SCENE XVIII

[Scene: the apartments of Lord Guilin’s household. Finduilas is standing before the door, dressed in a lovely, flowing dress of light blue and silver, her hair pinned back from her face, and small blue jewels arrayed throughout it. She wears earrings like diamond tear drops, and a thin, veil-like white cloak over her shoulders, with lace like snowdrops across it. She knocks at the door, waiting. Guilin opens it.]

Guilin:

                Ah, my dear. I am sure you are here for Gwindor.

Finduilas:

                Well, yes. The party is beginning, and I didn’t see him there. Is he all right?

Guilin:

                Ah, well actually, dear, he has not been feeling well. He is very tired today.

Finduilas: [concerned:]

                May I see him?

Guilin:

                Certainly.

[He stands by to let her pass, and she enters the living room of the apartments, following him back to Gwindor’s room, with Túrin’s beside it. Guilin motions her to Gwindor’s room, the door of which stands open. She comes quietly up, and sees Túrin sitting by Gwindor, speaking quietly to him. Gwindor’s head is lowered, but Túrin sees her enter and nods to her.]

Finduilas: [softly:]

                Gwindor…

                [Gwindor looks up, hearing his name, and tries to smile.]

Gwindor:

                Faelivrin…

                [She comes over and sits next to him, clasping his hand.]

Finduilas:

                Are you all right, dear?

Gwindor: [with a wan smile]

                Yes, I am fine. Just a bit weary today.

Finduilas:

                I was worried about you, when you came not to the place that we had said.

Gwindor: [realizing:]

Oh, your party. Faelivrin, I am so sorry. I was supposed to meet you, and you must have been so worried. I … I am sorry. I think I am too tired to go.

Finduilas: [concerned:]

                Perhaps I should stay with you, Gwindor. I do not want to leave you here by yourself.

Gwindor: [earnest:]

Oh no, no. You must go or I really will be upset. I shall not ruin the festivities. Please do go.

[Seeing her downcast countenance, he turns to Túrin with a pleading look; in an undertone:]

Would you go with her? I feel so badly I cannot go with her, and I do not wish her to be disappointed.

[Túrin nods and stands up, offering his arm dutifully.]

Gwindor: [to Finduilas:]

                Adanedhel will go with you, my dear, instead.

[Finduilas tries to hide her disappointment, and looks around for a way of escape; but none is forthcoming, and she resigns herself to her fate. She takes Túrin’s proffered arm with a small sigh, and looks back at Gwindor wistfully.]

Finduilas:

                I shall return as soon as I can, to see how you fare.

[Gwindor tries to smile, and as they leave, lies down on his bed. Guilin smiles at them on his way to Gwindor’s room. They walk side by side down the hall in silence, not looking at each other. Túrin is taller than Finduilas, who is already a tall elf-woman; and Túrin, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, sees a flashback in his mind once again, of Lalaith, running in her blue and silver dress through the grass. He turns away.]

Finduilas: [still not looking at him; chilly:]

You know, I do not think your presence is good for Gwindor: your silence and gloominess make him weary and sad. That I do not appreciate.

Túrin:

                I am who I am despite others.

                [She sniffs and does not answer.]

                On the contrary, Gwindor seems to me to be doing much better since I first met him.

Finduilas: [cold:]

                And I suppose you deem that is due to you?

Túrin:

                No. I was just going to say that I think it is due to your attentions.

[She looks away to the other side of the hall as they continue walking. They do not speak again until they reach the doors of the Great Hall, which are standing open. There are many people in the hall already, standing about and talking in groups, and musicians playing at the end of the Hall. Orodreth comes up to them as they enter.]

Orodreth: [nodding to Túrin:]

                Good evening, Adanedhel.

Túrin:

                Good evening, lord.

Orodreth: [to Finduilas; in an undertone:]

                People were worrying when their hostess did not come. I have held them at bay for you.

Finduilas:

                Thank you, Father.

Orodreth: [looking around them:]

                Gwindor did not come, dear?

Finduilas: [sighs]

                No, Father. He was not feeling well.

                [She turns away from Túrin; to her father:]

                I should go look after my guests.

[Before she can escape, people begin to gather around her and Túrin, as people will gather around interesting figures in little groups at parties. The Lord and Lady flutter over, with their friend the Scholar, as well as the Captain of Nargothrond’s troops. They bow/curtsey to the Princess and the Man, greeting them.]

Finduilas: [graciously, trying not to sound weary/ annoyed:]

                I am so glad you all could come tonight.

Lord:

Thank you, Princess. We have just been discussing your now composition, “Starlight Rain:” absolutely lovely.

Lady:

                We are so eager to hear it. We would be delighted if you would play it tonight.

Finduilas: [hesitant:]

                I do not think so. I am rather weary tonight.

Scholar:

                Oh, but we would all so enjoy it. I can have someone fetch your harp for you.

Finduilas:

                Oh, no thank you. Besides, I need a second part to accompany me.

Lady: [glancing at Túrin:]

                Oh, but I am sure Adanedhel  would be happy to –

Túrin: [shakes his head]

                I am sorry, I do not play an instrument.

                [pause; the Captain clears his throat]

Captain:

                Well, you look lovely this evening, my lady.

Finduilas:

Thank you.

Captain:

And how is the lord Gwindor this evening?

[Finduilas’ brow clouds a little but she conceals it quickly.]

Finduilas:

                He is resting. He was – a bit tired today.

Captain:

I am sorry to hear it. He was looking a bit tired out on the marches today. I think the strain was too much for him –

Túrin: [interrupting him in a timely manner:]

Captain, I had a question about the second legion of archers, which I was considering earlier today.

[The Captain looks pleased at having Túrin ask him a question about military affairs.]

The second strong, when you released them, did not seem like an appropriate time. Perhaps if you had waited another quarter of an hour for them, and send the fourth string first, it would have been a more efficient attack.

Captain: [thoughtful:]

                Perhaps you are right…

[Finduilas looks relieved at having the attentions taken off her and Gwindor. As Túrin and the Captain speak together, Celebrimbor comes up into the circle.]

Scholar:

                Greetings, Lord Celebrimbor.

                [Celebrimbor bows to them.]

Finduilas:

                I am so glad to see you could come tonight, cousin.

Celebrimbor:

Thank you. Your father practically dragged me away from my manuscripts. He said I had to come.

[He winks at her, and she smiles. The Lord, Lady, and Scholar look uncomfortable at this camaraderie, perhaps feeling as if they are being left out.]

Scholar: [clears his throat:]

Lord Celebrimbor, I am eager to hear about your new theory on the preservation of memories.

Celebrimbor: [sighs]

Actually, I have taken a rest from that since I have not as yet had any new insights, and am working on a new idea.

Lady: [interested:]

                And what is that?

Celebrimbor: [pleasantly:]

I am exploring the idea of a key word, for hand-built edifices, that can, if one with enough power exerts their strength upon it, can loose stone from stone and shake its core foundations – as the Lady Lúthien did on the isle of Minas Tirith.

[This makes the three even more uncomfortable than before. There is a long pause. Fortunately just then Túrin seems to have completed his archery discussion with the Captain and turns back to the group. Celebrimbor speaks to him.]

Celebrimbor: [amiable:]

                Adanedhel, it is pleasant to see you again.

Túrin:

                Thank you, and to you as well. You have a rest now from your labours?

Celebrimbor: [smiles]

                Yes, I have come to a hard place in my calculations and thus must take a break for a time.

Lord:

                Lord Celebrimbor, surely you will play something for us tonight?

Celebrimbor:

                I could, but I have nothing prepared.

[Just as the Lady is about to extol him to play anyway, they are saved by two young elven soldiers running up (as gracefully as they can) and standing before their Captain, pointing to Túrin and speaking together quietly.]

Soldier:

                Look, I told you: it is the Mormegil!

Second Soldier:

                Where is his Black Sword?

Soldier:

                Do not be foolish: he would not wear it to a feast.

[They stop, looking embarrassed, when they see that the others are looking at them. The soldier tries to explain himself:]

                Excuse us, we just came to meet the Mormegil.

                [to Túrin; quickly, as if nervous:]

Greetings, sire. My – my friend here wanted to see you and I have never met you and we so admire your ability with the sword and skill in battle and your intelligence with military matters and so we wanted to tell you so and –

[he stops to take a breath; Túrin takes this opportunity to step in:]

Túrin:

                Thank you. I do not know if I have seen you on the plains. What are your names?

Second Soldier:

                I am Manendil, lord, from the Havens of Brithombar.

Soldier:

                And I am Celvandil. I was born in Nargothrond.

Captain:

                They are both in the third legion on archers on the South bank.

Túrin: [brightens slightly:]

                Ah, you are archers! I had a friend who –

[but he stops, his face becoming clouded and upset. During the pause that ensues in which the others are waiting for him to continue, Celebrimbor rescues him:]

Celebrimbor: [to the soldiers:]

                Why did you call him “the Mormegil”?

Captain: [glad to be of service:]

Ah, all the soldiers have begun to call him that, mainly because of the Black Sword that he wields with such deadly accuracy.

[Finduilas then speaks up, wearily, while looking over to the other end of the hall.]

Finduilas:

                If you will excuse me, lords, I really must see to my other guests, and the music.

[She curtseys to them and speeds away before Túrin can follow or the others can stop her. Celebrimbor looks up at Túrin as he attempts to walk after her, after the manner of an escort, but the people standing there won’t let him leave.]

Lord:

                Adanedhel, won’t you please tell us more about your work on the marches?

Soldier:

                Yes, we are so excited to hear! How did you learn so much about the sword?

Second Soldier:

                Could you teach us?

Captain:

                As you see, Adanedhel, my soldiers are so eager to learn from you.

                [Before Túrin can answer, lord Guilin comes up.]

Guilin:

Adanedhel, I was looking for you. Do you have a moment? There is something I would like to speak with you about.

Túrin: [looking at him gratefully:]

                Yes, lord: all the time you desire.

[The Lord, Lady, Scholar, Captain, and soldiers look disappointed. When they glance back over to where Celebrimbor was standing, they find that he has slipped away too. He, in fact, has followed Finduilas, who is not sitting down by the table of drinks near where the musicians are, with her hand to her forehead.]

Celebrimbor:

                You look weary. Here, have some wine.

                [He pours a glass of red wine and hands it to her. She accepts it gratefully.]

Finduilas:

Thank you. I just so weary of all the talk of “the Mormegil.” Do they forget that Gwindor was once their leader?

Celebrimbor: [gently:]

No. But he is no more, Finduilas. And that is not a bad thing. Do not slight the Man because he has skills that Gwindor now has lost.

Finduilas:

                I do slight him, no matter how unjust [wrong] it may be. I cannot help it.

                [She turns away, wiping her eyes.]

Celebrimbor:

And yet he is humble. He wishes for their praise as little as you do, I believe. He reminds me in some ways of Beren.

[Finduilas shakes her head]

Finduilas:

                No, he is nothing like him.

                [pause]

                I must go set up the music for the evening. Excuse me.

[She stands and goes over to the musicians. Celebrimbor stands there still, getting himself some wine, and the King comes over.]

Orodreth:

                I overheard you.

                [Celebrimbor nods]

I think Adanedhel, or Mormegil as they are now calling him, is much like Beren: strong and fearless in battle, strong, valiant.

Celebrimbor: [nods]

Yes. They both have a sadness about them; though perhaps that comes from being of mortal kind, and losing so quickly what ever they gain on this Earth.

Orodreth:

And yet … there is a darkness, a deeper sadness that lies upon this Man than did lie upon Beren. Beren had a sense of humour, and saw a sort of fatalistic bright side of life. Adanedhel … seems more often silent, and withdrawn. He speaks little, though when he does it is with firmness of will and intensity.

Celebrimbor:

                They seem to me to be akin somehow.

Orodreth:

                Perhaps they are. I know nothing of Adanedhel’s past.

[They look over to another part of the hall where Túrin stands speaking with Lord Guilin. They seem deep in a conversation.]

Túrin: [earnest, pitying:]

I think that it shall not last long. He went with us today on the hunt, which is the first in which he has taken part since he returned; and it wearied him, I think.

[Guilin sighs and is about to speak, when two elven maidens comes fluttering up together, blushing and curtseying. Both of them have dark hair and are shorter than Finduilas, but are dressed in clothing no less elegant. They speak to Túrin:]

Maidens:

                Greetings, Adanedhel. I am Míriwen, and this is my companion, Alassiel.

                [He bows his head to them politely.]

Second Maiden:

We wanted to meet you, for we wanted to see if you were like Beren, who is the only other mortal that ever we have met.

                [Túrin is trying to appear interested.]

Túrin:

                Indeed? I would be honoured to hear that I am.

                [Hearing him speak, the maidens giggle and turn towards each other.]

Maiden:

                Oh, his accent is so quaint!

Second Maiden:

                I love it!

                [turning back to him:]

Maiden:

                Well, lord, he was so much shorter than you are – you are so much taller!

Second Maiden:

                The Lady Lúthien was taller than he … And you are so much more fair that he was.

                [They blush. Túrin looks unmoved.]

                And you speak so much better than he did.

Maiden: [hastens to add:]

We do not mean to say he did not speak well. His Sindarin was easy to understand, but … his Northern accent was quite strong.

                [pause]

Túrin:

Indeed? I hope that I may measure up to his strength and ability, and his nobility as one great among mortal kind.

[The maidens stop, hearing the musicians tune up, and the people clearing the center floor. They look delighted.]

Maiden:

                Oh, look, they are clearing the floor for dancing?

                [coquettish:]

                Will you dance, Adanedhel?

Túrin: [austere:]

                No, thank you. I do not dance.

                [she looks disappointed]

Maiden: [rallying:]

                Well, perhaps Manendil will dance.

                [They curtsey again to Túrin.]

                Lord Adanedhel.

                [He bows to them and they glide off; but as they go, the maiden’s friend says to her:]

Second Maiden:

It surprises me that you thought he would dance. He looks too proud and serious to do anything of the sort.

[Hearing this, Túrin gives a mellow smile. Finduilas begins to play with the other musicians, and Lord Guilin and Túrin move over to the table of refreshments where Celebrimbor stands, and smiles at them.]

Guilin: [to Túrin:]

Will you have a grapefruit? We shipped these in last winter, but they should still be sweet.

Túrin: [takes it]

                Thank you.

Celebrimbor: [to Túrin:]

                Adanedhel – Mormegil –

                [stops]

                – Which do you prefer to be called?

Túrin: [shrugs]

                Either is well for me. I take what names are given to me.

Celebrimbor:

Mormegil, then; tell me: do your people have any experience with memory retrieval and preservation? I am not familiar with the mortal capabilities of such things.

Túrin:

                My people … do not forget things easily.

[Through his mind runs the image of he and Lalaith playing and laughing outside, and Morwen sitting by, smiling at them. Then he sees himself, and Beleg, hunting together in the woods, speaking and jesting together. To Celebrimbor:]

We remember all joys, and all grievances against us –

[he clenches his fist]

Therefore our hatred for Morgoth is ever the more bitter. We will never forsake our war with him.

                [His face is strained with intensity, his fists clenched.]

Celebrimbor: [nods]

Yes. Yes, that is true: even with the Elves. The Enemy has spread into the minds of – even my close family. That is why we make war upon him.

Túrin:

And yet this mode of stealthy warfare, hiding in the shadows and lurking like voles – this is no valiant way to defend the great strongholds of Elves and Men.

Guilin:

And yet we must be careful going to open battle, Adanedhel, or the forces of Morgoth will whelm against up and discover the secret place where Nargothrond lies.

Túrin:

                Not if we fight them back; they will never come close enough to see its doors.

Celebrimbor:

                I do not doubt you. But I do fear the Great Worm of Angband, and what he might do.

Túrin: [interested:]

                The Great Worm? Glaurung?

Guilin:

                Yes. You know of him?

Túrin:

                Yes, the image of him is graven on –

                [he stops]

Celebrimbor:

                On what?

Túrin:

A piece of armour I – my father had, and gave to me. But we should not fear Glaurung. Did not King Fingon and his archers drive him back to Angband with shame, too weak to suffer the darts of his host?

Celebrimbor:

                Even so. But he has grown much these past years in Angband, nursing his malice.

Túrin:

                I do not fear the Worm.

Guilin: [shaking his head]

                Then you are a more valiant man than I.

Túrin: [shaking his head in turn]

It has naught to do with valiance: I wish to make war upon Morgoth to drive the forces back, and free the lands from evil, so that I may return North to –

                [he stops again]

                – to make the lands free for all peoples.

Guilin:

                I wish that also.

Celebrimbor:

And yet the darkness of Morgoth may work even amongst us, as we have seen with my – with the Oath. We must beware the guile of Morgoth, whose purpose is always other than he reveals.

                [the others nod]

Túrin:

                Indeed.

                [aside:]

                That I know well.

[Finduilas and the musicians have finished their song, and the current dance is over, so she comes over to the table to get some refreshment.]

Celebrimbor:

                That was lovely, cousin.

Finduilas:

                Thank you, Celebrimbor.

                [facetious:]

                Have you been bothering Lord Guilin with all the facets of your theory again?

Celebrimbor: [smiles:]

                No, we were just speaking with the Mormegil about Glaurung, the Dragon of Morgoth.

                [Finduilas frowns at the mention of Mormegil, and looks away from Túrin]

Finduilas: [to Celebrimbor:]

                Glaurung has returned? We thought that cousin Fingon had driven him back.

Celebrimbor:

Yes, but he came back in the Dagor Bragollach, and more recently in the Unnumbered Tears, when Azaghâl the Dwarf lord sent a knife into his belly and he went fleeing back to Angband.

Finduilas:

Ah, yes. I had forgotten. It almost seems to me that as soon as one threat is taken away Morgoth sends another. Now that Sauron is defeated, he sends Glaurung back.

Túrin:

You are right; but do not think that Sauron is vanquished: he is only exiled. He still weaves his spells of horror about Taur-nu-Fuin. It is a dreadful place. Even the trees are accursed.

[He shudders. Finduilas ignores him, but Celebrimbor and Guilin look at him in amazement.]

Celebrimbor: [his mouth hanging open]

                You have been to Taur-nu-Fuin?

                [Túrin nods gravely.]

Guilin:

                Whence? When? How did you come there?

Túrin:

I … do not remember much about it. At that time I was not fully … aware of what passed. Gwindor helped me to escape but what happened at that time I … do not recall.

[Finduilas’ ears perk up at the mention of Gwindor, but she still does not turn to look at him or acknowledge he’s speaking.]

Guilin:

                I … cannot imagine. Forgive me, it is perhaps painful memories that I awake.

Túrin: [smiles sadly:]

                They will live forever in my mind.

Celebrimbor:

                Finduilas, was your father ever in Taur-nu-Fuin?

Finduilas:

Well, before it became the Deadly Nightshade, yes. He went there to visit his brothers in Dorthonion.

Celebrimbor:

                Ah, that is right: I had forgotten. Did you ever go there with him?

Finduilas:

                No. I stayed in Hithlum with cousin Fingon.

Celebrimbor: [thoughtful:]

Your father must have more experience with mortals than I realized. I think he had met Beren’s great-aunt Andreth.

Finduilas: [nodding]

                Yes, he did. I recall him telling me about that.

Celebrimbor: [to Túrin:]

The King and I were discussing earlier how you remind us of Beren. We thought that you might be akin.

                [pause; he seems to be waiting for Túrin to affirm or negate this]

Túrin: [ambiguous:]

                Do we look alike?

Guilin:

Somewhat, I think. Your hair and eyes make us think of the House of Bëor, and you seem moved more often to pity than to laughter.

Túrin:

                Then I am honoured to me called one among them.

                [Finduilas looks slightly annoyed by this conversation.

Finduilas:

                But Beren was certainly not so haughty or proud.

                [she curtseys to them]

                If you will excuse me, lord.

                [with that she glides off]

[Scene change: The party is nearly over, and most of the guests are leaving or have left. Túrin is standing by the door next to Finduilas as she bids her departing guests farewell. He does the same politely but concisely. Then when she is ready to go, he turns to help her put on her cloak, but she has already flipped it on around her.]

Finduilas: [not looking at him]

                I am ready.

                [They go out the Great Hall doors, leaving the servants there to clean up behind them.]

Túrin:

                I shall walk you back to your rooms.

Finduilas: [not looking at him, chill:]

                I do not need an escort.

Túrin: [insisting:]

                Gwindor wished me to accompany you.

                [Finduilas becomes angry at this.]

Finduilas:

Gwindor? What do you care of Gwindor? You have stolen the love of his soldiers, his honour on the field, his – his –

                [she cannot continue for emotion]

Túrin: [gentle:]

My lady, forgive me if it seems that I do. I do not wish it. I desire for Gwindor to return to life, love, and happiness –

Finduilas: [angrily:]

                You do not love Gwindor. You could not.

Túrin: [looks at her; earnest:]

I love Gwindor as my guide and healer, when my wits were gone and my sanity had fled. He led me when there was no one else to help me. And I am filled with pity for him, for I see the torment he must have undergone and can imagine the way he once was. He is the closest friend I have now; and I do love him, in my own way. He has a tender heart and kind, and it is grievous to see that his body can no longer match the flame of his spirit.

[At this, she turns and truly looks at him, for the first time since he has come there. But after a moment tears fill her eyes and she turns away.]

Finduilas: [softly:]

                Good evening, my lord.

[She turns and walks away down the hall, her face in her hands. Túrin watches her go with sadness in his eyes. Scene fades black.]