nellas: [taking courage from his smile:]

Others indeed. Even Lúthien! And I was thinking of her that morning, and of Beren the Man.

[Thingol does not answer, but his smile fades. Nellas continues:]

For Túrin reminded me of Beren. They are akin, I am told, and their kinship can be seen by some: by some that look close…

[Thingol is not amused and is losing his patience.]

Thingol: [annoyed:]

That may be, but Túrin son of Húrin is gone in scorn of me, and you will see him no more to read his kindred. For now I will speak my judgement.

Nellas: [dismayed:]

Lord King! Bear with me, and let me speak first. I sat in a tree to look on Túrin as he went away; and I saw Saeros come out of the woods with sword and shield, and spring on Túrin from behind at unawares.

[At this the hall becomes filled with murmuring, as people turn to one another in amazement and surprise. Thingol lifts up his hand for them to cease. They grow quiet.]

Thingol: [gravely:]

You bring graver news to my ear than seemed likely. Take heed now to all that you say; for this is a court of doom.

Nellas: [nods; earnest:]

So Beleg has told me, and only for that have I dared to come here, so Túrin shall not be ill judged. He is valiant, and he is merciful. They fought, lord, these two, until Túrin had bereft Saeros of both shield and sword; but he did not slay him. Therefore I do not believe that he willed his death in the end. If Saeros were put to shame, it was shame that he had earned.

Thingol:

                Judgement is mine. But what you have told shall govern it.

                [Then he turns to Mablung, who stands by the thrones:]

                It is strange to me that Túrin said nothing of this to you.

Mablung:

Yet he did not. And had he spoken of it, otherwise my words would have been to him at parting.

Thingol:

And otherwise my doom shall now be. Hear me! Such fault as can be found in Túrin I now pardon, holding him wronged and provoked. And since it was indeed, as he said, one of my council who so misused him, he shall not seek for this pardon, but I will send it to him, wherever he may be found; and I will recall him in honour to my halls.

[But suddenly, to his surprise and that of the others, Nellas bursts into tears and covers her face with her hands.]

Nellas: [weeping:]

                Where can he be found? For he has left our land, and the world is so wide!

Thingol: [softly, looking at her:]

                He shall be sought.

[Then Beleg takes Nellas’ hand, and leads her, still weeping, through the crowd and out of the hall, through the main gate of the city, and once again into the woods. There he stops and looks at her.]

Beleg:

Do not weep, Nellas; for if Túrin lives or walks still abroad, I shall find him, though all others fail.

[She nods sadly, drying her tears, and walks away from him, disappearing into the woods. Then Beleg turns and goes back into the hall, where most of the people have now dispersed, and to the thrones where Thingol and Melian sit. He bows to them.]

Thingol: [speaks to him first:]

Counsel me, Beleg; for I am grieved. I took Húrin’s son as my own son, and so he shall remain, unless Húrin himself should return out of the shadows to claim his own. I would not have any say that Túrin was driven forth unjustly into the wild, and gladly would I welcome him back; for I loved him well.

Beleg: [earnest:]

I will seek Túrin until I find him, and I will bring him back to Doriath, if I can; for I love him also.

[Scene fades.]

Minstrel:

Beleg departed; and far across Beleriand he sought in vain for tidings of Túrin, through many perils; and that winter passed away, and the spring after.