SCENE XIV

[Scene: it is morning in the dell. The sun is just gleaming over the mountains and lighting the sharp bracken with red and yellow light. Túrin still sits there, staring at Beleg, unmoving, and unweeping. Gwindor lies nearby, and then wakes, and sits up, and looks at Túrin, still sitting there. Pity is in his eyes, and he touches Túrin’s arm softly.]

Gwindor: [gently:]

                Come. Let us bury him.

[With Gwindor’s guiding touch, Túrin stands, unthinking. Gwindor brings some sticks from nearby, and goes into the dell and finds some pieces of metal and left-over tools that the Orcs left behind them in their haste. He hands them to Túrin, and Túrin, moving like an automaton without thought, helps him to dig a hole in the ground. Then, once they have a hole about two feet deep, Gwindor lifts Beleg slightly, and slides him into the grave. Túrin sits there, looking at Beleg’s face, as Gwindor covers the body with dirt, and as it is slowly covered, until none of his body is left visible. Still Túrin looks at the place where he could once see Beleg’s face, and doesn’t move. Gwindor buries Beleg with his great bow, but takes the black sword, Anglachel.]

Gwindor: [muttering to himself:]

It is better to use this sword for vengeance against Morgoth, than to lie useless in the ground. And the lembas I shall take also, to strengthen us in the wild.

                [to Túrin; softly:]

                Come, let us go, Túrin.

[He puts his hand around him arm, and slowly raises him. He puts him arm around Túrin, and walks away with him, while Túrin walks like a machine, his eyes glazed, unseeing, totally witless and lost in mind.]

[As they travel, Gwindor leads him the entire time by the hand, as if he were a child, or with his arm around Túrin’s. They move slowly, since Gwindor must lead him on. They walk away through the dark forest of Taur-nu-Fuin; but Gwindor no longer looks frightened of the trees, or of getting lost, but walks with confidence, for all his attention is now on Túrin, who still does not speak or seem to see anything. When they stop for the night, they have just come through the forest, and are now facing the great rocky lands that Beleg had to come through to get there. When Gwindor stops, he says:]

                We will stop here for the night, Túrin.

[He helps him sit down, and Túrin lies down, but does not seem to sleep, and just lies there, still seeming frozen in time. Gwindor sighs, and sleeps restlessly. In the morning he gets up, takes Túrin’s hand, and with soft words, helps him get up and leads him on again, this time through a pass in the mountains, and down into a green valley, where a an island, in the midst of which is a broken rubble of stones, that looks like it was once a building or a tower. He leads him on past this, and we see them stop again for the night, with Túrin still acting the same way, and Gwindor still as his guide. Then several images pass of their walking, Gwindor still leading Túrin, through fields and open spaces, going through trees, and hiding as Orcs go past. Then their crossing several rivers, Gwindor still leading a seemingly witless Túrin. At last, after many days, Gwindor, with his hand in Túrin’s, leads him up onto a great stone hill, and looking over he sees a beautiful shining like, like crystal and diamonds, diaphanous in the shining sunlight. Gwindor smiles, catching his breath, and with joy on his face leads Túrin down the mountain slopes, until they reach the foot of the hill and come to the edge of the lake. Green trees surround it, and it is like a shining mirror of crystal and gold. Gwindor takes Túrin up to the very brink of the lake.]

Gwindor: [to Túrin:]

See here, is Lake Ivrin. Now, awake, Túrin son of Húrin Thalion! On Ivrin’s lake is endless laughter. She is fed from crystal fountains unfailing, and is guarded from defilement by Ulmo, Lord of Waters, who wrought her beauty in ancient days. Drink from her water!

[Túrin kneels down, and taking some of the water in his hands, he drinks the crystalline liquid. He sits for a moment, unmoving, then, all of a sudden, tears come into his eyes, and he casts himself down onto the ground, and begins to weep wildly, violently, without any restraint, curling himself onto the ground, and his tears flow down his face. Gwindor looks on with compassion, but does not move or touch him.]

Gwindor: [aside:]

Alas, it is grievous to see: but at the least his tears are loosed, and he is healed from his madness.

[It is some time before Túrin can get up again, but when he does, he is still weeping, though not so violently. He gets up on his knees, and through his tears, says aloud:]

Túrin:

I will make a song for Beleg: and it shall be called Laer Cú Beleg: The Song of the Great Bow!

[Then, without heed of drawing enemies or of anything else, he begins to sing at the top of his voice, through his tears:]

I.

Alas! Great Bow! That once in woods and fields
was terror of the orcs, and steadfast, strong;
against the armies dark a bitter shield
that in his life could ne’er commit a wrong.
But lost he is, and lost I’ll ever be,
for he is gone now, never more to trod
this barren earth. And I shall never see
his faithful face, but bend beneath Doom’s rod.
And Belthronding, his faithful bow of yew,
That ne’er was wielded by a mightier hand,
that noble deeds would never cease to do:
in him was all the greatness of that land.
O Beleg! Beleg! Wilt thou not return?
The love thou gave me I have never earned.

II.

In you was all the good in me. You knew
all things about me, and your faithful heart
asked never for return; and always true,
even in death, as we are rent apart.

Forgive me now, my brother! Please forgive
the one who never did deserve your love.
My own life I would give you now to live,
if only I could. Naught that rules above
could make exchange of one life for anoth’r.
Thou dwellest now in Mandos’ shadowed halls,
Where I would come for thee, my dearest broth’r.
But I dwell now enchained, as one of thralls.

O Beleg! Beleg! Brother of my heart!
What life is left in me, when we’re apart?

III.

‘Neath Doriath’s boughs we dwelt in all my years
of childhood and of growing as a boy.
He was my hero, through my grief and tears
I wanted to be like him. He brought joy
to me in years of sorrow. I saw him
as idol, friend, and captain, and his face
beheld I with delight, a light in grim
sad days, when darkness was my dwelling place.
The greatest woodsman in all Middle-earth,
the truest friend of any that has lived,
the kindest spirit of the dark sea’s berth,
most gen’rous heart that any one could give.

O Beleg! Now my greatest friend hath fled,
I walk this dark earth as one of the dead.

[Then he begins to weep again. Gwindor comes over to him.]

Gwindor: [with compassion:]

                Túrin, do not weep. He is now at rest.

[Túrin turns and sees Gwindor for the first time. He looks surprised that there is someone else there. Gwindor takes out Anglachel, and gives it to Túrin.]

                Here is Beleg’s sword. I have taken it for you to keep.

[Túrin takes it silently, his tears falling on the black hilt. Its edges are blunt and its blade black and dull. He looks up at Gwindor, who says:]

This is a strange blade, unlike any that I have seen in Middle-earth. It mourns for Beleg even as you do. But be comforted; for I return to Nargothrond of the House of Finarfin, and you shall come with me, and be healed and renewed.

Túrin: [looking at him]

                Who are you?

Gwindor: [shrugs]

A wandering Elf, a thrall escaped, whom Beleg met and comforted. Yet once I was Gwindor son of Guilin, a lord of Nargothrond, until I went to the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, and was enslaved in Angband.

Túrin:

                Then have you seen Húrin, son of Galdor, the warrior of Dor-lómin?

Gwindor: [shaking his head]

I have not seen him. But rumour of him runs through Angband that he still defies Morgoth; and Morgoth has laid a curse upon him and all his kin.

[pause]

Túrin:

                That I do believe.

                [Scene fades black.]