SCENE XX

[Scene: Túrin sits in the library at a carven table, with paper in front of him, and a pen, and he is reading a book that is open beside him. Gwindor is over at the other end of the library with his father Guilin, looking at books and reading. Several others stand around the library, silent. Finduilas comes in the main door, dressed in a silver white dress, and looks around for a moment, as if seeking someone. She sees Gwindor and waves and smiles at him. He smiles back and comes over to him. They speak for a few minutes, then Finduilas walks over to where Túrin sits. He still has not noticed her entrance, when she stands before him.]

Finduilas: [quietly:]

                Lord Adanedhel?

                [He looks up and sees her.]

Túrin:

                Lady Finduilas.

                [He is about to get up when she says:]

Finduilas:

                May I sit with you for a moment?

Túrin:

                Certainly.

                [she sits down across from him at the table; there is a pause]

Finduilas:

                I wish to apologize for my conduct at the party –

Túrin: [dismissive:]

                That was long ago, lady – nearly a month past.

Finduilas:

Yes, but I still wish to give my apologies, for my conduct was rude and inappropriate. I – misdoubted you, and I believe I took you for someone you were not.

                [pause]

Túrin:

                Thank you, lady; though I could understand your grief at the time.

Finduilas: [shaking her head]

Any grief should not come in the way of courtesy to my guests, or to my escort. I – acted wrongly and ask your forgiveness.

Túrin:

                There is no need, lady.

Finduilas:

                Thank you. And you may call me Finduilas, as all others do in this realm.

                [Túrin smiles]

Túrin:

                Very well.

                [pause; Finduilas looks thoughtful]

Finduilas: [slowly:]

I perceive now that some grief lies on you, as it does on Gwindor; and perhaps I took that at first for haughtiness, and cold disdain.

Túrin: [shaking his head]

                I care much for Gwindor, and wish only for his healing and joy.

Finduilas: [sighs]

                Yes…

[She looks sad and thoughtful. After a moment she rouses herself. Pointing to Túrin’s book:]

                What is it you are reading there?

Túrin: [looking at the book]

This is a record of the battle tactics employed by the lords of Dorthonion before the Battle of Sudden Flame.

Finduilas: [nods]

                I see. And why are you studying that?

Túrin:

                I am researching for my report to the Council in the next few weeks.

Finduilas: [looking carefully at the tome:]

                Yes, that is one of the few that was saved from the flames.

Túrin: [curious:]

                How did they rescue some of them?

Finduilas:

The – the exiles that fled thence to Hithlum, some of them my Uncle’s people, some of them of House Bëor, brought them with them, those that they rescued in haste.

[Túrin lowers his head but says nothing, seeing in his mind a picture of Morwen and her cousin fleeing from burning houses, with a group of others, and traveling wayworn to Dor-lómin. Finduilas notices that he looks troubled; but not knowing what of her words brought them on, turns to a new topic, pointing to something that sits on the table nearby. It is a wooden board of octagonal shape, a little over two feet in diameter. Within the octagonal frame is a raised circle, two feet in diameter, with a hold in the middle, about an inch across.]

Finduilas:

That is one of the traditions that was preserved in Hithlum. Have you ever seen one of these before?

Túrin: [looking at it]

                No, I do not think I have. What is it?

Finduilas:

                It is a game that I learned from cousin Fingon when we visited him in Hithlum.

Túrin: [bemused:]

                Cousin Fingon?

Finduilas: [surprised that he doesn’t know:]

                Yes. He is my father’s cousin –

                [she winces]

                – he was.

                [Túrin smiles sadly and gives an understanding nod.]

Túrin: [bringing her back]

                And you learned of this fame from Fingon.

Finduilas:

Yes. He thinks – thought it originated with the Bëorings, originally. He learned it on some of his visits with Angrod and Aegnor when they came from Dorthonion.

                [Túrin starts suddenly at this.]

Túrin:

                I think I do recall that game.

                [he looks over at the board]

Yes – there are three circles here, two smaller ones in the larger, and around the centre hole are pegs placed slightly apart. Yes, I recall this. I – my mother taught it to us when we were children. I – used to play it with Labadal…

Finduilas: [smiles, giggling slightly:]

                Labadal? “Hopafoot”?

Túrin: [smiles sadly]

                He was a servant of our household.

Finduilas: [drawing the board between them]

                Would you like to play it again?

Túrin:

Certainly. I have not heard of this game in years. You shall have to remind me how to play. I forget also what it is called?

Finduilas:

Well, I do not know the mortal name for it, but we call it ______sarni [A Hundred Stone]. Here, you may use the tan pieces, and I shall use the black. Each of us gets twelve.

[She hands him the small wood pieces, like little discs, just less than an inch in diameter, and about a centimeter tall.]

Túrin:

                Why it is called “One Hundred Stone” when there are twelve pieces?

Finduilas:

I am not certain, but I believe it is a combination of two things: one is supposed to play to a hundred points, although we may just play one round, if you wish; and also I believe the original inventors of this game played just with stones instead of wooden discs.

Túrin: [nods]

Yes, that is how we played it. I had never seen such an elaborate board as this before; that is why I did not recognize it at first. We used stones, and drew lines in the dirt, and used sticks for the pegs around the centre hole.

Finduilas: [understanding]

That is probably because they were fleeing, in a time of war, and had to find ways of entertainment with few resources.

Túrin:

                Yes.

                [pause]

Finduilas:

                Here, I shall begin, and show you how to do it.

                [She takes one of the discs in her hand, and sets it on the edge of the largest circle.]

You must keep the piece on the line of the outermost circle, and try to hit it in the centre hole, like so.

[She flicks the discs with her finger, and it goes inside the centermost circle, between the wooden pegs.]

Now, since I did not make it into the ole, which would give me twenty marks, you must try to hit it out, into the gulf surrounding the largest circle.

Túrin:

                Ah, yes, I recall this now.

[He takes one of his tan discs and hits it inside the pegs where it collides with her black one.]

Finduilas:

                Very good. Now I go again.

[She hits another black one: this one it rests inside the second circle. Then Túrin takes his turn.]

Túrin:

It is so much easier to play on this flat wooden surface, than the stones on the soil the way we used to play.

                [Finduilas hits her piece and it goes straight into the centre hole.]

Finduilas:

                Ah! There it goes.

Túrin:

                I have forgotten what that signifies.

                [Finduilas removes the piece and sets it aside.]

Finduilas:

                Getting it in the hole merits twenty marks.

                [As they continue playing, Túrin sits thinking and frowns.]

                What is it?

Túrin:

This makes me think of the War, I know not why. All the pieces battle against each other to reach one centre goal – but so soon as any does achieve the goal, they are removed.

Finduilas: [pensive:]

                You mean … like my uncle Fingolfin? And my Uncles?

Túrin: [nods]

                Like Beren. And Lúthien.

                [Finduilas stops, fingering the wood chip in her hand.]

Finduilas: [suddenly:]

                Are you of the kin of Bëor?

Túrin: [ambiguous:]

                Do I look it?

Finduilas:

Somewhat, though I have seen less of that House. I have mostly been to Hithlum and through Dor-lómin –

Túrin: [interested:]

                You were in Dor-lómin? When?

Finduilas: [thinking it through]

                It must have been – two Great Years past, before the Unnumbered Tears…

Túrin: [looks disappointed:]

                Oh.

                [Finduilas looks at him curiously.]

Finduilas:

                We went to visit Fingon. It is a beautiful land…

Túrin:

                Yes.

[There is another pause. It appears this topic is not open to discussion. Away across the library, Gwindor and his father look on Túrin and Finduilas playing together with a smile.]

Guilin:

                I am glad to see they have made friends.

Gwindor:

            Yes; I do not know what grievance she had against him, but she seems to have made it    up.

                [Guilin nods.]

Finduilas:

                Did you … ever speak much with my Aunt Altariel when you were in Doriath?

Túrin: [looks confused]

                No, I do not think so …

                [Finduilas looks confounded for a moment, then realization lights her face.]

Finduilas:

Ah, of course! They would refer to her as Galadriel there. Altariel is the Quenya form of her name.

Túrin: [bemused:]

                I see. I never learned Quenya. She is … the wife of the King’s nephew?

Finduilas:

                Yes! The Lord Celeborn.

Túrin:

                I think I have heard their names before, but I never saw them or met them.

Finduilas: [frowns]

                That is strange. That is where they dwelt…

Túrin:

                I heard – from a friend, that they had gone East over the Blue Mountains some years ago.

                [Realization hits her at this. She looks slightly embarrassed.]

Finduilas:

Oh, yes, of course. I was … confused. I forgot you were mortal and … time passed differently for you.

                [pause; curious:]

                If you do not mind my asking – how old are you?

                [Túrin looks pensive, then shrugs.]

Túrin:

                I am not certain. The last birthday I remember … was my eighth.

[He stops. An image flashes through his mind of his father, standing before his men, kneeling down to Túrin’s level and giving him a knife, and he hears voices from the past:]

Túrin:

                What is it, Father? Is it for me?

Húrin:

                Yes, Túrin; it is your birthday present.

                [Túrin sighs. Finduilas looks at him from across the table.]

Finduilas: [trying to be sympathetic:]

                I am not exactly certain how many years I have either; I only know approximately.

                [Túrin looks up at her.]

Túrin:

                And how many is that?

Finduilas: [shrugs]

                Perhaps … fifty Great Years.[1] I was born just before the Return.

                [At this, Túrin hears past conversations echoing in his mind:]

Túrin:

Labadal, was Lalaith really like an Elf-child, as my father said? I have never seen any Elves. And what did he mean when he said she was – briefer?

Sador:

She was very like, for in their first youth, the children of Men and Elves seem very alike. But the children of Men grow more swiftly, and their youth passes soon. Such is our fate.

[Túrin does not answer Finduilas, being in thought. She keeps trying to find topics that will be of interest:]

Finduilas:

                It was my Aunt Galadriel that we went to visit in Doriath.

Túrin: [bemused:]

                Your aunt?

Finduilas: [patient:]

Yes, my father’s sister. She – it was strange the way she and Celeborn just got up and decided to leave the land – some people went with them, but we did not even find out they had left – until we got a message form them. They had sent Beleg, Thingol’s marchwarden.

[Túrin looks pained and does not answer. Finduilas either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t know what has pained him.]

He – and Mablung, occasionally – used to take all messages from King Thingol here to us. We used to see him quite a bit.

                [thoughtfully:]

But – recently, we have not seen him at all. My father wonders what happened to him. Since you have been in Doriath, have you heard news of him?

[Túrin winces and turns away, actually standing up, and puts his hand to his forehead, shuddering. Finduilas looks surprised and concerned.]

Finduilas:

                I am so sorry, Adanedhel. I – may I help you?

                [she begins to stand up but he turns back to her, his face now impassive]

Túrin:

                Do you have the time, my lady?

Finduilas: [still troubled:]

                Yes – it was three hours past the Opening Hour when I left.

Túrin:

Then, if you will excuse me, I must go or I shall be late. I was to meet the horse-master at four hours past.

[He bows to her, and she curtseys, still looking concerned, as he departs. Scene fades black.]