SCENE XIII

[Scene: Mîm and his son Ibun are out once again amid the rocks, searching for roots and putting them into their bags, when through the clearing comes the loud noise of an Orc band passing through. Mîm motions to his son and they both hide behind the rocks as the Orcs come into the clearing. They are a big band, and it takes a while for them to go through. Once they have almost passed by all the way, Mîm and his son try to sneak away in the opposite direction, but the Orc captain seemingly sees them, for he calls back to the others, and they race after Mîm and Ibun, grabbing them ungently, and cursing as Mîm and the other try to bite them and do all they can to escape. But the Orc captain comes over to them, sneering.]

Orc Captain:

                You shall not escape now, old greybeards!

                [to his soldiers:]

                Take them and –

Mîm: [pleading with him:]

                Please, do not slay me! I am old, and no threat to any such as you.

                [as if he has a new thought:]

                I will give you a ransom, if you will not kill me.

                [The Orc captain smiles suddenly.]

Orc Captain:

                What will you give as a ransom? What do you have, old dwarf, poor as you look?

Mîm:

                A great fortress and dwelling place. I will bring you there.

Orc Captain:

                And where is this place?

Mîm: [forestalling:]

                Uh… well…

Orc Captain:

                Tell us or we shall kill you now!

                [He gets his knife out.]

Mîm: [terrified:]

                Please, lord! It is on the height of Amon Rûdh!

                [Suddenly the Orc laughs.]

Orc Captain:

                Ah ha! You shall take us there!

Mîm: [wringing his hands, in desperation:]

But please, first, before I take you there, you must swear that the Dragon-helm will not be slain!

                [The Orc laughs again, a hideous, grating sound.]

Orc Captain:

                Assuredly, Túrin son of Húrin shall not be slain.

[Scene change: There is tumult in Amon Rûdh. The Orcs have come upon it at unawares and are attacking through the main gate, where Mîm has led them. The outlaws, led by Túrin, Andróg, and Beleg, are running into the back hall, and find a secret door that leads to a stairway, a way of escape up to the brow of the hill. But when they come out into the darkness of night on top of the hill, they find that more Orcs are waiting up there for them, and spring upon them with a cry. They fight desperately, but one by one they all fall, until only Túrin, Andróg, and Beleg are left. They are surrounded by it seems hundreds of Orcs. Andróg falls with a arrow piercing his eye. Beleg continues to fight, out of the view of the camera. Túrin is so fierce and fell, that none of the Orcs can come within five feet of them, or they are hewn down, or their limbs cut off. It gets to the point when no one will even come near him. The Captain booms forth to fight him, but within fifteen seconds he too is dead. Túrin is swinging his sword around in circles, and no one can come near him. But suddenly, a huge net is cast over him, and drags him down. He is tangled in it, and then they laugh and pile themselves on top of him, and he is taken.]

[Scene change: it is now morning, and the sun is just gleaming over the western horizon, so that the top of the hill is gleaming red as blood. Mîm creeps up the back stair and emerges up onto the roof. Nothing there is moving. There are bodies everywhere, of Men and Orcs. Mîm looks around at all of them, all dead, but stops when he looks and sees that a pair of eyes are returning his gaze. It is Beleg. He is covered in blood, and sorely wounded, but cannot move. Mîm gives a growl of hatred, and comes towards him. He picks up Beleg’s black sword, Anglachel, that lies next to an Orc that lies dead beside Beleg, and makes as if to stab him with it. But at that moment Beleg stumbles up, seizes the sword, and thrusts it back at Mîm. In terror, Mîm turns and flees down the hill, wailing.]

Beleg: [calling after him:]

                The vengeance of the House of Hador will find you yet!

[Then, clasping the wounds on his side, arm, and chest, he sinks back down onto the ground again. After a few moments of breathing very hard, he grasps the grass with his fingers, and begins to drag himself towards the secret opening at the top of the hill. He has to stop in order to breathe, and takes a piece of ripped clothing that lies on the ground, tying it around his arm as a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. Then he starts singing to himself quietly, in an undertone, in some other beautiful musical language. After several minutes of this, he drags himself towards the hole again. We see him next in the main hall of Amon Rûdh, dragging himself still across the floor, with his pack, taking out herbs and patching up his wounds, singing quietly to himself all along. Then, once he is able to move better, he gets up and walks painfully to the height of Amon Rûdh again, looking around him at the strewn bodies in bitterness.]

Beleg: [bitterly:]

                And his body must lie among these foul carrion orcs. Let me find him to bury him.

[He blinks back tears, and begins looking among the bodies, trying to find Túrin’s. After nearly an hour, he stands up again, looking frustrated.]

                He is not here! Where have they taken him?

                [Then enlightenment comes to his face.]

                They have taken him alive! Oh...

                [He bows his head in dejection.]

                They will take him to Angband! I must be off!

[He grabs his pack, taking all his things, and speeds off as fast as he can, still limping and clutching his wounds. Then several images of Beleg running, with his bow and pack, across empty fields, and over hills and through trees. Then night time, and all the orcs are settling down in their camp, dragging their prisoner with them, and going to sleep: but Beleg, in the dark night, is still running and does not stop. Show again the Orcs getting up in the morning from their camp, and Beleg still running. He keeps running, and he comes to tumbled rocks, and looking up, sees mountains before him. He starts to sprightly jump over them, and wade his way through. The Orcs, coming out of the mountain passes, come suddenly into a land that makes them stop, and mutter to themselves nervously. The captain turns annoyed to the following Orcs:]

Orc Captain:

                What? What is the problem?

Orc: [nervously:]

                We – we are not going through Taur-nu-Fuin, are we?

Orc Captain:

                Of course we are. It is the quickest way to Angband.

                [All the Orcs start to mutter again to themselves. The Captain cracks his whip at them.]

Come, you slugs! Or I shall take the prisoner back myself and leave you in this haunted place!

[This seems to inspire them more; and grumbling, with wary glances, they take up their things and follow after him. Then we see Beleg, stumbling through the mountain rocks, and emerging at last on the edge of that dark forest. He stops for a moment, looking at it in disgust or fear, then walks in. As he moves inside the trees, the shadows seem to close about him, and shut him in. The sun is obscured there, and there is a vespertine mist hanging over the marshes and bogs, which are strewn everywhere. Flies are swarming about them, and there are sounds of demon wolves howling in the distance. Still Beleg goes on. The entire landscape is completely destroyed, there is no sign of any living thing, except flies and stinging gnats, with nothing left but the charred remains of a civilization extinct, burned with black scorched trees and marshes, endless marshes of sickening, noisome oozing black streams, and poisoned water. The divers trees that are strewn endlessly in a dazzling fainting maze are twisted and scorched as if a great burning hand had roughly grabbed them and bent and twisted them for their torment. There is a noise like the haunting of ghosts amid the black pools, and Beleg goes warily, always looking about him, following the tracks of the orcs. ]

Beleg: [to himself:]

                The Orcs move quickly here: they do not wish to remain in this haunted place.

[He moves on, creeping stealthily under the trees, then stops suddenly, peering through the mist. He looks closely for several moments, then moves forward again to where an inert form lies beneath a tree, its naked branches dripping eerily with slime. When the person sees him, he sits up and looks at Beleg. Beleg looks at him with pity in his eyes: he is the mere shadow of what was once an Elf, and it is a while before we can even tell that it is an Elf. He is stooped, like a hunchback, and his clothes are in rags and tatters. His face is wizened and wearied like that of an old man, and his hands are so mangled and worn that they are almost stubs, gnarled and torn. His feet are the same. Beleg comes up to him.]

Beleg:

                Greetings, my kinsman.

[The other Elf just looks at him for a moment, as if he might be an apparition. It is a moment before he speaks. His voice is not at all damaged, but still has an Elven ring:]

Gwindor:

                Greetings. Who … are you?

Beleg:

I am Beleg Cúthalion of Doriath. What is your name, and how have you come to be in this wretched place?

                [The Elf blinks back tears again, and there is a pause.]

Gwindor:

I am … Gwindor, son of Guilin. I … I went to the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, and … was captured, and made a slave. I have just escaped, just… but I have become lost in this accursed forest.

[He looks up at Beleg, his eyes haunted.]

His spirit – Sauron’s spirit, haunts the forest, and … I have been visited by disturbing dreams and could not rest. There was no one else here, no one but the dark phantoms that dwell in the wood. I … got desperately lost, and have been wandering for days, going in circles … following paths that led to midge-infested bogs, or copses of black haunted trees. I … thought I would never escape. I will wander in this ghostly land of haunting ghouls until the end of Arda, or until I lose my mind.

                [Beleg looks at him with pity, and offers him his hand.]

Beleg:

                You shall not be lost now. Here are some lembas, that will aid and strengthen you.

                [He brings the wafers out of his pack, and Gwindor’s face brightens seeing them.]

Gwindor:

                Lembas! I have not tasted these for … years!

                [He eats them hungrily.]

Beleg:

I am glad I have stumbled upon you, my friend. Taur-nu-Fuin is no pleasant place to wander alone.

[He shudders; then continuing:]

I am searching for my friend, a tall Man with dark hair, strong and proud. He was taken captive by Orcs.

[Gwindor’s eyes widen.]

Gwindor:

Yes! I have seen him. A great company of orcs passed a little while ago burdened by such a one. But I thought he was an Elf. He was strong, and unwilling to be mastered by those toward whom he had obvious bitter hated. He struggled against them, and so strong was he that I thought he might burst his bonds…. But obviously the orcs had had experience with his strength before, and they had him bound fast, with a gag about his mouth. But that did not stop the death glances that he gave to his captors that seemed to burn them.

Beleg: [sighs]

                That was Túrin. A fine Man, and proud.

Gwindor:

                He is a Man, you say?

Beleg:

Indeed. The son of Húrin Thalion. He dwelt in Doriath as a boy after his father was taken to Angband alive and never seen again. Túrin is a valiant warrior, like his father, more greatly skilled than many an Elf. But I will tell you his story as we go on, for I mean to follow him.

[at Gwindor’s look of surprise:]

That is, if you wish to come with me.

[Gwindor looks frantic.]

Gwindor: [desperate:]

You cannot go! lest you wish to share in his torment in the deep tunnels of Angband! I know! For I have been there!

                [Beleg looks at him with compassion in his eyes.]

Beleg:

Nonetheless, I will rescue him if I may. You need not come with me. But I shall go now, or I shall not catch up with them.

                [he makes as if to go]

Gwindor: [looks torn for a moment]

                Wait! I shall go with you.

[He grabs onto the tree and tries to stand up. Beleg holds out his hand and helps him, with a smile.]

Beleg:

                True heart. Come, you shall show me which way they went!

[They head off into the woods together, Gwindor pointing the direction. The next time we see them, it is night. They are walking silently through the woods, with only the moon and starlight by which to see. They come up to an open place amid the trees, where hordes of orcs lie about the dying fire, all asleep in a drunken state. Beleg and Gwindor peer together out into the camp. All the Orcs are asleep: there seem to be no watchmen on duty. But when Beleg takes out his great bow of yew, then we see the gleaming eyes of the wolf sentinel. There are half a dozen of them at least across the dell, their white teeth gleaming. Looking over by the side of the camp, Gwindor and Beleg see Túrin, tied to a tree on the side of the dell. The ropes around his arms and legs are so tight that there is blood seeping through the bands. But there are also chains around both of his legs together, and both of his arms, apart from the ropes that hold him to the tree. He is unconscious, from pure exhaustion. All around him on the tree are black knives that had been thrown at him and are stuck now in the bark. Beleg looks anguished, seeing him there, and he pulls out his great bow, strings an arrow, and aims it at one of the wolves, closest to Túrin. Gwindor looks like he’s about to touch his arm and say something to him, when the arrow springs free and hits the wolf, right between his two forelegs, piercing him in the heart. It crumples down onto the ground without a sound. Gwindor turns to Beleg. ]

Gwindor: [mindspeech:]

                How does it make no sound?

Beleg: [mindspeech:]

                It is a special vine that I discovered and used in Doriath to make it silent.

Gwindor: [mindspeech:]

                Ah.

[Beleg then turns back, and proceeds to aim at the next wolf. There are six of them throughout the dell. Each one of them he hits right between its two front legs, and they crumple to the ground without a sound.]

Beleg: [mindspeech:]

                Do you see any more?

Gwindor: [mindspeech:]

                No.

Beleg: [mindspeech:]

                Let us go in and get him.

[He creeps forward out of the brush, silently, into the dell where all the orcs are dead asleep. Gwindor looks terrified, but comes after him. They crawl over to Túrin, who is still asleep. Beleg takes out his knife, and begins to cut the ropes. As he cuts the last one, Gwindor says to him:]

Gwindor: [mindspeech:]

                Catch him: he shall fall!

[Túrin does fall forward into Beleg’s arms as the last rope is cut, and there is a moment where the two elves stand silent with the unconscious form, not daring to breathe, fearing that the Orcs will wake.]

Beleg: [mindspeech:]

                Help me carry him.

[Gwindor takes up Túrin’s feet, with some effort (Túrin is a huge man), and they both struggle to carry him out, without making a sound. They move very, very slowly. The Orcs still do not move. There is complete silence throughout the dell. They move him over to the thickets where they had been hiding before, moving with painful care so not to make a scratchy noise in the brush.]

Gwindor: [mindspeech:]

                I cannot carry him any farther. He is too heavy.

Beleg: [mindspeech:]

                Stop here.

[They stop right behind the brush and lay him down, as quietly as they can. Still there is no sound from the dell, and the Orcs do not awake. But overhead, there is suddenly the sound of thunder. Beleg and Gwindor look up at the sky. Mindspeech:]

It is going to rain.

Gwindor: [mindspeech, desperate:]

                How shall we get his chains off?

Beleg: [mindspeech:]

                I have a sword that can cut through any metal.

[As he pulls out Anglachel, his black sword, small drops of rain start to fall on them. It thunders again, much louder this time. Beleg takes his sword and cuts the chains off Túrin’s hands, so that they are free. Then he begins to cut the chains off Túrin’s feet. He has trouble cutting at first, since the sword keeps slipping off the slick metal. He keeps trying, attempting to hold the sword down firm on the metal. It thunders again, even louder. Gwindor is looking around, especially at the orcs, in terror that they will wake up. Beleg at last, with a strong stroke, cuts through the chains, but the sword slides off the slick metal, and cuts Túrin’s foot slightly.]

[Túrin is lying in a deep sleep. We see his dreams as he lies asleep: he is tied in chains on the ground, in the dell in Taur-nu-Fuin, and orcs are all around him. They are fingering their knives and swords, and standing around him threateningly. He looks at them with hatred, but they just laugh at him. Some of the Orcs speak to him in his dream:]

Various Orcs:

You won’t be able to get away now … we have you, son of Húrin… There won’t be much of you left by the time you get back to Morgoth…

[They circle around him, menacingly, and he is powerless to do anything. One of them brings the knife up close to his face, pretending like he’s going to cut him. Then another one takes his knife and puts it towards Túrin’s legs.]

Orc:

                You won’t be able to walk far!

[With a swift stroke, he stabs the sword into Túrin’s foot. Túrin wakes up suddenly at this, sweat breaking out on his forehead, gasping. The first thing he sees when he wakes up is a dark shape bending over him, with a sharp drawn blade that glints in the moonlight. With anger and hatred he leaps up.]

Túrin: [crying:]

                So the Orcs have come back to torment me again, have they!?

[The thunder rolls again, and the orcs, in the glade nearby, at last wake up, and look in fear at the storm. They are shouting at each other, in tumult, not seeming to notice their prisoner is gone.]

Orc:

                Let us go, now! I will not wait in this forest any longer!

Orc:

                The Lords of the West have sent the storm against us!

[At that moment, away in the thickets behind the glade, a huge flash of lightning lights the sky, and Túrin, in that light, looks down, and sees the face of Beleg Strongbow, lying dead on the ground, his eyes still open, a trickle of blood coming from his mouth. Túrin’s face is so terrible, filled with such anguish and grief, that Gwindor, seeing it, cowers down onto the ground, covering his head with his hands. The thunder rolls so violently that the orcs begin to go crazy from fear. Loud sounds start to come from the dell nearby. They obviously have discovered that Túrin is gone.]

Various Orcs:

Where is the prisoner?... You lazy lubbers, you have slept on the watch!... He’s escaped!... Ah! The thunder comes nearer!... It is the Lords of the West! They are wreaking their vengeance upon us! Let us go now!... No! We must find the prisoner first!...

[Túrin does not seem to notice the din coming only from about twenty feet away. He just sits there, his eyes glazed over, not really seeing anything, or hearing anything, evidently. Gwindor gets up and comes over to him, and takes his arm.]

Gwindor: [in a hissed whisper:]

                Come, we must go, now! The Orcs shall find us!

[Túrin does not move, or even seem to notice that he is being touched and spoken to. He just sits there, looking at Beleg’s moveless face, not saying a word.]

                Quickly! We must go now!

                [Túrin does not answer. Gwindor can hear the voices of the Orcs in the dell nearby:]

Orcs:

What? You think the prisoner will be nearby? He is long gone by now! … Let us escape from this accursed place while we can! … The Lords of the West are pouring out their anger upon us! Behold the storm!

[The thunder is raging violently now and the thunder flashing in almost constant succession, the rain pouring down heavily. The Orc captain seems too frightened himself to not listen to the words of his company, and they pack up their things in a frantic fear, trying to get out of there as fast as they can. Still Gwindor is urging Túrin to leave with him, but Túrin does not move or answer, and just stares at the face of Beleg, still unweeping. The Orcs move off, and leave Túrin and Gwindor sitting alone beside the body of Beleg in the raging storm.]

Minstrel:

Thus it came to pass that the Orcs returned to Morgoth emptyhanded, and left behind them the son of Húrin, who sat crazed and unwitting on the slopes of Taur-nu-Fuin, bearing a burden heavier than their bonds.