SCENE XXIV

[Scene: Húrin’s house in Dor-lómin, as it was in Scene I. Húrin sits by the Laughing Stream, Nen-Lalaith, near their house, with his daughter Lalaith splashing in the water, and a young Túrin, of six or seven years, sitting with them. Húrin has a thing long piece of wood in his hand, and a string, and seems to be showing Túrin how to do something. Morwen is sitting in rather distant propinquity in a chair with a book in her hand, watching them and smiling.]

Húrin:

                See, Túrin, then you tie the string at the end of the stick here.

[Túrin follows his lead.]

                Then, with the hook at the end, you can fish properly!

                [Túrin smiles and they put their fishing poles in.]

Túrin:

                Will the fish bite soon, Father?

Húrin:

Well, you shall have to wait and see. Patience – always be patient, and wait, Túrin! and the time will come to achieve what you desire – whatever it may be.

[Lalaith bursts into a fit of laughter and comes over to Húrin with her hand held out to him.]

Lalaith:

                Look what I found, Father!

Húrin: [looking in her hand]

                Oh, some lovely stones!

Lalaith:

                They are for Mother!

[She runs over to Morwen, who receives her with a smile and picks her up, setting her on her lap.]

                These are for you, Mother! Lovely stones!

Morwen: [laughs]

                Thank you, Lalaith! I shall keep them forever!

                [Suddenly, this vision fades to a feminine voice speaking softly nearby:]

                Adanedhel! Adanedhel!

[And Túrin looks up, broken from his reverie. He is sitting on a stone bench in one of the gardens of Nargothrond. There are pillars nearby, twined with ivy, and flowers growing up them, with butterflies and birds whizzing around: all very colourful and bright.  Túrin looks up, still rather in a mental fog and daze, at the face of Finduilas, who is trying to act like she is surprised to see him there. Note: During this scene Finduilas' Theme is playing ("Rise Up, My Love," by Bill Douglas).]

Finduilas:

                I did not expect to find you here.

                [Túrin does not answer, being still rather bemused. She notices this.]

                Are you all right, Adanedhel?

Túrin: [making an effort:]

                Yes, I am well, thank you. Just thinking. Please, sit down, my lady.

                [He motions politely to the space on the bench next to him. She does so.]

Finduilas: [curious:]

                What were you thinking about?

[Túrin shrugs]

I am curious because you seem so often to be deep in thought, and I wonder … what it is … you are thinking about.

                [she ends rather wistfully]

Túrin: [suddenly:]

                I was thinking – of my sister, Lalaith. You remind me of her, in many ways.

Finduilas: [fascinated:]

                Your sister? I did not know you had any family.

Túrin: [nods]

She – had golden hair, and a bright face – and a merry laugh. And for that reason we all called her – Lalaith.

                [the name he utters almost as if it is some holy thing that is seldom named]

She – she and I would play together; although mostly I watched over her from afar, to protect her. She was too – bright and joyful for such a somber child as I was.

Finduilas:

                What was the cause of your sorrow?

Túrin:

I was not sad, but quiet, as my – as my mother was. And thoughtful. I understood her better than I did my father, whose speech seemed to me flighty, and too quick for comprehension; but I loved them both – very much.

                [he turns away; in a wrenching aside:]

                Too much.

Finduilas:

                Is your sister younger than you?

Túrin:

She was younger, yes. We had many joyful hours together in my father’s house, when I was a child.

                [he sighs]

Finduilas: [quiet interest:]

                And how was it there, in that land?

Túrin:

Oh, it was beautiful. We lived in the shadow of the Sh – of the mountains; and it was a fair land: the grass was rich and green – though it was rather cold there in the winter. My father’s house was made of wood, and we had a strong fireplace, so we stayed warm during the cold seasons.  And our house was in the midst of a green glade, with many trees about. I loved the trees.

                [He falls silent, thoughtful.]

Finduilas:

Yes, I love trees; and I miss them here, underground in these caves. That is why I love the gardens so.

Túrin: [nods]

                Yes. It reminds me somewhat of – my home.

                [He smiles suddenly, and turns to her.]

There was a stream that ran by my house; and it was a happy stream, I think, for it laughed. It was called Nen-Lalaith.

Finduilas:

                Even as your sister was named?

Túrin:

                Yes. The people all called her Lalaith, because she was such a joyful spirit.

                [a bit wistfully:]

All people there loved her, and she brought happiness to many sorrowful lives. I was loved less. I was more thought and silent, and laughed little: not from lack of joy, but from a hiding of emotion.

Finduilas:

                Why did you hide them so?

Túrin: [shrugs]

It has always been so. My mother was such, and I am very like her, in many ways. My father was a more joyful spirit, like Lalaith. He laughed much, and grieved, sorrowed, and rejoiced without shame.

Finduilas: [slightly troubled:]

But, I do not see why any one should love you less, because you are thoughtful, or silent. I, for one, do not, nor do any here in Nargothrond.

Túrin: [unconcerned:]

It did not bother me. It is the way it has always been for me. I find friends seldom, and when I do –

[He stops and turns away, closing his eyes, with tear drops glistening on them. Finduilas notices his distress, though not his tears, which he hides.]

Finduilas: [cheerfully:]

                And yet Lalaith was your friend; and still is, I daresay. And I am, and –

                [Túrin turns back to her.]

– Gwindor.

Túrin:

Alas, Lalaith died, when she was only a young girl – not even four years old, when a black plague came from the North.

                [she looks shocked and surprised at this revelation]

Finduilas:

                A plague? Do Men indeed suffer from such maladies, even at so young an age?

Túrin:

Even so; though the Eldar do not. I recovered from the Black Breath, though she did not. It was my fate, maybe, to live on.

                [sighs]

But Lalaith was a child, a yellow flower in the green grass of spring; and had she lived she would now, maybe, have become dimmed with grief. That is why I speak of her to you, for you remind me of her. But you are queenly, and as a golden tree; I would I had a sister so fair.

Finduilas: [earnest:]

But you are kingly, even as the lords of the people of Fingolfin; I would I had a brother so fair.

                [pause; he does not answer. Then she says suddenly:]

And I do not think that Agarwaen is your true name, nor is it fit for you, Adanedhel. I call you Thurin, the Secret.

                [he starts at this last name]

Túrin: [hastily:]

                That is not my name; and I am not a king, for our kings are of the Eldar, as I am not.

                [long pause; Finduilas sighs sadly]

Finduilas:

                Were there many of the Eldar where you lived in your boyhood?

Túrin: [nods]

Yes, there were many to the North of my father’s house, but I saw them seldom. Yes, I only ever saw the Elven host once: they came by our house, and my father rode away with them. They were glittering all in silver and white.

Finduilas: [smiles]

                You never spoke with them?

Túrin:

                No. I never spoke with the Elves until – I was older.

[His eyebrows furrow as he sees in his mind the form of Beleg coming out of the trees in the forest of Doriath, looking at him and the two servants curiously.]

Túrin:

                Are you an Elf?

Beleg: [laughs]

                Indeed, I am.

                [He comes out of his reverie when Finduilas speaks again:]

Finduilas:

                Then you learned of them from your mother and father?

Túrin:

                Yes; and from Labadal – he was an old servant of our household.

Finduilas: [nods]

                Yes, you have mentioned him before.

Túrin:

                He was lamed from an accident with an axe, cutting wood.

Finduilas: [shudders; carefully:]

                Is it – is it easier – for Men to – have accidents, like that?

Túrin: [not offended:]

More than for the  Elves, yes. Sador, or Labadal, as I called him, told me many tales of the great battles when he was boy.

Finduilas: [interested:]

                Which battles?

Túrin:

The Dagor Bragollach, mostly. Labadal told me, “That was a great battle, they say. I was called from my tasks in the wood in the need of the year; but I was not in the Bragollach, or I might have gotten my hurt with more honour. For we came too late, save to bear back the bier of our lord, who fell in the guard of King – of the Elf-King. I went for a soldier after that, and I was in the great fort of the Elf-Kings for many years; or so it seems now, and the dull years since have little to mark them.”

Finduilas:

                Are the days of Men in Middle-earth so dreary?

Túrin:

Our life is filled with sorrow, and so it is all our days. As Sador said, “Alas! my love of battle was sated, for I had seen spilled blood and wounds enough; and I got leave to come back to the woods that I yearned for. And there I got my hurt; for a man that flies from his fear may find that he has only taken a short cut to meet it.”

                [it is several minutes before Finduilas answers; then she turns to him]

Finduilas: [earnestly:]

You speak of ill chances, and that is what I fear for you, Adanedhel. I fear when the armies go out to battle, that they, and you, shall not return.

                [Túrin looks thoughtful, and his brows furrows]

Túrin:

I have noticed that you seem more sorrowful; and that your footsteps grow slower. I perceive now that the words of Gwindor have set fear in your heart of what might come to pass. Do not let his words affright you. He has suffered in the darkness of Angband; and it is hard for one so valiant to be thus crippled and backward perforce. He needs all solace, and a longer time for healing.

Finduilas: [turns away; sadly:]

                I know it well.

Túrin:

But we shall win time for him! Nargothrond shall stand! Never again will Morgoth the Craven come forth from Angband, and all his reliance must be on his servants; thus says Melian of Doriath. They are the fingers of his hands; and we will smite them, and cut them off, till he draws back his claws. Nargothrond shall stand!

Finduilas:

Perhaps. It shall stand, if you can achieve it. But have a care, Adanedhel; my heart is heavy when you go to battle, lest Nargothrond be bereaved.

Túrin:

Never have I been reckless. But do not fear. We will hold back the forces of Morgoth, and give Gwindor time to recover; for I love him as well.

                [she turns away]

Finduilas: [in agreement; sadly:]

                Yes.