SCENE XVI

[Scene: Orodreth is in the royal apartments, sitting at his desk with piles of paper in front of him. There is a knock and the Steward enters, standing by the door.]

Steward:

                Forgive me, sire, for disturbing you.

Orodreth:

                Yes? What is it?

Steward:

                Two things: first, there seems to be a – slight problem with the water system.

                [Orodreth raises his eyebrow. The Steward clears his throat.]

There is a blockage in the water system that is not allowing the heating system to warm the water – and so the Eastern Wing is receiving only cold water.

Orodreth:

                And why do you come to me with these troubles?

Steward:

Ah, yes, you’re right, sire. But, you see, the architect of the water system is gone, as you recall, to the Mouths of Sirion for the Balar project.

Orodreth:

                Yes, I recall. Are there no workers about that could solve this problem?

Steward:

Ah, right you are, sire. But, alas, all of the laymen are ignorant of the workings of the metals and pipes and their correlation to the entire water system of Nargothrond.

Orodreth: [sighs]

Very well. I will come down with you to see if we can find anyone that knows aught of this.

                [motioning to the papers on his desk]

So many plans and paperwork I have to do – the layout for the archers in the defense of Talath Dírnen. I must speak to the Captain about it. Very well – what is the second thing you wished to ask me?

[The Steward suddenly looks abashed and reticent.]

Steward:

                Well, sire, it is …

Orodreth: [eyebrows raised]

                Yes?

Steward:

                It concerns… a matter of utmost importance to the safety of Nargothrond …

                [he stops]

Orodreth:

                Come, come! I am busy and have things to do –

                [he stands up to go]

Steward: [hastily:]

                Sire, it concerns the Lord Gwindor’s return.

                [Orodreth suddenly stops and looks at him.]

Your majesty knows the law of this city, that none who escapes from Angband may return to –

Orodreth: [waving him to silence]

                Yes, yes, I know.

                [He sits down wearily, holding his hand to his forehead. Muttering, as if to himself:]

                May we not forget the law this once?

                [The Steward waits patiently, looking rather sorry.]

Steward: [gently:]

Forgive me, my lord. But it is a necessary measure. Should this one be favoured only because he is the trothplighted of the Lady Finduilas, when others have been turned away?

                [Orodreth shakes his head, looking very weary.]

Orodreth:

                Nay, not for that. But – I do not think he is … enchained to the will of Morgoth.

                [He almost winces as he says this. Then he continues:]

                He … is a slave no longer.

Steward: [earnest, but carefully:]

                Yes, but, sire, how can we be sure?

                [Orodreth looks up at him at last.]

Orodreth:

He played my brother’s song.

                [At the Steward’s confused look:]

                Last night at the feast – the song he played … was Finrod’s song.

                [The Steward looks down.]

Steward: [softly:]

                Yes, I recall.

Orodreth: [fiercely:]

                Shall we betray this one too?

                [The Steward doesn’t answer. Orodreth continues more calmly:]

Such a mind that remembers my brother and that song, and remembers our betrayal of him, through all his years of torment, is not a mind enthralled. Nay, he is not overcome.

[He stands up. In a tone indicating that the past discussion is now over:]

We will speak no more of it. Come, let us go down and we shall find someone to correct the water difficulty.

[Scene change: Gwindor and Túrin walking together towards the Great Hall. Finduilas, coming from the other direction, sees them and runs toward them.]

Finduilas:

                Gwindor!

                [She walks by him, and asks him in a low tone:]

                Are you feeling better?

Gwindor: [nods]

                Yes, thank you.

                [louder:]

                I was just showing – Agarwaen, around Nargothrond, since he has never seen it before.

                [Finduilas nods her head politely to Túrin.]

                We are going to the Hall of Hours –

                [to Túrin:]

                – which you saw last night, but it should be empty now, and more open.

[They enter the hall – it is much more open. With most of the tables gone, we can now see many fountains running on the sides of the hall (in a way like the great hall of Menegroth), as well as the ornate stained glass on the roof , and carven designs on the columns and walls. The Hall is mostly empty, except for some people chatting at the other end, and a lone Elda, who is over by one of the fountains, seemingly working on something. They walk over to him, and stand by him for several moments, but he does not notice they are there, until Finduilas gets his attention.]

Finduilas: [softly:]

                Cousin…

[At this he looks over at them, and sits up. He is wearing some sort of magnifying lenses over his eyes, like an ancient form of thick glasses.]

Celebrimbor:

                Ah, greetings! Forgive me, I was working and did not notice you.

                [turning to Gwindor:]

                It is good to see you returned, Gwindor.

Gwindor:

                Thank you. I want to introduce you to my friend – Agarwaen.

                [Celebrimbor winces and shudders at the name.]

Celebrimbor: [to Túrin:]

                Such a name is not proper for one such as you. Have you not another?

Túrin:

                Last night at the feast I was called Adanedhel.

Celebrimbor: [looks relieved:]

                Very well, I shall call you that.

                [Then, as if realizing something:]

                You are a Man?

                [Túrin nods his assent. Celebrimbor looks delighted.]

Túrin:

                Yes, but I have not yet learned your name.

Celebrimbor:

                Forgive me. I am Celebrimbor.

Túrin: [polite:]

                And, do you have any family here as well?

                [Celebrimbor’s face suddenly becomes clouded.]

Celebrimbor:

                No. I no longer have any close kin in Middle-earth.

                [pause]

Finduilas: [trying to encourage him:]

                Of course you do, Celebrimbor! You have father and me.

                [He smiles at her.]

Celebrimbor:

                Of course. I meant any immediate family.

                [turning to Túrin:]

                I am sorry I could not meet you last night at the feast. I could not come.

Gwindor: [knowingly:]

                Were you – working?

Celebrimbor:

Yes – well, I am teaching a class on gem-making and the quarrying of stone, so I was preparing for that. But also, I got distracted on a theory I have been working on for some time now; although I suppose you know about it, since I started it before you – departed.

Túrin:

What sort of work do you do?

Celebrimbor:

                I work mostly with silver and smithwork, although I do other things as well.

                [pointing to the fountain:]

                Just now I have been re-tuning this fountain, for the water was sounding a bit hollow.

Finduilas:

                What is this theory, Celebrimbor? I have forgotten.

Celebrimbor: [getting excited:]

It is an idea that my – that Fëanor had originally, that the protection, safety, peace, and stability of a land could all be stored in one body, to not merely preserve it, but it keep those virtues so that they would resonate and continue to be used, if one with enough strength could use their power to utilise it. My gr – Fëanor attempted this, but all that resulted were some glass-like stones in which one could see the memories of such times and places, but it could not call them back again.

Túrin: [fascinated:]

                – But how would this be possible? How would one fashion such a thing?

Celebrimbor: [shrugs:]

That I do not know; and that is the problem. I do not know in what form these virtues would be stored.

[getting into lecture mode:]

But as for how it is possible: these virtues are not merely ideas and fancies that one cannot grasp. They are powers tangible and real that the Eldar may call forth, with all stable conditions, of course, and –

Gwindor: [leaning over and whispering to Túrin:]

                You do not know your peril. He has been known to go on for days like this.

Celebrimbor: [doesn’t seem to notice that the other has spoken:]

– that is what interested me so when I learned that you were mortal; for I have little experience with mortals, as is true for many in Nargothrond, and I am very curious to know, if the Edain have the ability as well, to call forth peace and stability in times of strife, and obtain the power to keep that in memory and call it forth again.

[There is a pause. Túrin’s face becomes clouded and troubled.]

Túrin:

                No – no we do not have that power.

                [He turns away. Celebrimbor looks concerned. In an undertone:]

Celebrimbor: [in an undertone:]

                I am sorry if I have said something wrong.

Finduilas: [softly:]

Do not worry. I think they both need time for healing together –though I know not what lies so heavily on the other.

Túrin: [turns back to Celebrimbor:]

                Forgive me, lord. I hope that you may progress in your theory.

Celebrimbor:

                Thank you, Adanedhel. I hope you may find peace in Nargothrond.

Túrin: [smiles sadly, and a bit grimly]

                Perhaps.

Finduilas:

                Farewell, Celebrimbor.

Gwindor:

                I hope to see you again soon.

[They take their leave of him, and begin to walk out of the hall. When they are far enough away that Celebrimbor can no longer hear them, Túrin says:]

Túrin:

If my asking is not presumptuous, will you tell me who is his family? And what grievance does he have against them?

[Gwindor sighs and looks sad. Finduilas answers him.]

Finduilas:

His father is Curufin, and he and his brother Celegorm were living here in Nargothrond for some time.

                [Túrin’s eyebrows knit together in displeasure at these names.]

Túrin:

                Curufin the son of Fëanor?

                [They nod.]

                I have heard of them –

                [he stops]

Gwindor:

                In Doriath?

                [Túrin nods]

Finduilas:

                Yes, Thingol has a grievance against the sons of Fëanor –

                [aside:]

                – for which I do not blame him.

Túrin:

                And Curufin is Celebrimbor’s father? And he has repudiated his father?

                [they nod]

Gwindor: [careful:]

                And you know … what happened – here …?

Túrin: [nods]

                Yes. I learned of that as well.

Finduilas:

                My father forced them to leave Nargothrond, after my – after…

Gwindor: [finishing for her:]

                But that was after the damage had been done.

                [sighs]

The city has never been the same since then. We – we have fallen from our high place among the great Elven cities. And we are to blame…

Finduilas: [urgent:]

                Gwindor, no – it is not your fault.

Gwindor:

Faelivrin, it is over now. Our King is no more. If we might rise up to the city we were before, things would be greatly improved…

[Túrin says nothing, but look thoughtful. Scene fades.]

[Scene change: Gwindor and Túrin are wandering in a long empty hall, looking lost.]

Gwindor:

I knew it was the third left after the second north corridor. But they put a new stairway in and renovated the second hall – and I have no idea where are.

Túrin: [touching his arm:]

                Look over there, Gwindor. There is a map.

[They go over to where the hallway turns at a ninety degree angle, and there in the corner is a huge map, from a bird’s eye view, of the tunnels and halls of Nargothrond. It looks like a highly complicated maze. Gwindor takes his finger and follows the lines.]

Gwindor:

This is where we are; and we came down here and – this is where the new stair is, I suppose.

[He throws his hands up.]

I do not know. The forge used to be on the third level in the South corridor. Perhaps they have moved it.

[He looks dejected and depressed. Túrin keeps looking at the map.]

Túrin:

                Perhaps we can find someone to lead us there.

[Gwindor sighs. Just then Orodreth comes around the corner, speaking to the Steward, and almost runs into them.]

Orodreth:

                Gwindor, Adanedhel. Forgive me, I was in haste.

Túrin: [bows his head to him]

                My lord.

Orodreth:

                And where were you two going?

Gwindor:

To the forge; but I’m afraid we … have lost our way. Things have changed since … I was last here.

Orodreth:

Of course! I should have had someone lead you around. We did put a new stairway in the north side. Actually, you may come with us: we are going down now to the third level to fix a problem with the water system.

Gwindor: [aside:]

                So it is where it used to be.

                [to the Steward:]

                What is the problem with the water system? Is Berion still doing that?

Steward:

                He is, but he is gone now to the mouth of Sirion on the Balar project.

                [Gwindor looks confused at this allusion. The Steward passes it over.]

We are trying to find someone else to fix it – there seems to be a problem with the heating system that is blocking hot water from the Eastern wing.

Gwindor: [brows furrowed in thought]

Have you attempted realignment of the lower cog wheels? At times those can becomes misplaced and cause an alteration of the water flow. You are possibly receiving twice the amount of hot water to another wing.

Steward: [looks delighted]

                No, no one has yet looked at it. We could find no one.

Gwindor:

                I would be happy to look at it, and see if I can fix it.

Steward:

                My deepest thanks to you.

                [to Orodreth:]

                Your majesty?

Orodreth:

                Yes, yes, that is well. Go ahead.

Gwindor: [to Túrin:]

                I shall meet with you soon, at the forge.

[Túrin nods. The two walk away, still discussing the workings of water systems.

Orodreth sighs and looks away]

Orodreth: [weary aside:]

                He never knew how to do such things before.

Túrin:

                He learned much in his captivity.

                [Orodreth looks at him earnestly.]

Orodreth:

                Tell me: has he told you much – about …?

Túrin:

He has told me some. But for most of the time we were together in in our travels I was witless, and unmanned, and he was my guide and healer… I believe there is healing for him here; especially in some few.

[Orodreth nods silently and blinks. Then he moves onto a new track:]

Orodreth:

                Have you found all that you need here, Adanedhel?

Túrin:

                You are kind, lord. I have few needs. I wish only for the resharpening of my sword –

                [He points to the black sword in its sheath at his waist.]

– And I wish to be a warrior in your service, and fight upon the marches against Morgoth.

Orodreth: [looks moved]

I honour your request. Mostly those who come here only – want books, diversion, clothing, and comfort. I shall send someone right away to go with you to the forge and – we shall provide you with fit mail and armour. Ah, and here is just such a one to take you.

[He motions to the Captain, who is just now hurrying down the hall towards them. He stops before them, and bows.]

Captain:

                Your majesty.

                [Then, seeing Túrin, his face brightens.]

                Lord Adanedhel! I –

Orodreth: [with one eyebrow raised]

                Captain – is there something you needed to speak to me about?

Captain: [hastily:]

Oh, yes, sire. I have come directly from the front. the army of orcs that we saw two days ago from the East has actually now come North. I suppose they must have crept around the hillside. Should we still ambush them/ I know not what else to do.

[Orodreth looks pensive fore a moment, and is about to speak, when Túrin says:]

Túrin:

                Excuse me, sire. If I may offer a suggestion?

                [Orodreth turns to him.]

Orodreth:

                Yes?

Túrin:

Do not wait, and ambush the entire company at once. Wait, rather, until the first third have come through, then attack them suddenly from three sides, crushing their vanguard and surrounding the remainder of their force.

Captain: [blinks]

                Brilliant thought! Your highness?

Orodreth:

                Yes, yes! Right away!

[The Captain bows to them, grinning, then heads off down the hall. Orodreth looks relieved to see him go. He turns to Túrin:]

                Thank you. The Captain of our forces, ever since my brother, and his captain left –

                [he shakes his head, but leaves the description unsaid]

You are most welcome among my forces. I am certain the Captain will be happy to have you as well.

                [He begins walking.]

                Come, I will have someone take you to the smithy.

                [They walk away down the hallway together. Scene fadeout.

[Scene change: Túrin and Gwindor in the smithy – a back door leads outside, and most of the light in the forge comes from thence, though there are some sconces hanging on the walls. They stand by the walls while the Elven smiths are pounding out his black sword, and sharpening it. Then one of them turns to him.]

Smith:

                What name shall we engrave on your sword?

                [pause]

Túrin:

                Call it Gurthang – Iron of Death.

                [The smith nods, and they go to work engraving. Scene fades.]