retold in the vernacular as a dramatic script
(with apologies to Messrs. Tolkien & Shakespeare)
This finale is dedicated with much gratitude to the authors
of
The Homecoming of Beortnoth
and
A Winter's Tale
(with special thanks to Lucian of Samosata
and T. S. Eliot
for concrete inspiration)
— Disclaimer:
Valhalla is not mine, either.
Note: Complete cast list reserved until end -- too many spoilers.
SCENE I.i
Gower:
The hour nighs, of this
our task
its ending -- and of
ye we ask
but thy patience, lending,
till 'tis done --
--Then to say, if we
have won
or, overbold, must make
redress
that have so forwardly
transgressed
and in this glassy square
presumed
to bound, as 'twere
the Ring of Doom,
the very gods--
With eagles' wing
outmatching falcons
royal, venturing
our fancy's flight doth
mount on high
to pass the bord'ring
sea, and sky,
and withal Time -- for
naught of wealth
nor fame, nor glory,
nor by stealth,
nor war to grasp at
deathlessness,
seeking but mercy's
sweet largesse
we dare the holy shores
of Westernesse--
[Note: There are two settings -- this Hall, and
elsewhere.
Most of the action
takes place here.]
[A cozy family room in Aman, even if it is rather
vast and all carved stone and
tall ceilings, decorated in soothing shades
of grey with discreet silver-white
concealed lighting. There is a fountain at one
side which is of the kind that
is a sheet of water running down a shallow wide
channel in the wall, almost
invisible and inaudible, to silently fill a
wide, shallow, rectangular basin
the border of which is almost flush level with
the floor.
[Most of another wall is taken up by an enormous
structure that somewhat resembles
a harness loom, and somewhat resembles a system
of barrel vaulting, and mostly
resembles something built out of raw cosmic
energy, and betrays a long history
of tinkering and loving use. At the moment its
main central section is alive
with an expanse of shimmering light. A
majority of the Powers are seated
around it watching in rapt attention.]
[Tulkas (who might be played by Massimo Serato
from
El Cid, and sundry Italian
swashbucklers and sword-&-sandal epics)
leaps to his feet]
Tulkas: [roaring]
NO!!! IT CAN'T
END THIS WAY!!! THAT'S JUST WRONG!!! THAT'S NOT HOW THE STORY'S
SUPPOSED TO END!!!
[The rest of the Powers wince at the volume of
his outrage. Across from him Orome
is watching with a sardonically critical expression,
his arms folded, leaning
slouched way back in his chair with his ankles
crossed. Lawrence Olivier from Hamlet
(or possibly equally Kirk Douglas from Spartacus)
might stand in for the Lord
of the Wild Hunt]
Orome: [bitingly sarcastic patience]
That's because it's
reality,
not a story, Tulkas. Stories can end happily,
because they're not
true.
In real life, there's no Power capable of preventing
people from making idiotic
choices and suffering the consequences.
[from the chair next to him, his wife, the Lady
of Spring -- who could be depicted
by Claudette Colbert
in Cleopatra -- reaches up and pats his cheek.]
Vana:
Don't be obnoxious,
Tav' darling. --Nia dear, why do you make us watch these
depressing stories?
All of your favorites turn out this way.
[to the left of Tulkas, the Lord of Dreams, Visions
and Inspirations, (aka Irmo, aka
Lorien,) sighs deeply and rests his chin on
his hands. Leslie Howard (The Scarlet
Pimpernel, Gone With The Wind)
could play the part]
Irmo: [sadly]
I tried. I did
try. I shan't attempt to conceal the fact that I don't care for
her father at all, but
I did my best, for her mother's sake, -- and for hers,
too -- she really is
a sweet child, and not in any way to be blamed for that
confounded miscreant's
actions--
[On his left the Lord of the Earth shakes his
head, grimacing. He is leaning back,
but not as much in the sullen critic mode as
in the thoughtful critic pose, his legs
crossed and one elbow resting on the arm of
his faldstool, ready to lecture. He is
played, of course, by James Mason from 20,000
Leagues Under The Sea]
Aule:
You couldn't have done
anything, he was Doomed from the start. Look at how he
threw away every opportunity he had for survival.
If someone tries that hard to
destroy themselves, the most that anyone else
can
do is -- get out of the way and
look for cover.
[on the floor, sitting in front of the chairs
with her knees drawn up and her arms
wrapped around them like a child, Nienna (who
really should be played by Merle Oberon,
also of Scarlet Pimpernel renown) looks
up at Yavanna, who is seated rigidly on the
other side of her little sister Vana; the Earthqueen
could be well-portrayed by Sophia
Loren from El Cid.]
Nienna:
Are you going to be
all right?
Yavanna: [biting off the syllable]
No.
[At equal distances from the Loom and the fountain
is a nook with a sconce, two
chairs, and a small breakfast table. This is
occupied by Namo, Vaire, a pair of
teacups and a dark, glossy sphere. The Lord
and Lady of the Halls should be
portrayed respectively by Gregory Peck (To
Kill A Mockingbird, Captain Horatio
Hornblower) and Virginia McKenna The
Cruel Sea, Waterloo).]
Vaire: [sighing]
I don't mind your sister
inviting everyone over to watch the Loom, but really,
she could have
chosen better timing. But I don't like to say anything because
she does so much to
help.
Namo: [sets down his teacup and takes her hand in his]
No, it's fine. I just
wish they wouldn't be so loud. I come here to get
away from people shouting
at me. --Of course, they're not shouting at me,
to be fair about it.
[he lets go of her hand and picks up his cup again -- over it, in a very dry tone:]
--Not yet.
[she gives him a wry smile, which turns to a grimace at the next high-volume exchange:]
Orome: [raising his voice and dropping the bored facade for
a moment]
Yes, it WAS
his fault. He didn't give her a chance to use her powers again,
he just flung himself
in the way without even the preliminaries of thought
crossing his brain.
Tulkas: [to Vana]
--You'd better hope
you're never in danger when he's around. Sounds like he'd
let you fend for yourself
if a rampaging demon comes along!
Aule: [patiently]
My valiant friend, I
realize that your generous and sympathetic nature prompts
you to defend all instances
of courage and loyalty, but not every self-sacrifice
is equally meritorious.
When it is unnecessary, as in the situation under debate,
it is simply at best
a mistake and at worst histrionics. --I'm still not entirely
sure about the next
occasion, myself: I'd need to review it before reaching a
decision.
Irmo: [frowning]
I really don't think
she could have done anything further at that point.
Binding all the denizens
of Thangorodrim within the immediate vicinity,
not to mention resisting
and overcoming the Powerful One in combat, would
be a severe drain upon
even my own abilities--
Tulkas: [all innocence]
--You mean to say you
can take Morgoth out, and you haven't done it yet?
What's wrong with you!?
Yavanna: [standing up so suddenly
that her chair goes over backwards with a crash]
Oh, you're all horrible.
Horrible, HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE!!!
[Everyone looks up at her, and is very quiet]
Aule: [after a moment]
Where are you going?
Yavanna: [very tight control]
Out. For a walk.
Someplace where I can break things without hurting anyone--!
[she strides off into the distant shadows and
there is a resounding crash as of
someone flinging a very heavy door violently
open so that it rebounds off the
wall, with breakages. A moment of utter silence
follows.]
Aule: [grimacing]
Ah. I forgot.
Irmo:
Oh, that's right --
he's one of hers.
Vana: [rolling her eyes]
Well, of course! Whose
else would he be?
[silence. Everyone looks at Orome]
Orome:
Yes, but I am
more rational about these things.
Tulkas: [to Aule]
Go after her and tell
her you're sorry, you dolt!
Aule: [shaking his head]
That would be a very
bad idea right now.
[this builds up into a double argument, as the focus moves back to the tea table]
Namo: [wincing]
I didn't recall there
being a door over there.
Vaire:
There wasn't.
[sighs]
At least--
[pause -- they look at each other, and say together:]
Namo:
Vaire:
--"it wasn't a supporting
wall--"
[rueful smiles]
Namo:
Did you ever get an
explanation of all that?
Vaire:
An explanation? Yes.
--One that made sense? I'm afraid the answer is no.
Namo: [scowling]
You weren't being mocked,
dear?
Vaire:
No, not at all -- it
was offered quite sincerely. I just don't believe
it's possible,
but I'm not sure what the real alternative would look like.
[Her husband shakes his head, snorting]
I made the mistake of
asking one of them to show me how it was done, and I
forgot it was the one
who doesn't want to be noticed, so I had to pretend
that I didn't realize
it, or how nervous he was. --It really is disproportionate,
isn't it? By comparison,
I mean. You wouldn't think, considering who else is
here, the amount of
trouble so few could cause . . .
[sighs]
I'm afraid I lost my
temper rather the last time someone started in about the
usual, "Why are they
permitted to carry? Why is no one else allowed a retinue?"
and was very cross about
it -- I actually said, in far too short a tone, "Because
we're capricious and
we enjoy playing favorites, that's why." Now I'm rather
afraid it won't be recognized
as sarcasm. What I should have said--
[another rueful smile]
--was, "It's an experiment
of my sister-in-law's; she's trying to see how many
idiotic questions it
will take to completely destroy all vestiges of my patience."
[After a moment Namo lifts his eyebrows
and gives a short chuckle, before patting
her hand.]
Who knows? It might even be true.
Namo:
No, I . . . I think
she'd mention it, if she were doing anything of the sort.
[from the other side of the room]
Tulkas: [loud]
But look, you've got
to take into account all the things going against him--
[the Lord and Lady of the Halls share another
wince as the camera shifts back
to the raging debate by the Loom]
On the one hand you've
got the rebels giving up defending his homeland, so
does he give up? No,
he keeps on trying even though there's nothing in it
for him any more --
and does a smashing job of it, too, I want to make known.
And you know I'm hard
to impress when it comes to fighting--
Orome: [ironic]
--Easily impressed when
it comes to pretty much everything else, though.
Tulkas: [louder]
--On the other hand
you've got him making a decent go of it with no help,
and no resources whatsoever
-- and sticking to his ideals, too, all the way
up to when they were
betrayed. None of this, "Oh, we're the great Lords of
the West, here to save
you, so give us dinner and why don't you bake us a
cake while you're at
it," Returning nonsense.
Orome: [exasperated]
You're exaggerating
grossly again--
Tulkas: [ignoring him]
And on the other hand,
he's just a Man. Not even an Elf! And look what he did!
Orome: [snippy]
What other hand?
Most people only start out with two.
Tulkas: [ignoring him]
You'd think we could
have managed to give him a little more help, couldn't
we? Couldn't we? Like
something useful, like messages -- and messengers --
that get there in time--
[to Irmo]
-- not that I'm saying
it wasn't kind of you to help his friend find him,
but it's not like it
actually made any difference, eh? Or how about something
specific, like Don't
Go On That Hunt, Dummy, -- instead of more nightmares
about overfed rogue
Ainur?
[as if remembering something unpleasant, Aule shakes his head and snaps his fingers]
Irmo: [angry/upset]
I told you, don't
blame me -- it's hard enough without the Trees, but there's
nothing I can do with
people who simply refuse to sleep. If they won't rest
long enough for me to
reach them, or keep creating so many images of Doom on
their own that they
can't tell them apart -- I can't give them any guidance.
Tulkas:
So basically, what you're
saying is, you can only help people who don't
really need it.
Irmo:
That isn't fair--
[An elegant, confident individual, perhaps played
by Sir Alec Guiness from
Kind Hearts and Coronets, appears discreetly
beside Aule's chair and gives
him a graceful bow]
Aule's Assistant:
Yes, my lord?
Aule:
Would you go and make
sure all the storm-doors and shutters are closed
around the place? I
don't want the firepits getting flooded out again this time.
Aule's Assistant:
Of course, sir. --Ah,
are you anticipating a recurrence of last year's
gales this season, or
is it merely precautionary, milord?
Aule:
Anticipating. Very definitely
anticipating.
Assistant:
Oh dear.
[pause]
If I may make so bold, my lord, the Lady's temper can be quite trying at times.
Aule: [shaking his head with a gloomy look]
Eh. It's partly my fault
again. --I just hate it when she gets together and
commiserates with Uinen.
They encourage each other in this pointless emotionalism,
and the electrical storms
and the flooding make it so blasted difficult to get
anything done. --Do
you know what that project is they're working on together?
Assistant:
Something about salt.
That's all the information I have, sir -- she asked me
for information about
materials that would combine well with salt.
Aule: [nods]
--Oh, that's right.
They're studying "toxicity levels and self-sustaining
filtration systems in
marginal areas," as I recall. I should ask her how that's
coming along. That would
be a nice thing to do.
Assistant:
A noble and conciliating
gesture, sir.
Aule:
--Have you seen my wife's
secretary around anywhere?
[his aide gives a derisive laugh]
Assistant:
He's probably off watching
frogs turn into tadpoles or talking to potato-beetles
or something like that.
Aule: [frowns]
Isn't it the other way
'round?
[shaking his head]
I don't remember. Anyway -- tell him to tell her I'm sorry, all right?
Assistant:
Very good, sir.
Aule:
And don't forget the
skylights!
Assistant:
Of course not, my lord.
[he vanishes as quietly as he came]
Tulkas: [loudly offended]
Yeah? Well, -- none
of my champions have gone over to the other side!
Orome: [ice -- not quiet, either]
Celegorm Feanorion
has NOT been my responsibility since the Rebellion.
Tulkas:
Good try, but you can't
wiggle out that easy. If you'd done your job right
he wouldn't have rebelled
now would he? Huh? Got a snappy comeback for that one?
Orome: [shaking his head]
What my sister sees
in you I will never know.
[pause]
Tulkas:
That's pretty good,
actually. --I need a drink to clear my mind.
Orome:
You always need
a drink, if that's the case.
Irmo: [raising his voice]
--Can we please at least
endeavor
to keep this discussion both civil and to
the point?
Vana:
I do hope you didn't
mean that as a serious question, Irmo darling.
[Back at the tea table, the Weaver rests her
forehead on her hand, laughing in
spite of herself, and in dismay]
Vaire:
Are you sure you don't
want me to stay here and you go on the floor? Though
it won't be any quieter,
I'm afraid. I do wish it weren't against the Rules
to manifest corporeally
in several places at the same time. I wonder how one
would go about doing
so . . .?
Namo:
It -- seems like the
sort of thing that would be very inadvisable. Which is
very likely why there's
a Rule about it.
[frowns still more]
--Which you would
your mind be in? Wouldn't the rest just be puppets then? Or
would you divide your
concentration among all of you? I'm not sure either.
Vaire: [smiles]
And a divided concentration
is just the problem. So do you want me to stay by
the stone while you
take my shift?
[Her husband shakes his head]
Namo:
No, I really don't have
the patience for any more complaints right now.
[deep sigh]
Did I tell you about
my last conversation with that fellow, the one who's
always going on and
on -- inaccurately -- about being the First Casualty
in Beleriand?
Vaire: [interested]
No, I don't believe
you did.
Namo:
We talked -- and talked,
and talked, and he agreed with complete sincerity
that yes, murder
was a terrible thing, and yes, there is a moral responsibility
as well for actions
which, though not directly causing the deaths of specific
individuals, nevertheless
are both freely chosen and known in advance to be
likely to cause casualties
-- such as, for example, shooting fire-arrows into
adjacent buildings to
distract the defenders from their efforts, regardless of
the fact that people
are almost certain to be in those buildings, and not
necessarily able to
get out of them in time. And we talked about how
Morgoth
regards people as chattel
in a similar way, and how persons are not things to
be used and/or discarded
for one's own purposes, and about the irony of performing
such actions in a reaction
against the behaviour of the Enemy.
[odd smile]
And after all that, he said to me, "But they deserved it."
[the Weaver sighs, and raises her eyebrows with a wry expression]
Vaire:
That does sound familiar,
doesn't it?
Namo: [pensively]
You know, it's one thing
to know intellectually that this is going to go on --
and on -- and on, for
the foreseeable future, and -- quite another to experience
it day after day after
endless day.
[his wife smiles sadly at him and gives his hand
one last squeeze before getting up
and leaving the table. The crystal ball on the
table begins to glow.]
Namo:
Oh good, someone's checking
in. Perhaps they've got him.
[He sets down his tea and pulls the palantir
over to him eagerly. Vaire walks across
to the Loom, weaving on mostly unobserved by
the debaters]
Vaire:
Is anyone still watching
this?
[nobody except her sister-in-law even notices her question]
Nienna:
Please leave it open,
would you?
Vaire:
Not a problem, just
fold it up when you're done.
[she leaves, stopping to patch up the irregular
hole in the wall -- which looks rather
like what happens when a tree grows through
a slab, only fast enough that the edges
are still sharp and not eroded away -- with
a wave of her hand, on her way to the
tall pointed arch that is the actual door.]
Vana:
Well, I thought
he was rather cute, even if he was rather stupid --
[to her husband]
--rather like one of the puppies, hm?
Orome:
My dear, puppies
usually don't manage to leave scores of casualties behind them
as a consequence of
their mistakes.
[she gives him a little swat and makes a face at him]
Tulkas: [roaring]
CONSEQUENCES?!? If you're
going to talk about consequences, what about the
consequences
of us not catching Morgoth? Huh? Huh? Before you start throwing
big words like "consequences"
around, what about the consequences of not
providing adequate inspiration?
In the Song, do I have to do it ALL myself
to get anything done
RIGHT?
[the Lord of the Hall winces and puts a hand to his temple]
Namo:
I'm sorry, I didn't
hear you. What was that again?
Irmo: [raising his voice too]
I'm getting tired of hearing you talk about
something you don't and can't possibly understand--
Namo:
A dog? What do you mean,
a
dog? Kelvar don't belong here, they don't need to
come here, they can
just start right over again -- you know that! Tell it to
go home. --I don't care
what size it is, it still doesn't belong here. Unless
it's that rogue in disguise.
Of course I'm joking. No, we haven't got him yet.
--Yes, that's why I'm
in a bad mood. --Just take care of it, will you?
[he leans back, closing his eyes and shaking his head]
Aule: [cool voice of reason -- and sarcasm]
Thank you for letting
us know how you feel about it, Lord Astaldo. --Getting
back to my earlier point
-- I don't believe you can legitimately give someone
credit for what they
can't help. If the deed's done under any kind of a
compulsion, it's invalidated
to some extent. Obviously there's a compulsion
operating here to fling
one's self between other individuals -- regardless of
longevity or depth of
personal attachment -- and danger. If one cannot prevent
one's self from getting
in harm's way, the correct response -- and again, I'm
going on logic here
-- isn't admiration, but rather pity.
Tulkas:
Oh, come on!
He practically slaps Morgoth upside the head, and you can't even
manage a "Good job,
what!"
Vana: [mischievous]
Well, he did hit Morgoth
in the head, only it wasn't exactly on purpose . . .
Orome: [innocently]
Hey, Aule -- what's
that you always say about using the right tools for the job?
Tulkas:
Yeah? Well let me tell
you, your fancy tools wouldn't help either of you very
much out in the Void!
You should try it sometime, fighting like real gods with
nothing but your bare
power--
Orome:
--Speaking of which,
don't you get chilly running around in just a skirt?
Tulkas:
It's not a skirt, it's
a
kilt, you dimwit! How many times have I told you that?
[Vana giggles and hides it by snuggling against Orome's shoulder]
Irmo: [sternly and loudly]
These insults are utterly
pointless! Can we have some intellectual discussion, please?!
Namo: [shouting louder than any of them]
Irmo! Nienna! Everybody!
[when he has their attention -- normal tone:]
Would you all please
either stop acting like Eldar or go someplace else
and argue? If you can't
keep your voices down I'm going to have to ask you
to take it to the Mahanaxar.
You're not even watching the Loom any more.
[there are guilty looks among his colleagues
and kin -- considering glances are
exchanged. Consensus -- No, they can't keep
it down. They start getting up to leave]
Vana: [rolling her eyes]
"Acting like Eldar,"
indeed! --Honestly--
[they vanish, leaving the chairs behind]
Namo: [muttering to self]
I suppose there's a
certain logic to it, but I hate it when catastrophes
happen in cascades like
this. They seem to bring on unrelated incidents, as
though chaos has come
back into fashion all of the sudden.
[he gets up and starts pacing up and down restlessly,
obviously not happy at not
being able to do anything -- then notices Nienna
still curled up in front of the Loom]
Nia, I could really
use a little help right now. We have a crisis situation
going on, the trauma
department is overwhelmed with new arrivals, there's a
discorporate rogue Ainu
out there it looks like I'm going to have to track
down personally, now
I hear some kind of bizarre bureaucratic foul-up is
giving my security people
fits -- and you're watching the news.
Nienna: [patient annoying-sibling mode]
-- Don't worry, I'm
on it, I've got the situation in hand.
Namo: [flings up his hands and walks back to his chair]
Fine. I give up. It's
not as though anyone ever listens until it's too late.
[sinking down with a sigh]
What next . . . ?
[Elsewhere: outside the Halls of Mandos, in the
perpetual twilight at the roots
of the mountains. A series of low, shallow,
wide stone steps leads up to the
most imposing doors that have ever been built,
or will be. No one is present,
until Luthien enters (quite literally from the
shadows) at the foot of the
staircase. Like all the shades in the underworld,
where everything is in shades
of grey, she does not look "ghostly", i.e. translucent
and out-of-place -- this
place is made for them, after all; it's the
living who would appear not to belong
properly. She looks neatly but simply dressed,
rather as she would have at the
beginning of the play, but without any jewelry
and her face is haggard.]
Luthien:
Well. Here we are.
[she looks up at the Doors and gives a huge sigh]
The end of the journey. Nothing could be easy, could it?
[she gives an odd laugh, shaking her head]
The doors are closed
-- I could still turn back now, perhaps even go home,
or not: this
isn't horrible, or particularly frightening. I've given up
everything, for him,
or so they'd say -- and it doesn't feel that way at all.
It seems as if I could
reach out my hand and take hold of the very elements
of the universe like
a skein of yarn this way, or see through to the Fire at
the heart of everything,
if I only looked hard enough, as if I could become
anything I chose
-- a tree, or an Eagle, or a Hound like Huan, or even one
of the stars . . .
[she wraps her arms around herself and shivers,
beginning to walk back and forth
as she talks to herself, moving up and down
the lower terraces of the stairs]
I don't have to
go through with this -- no one is going to take this decision
away from me -- and that's why I have to.
[Her appearance shimmers and flickers while she
paces, eventually mostly settling
to the bobbed haircut and shadowcloak of her
journeying, the former somewhat
longer (and wilder) than when last we saw her.]
Everything seems so distant,
small and delicate and quite irrelevant, like
the city I saw from
the air. Not compared with the whole cosmos lying open
to explore. --But that
tiny little flower of a city is full of people, each
with a life that's important
to someone else, too, and things they've done
and learned and new
songs they've made, even if I couldn't see that. And I
know that Middle-earth
is important, even if it seems such a small part of
the Music I can almost
hear now.
[smiling wryly]
That's it, isn't it,
the Song itself that's calling me to join in it, to be
like a god myself, to
make, and change the world, and once again do one better
than my mother, even
if no one ever knows it. Couldn't I do better than the
rest of them, since
I know how it is out there, since I've lived through it --
and died -- all of it,
the good -- the gloriously good -- as well as the
unspeakably horrible
-- couldn't I move through it and speak through it and
change it like
the Lord of the Sea? And wouldn't that be a better memorial
to Beren than staying
here as a ghost, giving up my endless life and the
whole wide world outside,
to be with him, if only they'll let me?
[shaking her head]
I know what he'd say. And then we'd fight.
[gesturing with her hands]
If only I'd come straight
to the Halls -- it can't be this hard for everyone,
can it? -- and then
I could have just answered when they asked me, and I wouldn't
have to think about
it. But this -- there's no getting away from this, that
once I cross that threshold,
there's no going back -- even if Lord Mandos
would let me. I can't
just keep going on momentum alone, not stopping to think
about it.
[pause]
And I'm afraid. I don't
know what will happen, I don't know what I'll say,
I don't know what they'll
say. I might make things worse for him this way,
though I can't think
how. And if they refuse, what happens then? How can I
stay there forever,
knowing that I couldn't save him, and with no place left
to go -- no action I
can take, nothing to do but wait for the world to end to
put an end to my pain?
I thought nothing could be worse than the prospect of
going home to my parents
in failure --
[checks, looking dismayed]
--but what if they send
me back? I can't stay there with what they did to us,
dealing with that guilt
and sentimentality and trying to make it up to me by
being kind --
I really would go mad within a year of that. If they'd shown
Beren some pity at the
outset -- or thought at all about me instead of
themselves -- this wouldn't
have happened. But I won't be the victim to
their consciences.
[she snorts, starting to get angry]
I'll go live as a hermit
in the Seven Rivers district before that, or maybe
go to the Havens and
see the Ocean for real finally, or try to cross the
mountains and find Celeborn
and Galadriel and their following. I can do that
now, or at least I have
as good a chance as anyone does. I don't need anyone
else in the world, if
I can't have Beren, and if they "need" me that's just
too bad!
[she wipes her eyes roughly, and gives an ironic smile.]
Silly, silly, silly
-- getting all upset over possibilities that haven't even
happened yet, and that
I've no way to judge the most likely. I'm so tired of
it all . . . only I'm
not,
or maybe I am. --But I can't stop, and I'm afraid
to go forward, and no
one can help me now.
[she stands still for a moment, looking up the steps, and squares her shoulders.]
Well. I didn't get this far waiting for people to open doors for me.
[starts to approach the Doors, hesitates again.]
Oh, I wish you
were with me, Huan. But this isn't like last time: I'm afraid
it won't end happily.
-- Then again, I can't think of a single story that does.
Not the true ones, at
least.
[Sighs.]
No more disguises. No
more tricks. All I can do is tell the truth now, and
hope that that's enough.
[She casts her cloak down on the steps: it melts and vanishes into the shadows]
Beren -- I'm here.
[She strides towards the Doors, and they melt
away in front of her as she enters
the Halls of Mandos.]
[The Hall.]
[Namo is sitting pensively by the palantir, fiddling
with his teacup. Nienna
is still on the floor in front of the Loom,
watching with an odd, almost-pleased
expression. An Elvish-looking individual (who
could be played by Ewan MacGregor
from the second Star Wars series) enters the
hall and crosses quickly to where
she is sitting. Ordinarily he seems like he'd
be rather cheerful and self-possessed,
but right now he's looking rather harassed and
frayed, and it comes through when
he addresses her:]
--Master, everything's
in chaos, nobody knows what to do, everyone's asking
me for advice, some
people are continuing to complain about certain other
people and refusing
to countenance the possibility that their problems just
might not be as serious
as those who have just come in and demanding to see
the Lady of the Halls
at
once, and they're all unhappy with me because I'm
not you!
Nienna:
Apprentice mine, have
you considered how much worse matters could be?
Nienna's Apprentice:
Er -- no, I haven't,
m'lady.
Nienna:
Why don't you do that?
Apprentice:
Was that a question
question, or a suggestion question?
Nienna:
What do you think?
Apprentice:
Both.
Nienna:
Let me know when you
have an answer; I'll be interested in hearing it.
Apprentice:
Certainly. But none
of this helps with the fact that everything's in chaos
and I really need Lady
Vaire and she can't be everywhere at once!
[Nienna sighs]
Apprentice:
I know. I don't really
need the Lady of the Halls, I just need to keep
reminding myself that
I have been delegated the authority and I do have
the intelligence to
solve small problems on my own and the confidence to
not be overwhelmed by
the troublemakers along with it. --But there are
just so bloody many
of them!
Nienna:
You want me to come
rescue you.
Apprentice:
No. Well, yes.
But not really. I want to be rescued, but I don't want the
consequences of being
rescued, to wit -- losing even more ground to the
insufferable Feanorians
and looking a total fool in front of everyone else
and causing increased
doubt and discord as a result. --I'm going back to
work. Thank you.
[he starts to walk away]
Namo: [sighing]
When you said you had
everything under control, I should have known that meant
you were delegating.
Nienna:
Of course. Micromanagement
is poor Melkor's besetting weakness.
[her brother closes his eyes and rubs his temples.
Halfway to the door the
Apprentice halts in mid-stride, pivots on his
heel and hurries back over]
Apprentice:
I almost forgot completely
-- Sir, there's a young lady here who insists on
seeing you personally
and immediately. She says her mother used to work for
your brother.
Namo: [looking blank]
So why does she want
to see me instead of Irmo?
Apprentice: [delicately]
Er -- because she's
here.
Namo:
Oh. You mean she's discorporate.
Why can't you just say so?
[the Apprentice winces a little]
Can you tell her I'm
in the middle of about six different things and I will
see her as soon as I
can?
Apprentice:
I've done that.
Namo:
Can you explain that
things are not going well and that while everyone's
problems are
important,
not all of them are crises?
Apprentice:
That too.
[Namo sighs]
She really won't take
no for an answer. I keep giving it to her, and she
keeps refusing it.
Namo:
Can you tell her it
isn't fair to the others ahead of her?
Apprentice:
She says it's a matter
of justice, and she refuses to go until her case is heard.
Namo: [shaking his head]
Wait, wait, what do
you mean -- "go" --? People don't just come and go from
my Halls without leave.
Apprentice:
Well, she apparently
came
on her own. It seems her consort was one of the
recently admitted.
Namo: [snorts]
Did you tell her her
case was hardly unique?
Apprentice:
I did, Sir -- but I'm
not entirely sure I was correct. She doesn't seem to
have come in the normal
way at all. There was some peculiar talk about
Thorondor and "hitching
a ride" -- a quaint turn of phrase which I believe,
though I'd have to consult
the Archives to be sure, derives from a mortal
practice concerning
a crude form of wheeled vessel known as, erm, a "cart."
I confess that ordinarily
I would simply dismiss it as the normal, ah,
post-discorporation
trauma, or possibly prior mental derangement -- but
there's something about
her that causes me to be uncertain of that diagnosis.
[pause]
She really is very insistent, Sir.
[pause]
Namo:
You're intimidated by
her.
[Nienna's student makes as though to deny it, with indignation -- and then sighs]
Apprentice:
Frankly, my Lord, yes.
In all honesty -- she reminds me of Feanor.
[silence]
Namo: [shaking his head]
No. There cannot
be two Eldar in the universe that obliviously self-centered
and full of destructive
energy. I refuse to believe it. Ea would disintegrate.
Apprentice:
It's the obdurate refusal
to be put off. --And the way she sounds totally
believable saying the
most insane things.
Namo:
What are her names?
Apprentice:
She only gave one --
"Nightingale." --She said it as though it should mean
something, when I asked
her who she was, and she told me her maternal
parent was formerly
in the employ of your sibling.
Namo: [musing]
Nightingales, nightingales
-- why do they sound familiar?
Apprentice: [hopefully]
I could go check the
Archive, if you'd like.
Namo: [snorts]
So you can skive out
of dealing with the discorporate? Fat chance. No -- I
think there's some connection
that I should remember -- why don't you go ask
Irmo if "nightingale"
means anything to him. There's an errand you can run.
Apprentice:
Er, you could use the
remote there -- why not just ask him?
Namo:
Because you're annoying
me. Because I'm waiting to hear from security about
that rogue, among other
things.
Apprentice: [disappointed]
Oh.
[starts to leave, turns back again]
Sir, didn't Melian
have nightingales? And aren't all these new patients from
the place where she
settled down? Dorl -- Dorith -- one of those Dor-- names?
[long pause. Namo frowns, then sets down his teacup with a bang]
Namo: [wearily]
All right. I'll talk
to her.
[he turns his chair about to face into the room]
Apprentice: [raising an eyebrow]
--Actually, Sir, I think
the word you want is --"listen."
Gower:
--That Melian's daughter
made her way
to Mandos' Halls, and
there did win
her way as well, with
imploring song,
and of her thought and
melody did spin
a thread to bind the
sternest and most strong
to clemency -- this
all do remember well.
But of the rest, that
followed ere the Choice
little is said, and
less considered: how still
much ado was made, high
counsels held, voice
upraised to counter
and to question,
troubling the highest,
making them to pause
and ponder long with
sad consideration
this strange matter
of their love, and cause
that Luthien upholds,
appeals, maintains
with such unreservéd
zeal that even yet,
beyond the Bent World's
verge, her strains
are sung in deathless
memory, past the set
of Sun, of Moon, by
gods and Elven-kind
until the ending of
all things shall find
even the stars and that
unstained land--
[The Hall. There is a difference -- where the
tea-table occupied an alcove under
a lamp, there is now a vast double throne under
an arch, with only the lamp, the
occupant, and the stone sphere resting on the
dividing arm of the throne the same.
In the background, Nienna is still paying attention
to the Loom. Before the throne,
Luthien is looking up at Namo with a desperate
expression. ]
Namo:
I -- I'm sorry, I was
thinking about what you'd just said -- I . . . missed
your last remark.
[he wipes at his eyes, shaking his head a little]
Luthien:
Might I please speak
to him now, my Lord?
[pause]
Namo:
I . . . am not sure
how to break this to you, but he -- he isn't here.
Luthien: [frightened]
He has to be.
Namo:
No, I'm afraid that
isn't the case. Except for those who give themselves
to the Enemy during
their lifetimes, or have ties to their own place that are
strong enough to override
the call of their Fate, mortals do not remain in Arda.
Luthien:
But he wouldn't have
lingered back there -- he's not evil, he has no one
left besides me, and
he knows I'll come here too.
Namo:
But Men don't stay
here -- they go on from the Halls to their own destiny
beyond Ea.
[pause]
I'm sorry.
Luthien: [becoming increasingly frantic]
But I told him to wait
for me! I -- I came as fast as I could -- how long
has it been? You didn't
-- you didn't send him on without me -- please tell
me you didn't!
Surely he would have explained --
[greater apprehension]
--but what if he couldn't --
[sudden notion]
--is Huan here?
Namo: [bewildered]
Why would he
be here? He isn't an Elf -- he belongs to Orome.
Luthien:
No. He belongs to Beren
now. And me. I'm sure he would be waiting for
us here somewhere. He
might be looking after him--
Namo: [frowning]
That's the second time
dogs have come up in recent conversation. Very peculiar.
Nienna: [from where she's sitting, not looking over]
If you'd been paying
attention to the news, or even what's going on under
your own roof, you'd
understand. You need to remember the big picture, not
just focus on the organizational
details, Namo.
Namo: [giving her an exasperated look]
Be a little more cryptic,
would you? Ah --
[realization hits]
Aaha. The kid with the dog.
Luthien:
They're here? He's still
here?
[he nods, picking up the sphere]
Namo:
--Security, please.
--Just how big is that dog, anyway? Uh-huh. I see.
Can you put my wife
on, please? --Vaire, things have just gotten a little
more complicated. --If
you can believe it. I know. Look, I need you to
talk to that mortal
again. He hasn't been rude to you, has he? No, apparently
he has some kind of
aphasia problem, but he's not deaf. Would you ask him if
he's Beren Barahirion?
-- and if he is, tell him that
Luthien is here and
would like to speak
with him, and ask him if he would be so good as to come
over here. His
dog can come too. --Has the dog been rude to you? Well, I'm
going to have a little
talk with Orome about him. -- Yes, that's right.
Love you too.
[sets down palantir, sighs and shakes his head with a pained expression]
I find it difficult to
believe that all this madness really is connected.
It's almost enough to
make one think that order is an illusion.
Nienna:
Why do you think I've
been watching all along? It takes patience to see
the patterns.
[her brother half-smiles]
Namo: [to Luthien]
--Yes. He's here, beneath
this roof, and will be here directly.
Luthien: [whispering]
Thank you. --Thank you--
[Enter Nienna's Apprentice, and Huan, who sniffs
the air and looks towards the
Loom, keening softly. Beren is between them,
holding onto Huan's collar for balance.
He is more bowed and tattered than in Act II,
wearing a motley layered assortment
of frayed rags and well-made tailoring (all
far too large), his head low, his right
arm held stiffly by his side. He looks like
a defeated veteran of a long campaign
stumbling home from the wars.]
Luthien:
Beren.
[he lifts his head and looks over blankly towards
her -- and then he seems to
recognize her and lets go of Huan to hurl himself
at her in a controlled collapse
as she runs to catch him, locking her arms around
his back as he leans against
her shoulder, eyes closed, oblivious to the
rest of his surroundings. Luthien stands
there holding him close, crying, unable to speak
right away. After a few moments
they straighten and look at each other, though
she does not let go of him any more
than he tries to step away:]
Are you all right?
[he nods. Worried:]
Can you talk?
Beren: [with visible effort]
Yes.
[wry smile]
It's hard.
[suddenly]
--Where's Huan?
Luthien: [more worried]
He's right here, on
the other side of me.
[Huan comes closer; Beren does not react until the Hound whines]
Beren, can you see?
[pause]
Beren:
I can see you.
The rest -- is all grey and lights.
[she is very upset, far more than he is]
It's a little bit better now.
Apprentice: [who has been standing awkwardly to the side]
There isn't much more
to
see than "grey and lights", I'm afraid.
[at Namo's stern Look]
No criticism of your
Lady's decorating scheme was -- well, I'm afraid it
was, rather, but, erm
-- it could be a lot worse.
Namo:
Why don't you go find
something to do while they make their goodbyes, hm?
Luthien: [disbelieving]
Goodbyes?!? What do
you mean?!
Namo: [gently]
So that he can be on
his way.
Luthien: [horrified]
What!?
Namo: [frowning]
Isn't that what you
wanted? Since you didn't get the chance to speak
together before his
dissolution?
Luthien: [shaking her head]
No! I mean, yes but
not
just that, I want to stay with him -- him to
stay with me, always.
[she is on the edge of tears, and holds onto
Beren tighter than ever. Huan
presses up against them both, looking anxious]
Namo:
But that isn't possible.
Luthien:
Why not?
Namo:
Because the One has
organized the universe otherwise. He isn't supposed to
stay here. But you know
this. So make your farewells, and let him go.
Luthien: [mournfully]
I may have emphasized
the part about how we didn't get a chance to even say
goodbye properly a little
too much. My Lord, please, can't you make an exception?
Namo:
No. I didn't make the
Law.
Luthien:
But you're in charge
here.
Namo:
I administer the Law.
But I do not have the power to change it.
Luthien: [fraying]
I didn't come all this
way just to have him taken away from me again. I will
not let this
happen.
Namo:
Luthien, I'm afraid
you don't understand.
Luthien:
I understand very well,
my Lord, and I don't care.
Beren: [uneven smile]
Haven't we done this
before?
Namo: [sighing]
Please try to look at
it rationally. I agree that it is a terrible tragedy,
but you knew
that your husband was mortal and under a separate Doom before
you married him. The
tragic shortness of your marriage does not change that
essential fact.
Luthien: [desperate]
Then can we at least
have an entire lifetime here before he has to go?
We're owed at least
that!
Namo:
Very few people, in
this world, get what they deserve. It shouldn't have
happened this way, you're
right.
Luthien: [hopeful]
And?
Namo:
And it's unfortunate.
Most unfortunate. That's why I'm giving you a chance
to have a good
memory, before he goes.
Luthien: [strongly]
--No. Beren is staying
with me.
Apprentice: [nervously]
Your Highness, that's
not--
Luthien: [sarcastic]
What, will he blast
me if I defy him?
Namo: [dry]
No, that isn't my style.
You need to reconcile yourself to facts, Luthien.
Luthien:
If someone says that
to me one more time, I'm going to scream until the roof
falls in. I know
what the facts are. I want solutions! And acceptable ones!
This -- saying goodbye
to Beren so that he can be kicked out yet again like
a trespassing vagabond
-- is not an acceptable solution. You've got to do better.
[the Lord of the Halls gives a short laugh and closes his eyes]
Namo:
You understand I really
do not have the time to spare, even though I'm making it.
Luthien: [snappish]
Well, we jolly well
didn't have it either. Don't try to make me feel sorry for
you, it won't work.
[the Apprentice covers his face with his hand]
Why can't you even make an exeption to the rules?
Namo: [patiently]
Because it is not a
Rule, it is the Law. And it would not be fair to him.
Luthien:
I don't understand--
Namo:
I know.
Luthien:
--How could it not be
fair to him? He's the one who's been cheated most by
all this!
Namo:
You wish to keep him
here, in this fragmentary state, because of your affection
for him. But he is not
made for this place, nor this state, because he is not
like you.
[gesturing]
Look at him. Do
you want to hold him in that, without any hope of being rehoused,
without the natural
properties that make such a mode endurable, alone and severed
from his own kind, until
you've decided that you've had him long enough? What
does he think
of all this? Have you even asked him, or simply laid commands on him?
[Luthien looks defiant, but increasingly anxious]
Apprentice: [thoughtfully]
Sir, could perhaps something
be done -- to some small area, to make it less
overwhelming to his
senses?
Namo:
I don't know. Nor do
I know yet what his feelings on the matter are.
[to Beren:]
--Beren son of Barahir.
[Beren starts and tries to focus on the Lord of the Halls]
What do you want?
Beren: [after several attempts]
I want Tinuviel to be
happy.
Namo:
Being happy and getting
what one asks for are not always the same thing.
--What do you want for
yourself?
[pause -- Luthien looks wretched and afraid]
Beren: [faintly]
I want to stay with
my wife.
[she hugs him in relief]
Namo: [grim]
As you now are, young
Man?
Beren: [simply]
I've known worse. This
doesn't
hurt.
[silence]
Namo: [to where Nienna has been up till now]
I'm surprised you haven't
jumped in yet -- where's she gotten to?
[sighing -- to Beren:]
You're not making things any easier.
Beren: [a very faint smile]
I usually don't.
Namo: [snorts, sounding exasperated, but not angry]
I'm not sure what
to do. This is unprecedented, and nothing I can recall
from the Song gives
me any hints, let alone specific directions. I'm going
to consult with my peers
about this -- fortunately they're already somewhat
aware of your circumstances,
so it shouldn't take too long to bring them up
to date. Meanwhile you
two might as well--
Huan: [interrupting]
[loud single bark]
Namo:
--three, might
as well stay here as anywhere else. Then we won't waste any
time trying to find
you again.
[to the Apprentice]
You're sure you don't know where my sister might be?
Apprentice:
Yes. Erm, no.
That is, I'm sure I don't know where she is. I know many places
where she might
be.
[the Lord of the Halls looks up at the ceiling]
Namo:
Do you do this on purpose,
or does it come naturally? --Has she given you
any tasks that you're
supposed to be doing right now?
Apprentice:
I don't know, my Lord.
--I mean, I'm not sure why I do it. My Master only
told me to make myself
useful about the Halls.
Namo:
Good. --About the latter,
not the first part of your statement. Go find my
Lady, explain things
to her -- quickly -- and ask her to meet me at the
Mahanaxar. First, however,
ask her what you should be doing and then go and
do it. If nothing else,
then I'll have you handle coordinating security --
that should help curb
your taste for adventure, seeing how these stakeouts
really go down.
Apprentice:
Certainly, Sir.
[he gives a rather extravagant bow, and strides
jauntily out, though not without
a backwards concerned look at the three shades.
The Lord of the Halls picks up his
cup from the other arm of his throne (where
it was not a moment before) finishes
the last of his tea and rises from his throne.
Setting down the cup he vanishes,
without another word. Beren reacts, starting.]
Beren:
What's gonna happen
now?
Luthien:
I don't know. I -- I
--
[shaking her head]
I'm going on nothing
but instinct right now. I don't know why they all need
to discuss it. And I
have no idea what they'll decide.
[Behind them Vaire appears for a moment, glances
across at the trio with a
sympathetic expression, and with a fond shake
of her head dismisses the teacup
sitting on her husband's chair. Another quick
gesture dismisses the muddle of
chairs and dims the light of the Loom to a faint
glow. She disappears without
them noticing her, with the possible exception
of Huan. Beren sinks down onto
his knees, closing his eyes. Luthien drops down
in front of him]
Luthien: [anxious]
What's wrong -- Beren,
love, what's the matter?
Beren: [looking up at her, vaguely]
I'm tired. --And I got
chilled and couldn't get warm again.
Luthien:
Have they hurt you somehow?
Beren: [slowly]
No. Some people -- I'm
not sure what kind of people they were. They weren't
Elves, I'm pretty sure.
They came, and . . . talked at me kind of loudly.
They -- they weren't
real happy with me being there in the entryway. But
nobody did anything
except talk. I -- wasn't listening to most of it anyway.
[he reaches out his hand, and Huan bumps his head under it]
He came along and started
licking my face . . . and made me move and kind of
curled up around me
. . . and after that . . . I wasn't cold. He growled at
them when they came
by to yell at me, too, and after a while they stopped.
[he smiles, rubbing Huan's ears]
He's a good dog. Isn't that right, boy?
Huan:
[whines]
[Luthien pulls Beren close against her side,
and he leans his head on her shoulder.
Huan moves to lie couchant behind them, right
at their backs.]
Luthien: [whispering]
Shh, it's all right,
don't be afraid -- we're here now, I won't let anything
else happen to you.
Just rest, you're safe, we've got you, we've got you . . .
Beren: [not opening his eyes]
Sounds good . . . to
me . . .
[she is weeping silently, but not letting him
know it as she alternately smoothes
his hair and rubs gently at his wrist. Across
the room as she is trying to blink
away the tears, the glow of the Loom attracts
her attention, and she strains to
make out what it is. At that moment the quiet
of the hall is shattered beyond repair:]
Tulkas: [shouting in the distance]
Well of course it's
unprecedented,
everything's unprecedented, you know we're
just making it up as
we go along!
[Following this proclamation the speaker himself
appears, striding in out of nowhere
to where the three are, much to the astonishment
of the lovers. Huan does not leave
where he is lying pressed up against Beren and
Luthien, but he gives a short happy
bark and thumps his tail on the floor]
Tulkas: [shaking his head in disgust]
They call me "simple"
-- but not everything is this complicated. Some things
are simple.
[looks around and snorts in disgust]
What is it with this
obsessive need of Vaire's to tidy everything? How much
work is it to leave
a few chairs around?
[manifests a heavy, carved chair of the royal
fald-stool with arms and back type,
flings self down in it. (Note: there are no
obvious sfx -- no flashes, no "magical"
sounds -- it's just there.) Manifesting
a drinking horn:]
You want anything? A drink? Say the word --
[Beren, a bit wild-eyed, shakes his head; Luthien is marginally more composed.]
Luthien:
Oh -- no thank you,
my lord. We are quite -- adequate -- as we are --
Tulkas: [to Beren]
--Good work with those
little spiders. Too many to clean out, of course, but
you made a nice dent
in the population.
Beren: [startled into blurting out a response]
Little?
Tulkas:
Should've seen their
mother.
[shakes his head sadly]
I'll regret not catching her to the end of the world.
[he takes another pull of his drink]
Beren: [aside]
So will the world.
Tulkas:
That's what I said.
[Beren looks confused.]
Now, mind you, I don't
go in for all those fancy gadgets, myself -- I'm
more the hands-on type
-- but heh, even I can see why you wouldn't want
to come to close quarters
with those things. How come you never used a,
a whatsit, poky-stick-thing
-- you know, a "spear?" Seems a lot better
than going after those
things with a -- sword -- farther away, right?
Why didn't you make
yourself one?
Beren:
Um -- 'cause I'm not
a smith?
[Tulkas looks a bit confused at this]
I didn't have the tools,
or the time, and I wouldn't have known what to do
with them if I did.
And a spear can be damned inconvenient for hauling around
in rough terrain --
anything taller than you is gonna catch on stuff. Plus
there's the problem
of if you throw it you haven't got it, but if you hang
on to it, it can become
a liability. Spears are best for open country and
pitched battle. Otherwise--
[it clicks, suddenly, and he looks horrified]
Ah. Sir. --My lord. --Oh gods -- help me--
[Tulkas looks around]
Tulkas:
No one else here, unless
you're counting Huan. "Otherwise--?" You were saying--?
Beren: [quietly, rushed]
Otherwise it can become
just another thing to slow you down.
[bowing his head]
Sir.
Tulkas:
Oh yeah. I'm with you
there.
[getting louder]
I mean, it's all
just a way of hitting harder in one place than another. I
don't know why other
people go on about weapons as if they're so much better
than brute force, especially
the more moving parts they have. They're not any
easier. All this business
about "it's so easy, you just pull it and the bow
does the work for you,"
and nothing about how it wants to go in all different
directions, including
back into you and along your arm--!
Beren: [startled into forgetting]
Somebody said archery
was
easy? I would never agree with that.
Tulkas:
But you were really
good at it.
Beren:
Yeah, but I started
practicing when I was what, four? five? and I kept
practicing, and I twanged
myself good more'n a few times there -- first
time I tried fooling
around with a full-size bow I gave myself a bloody
nose, and my first recurved
hunting job -- ouch. --Of course I shouldn't
have been too impatient
to put on a vambrace before testing it. But yeah,
anything that can punch
through an elk, or a warg, or an armored Orc,
before it can get close
enough to damage you, is going to have a hell of
a lot of power and need
extreme control to make that power go where you
need it to, and only
there.
[he stops, and starts to panic again -- Tulkas
does not seem to notice, but
Luthien hugs him]
Tulkas: [smiling triumphantly]
I'm going to have you
tell my brother-in-law this. Someone needs to take
him down a notch. Besides,
you
understand when brute force is the right
thing -- that bit with
Feanor's brat, when he grabbed her? On the horse?
-- No hesitation, no
stopping-to-think-it-over -- exactly what I would
have done. Perfect.
[gestures with his horn towards Beren and drinks a toast]
Of course, I helped a
bit. You've always tended to be a little too thoughtful
and cautious -- except
towards the end there -- and sometimes you just need
to act without
distractions. Not the time and place for it
Beren:
Y--you're Tulkas, right--?
Tulkas: [shrugs]
Last time I checked.
I think that's what they're still calling me.
Beren:
Ah . . . okay.
So -- when I pulled Curufin down, that was really you? Your
power working through
me? I should thank you for saving Luthien then?
Tulkas: [shaking his head]
Oh no, I just helped
with the distractions. It was all you. Besides, you
already did. I'm one
of the Valar, right? Don't you remember thanking us?
Beren:
. . .
Luthien:
How do you know all
this -- milord?
Tulkas:
Oh, I was following
the story off and on from a long ways back -- even before
what's-his-name, the
guy who didn't come back -- Thingol -- got my attention
begging me to smite
him
couple-three times a day. Nia said this was one I'd li--
Luthien: [interrupting, outraged]
You didn't!
Tulkas:
--Of course not.
That's not how it works, anyway, and your dad knows it.
[snorts]
Besides, I didn't need to.
[glares at Beren]
What were you thinking,
you dimwit? You had every chance handed to you to go
off and have a decent
life with your girl and what do you do, you go and
yourself killed, for
a bargain which nobody in his right mind would have
considered taking up
-- can we say "rigged contest," hm? -- and you can't
claim it was an accident,
how often did you try to get yourself killed
before you succeeded?
Every time she said "Let's just go and live in the
woods," would it have,
huh, killed you to say "yes"? Obviously not. Believe
me, I wanted
to clobber you a couple times there.
[the disgruntled Power recovers from his rant with another drink]
Beren: [quiet]
I'm sorry, if that helps
any.
Tulkas: [looks around expectantly, then shakes his head]
--Nope, nothing's changed.
So I don't think it did.
[Beren looks even more baffled.]
Well. What are you going to do now?
Beren:
Do?
Tulkas:
Right, what are you
going to do about this situation you got yourselves into?
Beren:
. . .
Luthien:
I got us into it too.
But at this point it isn't up to us. What can we do?
[pause]
That is to say, we're dead.
Tulkas:
I know that.
How much of a simpleton do you take me for? There's always something
you can do. It might
not work, but at least--
[There is a sudden gust of wind through the place
and a tall, athletic woman (who
might well be played by Maureen O'Sullivan,
the original "Jane") in swirling but
rather abbreviated drapery appears behind Tulkas,
and puts her hands over his
eyes, exclaiming:]
Guess who!
Tulkas:
Hmm . . . I think .
. . but no, can't be sure--
Nessa:
Silly!
[She leans over and gives him a quick upside-down kiss]
Sure now?
Tulkas: [frowns, shakes his head]
Not quite.
[they share a rather-more-protracted moment]
I think -- but . . .
[he ducks before she can thwack him on the head, grinning]
Nessa: [moving around beside him]
Where did all the chairs
go?
Tulkas:
You know Vaire -- leave
something alone for a moment, it gets cleaned up and
put away. Here, sit
on my lap, we only need one chair anyway.
[Nessa plunks herself down on his knees, grabs
the mead-horn and takes a big
gulp before passing it back and leaning against
his shoulder.]
So what's going on? Anything interesting?
Nessa: [scornful expression]
Pfft. Talk, talk, talk,
"Rules" -- talk, talk, talk, "mortal" -- talk, talk,--
Tulkas: [interrupting]
Who's saying what?
Nessa:
--You know how
it goes. Somebody says one thing, someone else says another,
and after it wrangles
around for a while the first person's saying what the
third said and the third
and second are disagreeing with themselves and
everyone else is just
shaking their heads.
Tulkas:
You left out shouting.
Nessa:
You didn't let me get
there --
[pokes him in the ribs]
--talk, talk, talk, "War,"
-- talk, talk, talk, "Melian" -- shouting: "That
scoundrel who seduced
my finest employee and convinced her to throw away her
career and become a
housewife--"
Tulkas:
--That's got to be Irmo--
Nessa: [nods]
--More shouting. Back
again to "mortal -- Rules -- War." It's soooo boring.
--This chair is
not
big enough for the two of us.
Tulkas:
That's because you insist
on trying to sit sideways.
Nessa:
Well, how else can you
feed me grapes? If I face forward, you stick them
in my eye.
Tulkas:
We don't have
any grapes, silly.
Nessa:
Well, get some!
[Beren gives Luthien a cautious Look; she only
raises her eyebrows in answer. This
is not what she expected either.]
Never mind, I'll fetch them.
[Nessa holds out her hand and manifests a large
cluster, pulls off one and pops it
in her husband's mouth before giving him the
rest of the bunch. Tulkas looks at
both occupied hands, shakes his head and sets
the drinking horn down on the floor,
on feet which might not have been there a moment
before. He starts feeding her
grapes while she crosses her feet on one arm
of the chair and leans back on the
other. Tulkas starts teasing her, holding them
just a little too high, and Nessa
tickles him in return. This was not such a good
idea, as in the resulting upheaval
the chair really proves to be too small and
she falls halfway onto the floor out
of his lap. Huan has to get up and come over
and "help" at this point with excited
noises and nose-pokings]
Nessa:
Huan, get away! This
is
stupid--
[she glares at the arm of the chair and gives it a whack with her hand]
I'm going to fix this, just wait a moment--
[There are no obvious sfx at this point, either
audio or visual enhancement,
just as with the previous manifestations]
Beren: [whispering to Luthien]
Were they talking about
your
parents--?
Luthien: [almost incapable of speech]
I -- I'm -- I think
so--
Beren:
Did you get that -- that -- bit, about -- being angry at --
[breaks off, astounded -- loudly:]
--That's a hill. A real hill, from outside -- at least it looks real--
Nessa: [beaming]
Thank you!
[instead of a heavy fald-stool with arms, the
divine couple are now sitting on a
grassy hillock with some shrubs growing on it,
allowing for much easier reclining.
It is a fairly decent-sized prominence, not
inconspicuous at all. ]
Would you like one too?
We have plenty around our hall -- I can get another,
no problem.
Beren: [rushed]
Uh -- thank you very
much, my lady, but I really don't want to put anyone to
any trouble on my behalf.
Nessa: [between grapes]
Well, I don't
think you're obnoxious at all. That was very polite.
Luthien: [temper starting to flare]
Who's saying
Beren's obnoxious?
Nessa: [shrugs]
Different people. My
brother, like he's got room to talk. People with no
senses of humor. Or
romance.
[to Tulkas]
My turn.
[she sits up and takes the fruit and they switch places. To Luthien:]
I was so pleased with the way you used my Art to put old Melkor in his place--
Tulkas: [chuckles]
Heh. That's one way
of putting it.
Nessa:
What?!?
Tulkas:
You were shaking me
and screaming and whacking Tav on the arm and yelling "See?
See? Don't you ever
call Dance a frivolous waste of time again!" until everyone
told you to sit down
and be quiet.
Nessa:
I didn't hear that.
Tulkas:
That's 'cause you were
shouting.
Nessa:
Pfft.
[she silences him with another grape]
You want to talk about
obnoxious? He -- Melkor -- used to swagger about like
he was Eru's gift to
Valier -- and no idea how to win friends, much less hearts.
No understanding of
what conversation meant. He honestly thought that we wanted
to hear him talk about
himself.
Luthien: [defensive]
Well, if someone's interesting,
that's all right.
Nessa:
You met him.
Did he have anything the least bit interesting to say? The "art of
conversation" involves
an exchange of ideas, right? He couldn't ever grasp that
there's this basic difference
between a conversation and a monologue. Do you know
how annoying it is to
have someone just ignore everything you say to them?
Luthien:
Well, up until recently
I'd have had to say -- no, but--
Beren: [muttering]
I'm sorry--
Luthien:
I wasn't talking about
you,
I was referring to Celegorm. And my father. You
listened, you just disagreed
with me.
Beren: [gloomy]
I was right, though--
Luthien: [sharply]
No, you were not.
If you had listened to me from the very beginning, milord,
you would
not
have lost your hand, and you wouldn't be incapacitated in a fight,
and you wouldn't have
gotten yourself killed. Am I not right? Beren?
Am I not
right about that?
Even the gods think so, weren't you listening--
Beren: [louder]
But it wouldn't
have worked then either--
Nessa: [loudly as if shooing a cat, dropping the grapes and
clapping her hands]
Wssht!
[they jump -- the Patrons of Spouses look at them very seriously and severely]
What are you fighting about?
Tulkas:
Sounds like you're fighting
over something that's already over.
Luthien:
Er . . .
Nessa:
Why?
Beren:
Uh -- I guess because
-- I've been doing it so long --
Luthien: [firmly]
We've been doing
it--
Beren:
--we -- just
don't know how to stop.
Nessa:
That's not a good enough
reason. Is it?
[they shake their heads meekly. Huan thumps his tail and gives a sympathy whine]
--Where were we?
Tulkas: [helpfully]
Talking about my ex-rival.
Whose head I am someday going to pound flush level
with his neck.
Nessa:
That's right.
[gives him another grape -- to Luthien:]
I'm betting all he said
was, "Nobody appreciates me, I don't get the respect
I deserve, everyone
else is having such a great time, poor me, --you watch,
they'll all be sorry
someday" -- am I not right?
Luthien: [deadpan]
That was pretty much
all, except that you left out the bit about, "Get down
here or I'll shoot you
down with a lightning bolt."
Tulkas: [flat]
Oh, how nice. He's got
a new hobby. Indoor target practice. Joy.
Nessa:
No, he used to do that.
Tulkas:
Not indoors.
Nessa:
Well, how would we know
what he was doing all that time in Utumno? --This is
a silly argument. Let's
stop.
Tulkas: [amiably]
All right.
Nessa: [gesturing towards Beren with her arm]
Did you ever get a proper
Acclamation? Did your family ever acknowledge him
as your consort?
Luthien: [a bit dry]
Haven't you been watching
us all along?
Nessa:
No, I had work to do
right around then. Summer, you know.
Luthien:
Well.
[she sighs]
They did give us a feast
and all, but I'm not sure that I would call it a
proper celebration.
It wasn't very celebratory, you see, what with Carcaroth
on the loose and so
many people having been killed by his rampages and
everyone all packed
into the Caves for safety and the whole place completely
disorganized as a result.
No one was very cheerful, to put it mildly. Poor
Mablung looked like
a ghost -- he shouldn't even have been up yet, but trying
to make him or Beleg
stop for their own good is like telling Beren to take
care of himself --
[Beren looks away, embarrassed]
--and my mother didn't
look much better, and Dad was trying so hard to be
polite and not say anything
distressing, but there really aren't a whole lot
of conversation topics
left that don't end up somewhere unpleasant, and how
much can you say about
the weather? And Beren was so nervous -- and so was I
-- and we weren't used
to sitting at table -- out in the woods by the campfire
I'd cut things and hold
them for him, but our timing was all off and we kept
knocking everything
over. And then everyone pretended they didn't notice, and
that was even worse.
Beren was almost in tears, and I was trying not to get
angry, and it wasn't
working very well . . .
Nessa:
Oh, you poor kids!
Luthien:
. . . and we were both
so exhausted and frayed that trying to be social was,
frankly, a waste of
time, and then there was all this fuss with Mom over
whether we should have
my old rooms, or the best guest suite instead, and
since every available
chamber was full of refugees who would have to be
shuffled around, I thought
it was irrelevant, especially given our living
conditions for the past
year, and they didn't understand that it was a joke
when I said "Just give
me a sword and I'll make a lean-to of branches like
I usually do," and so
I got lectured about The Dangers of Carcaroth! as
though I were an idiot,
and then I said, "Well, is my house still up in
Hirilorn?" and that
killed conversation completely for a bit.
[shaking her head]
And then Mom wanted to
give me their room, and neither one of us wanted that,
and Beren tried to help
by suggesting that we could sleep on the floor in one
of the storage caves,
and they thought that was Not Funny either, and then
they realized that it
wasn't supposed to be a joke, and things got touchy
again for a little while,
and then we had another round of mutual apologizing.
Nessa:
So what did you end
up doing?
Luthien: [completely unable to stop now that she's started
talking about it]
Hirilorn, actually.
No one else was staying there, no way up it for Carcaroth
-- and the army stationed
all around the gates of Menegroth below -- and
ultimately everyone
agreed it was the best solution. Not perfect, mind you --
I had to guard Beren
up the ladder like you do with small children to the house
door, and then he got
upset all over again about how high up it was -- he'd only
seen the tree once at
sunset and it was a lot more impressive actually being in
it -- because of me
climbing down from it, and then we fought about me sleeping
on the floor with him
because my bed was too small for us both and he was being
all self-sacrificing
again and I had to cry before he'd stop it, and then we
fought about him going
on the Hunt the next day, because he insisted that it
` really was his fault about Carcaroth
and besides Mablung was going in spite
of his injuries, and
we were both feeling so Doomed that I couldn't tell if
it was a real perception
or not, and I tried to make a joke about this being
familiar, up in the
moonlight with sentries down on the lawn and he got upset
again about the
fact that I had to rappel down, and about the fact that they
were in the Pit then
. . .
[she stops, taking a ragged breath; Beren is profoundly
mortified -- Tulkas
gives him a sympathetic look]
Tulkas: [pointing at the drinking horn on the floor]
Sure you don't want
some mead? You look like you could use a drink.
Beren:
No thanks -- but it
sounds like a better idea all the time.
Luthien: [forlornly]
. . . and I almost wished
that they'd just drunk us a toast, broken a loaf,
handed us some blankets
and said "there's an empty corner behind those shelves
over there," just bread
-- wine -- bed, instead of even trying to make a fuss
. . . It wasn't just
the awfulness at dinner, the rest of the celebration wasn't
any good either -- there
wasn't any of the traditional singing, because it
wouldn't have been appropriate
with all the mourning, and everyone was so
awkward about congratulating
us . . . and about actually looking me in the eye,
and not staring
at Beren. As a wedding -- it was pretty awful, really. And then
he got killed--
[she stops abruptly]
Nessa: [outraged]
That's not right! You
deserved better than that!
Luthien: [shrugs]
Well, -- yes. But under
the circumstances--
Nessa: [interrupting]
That doesn't matter.
That's just no good at all. --You know Morgoth ruined
our honeymoon,
too.
Luthien: [blinking suspiciously hard -- politely:]
--Really?
Nessa:
The party was
wonderful. Which just made everything after so much more awful
as well. It's worse
when good memories get spoiled by some disaster.
Luthien:
What happened? I remember
Mom saying something about that was why you all moved
out of Middle-earth
-- something about volcanic eruptions or something -- she
wasn't very clear, and
I was a little kid being fished out from under the loom.
Nessa:
He used our wedding
as cover to sneak his army of fiends in from Without and
start entrenching up
north and by the time we realized he was causing the
pollution and the mutations,
that it wasn't something we'd done wrong, he
had already tunneled
under the Lamps.
Tulkas: [bitterly]
I shouldn't have gone
off-duty.
Nessa:
No darling, it was my
fault for distracting you. You couldn't have known about
the double-agents --
not even Manwe did, then, so why shouldn't you have had
the night off?
Tulkas:
Honey, don't you dare
blame yourself. Just as much my fault for daring you to
try to wear me out--
Nessa: [mischievously]
No one can keep up with
me. I bet I could do it again tonight . . .
Tulkas: [interested]
What stakes?
Nessa:
A beach holiday on Tol
Eressea. Moonlight on the ocean, dolphins playing, and
the water right there
when we get sandy. --What are you betting?
Tulkas:
A mountain-climbing
vacation.
[leadingly]
--Sunrise over the Pelori,
bonfires under the stars at the edge of the world,
and that bracing mountain
air means we'll have to keep warm somehow. The deer
will like it too, we
won't have to ask anyone to watch them while we're away.
Nessa:
Ooh, you're cheating!
[she pokes him in the ribs. He sits up and tries
to catch her hand, giving her
kisses, while she keeps on trying to tickle
him.]
Beren: [to himself]
They looked a lot more
staid
on Gran's tapestries . . .
[Luthien gives a speculative look at the Powers and then at him]
Luthien:
If you hadn't gone and
gotten yourself killed, we could have had that in
Middle-earth, too. They've
been married for thousands of years and somehow
they manage not
to fight most of the time.]
[Beren winces. Unnoticed except by Huan, who
pricks up his ears, Aule's Assistant
appears in the middle of the hall. He does a
double-take at the sight of the hill
and its occupants, before giving a disgusted
snort at the sight of the amorous deities.]
Aule's Assistant: [clearing his throat]
If you can manage
to divert your attention from this unseemly spectacle, and
grant this humble messenger
a modicum of the same?
[they all turn and stare at him]
Tulkas: [looking around the room]
Unseemliness? We can't
have that. --Where?
[the Assistant shakes his head. Nessa throws
a grape at him; he ignores it with
studied decorousness]
Assistant: [to Luthien]
The Powers have requested
-- in the absence or preoccupation of the regular
staff -- that I provide
you with escort to the chamber in these Halls where
they will hold their
deliberations so that you may address them, and account
for your actions.
[silence. Beren and Luthien, looking nervous, start to get up]
Luthien: [to Beren]
If you find yourself
getting panicked again, leave the talking to me this time.
Assistant: [quickly]
The presence of your
-- consort -- is not required.
Luthien:
What do you mean?
Assistant:
I mean, plainly put,
that the mortal is not to attend this meeting.
Luthien:
Well, then, -- I'm not
going either. Why can't he?
Assistant:
To your first word,
this is not "attendance optional," to your second -- in
plainest speech --
because he does not belong here in the first place, nor
with you, who are of
a different kind, nor is your reasoning made clearer
by his company.
Luthien: [tearful frustration]
Why is everyone
out to get us? We're not hurting anyone, we didn't ask for
very much -- we just
want to be together. --What is the problem? Why does
everyone in the world
have to make such a fuss about us? What do the gods
care about me, about
Beren, when they have all of Arda to worry about? What
difference do
we make?
[pause]
Tulkas:
Well, you did come and
insist rather loudly that Namo pay attention to you.
--Not trying to be mean,
just pointing out a fact.
Luthien:
But why can't you just
fix
things?
Tulkas:
How?
Luthien: [acerbic]
You're the gods,
you're supposed to be all powerful.
Nessa: [patiently]
Now, little sister,
I'm
sure Melian taught you better than that.
Luthien: [still stubborn]
You still haven't explained
why such a fuss is being made.
Tulkas:
You've thrown everyone
off by doing something completely unprecedented.
People don't just show
up here without being called for, you know.
Nessa: [thoughtful]
Well, there was that
other time which is sort of the same thing--
Tulkas: [scowling]
Yes, but that's not
a good precedent. And it isn't really the same at all.
They're not like
them -- and a jolly good thing, too!
Nessa:
True.
[to Luthien]
You should really do
something with your hair, you look like a poor sheep
they've forgotten to
shear.
[Luthien, looking intensely piqued, starts to say something -- and Beren laughs]
It looks so nice when you braid flowers in it.
Luthien: [to Beren, who has turned it into a cough]
What, sir?!
Beren: [complete innocence]
Oh absolutely, I agree
-- about the flowers.
[she gives him a narrow Look; he takes a lock of her hair in his fingers]
You just don't get a
break, do you? --It's okay, it's okay, this is just
a little thing--
[he tugs her closer until their foreheads touch; whispering:]
You still don't look as much of a sheepdog as me--
[they kiss]
Tulkas: [approving]
Much better.
[embarrassed, they straighten back up]
Assistant: [clearing his throat]
--Could we please
stop wasting time, young Lady?
Luthien: [same tone back]
That is Princess,
to you, sir. And we are not wasting anyone's time, but
quite the reverse.
Nessa: [to her husband]
Oh, I've got a plan.
A good plan! Listen--
[She grabs his head and whispers into his ear.]
Let's go find her, all right?
Tulkas: [frowning]
You really think that
will help?
Nessa:
I'm sure. --Oh, I want
to stop by the house first and pick up the deer.
Tulkas:
Are they part of the
plan?
Nessa:
No, silly, it's just
more fun when they're around. Race you back to the hall!
[Vanishes. Tulkas vanishes a split-second later. The Hill is left behind]
Assistant: [shaking his head]
--Well, don't expect
to see
them any time soon.
[to Luthien, not really a question]
Your Highness, are you coming or not?
Luthien: [folding her arms]
I told you, I'm not
going
anywhere without Beren.
[deliberately]
You tell them -- If he is not welcome, I'm not welcome
Beren: [unhappy]
--Tinuviel -- maybe--
Luthien:
No. If they're
going to make this big deal about me being Mom's daughter
and "isn't it wonderful"
to meet me and isn't it so awful what happened,
they can treat you
with the respect due you as my consort. Otherwise it's
just the same as Doriath.
[The Assistant gives her a disgruntled glare; she gives it right back to him]
Assistant:
I will speak to my Patrons
about this, Elf.
Luthien:
Good. You do that.
[after a brief staring contest Aule's messenger
vanishes, not before saying,
in a last-word-power-play manner:]
Assistant:
Don't touch anything
while you're waiting. --Especially the Loom.
[silence -- particularly deafening after the
last visitors; the couple look at
each other, recovering from the overwhelming
personalities and onslaught of
information they've just experienced.]
Luthien:
Well.
Beren:
--Yeah.
[pause]
Not -- not quite what you expected either, huh?
Luthien:
I think -- my parents
-- left a lot out.
[pulling herself together]
Now I'm wondering what
else they neglected to mention or somehow failed to
convey quite vividly
enough. --So what were you expecting?
Beren:
I don't know. Not this.
[shaking his head]
I mean -- I don't know,
I just -- my folks raised me to be godsfearing and
pious, I learned my
myths, and how you don't reap all the field, you leave
some for the deer in
winter because Yavanna is patron of wild animals, not
just farmers, and you
don't ever shoot swans because they're sacred to Ulmo,
and if you wear down
a knife or a needle where it can't be sharpened any
more you don't throw
it away in the trash, you bury it out of respect for
Aule, and you thank
Manwe when the weather holds good for harvest --
[short dismayed laugh]
--that was all just --
everyday stuff -- just life, but not -- there, like
the War. The stories
-- they were like tapestries, bright colors, and detailed,
and interesting, but
background,
not -- real -- the way stories about our
history were
real, people if you didn't know, at least you knew people who
had known someone who
had
known them.
[sighs]
And then everything fell
apart, and -- what was normal and what wasn't -- by
the end nothing human
was real to me, and I swear I could understand what
the streams were saying,
but since it wasn't in words I couldn't ever say
what it was -- and then
-- you --
[she smiles sadly at him]
and afterwards . . .
[he shakes his head]
. . . he'd say
things, or they would, and I literally couldn't make anything
of it . . . I hear words
like "and so I asked Varda," and -- my mind just
stops, like a
pony balking -- I can't make any pictures to go along with the
words. I just had no
idea really what to expect . . . being mortal, especially . . .
[with a touch of resentment]
--but I did think it was going to be peaceful at least.
Luthien: [slowly]
It's different for me,
obviously -- more like your old family stories about
Hithlum, friends of
my parents and places that I've never met or seen but
had always felt familiar
towards, because of the way they talked about them.
But it's still quite
different from the way I'd imagined it, from their
stories . . .
[glancing up at the glowing vaults with a thoughtful frown]
So that is the Loom. That answers one question, at least. I wonder . . .
[she gets up and tugs him over towards it, despite his reluctance]
Beren: [worried]
Tinuviel, he just said--
Luthien:
All he said was don't
touch
it. I'm just looking, Beren.
[it's clear that's not going to be the case for very long]
Oh, interesting. I can
see now why they call it a "loom." I think -- look
at that, there actually
are several, um, heddles, I suppose you have to call
them -- see?
Beren:
No.
Luthien:
More than several, really.
They just keep on going, all the way back in, I
don't see how they all
fit. And that's got to be the take-up -- again, I don't
understand how all of
them can be in there--
[she leans in and starts trying to measure spaces]
Beren:
Er--
Luthien:
--because there's got
to be one for each "heddle", but it looks to me like
you could unwind the,
ah, cloth, and thread it over these bits, if you--
[without her actually touching anything, some
part of the construct moves and
there is a dramatic, if brief, change in the
intensity, texture, and color
of the lights]
Oh! --Did you see that?
You
did see that, right? I don't know exactly what
it was, but there was
definitely
something there-- Now if I do this -- or
this instead--
Beren: [trying to pull her away]
I don't think we're
supposed to be doing this . . .
Luthien:
And that has stopped
you when?
Beren:
. . .
[she keeps poking around, while he alternates
between expressions of dread and
resignation. Thus neither of them see when Huan
re-enters, carefully leading Finrod
Felagund by the sleeve, who is a little bemused
but otherwise calm and unflustered.]
Finrod:
Huan, I don't think
we're supposed to be back here. I know it's a madhouse
right now and no one
seems to be around to give any answers, and I haven't
been able to find anyone
to send down to Orome about you, but don't you think
we should look for someone
to come explain what's going on . . . and . . .
[stops]
I -- think we've found
them. Somehow -- I'm not surprised. Aside from being
shocked beyond words.
Beren?
-- and Luthien? -- how --
[He hastens over to the two of them, who have
turned around with a start and are
standing frozen in front of the Loom]
How . . .?
[Beren, speechless, falls on his knees before
him, Luthien kneeling with him.
Finrod at once kneels too, taking their free
hands in his own -- or attempting to.]
Finrod: [in extreme distress]
Beren, what's happened?
Beren: [roughly, not looking up]
I've failed you again,
sir.
Huan:
[barks sharply]
Finrod:
Last I knew you were
safe and living happily together. What happened to
you -- three?
Beren:
Carcaroth.
Finrod:
What's Carcaroth?
Huan:
[growls]
Luthien:
Morgoth's anti-Huan
defense system. But I knocked him out and we got in anyway,
but then Morgoth saw
through my ruse and recognized me.
Finrod: [aghast]
Ah -- you were killed
by Morgoth?
Luthien:
No! We got it. But then
Carcaroth got it. And Beren's hand. And then the Eagles
came and got us. And
Huan and I took care of Beren. And then we went home, but
Carcaroth had already
gotten there and into Doriath because of the Silmaril
but I'm not sure if
it might not have been because of Beren's hand, either,
and they went to hunt
him and he almost got my father but Beren got in the
way -- and here we are.
Finrod: [stunned]
You -- got -- a Silmaril.
--Yourselves.
Beren: [hoarse]
And then I lost it.
Finrod:
You two -- went into
Angband and took one of the jewels away. By yourselves.
Luthien:
With Huan's help.
Finrod: [horrified, touching Beren's wrist ]
Is that what
happened to you?
Beren:
No. That was Carcaroth.
Finrod:
But you knocked -- Carcaroth
-- out.
Beren:
But then he woke up.
Luthien:
--I explained that,
remember?
Finrod: [mildly]
I'm still trying to
accept the fact that you're really here and not some sort
of hallucination born
of wishful thinking.
Luthien: [remorseful]
I'm sorry--
Finrod: [brushing her bangs aside]
What happened to your
hair? You look like a wild pony.
Luthien: [laughing and crying together]
Oh, no . . . not you
too . . . !
Finrod:
I -- no, I believe
it, I simply cannot comprehend this.
[he shakes his head, laughing a little]
Let me endeavor to do
so. --We'd heard of your exploit from several sources,
but mostly from the
newly-arrived -- there are several persons here who came
not long after returning
to Nargothrond, finding freedom sadly lacking as
compared to expectations
and recollection -- and I've had no end of trouble
convincing the majority
here that my older cousin from the Old Country isn't
really twelve feet tall
with a perpetual battle-aura brighter than the High-
King's, let me assure
you.
[Luthien gives a short incredulous laugh]
And they all said that
you looked like the happiest couple in Middle-earth,
and they were so pleased,
and we were too, and it seemed as though things
were going uphill, what
with Sauron routed and no enemy base in that
geographical corridor
any more, and that was the last we knew, until the
staff were all called
away suddenly and with a great deal of worry expressed,
talking about a sudden
influx of casualties from Beleriand all intensely
traumatized and no one's
given us any meaningful answers since then.
Beren: [hollowly to himself]
--Carcaroth . . .
Luthien: [getting warmer as she goes]
Beren wouldn't go along
with it -- too much happiness and he had to wallow
in guilt some more and
then try to immolate himself, and we tried to stop him,
Huan and I, we really
did -- but even though we could escape Nargothrond's
security and defeat
a Dark Lord, we were no match for Beren when it comes to
out-and-out granite-hard
stubbornness, not about going to Angband, not about
refusing to take the
peace we could get, not about going off to fight Carcaroth
-- again!
[Beren cringes and ducks his head; Finrod grips his arm comfortingly]
I'm sorry. It's been a horrible year.
Finrod: [hesitantly]
Did you like Nargothrond?
--I mean -- that is, of course, aside from being
a prisoner . . . ?
Luthien: [incredulous]
Finrod--! Really, do
you think--
[she checks, and then looks sadly at him]
--It was beautiful. It was just as lovely as you said it would be. I wish--
[she breaks off, shaking her head, and reaches
out to stroke the side of his face.
He gives her a rueful smile]
I wish I'd gotten there in time.
Finrod: [gently]
So you could have watched
me fade after? --You did.
[he looks at Beren]
You keep saying "Carcaroth"
and I don't quite know what you're talking about.
Is that a weapon? Or
or a person? Or both, like Glaurung?
[Beren answers before Luthien can start to speak]
Beren: [meeting Finrod's eyes for the first time]
Mine.
[pause -- Finrod stares at him, starting to make sense of it]
--And Huan's.
[Finrod understands -- his expression changes
to utter dismay and he cannot say
anything. He reaches over and pulls them both
against his shoulders, rocking them
for a moment like children, resting his forehead
against theirs. When they
straighten he commands:]
Finrod:
Tell me everything.
Luthien: [tired and frustrated]
Finrod, it's such
a long story, and I've been telling it over and over and
over again and--
Finrod: [quietly]
I promise I'll listen.
[she stops and almost smiles -- he gives her
a kiss on the forehead and stands,
helping them both get up.]
Let's find someplace more comfortable than the floor, though, if you don't mind.
[glances around -- musing:]
I wonder if benches would qualify as a technical violation . . .
[the others look at each other, wondering what
on earth he's talking about. A
woman's voice echoes through the door from down
the hallway:]
--I shall not speak with him, dost thou not hear me plain? I'll have none of this--
Finrod:
Grinding Ice--!
[Casts around frantically, ducks behind Huan.
A tall and radiantly blonde woman
sweeps in accompanied by Nienna's Apprentice.
She could be played excellently by
Uma Thurman, on loan from Gattaca. The
faint (given the lighting) but definite
living color of her and the slight shadow she
casts make for a somewhat disquieting
effect, as they do for her escort. Her gown
is sleeveless, off the shoulder and
flowing white, with a wide begemmed sash --
Art-Nouveau Egyptian-classical, like
a Mucha-esque Cleopatra.]
Apprentice:
My Master asks but that
you hear him out -- whether you say anything or not,
milady.
Amarie:
I mean absolutely no
disrespect to thy Master whatsoever, but thou mayest
tell the Lady that if
she doth hope to force some manner of reconciliation
on us in such wise,
it is foredoomed to be in vain. I will not to talk to him,
do you hear?
Apprentice:
Alas, yes.
[they see Beren, Luthien, and Huan -- and no
one else -- present in the chamber,
and cross to them in the absence of any other
possible advisors]
Apprentice:
Erm . . . excuse me,
Your Highness, but you haven't happened to see my teacher
-- that would be the
Lady Nienna -- about anywhere lately?
Luthien: [rather sharp]
I am afraid I haven't,
sir. I have seen precious little of pity as yet from
the Powers here -- though
much
in the way of sentimentality.
Beren: [trying to be fair]
Uh--
Amarie: [interested now as well as annoyed]
--"Highness"? Shall
be a foreigner from the other Shore, belike? For I know
all the royals in this
land, and she is none of them.
Apprentice: [graciously indicating with his arm]
This is the daughter
of the Lady Melian and her consort, King Elu, once called
Elwe, brother of the
lord of Alqualonde (who is well known to yourself,) -- the
Princess Luthien of
Doriath in Beleriand.
[silence]
Amarie: [staring intensely at Luthien]
So.
[pause]
This, then, shall be the infamous maid herself?
Luthien:
--Infamous? I
wouldn't know. Who are you?
Apprentice: [quickly]
I'm just the messenger.
As in 'Don't shoot'.
Amarie: [looks her up and down and sniffs]
Thou dost not appear
much
that hath such havoc late inspired.
[turning her gaze on Beren]
And this is thy human consort. --I should have expected better there as well.
[the detached contempt slips into cold rage]
An I thought it should
touch him, that mortal killer, I'd strike him across his
villainous countenance,
as I'd thee as well --
[back to the cool detachment]
--but such doth merit not even my disregard.
Luthien:
Don't you dare threaten
him!
Amarie: [sneering]
What matter? He hath
not substance nor reality in any case.
[Beren raises his brows but says nothing. Behind
Huan Finrod grimaces, and
reluctantly gets up from his knees to step around
the Hound.]
Finrod:
--Amarie. --Is
that
how you see them? Or only all of us that are dead?
[silence. They stare at each other with extreme
intensity -- her shock at the
surprise takes a moment to fade]
Amarie: [flatly]
--What dost thou here?
Finrod:
A friend summoned me.
I don't ignore such things. --Especially when it's Huan.
Beren: [astonished]
--That's Amarie?
Luthien:
Oh, this is your old
girlfriend?
Amarie: [furious]
Wretch, what hast thou
said of me?
Beren:
--This is Amarie?
Amarie: [through her teeth]
--And am I thus made
sport for a Secondborn barbarian, and a mockery for
usurpers as well as
renegades?
Finrod: [iron]
Do not speak
ill of my friend.
[she snorts in disdain]
Amarie:
He is dead, withal.
Finrod:
So am I.
Amarie: [scoffing]
Thou? Thou art
merely affected and that right willfully, thou miscreant.
Beren: [confused]
--Affected? --Does
that mean something different here?
Luthien:
Not that I've heard.
[to Amarie]
Now you hear me, you
can't insult my cousin that way -- or any other way,
I won't have it.
Amarie: [without heat, very matter-of-factly]
Silence, thou shameless
recusant. Thou'rt naught but a savage, for all thy
shadowed folk name thee
princess,
and the more so to roam the wildwood in
garment of suspect sorcery
and thine own hair--!
[Luthien is momentarily speechless. Beren winces, glances at Finrod]
Finrod:
Are you thinking what
I'm thinking?
Beren:
Oh yeah. -- No cover
at all.
Finrod:
What an inopportune
time for Huan to run off. He'd be adequate cover for us both.
Beren:
Hey -- it could be worse.
[pause]
Finrod:
It was.
[Both studiously avoid each other's eyes for
a moment. Futile -- each steals a look,
and simultaneously bursts into uncontrollable
laughter.]
Amarie: [affronted, turning her wrath on them]
What, pray tell,
dost so amuse?
[Beren and Finrod try to look serious. Attempt fails utterly.]
Finrod: [leaning on Beren's shoulder, doubled over]
"Dumb Stunts of the
Noldor," number I-couldn't-begin-to-guess-which, out of
very-likely-infinity--
Beren: [being the Voice of Reason]
It was a good
plan, it just needed some tweaking. Huan even said so. It
worked fine the
second time--
Finrod:
Right.
[wiping eyes]
--Would you care to explain what definition of "fine" you're using?
Beren:
Hey, just because I
blew it afterwards doesn't change the fact that the plan
worked perfectly.
Finrod:
What were we thinking?
Beren:
Hey -- you want stupid?
You wouldn't think anyone could forget this, would you?
[gesturing with his right wrist]
Carcaroth charges and
instead of bracing the end of it against the side of
my foot and using my
elbow to help stabilize it, I go to level it at him like
I still had two hands
and he brushes it aside like I was poking him with a
cattail instead. How
dumb is that?
Finrod: [scoffs]
What about "leave the
talking to me, I can handle him," --never mind the fact
that we're talking about
a being who helped build the world itself, older by
comparison to me than
I am to you -- no, I'll just take care of him!
Beren:
No, no, nothing
on me. You gotta hear the whole story -- you're not going to
believe most of it.
Finrod:
I don't believe most
of it anyway. Not even the parts I was present for.
[they lose it again -- Luthien sighs and shakes
her head; Amarie is staring in
horrified fascination]
Amarie:
What doth so
amuse?
Luthien: [dryly]
Wolves.
Amarie:
Wolves?!?
[Luthien nods]
And thou dost think naught on't?
Luthien: [shrugging]
I can't laugh about
it -- but I won't deny them the right. It's their battle.
--Beren doesn't find
anything remotely amusing in the parts of my adventures
I find funny after the
fact.
Amarie:
--Madness!
Beren: [recovering enough to argue]
Yeah, but what about
me blowing our cover?
Finrod:
That wasn't you, that was
me. Besides, we were insane then.
Beren:
Well, I certainly
was. I distinctly remember calling you "Ma" on more than
one occasion.
Finrod: [reasonably]
Yes -- and I answered.
[unsteadily they endeavor to regain self-possession]
Beren: [nodding towards Amarie]
Now she's going to think
we're completely crazy.
Finrod:
Oh, I'm sure she already
does. All of Tirion thinks so, or so I've been
informed, and no doubt
they think it on the seacoast and in Valmar too.
Besides, she told me
so when I left: this will merely confirm her opinion
irrefutably.
Amarie: [acidly]
Wouldst thou leave off
this affectation that I am not present, while thou
dost speak of me, else
cease from the same? Or shall that prove too much
in the way of civilized
manners for thee, Finrod?
Beren: [sobering up]
Would you rather we
talk about you when you can't hear and respond, milady?
Is that how they
do it in civilized society?
Finrod: [to Beren]
For someone who isn't
real, you make a lot of sense, you know.
Beren:
Thank you. --I try.
Amarie: [outraged]
I shall not be insulted
by an -- an Aftercomer.
Finrod: [to Beren]
I thought you asked
her a serious question.
Beren:
Me too.
Amarie:
Finrod, presumest not
to disregard me, nor speak me past as I were but
a carven figure!
Finrod: [becoming quite focussed]
But you ordered
me not to speak to you -- you made that one of the conditions
of ever getting the
chance to ask for your forgiveness again. Are you going
to hold this against
me, start the yen over again, because I'm doing what
you're telling me to
do
now? Amarie, I haven't got the strength for this. I
apologized. You got
angry. I'm not allowed to apologize, or to seek you out,
and now apparently
you're angry with me for obeying you. If you're going to
play these games with
me, then I'll stay here till the end of Arda and work
on my songs. There's
a wonderful group of musicians here, and the acoustics
are excellent. What
do you want me to do?
Amarie:
Oh! Thou mocker!
Luthien: [incandescent]
What?!? You set him
an impossible task and then you punish him for doing it?
Amarie:
Thou art the one to
talk, forsooth. To name a Silmaril for thy dowry --!
Luthien: [rolling her eyes]
Not this again -- That
wasn't
my idea.
Amarie:
What matters that, when
the end's the same? Dost thou know what he endured
for thy sake, thou spoilt
daughter of the twilight?
Luthien: [mildly]
Yes, I rather think
I do. Better than you, by far. I was the one who discovered
them, you know. And
helped with the burying.
[raising her voice and pointing to her husband and kinsman]
How could I not?!
I took care of Beren afterwards and listened to him talk
about it -- when he
could talk -- night after night after night, I washed
his corpse--
Finrod: [embarrassed]
Luthien, please--
Luthien:
--of course I know!
So don't try to put your guilt at not being there on me.
Amarie: [indignant]
Guilt? I have no guilt.
I
did not rebel, wherefore I have no reason to
reproach myself.
Luthien: [ironic smile]
Yes, well, I'm sure
that's your story.
Amarie:
Story? 'Tis but the
truth.
Luthien: [more serious]
I don't know. I look
at you and I think -- if that were true she'd be far
more unhappy and far
less angry. It feels like something of an act to me --
keep your temper hot
with us, and then you won't have to think about how
differently things might
have gone if you'd gone with him and help keep
control of matters all
along.
Amarie: [shortly]
My parents and elders
forbade it.
Luthien: [raising an eyebrow]
--And? Did they lock
you up in a tower, too?
Amarie:
--And I honor
them, -- as is my filial duty.
[Finrod makes a stifled noise, but is straightfaced by the time she glares at him]
As I honor the gods and do obey them without question.
[Luthien shrugs]
Luthien:
-Indeed. I suppose you
have to stick to your story now.
Amarie:
Again with this talk
of stories! Have thy Turned people no knowledge of the
truth then, to judge
all as falsehoods?
[Luthien gives her an ominous look -- no more quarter to give]
Luthien:
I don't know you.
I can't tell if you were truly being principled, or just
too afraid of being
different, or of being disapproved, or of the dangers
even. Don't interrupt
me! I do hope that it's the former -- I trust as much,
because I know Finrod,
and his judgment weighs in your favor. But the way
it's all woven together
is something only you know, or perhaps only the One.
But you made your choice,
and Finrod made his, and they were irreconcilable.
End of stanza. New
verse. He's back, he's said he's sorry, and he's proven
it by letting your wishes
command him. What is your problem?
Amarie: [ice]
My problem is
no more than this -- thanks to thy meddling and willfulness,
the one I should have
wed died an exile and outcast, in the torments of the
Enemy so that thou and
this vagabond of thine could wed in despite of all
graciousness and reason.
Luthien: [offhand]
Don't blame us for what
you should blame yourself for. --At least no one's
trying to forcibly split
you up and keep you from ever seeing him again for
all of eternity!
Finrod:
Er -- just to be clear
on matters -- that's Luthien's viewpoint, not mine.
I never said any of
it was your -- ah, her -- fault.
[to Luthien, sharply]
What was that last bit there?
[the next two exchanges overlap]
Luthien:
They want Beren to leave
and me to stay and I won't have it.
Amarie: [to Finrod]
Do not presume to address
me!
Luthien: [condescending]
Now, don't get angry
because you're getting what you demanded. I really don't
understand your problem
at all. Do you love him? If yes, work to a solution.
If not, give it up.
Let it go -- what does it matter if he suffers or not, if
he doesn't mean anything
to you any more? Go find a hobby, get on with your
life, why don't you.
Amarie:
Such facile japery is
but to be expected from one born to the darkness.
Luthien: [maddeningly slow emphasis]
Whether I am a Dark-elf or
not has no bearing on my question. Do you love him?
Yes or no answer.
Amarie: [just as patronizing]
Plain thou wouldst have
it -- yet it hath not such simplicity. Of course I
didst love him, but--
Luthien: [cutting her off]
-- No. You've got it all wrong.
It's
and. Never "but" -- "I love you, and--"
Amarie: [still more patronizing]
I ken not what thou
wouldst convey.
Luthien:
"--I love you, and I
don't want you to do this." "--I love you, and this is
stupid." "--I
love you, and I'm going with you." It isn't really that complicated.
--Or else you didn't
really love him.
[pause]
Amarie: [ice]
I have neither heart
nor time for folly.
[looks to where Nienna's Apprentice was standing -- and is quite obviously not now]
--Where has that strange
youth betaken himself? He was to guide me to his
Master's presence.
Finrod:
I'm not surprised he's
made himself scarce, considering how much I'd like to
do the same thing myself.
Beren: [looking around]
Huan hasn't come back
yet either.
Finrod: [dry]
Well, I've always had
a high opinion of his intelligence.
Amarie:
I'll not stand here
and be insulted by such compare!
Luthien:
Yes, well, why don't
you do that then?
Amarie: [as if to a crazy person or a small child]
Do? --What?
Luthien:
Walk away, since you
won't
stand for it.
[Amarie gives a blazing look towards Finrod,
who is wearing a suspiciously
innocent expression]
Amarie: [softly]
And so thou'lt stand
by and see me mocked, even? I'll go, then, and find
the Lady myself and
bring her my plaint, if I must walk these Halls till even.
[she turns abruptly and strides away towards
the corridor without another word
or backwards look]
Finrod: [raising his voice]
If she would listen
to me, I would tell her that it might not work. Distance
and direction aren't
exactly the same here as they are Outside.
[she still does not look or pause, though there
is a visible if controlled reaction
in the set of her shoulders and lifted chin.
After she is no longer visible from the
doorway the place seems a lot larger and dimmer.
Finrod gives a sigh half of relief,
half of regret, as Luthien moves to him and
puts her arm around his shoulders in a
consoling gesture.]
Finrod:
That could have gone
much worse.
Luthien: [tight]
I don't see how.
Finrod:
For a moment there I
thought she might try to hit me again.
[rubs his jaw reminiscently]
For someone with no combat
training who, quote, disapproves of violence,
unquote, she did an excellent job of knocking
me part-way across the table
before we left.
[pulling himself together -- as if the last few minutes hadn't happened at all:]
You were going to fill
in the details omitted from the condensed version,
and I was going to find
us somewhere to sit. I suppose -- I wonder what the
purpose of it is? --
that quaint little informal garden might serve the purpose.
[he takes their hands as though to lead them
to the hill, but this is interrupted
by the loud entrance of Huan, dashing in as
if in pursuit of an animal -- he skids
to a stop just short of Finrod and begins to
vigorously lavish canine attention on him]
Beren:
Hey! Hey! Easy! You're
gonna knock someone over.
Finrod: [laughing]
--Are you going to do
this every time you see me, old Hound?
Luthien:
Huan, sit!
[Huan does so, grinning]
Vaire: [stern]
Finarfinion. --What
are you doing here?
[she approaches from the doorway; Finrod bows.]
Finrod:
Conversing with my cousin
and my friends, my Lady.
Vaire: [darkly]
That had better be all.
[to Luthien -- gently]
What seems to be the difficulty, dear?
[she notices the Hill -- to Finrod:]
What is that?!?
Finrod: [pleasantly]
Amazing, isn't it? It
seems to be the real thing. I'm sure the grass is longer
than it was a little
while ago.
Vaire: [almost speechless]
I -- said --
Finrod:
And I haven't. It was
already there when I came in.
Luthien:
Tulkas' wife put it
there.
Vaire:
Oh.
[pause -- shaking her head:]
I wonder why.
[to Luthien]
Would you please come
and sit down with us so that we can get this situation
taken care of?
Luthien: [lifting her hands]
What part of "not without
Beren" is so hard to understand? Should I set it to
a melody and sing
it instead?
Vaire:
Child, please don't
be difficult.
Luthien:
Difficult? Believe me,
I haven't even started being difficult.
[she is getting the combat look again]
Finrod: [murmuring]
--Tact, cousin, tact.
Luthien:
I tried that.
It hasn't worked at all to date.
[Beren turns her towards him]
Beren: [quietly but earnest]
Tinuviel. --Don't
let them make you crazy. We're together now. We can get
through this. If they're
willing to talk, the situation isn't hopeless. Not
all concessions are
bad ideas. Go with the Lady -- she said they want to hear
you. That's a good thing,
right?
Finrod:
You didn't marry a fool,
Luthien.
[after a moment she sighs and nods, though her
expression is still very hard.
Putting her arms around Beren's neck:]
Luthien: [softly]
Stay close to him, don't
go wandering about on your own, don't let anyone
talk you into agreeing
to anything, even if it seems harmless this time,
--don't even talk to
strangers if you can avoid it, and wait here for me.
I'm going to sort this
nonsense out once and for all.
[she kisses him briefly and reassuringly]
Beren:
But -- these are your
mother's people, in a way, really -- they wouldn't do
anything to us, would
they? They're kind of family, aren't they?
Luthien:
Beren. --Listen
to what you just said.
[pause]
Beren: [smiles wryly]
Point taken.
Luthien: [to Huan]
Will you stay here and
help look after Beren?
Beren: [looking at the ceiling]
I tried that once.
[Huan wags his tail twice]
Finrod:
Don't worry, we'll take
care of him.
Luthien:
I know.
[she starts to follow, then turns back and gives
Beren a quick intense kiss, and
then darts to hug Finrod again before reluctantly
accompanying Vaire. The Weaver
gives Finrod a frown, seeming about to say something,
but changes her mind. The
three of them are left alone. There is a brief
silence, during which Huan melts
away into the shadows again; while the other
two look at each other uncertainly
in a renewal of shyness.]
Finrod:
How are you -- honestly?
[pause]
Beren:
It's not as bad as it
has been.
[Finrod sighs, unsurprised]
I'm sorry, I didn't mean to depress you--
Finrod: [very emphatically]
Beren. Do not,
I beg you most fervently, if you have any compassion whatsoever,
apologize for having
been killed. --Unless it really is your wish to leave me
still more depressed.
[pause]
Beren: [quieter]
All right.
[pause]
Finrod: [forced briskness]
Where's Huan? He seems
to have gone off again.
Beren: [shaking his head]
That's what I said.
It's like you said, back when -- Huan's his own dog,
and no mistake.
[almost smiling]
And he's our dog, too.
[smile fading]
He's always right, even
when I've disagreed with him, so he's probably doing
something to help me
again, even though he shouldn't.
Finrod:
Why shouldn't he?
Beren:
Because I don't deserve
it.
Finrod:
Beren--
Beren: [changing subject]
Sir -- how are you?
Are -- are you well? Are you -- treated well? I can't really
tell anything about
what it's like here -- it's too big, or something and it's
just sort of strange
and blurry -- and I can't tell much about the people, there's
been some shouting,
but no one's shoved any spears or other pointed objects in
my face yet or threatened
to chain me up, so so far I'm not complaining.
Finrod:
No. No chains, here.
It's -- very peaceful. A trifle dull, perhaps, but -- not
unpleasant. Not for
me, at least. Plenty of time to think, which some people
find trying, but
I
don't mind it. And no responsibilities, which is an immense
relief. I'd not expected
that . . . I had no idea how much I was attempting to
keep under control these
last few decades, until I no longer had to do so.
Beren:
I'm--
Finrod: [raising his hand abruptly]
No apologies for that,
either.
[this leaves Beren with nothing to say for the moment]
I really don't understand
why you've had so much awful luck. It can't be
explained merely by
your own actions. There does seem to be something to that
saying, "Circumstances
conspired against them."
Beren:
Mm.
[giving him an uncertain glance]
You know something? I just realized -- we're related now. By marriage at least.
[Finrod looks taken aback]
Finrod: [sounding dismayed]
Oh. You're right.
I'd forgotten about that as well. Oh dear.
[sighing]
You don't deserve that
on top of everything that's already happened. There's
been far too much chaos
and madness in your life already.
Beren:
Uh--
Finrod: [changing subject himself]
So that's
what the Loom looks like when it's off. --Hm.
[he looks at it with a considering expression]
I wonder if . . .
[trailing off]
Beren:
Um -- not to sound critical
or anything, but -- I always thought there was
actual string
involved, somehow.
Finrod: [nods]
So did I.
[Beren looks surprised]
--What? I hadn't seen it either.
Beren:
Oh.
Finrod:
I never tried
to mislead your family --
Beren: [earnestly]
No, no -- I wasn't saying
you did -- it could have been us, too, messing things
up, or even just me
not paying attention.
Finrod: [just as earnest]
Please, don't denigrate
yourself. I was saying, I didn't misrepresent
deliberately -- but
there were many, many things which I didn't understand,
or of which I have a
much better understanding now. Some of my explanations
were in retrospect too
facile, oversimplified, or at least open to
misunderstanding. Especially
about things having to do with the Halls.
And I'm lecturing again,
aren't I?
Beren: [softly]
It's all right -- I
don't mind.
[nods towards the Loom]
She made it do something,
right before you two came in, but I don't know how
she did it.
[Finrod gives him a quick look]
Finrod:
You say that as though
you're expecting me to start tinkering with it.
[pause]
Beren:
You mean you're not?
[they share a somewhat hesitant grin; Finrod
moves as though about to put a hand
on Beren's shoulder, but doesn't quite know
if he ought -- the awkwardness of their
reunion is cut short by a familiar voice from
the doorway:]
Captain:
There you are,
Sir.
[Beren instinctively moves behind Finrod, trying to vanish as the Captain comes up]
--Are we supposed to
be back here? I'm sorry, I still haven't been able to
establish exactly what's
all the ruckus--
[Finrod steps back, saying nothing]
--Beren?!?
[he grabs Beren, dragging him practically off
his feet into a bear-hug -- setting
him down, catches his shoulders and gives him
a little shake, staring at him, then
hugs him again]
Sweet Cuivienen, lad -- we thought we'd lost you forever.
[letting him go, but still keeping an arm around his shoulders, --to Finrod:]
Sir, it's Beren--
[--then laughs at himself]
Finrod: [smiling]
I know. As, apparently,
do most of the greater and lesser Powers in this place.
Captain:
You mean all this trouble's
over him?
Beren: [hoarse]
--Surprised?
Finrod:
Yes, for once it's actually
not
us.
Captain: [troubled look]
Only -- this means--
[looking at Finrod:]
--how long has it been, Sir?
Finrod: [meaningfully]
Not long enough.
Beren:
About half a year. A
little more.
Captain: [very grim]
What happened?
Beren:
A -- lot of things.
[he is barely managing to control his emotions]
Captain:
Beren -- and what of
your lady--?
Beren:
She--
[he cannot continue]
Finrod:
My cousin's pulling
strings with the Powers to keep Beren from being sent
Beyond. They, of course,
think that they are convincing her to act in their best
interests by letting
him go. Which of them has the correct understanding of the
situation has yet to
be determined -- it's all very much in flux. I'm still
catching up with the
background, but the present difficulty seems clear enough.
Captain: [frowning]
Resolvable, Sire?
Finrod: [edged smile]
If I have any say in
it, yes. We'll need -- oh, good.
[The Steward enters a second after he finishes
speaking, and has nearly crossed
the floor to them before he does a double take
at the third member of the trio.
After a moment's blank stare at Beren, he looks
to the other two and then, seemingly
accepting without further question, lets his
gaze travel back to the Man.]
Steward: [formal]
My lord Barahirion.
[he bows, very correctly]
Beren:
Sir --
[he moves forward, from under the Captain's hand,
and then halts, looking helplessly
at the other Elf-lord]
Steward:
I confess myself at
a loss for words.
Beren:
--Sir, I'm so sorry
-- I--
Steward:
Please -- do not distress
yourself upon my account.
Beren: [choked]
--I saw your bones.
Steward: [coolly]
That is all in the past.
[noticing, frowns -- in a different tone]
What happened--
[Before he can finish asking the question, the
entrance of the rest of the Ten,
noisily accompanied by Huan, interrupts him.]
First Guard:
Milords, look who's
playing sheepdog -- Beren!?!
[At once Beren is surrounded by them and mobbed
enthusiastically by eight Elven-
warriors' shades, all trying to slap him on
the back, fling their arms around
his shoulders, ruffle his hair and embrace him
like a long-lost sibling. He is
completely overcome and gives up even trying
to speak, simply accepting their
welcome. Finrod looks on, wearing a rather rueful
smile.]
Captain: [gently amused]
Now then, now then,
take turns, don't throttle the Beoring all at once.
[they spread out, abashed, but still fiercely
possessive, dividing demonstrations
of affection between Beren and Huan.]
Warrior: [grinning]
I suppose that means
it's all right if we do it singly, then -- Beren, what
happened to your
hand?
Beren: [heavily]
It's a long story.
Warrior:
--That bad?
[Beren gives a wry grimace, not quite a smile]
Second Guard: [concerned]
Why are you still here?
Are you in trouble again?
Beren:
Er--
[the Soldier is looking around with interest
at the Hall and its decoration, or
lack thereof]
Soldier: [to the elder of the two subordinate Rangers]
Well, that answers that.
It's as boring here as it is everywhere else. They
really like it that
way -- it isn't for some therapeutic reason. Pay up.
[the Ranger sighs and hands over a brooch, manifesting it as he does]
Ranger:
I like the little ridge
though, -- even if it doesn't really seem to fit with
the rest of the decor.
Beren:
She made that.
Steward: [frowning]
Who? Lady Vaire?
Beren:
No. Her -- um,
the Lady of Summer, the Bride.
Captain:
Oh, yes, that makes
sense. The roses especially -- they look like her style.
Steward:
--Nessa was here?
Beren:
And Lord Astaldo --
he -- he was--
Captain: [knowingly]
They're a bit much to
take, either one of them.
Beren:
Yeah, but -- actually,
he was really nice. They both were. Just -- a little --
Captain:
--Overpowering?
[Beren nods]
Captain:
I know. They're wonderful
people, but very little sense of restraint. If you
ever go to one of their
parties,
don't ever let Tulkas talk you into a drinking
contest. --Or Nessa,
for that matter.
Guard:
That girl who works
for them, who is she, -- Measse, that's it -- did a pretty
good job of drinking
you under the table back in the day, sir.
Captain: [mock indignation]
And how would you know
but by hearsay, eh? You were long since past consciousness,
as I recall.
Beren: [eyes widening]
That's not the -- the
same Measse you ask that you'll come home at the end of
a fight?
[silence]
Youngest Ranger: [whispering]
I'm not used to this
either.
Finrod: [briskly]
All right then, everyone!
Catch up later -- we have work to do.
[he gestures for the Steward and the Captain
to draw near, while the rest hang
about, beginning to drift off and sightsee around
the staff area of the Halls.]
I want all of you to
stay here and guard Beren -- I've promised Luthien I'd
look after him for her.
Will you make sure nothing happens to him while I go
and see a few people
who might be helpful?
Captain:
You know you've no need
to ask that.
Finrod: [quick smile]
I know. --But it's more
polite that way.
Soldier: [overhearing]
Ah, Sir, -- what could
happen to him here?
Finrod: [shaking his head]
I've neither idea nor
the wish to find out.
Captain: [with a meaningful look]
All of us, Sire?
Finrod:
I'd feel better that
way.
Steward:
Are you certain that's
wise, my lord?
Finrod: [edged]
I can take care of myself.
There's no trouble here that I can't handle very
well on my own.
Captain: [raising an eyebrow]
Shouldn't that be, --none
that you haven't handled as of yet?
[Beren, with a worried expression, puts his hand on Finrod's arm]
Beren:
Sir, I don't want you
to get in any trouble because of me.
Finrod:
It won't be because
of you.
Beren: [urgent]
But if you're trying
to find help for me and Luthien, then it would be. I don't
want to owe you any
more, Sir. I -- I couldn't live with that.
[pause]
I mean . . .
Finrod:
Beren, you're not in
my debt: I owed your father my life.
Beren:
But my father didn't
get
killed saving your life!
Finrod: [getting exasperated]
You know that's
irrelevant. Do you think that the lives of your companions
were worth less than
your own or your families? No. You don't. And neither do
I. Lots of people did
get killed at Serech. You're the last Beoring, you get
to collect on it, like
it or not.
Captain: [rolling his eyes]
Not this again!
[the Soldier has still been standing nearby, listening with concern]
Soldier: [aside, to the Captain]
What's going on, Sir?
Captain:
It's the "Endless Battle."
You know -- The Argument.
Soldier:
No, I don't know. What
about?
Captain:
That's right -- you
were first, that was after your time. They're arguing over
whose fault it is more.
Soldier: [bemused]
Oh. But--
Captain:
Not what you're thinking,
lad -- the other way round.
Warrior: [interrupting]
Where are they up to?
Captain: [listening]
Going over the mountains
west, as opposed to what we actually did and what
might or might not have
happened in various hypothetical situations which
did not, obviously,
occur.
Warrior: [heartfelt]
Damn. They're just
getting started, then.
Third Guard:
What are we up to now?
Anyone remember the tally?
Ranger:
I lost count after twelve-score.
Soldier:
--But why are
they arguing?
Captain: [snorts]
What, they need a reason
to claim responsibility for every earthly mishap?
Remember who you're
talking about: "I ought to have Seen and single-handedly
prevented the Kinslaying,"
on the one hand, against, "If only I'd been killed
at Aeluin everything
in the world would be fine."
Steward:
It was at four hundred
eighty, and eleven, when I was taken. Or one, depending
on whether you subscribe
to the view that it's all actually one long Argument
with breaks. I was counting
every time they repeated an exchange as a new
engagement.
First Guard:
There were times when
I could have killed the both of them myself, or myself,
just to get away from
it.
Ranger: [quietly]
It was worse when they
stopped, though.
[sighs and nods of agreement from the final veterans]
Beren:
But you asked me my
opinion about that and I agreed it was risky--
Finrod: [cutting him off]
You know you didn't
feel competent to contradict me, because of your youth,
regardless of the fact
that in terms of actual field experience of recent date--
Steward: [looking up at the vaulting, fervently]
Dear sweet Lady, make
themstop!
Ranger:
That doesn't work here
either, sir. I don't think anything can.
Youngest Ranger: [muttering]
--That's because they're
both swarn.
Finrod:
Beren, I'm the eldest,
I was in command, I should have known better--
Captain:
Great Mother of Spiders,
no, no, NO!!! I am not listening to this for another
hundred-forty-three
years, can you imagine?!
Steward:
Most unfortunately
-- yes.
Beren:
But I shouldn't have
just--
Captain:
That's it, no more,
I've
had it --
[shouting]
Hey! You two! Would you
stop
it? We already know how this goes, we don't need
to hear it again!
"--It's my fault, I shouldn't have involved anyone else in the first place."
"--No, it was my decision to get involved, not yours."
"--But you had to help me, you didn't have a choice."
"--You only had authority
over me because I gave it you to begin with.
Besides, I was in charge
of the entire operation, therefore any and all
responsibility is solely
mine."
"--There wouldn't have
been
any operation if I hadn't started it all, so
it is really
my fault."
[normal tone]
--Did I cover everything?
Warrior:
You forgot "But your
entire civilization was collateral damage in our war--"
Fourth Guard:
--and "but we wouldn't
have
had a civilization without you--"
Steward:
But otherwise I think
you touched upon all the salient points with admirable
succinctness. I couldn't
have done it better.
Youngest Ranger:
You did the voices very
well, too, sir.
[absolute silence. Finrod and Beren look at each
other, guiltily. Both of them
start to say something, several times, and can't.]
Steward: [amazed]
--Holy Stars. It actually
worked.
Captain: [bland]
Of course, if you absolutely
insist, we could always test out the Ered Wethrin
hypothesis the way we
did with the Bragollach.
Finrod:
Ahem. I think -- I should
go and see -- about doing -- what it was I was going
to do. Now. --Excuse
me.
[he turns and leaves abruptly]
Fourth Guard:
--Did we go too far?
Beren: [shaking head]
No, he just couldn't
keep a straight face much longer and we already got
our ears ripped good
by Amarie for inappropriate behavior once this . . .
well, already.
[The mention of Amarie's name brings varied and strong reactions]
Steward:
Amarie?
Captain:
She's here? --What happened?
Warrior:
We're doomed. She's
absolutely ruthless.
Steward:
Amarie?
Youngest Ranger:
Was there an accident?
Second Guard:
There aren't accidents
here.
Youngest Ranger:
Do you mean "here" here,
or "here" as in Aman?
Second Guard:
Aman "here." Besides,
she's Vanyar, what would she need to learn here?
Steward:
The Lady Amarie? You're
sure?
Beren:
Er, tall, blonde, and
answering to the name of "Amarie" --?
Captain:
Hard to think who else
it would be. --Don't worry, even if she is here, I
imagine she's still
against violence.
[the Steward gives him an annoyed Look]
--Not that that can't be conveniently forgotten. Again.
Beren:
Not -- here like us.
Just -- here.
Warrior:
How?
Beren: [exasperated]
I don't know.
All I know is that she didn't want to be here and she kind of
laid down the law to
the guy who brought her here that she wasn't interested
in talking to Finrod
and then spent a long time yelling at him anyway. The
King, not the other
guy. --And us. And then she was losing to Tinuviel so
she went off in a huff
to complain to whoever it was who sent for her. If
anyone said who it was
I missed it.
[pause]
Steward:
Ah. That's interesting.
Captain:
Very interesting.
Steward:
Bets?
Captain: [snorts]
--No! You cheat.
Steward: [haughty]
Employing the Sight
is not cheating if all other parties are well aware that
one possesses it. Besides,
it's neither guaranteed nor infallible.
Soldier:
Then how come you always
win, sir?
Steward: [austere]
Luck.
[several of the Ten exchange significant Looks]
Beren:
Okay, why are you worried
about people ambushing him? Who would do that,
and why? --And how?
Captain:
It's a long story --
not quite so long as Noldolante, however -- but I
suppose that technically
we did start it, at the very beginning--
Steward:
--Not just technically--
Captain:
--by pounding the hell
out of a Feanorian or two followed by lessons in Why
Pell-work Is Not Enough
Nor Will You Encounter The Rules Of Formal Combat
In The Wild, followed
in turn by -- the worst cut of all -- apologies.
Beren:
But why were you guys
beating up Feanor's partisans? Or was there a reason?
Ranger: [wryly]
There's always
a reason. Even if it's just the appellation "House Feanor."
Captain:
Oh, there was an unpleasant
fellow who likes to hang about the High King and
act as though he's a
notable at court again -- one of quite a few, but this
chap has the gift for
getting on one's nerves like you wouldn't believe. He
was one of their top
Elves back when Maedhros was still High King, and he
never stops letting
people know how he was the Second Casualty in the War.
Apparently we're all
supposed to accept his assumption that Grey and Green
losses don't count.
[snorts]
Why he's so proud of
being too dumb to figure out it was an ambush in
advance -- particularly
since they were planning on it themselves, and
surely an evil god with
centuries' practice at deceit and betrayal ought
to be able to think
of such a thing himself -- and of not succeeding in
covering his lord's
retreat and thus making his death count for something,
I have yet to figure
out. But there you have it. At any rate, we hadn't been
here very long -- no
idea what that would be in the Outside, I'm afraid, but
it didn't seem very
long -- when he turned up while our lord was relating our
misadventures to his
uncle and made so bold as to provide unasked-for
commentary. He found
the story most diverting.
Beren: [lethally cold]
He was making fun of
the King? --And you all?
Captain: [nods]
I warned him not to
make light of what he didn't understand, as Himself was
being too dignified
to pay attention to such offensive behavior. I did so,
in no uncertain terms.
--He laughed again.
Beren:
Then what happened?
Captain:
He discovered that the
imagined experience of being picked up by the collar
and slammed repeatedly
against a stone wall was nearly as unpleasant as the
actuality.
Soldier:
Then we laughed.
Captain:
Then he complained bitterly
to the High King, who found it tiresome, until
it was suggested --
I'm sure you can guess by whom -- that he issue a challenge
and endeavor to satisfy
his honor in the traditional way. After some balking
about whether or not
such a thing would be possible, and this being decisively
demonstrated -- again
by the King -- he did so.
Beren:
And?
Captain:
I was still quite angry.
--He should have known that His Majesty wasn't
making the suggestion
out of a pure disinterested sense of fair play -- but
if he hadn't the brains
to be wary of taking any free advice from someone
he'd just been insulting,
that's hardly our responsibility, now.
Ranger:
It was very funny.
Steward: [sighing]
Since then the situation
has somewhat escalated, as might have been expected,
though perhaps not to
the scale that has from time to time been reached.
Beren:
That's why you
are in -- in trouble all the time? You're fighting with the
guys from House Feanor?
Captain:
Well, it isn't all
the time.
First Guard:
And we certainly aren't
the only ones.
Soldier:
Replace "fighting with"
with "polishing the floor with" and you'll be closer.
Warrior:
I still think we'd have
been all right if we had left the walls alone.
Captain:
No, because someone
would still have complained until the rafters rang due
to the fact that every
single time time we kicked their sorry hindquarters
back to Himring, except
for the one time we did "Under Stars" and tossed
them into the sea.
Steward:
That, I think, was the
unforgivable insult.
Captain:
Yes, well, you
saying afterwards that Dagor-nuin-Giliad was a case history
in basic strategy and
every recruit these days studied the tactical errors
made by Feanor before
learning how to manage a spear and a horse at the
same time
didn't
exactly help.
Steward: [sharply]
It's no more than the
truth.
Captain:
It was more the tone
of voice. Besides, it's just as true that we've beat
them roundly on every
occasion. Hence the sneak attacks and the complaints.
Warrior:
But if we hadn't moved
the walls, Lady Vaire wouldn't have gotten involved.
Steward:
I do not recommend
wagering anything on that unproveable possibility.
Beren:
I'm sorry, but -- this
isn't making any sense.
Captain:
It's a long story.
[pause]
Beren: [wry]
As long as the Return
of the Noldor?
Captain: [ironic]
Not quite.
[from this point, with that routine, in spite
of recurring guilt attacks, any
lingering reserve on Beren's part is gone --
he settles back into their old
familiarities]
Beren:
Okay, so what happened?
--Is happening? Whichever.
Captain:
Ever since the Dagor
Bragollach, various parties here have been fighting
over how it might have
gone differently. The most obstreperous of the lot
were those who went
West at the "Glorious Battle", because they had the
experience of winning
easily at the "Battle-under-Stars", the first one
fought after the Return.
Beren:
Yeah, I remember, that's
the one we used to play in the door-yard on moonless
nights. --Boy, did we
get in trouble for beating on the "Gates" of "Angband"
with sticks when we
did the Coming of Fingolfin. Huh.
[he shakes his head in bemusement at it all.]
Captain:
Hold onto that thought,
as you'd say. --When I say "fighting," I mean endless
discussions and arguments,
the sort that make a council back home look as
quick as an exchange
of hand-signals. The Old Guard was convinced that If
Only They'd Been There,
the Battle would never have been lost, and we Young
Whelps were obviously
incompetent and/or cowards to flee the field.
Ranger:
As you'd expect, that
didn't go over well with those who actually were there.
Warrior:
But until we showed
up they'd never done anything but talk about it. At nauseating length,
I might add.
Captain:
Then after listening
to the debate cycle round twelve or fourteen times, he
comes up and says, "Why
don't you put your talk to the test and prove that
you could have done
it better?" Not in those exact words, of course, but you
get the picture. And
they all shut up for a bit, until they started jeering
at him about how it
wasn't feasible, and he said, "Well, perhaps not for you,
by yourselves," and
they said, "What, you could?" and he said nothing, and
manifested a quarter-size
copy of Glaurung in the middle of the hall. And
some lava for him to
play in.
[grinning]
After everyone had sorted
themselves out, minus those who didn't feel like
it just at the moment,
and the shouting and the recriminations had died down
to a dull roar, he asks,
"Well, why didn't you shoot him?" to some of the
more obnoxious of the
old-timers, and then added, "That's what cousin Fingon
did when the Worm was
that small," and everything split into an uproar again
with the dividing lines
not being House Feanor and Everyone Else for once,
but Those Who Were There
and Those Who Weren't. And the upshot was a challenge
to refight it, as much
as possible like the real thing, with strict rules
governing what could
be done and not done, such as having to stay dead if
killed, or your horse
likewise if mounted, and not being able to make yourself
unlimited arrows, but
having to glean them off the field, or to mindspeak
farther than you could
alive. Making sense yet?
Beren:
No. I think you're
saying you somehow pretended to fight the Sudden Flame
amongst yourselves in
the Halls, like us when we were kids playing Lords
of the West versus Morgoth.
But I don't understand where the horses are
coming from and the
arrows and how you can be killed if you're already
dead. --Unless you mean
you have to stay down like when you get "killed"
with a stick that's
supposed to be a famous sword.
Second Guard: [encouraging]
That's right. It's exactly
the same thing, only instead of pretending we had
horses and spears, we
-- er --
Steward: [raising his eyebrows]
--Pretended we had horses
and spears.
Beren:
But how would it work?
And it doesn't seem like you could convince them,
because they would still
say, well, yes, but that's you, not Orcs, if you
won. And what about
the Balrogs and the fire? And anyway if you did make an
illusion of lava, it
still isn't the same because first of all, it isn't hot
if it's an illusion,
right? and second, the terrain -- the floor is flat,
not hills and stuff,
and that makes a huge difference.
Soldier: [wistfully]
We should have had you
helping plan it. That would have been fun.
Captain:
As to your first objection,
is it hot -- that depends on how convincing an
illusion it is. Which
in turn depends equally on how much the artist knows
about the subject, and
how convincingly then chooses to hold it. Not everyone
is willing to think
about such things in all their painful details. As to
the second -- that's
what the debate about the walls concerns. Though it was
actually the floor as
well as the walls.
[pause]
Beren: [flatly]
Why did King Finrod
move the walls? --And the floor?
First Guard: [grinning]
My, he's quick.
Beren:
--And, by the way, how?
Captain:
Can't answer the how
for you, I'm afraid -- I can't do it myself at all.
You'll have to consult
these young punks on that matter --
[gestures towards the Youngest Ranger and the Soldier]
--they're the best of
us, after His Majesty. I find the stuff far too
convincingly solid to
convince myself that since one works stone, or
anything for that matter,
with one's mind equally as much as with one's
body, with sufficient
concentration and understanding one ought to be
able to reshape matter
regardless of physical contact. "After all," as
he said, "if Lady Vaire
can do it, I should be able to."
[silence -- suddenly Beren chuckles, and instantly suppresses it]
Oh yes. Why's
a lot easier -- we needed a very large open space to start
with -- we didn't do
it to full scale, exactly, we had to cheat a little,
but it was -- big.
And
to address that terrain problem you noted.
[pause]
Beren: [stunned]
Goddess of mercy . .
. you turned the Halls of Mandos into Ard-galen?!
Ranger: [shrugging]
Not all the Halls, just
some.
Third Guard:
A little part.
Soldier:
A good bit of it was
illusion too -- Thangorodrim, for instance, was just the
gates and a shell for
the lower portion, since no one actually got inside it.
Beren:
Good grief! -- and they
let you get away with it?
Captain:
For a while. Eventually
they noticed and we had to stop. Which might not have
happened if certain
people hadn't gone and complained bloody murder about it.
It really did have to
do with the walls, though.
Steward:
--And the fact that
killing each other, even thus in seeming only, offended
the Powers' sense of
fitting behaviour within these walls.
Warrior: [sighing]
I'm not sure that what
the King said to her was the most tactful thing to
say, either. Even if
it was true.
Beren:
Do I really want to
know what it was?
Steward:
His Majesty was somewhat
aggrieved due to the fact that walls had been being
reconfigured for some
time prior to the reenactment, as part of his experiments,
and that he assumed
the Lady of the Halls was quite aware of it all along, it
not occurring to any
of us that she should not be.
Warrior:
There was that business
with the missing gallery, too, Sir.
Steward: [nods]
There was.
[Beren gives him a cautious look]
Lady Vaire ordered us
to remove all traces of alterations throughout the Halls.
One of the galleries
which was removed was apparently one which she herself
had shaped as part of
an expansion plan. I say "apparently", because it isn't
certain: King Felagund
maintains that the one which was his attempt at duplicating
it was on the opposite
side of the corridor, and that her Ladyship has gotten
confused about which
was which. None of the rest of us is certain. --They argue
about this from time
to time, to no certain resolution.
Beren:
. . .
Captain:
Look, this is tiresome,
standing around. Why don't we make use of the hill
that Nessa's kindly
left for us and make ourselves comfortable.
Steward: [looking up at the ceiling and shaking his head]
You would think
that a pile of dirt and weeds looked comfortable.
Captain:
Weeds! Those are flowers,
Edrahil -- can't you tell the difference? And by
comparison to a stone
floor -- most definitely, wouldn't you agree?
Steward: [ignoring him]
It seems to be rapidly
becoming overgrown with wild roses. Not cultivars, and
therefore
weeds.
And very likely with their natural thorns, and thus not comfortable.
Beren: [trying to interrupt]
Sirs--
Youngest Ranger: [smiling wryly]
Don't waste the effort,
Beren.
[he puts an arm over Beren's shoulders and leads the way]
We'll just have to make
sure
we take the grassy bits and leave the thorns
for Lord Edrahil so
he'll have something to complain about.
Steward: [to the world at large]
--Young people these
days.
Beren: [as everyone settles down on the Hill]
So . . . who played
us?
Fourth Guard:
We didn't actually do
our
bit, because it wasn't important in terms of the
overall outcome.
Captain:
--That is to say, all
that happened in terms of the Bragollach was that we
never made it to the
real front with any reinforcements, so Serech was
irrelevant in that sense.
Beren:
Oh . . . okay. So what
did
you do?
Captain:
Headed various units
under the the King's command.
Beren:
Who was he? --The
High King?
Captain:
No, his uncle was quite
happy to take part.
Beren:
Er . . . I meant the
current High King.
Captain:
Oh. No, he took the
most difficult part. They didn't actually refight the
Duel, since it would
have been a draw most likely, but the exercise ended
when Fingolfin made
it to the Gates. --What's wrong?
Beren:
You mean -- he --
[breaks off, wide-eyed]
Captain:
Of course. No one else
has studied the War in such depth and in such a
technical way, interviewing
survivors -- and veterans -- of as many parts
of the field as possible.
Who better to play the Arranger of Battles?
[pause]
Beren: [suspiciously bland tone]
Somehow I don't think
that would have been seen as appropriate either.
Captain:
I don't think it helped,
no. The resentment over the Bragollach had mostly
died down, though, before
the Feanorians started things back up again.
Beren:
Why? I mean, other than
being House Feanor, what's the reason?
Second Guard:
Isn't that reason enough?
Steward: [to the Captain]
There would be considerably
less hostilities did you refrain from provoking them.
Captain: [superior tone]
I have never yet drawn
first.
Steward:
No, but you needn't
respond every time.
Captain: [snorts indignantly]
What, I should stand
there and let them hack at me without defending myself?
Steward:
I meant the verbal provocation
that invariably results in them drawing upon you.
Captain:
If they refuse to accept
that they are totally outclassed and persist in
challenging either with
wits or weapons, I see no reason to spare them a
lesson. Better they
harry me than the King. For everyone -- I'm actually
being kind to them,
you see.
Beren:
I'm guessing I really
don't want to know the story, but -- why are they
going after him? You'd
think they'd be ashamed to.
Captain:
Partly a simmering resentment
over the fact that none of them are as
good as he--
Steward:
--the remainder, resentment
over his being proven right on a matter of
speculative discussion.
Captain:
Namely, the debate over
whether or not -- as House Feanor affects to hold,
or did -- the words
of the Ban were metaphorical, or literal, as our lord
argued. The claim that
we were never going to be allowed out of here and
"long" was a euphemism
for "never" -- which was used as the justification
for much resentment
and obduracy -- being quite thoroughly disproven by the
amnesty granted Himself.
For a while there it got completely out of hand, but
after the last rout
I think they've given it up, at least for a while. Sooner
or later some idiot's
going to --
Beren: [interrupting]
Wait -- wait a second.
You're telling me that he doesn't have to stay here?
[silence]
I don't understand.
First Guard: [wry grin]
Long story.
Steward: [dry]
Not that long.
Beren:
But --
[shaking his head in frustration]
Explanation? --Please?
Steward:
His Majesty has personal
reasons for not accepting.
Beren: [flatly]
--You.
Captain:
No, actually, not at
all. That was part of the haggling-over-terms that
gave Lord Namo such
headaches.
Steward:
I would not call it
"haggling" --
Captain:
Really? Then what would
you call it?
[the Steward gives him a cool Look]
Haggling, I say, as per
the grounds for the offer being equally applicable
to all of us.
Steward:
Essentially, the argument
went as follows: seeing that our lord was guiltless
in the matter of the
Kinslaying, and had departed Aman out of a sense of
responsibility towards
the rest of us, not for his own ambitions, and in
consideration of his
generosity and valor in Beleriand -- and it is possible,
though these are mere
deductions based on certain unguarded remarks, there
was also a certain measure
of pressure by parental forces -- there should be
no real reason to continue
to hold him here, and that mitigation of sentence
was in order. To this
King Finrod countered that we were no less free of guilt
where Alqualonde was
concerned, and that if he were to be released early on
this count, and the
deeds and sufferings that had transpired on the further
shore, -- then we too
should be granted the same. --Or he would not accept it.
[pause]
Beren:
Sounds like haggling
to me.
Steward: [as if he hadn't spoken]
Pursuant to which there
was considerable debate, amongst the Powers, and
while we awaited the
final decision, word came in reply to the King's
messenger that Lady
Amarie refused to accept his apology and forbade him
to contact her again
for a full Great Year.
Captain:
At that point Himself
says, "Never mind about me," just when he'd won his
concessions -- the wording
of it was a tremendous battle, since he wouldn't
apologize for thoughts
he never held nor for actions he considered justified,
either -- and that miffed
the Lord and Lady no end.
Beren: [frowning]
Did they withdraw the
offer?
Steward:
Of course not.
Beren:
But you're still here.
[silence]
Steward: [gravely]
Would you have
taken it?
Captain: [quickly]
A yen isn't very long
to us, Beren.
[comprehending, Beren looks away, intensely embarrassed]
Beren:
I'm sorry, I didn't
mean to say that--
Fourth Guard: [comfortingly]
It's all right, everyone
thinks we're raving lunatics.
Beren:
I can't believe I asked
that--
Captain:
Beren. We know
you wouldn't have taken it under the circumstances. We know
you don't think we'd
leave him. Stop worrying over such an insignificant thing.
Beren:
But--
Captain:
Enough.
[Beren starts to protest some more, then gives in.]
Beren:
So you could just walk
out of here -- or however it works -- but you don't.
That must really irritate
everybody.
Ranger:
We're taking bets on
whether we're going to be the first in history to be
evicted from the Halls.
Beren:
Why?
Ranger:
It would fit with the
cyclical notion of history repeating itself, and the
wish has been expressed
loudly more than a few times that it was allowable.
Youngest Ranger: [correcting]
I think he was trying
to ask why they'd want to throw us out at all.
Ranger:
Oh. Well, they were
really, really put out with us introducing the concept
of dueling in the first
place. Battle reenactment is so far beyond that that
the Lord and Lady were
completely speechless when they found out.
Steward:
I believe it is the
failure to leave off that is the issue now, not the past.
Fourth Guard:
Only it isn't our fault,
Sir.
Steward: [dry]
Another debatable point,
that.
Beren:
So what's going on?
I don't really understand.
Captain:
The resentment over
our status keeps tending to spill over into outright
aggression. Naturally
we're not going to allow them to attack us -- or the
King -- without a fight.
And it goes on from there.
Steward:
Complicated by the fact
that His Majesty refuses to allow his behaviour to
be curtailed by threat
of offense.
Beren:
So the rest of the Elves
here are angry because you could go if you wanted,
and they can't.
Steward:
A small but active minority,
almost
exclusively composed of partisans of
House Feanor.
Beren: [puzzled]
Not everybody?
Captain: [quietly]
Most people aren't ready.
Not even the Feanorians --
Steward:
--especially
not the Feanorians--
Captain:
--and they know it.
But there's a lot of resentment left over from Beleriand
as well.
[pause]
Beren:
That seems all backwards.
Captain:
It does, doesn't it?
Beren:
So that's why they might
attack him if they see him in the Halls?
Captain: [nodding]
Now you have to remember
that Finrod Felagund is also and as much a scion
of the House of Finwe
as any of the more egregious members of the family,
and that means that
on some level he enjoys competition -- especially against
his relatives, and their
representatives -- as much as anyone else. Possibly
more. Most particularly
when nothing critical is depending on the outcome.
This means that he can't
just lose gracefully and take the challenge out of
it -- no, he's got to
beat them in new and more spectacular ways each time,
which in turn simply
incites them to new levels of aggression. The last time
they set upon him with
an entire company of horse.
[pause]
Beren:
What happened then?
Captain:
Well, put it this way
-- none of them are Maiar.
Ranger: [smugly]
--And don't they realize
that now!
Captain:
Lady Vaire was quite
put out with Himself for traumatizing them so badly,
but Lady Nia pointed
out that they had made tremendous strides in terms of
progress towards humility
and self-knowledge, so that harangue didn't last
long. It did cause the
imposition of an absolute crackdown on him rearranging
the structures of the
place, but there are ways around that.
Beren:
But what happened?
Captain: [shrugging]
They cheat, he uses
corresponding power. Thirty-to-one and cavalry to boot
most definitely being
cheating, he forwent restraint and used some of the
Dagor Bragollach illusions
on them -- only they weren't all illusions: some
of the rifts and ridges
were quite real -- as the horses weren't he had no
compunction whatsoever
about employing the technique and even though the
napalm was illusory,
when you've just been thrown into a twelve-foot crater
you didn't believe was
there, you're not inclined to test the actuality of
such things.
Third Guard: [gleeful]
The most insulting part
was when he showed up to meet his uncle without
the slightest mention
of having been waylaid, and no sign of it at all --
they never even got
near him -- and the upper-level House Feanor folk who
were waiting to see
him set down didn't know what to do -- they couldn't
exactly ask, "Oh, did
our warriors miss you in the Halls somehow?"
Beren: [faintly]
I see.
[pause]
So he's here because
he doesn't have to deal with Amarie not forgiving him
in here, and you're
here because he's here, and nobody actually wants you
in here, and the other
Noldor aren't sure whether to hate you because you
can leave, or because
you don't. Even though they don't really want to
leave, either.
[pause]
I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Soldier: [cheerfully]
Some people think trying
to hit us is the appropriate response.
Beren: [shaking his head]
If I was alive I would
say this needs a drink to make any sense out of.
Captain:
If you think that would
help--
[He takes the flask from his belt and starts
to offer it to Beren, but pauses
to unstopper it first before handing it to him]
Beren: [staring at the canteen in his hand]
What's this?
Captain:
Er -- a drink . . .?
Beren:
But what is it?
Captain: [shrugs]
A passable recollection
of miruvor.
Beren:
But you just gave
it to me.
Captain: [bewildered]
I thought you wanted
a drink. Sorry if I misunderstood
Beren: [agitated]
But how can it be real?
If it's your memory, not mine, then how come it
didn't disappear when
you handed it to me?
Captain: [frowning]
Because I don't want
it to?
Beren:
How do we know it's
the same for me as it is for you?
Captain:
We don't -- but . .
. we don't know that when we're corporate either, do we?
I could have experienced
the taste of it differently then.
[Beren shakes his head, baffled]
Beren: [increasingly manic]
Is it an illusion? But
what does illusion mean here? If we don't have have
any bodies, then isn't
everything
an illusion? Is that how it works?
[pause]
Captain:
Do you remember the
last night we dared risk lighting a fire, and you "made
the mistake" -- I think
that was what you said -- of asking --What color was?
and if color was in
things, how could it be changed by light? And after when
he'd finished the preliminary
explanation, you said something like, "If it was
really that complicated
nobody would be able to see" --?
[frowning]
--Did I ever apologize for laughing? I didn't mean to make you feel foolish.
[Beren nods]
Well, it's rather like
that. I could try to explain it, but I'm not sure it
wouldn't just make it
worse.
Beren. [dissatisfied]
Huh.
Captain:
Edrahil, do you want
to take a shot at explaining the notion of the "persistence
of ideas" --?
Steward: [sighing]
Not particularly.
Beren: [getting stressed out again]
Why can I even
see you? Or anything? Or feel things?
Captain: [forceful tone]
Beren, it's all right.
You needn't if it troubles you.
[collects the canteen back from him]
Beren: [louder]
No. I shouldn't
be able to. I'm not real, I don't have a body, so things
shouldn't seem
real
to me either.
[gripping his wrist with his remaining hand, pulling at his sleeve]
--What am I? What is this? How can I sense myself when I don't exist?
Ranger: [reasonable]
But your body isn't
what senses things. Not without you at home to perceive
them. So why shouldn't
you be aware, regardless?
[Beren is seriously thrown by this and hunches
over with his head almost to his
knees, on the verge
of an anxiety attack]
Youngest Ranger: [to the Steward]
It would have been better
if you'd tried, Sir.
[Huan crowds in and starts nudging Beren with
his muzzle, until the latter
straightens up, so that
he can rest his head on Beren's knees.]
Huan:
[whines]
Captain: [quietly]
He wants you to scratch
his nose. --Huan thinks you're real. And you're
not going to deny
him
existence, are you?
[Beren shakes his head, not looking up. The Captain puts a hand on his shoulder.]
You were going to tell us what happened, and why you're here.
Beren: [muttering]
It really is
a long story.
First Guard:
And we've got plenty
of time.
[Beren makes a mostly unintelligible reply in
which the word "stupid" is about
all that can be heard]
Captain:
Beren? Beren, look
at me. You don't have to understand being a ghost any more
than one's got to understand
being alive. I don't know much about mortal
ghosts -- you're the
only one of us to ever have met one, before now -- but
if my own experience
is anything to judge by, you remember yourself and the
way you experienced
Middle-earth in your lifetime too clearly to let that go.
Does that make sense
at all?
[Beren half-nods, half-shrugs]
There are people who
choose to drift around here in an oblivious haze,
completely caught up
in their own pasts -- and then there are those, no
less self-obsessed,
who most definitely and definedly interact with every-
one else, much to everyone
else's regret. Some haven't recovered from the
distress of being killed,
and can't or won't pull themselves together,
and there's nothing
that anyone can do for them until they decide they
want to communicate
with the rest of society and make the effort. There
are people who simply
refuse to be seen.
We find it unspeakably tedious,
and there's no one here
we've killed whom we're trying to avoid. Do you
have reasons to interact
with the world at large? Are you stubborn enough
to try? Both rhetorical
questions, of course.
[leans a bit closer]
And you certainly needn't
feel ashamed of showing fear in this company, or
looking a fool, or coming
undone.
[pause]
Beren: [low voice]
When I first got here
I couldn't remember much of anything. I couldn't see.
I didn't even remember
my name until Huan found me. All I knew was I had to
stay until she came.
Captain: [gently]
Beren, you're not supposed
to be dead. Of course you'll--
Beren: [interrupting]
I'm mortal, of course
I'm supposed to die--
Huan:
[sad whine]
Captain:
Well, Himself has been
having certain complicated discussions with the Powers
that are in charge here,
most particularly with Lady Nia, about that very matter.
[the rest of the Ten look troubled, and Beren
gives him a blank expression, and
he drops the subject]
Regardless, you're not
meant to be violently evicted. If you hadn't been killed,
if you'd somehow survived
-- I'm making an assumption here, that it wasn't
peaceful or natural,
but am I wrong?
[Beren shakes his head]
--then you'd still be
unconscious, weakened and confused for a prolonged
amount of time. I've
seen Men wounded throughout the course of the Leaguer,
and aside from the prolonged
part, it never seemed much different from
ourselves, the wandering
in bad dreams and disorientation and various
lingering effects after
a severe injury. Am I not right? That your mind
also feels the impact
of a deep wound?
[Beren looks away, with a shudder, and after a second gives a very quick nod]
Beren: [muttering]
Everything from the
time they found me and rescued me to the time when I got
shot is pretty hazy.
[pause]
Captain: [blinking]
That isn't a long story
at all.
Warrior:
Who shot you?
Beren:
Curufin. No, I meant,
that part wasn't very interesting. I kept waiting for it
to end and me to wake
up, because it didn't seem like it could be real. --That
happened when the sons
of Feanor caught up with us.
Guard:
I thought they were
going to Himring?
Soldier: [confused]
But wait, they were
in Nargothrond. Did you go back, then?
Captain:
You remember about that.
What's-her-name told us, about how the Prince threw
them out so hard they
bounced--
Second Guard:
--a little late, but
better late than never--
Captain:
--and didn't let them
get lynched in the backlash.
Youngest Ranger:
What is her name,
anyway?
Steward:
No one knows. She still
refuses to say, and her friends respect that decision.
She was born in Formenos,
and none of us knew her in the old days.
Youngest Ranger:
But it doesn't matter
any more!
Steward:
To her it still matters
very much.
Captain:
-- Though maybe he should
have if they started going after Beren for revenge.
Is that what happened?
Beren:
Kind of. They tried
to kidnap Tinuviel again.
The Ten: [outraged, nearly simultaneously:]
What?!?
Beren: [correcting himself]
It was more a target
of opportunity thing, they weren't looking for us, I don't
think. We were right
about halfway across Dimbar when they caught up with us.
Captain:
Couldn't you have hidden?
There's a fair amount of cover through there.
Beren: [embarrassed]
We were -- I was kind
of distracted. The bastards almost ran us down and Curufin
pulls over and yanks
her up before we could get out of their way and flings her
across his saddlebow
like he's going to ride off with her. I -- I jumped on him
and tried to pull him
off the horse, and instead I ended up bringing all four
of us crashing down,
and Tinuviel got thrown clear of the horse, and Curufin
was kind of stunned
too, and I tried to rip his head off until she came round
and whistled me off
him. It's a wonder neither one of us got gutted or lost a
leg from the Ancrist.
--Apparently Celegorm was about to run me through as well,
but Huan got in between
us and held him at bay. I didn't even notice that.
[sighs]
That was not one of my
more rational moments, all right. Huan probably wouldn't
have let them take Tinuviel,
or get very far, but I didn't even think of that.
I just wanted to kill
the spawn-of-Morgoth with my bare hands.
[silence]
I know. She told me I was acting like an Orc too, by implication.
[the Ten look at each other]
Warrior:
We were just thinking
it was a shame she made you stop. At least I was.
[nods all around]
Soldier: [awed]
You brought down a cavalry
charger and defeated the Feanorion, unarmed?
Beren: [shrugs]
Tulkas said he helped.
Or something. It certainly didn't feel like
something I was doing
by myself.
[pause]
I was really angry.
It -- it kind of all came together when he laughed.
It was the same as at
the Council after they won. If there had been a rock
handy I could have pounded
his face off with it, but choking him until his
tongue was hanging out
was almost as good.
Youngest Ranger:
Couldn't you have cut
his throat with his own knife?
Beren:
I didn't even think
about weapons. It wouldn't have been half as satisfying,
anyway. I wanted him
to suffer, and then some. And to know it was me that
was killing him.
Fourth Guard:
I'm surprised she made
you break off.
Beren: [sighing]
She said we were doing
Morgoth's work for him by fighting. And even retroactive
Kinslaying is still
Kinslaying. --I just sometimes wish I had been too caught
up in the moment to
hear her until I'd finished crushing his windpipe.
Especially after I got
shot.
Warrior:
But that wasn't what
killed you?
Beren:
No, that was a long
time after. Er -- you know what I mean. I took that
bastard's stuff -- I
figured he owed me replacements, since it was their
fault I lost my gear
-- which didn't actually do me any any good at the time,
because I wasn't going
to kill them and there wasn't any way it was feasible
to put on his mail safely
there -- and I also figured he should pay something
to her, so I took his
horse, too, and we were leading it away towards the
forest, when--
Youngest Ranger:
Just a second, Beren
-- have I got this right? --You confiscated Curufin's arms
and armour, and his
horse?
Beren: [grimly]
Yeah. And his saddlebags.
I left him the clothes on his back, but that was all.
Youngest Ranger:
But he shot you?
Beren: [shrugs]
I'm afraid I wasn't
exactly careful of his hair or his face yanking off his
hauberk and padding,
either. I kind of accidentally stepped on him a couple
times, too. Which was
satisfying in the short term but probably contributed
to things.
Youngest Ranger:
No, I meant, with what?
Beren:
Oh. He doubled up with
Celegorm -- they were still heading through Dungortheb,
I guess to their brothers'
place out East, though I thought it was crazy, doing
that with no armour
instead of the long way around.
[he pauses and looks pensive]
Captain:
You all right?
Beren:
What? --Yeah. Yeah,
I was just thinking if it would have been possible without
armour for me. Answer's
no. But then I didn't have someone else for a bodyguard,
or a horse. And they
weren't going through the mountains, just down the Old Road.
Captain:
You were going to explain
how you happened to get shot.
Beren:
Right. So anyway, before
they ride on, Celegorm puts a curse on us, tells us it
would be better to starve
to death in the wilds than make them angry, and wherever
we go it wouldn't do
us any good, because I'd never succeed in holding onto
anything I managed to
get -- either the Silmaril or Tinuviel. Which didn't
take long to come true.
[pause]
But you wanted to know about him shooting me. His brother. --Me, not his brother.
[he looks tired and frustrated with himself]
First Guard:
--We know what you mean.
[Beren nods in thanks]
Beren:
All right, so we're
walking away towards the forest, and Huan's coming with
us -- he was following
along, kind of reassuring the horse on the other side,
and Curufin grabs his
brother's bow and pulls on us, and I guess Huan must
have heard that or something,
'cause he spins around and jumps in between
and bites the
arrow out of the air the way you can grab a javelin if you're
in the right place,
but the bastard's got another one nocked and ready to
loose and he does that
before Huan could charge them, and -- he was aiming
both times at Tinuviel.
--Not at me.
[baring teeth]
Only he was, and he knew
it. So I stepped in front of her, and that's how
I got shot.
[silence]
I figured if the Curse was going to come true, it wouldn't be the way he thought.
Steward:
Where were you struck?
[Beren gestures towards his upper left chest, just under his collarbone]
Captain:
Stand up.
[He gets up with Beren and marks the level of
Beren's wound on himself with his
hand -- about the middle of his sternum. He
looks very grim, and sounds more so.]
We're almost the same height. --That wasn't an accident or a scare-shot.
[the Ten exchange looks of increasing anger and comprehension. Furious:]
He was shooting to kill her.
Beren:
Yeah, well, he didn't
-- that was left for me.
Captain: [taking him by the shoulders]
Beren. Whatever
possible mischance or mischances might have ambushed you out
of the Void -- I will
never
believe that you did anything -- even by accident
-- to harm Luthien.
Call me a naive fool, if you like, but I don't believe it.
[pause]
Beren:
It was my fault she
died.
Warrior:
How?
Beren:
I made a dumb mistake
-- a lot of dumb mistakes -- and got killed, and . . .
and she faded.
Steward:
Faded? The Princess
chose to follow you?
Beren: [shaking his head]
That's not -- you can't--
you're making it sound like she was responsible.
Captain:
Most of us in the King's
following have known the Court of Doriath since
before your people were
born. I don't think there's one soul here who's met
her who'd doubt that
the child of Melian and Elu Thingol should prove as
resolute in love as
those two -- any more than we who know you believe that
you'd ever hurt her.
Sit down and stop blaming yourself for things you didn't do.
Beren:
But--
[the Captain pushes Beren down gently, while
the Youngest Ranger and the Fourth
Guard pull him down from either side, and sits
down himself]
Captain:
So what happened after
you got shot?
Beren:
I don't remember.
[at their Looks]
No, I mean, I passed
out, I only know what Tinuviel told me. Afterwards.
Huan went after them
and then they took care of me, and that made me realize
that it was never going
to work, there was no way I could go on pretending
it could, and I had
to convince them.
Warrior:
Er . . . what?
Beren:
That she couldn't stay
with me, we couldn't just pretend that everything was
fine like it used to
be and the world didn't matter to us -- we had to resolve
this and she needed
to go back to Doriath where it was safe. --Or it was, then.
Warrior:
No, I -- I meant, earlier
-- I was a little confused by all the "theys".
Steward:
I believe that the first
reference was to the Lords Celegorm and Curufin,
the second and third
to the Lord of Dogs and the Lady Luthien. --Is that correct?
Beren: [nodding]
--Someone else should
really be telling this.
Captain:
No, you're doing fine
-- we just want more details. --Did I really hear you
say that Huan here actually
attacked that pair of traitors?
[Huan makes an unhappy grumbling noise]
Steward:
I'm not entirely sure
that -- technically -- the Feanorions' actions should
be considered treason,
seeing that--
Captain: [cutting him off]
--They had guest-right
and they dishonored that along with kin-right. That
makes them traitors
not just once, but twice over, even if they never did swear
fealty. Now
be quiet,
Edrahil, I'm not going to argue semantics, we want to hear
what happened to Beren.
Beren: [embarrassed]
Sirs, please--
Steward: [smiling a little, for the first time]
It's all right. Please
continue.
Beren: [sighing]
So anyway, yeah, Huan
went for them, and she said he was really scary,
she'd never imagined
he could look like that, he was even angrier than he
had been fighting Sauron,
and if I hadn't been hurt and he hadn't broken
off the chase to come
back and help me she doesn't know what he would have
done to them. So then
she pulled it out -- the arrow -- and cleaned it out,
and he found her some
kind of plant to use for a pain-killer--
Youngest Ranger:
Which one?
Beren:
Didn't recognize it.
I don't know the lowland vegetation as well as the
northern types. Worked,
though -- even the scar didn't hurt. --She sang it
shut. It should have
taken weeks to knit, and maybe never properly, and it
healed overnight.
Captain:
What class was the point?
Beren:
All-purpose military-hunting,
long barbs to keep it in--
[makes a demonstrating V with his left hand]
--and sharpened on the
outside. --Not birdshot. The sort of thing you don't
dare try to take out
if you don't know what you're doing and have irons ready
in case something big's
been cut. --And then she built a shelter out of
branches to keep the
wind and rain out and a fire and kept me from getting
dehydrated and getting
trapped by the power of the Dark while I was unconscious.
Steward:
You sound surprised.
[pause]
Beren:
It -- just -- is not
what I thought of when I thought of Elven princesses, um,
chopping up branches
and dragging piles of wood around and so forth.
Captain: [innocent]
And you've met exactly
how many?
Beren:
Er -- two . . .
Captain:
Finduilas is hardly
a statistical sampling, you know. You never met His
Majesty's sister, or
his cousin, or--
[checks]
Ah.
Steward:
--Indeed.
Captain: [urgent]
Beren, if you happen
to encounter the High King's daughter, don't bring
up the sons of Feanor
to her. She doesn't like hearing that they're bloody
maniacs and insists
it's all a misunderstanding, and she tends to the
preemptive strike, even
if she does apologize after.
Beren: [blinking]
Uh, okay.
Captain:
But anyhow, you know
that a majority of our medical people are female -- and
you know what Healers
do -- so what are you so amazed about?
Beren: [sheepish]
Tinuviel just always
seemed so -- so much too nice, to be completely unfazed
by blood up to her elbows
and deranged relatives trying to kidnap her and
getting knocked off
a horse and knocked out and me being hurt and having to
do everything by herself
-- with Huan, yeah, but there wasn't a whole lot of
help he could give her
past that point, except give moral support and keep
Curufin's horse from
running off.
Warrior: [very interested]
Which one was he? Stormwing
or Watersong? Those were their best steeds -- I'm
sure they would have
taken them.
Beren: [shrugs]
I dunno -- what did
they look like?
Warrior:
The dappled-grey one
or . . . er, the other dappled-grey one . . .
[trails off]
Beren: [straightfaced]
The big grey one with
spots.
[they grin]
He never said what his
name was -- I just called him "Roch" and he didn't seem
to mind.
[quiet laughter all around]
I'm pretty sure he called
me
"that maniac who knocks horses over" -- it was a
long time before he
stopped looking at me with his eyes all white around the
edges trying to see
what I was doing wherever I was, even after Huan took him
aside and explained
it was an accident.
[shaking his head]
--I didn't know you could
do
that. I guess it's like pulling your mount
over on yourself, but
-- he wasn't a pony, by a long shot--! It was kind of
funny the way he used
to try to keep Huan in between us when we were walking
at first, and if Huan
was off scouting or hunting -- he'd try to hide behind
her, like I couldn't
see him if his head was out of sight.
[smiling]
It was kind of cute --
at first Tinuviel didn't realize what he was doing,
and then when she did
she'd walk a little faster or a little slower so that
he'd have to hurry to
keep up, or then stop to stay hidden, or then she'd
hop up and talk to us
from his back. I've never seen an animal try to look
three directions at
once. He was a nice horse, though. I thought it would
be a lot harder to ride
him -- oh, I'll have to tell him he was right, I
could have done it for
his plan. King Finrod, I mean.
[sighs, with a nostalgic smile]
Those were good days.
[checks -- his smile fades]
Well -- by comparison. While they -- lasted. I--
[he looks down, biting his lip, and rocking a
little; the Guard beside him puts
an arm around his shoulders and gives him a
little shake]
Fourth Guard: [consolingly]
--It's all right --
you don't think we'd grudge you any happiness, do you?
Steward:
"While they lasted"
-- yet obviously they did not last long. What happened
to bring them to an
end??
Beren:
I -- uh -- I had to
go get a Silmaril.
Several of the Ten: [simultaneously]
--Why??
Beren:
I had to.
Captain:
But that doesn't make
any sense at all, lad. You were supposed to get the
stone to win the Lady's
hand -- but the Princess came to find you, so the
question of needing
it to break her free from Doriath was moot. Why didn't
you just -- what's that
mortal word? --elope--?
Beren:
That wouldn't have been
honorable. --I made a vow. I promised to fulfill
the task.
Fourth Guard:
But you know
it wasn't a fair task.
Beren: [frustrated]
But I promised.
[pause]
And Tinuviel was going
to get killed staying with me, or worse. We just
smacked the Enemy's
top commander upside the head, so to speak, and this
was the same guy who
spent
four bleeding years trying to hunt me down. I
could imagine what he
would try to do to us now.
Captain:
But could he? I mean,
without any base to work from, with his elite corps
ripped to shreds, how
much can he do now? That night essentially put him
in the same spot you
were in those last years in Dorthonion. I would be very
surprised if he weren't
replaced by someone with no failure record and
consequently no real
experience of the War.
[Beren shrugs uncomfortably]
Beren:
That doesn't do anything
about local Orc-bands and the rest of the minions
that escaped from the
Tower, in fact it could be worse because they didn't
have anyone to tell
them where to be now. And the sons of Feanor still being
out there. And even
with Huan we couldn't hardly protect her from her two
psychotic kinsmen. --I
kept trying to tell her this. And she kept saying we
could just sneak into
her parents' back woods and hide out along the edges
the way I did before,
and we'd be fine.
[growing frustrated just remembering it]
And I kept trying to
explain that this wasn't going to work, no way in hell
was it going to work,
and she needed to be someplace where there were defenses,
strong defenses, and
that meant Doriath, because there was also no way in hell
we could go back to
Nargothrond -- because I knew what happened to isolated
farmsteads and people
who tried to hold out on their own in the open. And
she'd just keep on saying
we'd be fine.
[the Ten exchange troubled glances, considering the problem]
Beren:
--And that there was
no way in hell she was ever going to go back to Menegroth
unless I came with her.
And that wasn't going to happen without a Silmaril.
Though I thought it
was optimistic to think that even doing that would
guarantee safe-conduct.
So I got up really early one morning when she was
still asleep and I told
Huan to stay with her and keep her safe, and then I
rode back again west
and north to Ard-galen.
Captain:
Without saying good-bye!?
Beren:
I couldn't have done
it otherwise. And . . . I wasn't strong enough for the
argument -- I would
have ended up giving in again that day.
[The Captain glances over at the Steward, who does not look at him]
Steward:
Did you truly believe
it possible that you might accomplish it, on your own?
Beren: [shaking his head]
No. But I couldn't not
try. I just couldn't let her get killed or -- or
caught, and have it
be my fault. Not if I could do something to stop it.
I thought she'd be reasonable
enough to go home once it was obvious I was
really gone this time.
Warrior:
What happened to "Horse"?
Beren:
I turned him loose after
we got to the Plains -- I told him he didn't have to
go back to Curufin if
he didn't want to, I didn't want him getting stressed
about it, and going
through what Huan went through, plus the spiders and the
fell things on the way
there, and he was glad enough to see the last of me --
though I think he did
finally trust me a little by then. Last I saw him he
was heading south towards
the river as fast as he could gallop.
Warrior: [astounded]
You convinced an Eldar
war-steed to return to the site of the Battle?
[pause -- stifled:]
I would say -- yes, he trusted you -- but not a little.
[pause]
Captain: [encouraging]
Keep going.
Beren:
So, I was going to try
to make it in -- I figured it couldn't be much worse
than Dungortheb, there
had to still be springs and stuff, even if nothing
grew there any more,
and so long as it wasn't too contaminated I could still
drink it, because it
couldn't take anywhere near as long as the mountains to
get over, since it was
flat. But not completely flat, so probably there would
be enough cover I could
evade any patrols up to the walls, and then maybe
find a route up like
we had planned initially for the mission, sneak in
through some access
way or something. And then get killed. --Or more likely
caught, again.
[silence; the Ten exchange significant glances]
Captain: [bemused]
I've never known anyone
who could combine the most outrageous self-confidence
and absolute pessimism
quite the way you do.
Beren:
Well, it didn't happen
that way, because it turns out Huan's one of those
dogs who puts the most
creative interpretations on "stay" --
[scratches Huan's ears -- in the "doting dog-owner" voice:]
--isn't that right, boy? That's what you did--
[Huan snuffles against his face]
--and so he decided that
"stay with Tinuviel" could be stretched to mean
"bring Tinuviel with
me wherever I go" and they showed up before I actually
got anywhere and yelled
at me for being an idiot. It was really awful -- I
saw them from a distance
and thought "I don't believe it, I'm almost exactly
where we were caught
before, this is some kind of twisted game the Enemy's
playing, letting me
get two leagues farther along" -- and then Huan left
because it would be
more of a risk for us to be seen with him than he could
be helpful defending
us, and to go round up some reinforcements, even though
he didn't say anything
about that then and we didn't know about that till later.
[there are some confused looks exchanged at this, but no one interrupts]
And then we crossed the
desert -- that part seemed really hard at the time,
but by comparison to
the rest of it it was actually pretty easy -- but the
sun was really rough
on Tinuviel, and I kept cursing myself for dragging her
into it, but I
couldn't
stop -- and then we got to the road -- this causeway
thing they've built
out of slag and rubble and stuff, it goes a long way out
into the Plains, and
there was shade next to that. We hid down there from a
troop of Enemy soldiers
being sent out West -- I think they must have been
going to the siege of
the High King's fortress -- and after they were past
we tried to get through
the Gates, but this Wolf -- Thing -- there, the size
of a, a, -- no, bigger
-- than the biggest wild oxen you've ever seen. You
know how much bigger
Huan is than most werewolves? She said that's how much
bigger than Huan Sauron
was. When he was a wolf. --Well, that's how much
bigger than Sauron this
one, that was lying there in front of the Gates, was.
[there are some hasty calculations made and more looks exchanged]
Captain:
You're talking about
something three-to-four times the size of an ordinary
warg there.
Beren:
Yeah. He gets up and
gets in the way -- I mean, even more in the way, 'cause
he already was in the
way -- gets in my face, and starts sniffing suspiciously
at her in spite of her
cloaks and all I could think was, Tinuviel was gonna
die, and--
One of the Ten: [cutting over, from the background]
"--and it would all
be your fault--"
[Beren stops, turns, and glares at the Captain]
Captain: [raising his hands]
Wasn't me. --Someone
beat me to it.
[Beren closes his eyes and makes an exasperated noise]
Second Guard:
--Sorry, Beren.
Beren:
Now I forgot where I
was.
Captain:
You were explaining
about the Wolf at the door, and how it was all your fault.
Beren: [gives up, laughing]
--All right, all right.
So he's there, and I'm thinking, "We're dead, I
have to fight this guy,
and there's no way I can take him--" and she just
steps out from behind
me and says "Down!" and wham!--
[gesturing wildly]
--there's this flash
like when lightning hits a tree right by you but without
any noise and he just
drops
on the ground like a felled ox and that's it. And
we just went sneaking
past him into Angband, like a couple of rats going by
a sleeping cat.
First Guard: [awed]
She killed it?
Beren: [sighing]
No, it would have been
better if we could have, because then he wouldn't have
got into Doriath, but
Huan said it was fated so I'm not sure anyone else even
could. He was just sound
asleep. Anyway, we thought maybe we could duck in and
hide and check out the
place before doing anything else, but -- He -- spotted
Tinuviel right away
and threatened to blast her down right there, if she didn't
explain what she was
doing there -- and she did this amazing act where she
told him the exact truth
-- only not all of it -- and sounding like she was
completely helpless
and terrified, and he thought he was in control and playing
her like a fish on a
line, only it was completely the other way round. I had
to go against all my
instincts to rush out and defend her and just trust her
to know what she was
doing, like with Carcaroth.
Steward:
You weren't noticed?
Beren:
I was flat on the floor
under his chair in the dark. Everyone was watching
Tinuviel.
Captain:
You were under Morgoth's
throne?!
Beren: [shrugs]
I know, it sounds really
lame -- but storming out waving a sword into the
middle of a hall full
of Balrogs and assorted minions didn't seem like it
was going to work all
that well.
Soldier: [to the Second Guard beside him]
Somehow I just had an
image of Feanor when he said that.
Beren:
Yeah, well, you know
-- lurking around in the shadows and dashing out
when they're drunk and
careless is more my style.
Second Guard:
I'm having a hard time
imagining this at all.
Third Guard:
It would help if any
of us had actually seen the inside of Angband ever,
or if Beren had bothered
to describe the scenery.
[the next several exchanges all overlap as people
talk over each other and
answer different questions]
Beren:
Ah, it was really ugly--
Warrior:
I'm still trying
to imagine a wolf the size of an aurochs or larger.
Beren:
--it looked kind of
burnt, kind of like the Nightshade, only worse than
the edges you guys saw,
and--
Steward: [dryly]
How peculiar --I'm
trying very hard not to.
Beren:
--there were designs
on them that I don't want to remember. And Balrogs.
Multiple Balrogs.
[pause]
Youngest Ranger:
Did you run into Glaurung?
Beren: [deadpan]
You know, I was wondering
what was lacking to make the experience complete,
and guess what, that
was it. Somehow there was a disaster that we actually missed.
Captain: [also straightfaced]
Shocking inefficiency.
I wonder how that happened.
Ranger:
Beren, I know you're
superb at that "lurking around" business, but I'm still
finding it somewhat
hard to believe that you were able to wander freely
inside Thangorodrim
without being spotted. Not to mention Her Highness.
Beren:
Oh. We -- we were disguised
as minions.
[he sighs]
Ranger:
I see. That makes sense.
Captain: [noticing Beren's downcast look]
What's wrong?
Beren:
Oh . . . I was just
thinking.
[he checks briefly, and goes on more brightly:]
--You know if I'd been
able to do that myself back in Dorthonion,
I could have--
Captain:
--Lad, if you'd been
able to turn yourself into an Orc during your War,
you'd have gotten yourself
into so much trouble you wouldn't have lived
long enough to get yourself
into
more trouble. --You know I'm right.
[Beren ducks his head, smiling a little]
Now you can't stop now -- you've just gotten to the most exciting part. So far.
[he reaches over and shakes Beren's shoulder, trying to get him to look up. Earnestly:]
You know we -- none of
us -- wanted you here. But it's too hard for us not to be
pleased now that you
have turned up. Stop fretting. Trust the King. --Trust your
Lady. They'll work things
out for the best.
[Beren sighs and nods]
Beren:
Okay, where was I?
Soldier:
Under Morgoth's seat,
you said.
Beren:
Yeah -- when I made
that vow that I'd avenge Da if it took me to the Gates
of Angband to challenge
the Dark Lord himself -- that was not the scenario
I had in mind. So I'm
hiding there, and looking out between his heels, trying
not to make any noise,
and I knew he was a giant, I remembered about him
smashing big pits in
the ground when he killed the High King -- we even
passed them on the way
in, they're still there -- but I wasn't ready for
how much larger
than us. Or having to lie there and watching his minions
eating corpses. I still
have nightmares about that place.
Steward:
You said he recognized
Lady Luthien?
Beren: [nodding]
She came down in front
of the hall when he told her to, and tried to keep
bluffing that she was
a courier from Sauron, but he goes, "What are you
talking about? We just
had the reports from Taur-na-fuin. You're not one
of our people!" and--
Ranger: [surprised]
That's almost exactly
what happened to us--
Beren: [bitter]
Yeah, I know -- again.
So she admits it, and he starts laughing and wants to
know what her dad's
thinking to send her on a mission, if Thingol had lost
it finally. And she
explains how he doesn't know she's there, that he tried
to keep her too hemmed
in and she ran away, and all roads eventually lead to
Angband because that's
where the power in Middle-earth is and she realizes
that now, and she's
willing to serve him as an entertainer because she needs
to and has no place
left to go, and he starts making all kinds of crude remarks
about needs and
serving
and I'm trying to keep my cool and not wreck it this
time by losing my temper--
Captain:
No, you can't have all
that blame. None of us were expecting to hear her name
under those circumstances,
and all of us reacted. Himself most of all.
[Beren does not look entirely reassured but goes on:]
Beren:
And anyway what could
I have done? Maybe hamstrung him? That didn't slow him
down much the last time,
and it didn't seem like it would help her any. So
I trusted her.
Captain:
Best thing you could
have done.
Beren: [frankly]
It was hard.
When he reached out to grab her, saying something like, "This
will make me feel better
about the gods enjoying our misery," it was all
I could do not to lunge
for his ankle. And Tinuviel says, "Nope! You listen
to me now!" and
melts right out of his hands like he was trying to catch
hold of a shadow, and
she flings open her capes and starts to dance, like
swallows over the water,
that quick, or like real bats when you see them
out in the door-yard
flying after bugs at twilight, to her own music, and
it was like Esgalduin
pouring in to drown us all with sleep.
Soldier:
--You too?
Beren:
Of course. Not like
I could resist it, if a god couldn't.
Soldier:
She couldn't -- be selective?
[Beren shakes his head]
Beren:
You don't understand,
this was the real thing -- this was like a flood when
the ice melts up in
the mountains, it's coming down and everything in its way
is going down.
But it wasn't a weapon -- not like knocking someone over the
head to put them out
-- she gave -- us -- what we needed -- what we really
wanted: absolute
peace. Complete rest from pain, and having to think, and
regrets, and hating
each other, and that's why there was no way anything
there could hold out
against it. Not even Morgoth. Though she said it took
longest to take him
down, but in the end he slumps down like an avalanche
and the Iron Crown goes
rolling
across the floor --
[making a sweeping gesture with his hand]
--and not even that
woke anyone up. She said it sounded not like metal clanging
but like when thunder
hits all the sudden, it was that big and heavy. So then
she wakes me up and
I crawl out from under trying not to step on any of the
other minions or the
snakes -- hey, why are there adders in Angband? Just loose
on the floor -- his
people just stepped over them, or on them, or kicked them
out of the way. And
it was cold, so they should have been hibernating but
these were awake, until
they weren't any more.
Steward: [thinks for a second]
Worm prototypes.
Beren:
? ? ?
Steward:
--Experimental Dragons.
Did they appear to be fashioned out of metal?
Beren:
Oh. I -- I'm not really
sure, it was hard to see -- but they did make a
lot more noise than
adders usually do when they moved. Like someone filing
something. So maybe.
And I got up, and . . . there they were.
[he stops, staring into the distance, until the Captain clears his throat]
I . . . it was
like a sunset, and the northern lights, and sunrise, and when
you look up through
water and see daylight, all together . . .
Steward:
--Yes.
Beren:
But it was like sunlight
through Autumn leaves in the wind, too, and
the Stars . . .
[pulling himself together]
And then we tried to
get the jewel off the Crown -- it was way too big
and heavy to take the
whole thing, like trying to carry a cartwheel made
out of metal -- and
I'm trying to pop it out of the setting with my bare
hands, and it isn't
working, and Tinuviel's hovering like she's about to
take off again, trying
to get me to hurry, and I'm getting more and more
frustrated, and then
after all -- stupid! --that I remembered about the
Angrist, and I got that
and sawed off the prongs that were holding it on,
and . . . light.
I thought it would feel cold, like a polished stone, but
it felt like sunlight
in my hand. It shone right through -- like a candle
through cloth -- but
it wasn't hot. It didn't even occur to me that I should
be afraid -- like picking
up bees. I knew they weren't afraid of me, or
angry, they wouldn't
do anything to me . . .
[he is rapt at the memory again]
Soldier: [quietly]
That's right. I'd forgotten
all about that -- how dangerous they were. You
shouldn't have been
able to even touch them.
Steward: [aside]
Ah. My conjecture was
mistaken.
Beren:
Sir?
Steward:
I had assumed that was
the cause of your maiming.
Beren:
No, that -- that was
a little later.
[pause -- he continues under the gentle pressure of encouraging looks]
So then I thought if
the first one came off that easy, and we weren't going
to try this again, I
shouldn't waste the chance because who was ever going
to get another like
that? and I went to hack out the second one, and the
knife -- you remember
how Curufin used to brag how it could cut through
anything? Well, he was
wrong.
[grimaces]
It stuck and popped
apart when I tried sawing the next setting, and the
piece of it went flying
up like that -- bing --
[gestures]
--just like an arrow,
or a spear, and hit him in the forehead. And he kind
of snorts and moves
around like someone asleep who's got a fly walking on his
face and we didn't dare
keep trying, we just grabbed the Jewel and ran like
crazy. And we almost
made it.
[The Ten share glances of regret -- Beren does not realize what they are assuming]
But Carcaroth was already
awake, and he's standing there sniffing around as
we come up, and the
instant he sees us it's over. There's no other way to go,
and he's blocking the
exit, and he's mad. And Tinuviel was already almost
collapsing when she
took the spell off me, we're holding onto each other
pulling each other along
but she's leaning on me more, and she just gives
him this look,
like, "I can't do this again, -- but I have to" and he sees
her and his hackles
go right up -- she was the one he most wanted to kill
at the beginning, she
really bothered him even when he thought she was
Thuringwethil. So I
pushed her behind me and shoved the Silmaril up in
his face.
Youngest Ranger:
Why?
Beren: [shrugging]
Instinct, mostly. --I
thought if it burned Morgoth, it might repel him, or
at least blind him,
or at least have a chance where a blade wouldn't -- and
it did, for a second,
but he was too strong, or I didn't do it right, and he
just whipped right back
around with his head and bit at it like it was a fly.
[bringing his left hand down hard against his wrist]
He went through it like
kindling -- I could hear the bones crunch when he
closed, there wasn't
any time for me to pull back or anything -- and bolted
it down like he'd caught
the fly and was swallowing it. And then he just
stood there for a second
with his eyes all glowing and growling, just like
a guard dog would for
trespassers -- except for the eyes glowing -- and I
knew we'd had it, but
then he gives this howl like he'd been shot, but it's
as loud as the whole
pack would be, and he kind of arches like a fish jumping
out of the water, and
then he keeps on bucking like a colt -- or like a
hooked salmon, and he
flings around for a minute there before dashing outside
like he was closing
with deer. And there was nothing but air between us and
the Plains.
Third Guard:
So you didn't die then.
Beren:
No. Tinuviel dragged
me out of there and we managed to get clear of the Gate
before it fell in.
Third Guard:
Carcaroth wasn't waiting
for you?
Ranger:
Why did it fall in?
Beren:
No, he was gone. Nothing
but dust clouds and echoes way out there. Huh?
Ranger:
What was that about
the Gate?
Beren:
Oh. Morgoth woke up
then, I guess, since there was this unbelievable roaring
noise coming from below
and the walls started shaking and the floor, and it
just kept getting worse
-- all the wargs in the place started howling the
way dogs do sometimes,
and rocks were falling down from the ceiling, and
after we got out there
was a landslide from up on Thangorodrim and it filled
up most of the archway
with rubble and took down a lot of the masonry over
the Gate itself.
Captain:
That seems rather counterproductive
behavior, doesn't it?
Beren:
Yeah, his temper-tantrum
meant that the pursuit couldn't get after us right
away. So anyway she
carries me the rest of the way out and into the open as
far as she could, and
we couldn't go any farther, and we collapsed in one
of the gouges left by
Grond, which was a little bit of cover, and she keeps
trying to heal me even
though her voice makes her a target, and the lightning
bolts are hitting awfully
close--
Warrior:
--Lightning-bolts?
Beren:
Yeah, he wasn't willing
to wait for them to unblock the door, I guess, and
these fireballs kept
coming at us from the peak, and the ground kept shaking,
and I thought the whole
world was ending or something. She actually sucked
all the poison out of
the amputation site -- that sounds so much neater than
it was -- it -- well,
you've seen a dog eating a hare -- it was blood and
ends and sharp bits
and--
[he stops short and bends down to hide his face against Huan's coat again. Brief pause]
Warrior:
Are you all right?
[Beren shakes his head, not looking up. Huan
makes a grumbling noise, his brow
furrowing, but doesn't move (which would force
Beren to straighten)]
First Guard: [understandingly]
None of us had to watch.
[the Youngest Ranger pats Beren on the back, his expression sympathetic]
Captain:
Beren? --Beren?
[when he still doesn't move, the Captain signals
to the Youngest Ranger,
who obediently pokes Beren hard in the ribs,
causing him to sit up in outrage]
You're not being very considerate, stopping all the time like this, you realize.
Beren:
But I don't remember
the next part.
[The Guard on his right grabs him by the shoulder
and shakes him hard in
humorous exasperation]
Third Guard:
--Well, did you die
or not then? That's all we want to know.
Soldier:
Speak for yourself!
[to Beren]
--Star and Water! can't
you just tell the story, and save the apologizing
for after?
Beren: [chagrined]
Well . . . I . . . was
just lying there while she worked on me, and I kept
blacking out and coming
to again and wondering why I couldn't die, and after
a bit Tinuviel finished
singing and pulled her cloak over us and we just
waited, and at
some point I didn't wake up again.
Soldier:
And what about her?
Beren:
The Eagles came and
picked us up and took us back to Huan. Back to Doriath,
as a matter of fact,
right where we started from when I tried to sneak off.
Steward:
So you were still alive
at that juncture?
Beren: [flatly]
I'm not doing a very
good job of telling this, am I?
Steward:
Most people are somewhat
disoriented and find it difficult to recount
their death-experiences
without some initial counselling. Of course,
you've always been somewhat
disorganized and deficient as a storyteller,
though no more so than
most mortals.
[Beren gives him an anxious look]
Second Guard:
Don't listen to Master
Particular there. I'm enjoying the tale so far.
Steward:
I am speaking only from
a bardic standpoint, in answer to milord's direct
question. Continuity
and coherence are challenges for a human mind to achieve.
Captain:
That's because Ea is
complicated and messy and happens all at once. --So you
weren't dead. Yet.
Beren:
Um, no, I wasn't dead,
though I wasn't sure about it at the time. I--
Captain:
I thought you didn't
remember anything --
Soldier: [interrupting]
Wait a minute, wait
a minute -- what Eagles? Where did they come from?
Beren:
I think they live in
the mountains down south of Rivil Falls.
Soldier:
You mean -- the
Eagles. --Manwe's Eagles?
Beren:
The sacred Eagles, yeah.
Ordinary eagles couldn't carry anybody anywhere.
Except maybe a baby
and that's not a fun thing to think about.
Soldier:
You got a divine
intervention to pull you out of there? Like the King's uncle?
Beren:
Yeah, only we were still
alive. Mostly.
Third Guard:
But why did he send
them for you? Was it because the Princess is Melian's
daughter?
[the Youngest Ranger looks as if he's going to
say something, but doesn't want
to interrupt]
Beren:
No, because of Huan.
I mean, Huan sent them. For us.
Ranger:
And they just came?
Like that?
Beren: [shrugging]
Well -- yeah. Is that
not supposed to happen?
Ranger:
It -- seems very odd.
Not to mention implausible. I didn't think that Manwe
would be watching that
closely, and then there's the Doom. Though neither
of you are Noldor, so
perhaps . . .
Youngest Ranger: [finally]
Our traditions say that
the Eagle-king acts on his own. He's the Sky-king's
liege, not a slave.
The same with his family.
Beren:
I think they did it
because Huan asked them to. I don't know exactly. She
talked to them, not
me. I was unconscious. Then when I woke up it was like
nothing had changed
except the weather, because pretty soon we started
fighting about how it
wasn't safe to stay out there and she kept arguing
that it was, since nothing
had happened that they couldn't handle in and the
bad weather was over
which was the worst of it and it was going to be summer
pretty soon. Finally
I convinced her we had to go back to her parents' place.
Second Guard:
Every time I think you've
come to the end, you start a new adventure. Does
this story ever stop?
Warrior:
Well obviously it did,
since they're all here, right?
[elbows the other in the ribs]
Don't interrupt again
now that he's finally telling it. --What do you mean,
"summer"? How
long were you comatose?
Beren:
End of winter -- beginning
of spring. I came out of it when the Balance changed.
[silence]
Warrior: [quietly]
At least you weren't
in pain for the duration.
Beren:
Actually--
[breaks off, then picks up again guiltily]
It wasn't exactly pain,
but -- I thought I was dead, and lost somewhere trying
to get here.
It was all grey, and the terrain was terrible, and it kept changing,
and there were things
in it I had to fight and escape from, and there was this
light, or something,
that kept luring me over to it, but I had this feeling I
shouldn't go that way,
that it was an illusion to a trap -- but everywhere I
went seemed to go back
there, except when I closed my eyes and followed the
Song. Her voice was
the only true thing in that place. But I wasn't always brave
enough to do that, and
I kept getting lost again for a long time. But she got
me out of there finally.
[silence]
Captain:
Do you have any idea
where you were?
Beren: [meaningfully]
You don't think it was
a dream either.
Captain:
Oh, I think it was a
dream. Very definitely. And I think the Lord of Fetters
was trying to lure you
into his hold.
[pause]
Beren:
Okay, that's kind of
what I thought. But Tinuviel wasn't sure, because she
couldn't see where I
was, because I'm not an Elf, and she didn't know if we
go into the Grey Country
too, or if I was just trapped inside my mind because
of the poison. There
wasn't anybody else there with me. Except I could hear
her singing.
[the Captain reaches across and takes Beren's chin, looking him in the eyes]
Captain:
That's an awfully long
time to be lost. Mortal or not.
Beren: [hugging Huan's neck]
I -- know. They took
care of me all that time.
Captain:
And you kept on, and
got home safe and sane.
[he grips Beren's shoulder and then his wrist]
Good job.
[Beren half-smiles, still shaken talking or thinking about it]
Steward:
So you returned to Doriath,
and to Menegroth, after all?
Beren:
Yeah. I had a hard time
believing that they weren't about to shoot me, or
lock me up like he threatened,
but Tinuviel just stormed right back in like
a hurricane and acted
like she owned the place, and people just fell in with
it. It was really strange
-- this time nobody was laughing, and the way they
were staring it was
like they hoped we were gonna rescue them -- only we
didn't know right then
from what. It was so different from the other time . . .
Steward:
Was Huan with you both?
[Beren nods]
One would rather imagine
that put a somewhat of a constraint upon anyone
who would have arrested
you.
Beren:
Yeah, but nobody even
tried. Or wanted to. And we go in to where her parents
are dealing with the
chaos, and she drags us right up there and says--
Captain: [interrupting]
--What chaos?
Beren:
All the refugees. And
everybody being mobilized who could carry a weapon.
Steward:
Refugees? From where?
Ranger:
And how would they get
into Doriath?
Beren:
From Doriath. --Um,
they were in the Thousand Caves, that's why it was so crazy.
Steward:
From what, then?
Beren:
Carcaroth.
Fourth Guard:
That's where
he went?!
Beren:
Eventually. He was rampaging
around the North all that time we were there
hiding out in the outskirts
of Neldoreth, and finally he busted in through
the barriers on the
eastern side like the Labyrinth wasn't even there and
started killing people
in Doriath. He was basically rabid at that point--
First Guard:
How could he get in?
Beren:
Apparently the Silmaril
made him practically invincible, --though personally
I thought he was to
begin with -- and at the same time it made him crazy --
though Tinuviel said
he already was crazy, it was so obvious in his aura that
she couldn't believe
I didn't see it. When they cut him open it had blistered
him all up inside like
a bucket of hot coals, as fast as he could heal it kept
burning right into him.
Youngest Ranger:
So he's dead.
Beren:
Yeah. Thanks to Huan.
[he strokes the Hound's head]
So everyone had evacuated
the woods and meadows and moved into the Caves for
protection, and they
look at us like they can't believe we're back, like we're
gods or something come
to save them -- I guess a lot of them assumed we were
dead to begin with --
and we go into the throne room, and there's this big row
going on over what to
do and people waving maps and the Queen's just sitting
there looking like a
ghost, like she doesn't care about anything anymore, and
she's in pain, and trying
to keep a brave face for everyone else, like my aunt
before she got too sick
to move, and -- he's looking like Da the night after
everybody left and he
didn't have to. But he has to keep doing his job.
[shaking his head]
I was so obnoxious to
him. I couldn't help it. We come in and there's all this
commotion, and Thingol
looks up all angry at the ruckus and then he sees her,
and I've never seen
anyone look that -- that stricken. But in a good way. Except--
[he looks down for an instant, biting his lip]
Except when His Majesty
recognized me. It was like that, only more . . . So
we go right up to them,
and Tinuviel's holding on to me like grim death, and
she's got me between
her and Huan on the other side, so obviously she thought
they were going to grab
me or kill me too, and I get down on one knee and he's
just staring at me,
and I could see the veins starting to go up on the back
of his hands, and before
he could say anything I said, "Hey, I'm back like I
said I would be -- you
gonna keep your promise now?"
[silence -- the Ten react to this image]
Yeah. I know. But what
could I say? I couldn't even say "you can't call me
a thrall," 'cause that
wasn't true any more, and I just had to -- take control,
I couldn't let him put
me on the defensive again or I'd be stammering like an
idiot like before. And
I couldn't do that to her in front of them. So he goes,
"Where's the Silmaril?"
cool as anything, like we'd been gone a week or so. And
I said, "I've got it
in my hand right now," and he says, "Let's see it, then."
So I hold out my hand,
like so, and he gives me the evil eyebrow, and I just
smiled at him and shook
back my cloak and showed him my stump, and I said,
"Guess you better call
me 'empty-handed' after all."
Captain: [sighing]
Oh, Beren . . .
Beren:
I know, I know. And
he says, "You want to explain that, young Man?" and I
told him that the Gate-Guard
of Angband bit it off and the jewel with it,
and he just sort of
glares at me, for a long, looong time. And then he goes,
"You took my daughter
where?"
--Fortunately Tinuviel took over the conversation
at that point, and there
was a lot of guilt operating there, and she used it
for all it was worth,
because they actually listened to her this time. And me,
afterwards -- they had
them get chairs for us and it was actually civilized,
when they interrogated
us about what we'd been doing.
Captain:
You know, you seem to
have a gift, or a curse, for being outrageously insolent
to powerful people who
mean you no good. How many times does that make?
[Beren has to stop and think]
Beren:
There's Thingol, and
Sauron, and the sons of Feanor, and Sauron again, and
Thingol again, so six.
Wait, I forgot about Carcaroth. That's seven.
Captain:
What about Morgoth?
Surely helping yourself to a Silmaril should count.
Beren:
Yeah, but I wasn't in
his face about it. He didn't even know I was there. Not
like shooting him in
the middle of his bodyguard, or asking him who the hell
he thought he was, messing
with us.
[shaking his head]
I -- I still wonder about
that, if I made things worse . . . jumping in like
that when he was at
a loss for words, before it went to combat. But it seemed
like a distraction was
needed, even if we weren't supposed to say anything,
and . . . but I still
think about it sometimes when it gets to be around the
Starless Hour, and ask
myself -- did I give us away by doing that?
Steward: [distant]
--No. He was playing
with us from the outset. He knew we weren't what we
seemed. If he hadn't,
your bluff might have worked -- that's a typical power-
ploy, to demand more
than one's jurisdiction allows, to see how far one can
push before meeting
resistance.
Captain:
Hence the reason they
say war and diplomacy are really the same thing, you know.
Steward:
--And you were
correct in your observations from spying on him so long that
he did not in fact have
authority except in times of crisis over the forces
despatched to the western
and eastern fronts, which at that time was not the
prevailing situation.
Had he not revealed that he was aware -- as we were not
-- that the last "Great
Chief" had been killed raiding Doriath during the
time of our journey
and a new one had yet to be chosen, I myself would have
judged it the manifestation
of internal power struggles between the Lord of
Wolves and Morgoth's
other field commanders -- a small gesture of authority,
intended to remind them
who was foremost. He might well have said, "Get out
of my sight and stop
wasting my time, and tell old So-and-so to train you
better." Or words to
that effect.
[pause]
Beren:
Are you sure?
Steward:
That it might have worked,
or that he knew beforehand? -- though the one
hinges upon the other.
Beren:
--Yeah.
Steward:
There is no doubt in
my mind that he was aware of some discrepancies and
already suspicious before
we were taken. The way his questioning played out
leaves no room for it.
I've done the same thing myself at court, when we were
alive, to draw careless
adversaries into self-incrimination.
Fourth Guard:
So did he kill
you? Was that the mistake you were talking about, to flout
him? --Elu Thingol,
I mean, not the Abhorred One. --Now you've got me
doing it too.
Beren:
No, I . . . he wasn't
actually as angry as he was making out to be, it turned
out. In the meantime
Celegorm had sent him a letter which was even more obnoxious
than anything I'd said
so far, and he apparently decided that compared to that
crew he could almost
cope with the thought of me as a son-in-law, in a lesser
of two evils kind of
way.
Fourth Guard: [amazed]
Is that a joke?
Beren:
No, it was really bad.
I didn't see it -- he had sent the scroll back under
separate cover to Orodreth,
which must have been interesting, and I wonder
when it got there, if
it was before or after they were kicked out -- but they
recited the contents
for us word-for-word.
[pause]
We're pretty sure Curufin
wrote the actual thing. It was all about how they'd
taken over Nargothrond
and gotten us killed and if he knew what was good for
him, he wouldn't try
to challenge them about Luthien 'cause he was going to
marry her. Um, Celegorm,
not his brother. And a lot of stuff which I didn't
get but Tinuviel says
was about stuff that had happened in the past. So they
let me stay there.
Ranger:
That doesn't sound particularly
welcoming.
Beren:
Hey, I only said not
quite as mad. --He was really angry before. That leaves a
lot of room for variation
in "not quite."
Third Guard:
But they let you get
married.
Beren:
Yes.
Third Guard:
Even though you hadn't
actually brought it to him.
[Beren nods]
Steward:
And they didn't poison
you at the feast?
Captain: [staring at him]
Where did you come up
with that notion? You're even more paranoid than I
am these days.
Steward:
Being betrayed rather
does that to one.
Beren:
No. No, they were completely
honorable about it. I -- I think her father did
understand that I was
asking for help, and why, showing up without it -- even
if I did phrase it as
an insult. And Tinuviel just didn't let up on making
them feel bad. One big
factor in the guilting was that they felt really awful
about us being up on
the central borders after I was bit, about how she would
rather live alone out
in what was essentially their backyard with just Huan to
help her get through
the winter, rather than ask for help taking care of me,
because she couldn't
trust them. I think that ripped his heart out more than
anything else, because
it was no way I could have been controlling her, not with--
[snorts]
--"spells," and
not with just ordinary emotional means. There was damn all in
the way of comfort for
her from me during that time, and I think that made them
realize how serious
she was and how they'd misjudged her. Even more than her
fighting the Dark Lord
and his minions, which I don't think they ever really
believed.
Second Guard:
How could they not?
Beren:
Well, it did sound kind
of improbable. And the way she told it was this very
offhand, almost sarcastic
way, like you might make a joke, and if you didn't
know it was true you
might think she was making a joke -- and you know how I
tell stories. Everyone
kept saying things like, "Not our little Luthien, surely!"
Steward:
Oh. --Dear.
Beren:
Yeah, that just made
her get more sarcastic. And it was kind of hard to believe,
even if you were there
for it, but still, I mean -- we did have Huan there with
us, which we didn't
before, and so forth. --I could see why she was making such
a big deal out of having
them call her Tinuviel. So anyway it was really long
and confusing, because
they kept interrupting -- not like you, of course--
[the Guard on his right shoves him lightly, and he grins]
--and between her saying
things like "So then I told Morgoth to shut up," and
me going, "Um, I don't
remember that part," every other minute, I've heard far
more plausible fictions
being told about stuff like what happened to the column
on the porch and why
we had no idea how it got all scorched like that.
Captain:
--Told them,
too, I gather.
Beren: [wide-eyed innocence]
I have no idea what
you're talking about, Sir.
Captain: [same tone]
Of course not.
Beren:
Like she said, it was
pretty hellish at dinner -- oh wait, you weren't here
then -- but it was.
Her dad kept cringing every time I opened my mouth, but it
turned out it's because
-- well, part of it at least -- because of my accent.
Ranger: [indignant]
What's wrong with your
accent?
Beren:
He said it sounded like
I was mangling the words on purpose and drawling my
vowels to sound affected
and insolent.
Steward:
You can't help your
native dialect.
Beren: [sighing]
No . . . but I tried.
And that just made it harder to talk. And then . . .
then he started to make
a crack about how could his nephew stand to listen to
us, and then he choked
off and dropped his cup and got up and walked away to
where the little golden
trees were and just sat down for a bit, and nobody
knew what to do or say,
and then he came back and pretended like nothing had
happened. And then Tinuviel
asked if Daeron was off sulking and couldn't even
be civil, and there
was this dead silence, and it turned out that was another
thing I was responsible
for, besides the Wolf.
Warrior:
What happened?
Beren:
He split when they were
searching for her, right after she ran away, and
nobody knows what happened
to him. I suppose that Carcaroth might have killed
him, even, but I doubt
he could have stayed hid all that time if they were
quartering Doriath looking
for Tinuviel.
First Guard:
He isn't here.
Third Guard: [sarcastic]
Unless he's laying very
low. --Again.
Warrior:
He'd better.
If I run into him I'm going to let him have it.
Beren: [softly]
Guys -- you don't have
to be -- so -- I'm okay. I'll be all right.
Soldier:
No, you're not, and
yes, we do.
Second Guard:
Though you do look a
lot better now. You're more yourself.
Beren: [frowning]
You know, that really
is a weird expression. --How can you be more or less
yourself? Either you
are yourself or you're not.
Youngest Ranger:
What if one of the Enemy's
agents is disguised as you?
Fourth Guard: [around Beren]
Then that's not you.
Youngest Ranger:
But what if you're possessed?
Fourth Guard:
Then it isn't you
yourself either.
Youngest Ranger:
All right then, but
suppose Morgoth has put a control on you, and you don't
know it, and you're
still doing what you would ordinarily do, but wouldn't you
say that you were less
yourself then?
Captain: [to Beren]
Do you really want to
have another metaphysical crisis?
[Beren shakes his head. To the debaters:]
All right then, table
this discussion. --Unless you lot would rather hear
yourselves argue than
find out how it ends.
[they shut up]
Beren:
All right, where were
we again?
Steward:
At a very unpleasant-sounding
Acclamation banquet.
Beren:
Hoo boy, was it ever.
Between me trying not to make a complete fool of myself,
and Tinuviel ready to
savage anyone who looked cross-eyed at me, and the Queen
and King trying to be
civil and not doing a real good job at it -- and the
general atmosphere of
panic and Doom over the whole place, and people starting
to admit that maybe
it wasn't all my fault after all--
Captain:
--You're admitting it
wasn't?
Beren:
Hey. Don't put words
in my mouth.
[Huan grins and thumps his tail on the grass
and whoever is too close; Beren taps
him on the top of his skull]
--Quiet, you. I mean,
it wasn't like I had anything directly to do with the
fact that they were
sending an embassy to Himring to demand justice from
Maedhros against his
younger brothers, or that they had to do that because
the two mad bastards
kidnapped their daughter, or that she got kidnapped by
them because she ran
away, and she ran away with no guards or anything because
they locked her up in
a tree. Indirectly it was my fault because she wouldn't
have done it except
to help me, and Carcaroth wouldn't have been able to get
through the Labyrinth
after slaughtering the embassy if I hadn't given him
the Silmaril--
Ranger:
You're making it sound
like you just handed it to him.
Beren: [dryly]
On account of how that's
essentially what I did, even if it wasn't what I
was trying to do. And
everyone was kind of proud that one of their own had
taken down the Lord
of Fetters, even if they didn't half believe it and it
was only temporarily.
So it was really weird. Oh, and did you know that
Melian and Tinuviel's
dad lived up in Dorthonion before it was called
Dorthonion before anyone
else lived there, when they were newlyweds?
[the Ten shake their heads, looking at each other.]
It's true. I'm not making
that up. They started talking about that as a way
of trying to make conversation
with me, and it was awful, because they kept
saying things like,
"How did the grove we planted along the top of the cliffs
turn out?" and I'd say,
"you mean the forest on the pine bluffs?" and then
I'd have to tell them
it got burned and turned into the Nightshade, or they'd
say to each other, "Remember
that meadow where we used to listen to your birds?"
and I'd have to tell
them we put a town there, only that got burned too, or
about how they lived
for a few decades at the lake, on our island, not that
far from where Da's
buried, and Tinuviel and her mother were having some kind
of staring war across
the table, and I'm not sure if they were really talking,
or just meaningful looks,
but she seemed to think all this proved some kind of
point, like "See?"
and I thought the candlesticks were going to melt, the way
they were glaring at
each other. So that was pretty depressing, too.
[sighs]
And before that -- does
this sound familiar or not? there was all kinds of
fuss before dinner after
we finished telling about our adventures about trying
to make us comfortable
and especially, presentable, and that just sent Tinuviel
right around the bend,
anyone saying anything -- or even implying, or maybe
implying anything --
about her hair or clothes or me being a mess -- I mean,
Captain Strongbow just
said something about how Huan must take a lot of brushing
being as big as he is,
and she tore into him like a rabid w--
[abrupt stop]
Captain: [to the two on either side of Beren]
Thump him on the back,
he's choking on guilt again--
Beren: [hastily]
--and there was trouble
about trying to find something to fit me, and me
saying I didn't care
if it was kids' clothes or not, or a woman's tunic,
clothes are just clothes
and the only thing that mattered was were they
warm and I could rip
the sleeves off or roll them up and nobody had to make
anything special, but
of course they did anyway, only it wasn't quite done
in time for the feast
and we did the apologizing thing and Tinuviel and her
mom had a fight over
her wanting to wear her old dress, sort of come-as-you-
are solidarity, and
she threatened to show up wearing nothing but her hair,
and Melian cried,
and that was -- and she said, "Why should I care, I cried
enough and you didn't
pay any attention," and I had to beg her to back off,
so she let them fancy
her up, but she was really grumpy about it, and that
wasn't fun, and . .
.
First Guard:
It sounds worse than
the council disaster.
Beren:
It went on longer. Or
at least it felt like it. I -- I was feeling so trapped,
like when I was in a
cave or a hole and they were beating the woods for me
overhead, trying not
to either panic or go into that kind of vacant way where
you just step back and
watch it all happen.
Steward:
"Fugue state."
Beren:
Is that the word for
it?
Ranger: [nodding]
Comes from "being hunted."
Beren:
Figures. I sure felt
hunted then. Anyway the conversation for obvious reasons
kept working around
to Carcaroth and what they were doing about him, which was
organizing a massive
wolf-hunt for the next day because they had finally got a
good report on where
he was -- you know Beleg's crazy, right? Crazier even than
I am -- and especially
now that they knew it was because he had the Silmaril,
they really didn't want
to find out if it would keep making him stronger, or
wait to see if it would
kill him, 'cause a lot of their Sages thought that it
would probably heal
him or help his healing abilities -- something like that --
at the same time as
it was burning him, and there was no telling if even
Menegroth's shields
would keep him out. And . . . I knew I had to go because
it was my fault.
Captain:
I thought you said that
it wasn't.
Beren:
On the final count it
was. He was.
Captain:
Carcaroth was
your fault? Since when were you involved in summoning demons
to this Circle and giving
them bodies?
Beren: [earnestly]
Carcaroth was made to
stop Huan. He wouldn't have been put there if Morgoth
hadn't gotten scared
hearing about how Huan destroyed Sauron's power. Huan
wouldn't have tried
to take on an entire fortress single-handedly--
Huan:
[sharp bark]
Beren:
--Yeah, yeah, whatever
-- by himself, if it wasn't for Tinuviel trying to
save me. None of us
would have been there if I hadn't been going for the
Silmaril. Therefore
it's ultimately and really my fault.
Steward:
What did Lady Luthien
say to that argument?
Beren:
You don't want
to know. --Trust me on that.
Youngest Ranger:
You surely didn't fight
on your wedding, Beren?
Beren: [deadpan]
Why stop then? We had
an unbroken record going.
Youngest Ranger:
But that's bad luck!
Beren:
No kidding. You don't
say.
Youngest Ranger: [sad]
That's not the way you
dreamt it would be.
Beren: [gloomy]
It's way worse
than that. She brought that up to me. --One of the things
I never thought of about
having a demi-goddess for a mother-in-law -- the
Queen actually told
her, way back--
[he breaks off]
Youngest Ranger:
Told her what?
Beren: [muttering]
About how I was dreaming
about her when we were in the Pit.
Captain:
But what's wrong with
that?
Beren:
It--
Captain:
There was nothing disrespectful
or inappropriate in it.
Beren: [helplessly]
No, but--
Steward:
Surely you do not imagine
that your lady didn't equally dream of and long
for you? Else why should
she wish to wed you?
Beren: [pleading]
Look, I'm only mortal!
I don't have Elvish attitudes about everything, and--
[breaks off, wincing in humiliation]
Ranger: [agreeably]
Your people are
strange about that. I remember someone --
[to the Soldier]
--your wife belonged
to that school, didn't she? -- theorized that mortals
weren't supposed to
be incarnates and this was one more proof that Morgoth
had given them bodies,
but I never believed that.
Soldier: [nodding]
I don't see how she
could have been right about it: he was able to touch the
Silmaril, after all,
and if mortal flesh were inherently corrupt that oughtn't
have been possible.
--How come Men are so peculiar about something as normal
as the conception of
their own offspring? I've never understood why you all
make such an issue of
it, especially since you need so many of them. Why would
mortal parents want
to pretend to their children that they just happen along
out of thin air--
Ranger:
--or under rocks, don't
forget under rocks--
[Beren covers his face with his hand, laughing in spite of himself]
Soldier:
--even when everyone
knows it isn't true?
First Guard: [musingly]
I think for the same
reason that mortal children want to pretend the same
thing. It's like the
time we were visiting Eithel Sirion and there was a new
human guardsman there
who wanted to know what the celebration was for, and we
told him, and after
he finished coughing and someone fetched him a new drink,
it turned out he thought
we were joking.
Third Guard:
You saying back, "You
mean you don't remember it?" didn't help convince
him otherwise. It was
funny, but we never understood why the High King's
Men would rather congratulate
the Prince on his birth than his conception.
It seemed like silly
semantic games to me.
Second Guard:
We could ask Beren instead
of speculating.
First Guard:
We could, but he'd just
get even more embarrassed than he already is.
[to Beren]
--Of course, I didn't
ask you when your conception-day was, because by then
we knew better, but
I hadn't met very many mortals back when Dor-lomin was
just getting started,
I'd just come back from a few score on the Coast Watch.
[Beren ducks down between the Sindar Ranger and
the Fourth Guard, hiding against
Huan's ruff]
Fourth Guard: [mischievously]
--Speaking of which,
when is yours?
[Beren groans without looking up]
Captain:
He's going into a "fugue
state" again -- why don't you all stop teasing him
about being strange
and let him finish the story?
Youngest Ranger: [indignant]
Beren's not strange,
Sir!
Fourth Guard: [reasonably]
Yes, he is. He's strange
even for a mortal. Perhaps especially for a mortal.
[leaning way over so that he can see Beren's face a little]
But we love him anyway. And we do want to know what happens next.
[pause -- Beren finally lifts his forehead off
Huan's neck and looks at the Guard,
who smiles at him until he finally smiles back,
if rather wanly.]
Beren: [quiet]
There's not much left.
Except us getting killed.
Fourth Guard: [remaining lying across Huan's back as though
the Hound were a log]
So are you going to
tell us how that happened finally?
Beren:
Yeah. It's almost over.
[looks down for a moment]
We rode out from Menegroth
early, and we quartered the district where he
was supposed to have
been last, and it was really strange, being there again,
because he was practically
where I lived all those months, but it was so
different -- the woods
were so quiet, as if even the trees were afraid of
him, no birds, not even
any bugs around, it was spooky. When we caught up
with him he went to
ground in very dense cover, no way could you go in there
and have a chance--
Captain:
Where was it?
Beren:
Um -- you know where
the north edge of the forest is, there's those rocks
where Esgalduin comes
down from the plateau into a gorge?
Captain:
Yes. That ravine's quite
narrow, but it goes back a long way.
Beren:
Right, and it's mostly
thornbrake, with thick sedge growing in between the
branches. So we staked
it out, we were sure he wouldn't have the patience
to stay there, since
he hadn't shown any sort of reasoned behavior before
according to them. But
it was starting to get late in the day, and I was
getting worried because
if it got to be dark, all the advantage was going
to be on Carcaroth's
side--
Captain: [bland]
Out in the night with
an ox-sized werewolf in rough country in a gully so
steep that it's dim
there even at noon -- you don't think that was a good idea?
Beren: [just as innocent]
--I do have reasonable
moments from time to time -- and I kept saying this,
and maybe we ought to
think about trying to fire the thicket, even though that
wasn't a great idea,
and her dad was pointing out that the way the wind was
we'd be completely blinded
by the smoke as well as choked by it and it wouldn't
help, either, and Huan
I guess agreed about the dangers of letting it get too
dark, because all of
the sudden we realized that he wasn't there next to me
any more, but we didn't
see which way he went. And then he--
[tapping Huan's nose]
--starts baying down
in the thickets, and everyone's on edge, even more that
is, looking to see if
we can see them, but we don't until Carcaroth busts out
on our side and comes
rushing up the hill towards us with Huan hot on his tail,
and he's going too fast
for any of the watchers to catch up with him, I think
maybe someone hit him
with an arrow but it didn't slow him any more than a
charging boar, and most
of them went wild, and he didn't seem to know which of
us he was going after,
me or Thingol, but then he goes for her dad and I tried
to block him like he
was a boar,
[gesturing]
--but I fumbled it and
he grabbed me and shook me like a hare and then Huan
jumps on him and he
drops me and they start fighting like a mortal dog going
after a bear, so loud
it made rockfalls come down where the waterfall was,
and the echoes keep
bouncing back overhead until I thought I was going deaf,
and other people start
running up to us but no one can get near the fight,
and Thingol doesn't
answer them when they're asking him if he's hurt, he
doesn't tell them it's
mine, it's like he doesn't even hear them -- he just
keeps staring at me,
holding my hand, like he's trying to ask me something,
only he can't, or like
he knows I'm dying and doesn't want to say it.
Huan:
[loud whines]
First Guard: [upset]
Didn't you take Curufin's
mail? Weren't you wearing it?
[Beren reaches over Huan's head and pulls back the Hound's lip, revealing his fangs.]
Beren:
Two or more times bigger
than that? And jaw strength to go with it? I might
as well have been wearing
just a gambeson.
[He grabs Huan's lower jaw and wrestles gently
with his head, as if the Hound were
a puppy (though a puppy the size of a Kodiak
bear)]
Only difference it made was making it harder for them to to start treating me.
[winces and headshaking all around]
Poor Huan comes staggering
over all stiff-legged to us and lies down next to
me, and he's all torn
up, and he tells me . . .
[he trails off, stroking the Hound's ears. Sadly:]
--You were right about
us having the same Doom. --Then Mablung opened up
Carcaroth and that's
when they saw how badly the Silmaril had burnt him inside,
I heard them talking
about it, but he still risked reaching in to take it,
because he didn't want
me not to have fulfilled my promise because of his
fault. Even if it didn't
really matter anymore. He -- I'm sorry I didn't get
a chance to know him
better.
Captain: [quietly]
Mablung's a good Elf
-- wise and fair-minded as well as brave. Thingol has
some excellent people
working for him.
Beren: [nods]
Yeah. Beleg too. The
one thing that really freaked them was that apparently
my hand was still locked
around the stone--
Fourth Guard:
After all that time?
Beren:
Yeah. It didn't evaporate
until he touched it, and then it was just gone,
bones and everything,
like the jewel was keeping it there.
Steward:
But it burned the Wolf.
Beren:
Weird, huh? So he brought
it over to me really quick, and put it in my hand
and held my arm so that
I could give it to her father, and he didn't even
look at it, he just
kept looking at me, and going, --Why? Then they made a
stretcher for both of
us and carried us back to Menegroth . . . I was glad
they put me next to
him,
even if he couldn't feel it . . . I could almost
pretend it was like
old times, out in the woods.
Ranger:
Was Thingol glad?
Beren: [shaking his head]
Not at all. Nobody was.
Steward:
I imagine he was rather
relieved at the outcome, nevertheless.
Beren:
No. He -- he did change,
even before. He was really upset when he heard about
Curufin shooting me.
Fourth Guard: [scratching Huan's ribs while he talks]
Yes, but you said he
was shooting at the Princess. Don't you think
that
was the reason?
[pause]
Beren: [deliberately]
It would have been easy
-- very easy -- to let me die, then. And he did
everything he could,
to get me back to her, alive. It wasn't his fault
that she couldn't heal
me.
Warrior:
Couldn't they have gotten
you back faster? Why couldn't he have taken you
up before him and ridden
the distance in a quarter of the time?
Captain:
Good point. Why didn't
he?
Beren:
Sir -- I had a collapsed
lung. It wasn't -- just the poison. And all kinds
of crushed ribs and
things torn from when he shook me and -- they hardly
dared to move me onto
the stretcher. It's like the problem of do you pull
an arrow or not if it's
poisoned but an artery's nicked and you can't cauterize
it then and there. If
they jostled me it might of made the bleeding worse.
[pause]
And there was something wrong here--
[touching his sternum]
--and in my back. It -- I shouldn't have lasted an hour.
Captain:
But you did make it
back to her.
[Beren nods]
Beren:
I was barely managing
to keep breathing -- again, it didn't really hurt, not
all that much, they
weren't letting me suffer if they could help it, it was
just that it took so
much effort -- like rolling a big chunk of fieldstone
when it's just you and
nobody else, each time you get it over you think,
"That's it, that's the
last one, I can't do this again --" and then you fling
yourself at it again
until it goes over again, just a little bit farther.
And then we were there,
and -- it was strange, 'cause I shouldn't have been
able to see anything,
by then, I could barely see the flames of the torches
around, but I could
see her, and everyone else, like the way I see you now,
but her the brightest,
even brighter than the stone, and there was light in
the trees as well, especially
in the big one, and I don't know if I was just
hallucinating or what.
It didn't feel like it.
[pause -- the Ten exchange significant looks]
Captain:
You need to tell the
King about that. It sounds like it means something
important, but I'm not
entirely sure what.
Steward:
I concur.
Beren:
Uh--okay.
[pause]
Third Guard: [gently]
Can you please
finish?
Beren:
She came up to us and
put one hand on each of us and looked at me, and I
tried to tell her --
everything -- I was sorry, and for her not to be unhappy,
and it wasn't her fault
she couldn't save me this time -- but I couldn't,
I -- I didn't have words
any more, and she just said, "I know. I love you
too." And she told me
to wait for her here, and then she kissed me. And then
it didn't hurt
. . . it was just . . . strange . . . I was pulled along --
whatever I was
-- in the wind like a leaf in Fall -- I couldn't even have
thought of resisting
if I'd wanted to. And when I'd gotten here I . . . I
just waited in the dark.
That was the only thing I could do, until Huan
came for me and started
taking care of me, and things started coming back.
And these people I couldn't
really see -- they were just lights and voices,
but that might have
just been me -- they kept coming and asking me what I
was doing, or what I
thought I was doing, and telling me to move, and I
couldn't do what they
wanted because I had to wait.
[he breaks off, sounding very frayed at the recollection.
Huan leans up and
shoves his nose in Beren's ear, keening. Into
Huan's fur:]
Good boy. --You're my good boy.
[to the Ten:]
I'm sorry. I'm acting so stupid about it.
[long silence]
Steward:
We weren't alone.
--Except for him.
[nodding towards the Soldier]
Soldier: [shaking his head]
That was only a little
while. And Lady Nia was with me for most of it.
Beren: [wiping his eyes]
So . . . you're really
all right? I know he said, but . . .
Steward:
We've no complaints.
[several of the Ten exchange ironic Looks at that]
Soldier: [smiling at Beren]
Especially not now.
Captain:
It's too quiet, but
that's all. After the Gaurhoth, we're not inclined to
gripe about the scenery
being dull or the subdued quality of experience here.
Beren: [glancing up at the shadowy vaulting]
I thought maybe I was
missing things, but it sounds like it really isn't all
that much more, uh,
detailed,
than what I can make out.
Ranger: [looking over at the Soldier]
We had a bet going that
it was boring on purpose so that people won't
malinger, but that turned
out not to be the case.
Beren:
And Finrod isn't bored
crazy by it?
Captain:
He's a very hard person
to bore. When it gets dull he comes up with
something interesting
to do.
Third Guard:
And then no one's
bored. Though it usually means we get into trouble.
Beren:
You seem so -- unfazed
by the idea now.
Soldier: [shrugs]
What are they going
to do? Lady Vaire lectures us, or Lord Namo lectures us,
or they both give us
disappointed looks, and we apologize, and it's fine
till next time. There's
not much of a big deal about it any more.
Youngest Ranger: [quietly]
--At least not for you.
Captain:
I haven't noticed you
remaining non-participant in any of his schemes.
Youngest Ranger: [frowning at his commander]
--Of course not.
Captain:
Well, then. But it is
true, many people are much more upset at getting
scolded than we are,
and much more worried that some unnamed something
is going to happen to
them.
Beren:
Has it ever?
Captain:
Aside from being told
to go away and think about things until one is fit
for Elven society again?
Not often. Or ever.
Second Guard:
Except for us.
Warrior:
Yes, but we're insane.
Everyone knows that.
Beren: [worried]
What happened to you
guys?
Second Guard:
Lady Vaire lost her
temper.
Beren:
And?
Second Guard:
She yelled. And broke
a lamp. Though that was by accident, she was pounding
against the door frame
and didn't look.
Beren:
That's it?
Second Guard:
That's it.
Captain:
But you must understand,
the Weaver has never, ever lost her temper in the
entire course of earth's
history. No one -- including the demigods who work
here -- can remember
her raising her voice. Or banging on things. It was
very distressing.
Steward:
Though the circumstances
were rather amusing. The timing of it, at the least.
Captain:
I thought you didn't
think any of it was funny.
Steward:
There is a difference
between being amused and howling like a loon.
Beren:
What was funny about
it?
Captain:
Certain persons were
taking exception to our attitude, and--
Beren:
What's wrong with your
attitude?
Captain:
Oh, we don't know how
to behave at all. We sing ridiculous songs--
Soldier:
--And make jokes.
Steward: [pointedly]
--And a few individuals
have been known to use deeply offensive language
from time to time.
Fourth Guard:
And we haven't gone
through the normal stages of "denial" and "anger"
and "resignation" and
"acceptance."
Captain:
Though someone
seems to be stuck at resignation.
Fourth Guard:
I mean, what's to deny?
"No, I didn't get eaten by a wolf-demon?" And
little point in being
angry about it now, is there?
Ranger:
We occasionally use
weird sentence constructions and peculiar expressions
picked up from some
backwoods barbarians we met in the North Country.
First Guard:
And all in all we're
a strange and incomprehensible and uncouth lot, and a
bad example to the rest.
Captain:
--But according to certain
core members of the sort-of following of Feanor,
we're also pathetic
pets and grovelling lackeys of the Powers, which is why
we're so repellently
cheerful and unconcerned about the things they stress over.
Warrior:
--Like who interrupted
whom in front of whomever else, back before they
were exiled to Formenos.
I mean, really -- that was over five hundred
years ago, and some
of the people they're talking about are still in
Beleriand, so they can't
speak for themselves, and who really gives a
damn, any more, anyways?
--Criminetlies!!
Captain:
--Which obscure mortal
idiom would be taken as a pointed insult, and I'd
probably have to end
up skewering someone before the conversation was over,
if I'd said that. So
there was nattering along that vein, and His Majesty
was continuing to play
and pretending not to hear any of it, and I'd taken
my blade and put it
on the table, as a little reminder, because sooner or
later Himself ignoring
it was going to push someone's temper past flashpoint
and I don't consider
it drawing first to simply point out that I'm there,
I'm paying attention,
and if you lay a discourteous hand on him I'm going
to chop it off.
Steward:
The High King hates
it when you do that, you know.
Captain:
Yes, but he hates it
even more when I hit offenders with the board or the
pieces, or the table.
Lesser of evils and so forth. Besides, what really
irritates him is when
I make suggestions as to what he should have done to
win. And right at that
moment the Lady of the Halls storms in like the wrath
of Osse shouting "Finrod
Ingold Finarfinion, WHAT have you done to my house?!?"
A number of people vanished
right then and there, and the ones who wanted to
stay and see us get
into trouble made themselves scarce when glass started
breaking. And Himself
shouts back, "I did what you told me to do!" and they
go back and forth for
a bit until milady hit the sconce trying to emphasize
the point that we were
to leave the walls alone, supporting walls or not.
Beren:
I see what you mean
about the timing.
Captain:
Then she became extremely
upset, and the King offered to try to fix it for
her, and she threw the
bits at us and left.
Beren:
Ouch.
Captain:
Oh, matters worsened
after that. When people started coming back to see if
we'd been thrown in
the dungeon -- there isn't one, but try convincing anyone
of that by logical means
like maps --
Fourth Guard: [scratching Huan between the shoulderblades]
--Though she could make
one, I suppose, if we bother her enough --
Captain:
--the Lady came back
as well and saw that we'd made a basin to stop the dew
from running all over
the floor and that Himself was not only trying to mend
it but had gotten a
few of the smaller breaks back together, and she kneels
down next to us and
starts apologizing for losing her temper and finishes
fixing the lamp, and
he apologizes in turn, and tries to convince her to let
him keep on working
on it, and this goes on until it's almost as annoying as
you two, and they parted
company ruffled and exasperated but not furious.
Beren:
That doesn't sound like
grovelling, though. Not really. That's kind of like
a border dispute, when
you both claim it's really your fault.
[pause]
I'm not sure what I'm trying to say. I didn't want to usurp his authority.
Captain:
There is truth
in your words, though. It does become a contest of pride and
will. Not that anyone
in the present company knows anything about that.
Beren:
So why does he just
stick around for them to insult him?
Captain:
That doesn't happen
as often any more, I must confess.
Ranger: [innocent]
Can't imagine why, Sir.
Captain:
But it's hard to hide
here, if you don't want to be invisible and inaudible
and blend into the background.
The more -- interesting one is, the more other
people tend to cluster
'round, just to see what will happen next. Or to ask
advice, or his opinion,
or just to listen to him talk about things.
Steward:
That, too, is little
different from the world Outside.
Captain:
He isn't really cut
out to be a hermit, however much he might like to pretend
to himself that he is.
[pause]
Beren:
Nope.
[he suddenly shivers and looks around a bit wildly]
Captain:
What?
Beren: [low voice]
I think there's someone
else in the room. But I can't see anyone.
Captain:
Very likely.
Beren:
You can't tell?
Captain:
No more than you. Not
if they choose to remain thus.
[softly, to the room at large]
--You're welcome to join
us, you know. We're not as dangerous as everyone
says we are--
Warrior:
--though twice as crazy--
Captain:
--don't listen to him,
it's thrice -- but you're just as welcome to stay as
you are. --All of you.
Beren:
How many could there
be?
[the Ten shrug]
--But there could be other -- ghosts, here.
Steward:
You needn't fear them.
Beren:
I'm not -- Okay. I am.
[shaking his head]
It's stupid, but I--
I'm still mortal. I still have those old superstitions,
even if I am one now.
Youngest Ranger: [troubled]
Are you afraid of us?
Beren: [snorting]
Of course not!
Captain: [shrugs]
Sometimes they are
spies and mean us ill. It doesn't matter. We have nothing
to hide, they won't
find any discreditable murders in our pasts, and there
aren't any secret "tricks"
to our winning: it's a few hundred years more of
hard fighting and training
together combined with in-depth analysis of
the situations.
Steward:
Most of them are simply
unready. Occasionally they join us, at least for
a little, and it does
them good.
Captain:
And us.
[Beren gives him a bemused look]
The King was utterly
shattered when he arrived -- the thought of you being
reserved for prolonged
torment as a result of his mistakes was more than he
could bear. Lady Nia
was the only one who could get through to him, and even
that was just bringing
him to the point where he was willing to talk, not
moving beyond that.
He spent most of the time insubstantial, or nearly so,
and if any of us tried
to reach him when he wasn't, he'd vanish. --Until
the news came of your
escape.
Steward:
We were speaking of
matters -- and of yourself, milord -- and much to my
astonishment I was seized
by someone who had not been manifest but a moment
previously and it demanded
of me to tell, at once, whether indeed it was of
yourself we were conversing.
And after the initial shock had passed and the
confused account set
somewhat in order, we hastened to find our lord and
inform him.
[pause]
Captain: [half-smile]
What he's not saying
is that he almost shoved the Lady right out of the way
and quite forgot to
apologize after. I've never seen anyone rattle him the
way you do. --Sorry,
I didn't mean to break in.
Steward:
Of course not -- you
never even notice that you're doing so.
Captain: [encouraging]
Keep going.
Steward:
Why? You'll merely interrupt
again in another sentence or two.
[the Captain grimaces and shakes his head]
Captain:
All right, then. --So
Edrahil catches hold of him by the shoulders shouting,
"He's safe -- it's all
right, he's safe," and Himself, too surprised to
disappear, hears this
and says, "Perhaps she'll forgive me, then," and we're
trying to explain that
it isn't what he thinks, and that takes a bit, and then
a little longer for
him to grasp it, and then all of the sudden he's back,
and he says, "Well then,
I suppose I should leave off mourning and go pay my
respects to the Lord
and Lady of the Halls and then to my kindred. But not,
I think, like this,
or they'll think I'm a most confused Wild Man," and Edrahil
says, "Oh, I doubt that
very much -- I understand the Laughing Folk are far
more particular about
their appearance," and--
Steward:
I did not--
Captain:
Yes, you did.
Steward: [piqued]
Not like that.
Captain:
No, I can't quite do
that tone of yours, it's inimitable. And he bursts out
laughing and says, "Help
me get presentable, then, will you?" and had him braid
his hair the way Lady
Earwen used to, in the Teler fashion, or as close as we
could remember it, and
attired himself after the manner that was his habit when
visiting her parents,
in Alqualonde, and had word sent to Lord Namo and Lady
Vaire that he was ready
to speak to them.
Beren:
That sounds like it's
supposed to be some kind of statement. Is it?
Captain: [nodding]
He's gotten over his
guilt about the Kinslaying entirely.
Third Guard:
Getting killed for it
seems to have thoroughly exorcised it, for all of us.
[quietly]
--It hurt so much seeing
him like that and not being able to do anything . . .
we were afraid he'd
stay that way until you had to be dead, one way or another.
Steward:
Meeting and speaking
with those of the Kinslain who are still here has helped
as well, I think. And
so we went out to meet those who are here, and he shone
so brightly that some
thought him Eonwe come to bear word from Taniquetil, and
all were astonished
when he came to pay respect to his uncle, for none had the
slightest notion he
-- or we -- had even arrived here, for the duration of his
time in sorrow. His
spirit dimmed with the Lady Amarie's refusal, --but your
coming has given him
more heart than even the organization of the Battles.
[Beren looks away, embarrassed]
Beren: [changing the subject]
How did he send her
messages, anyway? I thought no one could leave here.
I mean, except being
sent by Lord Mandos.
Captain:
Well, the people who
work here can.
Beren:
People?
Captain:
The Powers are people,
don't you agree?
Beren:
Well, yeah, of course
-- but -- he didn't have Mandos himself running errands
for him, did he?!?
Captain:
Of course not. I think
he asked one of the security staff to deliver it on
the way to Everwhite.
It might have been one of Lady Vaire's spinners.
Ranger: [respectful but unhesitating]
No, sir, it was the
Weaver's handmaiden who brought the reply back. Remember?
She was very apologetic
about bearing bad news.
[pause]
Beren:
You're making it sound
like the -- the Ainur? -- are hearthguards and
maidservants going on
holiday and visiting their families and gossiping.
Just like a great hall's
household back home.
[silence]
--Because it's like that?
[nods all round]
Heh.
[shakes his head, laughing at himself.]
Okay. Who's Eonwe? I'm
trying to remember and I just can't. Is he the guy
who makes storms?
Soldier:
No, that's Osse. Eonwe's
the chief royal courier of the gods. Kind of like
Lord Edrahil only not
as particular about everything.
[the Steward sighs]
Beren:
Oh. --Now, when you
say, "his uncle," you mean the late High King, right?
Not Feanor? I've been
assuming that's what you meant, but . . .
Captain:
Since Feanor doesn't
want to acknowledge the rest of his family, and since
nobody ever sees him
anyway, it's simpler just to distinguish them that way.
Beren:
Why doesn't anyone see
him? Is -- is he kept locked up?
Warrior:
He refuses to mingle
with us lesser beings. We don't merit his condescension.
Third Guard:
--And he's a raving
lunatic.
Steward:
Even his most loyal
followers have had to accept that the eldest son of Finwe
inhabits a world entirely
of his own construction which bears very little
resemblance to the Arda
that the rest of us have experienced. A small group
-- not coincidentally
the same that are most vehemently aggressive towards
our lord -- persist
in maintaining that it is merely the height of his genius
and the depth of his
griefs which keep him isolated in his meditations, beyond
the ability of mere
Eldar to comprehend, though one rather doubts that they
fully believe it; but
the rest have resigned themselves to the situation which
obtained in Beleriand,
where absent their respective lords, they acknowledge
the headship of the
High King and do as they please.
Captain:
Except for the others
-- sorry.
Steward: [austere]
I was about to say --
Saving those who have attached themselves to the
following of Felagund,
or would, did he choose to engage in such rituals of
authority, and not hold
them empty forms and to no purpose.
Beren:
Now I'm getting confused
again. --Still.
Steward:
Since we are dead, and
no longer in Middle-earth, he asserts that it is
futile for him to name
himself King, and will not claim the title. Yet all
award it to him regardless.
Beren:
And people do what he
says. Sounds like he's still King.
Steward:
It grows complicated,
because in the past decade those of his and his brothers'
followings who came
at the Sudden Flame have attached themselves to the
following of Fingolfin
-- yet, on the other hand, that is in essence the
selfsame circumstance
that prevailed in Beleriand. So now that he is here,
many would resume their
earlier ordering, -- yet again, he will not claim it,
in part because he wishes
no strife with his uncle, and it is a small trouble
between them that so
many -- even of the High King's own following -- incline
to ask him first for
advice, since Fingolfin has little inclination for
anything saving the
chess-table.
Beren:
So he's pretending that
he's just an ordinary citizen of the Halls like
anyone else, and you're
claiming that he's still the King and you're still his
vassals -- and most
people agree with you all. Even a bunch of the Feanorians.
Steward:
Concisely and correctly
put.
Beren: [not asking]
That's why, isn't it?
That's the real reason the Feanorians -- or some of
them -- are so angry
at him, isn't it. Because he's taken over again without
even trying. Or wanting
to.
Captain:
Nail on the head, lad.
The mind that comes up with short-notice plans for
heisting a Silmaril
or three isn't likely to rest content in idleness, and
he can't help but tangle
everyone else along after him, either for or against.
That's the real issue
-- that he's shaken everything up, and and not everyone
is happy about it.
[pause. Wistful:]
--Would it have worked?
Beren:
Sorry, what have
worked--?
Captain:
The plan -- could it
have been possible to carry it out, do you think?
Beren:
Oh.
[pause]
You know, I'm still not
sure. I -- it was hard to observe much when we were
there, we had to focus
on what we were doing and, and . . . it was so strange,
I -- I really couldn't
tell you. Maybe. It certainly would have a better chance
of working than a frontal
assault, on account of how that would have no chance
whatsoever.
Captain:
You don't think so?
Not even with a concerted effort by the Armies?
Beren: [earnestly]
When the guy loses his
temper,
earthquakes happen. This is definitely not
someone you want to
be around indoors if you're getting him mad. --And the
place was full of
Balrogs!!!
First Guard:
How many?
Beren: [thinking]
Er, four?
[defensive]
--They take up a lot of space.
Warrior:
One Balrog is too much.
At a distance.
Youngest Ranger: [softly]
I ran. I lost my bow.
Ranger:
You threw it away to
pick up Halmir.
Youngest Ranger: [bleak]
It didn't do any good.
Ranger:
That wasn't your
fault. How many times has he told you that? Get over it!
[the Sindar Ranger looks away, biting his lip.
Huan stretches over and licks
his hand, begging for a nose-scratch, until
he gets it. To Beren:]
I don't understand why
you felt you had to go to Menegroth after all. Not
after you recovered.
Beren: [shaking his head]
Because I couldn't take
care of myself, let alone Tinuviel.
Ranger:
Why not?
Beren: [gesturing with his right arm]
Like this? How
much use is a one-handed ranger? I can't shoot, I can barely
climb -- I can't even
use a sword or a spear properly now--
Ranger: [trying to be helpful]
But couldn't you have
switched to your left hand? You couldn't use a shield,
but if you were fast
enough -- you must have trained with either hand in
the past?
Beren: [almost shouting]
Look, I couldn't do
it, okay? I'm not bloody Maedhros, dammit! My balance
was all off and I--
[he stops abruptly. There is a shocked silence]
Captain: [carefully]
I don't remember anyone
here saying a word about Feanor's eldest.
[Beren looks away, biting his lip]
Sounds like someone has, though.
Beren: [ragged]
Things have been rough
these past few weeks. She said -- and I tried but --
and I said -- and--
[he breaks off]
Captain:
Lad, it's more likely
that someday they'll be comparing Maedhros to you.
[Beren snorts at that suggestion]
--You went into Angband
of your own will. You didn't turn into a gibbering
wreck at your first
sight of Balrogs, plural. You got one of the Silmarils,
and if circumstances
hadn't ambushed you you'd have gotten all of them. You
got out of Angband alive.
--And you're human.
Beren:
I was rescued. And I
lost the stone. And I shouldn't have done it given
what happened.
Captain:
Regardless -- you
recovered a Silmaril. None of us in the whole span of time
since the Return can
make such a claim. Whatever else happened after --
nothing can take that
away.
Beren:
She did it all mostly
-- and Huan. I can't claim any credit.
[Huan makes a grumbling sound and looks sad]
Captain:
Would they have done
it if it weren't for you?
[Beren rests his forehead on Huan's neck]
Beren: [muffled]
I should have been in
the cairn with Da and the others.
Captain: [musing]
You know, you used to
say that all the time, and I always wondered -- who
were you thinking was
going to bury you? Because you realize, if you'd been
killed by the strike
team, you wouldn't have been able to bury yourself.
That never made sense
to me.
[Silence --Beren straightens and gives him a Look]
--Well?
Beren: [annoyed]
It was a figure of speech.
Captain: [nodding]
Ah. I see. Metaphorical
and so forth.
[Beren abruptly reaches out his hand]
Beren: [through gritted teeth]
--Would you pass me
that bottle?
[as he takes a pull from the canteen the Captain
reaches over and jogs his
elbow, hard]
Captain: [innocently]
So is it real, or not?
[spluttering, Beren nods, wiping his face on his sleeve.]
Ranger:
I don't know if that
was a good idea, Sir.
Captain:
No, I'm safe, he's feeling
far too guilty to try anything back right now.
[Beren tries to say something, but is still choking too much to be intelligible]
Ranger:
--That's what I meant,
Sir.
[but Beren only grins, partly coughing and partly
laughing now, as he braces the
flask against his knee and works the cap back
on with his remaining hand]
Steward: [ignoring the silliness]
What is the reason behind
the difficulties that are being raised over your
remaining here with
Her Highness of Doriath? Or have any been given?
Beren: [between coughs]
Because I'm not supposed
to be here. It's against the law. --Is there anyone
else in history who's
been declared outlaw by the Powers on both sides?
Captain:
But you're not causing
any trouble. --Unlike certain other residents.
[glances at the Steward]
Including, yes, ourselves.
Beren: [passing the flask back]
Not like starting small
indoor wars, no, but they were really put out with
me -- with us -- for
staking out a pillar in the hallway and refusing to move
until she came.
Soldier:
--Perhaps we wore out
their patience for people holding vigils in the corridor?
Captain:
But you waiting quietly
in a corner doesn't seem to be much in the way of problems!
Steward:
I doubt that that is
presently the source of the difficulty, however much it
might have negatively
influenced attitudes towards Lord Beren from the outset.
Beren: [shrugs]
It's the Law. They kept
saying things like, "You're human, and you're dead --
you don't belong in
the world any more, go home!" I felt like a stray dog that
had wandered into somebody's
house to sit by the fire -- at least nobody threw
any kindling-wood at
me.
Youngest Ranger:
That's like me.
Beren: [bewildered]
Why you?
Youngest Ranger:
Not on, like
you -- but back.
[Beren still looks confused]
I don't want to be reborn in Beleriand.
[Beren just looks at him. A bit defensively:]
And it isn't that I'm
afraid of what could happen to me -- I don't want to
lose everyone, and forget.
[he glances around at them, a little embarrassed,
but resolute. The other nine
look sympathetic, but also a bit resigned.]
Beren:
But that's the land
that belongs to your people. You don't mind giving that up?
Youngest Ranger: [stubbornly]
These are my
people. This is where I belong.
Warrior: [trying to reassure]
You know, I think you're
worrying about nothing. I don't think they even know
you're here. No one's
said anything to you, have they?
Captain:
Oh, they know
all right. They're just choosing not to be aware of it, because
then they don't have
to do anything about it. --Like the time that Lieutenant
Telumnar refused to
accept that no, he could not in fact fire all the way across
the Ginglith at that
point and that the enemy patrols were well aware of it,
until he'd wasted all
his ammunition shooting over -- into -- the gorge, and
then after you'd all
let him panic for a bit everyone contributed a couple of
arrows so that Supply
wouldn't notice anything outside of Normal Use requisitions.
Ranger: [astounded]
You knew about that?
--We -- thought you didn't know, sir.
Captain:
Of course I -- didn't
know about it. If I had, I would have had to take Official
Notice and say tiresome
things about it. Instead, you got a useful problem-solving
exercise and Telumnar
got a valuable lesson, namely, don't assume that the same
conditions of terrain
apply everywhere in Arda, and listen to the people who've
been dealing with it
longer, even if they are younger than you.
[pause -- the Youngest Ranger mutters something
that sounds suspiciously like
"Told you so--"]
Too bad that he had to
learn that lesson repeatedly. I swear the High King
shoved him off on us
to cut down on their own casualties. Who was it -- wasn't
he the same idiot who
got one of those foolish things in Dor-lomin and didn't
realize it wouldn't
last?
[deafening silence]
Oh. Don't tell me you
were all stupid enough to do that? You're not supposed
to have little bits
of soot or whatever under your skin -- couldn't you have
guessed that it would
work its way out in a yen or less? I suppose Telumnar
was the only one who
made a fuss about the whole affair. It figures.
[to Beren]
What are those things called? The designs they do with pins?
Beren:
--Tattoos? That was
something they used to do in Hithlum. It was considered
kind of barbaric by
my great-grandparents' day.
Captain: [nods]
That would be about
the right time. Personally, I never enjoyed getting
stitched up so much
that I'd voluntarily have sharp pointed objects stuck in
me for no good reason,
but I suppose there's no accounting for -- stupidity.
[the others groan and roll their eyes. Enter
two Elven shades, both sharing a
strongly similar air of confidence, not arrogance
per se, but an assumption of
command and belonging, as well as a family resemblance.
After glancing around
and determining that no Powers are to be seen,
they stride over to the group.
The Ten rise respectfully, Beren following their
example, but there are worried
expressions on many faces as they come down
off the hill.]
Steward: [bowing]
My lords.
Beren: [whispering]
--Who are they?
Youngest Ranger: [also whispering]
Trouble.
[the newcomers stand with folded arms, giving
the Ten looks of impatience,
annoyance and dislike. Jude Law and Ethan Hawke
(Gattaca) might be cast as
these siblings.]
Angrod:
What is going
on? Has anyone got the least inkling of a clue? Or is this
just the usual muddle
of rumour, guesswork, and half-truths being passed
off as information?
Aegnor: [staring at the Hill]
And what in Arda is
this
mess? Are you trying to get yourselves thrown out
after all?
Captain: [to Angrod]
Your Highness, I take
offense at that. My people have always been scrupulous
in distinguishing between
certainty, uncertainty, and conjecture.
Angrod: [nastily]
For all the good it
did you.
[Aegnor sees Beren and freezes]
Captain:
Sir, for the respect
I hold your brother, I will not challenge nor accept
challenge of you, and
you know it.
Aegnor: [flatly]
Starless Grinding Ice.
It's him.
Angrod:
So where is my
brother, then? --Who?
Captain:
He went to find the
King your uncle, but--
Aegnor: [snarl]
--Him.
[Angrod turns in mid-snap and stops, open-mouthed,
the look of exasperation
changing to equal parts
surprise & revulsion]
Angrod:
Ah. What in the name
of Morgoth is -- he --
[shaking his head in dismay]
--doing here?!
Beren:
Um--
Captain: [giving no ground]
He's dead.
Angrod:
--He's also mortal, if that
information has somehow also escaped your notice.
Captain: [pleasantly]
Really? You don't say.
--He's also married to your cousin, which is a
complicating factor.
[stunned silence]
Angrod: [flat]
Your sense of humour
has not been improved by your too-brief sojourn here.
Captain:
No jest at all, my lord.
[the brothers look at each other, still unsure,
and then back at the Ten, and
then at Beren, then at the Captain]
Angrod:
What do you mean, "married"--?
Captain:
What is usually meant
by the word, of course.
Aegnor:
You are joking.
Captain: [shaking his head]
Far from it.
[Aegnor turns a blazing look on Beren]
Angrod:
You mean to say this
--
mortal -- dared to claim her after all that's transpired?
Captain:
Milords, he can hardly
be blamed for the accident of his birth.
Angrod:
He can be blamed for
everything else. --For killing my brother.
[Beren cringes; the two other Rangers silently
move in in a protective angle,
flanking him, ready to pull him back inside
the safety of the group if it gets
any uglier]
--For daring to set greedy
and lustful hands on the noblest lady of our
people -- if not black
magic as well.
Captain: [sharply]
--Now then, my lord.
Whatever your feelings on the affair, you have no right
to denigrate the love
between the Beoring and her Highness.
Angrod: [grimly]
They aren't like us.
They change their mates as easily as we would our
cloaks. If you're going
to call the relations of Men "love," you might as
well speak of the "weddings"
of cattle!
[simultaneously with the other two replying,
almost together, Aegnor clears his
throat and his brother looks briefly shamefaced]
Captain:
Unjust, sir, as well
as untrue, and unworthy of--
Beren: [upset]
--No, I love
Tinuviel.
Not just her voice, not just her body, not just her
soul -- I love
her.
And I always will.
[quiet voice]
And I didn't want the King to die because of me, even though it was my fault.
Angrod: [addressing Beren for the first time]
Then why didn't you
kill yourself at once before involving him, and spare
everyone the catastrophe
of your existence?
[Beren flinches back and the Rangers step forward,
protectively. Huan gets up
from where he is lying on the hill and growls,
a long, low, warning snarl, his
hackles rising. The Princes are given pause.]
Steward:
Your Highness, I believe
you twain were seeking your brother --
Angrod:
And I believe, sir,
that you have no idea where he is.
Steward:
As you were informed,
he is seeking after your uncle -- and, one presumes,
endeavoring to evade
the wrath of Lady Amarie meanwhile.
[pause]
Angrod:
Don't tell me Amarie's
dead, too.
Steward:
No: merely, as has been
given to me to understand, intensely furious with my lord for having gotten
himself killed and having left her -- in that order of precedence and not
of chronology, needless to say -- and with everyone else remotely connected
with those two incidents. I much misdoubt any more clemency upon -- us
-- than was granted on that Night in Tirion.
[the brothers share a wary look]
I do recollect her words to you as well as I recall mine own receivéd reproaches -- as, surely, does she. Perhaps you would wish to fortify your minds in preparation of response, anticipating a resumption where we all left off, with I am sure additional grievances as yet unanticipated . . . because the Lady is said to be seeking the recourse of this place's Powers, and it's most likely that her path shall find her here.
[Aegnor gives a disgusted snort, but Angrod looks
somewhat more uncertain -- it
would seem that the memories of the fight are
not diminished or pleasant. After
a brief hesitation they pull themselves together
and stride out -- but not without
a parting shot:]
Aegnor: [over his shoulder, to Beren]
--Edain.
[Beren recoils as if slapped, closing his eyes.
There is a long silence after the
sons of Finarfin have gone.]
Beren: [softly]
They were my heroes
when I was a kid.
Captain:
It is not your
fault, lad. They would be as angry if it were only us without
you here.
[but there are uncertain looks exchanged around them.]
Beren:
How did they know who
I was?
Captain: [half-smile]
You're so obviously
a Beoring to anyone who's known your people. The Princes
knew your father, uncle
and cousins, and your grandfather, and -- And the rest
of your family, going
way back. There's no mistaking you.
[sighing]
Not to mention that --
unfortunately -- there isn't anyone else left that
you could be.
Beren: [nodding]
They knew all my ancestors
-- and then they died fighting for our country -- and
I lose it all, and get
him
killed. Actually, considering -- they were a lot more
polite than they could
have been. Considering.
Steward:
It -- is more complicated
than that. --Considerably.
[The Captain gives the Steward a long, meaningful look over Beren's head]
Beren:
How? What could be worse
than that?
Steward: [ignoring the Captain's silent plea]
Our lord's brother --
that is, Prince Aegnor -- was once in love with a lady
of your people.
[Beren looks from him to the others, realizes that this is completely serious]
Beren: [stunned]
A mortal?
[the Elf-lord nods]
What happened? Did she die?
Steward:
Not then.
Beren:
So -- what was
it? --Did her family forbid it?
Steward:
Whether they would have
objected or no, it never reached the point where
such a question would
have arisen.
Beren:
Did his? But
-- their father wasn't here, he didn't come over with you, so who?
[The youngest Ranger starts to say something
but doesn't quite manage before Beren
starts talking again,
and subsides]
Wait -- Finrod was head
of the House -- H--He didn't tell them they couldn't,
don't say that--
Steward:
No one forbade it. It
was broken off voluntarily, without outside
interference -- saving,
perhaps, the influence of the Enemy.
Beren:
Morgoth broke
up their relationship?
Steward: [shaking his head]
I was speaking metaphysically.
Only in the sense of the wider Marring,
destroying and damaging
things in the world before they have a chance . . .
[pause]
Beren:
You're keeping something
back. Why are you playing guessing games with me?
[he looks from one to another of them -- they
don't look away, but none of the
Ten can bring themselves to answer. Finally:]
Steward:
She was a Beoring.
Beren: [frowning]
Someone from Dorthonion?
Captain:
Someone of your House.
Beren: [shock]
Who?
Captain:
It was a long time ago,
lad. Before you were born.
Beren:
Not -- not Ma?
I know my parents married kind of late, but -- I would have
-- they would have --
someone
would have said something over the years--
Steward: [quickly]
No, no -- not Emeldir.
Long
before you were born.
Beren:
Then -- why -- I don't
understand -- if no one -- why?
Captain:
Because Aegnor,
I'm sorry, is a--
Steward: [cutting him off]
--Don't.
Captain:
You don't know what
I was going to say.
Steward:
Either "coward" or "fool,"
and the matter is significantly more complicated
than that. --Am I not
right?
Captain: [shrugs]
Well, actually, "--blithering
idiot."
Steward:
Near enough.
[to Beren]
--It can be of minimal
consolation, but -- I did not enjoy being rebuked
by milord either.
Beren:
The Prince yelled at
you too? Why?
Steward: [bleakly]
Because I made a jocular
comment to the effect that, if matters in Middle-earth
were anything to go
by, his attractiveness, far from being diminished by having
left and come back,
would be enhanced by the exotic aura of travel and danger
-- a renowned adventurer,
instead of merely "one of Feanor's youngest half-
nephews," -- and that
eventually, once we were let out, the intrinsic interest
would outshine the tarnish
of rebellion and could hardly fail to impress
whichever lady he wished
to win. Lord Aegnor was not amused. As you might put
it, I "had my ears ripped
good" for it. He did apologize, once he realized that
I had no notion of why
he was so infuriated, but the apology was nearly as
distressing as the offense.
Captain: [earnest]
I would have
told you, if I hadn't been sworn to secrecy.
Steward.
I don't blame you.
Captain:
I wish you wouldn't
blame
him, either.
Steward: [dispassionate]
The issue is resolved.
I understand why he chose to keep it entirely within
the family and to seal
all the intelligence files on the affair even after the
deaths of his Highness
and Lady Andreth. I simply disagree. I am well aware
that at least a modicum
of my disagreement stems from personal discomfiture at
having been kept in
the dark, and the King is well aware of my views on the
matter. End of subject.
[The Captain looks away in distress]
Beren:
Wait a minute -- you
mean
my great-aunt Andreth? An'-the-Deep-Minded?
[silent nods of affirmation]
Beren:
The Prince was engaged
to
my aunt?
Captain:
Well, not betrothed
per se. He lost his nerve before it got that far.
Beren:
Prince Aegnor -- and
my
aunt?
Captain: [nods]
Just as true as the
first time you said it, lad.
Beren:
But--
[shakes his head]
How come I never heard about it?
Captain:
It wasn't common knowledge.
They were both very private people and unlike
yourselves, no one ever
made a public spectacle of their relationship.
Beren:
But someone must
of known. --People gossip. Stuff gets talked about.
Steward:
I did not know,
and I was contemporary to it, though indeed not present for
the most part. I should
guess that some few of the Lady's close kin were
aware, and that such
as were, chose not to speak of it for consideration of
her feelings. After
all, what was to be said? No promises were made, hence
none broken, no public
disrespect given, it was a private matter -- at least
at the point beyond
which it did not progress -- and for many reasons, not
least of which I hazard
the uncertainty of what, in the end, should be said,
I guess that few should
wish to think on it, let alone discuss the matter.
Beren: [dangerous]
--What reasons?
[silence -- the Steward looks towards the Captain]
Captain: [shaking his head, sadly]
That's your department,
not mine.
Steward: [sighing]
The complication of
vassal to lord, your House being liege to the Princes as
well as to King Finrod,
and all that that entails -- which might have yet been
insufficient, had Lord
Aegnor broken betrothal, and that publicly, so that your
great-grandfather should
have been compelled to address the matter in open
counsel, or seek redress
for his sister's disdaining even to the King's own
court. But since that
did not happen, far easier to let it be.
Beren:
That's one reason.
[pause]
Steward:
The other -- which is
all the rest -- is -- Time. That the Prince should continue,
in outward seeming at
the least, unchanged, while the Lady endured the encroachments
of her mortality, would
surely have silenced any whose hearts urged them to protest
otherwise. --Or so I
must hazard, in absence of evidence.
[Beren is completely quiet. Abruptly he sits down on the floor.]
Captain:
Are you all right?
Beren:
No.
[he gives a short laugh]
So -- after all that
-- I show up, too dumb to figure it out for myself, or to
get the hints the universe
kept throwing at me, that, hey, this is not possible,
deal with it, and --
no wonder he didn't think it was the best thing for either
of us. But -- what d'ye
know, I had to go and prove him right.
[fiercely]
I should have died at Aeluin.
[Huan whines and paws at his knee]
Captain: [aside]
--Damn all oaths to
Angband!
Beren: [ragged]
I know. --The world
is a horrible place.
Captain:
You don't need to tell
us that.
Beren:
It's like -- every time
I think it can't get worse, -- it does. I -- I --
[he slumps sideways, bracing unsteadily on his
elbow, letting his head hang down.
Alarmed, the Captain kneels and tries to lift
him upright, but Beren only leans
against him, unable to support himself]
Captain:
Beren--
Beren: [looking up but not tracking at all.]
Sir--?
Captain: [very worried]
Can you see me?
Beren: [thinly]
Not well. . . . It feels
like I'm going into shock.
Captain:
But you can't go into
shock, now--
[to the Steward]
--Can he?
Beren: [closing his eyes]
It's like -- everything's
not real. Or I'm not real. And I just want to go away.
[pause]
And I'm cold.
Guard: [appalled]
He's fading.
Warrior:
But how? He's
already dead!
Steward: [quietly]
Because this Shore is
not
where he is called.
Captain: [urgent]
Beren -- look
at me. You have to stay focused. You can't give in. It isn't that
bad.
Ranger:
That's right. --We're
here. We shan't let you fade.
Captain: [pleading]
We promised Himself
we'd look after you -- you don't want to make a liar
out of me, now, do you?
Warrior: [very hesitant]
But -- if -- since he's
mortal -- and -- humans are meant to move on, after
they're dead -- ought
we to interfere with the laws of nature?
Huan:
[sharp bark]
Third Guard: [savagely, grabbing him by the arm]
Don't even think of
such a thing! How can you say that?
[he seems about to hit the other Elf, who is
just as upset and does not even try
to resist, before the Steward motions them apart]
Steward: [very stern]
Enough. The question
has to be asked. --And the answer is of course yes. One
presumes--
[looking around the hall]
Yes. We'll bring him over to the fountain, such as it is.
[he kneels and picks Beren up despite the latter's
initial, unsuccessful attempt
to stand of his own strength, and Huan leaning
in on them]
Warrior: [worried]
But will that work?
Captain:
Why not?
Warrior:
He's . . .
[stops]
Captain:
Right, then.
[to the Steward]
Can you manage?
Steward:
Of course.
[followed by the others, he carries Beren over
to the side of the rectangular
basin and kneels by the edge]
A cloak, if you please.
[the Warrior hands his over at once, before anyone
else can, and the Steward
tucks it around Beren like a survival blanket,
not putting him down. The Captain
looks at the wall fountain with displeasure
-- it's very quiet, with hardly a
ripple to be heard.]
Captain: [exasperated]
What's the good of a
falls that doesn't make any noise?
Ranger:
No idea, sir.
Youngest Ranger:
I think it's supposed
to be subtly aesthetic, actually.
Captain:
Well, do something
about it, Lieutenant.
[he turns back to Beren and the others, leaving
his subordinates to it. The
Rangers look at each other, the Youngest seeming
dismayed. His colleague shakes
his head and shrugs -- he sighs, squares his
shoulders and begins to study the
water sculpture with a resigned expression.
Almost instantly the stone begins to
reform, changing from a tall sheet of low grooves
to a mass of leaning boulders
and an escarpment blending out of the surrounding
wall, which causes the water
to cascade down with considerably more vigour
and consequent noise. Except for
the fact that all the stone is the same even
gray and there is no moss or other
plant life, it looks quite realistic (except
for the context.)]
Captain:
Good job.
Youngest Ranger: [woodenly]
Yes, sir.
Captain:
Oh, you're not still
worrying about them noticing you, are you? --I'll tell
Lady Vaire that I'm
responsible for the mess and your name won't come into
it at all.
Youngest Ranger:
She'll know that you're
not telling the truth--
Captain: [interrupting with a touch of impatience]
--It is the truth.
I made the decision, gave you a legitimate order and you
only carried it out,
ergo I am responsible.
[his subordinate does not look totally convinced
-- the Captain rises and takes
him by the arm]
Look, do you really think
we're going to desert you at this point, hand you
over without a struggle
to the authorities if they want to send you back?
[looks meaningfully at Beren]
Do you think His Majesty would allow it?
Youngest Ranger: [small smile]
No, sir.
Captain:
Good lad. Let your elders
do the worrying -- that's what we get paid for.
Youngest Ranger: [old joke]
You get paid?
Captain: [claps him on the shoulder]
Get everyone on point
-- set a perimeter, I don't like the feel of things.
[to the Steward]
--Unless you disagree?
Steward: [shaking his head]
A very good idea. Now,
I've had a moment for thought -- go find the King, and
bring him here--
Captain:
--Yes. Of course.
Steward:
--and take Huan.
Captain:
Ah, for tracking, of
course--
Steward:
Not only. Cavalry equals
speed.
Captain: [shocked]
Ride Huan?
Steward:
If he didn't mind before
in the same cause, I much misdoubt he'll object now.
--Do you, boy?
Huan: [bouncing in place]
[short impatient barks]
Captain: [shaking head]
This still seems wrong.
I do apologize--
[he swings up onto Huan's back, and the Hound
takes off like a racehorse. The
remaining Eldar spread out into a loose circle,
fanning out from the waterfall,
one of the Rangers scaling up to take a watchpost
on top of the rock formation,
their expressions worried, but taking the task
too seriously to let concern
distract them. The fall splashes quite a lot,
just like a real one.]
Beren: [shakily]
You're getting wet.
Steward: [nods]
So are you.
Beren: [fretful]
How?
Steward: [same calming tone throughout]
As I understand it,
each thing which exists in the world -- not merely
ourselves -- has both
its outward and material being, and its inward and
permanent essence, the
which differs from the former chiefly in that most
material fact of matter.
And we, that are the essences or principles of
ourselves, may no less
perceive, and encounter, those essences of other
things, even as in life
we did, though through the intermediation of our
respective bodies, with
greater or lesser tangibility, as the ideas of
those things are held
more strongly, or weakly, in our thought. --Such at
least is the King's
theory concerning the facts, which are themselves
undeniable.
Beren:
Is that why -- why everything's
sort of vague to me? Because humans don't
have insight the way
you do, and there's no surfaces?
Steward:
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
It might well be that your spirit has been so damaged
that, even as one cannot
well sense or act when gravely injured, you have
not the strength to
focus your perception upon our surroundings.
Beren:
Or perhaps I'm too dumb
to think about things properly.
Steward:
I very much doubt that.
You grasped my explanation well enough -- which
places you signally
ahead of many another resident here.
[puts his hand in the basin]
Do you want some? Even if it is merely the idea of water.
[gives him a drink, obliging him to pay attention and cooperate a little]
Beren:
You're trying to keep
me distracted.
Steward:
Yes.
Beren:
You taught me the Old
Tongue. And made me memorize "The Fall of the Noldor."
Steward: [nods]
--Otherwise known as
"that really long depressing Quenya poem."
Beren:
I'm afraid you wasted
your efforts, sir -- I can't remember any of it now.
Steward:
It served its purpose.
Beren:
Every time I started
losing it you drilled me on verb endings and stuff until
I was too angry and
frustrated to panic.
Steward:
Do not overcredit me:
it was not solely altruism on my part. Such exercises
served as distraction
not only for yourself. --More water?
Beren: [shaking his head]
I don't belong here.
Steward:
But you are here.
Therefore you must have some purpose to accomplish here.
Beren:
I'm not supposed to
be. I shouldn't have stayed. That's what he said.
Steward:
Lord Namo?
Beren:
All of them. I stayed
because Tinuviel said to wait. And I did. And now
everyone wants me to
go.
Steward:
Not the Princess, surely?
Beren:
No . . .
Steward:
Nor us.
[pause]
Beren: [very quietly]
Lord Edrahil?
Steward:
Yes, Beren?
Beren:
Do you miss your family?
[pause]
Steward:
Indeed yes. Though whether
they in turn regret my absence, I could not
dare to say.
Beren:
I haven't belonged to
the world of Men since my father was killed. I don't
have a place in Middle-earth
where I belong. I destroyed the one other place
that was a home for
my people. I destroyed Doriath. I should have died where
I was born.
Steward: [gently reminding]
Luthien is your
family, now.
Beren: [closing his eyes]
And I killed her too.
She doesn't need me. You've told me how beautiful
Valinor is . . . she
could have all that forever. She doesn't belong in here,
being harangued yet
again because of me. If I was gone, she'd be safe--
Steward: [sharp]
Beren. "Carnamirie."
Beren: [reaction]
"Red-jeweled."
Steward:
That is the word.
What does it mean?
Beren:
--"Rowan."
Steward:
"Yallume."
Beren: [uncertain]
"Cup"--?
Steward:
That's "yulme." --"Yallume."
Beren:
"Finally" --?
Steward:
Correct. --"Roquen."
Beren:
That's easy, "horse"
-- no, "rider."
Steward:
"Maiwe."
Beren:
Eh. Not an easy one
. . . something to do with the sea. --"Gull."
Steward:
"Coronar."
Beren:
"A year." --One of our
years, not a Great Year.
Steward:
"Tindomerel."
Beren: [smiles a little]
"Nightingale."
Steward:
"Macar."
Beren: [snorts]
--Not any more. Kind
of hard to wield an "eket" with the wrong "mat."
Steward: [dispassionate correction]
"Ma" -- "hand,"
singular. --"Maruvan."
Beren:
"They'll bide here--"
Steward:
Not "they" . . .
Beren:
"I will --"
[looks up at him]
You're cheating.
Steward:
Of course. "Harma."
[pause]
Beren:
"Something valuable."
Steward:
"Estel."
[pause]
Beren:
"Trust."
[very deliberately:]
--"Vorima."
[The Steward looks away and does not answer, so Beren does:]
"Faithful."
Steward: [successfully hiding embarrassment]
--"Hekilo."
Beren:
"Exile." --"Vanda."
[he wins this round too]
"Oath."
Steward: [clipped tone]
"Ambar."
Beren:
"Doom."
[pause - the next word is hard to pronounce]
"Na--Nwalme."
Steward: [brief look of exasperation]
"Torture." --"Helca."
Beren:
"Ice." --"Nolmo"
Steward:
"Wise one." --"Nuruhuine."
Beren:
"Threat of death."
[pause. Narrow look:]
--"Axor."
[the Steward closes his eyes.]
"Axor."
Steward:
Beren--
Beren: [raising an eyebrow]
"Axor"--?
Steward: [quellingly]
--"Hina."
Beren:
"Child."
[pause]
--Like in "Eruhini."
[hesitant]
--"Nosse?"
[pause]
Steward: [softly]
"Nukumna" -- for I am
indeed
humbled, that you would claim me as your kin.
[brusque again]
--Unless it was a different word you meant?
Beren: [small grin]
"Elye."
Steward: [shaking head]
Hmph. If "even you"
cannot refrain from subtlety, the world's come to a
sad pass. --"Arato."
[pause]
It shouldn't be that
hard: the element "ar" is present in many words, and
the word itself more
than once in "Noldolante" . . .
Beren: [losing this round]
--"Hero."
[rallying]
"Elye."
Steward:
You've grown repetetive,
I'm afraid. --"Selma."
Beren:
"Intransigent."
[pause]
--"Atandil"
Steward: [dry]
If you're going to be
forward enough to, as you would say, "cobble together"
your own Quenya words,
then you ought as well remember that the first and
last rule is the taste
of the word when uttered forth. "Atandur" is far
more euphonious.
Beren: [shrugs]
Both true. Friendship
and
service. I'm winning, by the way. --"Faila."
Steward: [still more acerbic]
"Magnanimous." --The
arrogance that could claim victory in a spoken duel with
a trained bard after
less than a half-season's rough teaching quite sends the
mind reeling. --"Faire."
Beren:
"Ghost." That's both
of "met" though -- "t" because it's two of us. Like two
hands. But the other
way would be true, too -- "me," all of us.
Steward:
I thought you didn't
remember any of it.
Beren:
Me too. It just keeps
bringing more of it, like when you try to remember all
the verses of a song.
--I'm still ahead. "Axor."
[The Steward flicks some water at his face]
Non-verbal response -- I win. "Axor."
Steward:
"Bones" -- Holy stars,
Beren, you're incorrigible.
[snorts]
--Well, such cleverness should find "The Fall of the Noldor" no challenge at all.
Beren: [caught]
Ah--
Steward:
Or -- we could move
to declensions instead?
Beren:
That isn't any better.
At least the "Noldolante" rhymes. Sort of.
Steward:
Declensions "sort of"
rhyme, too.
Beren:
Nooo.
Steward:
Then "The Really Long
Depressing Quenya Poem" it is. Alternating lines?
Having lost the last
round -- though I do not recall ever declaring a
contest -- I suppose
I must in forfeit lead off--
[commotion -- Huan dashes in, barking, with passengers.]
--At last--
Beren:
"Yallume."
Steward:
Indeed.
[all three skid over to where they are sitting,
with emergency dismounts, to kneel
on either side of the two, Huan crowding in
with as much concern until the Captain
draws his head over and rubs his nose. Finrod
reaches out to take hold of Beren's
shoulder.]
Finrod:
What's wrong?
[Beren tries to answer, shakes his head]
He said you were fading -- Beren, can you tell me what's the matter?
[Beren tries again to find words]
Beren: [whispering]
"Rukina."
Finrod: [puzzled]
--Wrecked?
[Beren nods]
Why?
[No answer -- he looks to the Steward, who looks him in the eyes, challengingly]
Steward:
In general? Being dead;
being driven half-mad by Oath, Silmaril, torture,
poison, injury and guilt;
being treated as an unwelcome trespasser with no
right to exist here
yet again. In specific -- your brothers came by, and
were less-than-civil.
Finrod: [straightening, shocked]
My brothers--?!
Captain: [shrugs]
It was mostly Angrod
who did the shouting; Aegnor largely confined himself
to glaring and unintelligible
sounds of disgust.
Steward:
You're exaggerating
again -- no one actually raised voices, merely indulged
in caustic reproach
and derogatory comment.
Finrod:
Beren -- you -- you
mustn't -- It isn't any of your fault, truly.
Beren: [quietly]
I understand.
Finrod:
They've been rather
-- protective, of me. It's unfortunate you were in the
way. You really mustn't--
Beren: [interrupting]
--No, Sir -- I understand.
All of it. --About the Prince, and Da's Granda's
sister.
[Finrod gives his commanders stern looks]
Steward: [unfazed]
It seemed rather late
to be worrying about Aegnor's dignity, as it most
evidently concerned
Lord Aegnor not at all.
Captain:
And "need-to-know" could
most definitely be proven, in my judgment. Edrahil
thought he deserved
the truth -- and I concurred.
Beren: [outraged & hurt -- it finally breaks loose]
--Sir, couldn't you
have
told me? After everything?
Finrod: [stricken]
I --
Beren:
How could you
have kept that from me?
Finrod: [pleading]
It wasn't mine to tell.
[defensive]
Besides -- it -- it wouldn't have made any difference.
Beren: [shaking head]
It would. It would have
helped me understand.
[silence]
Finrod: [very quiet]
I'm sorry.
[Beren nods, but does not speak]
W--where are my siblings now?
Steward:
I invoked the threat
of Amarie and they made themselves scarce, though I could
not say for how long
it will suffice.
[Finrod winces again]
My lord, he needs her.
She is what binds him to this world, and nothing else.
You must bring the Princess
here as quickly as possible, while we bend our
arts to keeping Beren
within this Circle. Else he'll fade, and all shall have
been for naught.
Finrod:
Beren -- please -- forgive
me, I truly never meant to cause you distress --
I never thought--
Captain: [stern]
Sire. What purpose
is served by troubling the Beoring with your regrets? You
only make it harder
for him.
[Beren starts to say something, but doesn't get the chance]
Steward:
My lord -- you know
what you must do, as we shall hold to our task.
[Finrod, his expression of extreme distress,
nods abruptly and rises, backing
Huan out by his collar like a horse and mounting
up without further discussion.
Before they ride off, however, he looks over
his shoulder at them]
Finrod:
The waterfall was an
excellent idea. But music also worked well before. Will
you add that, while
I go?
[He gives the Steward a meaningful Look]
Steward:
I have not played since
before we left the City, my lord.
Finrod:
I know. --That's why
I asked, not ordered.
[they match stares again for a moment, before the Steward bows his head. To Beren:]
Beor. You will stay until we fetch your lady hither. That is an order.
Beren: [crooked grin]
Yes, Sir.
[Finrod gives him a worried smile, and Huan,
impatient, barks a warning before
charging forward. The Steward shakes his head
a little, seeming distracted, and
the Captain takes Beren from him quickly, not
carelessly, with much more experience
moving casualties.]
Beren: [awkward]
Did you . . . have to
say that to his Majesty? I . . . I could have coped.
Captain:
I am sorry, Beren,
I did not mean to embarrass you. One cannot mindspeak
here -- no, that isn't
it--
[looks to the Steward, who has manifested a harp
somewhat different in design
from the King's, and is frowning abstractedly
at it]
Can you explain?
Steward:
All is thought
here, and mind, and will, so one cannot speak otherwise. One
can remain silent, refuse
answer, but one cannot speak to some and not to all
who are present. Nor
can one conceal the truth, to most, by speaking falsely
knowingly -- certainly
not to the Lord and Ladies of this Hall.
[runs a simple pentatonic scale up and down the strings]
My invention is sadly worn.
[plucks a minor, unresolved chord]
I cannot think of any but sad songs lately -- I fear that would serve us little.
Captain: [serious]
There's strength in
grief. It's caring for nothing that's truly fatal.
Beren:
My lord . . . give me
your sorrow.
Steward:
Will it not weigh your
heart past enduring?
Beren:
In exchange for my own.
It can't be heavier.
[the Captain anxiously brushes his hair back
from his eyes, and touches some
water to his temples]
Steward:
That seems but a poor
bargain. How will it aid you?
Beren:
Why did you make me
tell you all about the fall of Dorthonion? Repeatedly?
[cuts him off before he can answer]
--And don't say it was
all for my own good. You already admitted otherwise
just now -- remember?
Steward:
I remember also that
you must always have the last word. --You must tell
me if the balance is
unequal and the sum too great before the scale tips
and the beam crashes.
[without further ado he starts playing -- despite
his disclaiming, it would be
hard for any mortal listener to tell he's out
of practice and in an inventive
drought. Since there's no transcription of what
early bardic performance actually
consisted of, I'm conceiving it in the manner
of extant English settings of poetry
from the 12 and 1300s -- free-flowing and varied
according to the length and nature
of each line.]
--Oft should I, alone
each dawn,
my cares lament: now
living is none
that I to him the mood
of my heart
dare disclose.
I know full well
that for a leader 'tis
lordly strength
that he his locked counsels
shall fastly bind,
hold close his coffered
thought, howso other he would.
--No more may heartwearied
Doom stand defying,
nor shall troubled musings
bear with them help--
for they most earnest
of others' respect, tears oft
in their breast's chamber
shall bind away fast.
So should I oft my soul
make safe--
beggared by care, bereft
of my House,
far from my home --
fettering my soul
since I left him, my
lord gold-joyful, generous,
in earth's dark depths
-- and I unwillingly,
winterweary, was bound
hither over the waves.
Where might I find,
living, friend or lord now
who shall in meadhall
name me their own?
or my friendlessness
would turn to friendship,
win me to joyfulness?
--This do we know
how cruel a comrade
is sorrow to him
whose true friends have
all been taken,
wandering in exile --
worthless the worked gold,
ice-cold his inmost
thought, worthless the flowering fields.
He minds him ever how
all joy is broken,
for that he knows that
his joyful lord
and his dear counsel
shall long be forgoing:
then sorrow and sleep
ever together
pitiful, solitary, oft
are binding
him in mind that he
his liege-lord
clasps and kisses and
on knee lays
hand and head, as he
did betimes,
vassal in spear-hall,
at the gift-dealing--
yet, then awakened,
the joyless man
sees before him the
fallow waves,
as sleet and snow and
hail fall mingled.
Then all the heavier
be heart's wounds,
sorely yearning after.
Sorrow's made new again,
when comrades in mind
and thought return:
he greets, joyfilled,
earnestly looks on them--
yet swiftly their souls
swim oft away,
floating forth, nor
bring their spirits
the cheerful harpsong.
Cares are made new
to him that shall send
ever anew
over waves binding the
wearied soul.
For this I may not in
this world think
of aught that my heart
might darken not
when I name noble lives
all gone thence,
brave horsemen and vassals.
So Middle-earth
and all upon it daily
fades and fails.
For this a warrior may
not name him wise
who has not dwelt winters
in that worlds-realm.
--Such a one knows how
soul-shaking shall be
when all this world's
wealth stands bestrewn
as now likewise upon
Middle-earth
the wind bewails where
walls are standing
ice-enameled, ruined
the fortresses,
fallen the wine-halls,
dead the defenders,
lying by walls. Some
the war took from us,
faring in faroff ways:
that one fed the carrion fowl
far from harbour, to
that one the ice-grey wolf
dealt out death, --
that one the faithful friend
hid in earthen grave,
mourning for lord.
[He stops the strings abruptly.]
Now you must give me yours, in return.
[pause]
Beren: [whispering]
I can't, sir -- you've
stolen it from me already, and I don't know how to
get it apart from yours
now.
Steward:
Forgive my theft.
Beren: [shakes his head]
You've repaid it and
then some, given it winged words where it crawled in
the weeds, or slept,
earthbound.
Steward: [brokenly]
. . . I thank you, my
lord, for such generous praise . . .
[silence -- the Guard hesitantly puts a hand
on the Steward's shoulder, endeavoring
to comfort him. In the background, where a slight
change in illumination reveals one
of the doors, a dim figure is standing, listening,
but we cannot see who it is in
the shadows.]
Gower:
--That spirit that didst hold resolve
'neath lowering disapprobatory
love
and force of fear, and
fear of force,
imposéd of greed
and by remorse
unchecked--
-- let it none astound
that still shall hold
unto her ground
stronger far than foundation's
stone
or spell-set servitude
that shall groan
even as growl -- mightier
than trees
enwound, withstanding
even these
with love that weaveth
fast as roots
deep underground--
[Elsewhere -- a circular room, much smaller
than the great hall, but still quite
large and with that spacious quality of certain
medieval buildings, like the chapter
house in Wells Cathedral. Around it between
columns are hung a series of tapestries --
these are not like the ones we are used to,
there being no visible stitches, and
although they are very dim and dark like charcoal
sketches now, there is a shimmering
quality to the material that differentiates
it strongly from the stone.]
[Chairs are set in a smaller circle in the middle
of the room, around a light
which consists of a low, glowing basin in the
form of a wide shallow stone bowl
filled with silver liquid. Again, understated
elegance is the theme here. The
chairs are radically different --each one is
unique and doesn't necessarily go
with the others or the room -- except the love-seat
occupied by the Lord and Lady
of the Halls. There are three empty places,
between Orome and Vaire's left; Aule
is to Namo's right. Luthien is sitting on a
footstool-sort-of-thing with her hands
clasped in her lap, looking sulky and bored,
between Irmo and Orome, while across
from her Namo massages his temples while Vaire
pats him on the knee.]
Luthien: [patronizing]
I've heard it all before,
you know, you're not saying anything in the
slightest bit new.
Orome:
And the source doesn't
make any difference to you?
Luthien:
Why should it?
[in the resulting silence she hops up and begins
walking around the perimeter of
the chamber, looking at the tapestries, while
the Powers exchange quizzical looks]
Oh -- that looks almost like --
[she touches the tapestry nearest her and the
surface brightens and shimmers into
motion -- she starts back]
--it is the woods
near home. And there's Mom and Dad -- and me -- when I was
very little . . .
[she trails off]
Vaire:
Yes, we thought you'd
find it more comfortable here, surrounded by happier
recollections and familiar
images.
Luthien:
Honestly! If you'd paid
attention, you'd realize that home is the last place
to have any positive
associations for me right now.
Vaire: [edged patience]
Child, you're being
a most unpleasant brat, right now.
[Luthien shrugs]
Luthien:
Am I? I've fought my
way halfway across the known world, and to the ends of
Arda. The people I should
have been able to trust and rely on have betrayed me,
and help has come only
from where I least expected it and had no right to it.
And we're at an impasse,
because you're not hearing what I'm saying. I'm beyond
fed up at this point--
[there is a loud disturbance from the hallway
beyond -- baying like a hunting pack
that has caught a scent, followed almost immediately
by the flying form of Huan
coming in at a run with Finrod crouched over
his neck, taking the ring of chairs
like a steeplechaser (fitting a tight half-stride
over the pool of liquid light)
and bounding across the other side to where
she is standing amazed. The Hound drops
down into the half-crouch of a predator, not
the straight halt of a horse, and
Finrod leans over, ignoring the astonished Powers]
Finrod:
He needs you.
[her expression changes from surprise to fear:
he reaches down, she catches his
hand and swings up behind him. They exit in
the same spectacular way as before,
without any word or expression of apology]
Orome: [outraged]
Huan!!!
[brief silence -- sighs and headshaking]
Namo:
I will be so glad
when this yen is up.
Vaire: [troubled]
Darling, have you considered
the possibility that that might not end it? It
wasn't an either-or,
if you recall, but only an ultimatum.
Namo: [sitting up straight and pounding his fist on the arm
of their bench]
No. I am not
putting up with this until the end of the world. Nia is going
to take responsibility
for them one way or another. I have enough problems
as it is.
Irmo:
Do you think they're
coming back, or should somebody go fetch her? --Little
Luthien, I mean.
[Namo lifts his hands helplessly]
Namo:
This is even more in
flux than the last crisis. Not that they're anywhere on
the same scale, of course.
Vaire: [thoughtful frown, aside]
I wonder . . .
Namo:
Give it a bit. I can
do with a short break.
[he manifests his teacup and leans back, shaking his head.]
Aule: [to Vaire]
So how's that new system
working out for you? I've got some more ideas for
setting markers in to
make retrieval and matching easier.
Vaire: [brightening right up]
Oh, it's perfect! We're
wasting so much less energy this way, and we haven't
had a data snarl since
last equinox. If you've got any ways to improve the
filing process we'd
be very appreciative, but that isn't really critical at
present. But -- some
of my helpers were wondering how that project for enhancing
resolution was coming
along . The Spinners who tested the prototypes were very
positive about the finer
quality of the energy streams.
[their colleagues can't help smiling at the focus of these two enthusiasts].
Aule:
Unfortunately, we're
still having storage issues -- it isn't a matter of the
process itself, you
understand -- the difficulty lies in the fact that the raw
format tends to want
to bind back together again if it isn't used right away.
Vaire:
Oh, that's too bad.
--What a pity it can't be applied retroactively as
well . . .
Orome: [leaning back with his cynical attitude, looks around
at the empty chairs]
So, as usual, it's left
to those of us with an attention span longer than a
single season to take
up the slack. Though I'm surprised Nia isn't here yet.
Irmo: [frowning]
Yes, so am I. You don't
think Vana's coming back, then?
Orome:
Considering that she
said her sister had the right idea, even if she didn't
have the same reasons
for it, and that if she had to hear one more round of
this she was going to
be "screaming and breaking things too," I really hope
she doesn't. You know
her forte's making things, not dealing with the messes
afterwards.
Namo: [over his mug]
You have to be fair,
though -- the only reason Yavanna's not here is that
she's too personally
involved with the situation.
Aule: [startled]
What? Did you say my
wife's back?
Orome:
Calm down -- we said
she isn't here.
[the patron of Craftsmanship looks extremely relieved]
Namo: [frowning to himself]
Who does he remind
me of?
[to his spouse]
Vaire sweetheart, doesn't
that kid remind you of someone we've seen before?
--Her consort, not Finarfin's
boy.
Vaire: [frowning in turn]
Now that you mention
it, dear, yes. --Not recently, though. Something about
the personality . .
.
[The Hall]
[Beside the waterfall, Luthien is now holding
Beren, kneeling with him half-sitting
against her, her arms folded over his, resting
her cheek against his head. He seems
calmer now but very worn out. Huan is lying
stretched beside him with his head on
Beren's knees. Finrod has taken over the harp-playing,
and the Ten are kneeling in
a close ring around the four of them. There
is a somber and tense air to the scene]
Ranger: [to the Warrior, who keeps looking at the spill-pool
distractedly]
What's wrong?
Warrior: [quietly]
I was thinking some
light would be good. Remember those little floating lamps
in the summer? Wouldn't
flames look nice reflecting off the water?
Ranger: [frowning]
How would you go about
doing it? You're not going to actually try burning
something, are you?
Warrior:
No, I thought the way
we did it for the Battle. Just an illusion.
Ranger:
Oh, all right.
[encouraging]
--You should do it. That could be quite lovely.
[they set about creating tall intense-white candle-like
flames on the surface of
the calmer, shallow end of the spill-pool]
Beren: [still vague and a bit slurred]
So then . . . what did
they say?
Luthien: [ragged]
Nothing -- nothing much.
Stupid things. --The same old rotten nonsense.
Beren:
Sorry . . .
[he gives her left hand a little shake where it is entwined with his]
Just doesn't stop, does it?
Luthien: [shaking her head]
I still can't believe
they'd be so horrible -- I wouldn't ever have thought it
of Angrod especially,
not after being so forgiving to House Feanor. Oh but I'm
going to have words
for him when I see him! And Aegnor too!
[there is a discordant chord and break in the background music]
Finrod:
I'm sorry -- I didn't
mean to fail you again. I thought it would be safe enough,
or I'd not have left
him here.
Steward: [heavily]
The blame is mine, for
failing to send them away promptly enough.
Luthien: [snorting]
How could you have stopped
them, my lord? I don't see any gates to close against
them. And you're not
my Mom, so you couldn't have made a maze to keep them out.
Steward:
Nevertheless a task
was entrusted, and I the senior-most--
Finrod:
Edrahil, I'm not blaming
any of you. I should have thought through the
possibilities before
dashing off and foreseen something of the like--
Beren: [urgent]
Please -- don't.
Don't fight about me.
[shivers suddenly]
Luthien:
Are you cold again?
Beren:
No.
[he smiles a little]
Between you and Huan -- couldn't go anywhere if I wanted to.
[very quietly, as if they were alone, singing:]
--Black is the color
of my true love's hair--
Her face is something
wondrous fair . . .
[as he trails in and out, Luthien joins him on
the last lines, her voice almost
as unsteady:]
Luthien:
--The purest eyes
and the bravest hands--
I love the ground
whereon he stands--
[muffled, into his hair]
Don't leave -- don't leave me, Beren.
[to the side, the enhancements are about finished.]
Warrior:
How does that look now?
Ranger:
Hmm . . . I think it's
too busy.
[gesturing]
Instead of having them
bobbing about, why don't you anchor them as if they
were resting on stands
coming just up under the surface. There's already so
much motion because
of the reflections in the water, having the lights moving
as well looks choppy.
[as they tweak it, the five Powers, having given
up waiting, appear in front of
the group and stand contemplating them with
a critical gaze]
Namo:
No, it doesn't seem
like they're planning on coming back. I'm still--
[snorts]
--not sure about the mad prank part.
[throughout the following exchanges he stands
with folded arms looking hard at
Beren, saying nothing -- Luthien glares tearfully
back at him, while the Ten look
a bit overwhelmed at being confronted by so
many not-terribly happy deities at one
go. Finrod just keeps on playing as though he
were a bard at a gathering and there
were nothing unusual about any of this.]
Orome: [sternly]
Huan.
[the Hound gives him an alert Look but doesn't move]
Huan! Come here.
Huan:
[sharp distressed bark]
Orome: [louder]
Bad dog! Come!
Huan:
[repeated sharp barks]
[the racket is what you would expect of a large
dog in a large echoing area.
Everyone winces, and Orome tries to outshout
Huan.]
Vaire:
Tav, please! Not now.
Irmo: [disapprovingly]
What a heathen and barbaric-looking
spectacle.
[one has to admit he has a point -- there's a
definite Viking-funeral aspect to
the scene, what with the honor-guard, the flames,
the horse-sized Hound, the harper
and the dead Man's wife all clustered about
beside the water]
Vaire: [deceptively mild]
Would anyone like to
explain this?
Captain:
It's my project. --Please
don't break anything, milady --
[she rolls her eyes]
--it's purely to help our friend, the Princess's husband.
[Vaire looks back across to the hill and then towards the waterfall again.]
Vaire: [warningly]
I'm not cleaning
all this up. --Can you people manage not to flood the hallways
this time?
Captain:
That was an accident,
I assure you, no one realized the conduit was there--
Vaire: [forced patience]
Yes. I know. That's
why I'm asking in advance. I don't know what will happen if
you get the Loom wet.
And I don't want to find out, and if you have any sense
whatsoever, child, you
don't either.
[to her husband]
I'm going to look for that reference, darling.
[she goes over to the Loom and starts fiddling
with it in a very competent and
rapid way]
Orome: [low commanding tone]
Huan, come here.
Huan:
[menacing growls]
Namo:
Huan. Tavros. Finrod.
--Quiet.
[the music and snarling stop, leaving only the sound of the waterfall]
Luthien: [aggressively pleading]
My Lord--
[Namo holds up his hand for silence]
Namo: [to Beren]
Why are you trying to
leave?
Beren:
I'm not exactly trying
to leave, Sir.
Namo:
Please don't
do this. I don't have patience for word games. --What is the problem?
Beren: [very simply and quietly]
I found out about something
terrible that happened in the past. I felt as if
I'd been betrayed. I
don't feel as though I belong here any more.
Namo: [ignoring Finrod's flinch at Beren's words and expression
of grief]
Then why are you still
here?
Beren:
Because Tinuviel told
me to stay.
Namo:
Is that the only reason?
[pause]
Beren:
No.
Namo:
Do you want to
leave?
Beren: [wretchedly]
I don't know.
Namo: [ignoring Luthien's distressed noise]
If you happen to figure
it out, let us know, would you? So that we don't have
to waste any more time
on this discussion.
Beren:
Yessir.
Namo: [snorts]
Honestly. You people.
[to Vaire]
I've remembered why he
seems familiar, darling: you don't need to try to find
the piece. Do you recall
that fellow who kept shouting at us because he seemed
to think it was our
fault that he'd believed Morgoth's emissary and not
Finarfinion the Elder
here?
Vaire:
Oh dear. Yes.
[she stares keenly across at Beren]
You're right. --How long
did it take you to convince him that he needed to
take his complaints
elsewhere since you never had any control over the King's
brother, or over his
servants, let alone over any mortals, and that it was
pointless for him to
keep railing at you for not having somehow prevented
him from making mistakes?
Namo:
Way too long. I should
have recognized that blockheadedness from the beginning.
[Beren and Finrod exchange a brief troubled look
-- Finrod touches his shoulder
reassuringly]
Luthien: [terse]
Beren, what's he talking
about?
Beren: [glum]
One of my relatives.
--My way-back uncle Bereg, who took a bunch of the tribe
back east again . .
. after Sauron-in-disguise convinced him that it was a bad
idea to stay and get
killed fighting in the Leaguer. . . . Sounds like it didn't
work out too well for
them.
Finrod: [urgently]
Sir, this is BerEN,
not BerEG. He's a very different person, both in the
actuality and in the
ideal.
Namo:
Can you manage for once
not to talk down to me, Finrod? --Not that I hold out
much hope of it. I know
that he's not the same one again. I said he's got the
same family stubbornness.
[shaking his head]
At least he isn't blaming any of his troubles on us. So far.
Luthien: [suppressed fury]
And why shouldn't
he, when you're tricking me into leaving him so that you
can banish him without
my knowing?
Namo:
Why do you think I'm
doing it?
Luthien:
Because you want him
to go, and you're in charge here.
Finrod: [simultaneous with her words]
You're not? --My Lord.
Namo: [patiently]
I don't have jurisdiction
over mortals. The only one who seems to have any
control over this young
Man is you. And to a lesser extent your cousin here.
Somehow he's staying
here,
in defiance of the Laws of the universe, because
you told him to. And
I would guess that, if it's not outright tearing him
apart, that's only because
he possesses inordinate obduracy and resilience.
--Either that or he's
so crazy that there's no way to tell. But the strain
on him has got to be
tremendous.
Luthien:
Why can't you do
something to stop it?
Namo:
Wrong question.
[pause]
The proper question is
"Why can you do something to stop it?" -- and the
answer lies with him.
[the Lord of Dreams moves closer and kneels down
on the other side of Beren from
where Huan is guarding him -- the Elven-shades
react with defensive tension, but
the Hound, lacking any such inhibitions, just
bares his teeth and growls]
Irmo: [calm voice]
I'm not going to hurt
him.
[to Beren]
Let me see, please.
[he touches his forehead like someone checking
a child for fever -- over his
shoulder, to his brother:]
--It's as you thought: the binding is mutual; he doesn't truly want to let go.
[to Beren, warningly]
The strain will only get worse, the longer you stay here, you do understand.
Beren: [quick sardonic smile]
I can stand a lot.
[bewildered frown]
I know you . . . somehow.
Irmo: [nods]
Yes.
[he rises and returns to his companions]
The efforts of these
equally-focussed souls to entrap him here, and the
beneficial impact of
such surroundings as they have created, can't be
dismissed; but if he
were not willing -- or rather, set upon it -- all
the therapeutic effects
of water, light, music and love would be useless.
[sighing deeply]
As we have learned to
our lasting sorrow. --It's the strength of his desire
for her, as much as
hers for him, that withstands the frailty of his own
inherent nature, and
the call of his proper Fate. . . . . Rationally one
should deplore such
a rebellious intransigence -- but one can't help admiring
such gallant determination.
Aule: [dry]
So you're saying he's
more obsessive than Feanor, Tilion and Eol combined?
And this is supposed
to be a recommendation?
Vaire: [still messing with the Loom]
I've just noticed something
that might be useful. Excuse me--
[she vanishes]
Namo: [to Luthien]
Does that answer your
questions? I have no idea how he's managing to hold
on here. However he's
doing it, it's his lookout, and his responsibility --
though whether he'll
remember that when it gets to the yelling and the
recriminations is anyone's
guess. I doubt you will either, given your
attitude, but we'll
see how it goes. Can we finish our discussion now?
Without any more abrupt
exits?
Luthien:
I'm not going to leave
him alone again!
Orome: [acidly]
He's hardly alone.
[several of the Ten are doing their best to avoid
his Look, particularly the
Captain, the Noldor Ranger and the Warrior.
Huan makes a preliminary-bark noise,
but the Steward shushes him.]
Luthien:
Besides, what's the
point? Nobody was saying anything purposeful.
Beren: [hesitantly defensive]
I haven't yelled at
anyone, Sir.
Namo:
--Yet. --Because, Luthien,
this is an insupportable situation, for you, for
him, and as a result
for us.
[without looking around]
And look who's mysteriously
appeared -- though that's hardly surprising,
given his earlier mysterious
disappearance.
[as his sister's student walks in looking preoccupied
-- then takes in the crowd
and stops short, dismayed]
Where have you been?
Apprentice:
I had an errand I was
supposed to run for my Lady.
[he looks around guiltily, trying not to make
it obvious that he's wondering where
Amarie went]
Namo:
You said you didn't
have anything else to do.
Apprentice:
I -- I know. I forgot,
Sir.
Namo: [intense exasperation]
How could you forget?
I asked you directly, you said "No."
Apprentice: [shrugs]
I was wrong.
Namo:
Why didn't you say something?
Nobody could find you. You just walked off and
left no one else in
charge! Do you really think that's the right way to go
about things?
Apprentice:
I didn't think it would
take long enough to make it worth bothering anyone about.
[pause]
I gather I was wrong about that, too.
Namo:
What if security had
tried to contact me with information about the rogue?
Apprentice:
But they didn't.
Namo:
How do you know?
[The Apprentice takes out what looks like a marble and shows it to him]
Apprentice:
I set up a sympathetic
link, so that if the stone went off I'd hear it and know.
[pause]
So it was all right, Sir--
Namo:
No it wasn't, because
first of all it's the principal of the thing, that you
don't just walk away
from your work and forget to tell someone about it, and
secondly we needed you
to run an errand and you weren't there. How long is it
going to take before
you stop and think before haring off on some new project
or whim while the other
ones are still unfinished?
Apprentice:
Erm, is that real, or
rhetorical, my Lord? Because I'm afraid nobody knows the
answer, not even the
King -- that's why he asked my Master to take me on -- but
I've made a chart of
my progress so far if you want to try to work out a projected
date--
Namo: [holding up his hand]
Stop. Just stop.
[looks from Finrod to Nienna's Apprentice]
I don't know which of you two is more annoying.
[the recipients of his disapproval share disgruntled Looks]
Apprentice:
Well -- what should
I be doing, then, Sir? Do you want me to run the errand now?
Aule:
No. We gave it to someone
more responsible.
Apprentice: [crestfallen]
Oh.
Namo:
Would you just ask my
wife and then do what it is she tells you to do? She'll
probably just want you
to keep any eye on the usual troublemakers and make sure
they're not killing
each other again.
Apprentice:
Oh joy.
[he makes no move to go]
Namo: [to Luthien]
Could we be getting
back to our discussion now?
Luthien:
No, I want to talk to
my husband first.
[pause]
In private. I'll come along when we're done.
[pause]
You needn't wait, my Lord.
Namo: [looking around]
You call this private?
[pause]
Luthien:
I meant without any
divine critiquing going on.
Namo:
Then why didn't you
say so?
[to Nienna's Apprentice]
You may not be at the
top of my list for long. By the way, what are you
still doing here?
Apprentice:
You said to keep the
usual troublemakers from killing each other. About
half of them are here.
Namo:
And?
Apprentice:
And this is far more
interesting. And yes, Sir, that was a very free
interpretation of what
you said. And I think I'll be going to verify
that with Lady Vaire
first.
[he bows and exits hastily, yet still reluctantly,
looking back at the scene
of the confrontation]
Orome:
He really gets
on my nerves.
Irmo:
Is there anyone's that
he doesn't?
Aule:
It's the wasted potential
that's the worst.
[pointed silence. Finrod sighs and drums his
fingers on the harp-frame, looking
at the ceiling]
Luthien:
Making snide remarks
about my cousin isn't going to speed things along -- or
make me feel particularly
more well-disposed to you.
[pause]
Orome: [defensive]
We weren't talking about--
Namo: [interrupting]
No, in fact, that's
exactly what we were doing.
[to Luthien]
Call us when you're ready -- we're waiting for you.
[the Powers vanish. The room is left a bit less
empty-seeming this time, due to
the presence of a dozen other shades, a small
waterfall, torches and one of those
ghosts being a giant Hound. Beren sits up the
rest of the way, supported on either
side by his wife and her cousin.]
Luthien:
Beren -- do you really
want to leave?
[he looks at her sadly, but doesn't answer
Don't tell me what you think I -- what I want to hear.
[he still doesn't say anything]
Are -- are you angry -- at me?
[still no reply]
Please answer me -- even if it's yes--
[he puts his arm around her neck and kisses her,
patting her head and smoothing her
face as they pull away after]
Beren: [wryly]
How's that?
[she gives him a watery smile, and the rest of his friends finally relax]
Captain:
I'd say that's a "no"
on both counts.
[Beren looks at the flames on the reflecting pool]
Beren:
That -- looks spectacular.
Thanks.
Warrior: [shrugging]
Wasn't much, really.
Ranger:
Gave us something to
do besides worry.
Beren: [sighing]
Have you ever heard
of anyone fading out of sheer embarrassment?
Luthien: [stressed]
Why on earth would you
want to do that, love?
Beren: [looking down, shoulders hunched]
All this trouble over
nothing -- so many people being dragged into it --
the gods -- because
I can't seem to figure out this business of being dead.
Finrod:
Beren, it wasn't nothing.
You were in a very bad way, it was real, and what
we did was real
and necessary, and worked as it would have if we had been alive
and you Eldar. You don't
need to apologize.
[he tips Beren's chin up as if talking to a child]
Right? --Unless you think
you can possibly out-apologize me. Do you want
to try?
[groans from the Ten -- Beren gives a small smile and shakes his head]
Beren:
Nope.
[Finrod tousles his hair and pulls him closer]
Finrod: [quietly]
Can you forgive me?
Beren:
Already did -- cousin.
[he hugs Finrod hard, as the other tries not
to come completely undone. While
Finrod discreetly wipes his eyes on his sleeve:]
I didn't want to ask -- him -- but . . . who's Eol?
Finrod:
Living -- well, proof,
at any rate -- that not all the craziness is on my
side of the family.
Luthien:
Is he here?
Finrod: [deep sigh]
Oh yes. App--
Luthien: [interrupting]
--Did he really marry
what's-her-name, your uncle's daughter -- Aredhel?
That's what Curufin
said.
Finrod:
And accidentally murdered
her. We have very interesting family reunions
around here.
Beren: [disbelieving]
How can you accidentally
murder someone?
Steward:
He was, so the story
goes, endeavoring to murder their son, but she intervened.
Pursuant to which her
brother had him thrown off a precipice. Not before -- or
so he brags -- managing
to put a curse on their son, however.
Beren:
Oh.
[pause]
Am I not following very well, or was that weird even for Elves?
Finrod:
Yes. --To the second
question, not the first. Apparently he turned up here
demanding that she be
sent back to Middle-earth so that they could start over
again together. For
any number of reasons that's simply not going to happen,
so now they're both
here giving the Powers chronic headaches.
[Beren looks serious]
And no, your situation
is nothing at all like that, you didn't kill Luthien, and
she's the one who came
here after you, not vice versa--
Luthien: [nodding]
So if anyone ought to
be compared to those three it should be me.
Beren:
But -- I -- hadn't even
thought that yet.
Finrod:
You were about to. Right?
[Beren looks down]
Youngest Ranger: [stammering worse than Beren]
Y--your Highness . .
. it's an honour . . .
[he's too overwhelmed to go on; Luthien is puzzled]
Finrod:
He's one of those who
imagined you as "twelve feet tall with a perpetual
battle aura."
Youngest Ranger:
That's not true!
[in response to the other's Look]
Well, all right, rather--
[Luthien shakes her head]
Luthien:
It wasn't like that
-- Huan did most of it, I just played bait until we
got the one worth interrogating.
Finrod: [raising his eyebrows]
And who did the interrogating?
I'm guessing that it wasn't Huan.
Luthien:
Yes, but Huan had a
choke-hold on his jugular, which makes for a great deal
of distraction as well
as incentive to cooperate.
Captain:
I've seen your father
angry.
I wouldn't place any bets on which one of you
was the scariest.
Luthien:
It really, really
wasn't that way at all. I was terrified -- I was shaking
so hard I could hardly
get back up again.
[Beren's jaw clenches]
Finrod:
And you don't think
Elu's frightened going into battle?
Luthien: [disbelieving]
Dad? Frightened?
Steward:
Of what should follow
on his losing, if of nothing else.
[She frowns at this -- an alien concept, Thingol afraid -- and shrugs]
Luthien:
I only did what I had
to do, with lots of help.
[she looks around at them all, ending with Beren]
And so far it hasn't been enough.
[Huan gets up and shoves his head into her face
and throat, wagging his tail and
being a very good dog, until she stops sniffling
and shakes her head with a defiant
lift of her chin.]
I'm not giving up. --I'm not.
[Huan looks over his shoulder and gives a happy
bark, just before the Rangers snap
to attention -- Nienna's Apprentice comes into
the hall again, very diffident and
apologetic in his bearing. He comes up and bows
to the group, addressing Luthien:]
Apprentice: [nervously]
Excuse me, but could
you please come along now? Or else--
Luthien: [savage]
--Or else what?
Apprentice:
Ah, he's going to yell
at me again.
[pause]
It's even worse than when you yell at me.
Luthien: [shrewd Look]
You're trying to make
me feel sorry for you.
[pause -- the Apprentice nods]
I should warn you that
I'm not very cooperative any more when people try to
guilt me into doing
what they want.
Apprentice: [downcast]
I'm awfully sorry.
[to Finrod]
Erm . . . you don't happen to know where the Lady Amarie is, do you?
[Finrod shakes his head, his smile looking rather definitely edged]
Luthien:
You're still doing
it!
Apprentice:
Is it working?
Luthien: [trying not to smile, not entirely successful]
A bit. It's also making
me want to throw something at you.
Finrod: [innocent]
Really? I've had this
idea that one could probably pull water up and make it
hold together long enough
for it to stay airborne, rather like snow, but I've
been saving it for some
really tedious stint to experiment with it. Would you
like to try it out now?
[the Apprentice glares at him, trying to look
far too dignified to be a target
for a water fight. Luthien raises an eyebrow]
Luthien:
Actually, I was thinking
-- more like a chair.
[the Apprentice sighs]
Apprentice: [to the air at large]
Master, I'm afraid this
isn't having the result you intended. --At least, I
certainly hope this
isn't what you intended, my Lady! My temper seems to be
getting shorter and
shorter, not the other way 'round!
[to Luthien, pleading]
Your Highness, please
don't make me go back and fetch the Lord of the Halls.
He'll be very put out
with all of us. --And he'll treat me like a fool. And
you don't really care
one way or another about that -- not that I really
blame you -- but still
I--
Huan: [interrupting]
[sharp bark]
[pause]
Apprentice:
Sorry.
[Luthien gives an exaggerated sigh and looks at Beren]
Beren: [low voice]
You should. --At least
we can show willing.
Luthien:
But I'm not.
Not if it means giving you up.
[pause -- Finrod reaches across Beren and rubs her shoulders]
Beren:
I'm okay. I'll -- I'll
be all right.
[she moves around to kneel in front of him, putting
her hands on either side of
his face and staring fixedly into his eyes]
Luthien: [adamantine clarity]
Beren. I told you to
wait for me. I haven't told you to stop. If you dare
fade out of Arda I will
find some way to follow you, and let the One help
anyone who tries to
stop me--!
[she waits until he nods, solemnly, in reply
and then kisses him hard before
getting up to accompany Nienna's student --
who is preoccupied now with the
additions to the fountain.]
Apprentice:
How did you make those?
I can't see any sort of fuel or wick or anything.
Warrior:
They're illusions. Nothing's
really burning.
Ranger:
I mean, really -- what
would we burn, after all? Stone?
Warrior: [seriously]
Stone will burn if you
get it hot enough, if it's the right kind.
Ranger: [dismissive]
I know, I know -- but
you'd need some fuel to raise it to that temperature,
and that brings us right
back to where we started from.
Apprentice:
Oh, that explains why
the reflections are all wrong.
Warrior:
No, they aren't.
Apprentice: [pointing]
Yes, they are, they're
too long: your "flames" aren't tall enough to cast so
much of a reflection.
Warrior:
It's a work of art.
Haven't you ever heard of artistic license?
Apprentice:
But it looks wrong that
way! They should only be about like so--
[he changes them, so that there is far less reflected light on the water]
Ranger:
But that doesn't look
anywhere near as pretty.
Apprentice:
Yes, but that's reality--
[Luthien clears her throat: he looks around guilty
and sees her standing there
tapping her foot.]
Luthien:
First you nag me to
come, now you're dawdling. I really don't have any
patience for this right
now.
Apprentice:
Erm . . .
[she gives him a narrow Look]
--Sorry?
Luthien:
I damn' well hope so!
[he hastily moves to escort her out -- at the
doorway she pauses and turns back
to give the company an intense stare]
Beren, remember -- stay.
Beren: [wide-eyed innocence]
--Woof!
[Huan gives him a startled look at his imitation;
Luthien's earnest look turns
into an embarrassed smile and she goes, on the
edge between laughing and crying.
As soon as Nienna's Apprentice is gone the Warrior
brings back his illusions to
the way they were.]
Warrior: [disgruntled]
What does he
know about it anyway? Has he studied the subject?
[rather stiffly, Beren gets up, leaning on Huan's
back and head for leverage,
and patting the Hound once he is on his feet
-- Huan licks his hand and gives
him a sad-eyed look; Beren pats him again and
goes over to the quieter shallow
end of the pool, moving with bone-deep weariness.
He kneels down and splashes
water on his face, before settling down to look
at the reflections of the lights,
trailing his fingers in the basin with a look
of bemused wonder. Anxiously Finrod
comes over and crouches by him, very definitely
hovering. Behind them Huan makes
unscrupulous use of doggish charm to ensure
that the Ten devote themselves to
giving him scratches and nose-rubs.]
Finrod: [timidly]
Do you want me to tell
you all about it?
[silence]
Beren:
Not right now. I just
-- need time to think. I can't -- it's all been too
much. Not just -- all
of it.
[Finrod nods sadly]
Can you keep playing?
Finrod: [nodding again and picking up the harp]
Anything in particular?
Beren: [shaking his head]
Just that --
[makes a sort of back-and-forth gesture with his hand]
--like you were doing, to sort of go along with the water. I know that's really a technical description there . . .
Finrod:
Like this?
[he plays a simple arpeggio, very mellow and slow, not at all "agitare", and Beren nods.]
I'll just keep doing that then, until you tire of it.
Beren: [as if struck by a sudden thought]
Do you want to
talk about it?
[Finrod nods in return]
I -- I guess that would
be all right then. Can you talk and play at the same
time? It -- isn't like
singing, I guess.
Finrod:
That isn't the problem.
Such simple music is no bar to speech at all. I -- I
don't know what to say,
exactly, or how.
Beren:
Oh.
[long pause]
Finrod: [softly]
She was the star that
awakened his heart -- she truly was his one true love,
the morning arising
for him upon the world -- and he Saw the coming of twilight
even in the hour of
her ascendance, in his fear, and fled to the outer darkness
himself, before her
Sun could fall to shadow. And she loved him in turn, and--
[he cannot go on]
Beren:
And you didn't think
it was a good idea then, either.
Finrod:
I -- I agreed with him,
and with his arguments, and did not force him to go
back to her, and the
risk of that confrontation, and whatever might have
followed on that argument
-- whether of wrath -- or of reconciliation. And
he has never forgiven
me for yielding to him, and giving him his head in this,
and very likely he never
will. He has sworn himself to eternal celibacy, and
eternal mourning, because
she was his soulmate, and she has left the Circles
of the World, and so
he will take no more joy in Arda, because she does not.
Beren: [quiet]
You Saw that happening
to Luthien, too, didn't you?
Finrod: [shaking his head]
Not in the sense you
mean. But I -- I feared it might. But more -- I bethought
of your own folk--
[he stops playing without even realizing it]
--of Balan, the first
Beor, who followed me so brief a time, until sight and
bone and heart failed
-- though never spirit! -- of all those who came after,
to our halls, to ride
and sing and dance among us, and then vanish like breath
on a wintery morning
-- but first to grow brittle as ice, as fragile as a frozen
leaf, and weary as a
snow-laden bough under the burden of suffering and shame.
[earnest & pleading]
It was not all selfishness for my own kin.
Beren:
You don't have to go
into all this if you really don't want, Sir.
[the flatness of his words is belied by the accompanying
gesture -- he puts his
hand over Finrod's on the frame of the harp,
looking at him without flinching]
Finrod: [sad]
I don't want you hating
my brother -- either one of them -- even if they insist
on being difficult.
Beren:
I wouldn't anyway.
Finrod:
I know, because you
still can't stop blaming yourself for my death. But that
really has no connection
with what happened between our kin before you were
born. Not logically,
at least.
Beren:
Yeah, but it still feels
like it does somehow.
Finrod: [frowns]
That reminds me: if
they come back -- and given the way this place is, there
isn't really any doubt
about it -- to remonstrate with me, or to reproach you
directly or indirectly
again, I want you to stay out of it and to let me manage
everything. Don't
let them entangle you in another exchange of hostilities.
Leave the talking to
me -- I know how to deal with them.
[Beren just looks at him, with his head a bit to the side]
Would you stop giving me that look, please? This isn't like the last time.
[On the far side of the room Amarie enters, with
an air of assumed nonchalance and
self-confidence. The Ten notice and look dismayed
-- neither of the other two does,
however.]
Beren:
What if it isn't your
brothers? What if it's House Feanor again?
[the Steward clears his throat loudly]
Finrod: [oblivious]
Again, I'm far better
equipped to deal with any of my relatives than you are --
even if you're no more
likely to be afflicted with scruples towards the following
of Feanor than I am.
Trust me on this, and leave all the unnecessary worries to me.
Beren:
What if it's one of
the gods again? Or all of 'em? It sounds like they're a lot
more fed up with you
than they are with me. After all, I haven't got centuries
of history between us
to keep hauling up and slamming around like rocks at each
other.
Finrod: [lecturing mode]
Beren, no one here is
going to behave like Sauron. Yes, we have our differences,
and grievances over
the past -- and yes, before you say anything, we have our
present differences
and grievances as well -- but those are all minor -- or
mostly minor -- and
the big ones are for the most part resolved. If the Powers
that are in charge of
this place were going to punish me it would already have
happened over the business
of the ceilings and the aqueduct. A few more comments,
sarcastic or otherwise,
isn't going to make a difference one way or the other
at this point.
Beren:
I dunno -- you can be
awfully obnoxious when you put your mind to it, Sir.
Finrod:
And you can't?
I don't want you drawing negative attention upon yourself from
any other persons, divine
or not, even if it's in my interest, because you still
feel obscurely guilty
and don't know how to accept help gracefully--
[the Captain reaches over and taps Beren rather
urgently on the shoulder, him being
the closer of the two -- Beren looks over, sees,
and bites his lip]
Beren:
What if it's Amarie
again?
Finrod: [indulgently]
Wouldn't she fall into
the category of "other persons, divine or not"--?
Beren:
Um, Sir -- that wasn't
a rhetorical question.
[long pause]
Finrod: [desperate bravado]
I think the word you
want is "hypothetical."
Beren:
No, I think the word
we
want is -- help.
[Amarie stands there looking down on the scene,
with folded arms and a pleasant
fixed smile]
Finrod:
I think we've used up
our quota of divine interventions for the day. Besides,
given how peevish they're
being, I wouldn't want to count on it being particularly
helpful.
Amarie: [sinister gentleness -- to the Ten:]
Milords -- what curse
or device hath laden withal my steps, that I might not
find my way upon a straight
path save only to return whence ever I didst go,
howsoever I go?
[nervous silence ]
Whichever hast done this
-- or whosoever kennest aught -- might answer: I care
not which, so that I
learn the truth.
Finrod:
Personally, I think
that's a completely irrelevant question. I'd ask -- how is
it done, and how would
you change it? Those seem much more useful questions than
worrying about which
guilty party deserves punishment. --Particularly since no
one did such a thing.
Amarie: [same patient tone]
If yon ringleader of
runagates had troubled his insubstantial self to list to
the words I did e'en
now speak, he might perchance to have noted that such, in
most pointed fact, was
the selfsame word I asked of ye.
Finrod: [to Beren]
You did hear me say
that you can't just walk from point to point here as though
it were a field, or
even a city, because somehow your will and unconscious intent
determines where you
end up. --Interesting confirmation that it works that way
regardless of corporeal
status -- it must be like the Labyrinth. Makes mapmaking
no end of a challenge,
that's for certain.
Beren:
Yep. --Only not that
extra speculation. But you did warn her.
[Amarie closes her eyes in an exasperated expression]
Hey, does that mean you're
saying she keeps coming back here because she really
wants to be here?
Finrod:
No, but that is the
logical implication of it, one's forced to conclude.
Amarie:
Is there none about
of sense or civility to serve as guide, then?
Finrod:
Does anyone wish to
explain to the noble lady that the Halls are very understaffed
at present and the management
has been called away to deal with more pressing
matters than her ability
to hold a grudge?
Amarie: [lightly]
One expects naught
of present company, saving one's self, but surely there cannot
be none of sense
remaining in this place. What of the rest, that art held within?
Hath not many repaired
here over the Age, in accordance with the stated Doom? And
yet it hath emptier
thoroughfares than either Tirion or Alqualonde ere Tilion's
embarkation. Nothing
of company, saving mine own shadow, and footfalls' echoes,
have I met -- though
worse companions there may be surely found within.
[pause]
Captain:
It's like when there's
going to be an earthquake or a hurricane -- everyone and
everything with any
sense has already gone to ground long since as soon as they
sensed the coming of
disaster.
Steward:
Don't -- make things
worse.
Captain:
You're ascribing far
too much to my competence.
Amarie: [ice]
I have naught else to
say to ye miscreants.
Captain: [fervent]
Thank you, most kind
Nienna!
Amarie [sharply]
--Dost ken, then where
the Lady shall be?
Captain: [shaking his head regretfully]
Knew it was too good
to be true.
Amarie: [caustic]
Ay, well then, where
the shepherd leads, the flock shall follow -- yet might
expect to find greater
part of wisdom in shepherd than sheep? But howso, indeed,
if the leader doth follow
his foolish charges, nor stay them from their folly,
nor cease when they
will to run past cliff's edge unto the Sea? For mad lieges,
how else but a maddest
of lords to be fitting?
Youngest Ranger: [bewildered, trying to whisper, but not
being nearly quiet enough,
to the Warrior]
I thought the Vanyar
were supposed to be holy . . . ?
[Amarie shoots him a fire-arrow Look and he quails]
Amarie:
And what kennest thou
of holiness, that never didst behold the Light?
Youngest Ranger: [abashed]
--Sorry.
Amarie: [cutting]
Shall a Turned One chide
me,
that was bred and born in Valmar, of the depths
of his benighted ignorance?
No more unfitting, I guess, than mortal shall
the same!
[Huan makes a grumbling unhappy noise, looking
up from under his eyebrows at them
in turn]
Steward:
My lady, restrain thy
hostility towards those that in some wise merit it, nor
set it against those
who have shown far more of virtue than you yourself in
steadfastness of affection.
[they match stares in a fierce contest]
Youngest Ranger: [dismayed aside]
How can she tell?
Beren: [scooting over to him]
Probably the way we
could when we met the King. Couldn't your people tell when
they first came back
that they weren't the same as you either? And it's even
more obvious -- the
way we are now. --Don't ask me how.
[he puts an arm around the other's shoulders]
Does it matter? That
you're not Noldor? So you guys' ancestors didn't make it
all the way on time.
You're still fighting the fight, hm?
[the Youngest Ranger gives him an uncertain look]
Me, I'd rather hear "Sindar"
or even "Nandor" any day of the week than
"Kinslayer" -- being
"Light-Elven" didn't help Curufin much, did it?
--Or "mortal."
[pause]
If you don't look down on me, how come you think it's okay to look down on you?
[the Sindarin Ranger smiles a little at this.
The staring contest between Amarie and
the Steward breaks off: he does not give way,
and she tosses her head in dismissal]
Amarie:
If thou hast
not lost all semblance of civility in yon rustic wilderness, Your
Majesty, perhaps
thou'lt deign to rise and greet me nor affect this foolish
feignéd deafness--
[raising her voice abruptly]
--Put aside that gaming
music and stand and brave me, villain, or I swear that
all the Ages of the
world will pass ere thou'lt darken door of mine! Art too
grand now, is't, to
speak with such a lowly Elf as she who waits upon thy notice,
being no Queen nor Princess
of the Eldar? Fie!
[with an indulgent sigh Finrod puts down the
harp once again and rises, making an
extravagant and far-too-ornate bow; the Ten,
and Beren, get up awkwardly, while Huan
only sits up and pays attention with cocked
ears and quizzical look. The ex-couple
are far too preoccupied to notice the distress
of their audience, or to care if
they did.]
Finrod: [mildly]
I'm listening.
[pause]
Now that you've commanded
my attention -- did you actually have anything you
wanted to say?
Amarie: [earnestly, shaking her head]
--Why dost thou stay
here, in this abysmal place, this mean estate, and
tatterdemalion attendance,
when thou shouldst walk free and fare abroad,
held by naught, save
by thine own choosing? All Aman doth hold thee mad for
it -- none that hath
thine acquaintance, still more thy former fellowship
in bygone Day, doth
comprehend it, and all alike do judge thy loss hath
reft thy mind withal.
Finrod:
I don't know why. It's
very peaceful here -- most of the time, at least. I'd
rather spend the next
hundred-odd years of existence here, than being given
reproachful looks and
edged remarks and forbidden to answer them under the Sun.
[Amarie spins around and begins walking quickly
towards the door while Finrod
stands with folded arms, looking after her and
smiling sarcastically]
Finrod: [loudly]
Here we go again. --I
wonder how many times we're going to repeat this little
charade before the jester
who started it comes and rescues us. I greatly doubt
that there's any limit
to her ability to walk off and leave me in shambles, all
the while maintaining
a perfect and impenetrable shield of pride, trailing my
heart's blood through
the wreckage from her dripping sword of hate!
[the Ten -- and Beren -- wince in excruciation
at having to witness this -- Huan
gives a particularly ear-piercing keen and a
reproachful look at Finrod. Amarie
stops short in the archway as though an invisible
door had been slammed in her face
and stands perfectly still for a second -- then
turns around and strides back, fast
and furious, her draperies billowing behind
her like sails of a galleon]
Amarie: [as she is bearing down upon them, not stopping or
slowing in speed or speech]
Thou insolent, arrogant,
amiable, thankless, flightsome, winsome, devious,
treacherous, smiling
fiend!!!
How
canst thou stand and say to me, withouten
shred of compuntiliousness,
that -- that -- any such of thing?!?
[she is literally glowing with rage, though the
soft ambient light somewhat dulls
her aura]
Thou -- thou -- thou
Spider's get! --I made mock of thee? I left thee in tears
and tatters? I ask ye
-- all of ye, that stand unfriends to me--
[she pauses to whirl and look at all the Ten in quick turn]
--all ye many that did
stand upon that day, and sit to table at the Opening Hour,
and sing our names and
drink our joys, and eat the gift-bread that my hands did
make -- which of us
twain it was did go, and which it was, left standing lonely
at the broken Feast,
to follow like to a shadow 'midst shadows unto the sorrowing
streets?
[they are silent -- she gestures dramatically with her hand, waving them aside]
Stay me not -- hinder
me nor seek to, that did not hinder him, but led him to
his fate and folly,
that would not lose ye to the Dark, but had liefer lose me
without backward look--
[she can't keep going for the moment]
Finrod: [very softly]
Oh, I did look
back--
Amarie:
--and let him
face me and flout me unto my very face, if he will call me foe,
this mad japester --
[she starts towards him again, the Ten moving aside helplessly before her indignation]
--that didst leave me
half-bound, half-bride, to lie at thy feet as a forgotten
bauble cast aside by
careless child -- I that had gone counter to my kindred's
hopes and deep desirings,
and set aside their wish and every will, to be his
lady and his love, and
all for naught, that he should go from me and me a-weeping
in my festal raiment
'neath our wedding garlands in the mournful hall!
[by this point she is crying as she speaks without
it interfering with her words or
her anger -- tears run down her cheeks as she
stares furiously at him -- they look
like a pair of duellists, despite lack of weapons]
Finrod: [patiently (far too patiently, in fact)]
Obviously no one in
his right mind would keep on celebrating -- Acclamation or
not -- when the Trees
had just gone out. You're being utterly irrational --
again. Should I have
said, "Keep playing, keep singing, keep feasting, I'm sure
it's nothing much?"
No. Everyone in Tirion went to see what the matter was. Quite
sensibly. --Even you,
as you've just said.
[Amarie just stands there, totally speechless, listening to him in amazement]
Why do you insist on
bringing your family's long-standing disapproval of me
into it, as if that
had anything to do with the slaughter of the Trees, or any
relevance to the events
of that Night? You keep trying to fit it all together
backwards, somehow.
And I was perfectly willing to change the date -- you were
the one who made your
parents choose between attending our Acclamation and
participating in the
concert -- after we found out about the scheduling conflict.
And afterwards when
I came back -- as I'd promised -- to conclude the ceremony
-- you hit me.
Amarie: [snapping]
Aye, and I'll so again,
and gladly, till thou dost weep e'en as I -- if thou'lt
not for very shame at
putting me to shame.
Finrod: [offhand]
I've given up expecting
rational behaviour from someone whose response to getting
what she asked for is
violent rejection. --You keep changing modes and pronouns
in your address, too.
[she moves for him as he is speaking]
Beren: [in the process of stepping between them, gives Finrod
a shocked look]
--You did what?!?
[they both freeze, staring at him, as he stands half-turned from Amarie to Finrod]
I didn't really hear
you say that, did I? You really walked out on her halfway
through the wedding
and expected she'd welcome you back after with open arms?
[Finrod is speechless]
Don't tell me you did
that
and then said, "Okay, honey, let's go to bed and
in the morning we'll
become fugitives"--!
Finrod: [reflexive defensiveness]
There wasn't going to
be a morning at that point.
Beren: [shaking his head in astonishment]
No wonder she punched
you halfway across the dinner table!
Finrod: [dismayed]
Beren, not you too!
Beren: [grabbing his shoulder]
But you can't do
that to someone! Don't you understand? We had wars over people
doing that. You never
said you jilted her!
Finrod:
Wars?
Amarie:
"Jilted?"
Finrod:
Wars?!
Beren:
Six or seven people
got killed and five barns were burnt and a fishing weir
pulled down and the
cattle raids didn't stop until your brothers showed up and
four generations later
there were still families not speaking to each other--
[getting quieter]
--and I guess that's really pretty lame of a war -- but still.
Finrod: [still skeptical]
I never heard
about that.
Beren:
You think anyone was
going to want to explain it?
Finrod: [to the Captain]
Did you know
about this?
Captain: [shrugs]
I do recall thinking
that the stories about the Summer with Five Direct
Lightning Strikes and
a Flash Flood seemed a bit implausible and that your
brothers seemed rather
blasé about so many unlucky coincidences, which would
seem to indicate stepped-up
Enemy activity -- but everything seemed under
control and everyone
very anxious not to get into it, and since you hadn't
given us orders to investigate
it, we presumed it was something better left
unsaid, given their
usual level of caution and alertness regarding the War.
Finrod: [switching from disbelief to indignation]
Why didn't they tell
me?
Captain: [utterly bland]
I would have to ask
them
to find out, Sire.
Steward:
--However, at a reasonable
guess, they might well have felt awkward in mentioning
such a -- sensitive
topic, quite apart from the embarrassment of having lost order
and control in territories
still technically under their authority, though no
longer under the Princes'
direct control.
[Finrod bites his lip, looking away]
Beren:
See, there was this
one time when there was supposed to be a wedding, and everyone
was there, and she never
showed up, and people got worried because there was a lot
of snow that winter--
Finrod: [interrupting]
--You never celebrated
Acclamations in winter--
Beren: [patiently]
No, this was spring,
but there was a lot of runoff because of the snow that
winter. And because
the bride's party never showed up, they thought maybe there
was a landslide or a
flash flood or something, or maybe a bridge was down and
they couldn't make it,
or maybe even an Enemy raid had slipped through the
eastern pass again,
and there were search parties getting ready, and then someone
brought the word that
she'd gone off with someone else and married him instead,
and since there was
already everybody armed up and ready to go, it just -- went
on from there. And my
great-great-grandfather had to try to break it up, and he
did, and we even contributed
to the damages fund so that there wouldn't be any
excuse for fighting
over bride-price and dowry, but it kept breaking out again
because everyone was
so insulted.
[to Amarie, who is listening with fascinated horror]
--When I say "we" I mean
my family, because I wasn't born yet then. I remember
Ma saying that it was
really stupid that she let it get that far, because
obviously it wasn't
going to work and they should have known that before the
bridal ale was laid
down, because you don't go and marry someone else at the last
minute who's a random
stranger -- she shouldn't ever have said yes if she really
didn't want to go through
with it, let alone if there was anybody else who was
in the running -- but
the humiliation factor of leaving your intended standing
at the hall-door couldn't
be an accident. That's why it went to a war. That, and
the fact that her whole
family's cooperation was involved, obviously.
[silence]
Amarie:
Must e'en thou deride
me, mortal killer?!
Beren: [confused]
Ah, no -- that's just
the way it happened.
Amarie:
. . .
Captain:
Milady, if the Lord
of Dorthonion were mocking you -- there would be no
mistaking it for anything
else.
Amarie: [through her teeth]
I will not be made sport
of by houseless rebels!
[she starts to stride towards the archway again]
Finrod: [calling after her in a reasonable tone]
I'm sure that if you
chose to consider it null and marry someone else, no one
could possibly criticize
you, seeing that--
[Amarie whirls and stalks towards him -- simultaneously
Finrod backs up and Beren
starts to move in between them again]
Amarie: [shouting]
--But I did not want
to wed any other consort!
[pause]
Finrod: [very quietly]
I'm sorry.
Amarie:
Hold, thou prating
wretch!!!
[she resumes her trajectory and sweeps out again.
There is a long, awkward silence
-- the Ten try obviously not to be obviously
present.]
Finrod: [brightly, to Beren]
So now you've
taken her side too.
Beren: [shaking his head]
There's no sides in
this.
Finrod:
But you think I'm wrong.
Beren:
You thought you were
wrong too, that's what you used to say.
[pause]
Finrod:
Why is it any different
now -- or why does it appear differently now -- than
at the beginning of
the conversation?
Beren: [shrugs]
It -- it's just different.
It isn't like any other kind of breaking up or
contract-ending or anything.
You just have to take my word for it.
[sudden inspiration]
What you did to her -- that kind of a cut -- it was the same as Nargothrond.
[long pause]
Finrod:
Nargothrond,
eh?
[pause -- deceptively light tone ]
So you're saying it's hopeless.
Beren: [shaking head]
No. She's talking to
you. Even at second-hand -- that's a good sign. If it
was really hopeless
she wouldn't have come to tell you it was hopeless. Means
there's room for negotiations.
Finrod:
Negotiations don't always
end satisfactorily -- for anyone.
Beren: [nods]
I know. I'm just saying,
there's a chance. You could end up the same, or you
could make it worse
even. You can't -- I can't believe I'm telling you how to
deal with people --
but you're taking this very superior, very haughty tone,
putting all the distance
to cross on her, and you don't have that high ground.
I mean -- Sir, you betrayed
her and publicly humiliated her after she had
already taken grief
for marrying beneath her, and declared for you regardless,
and now you're asking
her to risk it again for a pardoned rebel.
Finrod: [stiffly]
I'm not asking anything.
Beren:
I know. That's what
I'm trying to say, only it's confusing and I'm muddling
it worse. I know it
seems like she's being unreasonable right now, but you've
put her in an unreasonable
situation. No wonder you're both stuck -- you're
making her come and
bend the knee without giving anything in return.
Finrod: [more haughty]
I apologized.
Beren:
You ripped her heart
out and threw it in the mud! And stomped on it a couple
times. You don't just
say, "Sorry about that, I'm willing to forget about it
if you are" --!
[someone quickly stifles a nervous laugh; long pause]
Finrod:
So you're saying that
I ought to abase myself thoroughly, grovel even, spare
no opportunity to castigate
myself before her . . . ?
Beren:
No, Sir. That would
just be doing the same thing another way. If you aren't
sincere -- don't you
think she'll be able to tell? If you're just acting like
she's being cruel but
you're willing to suffer and put up with it, that's just
claiming you're in the
right as much as the other. Only you'll make it worse,
because you'll make
it look like she's being unjust.
Finrod:
What else could
I have done? You remember the stories about that insanity,
the outcry, the chaos,
even before Feanor showed up to throw flames into
spilt oil -- how should
I have acted? What should I have done?
Beren: [bluntly]
Something that wasn't
what you did.
[Finrod glares at him]
I -- I'm sorry, I --
it's beyond arrogant for me to lecture you about your
own folk. I really --
don't know that any of this is true for anyone besides
Men . . .
[long pause]
Finrod:
Your people have a
word for it. The wise listen to experience.
[sighing]
--Cut off, pinned down,
and no high ground -- can you get me out of this Fen,
Beor?
[Beren looks dismayed]
If you can break us free
of the trap we've driven ourselves into, you'll render
me a greater service
than did your father.
Beren:
Uh--
Finrod:
Because I can't.
I keep saying the same damned things -- or thinking them --
and we just repeat the
measure again and again. Even when it's only in my
imagining -- and then
it plays out exactly as I've Seen it, right up to the
point when you jump
in between and change it all.
[pause]
Beren:
Sir -- my own relationship
has not been the smoothest, to put it bluntly.
Finrod: [mildly]
You two are still speaking
to each other, last time I checked. --I'm not asking
you to do the impossible,
Beren -- no, I am rather, at that -- Only to try.
[Beren laughs helplessly, shaking his head]
Beren:
Of course. If you're
sure. --You know what happens to my projects.
Finrod:
--Expansion of scope
far beyond any reasonable assessment, followed by utter
chaos, culminating in
divine intervention? --I'm counting on it.
[sighing]
New plan. You do whatever
you want. I'm not going to tell you what to do or what
not to do. Save this
-- if you need help, summon me. If you think you might need
help -- summon me. If
you're not sure -- likewise.
[He turns back to the fountain and washes his
face before picking up the harp again.
Sitting down on one of the boulders along the
margin he begins to play quietly again,
ignoring -- apparently -- everything else. Beren
looks after him, worried]
Beren:
Is he going to be okay?
Captain:
He needs time alone.
It's been a difficult thing to come by, these past ten years.
[pause]
That was impressive, you getting in between them like that.
Beren: [shaking his head]
Dumb, you mean. It didn't
even occur to me that -- well, that we're just ghosts
and she couldn't've
done anything to him.
Captain:
Then that only makes
it more courageous.
Beren:
But she couldn't really
touch us, right? That's what she told Tinuviel.
Captain:
In theory, no. It's
never been put to the test, though.
Fourth Guard:
--So far as anyone knows.
Not here. And no one's asked the houseless in Beleriand
what it's like to have
someone walk through you. It -- it just wasn't the sort of
thing one asked.
Steward:
--Not to mention the
fact that on such rare occasions the mind was occupied in
fighting or trying to
free them.
Captain:
--Yes, but wouldn't
it have seemed crass in any case?
Steward: [nodding agreement]
One assumes there could
be no contact at all, but it doesn't seem as though it
could be anything but
disturbing.
Soldier:
--And we're not really
sure what might happen if the soul of someone living
collided with someone
discorporate. There's speculation that it might be like
getting hit by lightning,
only without the subsequent discorporation--
Steward:
--obviously--
Ranger:
--When did you get hit
by lightning?
Soldier:
Stop it--
Ranger:
No, really, how else
would one know it was like getting hit by lightning, if one
hadn't experienced that?
Captain:
There's also speculation
that it wouldn't have any result if the corporate didn't
believe in the discorporate's,
hm, presence? --reality?
Beren:
But how can you be trying
to hit someone if you don't think they're really there?
Captain: [shrugs]
That's probably not
the best description. I'm not sure that you've got the
concepts to understand
the terminology, sorry. --Mind you, I'm not sure that
I've got them, myself.
Warrior:
And then there is also
the corollary, which is that if someone believed that
one was, er, real,
or enough, then the reverse would be true.
Beren:
So what you're saying
is that if someone alive didn't have doubts like Amarie
said about it being
possible, maybe they would . . . um . . . stop, at the . . .
edges? "Mental boundaries"
maybe?
[reaches over and taps the Warrior's arm]
--Like we do?
[nods all round]
But it could be that
having someone living walk through you or bust your jaw for
that matter -- might
be like having a pail of ice water thrown at you or something.
Captain: [shrugs]
It might only be like
a mild breeze.
Steward:
Under the circumstances
one can but fervently hope so.
Beren:
But nobody knows because
you haven't tested it.
[deadpan]
--Wow, I'm surprised.
Third Guard:
Well, how would we?
Captain:
The staff already think
we're lunatics as it is. Can you really see asking Lord
Namo or his Lady to
not
walk around us because we want to see what an intersection
experience is like?
Steward:
Lady Nia might oblige.
Captain:
Do you want to
ask her? I'd be embarrassed.
Warrior:
Besides, it might not
mean anything anyway. The gods already walk in this plane,
so it probably wouldn't
be a valid test.
Fourth Guard:
What about that kid
who's working for her?
Captain:
You ask.
Youngest Ranger:
Same problem, anyway.
Soldier: [aside]
We think, at any rate.
Beren:
So we're just going
to have to wonder, since it hasn't happened yet, when two
spirits -- intersect?
-- what happens then.
Ranger:
But it's possible--
[breaks off]
Beren:
What?
Captain:
Don't -- he'll
come undone again.
Beren:
What?
[pause]
Captain: [reluctantly]
It's possible you already
have. We don't know if they drift aside like a leaf
in front of a boat's
prow, or -- or not. The ones who won't come out of hiding
at all. We don't even
know how diffuse their consciousness is. Since we can't
ask them -- we're left
to speculate.
Youngest Ranger:
That's not true, Sir,
the King's asked them, they just won't answer.
Captain:
That's what I just said,
isn't it? "The ones who won't come out of hiding at all."
Beren: [distressed]
Please -- don't snap
at each other.
Youngest Ranger:
We're all on edge because
we're worried for you.
Captain:
And the ones who have
left off moping don't want to talk about being dissipated
either. Or they don't
remember. Even Himself isn't sure if he really stayed in the
corner all that time,
or if it's an imagining and not a memory of being in a haze
of grief.
Beren: [bluntly]
So what you're saying
is I could have walked through who knows how many other
ghosts already.
Youngest Ranger:
--Please don't get upset
again.
[pause]
Beren: [half-smiles at them]
Okay.
[he sighs, shakes his head, and looks away.]
Second Guard: [helpfully]
Do you want to try working
on your combat skills? We can help you with the
retraining.
Beren: [bitter]
Waste of time, if I'm
just going to be kicked out of the world.
Captain:
You don't know that
it will work out that way. We're hoping for the best.
Soldier: [encouragingly]
It'll be great to have
you on our side for the next one. There's been talk about
doing the First Battle,
and it's starting to sound like it might happen finally.
Second Guard:
Besides, it'll make
the time pass quicker.
Steward: [ironic]
--That is to say, it
may make it seem to do so.
Beren: [tearful frustration]
No. I've tried.
I can't do it.
[He looks down, thoroughly embarrassed, while they look at him helplessly -- long pause]
Fourth Guard: [intensely]
Okay.
[he touches Beren's shoulder.]
--It's okay.
[Beren nods, still not able to speak]
Youngest Ranger:
Do you want to play
chess?
Beren: [after a moment]
Okay.
Youngest Ranger:
Do you care what we
use?
Beren:
No. Why?
Youngest Ranger:
I was just wondering
. . . pebbles sometimes roll off their places. You don't
mind if I make a set,
do you?
Beren:
That's fine -- go ahead
and do it the way you want.
[he watches in bemusement as the other manifests
a tafl board and pieces, setting
them down on the floor by the edge of the pool
on a convenient bit of the "ledges"
that now make up the vicinity, and picks up
one with a wondering smile]
It even feels heavy.
Youngest Ranger:
That's because you know
how heavy stone's supposed to be. You can't fool
yourself here.
Beren: [speculatively]
Other people, though.
Youngest Ranger: [nods]
Sometimes. It depends.
You want to go first?
Soldier: [to the Youngest Ranger]
You know, I'm not trying
to denigrate your work -- it's very fine and
naturalistic, but it
really doesn't fit just jammed up there against the
flat wall like that.
It looks strange.
Youngest Ranger:
It wasn't done for looks.
Go ahead and fix it if you think you can come up
with something better.
It'll have to be taken down eventually anyway.
Soldier:
What about some kind
of surround or framing device to gradually bring it
to the level of the
facing?
Youngest Ranger:
I'm playing chess. I
don't care. Just remember that you'll find out what your
fate is that's worse
than death if another pipe gets broken. And I won't take
the blame for that.
Soldier:
Spoilsport.
Youngest Ranger:
Who was it vanished
when the sconce broke?
Soldier:
Yes, but I came right
back. You only noticed because you were trying to hide
behind me anyway. --You
know that only makes it more obvious that you're
trying not to be noticed.
Ranger: [to his colleague]
You want to make a bet
on whether he breaks something?
Youngest Ranger: [patiently]
No, I want to play mortal
chess with Beren. I think I've got a workable
strategy I want to try.
Ranger: [to the Soldier]
Why don't you make a
frieze around it, really low-relief, that has a scene of
a forest, and then it
wouldn't look like rocks coming out of nowhere?
Soldier: I thought a semi-naturalistic surround, like a doorway, myself.
Ranger:
Won't that just look
as though you've got three incompatible things grafted
together?
Soldier:
No, see, if I do this--
[they go over & start sketching on the wall
surface in the background, while the
others settle down to watch them (and give more
advice) or to watch the chess game,
all very carefully not intruding on Finrod's
privacy.]
Beren: [thoughtfully]
You know, you could
have some of you . . . vanish, and see what happens if
somebody walks through
you, and then compare observations after. Couldn't you?
[pause]
Youngest Ranger:
I don't think any of
us is really that curious. Not even him. --Your move.
[Elsewhere: the council chamber]
[Luthien is sitting down again, but on the edge
of her seat as though at any moment
she's going to be up again, glaring furiously
at a new Elven-shade, a distinguished
and serious looking fellow who was one of the
many bystanders in Act I at the court
of Doriath. He could be played by Anthony Stewart
Head, (courtesy of Mutant Enemy
Productions) and at the moment he's looking
extremely distressed.]
Ambassador:
I cannot begin to express
how grieved I am, Princess, to discover that after
all our efforts to keep
you safe, and all the improbable escapes and scrapes
you managed to get out
of, you have ended up here all the same.
Luthien: [shortly]
Well, I'm not particularly
happy to see you either.
Ambassador:
That's a terribly harsh
thing to say after I got killed trying to secure
help and justice on
your behalf.
[shaking his head sadly]
I would never have expected
such callousness and lack of nobility from that
sweet child you used
to be. It's got to be the influence of that repulsive
Man corrupting you.
[Luthien's eyes blaze. Slowly and deliberately
and ominously she gets up and
paces over towards him -- as he leans back nervously
we get a glimpse of what
Sauron might have seen coming for him on the
Bridge -- and stands in front of
him with an icy look of righteous indignation]
Luthien:
You told Dad
to lock me up in Hirilorn.
Ambassador:
I wasn't the only one!
Luthien: [grim]
Oh, believe me, I know.
Vaire: [to Namo]
You know, darling, I'm
not sure this was such a good idea. Even if it was mine.
[The Hall.]
[The scene has not changed much from before --
there is now a complicated and
ever-changing tracery of light on the back wall
as various people contribute
ideas and erase bits from the sketch, but otherwise
the subdued, yet casual
ambience remains the same, another chessboard
has been set up, Huan is being
happily used as a backrest, and Finrod is still
seated off a short ways from
everyone else, so quietly that he would almost
seem in a sleep-trance, if he
weren't playing steadily in a very wistful,
almost Mixolydian-mode progression
of runs and bell-like changes. ("The Last Rose
of Summer" and "Scotland the
Brave" are both Mixolydian, combining what we
think of as major and minor.)
His lieges, for all their relaxation, are also
very carefully maintaining a
perimeter around Beren -- so that when the Princes
return, still looking for
their brother (now having had time to work up
a proper righteous huff about
Beren's presence) the alert and defense are
instant.]
Third Guard: [warning tone]
Sire--
[the rest of the Ten, and Huan, tense -- all
attention goes between Finrod and
Beren, as the King gives him a serious questioning
Look. Beren, meeting his
stare directly, shakes his head, and after a
moment Finrod nods in acceptance.
Everyone stays "at ease" (on the surface, that
is) as the other two sons of
Finarfin -- after doing a severe double take
at the changes, reorient themselves
and come over to the waterfall.]
Angrod: [acridly]
I don't want to know.
Aegnor: [with a sarcastic smile -- he seems to have gotten
hold of himself for the present]
Unfortunately I doubt
very much that will be possible for very long.
--Finrod, what
the bloody blazes is this nonsense? I thought you weren't
allowed to do this kind
of thing any more.
[Finrod doesn't answer, apparently not aware of them -- Aegnor snorts in disgust.]
Again -- what in Morgoth's name is all this madness about?
[no answer still]
--Are you having a relapse, or what?
[they start to approach his refuge -- the Steward
gets up and blocks them.]
Steward:
I am afraid I must inform
you that King Felagund is not admitting visitors
at the present moment.
I am certain, however, that as soon as he is no
longer preoccupied he
will be most willing to meet with you.
Aegnor:
But we're his brothers!
Steward: [bowing slightly]
I believe that I am
as aware of that fact as he, or you twain.
Aegnor:
You've never blocked
us from seeing him in the past!
Steward:
It has never been necessary
to protect him from you in the past.
Aegnor:
You don't--
Angrod: [interrupting]
What do you mean, protect
him from us?
Steward: [cold]
Your wrath precedes
you like the smell of burning and wraps you like a
cloud of smoke. I won't
have you harassing him with any of you in your
present tempers. There's
been enough distressing him tod-- lately.
Angrod: [nodding towards Beren, whom they have been ignoring]
And the reason for it's
squatting on the floor right there. We're not
the problem -- that
one is.
Steward: [adamant]
Leave The Beoring alone.
Aegnor:
You're still
protecting him! Do you know how perverse that is?
Steward:
Your Highnesses -- I
have warned you. Follow this path and the consequences
be upon your own head.
[they check briefly, looking somewhat worried at the vague prediction.]
Angrod:
What consequences?
Steward: [shrugging]
That remains -- to be
seen.
Angrod: [disgusted snort]
You're just being cryptic
to make us think you actually know something.
Steward:
That is a possibility.
[the Princes circle around to where Beren is
still engaged in his match,
though everyone else -- with the exception of
Finrod -- has left off even
pretense of their pastimes and is watching closely]
Aegnor:
If it were in point
of fact possible to speak one false here, I'd think you
made up that story about
Amarie. I've not seen anyone who oughtn't be here
-- except for that
one.
Beren: [conversationally]
You missed her. She's
been and gone again.
[at this escalation they stop in their stalking
and halt a little ways off.
The Youngest Ranger ducks down almost to his
knees, staring at the kingstone
pieces as if they might hold a rescue in them.
Beren reaches over and pokes
his hand]
You forgot to take the other piece.
[distractedly his companion collects the pawn from the board]
Aegnor: [pleasantly]
I really did expect
something a bit more prepossessing, after all the
stories and so forth.
Not this pathetic collection of rags-and-tatters
incapable of buckling
his own belt..
[there is a long hair-raising growl from Huan
and some metallic noises as
blades are drawn, or half-drawn around them]
Third Guard: [iron]
Don't make fun
of that.
[there is a very uncomfortable pause -- the Princes
only now noticing Beren's
disability, and being somewhat abashed at their
faux pas]
Fourth Guard: [choked]
You should apologize
. . .Your Highness.
Beren: [cool, but commanding]
'Sokay. --Actually,
that I can manage by myself. There's a lot of things
I can't do one-handed,
but I don't need my wife to do everything for me.
Aegnor:
What . . . befell your
sword-hand?
Beren:
Long story. You missed
that one too. If you want to actually sit down and
listen I'm sure someone
would be happy to fill you in, but I'm kind of beat
right now and I don't
really want to go through it all over again. Also,
I admit that it's kind
of embarrassing that the only time in the last nine
years I've had clean
clothes that actually fit was after I was dead, but
you know, I never planned
on having my homeland overrun and everything I
owned destroyed or lost
or stolen -- "hunted outlaw" was not my first career
choice, so far as I
had my life planned.
[long pause]
Angrod:
Aren't you ashamed to
sit amidst this present company and smirk and
speak thus presumptuously?
Beren:
Nope.
[pause]
I'm not ashamed of any of my friends.
Angrod:
It is simply grotesque
-- that all of you together should enjoy his favour.
[looks challengingly over at Finrod, who continues as if oblivious to their presence]
Captain: [easily]
One consequence might
be to make me reconsider my resolution against
challenging you, my
lord.
Angrod:
Why are you still
protecting him?
Captain: [shrugging]
Why stop now?
Beren:
Just to be perfectly
clear -- I didn't ask anyone to stick up for me.
Aegnor: [nodding towards his oldest sibling]
I'm surprised he
isn't leaping in to defend you again.
Beren: [moving a piece]
I told him not to.
[to his opponent]
--Path.
[silence]
Angrod:
You -- told him not
to--?!?
Beren:
Yep.
[to the Youngest Ranger]
Your move. --Don't let 'em rattle you.
[as the other looks up nervously again and then hunkers down]
Angrod:
Shouldn't that be --
asked, at the very least?
[Beren shakes his head, still studying the board]
Beren:
No, he asked me if he
should and I told him no. --Not in so many words.
Angrod:
Aren't you ashamed to
share the same Circle with him? Far less to continue
sponging off his good
will and sympathies?
[Beren doesn't say anything, only making a move now it's his turn]
--If you really claim
lordship of Dorthonion, then you ought to remember
that part of that
is submission in the chain of command to Aegnor and myself.
[Beren sighs and looks up at him]
Beren:
Look, I'm sorry you
guys got killed at the Bragollach. And I'm sorry you--
[to Aegnor]
--ditched my aunt An'
and never made it up with her and it's too late now.
But you know, I didn't
have anything to do with all that, and -- guess what,
he's right, they're
not my problems, really. And I don't feel guilty about
them.
[silence]
Angrod:
--What about our brother?
[pause]
Beren:
Yeah.
[pause]
But it's not like anything could ever stop him from helping me.
Angrod:
You could have not
gone to him in the first place. Is that not the truth,
--Beor?
Beren: [nods]
--If there was
anyone else I could have gone to. But everyone else who owes
me favors is either
dead and long gone, or long gone and maybe dead.
Aegnor: [fiercely]
You were still free
not to involve him.
[pause]
Beren:
Maybe so. Maybe I should've
just walked away from Tinuviel and left her
in Neldoreth and disappeared
out of her life. But I couldn't do that.
Maybe it was
mortal weakness.
[shrugs]
I'm not you. --I'm
not even Noldor, which could be part of it, as my wife
has pointed out, since
she--
[after the first sentence Aegnor, after a second
for this to sink in, starts to
lunge for him. The Youngest Ranger, still looking
apprehensive and conflicted,
stands up and blocks him. As they stand confronted,
the others close in a tight
cordon and wall between the Princes and Beren.
Huan follows them, to stand leaning
over Beren's shoulder, panting -- and showing
an awful lot of teeth.]
Angrod:
You disgusting parasite.
--What have you done to trap so many of your betters
into serving you?
[this being unanswerable, Beren just looks at
him through the rank of defenders,
not giving any ground]
Captain:
Milords. We've heard
this song, and it's getting very boring. If you keep
insisting on afflicting
us with this tune, we may be compelled to give your
thirsty invention some
fresh inspiration.
Aegnor:
What are you talking
about?
Captain:
--Or cool your fiery
humours, as the case may be.
Aegnor:
Talk sense, or don't
talk at all!
Captain: [nods towards the waterfall's pool]
I mean, my lords, we'll
pitch you in at the deep end.
[pause]
Aegnor:
There isn't a deep end
in these little fishless fishponds.
Soldier:
There is now, milord.
From erosion caused by the force of water.
Angrod:
It hasn't been that
long--!
Ranger:
--Verisimilitude.
Aegnor: [nodding towards their eldest brother]
You're all as daft as
he is.
Captain: [offhand]
Quite so -- and a lot
more of us than there are of you.
[The Princes look at the intervening rank and think about it]
Angrod: [to Finrod]
Are you going to stand
by and allow this?
Finrod: [sets down the harp, lifting his hands]
What makes you think
I have any control over it? This is not Beleriand.
Father's King
over the Noldor now, and if Grandfather hadn't refused
to interact with anyone,
he, not I, would be possessed of such shadowy
authority as our Lord
and Lady are gracious to permit within these halls
-- and since Feanor's
so crazy that not even his own people here can deal
with him, that falls
instead to the High King, so far as he cares to
exercise it.
Angrod: [biting]
You're lecturing us
like little kids, --Ingold.
[Finrod shrugs again]
Finrod:
I might not be king,
but I am still your older brother.
[pause -- his siblings give him disgruntled glares]
Aegnor: [suddenly]
You died because
of him!
Finrod:
And with him.
Aegnor:
And that should make
any difference?
Finrod: [meaningfully]
You ought to be able
to answer that as well as I.
[edged tolerant tone]
--Why don't you two run
along now and find something harmless to amuse
yourselves with? Go
pick fights with the Formenos lot or play some chess
with our uncle, if you
can't think of anything constructive to do.
[he picks up with the music again -- this time
it's a lot quicker and brighter:
closer to "The Minstrel Boy" instead of "Last
Rose of Summer."]
Angrod:
Stop treating us like
children!
Finrod:
Stop acting like them,
then. I expect better of you than this.
[there is a brief staring contest, before the
younger Finarfinions break off
and turn to leave, still indignant]
Angrod: [parting shot mode]
Are you sure he really
is a Beoring? He doesn't look much like one.
[Finrod scowls, but shakes his head when several
of the Ten silently offer to
go after the Princes for that. There is a general
sigh of relief and nervous
humour, once they are gone, and everyone settles
back down.]
Captain: [sitting down on Beren's other side, scratching
Huan behind the foreleg]
You were very restrained
when he insulted your mother. Most mortals I've
known wouldn't have
been so detatched.
Beren: [sighing]
He wasn't really.
[to the Youngest Ranger, who is frowning hard at the board now]
Did you go yet?
Youngest Ranger:
Er -- they rattled me.
Sorry.
Beren:
Me too. Take your time.
[to the Captain]
Verbal attacking when
you feel guilty doesn't seem to be just a human
trait, huh?
[he sighs again]
That's why they never
visited Dorthonion in my lifetime, isn't it? It wasn't
just that it didn't
seem like a long time between visits to them.
Captain:
Ah . . .
Beren:
I take it that's a yes.
Captain:
Yes.
[he grimaces, shaking his head a little, looking off into the distance]
Beren:
Would it make you feel
better if I yelled at you some?
[the Captain raises his eyebrows, and Beren gives
him a quizzical look back
for a moment, then shakes his head]
Sorry, I just can't make myself do it.
Captain: [quietly]
I'll try to forgive
you.
[Beren holds out his hand]
Beren:
Don't joggle me this
time, okay?
[the Captain opens and passes him the flask. Deliberately, with a wicked glint:]
--To your very good health, my lord.
[he drinks and hands it back]
Captain:
And to your own, my
lord.
[he toasts Beren in turn, laughing gently at them both.]
Shall we be singing comic songs, next?
Beren: [shrugs]
Maybe later. If we feel
like it then. --You know, I didn't realize that
wasn't just wine until
I finally had some in Menegroth. Then I remembered
what wine was supposed
to taste like, and I figured out that what he'd
given me must have been
the magic cordial of the Elves.
Captain: [snorting]
You and "magic"--!
[Beren grins]
--Are you . . . all right, now?
Beren:
Yeah. --Mostly.
[pause]
Yourself?
Captain: [equal honesty]
Mostly.
Beren: [nodding toward Finrod]
Why did he call him
Ingold?
[brief pause]
Captain:
Because it's one of
his names.
Beren:
Yes, but he said it
like it meant something. --Particular.
[pause -- the Captain looks over his shoulder to Finrod]
Captain:
Do you want to explain
it yourself, Sire, or shall I?
[Finrod nods towards him, without breaking his
play, but with a look of barely
concealed amusement]
"Ingold" is an after-name -- you know about those.
Beren: [nodding in turn]
Like Tinuviel.
Or me calling myself "Empty-handed." --Or Felagund.
Captain:
Yes, but Ingold is different
from those examples. It -- it's the name Lady
Earwen gave to him.
Beren: [frowning]
There's something about
mother-names, isn't there? They're supposed to say
something about you,
or something, right?
Steward:
Put with admirably-vague
conciseness.
[he is amused by all this too]
Captain: [nodding]
Such as their mother's
oft-repeated remark in answer to congratulations
on a daughter at last,
that no, really she had five sons, only one of them
happened to be female.
Of course, you can never be quite sure if things
like that only reflect
the future, or shape it, what with people's
expectations.
Beren:
So what's it mean? His
nickname, I mean.
[Finrod's chief counsellors exchange a sly look,
and the Steward starts to speak,
but then Beren interrupts]
--Wait, wait, I think I figured it out.
[he looks rather smug]
It's the same as the word "ingole," isn't it? -- that means lore, right?
Steward: [gravely]
"Ingole" means
lore, yes.
Beren:
But am I right about
how it's the same?
Steward:
Mainly. They are close
akin.
Ingole is more general, ingold more specific.
[at Beren's frown]
It's a personal form, but it's essentially the same as the singular of "Noldor."
[Beren nods in satisfaction]
Beren: [sudden direct look to Finrod]
She called you the same
thing we did. --Basically.
[Finrod nods again, with a rueful smile.]
No wonder you said it
freaked you out when we called you "Wisdom." I bet you
weren't expecting that.
Finrod:
Be fair -- I was still
rather unsettled from having been told, somewhat
insistently, that I
was a god -- as if I might be mistaken about it, somehow.
Beren: [deadpan]
Are you sure about that,
Sir?
[there is a loud jangling discord, and Beren grins, if a bit shyly still]
Youngest Ranger:
Um -- "Field," -- I
think. --Sorry.
Beren: [after looking at the board]
Hey, that's good. Set
'em up again?
Youngest Ranger:
Okay.
[behind them all Finrod carries on his music,
looking over his band of loyallists
with an expression that is at once proud and
considering, calm but very serious
in his composure. Yes, he is still very much
the King, whether he likes it or not.]
[Elsewhere: the council chamber]
[Luthien is sitting on the floor next to her
chair with her back against it and
her arms wrapped around her knees, not looking
at all happy, cooperative or
diplomatic. Everyone else looks equally frustrated
at this point]
Vaire: [to her husband]
I hope your idea
works better than mine.
Namo: [nursing his teacup and looking moodily into its depths]
Me too.
Luthien: [exclaiming loudly to the ceiling]
This is so tiresome!
Why can't you even let Beren be here to speak for himself?
Irmo:
You'd only fight with
him, don't you think? After all, that's what you two
have been doing ever
since you rescued him. That alone should make it clear
that you're not really
intended for each other, I should say.
[three of the four other Powers present nod in
agreement; Aule looks distinctly
uncomfortable.]
Luthien:
That's just because
of the way things were happening. It didn't really mean
anything.
Orome:
You could have fooled
us.
[she gives him a disgruntled look and tosses her head]
Ambassador:
Besides, you must see
that he's responsible for all of your unhappiness, no
matter how much you'd
like to pretend otherwise, my dear.
[aside]
And everyone else's as well.
Luthien: [hotly]
That's not true! Not
even Mablung blamed him for any of it, not even about
Carcaroth.
[the Ambassador flinches visibly at the mention of the Wolf.]
Ambassador:
How -- is -- Captain
Mablung doing? --When you last saw him, of course.
Luthien: [shrugging]
Weakened by his wounds,
sick with werewolf venom, and heartsick over the fact
that he failed three
times at his job.
Ambassador:
Failed --? I'm afraid
I don't understand what you're referring to, Princess.
Luthien:
Not keeping me safe,
not keeping you safe, and not keeping Dad safe. The
last time I saw him
he was terribly upset that Beren got killed doing his
work for him.
[silence]
Ambassador:
Surely -- I've misunderstood.
You didn't say--
Luthien:
--that Beren got killed
guarding my father from Carcaroth. Yes.
Ambassador:
But Elu -- that is to
say -- everyone knows that--
Luthien: [caustic]
--that Dad wanted Beren
dead. I know. So did he.
Ambassador:
Then . . . why . . .
. ?
Luthien: [slow emphasis]
Because that's
the kind of person he is. Things beginning to make more
sense now?
Ambassador:
No. Less, rather, I'm
afraid.
[shaking his head]
I'm not entirely used to this changed state yet.
Luthien: [snorts]
Give me a break. I've
been dead less time than you have, and I'm not making
a fuss about it.
Namo:
Yes, but you're Melian's
daughter. Your divine side doesn't require a
material presence, so
it doesn't trouble you the way it would most people.
--Such as your husband.
[she rolls her eyes, while the Doriathrin Lord twitches at that last word "husband."]
[The Hall]
[Beren is about to start a new game, when one
of the royal Guard comes over and
interrupts them:]
Second Guard:
Hey, what's this about
someone actually beating Barahirion at mortal chess?
That's a joke, right?
Beren: [nodding towards the Sindarin Ranger]
Nope, he took the field
last match.
Second Guard:
Then it has to be some
kind of weird anomaly. Nobody beats you at kingstone.
Youngest Ranger:
It wasn't a random occurrence.
I've got a strategy.
Second Guard: [tapping Beren on the shoulder]
Here -- let me play
this one, will you? I want to see this new set of tactics.
Beren: [obligingly]
Okay.
[he moves over and lets the other take his place.
To the Warrior, who is next to
him, having been watching the last game:]
It sure is a lot easier
when you actually have something in front of you,
instead of just trying
to keep it all straight in your head.
Warrior:
Indeed.
Beren: [wry smile]
Even if it isn't real.
Warrior: [shrugs]
It seems real enough,
for the present, and that's all that matters.
Beren:
You want your coat back?
[he reaches up to work off the other's cape, which he has still kept]
Warrior:
Not necessary--
[there is a flicker over his appearance as when
Luthien first arrived, and he is
wearing his again]
Beren: [blinking]
I'm not going
to get used to that. Even if nothing should surprise me after
I was -- you'd think
I'd get over all these mortal reactions.
[shaking his head]
So your weapons seem just as real as this--
[rubbing at the hem of the cloak]
--even when they hit, I take it?
Warrior: [wincing]
Oh, very much yes.
Especially then.
Beren:
So, how does it work?
Or when you get -- killed, here? --Commander wasn't
joking about cutting
people's hands off for hitting the King, was he?
[the cavalry officer shakes his head]
But it doesn't -- stay that way, does it?
Warrior:
It stays until you let
yourself disperse, and reappear again. That was the
problem at first, why
we had to make so many rules and do so many practices
before we could try
the Sudden Flame -- people couldn't grasp that it wasn't
fair to just reappear
and start fighting again after getting run through or
decapitated. Or losing
something. But finally everyone admitted that it really
was more fun to do it
the real way.
Beren:
So you don't have to
-- vanish, then, if you've been hit?
Warrior:
No. That's why people
who've actually been injured and recovered in Beleriand
have a huge advantage
over the chaps who just got killed outright. We know
what it feels like,
and how to keep going. Once you leave the field, though,
you're off until the
battle's over.
Beren:
So how . . . ?
Warrior:
It's a matter of remembering
how it should go, not what just happened to you.
Just the same as this--
[he reaches over and pins the brooch on Beren's copy of his cape correctly]
Beren: [not offended]
Thanks.
Warrior:
You know . . . I should
tend to think that it would be possible for you as
well. It -- it isn't
as if you were--
[grimacing involuntarily]
--born that way--
[he very lightly brushes Beren's wrist -- the
other pulls back, gripping his stump
tightly with his left hand.]
Beren:
No.
[less harsh-sounding]
I wouldn't begin to know how.
Fourth Guard:
Know what? I wasn't
paying attention.
Warrior:
Restore himself, so
that he doesn't have to do without his hand.
Fourth Guard: [interested and hopeful]
Could you?
Beren: [shaking his head]
If I . . . let myself
go . . . I might not be able to come back. Or stay here.
Fourth Guard:
But why not? It isn't
hard--
Beren: [slowly]
I'm not like you. If
I were able to do that -- I wouldn't be human any more.
[pause]
We're not supposed to
be having new bodies like you. What happens to us in
this world happens,
and that's just the way it is.
[he gets to his feet -- his companions give him anxious looks]
Warrior: [urgent]
Please don't be thrown
by all this -- we're just talking. I didn't mean to
distress you.
Beren:
I'm not.
Fourth Guard: [very worried]
You're not upset again?
Really?
Beren: [patting him on the shoulder]
No. --Really.
[he goes over to Finrod's side and sits down
next to him, a little away from where
the Captain and the Steward are watching the
light effects and passing the flask
back and forth at intervals.
Captain: [pointing to the flames]
Will we get in trouble,
do you think, if we were to put these over all the
fountains in the place?
Finrod:
Yes.
Steward:
I could have told you
that.
Finrod: [to Beren]
Did you want to talk about
anything?
Beren: [noncommittal nod]
I want to ask you something
-- if it's all right.
Finrod:
Ask away, --kinsman.
Beren: [smiling]
All right. So . . .
are there any more crazy relatives I have to watch out for?
[Finrod frowns in thought]
They told me about the
High King's long-lost daughter being here, and how I
probably don't have
to worry about Feanor, but how your cousin the Princess
isn't too keen on hearing
anything bad about Celegorm or even Curufin.
Finrod: [mildly]
That sounds like a fairly
comprehensive briefing.
[to his officers, a touch sternly]
--Why, then, were my younger siblings omitted from the list?
Captain: [unfazed]
Sorry, Sir. We've just
taken to ignoring those two and their rudeness for so
long that we forgot
all about them--
[Finrod winces]
--but nobody's used to the idea of Ar-Feiniel being here, I'm afraid.
Steward:
The fact that all were
aware of the Princes' presence here -- and none of the
White Lady's -- no doubt
contributed to the taking-for-granted of the former.
Captain: [rueful]
Being slapped hard enough
to knock one into a pillar does tend to work against
any taking-for-granted,
too.
Finrod: [aside]
She did regret it after,
though -- particularly because you retaliated before
you'd the chance to
see who it was.
Captain:
--I once asked my sister
how she -- and her Lady -- could put up with Cousin
Aredhel. The answer
wasn't very flattering.
Beren: [a bit agog]
And--?
Captain: [looking up at the ceiling]
She said that the Lady
was like a hot-tempered horse who didn't hold a grudge,
great fun when she was
in a good mood, and her bad ones didn't last long, even
if she
was easily
vexed.
[to Finrod:]
Sorry about that, Sire.
Finrod: [dryly]
You could say that my
family was full of thieves and murderers and I wouldn't
be able to gainsay you.
Beren:
What about the High
King? Is he going to want me -- well, that is -- um, going
to be mad at me for
-- everything?
Finrod:
My uncle isn't likely
to, no. He was troubled, yes, but he looks at fate
much more reasonably
than certain other persons of our mutual acquaintance.
He's been rather downcast
and melancholy and doesn't get about much anyway,
though I try to draw
him out of himself as much as possible. The breaking of
the Leaguer -- and the
news I had to give him about the consequences of it
so far -- combined with
the Kinslaying have rather depressed him, I'm afraid.
[pause]
--He hates being hailed as a legendary hero, as well.
Beren: [digging right back]
They said he was kind
of threatened by you getting all kinds of things going
here, too.
Finrod: [a bit snide]
It doesn't seem as though
they've left much for me to say.
Steward: [sighing]
My lord -- you're beginning
to sound like me.
Finrod:
. . .
[Beren & the Captain hide their expressions,
and the nearest artists on the joint
mural project look suspiciously blank.]
Beren:
It's okay, Sir, we won't
hold it against you.
Finrod:
It's all or nothing,
isn't it? Either you treat me like a demi-god, or you
give me as much grief
as these two.
Beren:
Um, do you mean, as
much grief as I give them, or as much as they give you?
Finrod:
Yes.
Beren:
I don't think I can
deny that, right?
[he glances at the Elf-lords]
Steward: [shrugging]
It would be an interesting
experiment, to discover if a mortal can knowingly
speak falsehood in the
Halls.
Captain:
But he already did,
when he said he didn't have any idea what I was talking about.
Steward:
No, a statement contrary
to fact made with full knowledge that all present
know that it
is counter to the truth is not an untruth but merely a jest.
Captain:
Well, then, this would
be the same thing--
[as they are debating this issue--]
Beren: [his expression darkening]
They did have a point,
though.
Finrod:
Who did, concerning
what?
Beren:
That I might as well
have killed myself before getting you involved.
[Finrod's hand tightens on the harp frame]
Finrod:
I should have let them
get soaked.
Beren:
'Cause it's not like
anything I ever did made a real difference -- for the
better, at least. Not
even my War. I'm not even worth making an example of.
Finrod: [exasperated sigh]
You're not still
glooming about that, are you? --You don't think he was
telling the truth, surely?
[Beren shrugs]
Beren, let me impart,
if you'll allow, a brief word of advice: anyone who
likes going by the aftername
of "The Terrible" is not likely to say, "I'm
sorry, but I'm not going
to publicly execute you because I don't want anyone
to know how much trouble
you've managed to cause and if you simply disappear
my enemies will be less
likely to make a martyr of you." --Wouldn't you
agree, eh?
Captain: [putting his head down on his knees in despair]
Oh dear Lady, they're
at it again! What is it this time? I don't recognize
this one.
Steward: [shaking his head]
I know about this. It's
all right.
Captain:
How come I don't?
Steward:
Because you have such
a hard time staying still and not speaking, if you're
not out-of-doors stalking
something. It was very difficult for him to talk
about the End. And even
after we knew about the rescue -- it was still nothing
either of us wished
to recollect. --Better, perhaps, that he's willing to speak
of it now to The Beoring.
[anxiously]
--I wasn't trying to keep things from you in some sort of petty triumph.
Captain:
I didn't think that,
actually.
[pause]
Steward:
Do you want to play
chess?
Captain:
--Do you want to try
scaling the rockface the lads have built?
[the Steward snorts at that. Still looking at the water:]
You did cheat, didn't you?
[silence]
Why?
Steward: [distantly]
I remember a foolish
young Herald who refused to listen to a mere field
officer telling him
that the Enemy didn't honor the rules of battle that
all civilized peoples
in Middle-earth obeyed, saying instead, "They can't
shoot me -- haven't
you ever heard of diplomatic immunity?"
Captain:
He only said that once,
as I recall.
Steward:
Being shot at rather
tends to make it a hard position to maintain.
Captain:
He did a fair job at
not panicking and getting the mission out of range
without any further
casualties, as I also seem to recall, if only in bits
and pieces.
Steward: [shrugging]
I couldn't let your
last words to me be: "Told you, you fool--"
Captain:
I thought you apologized
quite enough to last out forever and then some,
four hundred thirty-odd
years ago. That's a long time to still be worrying
about it.
[pause]
And -- I notice you still
haven't answered the question -- Why? Surely it
wasn't still guilt over
one stupid mistake and a misplaced instance of verbal
superiority. I'd really
hate to have your conscience, if that's the case.
Steward:
Surely if I were going
to concede any such thing, I should have done it long
since.
Captain: [ignoring this]
The how of it's
easy -- obviously you simply foresaw which character I'd
choose and named the
next tengwa. But I'm not sure of the rationale, since
it wouldn't make any
difference in the end -- and if anyone had any optimistic
hope that Orodreth might
discover some courage somewhere and mount a rescue
before the end, it wouldn't
under any circumstances have been you.
Steward:
Why do you insist on
knowing this now?
Captain: [completely serious]
Because things are about
to change, as they haven't before -- I can sense it
without benefit of Foresight,
like the coming of rain from beyond the hills,
or the scent of snow
in the air -- and I think for the better, though you'll
say that's to be expected
-- and I don't know that I'll be able to ask you
again, Outside, under
broad starlight. --Why did you let me go before you?
[pause]
Steward: [quietly]
It was almost as hard
on you as upon him--
[nodding towards Beren]
--you could never bear
being under a roof so long, even when the fortress
was ours, and the freedom
of it likewise. . . . Besides, it was not all
unselfishness: I did
not See then this meeting, and so I had a little longer
while his company for
it.
[pause]
I also knew which words he would choose.
[the Captain glances briefly towards Finrod,
and then looks back at the water/fire
in silence]
What is it you are thinking?
[pause]
Captain:
Wondering what caused
the Song to bless me from the beginning of Time with
a friend willing to
live in my place. I could never have earned that or
deserved it.
Steward: [very dry]
--And yet you still
won't give me the grace of a chess-match.
Captain: [easily]
There's that problem
of staying still in one place indoors for long stretches
of time at a go.
Steward:
You're willing to sit
still for long periods of time and watch, and offer
astute criticisms of
the plays, which would indicate that you don't find it
quite so boring as all
that, would it not?
Captain: [grinning]
--Yes, but that's fun.
It drives everyone insane when I do that, in such
different ways, and
I get to see so many unguarded reactions. And if I were
actually playing I couldn't
pay attention to everyone else and keep close
eye on the bystanders.
Steward: [sighs]
If you've not noticed,
we're not in Nargothrond keeping track of the movements
of Feanorian partisans
and possible supporters any longer.
Captain:
No, we're in Mandos,
keeping track of the movements of Feanorian partisans,
hadn't you realized
that yet?
[this gets him a small but well-aimed splash from the spill-pool]
Beren: [extremely troubled]
--But what I still don't
know, is -- did any of it mean anything? Not just
our War -- The
War, and Luthien saving me, and us getting the jewel, and Huan
killing Carcaroth --
since we just lost anyway. So what if we hurt Morgoth
doing it? He just comes
back and stomps us again, harder this time, kills
more people, and things
are worse after for resisting! What good are the
inspiring songs, if
nobody's left to sing them?
[he looks at Finrod unhappily but with hope that
somehow the King will be able to
make it all right, while Finrod meets his stare
quite soberly.]
Finrod:
I'm working on that
problem. I still don't have enough information for a
complete answer, I'm
sorry to have to tell you.
[he startles, looking up as though he has heard
something that no one else has yet
perceived, and turns to Beren with a stricken
expression.]
Finrod:
Change of plan again.
Just follow orders -- no questions, no interpretation --
please.
Beren: [seeing how serious he is]
Okay. --What orders?
Finrod: [visibly coming undone, for him]
Stay out of sight --
stay behind Huan, don't -- don't get up, don't -- just
-- lie low. Keep --
keep playing chess, act normal, whatever happens -- I --
I'm not sure how I could
disguise you as we are and -- just -- please -- obey.
Beren:
What is it? --Who
-- is it?
Finrod:
My father.
Beren:
? ! ?
[Finrod reaches out and grips his shoulder in attempted reassurance]
Finrod:
Don't panic. Everything
will be all right.
Beren:
No it won't.
Finrod: [sadly agreeing]
Probably not. --But
leave it all to me. Please.
[Beren nods, and getting up goes quickly over
to the further side of the
pool where the games are ongoing, hastily explaining
to a resulting general
consternation and gestures of alarm equal to
his news of Amarie, while the
two chief counsellors answer their unofficial
liege lord's summons for a hasty
briefing and consultation.]
[By the time a Messenger of the Halls' resident
staff enters, looking far more
vague and brilliant than anyone we have yet
seen (rather like a personification
of the Northern Lights), and ushering in Finarfin,
King of the Noldor in Aman
(he might be played by Peter Davison, in All
Creatures Great And Small, Dr. Who
days) -- everyone has settled down into very
preoccupied harmless pursuits again,
and Beren is completely screened behind giant
Hound and friends. Finrod does not
leave his nook beside the falls, doing an excellent
imitation of someone completely
oblivious, and the Captain has taken point,
as shall be seen in a moment, at the
closest edge of the spill-pool towards the door,
leaning on his elbow and ostensibly
taking it quite easy.]
Messenger:
If it please you wait
a moment, while I admit your Majesty's companion --
I'm afraid we're very
short of people available right now. --Not entirely
coincidentally, I've
heard.
Finarfin:
I shall wait, then,
gentle spirit.
[the Messenger vanishes. Finarfin looks around
with a controlled awe and restrained
apprehension -- and as perception adjusts he
sees the ghostly grouping, and his face
changes from wonder to dismay to equally-controlled
anger -- the last especially as
Finrod continues to disregard him. After a brief
hesitation he walks slowly over
towards the waterfall, and stops to look down
at the Captain with a particularly
disgusted expression. The Captain gets up and
bows with a pleasant smile.]
Finarfin:
--Thou.
Captain: [tone matching his smile]
Good day, my lord --
meaning
day in the most general sense, for we haven't any
way of telling the time
here.
[Finarfin glares at him]
Finarfin: [bluntly]
Thy former post I have
given to another -- nor shalt thou have it again, when
thou dost depart these
halls.
Captain: [unfazed]
Of course not -- I wouldn't
expect you to take it from my replacement and give
it to a rebel. Who's
chief huntsman now?
[long pause]
Finarfin:
I did award it unto
thy sister.
Captain: [genuine cheerfulness]
Well, that's good --
keeping it in the family, what? At least the job's in
competent hands.
[pause]
Finarfin:
I'll not have thee hanging
about the place like wasp to fallen fruit, seeking
for undeservéd
bounty.
Captain:
I beg your pardon, my
lord?
Finarfin:
Nay, is't not the very
trouble, that thou dost not? --I mean thou shalt have
no welcome within my
doors, nor admittance within my gates, nor any admit thee
within the walls of
mine own house. Thou hast chosen thine own way in the world:
do thou make it,
then.
[this sinks in]
Captain:
And what of my kin?
Finarfin:
Do they choose to see
thee, let arrangements be made -- but not upon the
lands of my holding,
nor upon the hours of their employ; an they'll the
hours of their idleness
squander on thy ingratitude, let them do so elsewise
and in other venue.
[silence]
What wouldst thou say, sir?
[the Captain is clearly hurt and troubled by this proclamation]
Captain:
That you are within
your power, and have every lawful right to bar whomsoever
you wish from your property.
Finarfin: [baiting him]
Thou dost not say I
am unjust, then, else cruel?
Captain: [shortly]
Freedom answers all
complaints, my lord.
[before this can escalate further the Steward
comes over in a preemptory way and
addresses his colleague equally abruptly]
Steward:
Go attend upon our sovereign
lord: he shall have question and request for
you. --At once.
[the Captain snaps to attention and bows before
leaving with the same alacrity;
the Steward gives Finarfin a cool half-bow,
as between near-equals, and turns to
go without speaking -- but Finarfin calls him
back.]
Finarfin:
Enedrion.
Steward: [wary]
Sir.
[watchful pause]
Finarfin:
I encountered thy father
at court not long since.
Steward: [politely formal]
Indeed?
[pause -- when it is apparent Finarfin is not going to be more forthcoming:]
--And how fares Lord Enedir?
Finarfin:
Uncertain as to whom
he should most direct his wrath -- thyself, myself, or
mine eldest son.
[pause]
This is nothing new, we often speak of our children who have lost them.
[longer pause]
Steward:
Indeed.
[uncomfortable silence]
Finarfin:
Is there any message,
that thou'dst have me bear unto thy parents?
Steward: [diffident]
I should not wish to
put any burden upon my lord's father.
Finarfin: [iron]
Young sir, were I not
willing, I should not have asked. --What message wouldst
thou give them?
Steward: [resigned]
Then, if you will, --
convey to my family my condolences upon their loss.
Finarfin: [startled]
Art mad, or dost thou
jest?
Steward:
Neither, sir, or so
I do believe.
Finarfin:
Condolences?
What reply, thinkst thou, thy father'll make to that?
Steward: [shrugs]
I will not speak untruth.
My heraldic office forbids it, even if my conscience
were not sufficiently
strong, to say there's aught that I regret, or would do
other, when it is not
so -- and yet to say as much were a far crueller thing,
I think, than nothing
at all. Moreover -- would not any conciliatory phrase be
manifestly not of my
making? At least they'll have no doubt this comes of me.
[Finarfin sighs]
Finarfin:
--Indeed. --Who else
should answer with such insolence in such courteous form?
Steward: [tired]
It is not insolence
-- though no doubt they'll see it so as well.
Finarfin:
And I must bear the
brunt of it.
Steward:
If you will recollect,
my lord, that follows but upon your insistence. I wished
no such trouble -- for
you -- or them.
Finarfin:
And sparest not to mind
me of't.
Steward:
Not oft -- I shall say
it but this once, in fairness.
Finarfin:
To whom? Thyself or
myself?
Steward:
Why, to whom does justice
belong, my lord?
Finarfin: [dry chuckle]
--Thy wits, perhaps,
--but not thy wit. As edged as ever, I do perceive.
Steward: [nodding]
The extremes of ice
and fire set a keen temper.
Finarfin: [as one stating a fact]
Thou hast not forgiven
Araman.
Steward: [deliberate emphasis]
Said I so, my lord?
[brief silence]
Finarfin:
Dost deny thou dost
accept me not as king?
Steward:
Are we in Tirion?
[looks around exaggeratedly]
We are not. Till then -- I have a lord already.
Finarfin:
Thou kennst he doth
lay claim to no such title now?
Steward: [nodding]
We allow him to maintain
that fiction, the more so since all know full well
it is just that.
Finarfin: [startled again]
Thou dost allow--?!
[Finrod comes up to them, and with a polite but
brief nod to his father sets a
hand on the Steward's shoulder.]
Finrod:
--Edrahil. Would you
be so good as to see if my gentle kinsfolk are done
with their chess-game
yet? Do not let my uncle draw you into another round.
Steward:
Of course, your Majesty.
[bows to Finarfin]
I rest my case, my lord.
[he goes away into the shadows. Finarfin gives his son the raised eyebrow]
Finrod: [coolly]
A rescue seemed in order.
Again.
Finarfin:
And of whom, pray?
Finrod:
Whichever most needed
it. --One ought not begin an endeavor which one has
not the will to finish.
Finarfin:
Aye . . . As, for example,
--to wed.
[touché]
Finrod: [folding his arms]
So. --Why have you come
here? I assure you I have not nor shall not change
my mind, and this cannot
do either of us any good.
Finarfin:
And art thou the heavens'
center, that all must turn about thee? It is not
on thy behalf that I
am come.
Finrod: [bowing his head slightly]
My mistake.
Finarfin: [shaking his head]
Such presumption sovereignty
hath bred in thee, since thou didst wrest from
me full half our House
and alliegiance thereof. And yet . . . it seemeth that
hence all kings
must come at last.
Finrod: [shrugging]
Here I am but one among
many bound here by our folly. My time as lord beneath
the Sun is ended with
my days in Middle-earth, and never shall I reign again,
for good or evil. --You
need not fear that I shall usurp your authority again.
[Finarfin looks away, tight-lipped, as though
trying to bite back some really
caustic retort. Shrewdly:]
--If you've hope of getting
some affirmation from Grandfather, I'm afraid
you've come in vain.
He will neither see nor speak with any of us. Not even
your brothers.
[Finarfin stares at him -- this has hit home
in turn. Before he can recover,
another pair of newcomers enters: the Assistant
of the divine Smith we met
previously, and a woman whose dark, plain and
practical clothes contrast
strikingly with her flaming hair. (Zoe Caldwell,
Medea,
might represent her.)
Her posture expresses extreme unease and apprehension,
and she looks around
without any pretense of being unimpressed, pulling
her cloak around her as if
chilled. Aule's Assistant bows to her and vanishes,
which does not seem to
surprise her in the least.]
Nerdanel: [to Finarfin]
--Brother.
[she crosses quickly and embraces him, with a
quick kiss on either cheek, and
they clasp hands tightly, letting go with reluctance
like worried relatives in
a hospital ward.]
Thy mother is much troubled over all this ado, I confess.
Finarfin: [smiling despite the stress]
Didst assure her, then,
by thy coming, to give me wisest counsels?
Nerdanel: [managing a brief smile]
I did.
[she gives a very brief, anxious glance towards
Finrod -- it's clear from her
manner that she would rather pretend that he
is not there, if he'd be civilized
enough to allow it]
She tasked me to restrain thy more impetuous urges, and thee to give me heart.
[Finarfin pats her arm in gesture of reassurance]
Finrod: [bowing very politely]
Aunt 'Danel.
Nerdanel. [sighing]
Nephew.
[pause]
--'Twould be indiscreet,
so I am given to know, to enquire of thee the news
I'd have most willingly.
Finrod: [without resentment]
When last I saw them,
or had news of them, their stars were in the ascendant,
or at the least maintaining
above the tide of War.
Nerdanel: [sharply]
All of them, sayest
thou?
Finrod:
All that I have seen.
[gently]
I have not yet seen any
of them here. --Though that does not mean as much as
it might: I haven't
seen their father, either, though some few others have of
your former household.
Nerdanel:
Thou seest too much.
--E'en as thou dost deny it.
Finrod:
I am truly sorry to
have no better comfort to offer.
Nerdanel:
Thou dost speak as comfort
might be given, that's no more to be had, saving the
past be undone. --Nor
shall that be. Shatter the alabaster, then mend it as thou
canst -- still it doth
remain cracked and withal flawed for ever and aye.
[pause]
Finrod:
Then one might do better
to carve another, and make the work over anew.
Nerdanel:
And that new-fashioned
one is not the first, nor shalt ever be the same.
[pause]
Finrod: [meaningfully]
It might be better.
Nerdanel: [dismissive]
Thou and thy mad follies.
Is't not enough to leave Valinor atilt with thy
departing, that must
unbalance more upon thy coming home? Must shake Taniquetil
with this heresy of
thine, and set all Valmar's tongues to ringing e'en as their
bells, as the clamor
on the hill of Tun' doth blow stormwise through the White
Tree's leaves, for the
tale of thy mortal Doom?
[Finrod looks both intensely embarrassed and unshakably stubborn]
Finrod:
Of course I could be
wrong.
[this sounds like formal politeness]
Nerdanel: [coolly]
Well, thou'lt learn
the truth of't for thyself in little while, shalt thou
not? When thou hast
thy flesh again, must tell us all, of whether this second
sculpting be equal to
the first.
[nonplused, he can think of nothing to say to
that -- while he is still silenced
Finarfin rallies]
Finarfin:
When shalt rejoin us,
son? Thy mother cannot fathom wherefore thou dost
abide here, when thy
rooms stand empty in Tirion for thy reclaiming.
Finrod: [shrugging]
That's up to Amarie,
Father. There's no way I can avoid running into her --
or friends of hers --
Outside and out-of-doors, and I'm not going to come
home and skulk around
the house. You've already got enough problems as it
is, without the neighbors
deluging you with sympathy for another insane
relative.
Finarfin:
Mad or otherwise, we
would yet have thee to home again.
Finrod:
I'm sorry.
[somewhat hesitant]
Would you please tell Mother for me--
Finarfin: [cutting him off]
Thy mother shalt yet
hear no apology of thine, save thou dost give it her
thyself, and in the
flesh.
[pause]
Finrod: [conversationally]
You know, I'm not the
only one in the family who can "outstubborn stubborn."
Finarfin:
Indeed, far other --
I find it most amusing, that Earwen doth aver it cometh
of my parentage, this
obduracy and headstrong will of our offspring.
Finrod: [same offhand, and patently-false, tone]
Oh, I've met Mother's
relatives overseas. We haven't an inch of vantage on them.
Finarfin:
So I am adviséd.
Thou didst ask wherefore I am come hither. 'Tis thus: Lord
Namo has requested that
I might lend my authority as chief of our folk to
convince the daughter
of her uncle Elwe -- with whom I believe thou art in
some small wise acquainted
-- to see reason and to release withal her Second-
born spouse -- whose
acquaintance I believe thou also hast -- from his mortal
toils within this world,
speaking haply more in tune with her own mind and
nature that are akin
to our own, than the great Powers, that are stranger to
her -- and that have
eke known both the joys of Aman, and--
[nodding sympathetically to Nerdanel]
--the sorrows of wedlock and husband's love that cools upon longsome time.
[Aule's Assistant manifests again and joins them, ignoring Finrod completely]
Aule's Assistant: [very deferential to the King of the Noldor
and Mahtan's daughter]
--Gentles, if you'd
please to come . . .
Finrod: [raising an eyebrow]
So they expect that
you and Aunt 'Danel will be able to talk Luthien into
staying here alone in
Aman.
[snorts]
Finarfin: [dry]
Indeed. --I cannot begin
to fathom why.
[with this parting shot he follows the waiting
messenger and his sister-in-law,
as Finrod winces again.]
[Elsewhere: the Conference chamber]
[Luthien is leaning against one of the columns,
her arms folded, frowning, while
the Powers look gloomily at her or at the light-dish;
the Ambassador, apparently
having given up, is wandering slowly along the
circumference looking at the
scenes of Doriath while the argument goes on.]
Aule: [gesturing for emphasis]
You keep saying that
we are not listening to you, but you don't seem to be
aware that you yourself
are not aware of what we are telling you. Clearly
you've already made
up your mind to ignore everything that my colleagues,
and I, have to say.
Luthien:
That's because it's
irrelevant. Some situations are not negotiable.
[the Ambassador gives her a startled look -- deja-vu]
Everything about Beren
being unworthy of me is simply wrong. So that's
irrelevant.
Namo: [patiently]
No one has said that,
Luthien. You're projecting your arguments with your
parents on this situation.
Luthien: [pointing to her father's counsellor]
He did.
Namo: [dispassionate]
Correction. None of
us
has said that. --Or that you don't really love him,
or that he doesn't really
love you. Or that he hasn't done heroic service
in the cause of Arda,
or that he isn't real, or any of the other things you
keep on insisting we
have. What we are saying is simply the truth: you can't
keep him here indefinitely
discorporate. It isn't fair to him to deny him
the Gift of Men.
Orome: [speaking up finally, still scowling darkly]
We want to help you
both.
Luthien: [fretfully]
I just want to go home.
--With Beren.
Namo:
And then what? Do we
do this all over again in fifty or sixty years? He isn't
made for this.
[Luthien bursts into tears, turning to hide her
face against the pillar; Vaire
gives her husband a reproachful look]
Vaire: [getting up]
That wasn't a very sensitive
thing to say, darling.
Namo:
The truth usually isn't.
Vaire:
I know, but still--
[she goes over to where Irmo is already trying to comfort her]
Irmo:
Child, child, please
don't cry --
Luthien: [through her teeth]
I want to go home.
Vaire: [hugging her]
But this is your
home. You were meant to come here, and be safe, that's why
Tav went to find your
people in the first place. If you'd been born here
you'd never have had
all these troubles.
Orome: [ironic aside]
--Other troubles, but
not these troubles.
Luthien: [pulling away, sniffling]
But if my father had
come back with everyone else, then he wouldn't have met
my mother, because she
was already in Middle-earth then, and so I wouldn't
have been born. Here
or anywhere else. --Or I'd have been someone else. So
there wouldn't
be
a Luthien for you to talk to.
Ambassador: [resigned]
It's just like arguing
with the King her father. Neither one of them knows how
to stop.
Aule: [snorting]
--If this is what Melian
puts up with on a daily basis, I'm surprised she
was born at all.
Irmo:
Este and I would be
so
happy to have you come live with us. And for your own
sake, not just because
we loved your mother so much: the Gardens would be made
inexpressibly more delightful
for your presence--
Luthien: [raising her voice]
I am not a collectible!!!
--Do I look like a garden statue, I ask?!?
[stunned silence -- into which Aule's Assistant
and escorted company arrive, all
three with postures indicative of wary reluctance]
Luthien: [not quite so loudly]
I hope you're not more
"old friends of my mother's."
Nerdanel: [wry]
That would be most difficult,
forasmuch as I never met thy mother. I am
Nerdanel, of Lord Aule's
Following, and presently attached to Queen Indis
her household -- though
most known for another familial connection, I confess.
Luthien: [narrowing her eyes]
You're Feanor's wife,
right?
[pause]
I have to say, you didn't do a very good job raising your children.
[collective cringe -- Nerdanel sighs, and Finarfin
looks over at the Lord of
the Halls.]
Namo: [before he can say anything]
Yes, it's been like
this all along.
Aule: [cynical smile]
Have a chair, welcome
to the party.
[he gestures toward the vacant seats]
It's the most excitement
there's been since we launched the Sun -- you wouldn't
want to miss any of
it, now?
Finarfin: [warily]
As I do recall, my Lord
-- much of that ado was was born from lack of certainty
as to the durance of
the vessel and risks therewith.
Aule:
This isn't too different,
as you'll find. Waiting for something to blow up,
crash, burn or otherwise
wreak havoc--
[to Orome]
I'm almost willing to
concede that Tulkas has the right idea -- I could use
a drink right now myself.
[the Hall]
[Finrod goes back to his seat, picks up the harp,
looks at it, smiles ironically
and sets it down again, shaking his head. Despite
his apparent nonchalance he's
quite aware that everyone is watching to see
what he will do, all along; what he
does is beckon the Captain over to him, not
urgently, but with a resolute air.]
Captain:
Sir?
Finrod:
I've been waiting for
things to happen, and now they are, and happening too
fast and variously for
me to manage singly. I can't wait for my uncle to make
up his mind about acting,
and I need good intelligence to make intelligent
decisions.
Captain: [seriously]
Of course. We don't
want any more of the sort of systemic failures and oversights
that helped land us
here happening again.
[Finrod gives him a Look]
--Why, Sire, surely if
you can blame yourself for circumstances far past your
control, you'll not
begrudge me the same?
Finrod: [deep sigh]
Consider the point taken.
What we need is inside access to the debates, from
someone who's well-disposed
to Beren, or at the least not hostile to us, and
keen-witted enough to
be able to sort out the meat from the shells, so to speak.
Can you crack me this
nut, then?
Captain:
Ah, this must be Edrahil's
request.
[Finrod gives him another Look]
He said you'd have both
a question and a request for me when he saved me
from your dad's incipient
harangue, and you already asked me what in the
name of the Void was
going on, then.
[Finrod sighs]
There's one individual
that springs to mind immediately. I mean, it would
be a little inappropriate
to appeal to my Lady -- yet. --But. And then
again -- but.
It's that competitiveness that's going to be trouble.
[he raises an eyebrow -- Finrod nods.]
Finrod: [meaningfully]
Yes. That's what
I was thinking. The trouble is, I can't afford the traditional
methods -- they take
too long, for one -- and besides, those usually don't give
the best results. I
need full, free and proactive cooperation, not devious
answers begrudgingly
given, even if it's just for the joy of it and not real
malice. I don't want
to be worrying about whether I've phrased one wrong and
wasted it, so that I
hardly dare use the other two until it's too late.
Captain:
So. No riddles, no boardgames.
[he frowns thoughtfully]
Got it. I think I can
manage this without actually having to fight His Majesty.
And if not -- at least
he doesn't have it in for me.
Finrod: [wincing]
Do I want to hear about
this plan of yours?
Captain:
Probably not, Sir.
Finrod:
--Ought I regardless?
[pause]
Captain:
I don't think you need
to.
Finrod:
Good. Take as many people
as you require.
Captain:
Oh, I think my backup's
already there.
Finrod:
Of course. --Try to
pry him loose from that damnéd game of my uncle's when
you're finished.
Captain:
I don't know if I can
promise
that, Sire. Getting between chess sots and
their board is--
Finrod:
--See if you can inveigle
my cousin into taking his place. Tell her you'll
thrash her husband for
her or something. --You did not hear me say that,
by the by.
Captain:
Hear what, my lord?
Finrod: [sighing]
I should never
have introduced either version of it to Eithel Sirion.
Captain:
If not you, someone
else should have soon enough.
[departing, over his shoulder:]
You know she'd rather
do it herself, though. --Actually, that gives me a
better idea.
Finrod:
I await your results
with equal parts eagerness and trepidation. Good luck.
[as the Captain leaves Finrod whistles loudly and Huan comes to him, followed by a curious Beren.]
Finrod:
Stay and look after
Beren until I return. If there's any trouble of any sort,
please come and fetch
me immediately.
Beren:
Sir, should you really
be going off by yourself? I heard about all that,
and I think they're
right to be worried. How your wearing this--
[reaches up and flicks at Finrod's hair and collar]
-- is as in-your-face
as you can get to the Kinslayers without actually
calling them that, and
how they're fed up with you six ways from Couplesday
already.
Finrod:
Didn't they tell you
about the latest attempt, then?
Beren:
I know, but you can't
do that with the walls -- or the floor -- any more
because you promised,
right? And even if they don't know that yet it'll be
obvious when you don't.
[pause]
Finrod:
They put you up to this,
didn't they?
Beren:
No, I just kept adding
things up. Two and two and two is six, after
all, Sir.
Finrod: [wistful]
Surely you wouldn't
be addressing me so formally still, if I were one of
your mortal kinsmen.
Beren:
You're changing the
subject, Sir, and yes I would, if you were one of my
senior cousins on Ma's
side visiting which is how I can almost make it work
by pretending, and I
did call them "Sir" and "Ma'am," and if one of them
was going to do something
dumb like go hiking in an area they didn't know
very well by themselves
without a guide I did tell them that even if I was
just a kid.
[pause]
I did it politely, like
I did at first, though, I didn't tell them it was
dumb -- but if that
didn't work I would go ask Ma or Uncle Brego for help
if they didn't listen
on account of me being a kid.
[Finrod just looks at him]
Only there's no one I
can go to at this point since you don't listen to
them and I don't know
your uncle and somehow I don't think you'd listen
to him anyway. Or you'd
listen but then you'd do it anyway. If I was really
unscrupulous I would
say something like how if you get beat up by a squad
of bandits you won't
be helping me and it will make it harder for you to
do that, but that would
be unfair.
[Finrod sighs, looks away, and then tries very
hard to persuade Beren he's
overreacting]
Finrod:
Beren, please try to
understand. Throughout the entirety of the Return I was
obliged to be responsible
and level-headed and mediate between all my hot-
tempered, justly-or-unjustly-outraged,
easily-offended kin and compatriots,
and every other free
People in Beleriand as well. That gets tiresome after
almost half-a-millenium,
you know. And I don't have to do it any more. I'm
not the King of Nargothrond
now.
Beren: [nods]
I can see why you'd
want to take risks and have some fun after being serious
and in charge all that
while, but if you won't consider us -- how we feel
worrying about you and
not being able to do anything to protect you -- then
I will have to guilt
you about it.
Finrod: [jauntily]
I don't need
to move the walls, though -- the Powers don't bother preventing
us from administering
lessons in civility and prudence to each other, and I
assure you I am quite
as much the equal of any here with sword or lance as
I am with any form of
power.
[he gestures, for an instant brandishing a dangerous
looking blade, before letting
it vanish]
Beren: [unmoved]
And there's still just
one of you. At least take Huan.
Huan:
[agreeable tail-wagging]
[Finrod looks around, then leans closer and says very quietly]
Finrod:
Beren, I don't
need to move the walls to deal with them. I could make them
think they were trapped
behind walls, if I chose. I could make them believe
far worse. If
they truly threaten me, they will wish they had turned back at
Araman, if not for remorse
then for the sake of fear, since the end result
is that they're here
in my company.
[pause]
Beren:
You'll get in trouble.
Finrod:
Very likely. It won't
matter because they'd never dare risk my anger again.
[pause]
Do you believe me?
Beren:
They said that people
can't lie here -- that what you think is what you say here.
Finrod:
I can't lie to you anyway.
--Only deceive you with silence.
Beren:
Sir -- everyone has
their secrets. And yeah, that was not a good one to keep
from me, and I think
you know that now, so I don't see that you need to bring
it up every other minute
any more.
Finrod: [mild]
Sharply put.
Beren: [not giving ground]
Yep.
Finrod: [rueful]
--"Sharp as salt," isn't
that how the saying goes? Such a diet I get of it
from my counsellors
-- not even you will give me honeyed words. I am blessed
far beyond my deserts
to be so served!
[earnestly]
I will be careful, and avoid trouble. I promise.
[he starts to leave again -- Beren calls after him:]
Beren:
What'll you do to them,
if they're not?
Finrod: [grimly]
You don't want to know.
[pause]
Beren:
--You wouldn't.
Finrod: [edged smile]
You know me better than
that.
[he runs a hand through his braids]
I do wear this guise
as a reminder that I haven't forgotten Alqualonde. I will
forgive them -- when
they repent. Until then -- let them be wary, or else find
themselves sorry regardless.
[pause]
Are you regretting your claiming of kinship as rashness yet?
Beren:
I know about avenging
family -- and guilt.
[he closes the distance between them]
Finrod: [blurting it out]
Please don't kneel to
me again--
Beren:
Wasn't going to.
[he grabs Finrod's arm and pulls him to lean down]
Be careful, Ingold.
[with that he slaps him firmly on the shoulder
and strolls back to Huan, while
Finrod struggles to stop grinning as he leaves]
SCENE III.ix
[Elsewhere: the conference chamber.]
[Luthien is standing in the middle of the circle,
halfway turned in the middle of
a bout of pacing around the hearth-bowl, holding
out her arms to her interlocutors
in an indignant gesture.]
Luthien:
. . . So now do you
think, do you really think, I'm going to walk away from him
after
that? The
Silmaril is meaningless. It's just complicating things in your
minds. Forget
about the Silmaril.
[long silence. No one seems to know where to
look. Finarfin is looking as close to
a shade as is possible for a living Elf.]
Vaire:
Your Majesty, are you
ill?
[the King of the Noldor cannot answer at first]
Finarfin:
My Lady -- I am.
[he closes his eyes, his right hand flat on the table, the left clenched.]
Vaire:
Would you like us to
adjourn for a while, Sire?
[pause. All are looking at Finarfin, or trying
politely not to -- Luthien appears
a bit guilty]
Finarfin:
This -- this matter
is not news to thee, my Lady.
Vaire: [compassionately]
No, Your Majesty.
Finarfin: [shaking his head at himself]
But of course . . .
of a certain, not.
[looks down]
I think I shall betake
myself to walk but a whiles, gentles, if ye shall excuse
mine absence. I'll return
anon.
Vaire:
Don't trouble yourself
about us, dear -- we'll manage quite adequately in your
absence.
[Finarfin rises, with a distracted acknowledgment
of her words, and turns towards
the arched door]
Irmo:
Shall I come with you?
If Este were here . . . but she isn't, so . . .
Finarfin: [a touch of sternness]
I will walk alone, I
thank you.
Luthien: [worried]
--Will you be all right?
Finarfin: [distantly]
I misdoubt.
[he walks out into the shadows, very straight-backed,
head held high, as though
on his way to the block]
[Elsewhere: a wide tapestried hallway with pillars
down the length of it, lit by
silver-white light from discreet sconces.]
[Two ghostly figures are duelling down it, with
speed and agility impossible for
mere mortals, neither giving any quarter, --
but neither managing to get any hits
in, either. When one of the fighters -- female
-- seems close to gaining the upper
hand, her opponent manages to block her, darts
behind a pillar, and from the other
side flings a short spear. The swordswoman (who
ought to be played by Carrie Ann
Moss of Matrix fame) deflects it with
her blade, catches it in her left hand and
throws it back at him -- he raises his hand
and it vanishes. She puts a hand on
her hip and jeers at him:]
Hah! I told you you couldn't
keep yourself from cheating. If you'd come to
Aman you'd have learned
some
honor there, instead of how to shoot from the
safety of the trees,
Dark-elf.
[He moves out -- Gabriel Byrne might be cast
in this part -- and they circle each
other, watching for an opening]
Eol:
Oh yes, that famous Noldor
honor. Which somehow doesn't stop you from killing
unarmed kinsfolk.
Aredhel:
As if you have
any ground to stand on!
Eol: [bitterly]
Marrying you was the
biggest mistake I ever made. I should never have let you
lure me from my peace
and quiet!
Aredhel:
You should have
stayed single? --I'd still be alive if it weren't for you,
you wretch!
Eol:
So would I, if not for
you, you seductress!
Aredhel:
Assassin!
Eol:
Traitor!
Aredhel:
Traitor yourself!
[They clash again in a bout lasting several exchanges
and fall back, frustrated,
without lodging any hits]
Eol:
I should have known
you'd be a thankless ingrate and a rebel -- just look at
the rest of your family!
Aredhel:
Stuck without using
any secret weapons, hm? Sure you don't want to cheat now?
Or are you going to
try to down me with poisoned words this time?
[Enraged, he lunges forward again and they go
up and down the pillar footings like
a small whirlwind until this gets boring again.
Before either of them comes up with
a new insult, the Captain saunters in and stands
there watching with a contemptuous
expression]
Captain:
Do you only fight
women and children, old chap?
Eol:
Be off, Kinslayer!
Captain: [shaking his head pityingly]
Don't insult Her Highness
-- it was an honest, if tragic, misunderstanding.
--Unless you're talking
to yourself . . . again.
[Both of them shoot him dirty looks; Aredhel's glare turns to a smirk]
Of course, if you're
fighting the White Lady -- she really ought to be
handicapped to make
it fair, unless you plan to manifest a few illegal
weapons along the way.
[Eol snarls; Aredhel snickers]
What, you've already
cheated? And you've not even been nicked once in this
match yet? Seems like
you're backsliding, Master Smith -- you're supposed to
be learning
calm,
and patience, and tranquility and such.
Aredhel: [aside]
--What are you up to,
I wonder?
Eol:
Don't you dare to lecture
me, you insolent, immature, Noldor delinquent!
Captain: [as if neither of them has spoken]
And you with that amazing
galvorn stuff, too -- I notice that your wife hasn't
even bothered with a
reinforced jerkin, so obviously in spite of your cheating
she still outclasses
you. I suppose you're used to sparring against employees
scared you'd sack them
if they actually showed you up? Or perhaps you always
just ambushed your adversaries
in the midst of peaceful counsels. Rather like
my lord's cousin and
the emissaries of Morgoth, both planning to get the jump
on each other, eh?
[Eol lunges at him without warning -- before
he gets there the Captain has drawn
his sword and blocked him, hard]
Aredhel: [wickedly amused]
Bad mistake.
[Surprise assault foiled, Eol breaks off and
starts stalking -- they circle, facing
each other. Eol's stalk is more dramatic, but
because the Captain is only pivoting,
Eol's using a lot more energy and has more distance
to cover when he makes his move]
Captain: [musing tone]
You do realize that
I used to do this sort of thing for a living? Not just as
a hobby. --Never used
any of my own folk for target practice, though--
[That does it -- Eol charges him with a furious
yell and they set to in earnest.
The difference between this and the earlier
fight is not so much strength or even
skill, but style -- earlier the couple were
duelling, but the Captain fights
combat-fashion: no dramatics, just the combination
of rapid reflexes and brute
force that one sees in predators fighting for
survival, not for display. It includes
tactics like stomping ankles and following a
thrust with a driven shoulder or using
the hilt as a bludgeon, for offense, and drop-slide-and-roll
for defense, though
there is a sort of horrible elegance to it nonetheless.]
Aredhel:
Yes!
[the Captain has feinted and used the mistaken
block on Eol's part to get in a
gladius-style short thrust up under two overlapping
plates of his armor. As the
Dark-elf falls he succeeds in landing a hard
counter-stroke on the Captain's
shoulder, but the latter has plainly counted
on this and does not appear surprised.]
Captain: [holding his collarbone]
--And once again, the
combination of practice and training demonstrates its
manifest superiority
to beserk rage and dilettantism.
Eol: [from the floor]
Faugh. Make much of
your
blow and belittle mine. Typical invader arrogance.
Captain:
Yes, but you'd be dead
-- if you weren't already dead -- and I wouldn't be --
if I weren't, again,
already dead.
Aredhel:
Are you all right, my
lord?
Captain: [matter-of-factly]
Not yet.
[to Eol, lecturing mode:]
You should have taken
that on your vambrace and ridden it out: trying not to
get hurt at all will
inevitably get you killed. If you're down to your last
adversary, a clavicle's
an acceptable exchange.
[to Aredhel]
--But not, however, if you still have more to go.
Aredhel: [cheerful exasperation]
I know that.
--And don't start on the "that's why you always wear armour, even
if you're not planning
on fighting and it's uncomfortable and others think it's
paranoid, because being
good isn't good enough" lecture. --So what are you up
to? Simple boredom,
or did someone finally get you to take that bet?
Captain: [gingerly testing his arm]
Which bet is that?
Aredhel:
The one that you could
take my -- consort -- without turning a hair. So to speak.
Captain:
--Damn! If I'd known
about that, I could have made a nice haul.
Eol: [sitting up slowly, hunched over]
You're all mad,
vying for non-existent trifles!
Captain:
Right, like destroying
what you -- ahem -- love, makes any sense at all.
Aredhel: [suspicious]
If it wasn't that,
then what was--
[she breaks off and rolls her eyes as Nienna's
Apprentice makes his appearance
in the hallway and gives them all meaningful
Looks]
Apprentice: [patronizingly-superior tone]
Lady Vaire sent me to
discover what the disturbance was about and to make it
stop. I ought to have
guessed you'd be part of this.
Captain:
Upon my honor, sir,
I--
Apprentice:
--did not draw until
drawn upon, I'm quite sure.
[sighs]
Don't you people have anything better to do than engage in senseless violence?
Captain: [leadingly]
Now then, now then --
I've been given to understand that you consider yourself
no mean hand at swordplay,
either.
Apprentice: [challenging]
And why do you say that?
Captain:
I . . . have my sources,
and mean to keep them thus. --So it isn't true? You
don't, in fact know
more than hilt from point?
Apprentice: [nettled]
I didn't say that.
Captain:
I suppose it must be
a guilty secret rather, not quite as bad as having done
in your relatives, but
with something of the same taint about it.
Apprentice:
What are you talking
about?
Captain:
Though perhaps things
have changed while we've been gone, though I confess it
doesn't sound that way
from the rumours I've heard.
Apprentice:
Do you think it's funny
to be annoying, or can you not help it? --Ah--
[checks]
Threnody, but that's what he's always asking me.
[sighs]
Captain:
As a matter of fact,
I can help it--
Aredhel:
--he just thinks it's
amusing to be cryptic and insolent. My cousin collects
the strangest people.
Captain:
You don't know the half
of us. --I meant, young sir, that your kin must look
quite askance on such
a violent hobby, unless the Vanyar have changed far more
in the years since the
Rebellion than even we.
[long pause]
Apprentice:
Oh. I see.
Captain:
So do you meet in secret
to make weapons and train like we did? Or are they
simply resigned to their
unruly offspring and hope that by ignoring it you'll
get bored of it and
grow up?
Apprentice:
Erm . . .
Captain:
I suppose you were just
trying to show off, then, when you made all those
careless remarks to
the Princes' lads about being a fair hand at it. --That's
how I know, by-the-by.
That
was a deliberate careless remark, intended to edify,
not an actual accidental
careless remark let slip. --You see how easy it is to
mean to keep secrets
and give them away all the same? At least to anyone who is
paying close attention
to the things you're saying -- or not saying.
Aredhel: [shaking her head]
This is why people want
to see mincemeat made of you, you know.
Captain:
Because I'm right all
the time?
Eol: [who has gotten up at last, standing rather painfully
and still holding his chest]
Because you're an arrogant
whelp of an interloper, lording it over your betters
and elders.
Captain:
What, are you still
hanging about where you're not wanted? Why don't you go
and vent your ill-temper
on the following of Feanor, who actually deserve it?
Oh -- that's right,
there are a lot of them and they'd probably go out of their
way to hurt you, like
kicking you in the face once you were down.
[Eol spits towards him -- the Captain ignores him]
--Which I would
never do because it's petty and trivial and lacking in nobility
and besides that, it's
stupid to give your enemy the chance of hamstringing you
for such juvenile satisfaction.
Well, stay around, then -- sooner or later milady's
father will turn up
and fillet you again, but far be it from me to deny you the
satisfaction of being
annoying.
[the Dark-Elf draws himself up and sneers at them before stalking off]
Eol:
I'll be avenged upon
the lot of you, I swear it!
Captain: [shaking his head]
--Git.
Aredhel: [sharply]
That's my husband you're
talking about.
Captain:
And you call him much
worse than that.
Aredhel:
Yes, but he's my
husband. When you insult him you call my judgment into question.
Captain:
? ? ?
[while he is still speechless
the Apprentice murmurs something like "Who would
do such a thing?" causing
Aredhel to whirl and flare at him:]
Aredhel:
Shut up. You
haven't any right to tell me what I ought to do or have done.
Fingolfin:
Daughter.
[she turns around guiltily. The High King is
there, looking grave and a bit
disappointed; he could be played by Roger Rees
of Nicholas Nickelby. With him
is the Steward, appearing somewhere between
mildly interested and almost bored.]
What is all this turbulence
that fills these Halls of grief and reconciliation?
Ar-Feiniel, it is ill-becoming
to berate the household, as well I have taught you.
[impatiently she drops him a quick bow and one towards the Apprentice]
Your heart is much troubled still, I perceive, from this dispute.
[frowning at the Apprentice]
Must I complain to your
Master yet again regarding your lack of solemnity
and dignity, then? I
consider your internship here -- never yet having been
interred -- to be a
most improper experiment, and do not doubt that I shall
say so again to the
Lady.
Apprentice:
I -- but -- I--
Captain:
Ah, Your Majesty--
[he bows deeply]
--I must confess the
fault in part is mine: we were baiting the young Elf,
in truth, though it
was but meant in humourous fashion. I merely wished to
teach him the unwisdom
of boasting, especially on a certain subject.
Apprentice:
I wasn't boasting!
Fingolfin:
Indeed? And what matter
might that be, gentles?
Captain:
Oh, the lad considers
himself a master of the sword, one hears.
Fingolfin:
You don't say.
Steward:
Indeed, Your Majesty,
one has heard this rumour as well -- though where and
whence he has his training,
one confesses one's self greatly curious. But
since it's past testing,
there seems little purpose in pursuing this . . .
diversion.
[he manages to look disapproving and amused at once]
Aredhel:
What do you mean, "past
testing"--?
Steward: [shrugging]
Surely one cannot think
it's possible to put it to the proof? When all that
have such skills in
truth are ghosts, and held here, and so there's none to
challenge in the world
without, or to judge, that truly might make test of
such a brag.
Apprentice:
Are you so sure of that?
--What about Lord Tavros?
Fingolfin:
I would never disrespect
the Hunter or his might -- but neither he, nor any
of his following, have
spent such years in such bitter wars as we, matched
against enemies that
tried our skill but to try to better it, and to outmatch
us withal in numbers,
if not in main strength.
Apprentice:
Hmph.
[pause]
Captain:
If you could fight one
of
us, we'd be more inclined to believe your claims.
Or at least the general
nature of them, since you can't possibly be as good
as you think you are.
But obviously that isn't going to happen -- at least
not anytime soon.
Apprentice: [slyly]
And why not?
Captain: [snorting]
You don't think it's
possible, surely, to engage in affray -- us being dead
and you being not?
Apprentice:
You needn't make it
sound as though -- discorporation -- were some mark of
achievement. It is --
at least for you Noldor -- a sign of disgrace.
[pause]
Besides, are you so sure?
I've watched you at your games, and I think I could
manage to conjure up
the form of a sword as well as any of you.
[pause]
Unless of course, you're afraid to try.
[the Captain gives him a scornful look]
Captain:
Afraid? As a
friend of mine from the Old Country would say -- give me a
break. No untried recruit
would stand a chance against me.
Apprentice: [raising an eyebrow]
Then let's put it to
the test, shall we? Don't you chaps favour metaphysical
experiments?
[the Captain sighs, shaking his his head, half-smiling]
Aredhel: [knowingly]
Aha.
[to the Steward]
So how much have you got riding on this?
[he only shakes his head, looking surprisingly serious]
Captain:
Battlefield rules, or
this ritual combat nonsense?
Apprentice:
What do you mean, "battlefield
rules"?
Captain:
Nothing one couldn't
do in the flesh. No manifesting pits beneath your
adversaries' feet, or
boulders between, or previously-absent weapons,
steeds, or abilities.
A true contest of strength and skill according to
one's respective limits,
and no others -- real life has no such "rules
of combat."
Apprentice: [petulantly]
You talk to me as though
I were a child--!
Captain:
Because you are one,
by comparison.
[the Apprentice hides a flicker of expression at this]
Apprentice:
So, shall we have the
great and noble Fingolfin confirm the sameness of
our equpment?
Aredhel: [sharply]
Are you mocking my father?
Apprentice: [surprised]
No. Why should I be?
None of us has managed what he accomplished, to withstand
and cripple the Enemy,
let alone single-handed!
[she looks suspicious; he asks, with another gracious nod to Fingolfin:]
Shoudln't we have His Majesty determine the exactness of our swords?
Captain:
Why? That isn't how
it would happen in the field. Work with what you're used
to and comfortable with,
and I'll the same. You don't think that an Orc-chief
is going to set down
his axe and take a sword because that's what you've got,
do you? Or, better yet,
measure and weigh both your blades before you set to?
[the Apprentice smiles ironically and draws a
sword out of thin air, flourishing
it rather impressively before falling into a
"guard" position]
What, no exchange of names and titles and so forth?
Apprentice: [innocent]
What, do you do that
in combat, then?
Captain: [grinning]
Well, no, --but I didn't
expect you to--
[without missing a beat or cuing his intent he
lunges forward and comes within a
few inches of ending the match right then and
there -- except that the other with
equal agility has sidestepped and brought up
his blade in a parry]
--be--
[clang]
--quite--
[clang]
--so--
[clang]
--good.
Apprentice: [smugly]
Flattery will get you--
[he has to make a rather undignified duck to
avoid unexpected decapitation and
backs away, rattled]
Captain: [stalking him down]
--a distracted adversary,
lad--
[he leaps at his oppponent with a lightning-strike
attack. The Apprentice manages
to deflect and riposte, catching him in the
wrist just before the edge of his
vambrace starts -- and backs off, with a pleased
expression]
Apprentice:
A hit, to me.
Captain: [grimacing]
Only an idiot does that
in a real fight.
[he switches hands and moves in again, with a
more cautious approach -- they circle
and feint several times, before the Apprentice
breaks first and closes, with a
vigorous set-to in the classic 30's swashbuckler
mode. With a particularly dextrous
parry the Apprentice manages to disarm his opponent
and the backstroke takes him
hard across the leg halfway between knee and
hip, bringing him down full length]
Apprentice:
Hah!
[the Captain rolls out of range and comes up
to a sprawl, braced on his right elbow
-- with a dagger in his left hand that leaves
it almost before anyone has realized
what he has. It should take the Apprentice squarely
in the eye -- except that it
dissolves into a trail of glowing embers that
vanish before they hit the ground. The
Apprentice backs off and puts up his sword,
waiting for his opponent to retrieve his
own weapon and resume the match. The Captain,
however, does not get up, only raises
his good hand for attention.]
Captain:
Your Majesty, gentles
all -- I call you to witness. Unfair advantage of abilities
has been used.
Apprentice:
But you manifested
"previously-absent weapons"!!!
Captain:
Not so. I've always
carried bootknives. Hundreds of witnesses, many of them
hostile, in here, if
you won't take my word for it. Your lack of observation
skills is not my fault.
Apprentice:
But--
Captain:
--But turning them to
harmless sparks is not something one ought to be able
to do in the real world.
Not even King Felagund could do that using the combined
heritage of all three
Kindreds. --Certainly not some young stay-at-home Vanyar
twit who's never seen
combat sorcery in action.
[to the onlookers]
--Was he, or was he not cheating there?
Steward: [offhand]
Who can say? Perhaps
he
can do that Outside as well.
Captain: [mock concern]
Shh! You'll blow his
cover.
[the High King shakes his head, consideringly]
Fingolfin:
Oh, I very much doubt
that's the case, regardless. If Morgoth had possessed
the ability to obliterate
weapons from a distance he'd surely have disarmed me
before I managed to
mark him. Clearly unfair advantage has been employed here.
Apprentice: [starts to object further, then sighs resignedly
and bows -- easily:]
M'lord, I apologize
for my action -- and the rashness of my assumption in
presuming dishonorable
behavior on your part, which led me into such error
of judgment.
Captain: [nodding]
Apology accepted.
Apprentice:
Shall we to it again,
sir?
Fingolfin:
Certainly not.
[the Apprentice looks at him, surprised]
Your apology was nobly
made. --The question of the penalty for cheating,
however, is not yet
settled.
Apprentice:
Penalty?
Fingolfin:
But of course. It is
well that you regret your actions, but redress must
still be made. Otherwise
your apology is empty breath and echo.
[the Apprentice casts a worried glance around]
I cannot of course compel
you to endure the consequences of your actions --
only your own conscience,
and honor, may do so.
[that decides it]
Apprentice:
Your Majesty, I would
not have you consider me coward, or worse yet, unfair.
What forfeit must I
make for my transgression?
Fingolfin: [to the Steward, in a manner of casual politeness]
What say you, my lord?
Over the yen my nephew entrusted many crucial matters of
judgement to your discretion
-- surely you have some thought as to what would
be both fitting
and serve well as memorial against future temptations?
[the Steward puts a musing forefinger to his
lips, frowning in thought, then holds
up his hand as though delivering a message]
Steward:
If the young -- Elf
-- considers himself unworthily matched, then let him match
himself against the
greatest warrior of us all, and thus be satisfied in his
honor even as the price
of dishonor shall be paid. --If -- no less -- such
exactment should meet
with your Majesty's willing approbation.
[Fingolfin raises an eyebrow]
Fingolfin:
It does have a certain
symmetry, I'll grant -- and I do find this enforced
idleness wearying after
a time.
[pause]
Apprentice: [rather desperately]
Your Majesty, I am no
Melkor.
Captain: [aside]
No, nor Sauron,
neither.
[the Apprentice shoots him a piqued glare before adding:]
Apprentice:
The -- the punishment
could in no wise be commensurate with the offense --
whether I cheated or
didn't. --Please.
[pause]
Fingolfin:
Well then, if your taste
for combat has worn cold, perhaps the gentler contest
of the chess-table would
be more to your liking?
Steward: [offhand]
I hear that it is wonderful
practice for those who are in need of learning
patience.
[the Apprentice looks absolutely, and if possible,
even more horrified at the
prospect]
Captain:
Sire -- permission to
make a suggestion?
Fingolfin:
Granted, my lord.
Captain:
The King your nephew
has an errand he has tasked me to undertake, the
which shall doubtless
require much in the way of walking -- would it not
be appropriate to require
him to fulfill that task, seeing as how he's
temporarily incapacitated
me?
Steward:
That has a certain justness
in it, I confess.
Fingolfin:
What say you, gentle
sir? Is such a forfeit acceptable to your honor and
your occupations?
Apprentice: [a little ungraciously]
Oh, I think I can fit
it in.
[he grimaces, shaking his head, and lets the blade vanish from his hand]
Fingolfin:
Of course, if it be
too onerous a burden, I am most ready to give you a quick
drubbing on the spot
and we can get it over with.
[he extends his arm, and the Steward hands him
a swordbelt and scabbard. The High
King draws the memory of Ringil -- and the Apprentice
pales]
Apprentice: [swallowing]
Sire, your judgment
is more than acceptable, and more than generous. I am quite
glad to make such restitution
to your nephew's servant.
Captain:
Good, then you can start
by giving me a hand up.
[he accepts the other's help -- the Apprentice's
disgruntlement changes to
concern when it becomes clear that he isn't
faking. The Steward looks away
with a tight expression while his friend struggles
to stand and put away
his sword.]
Fingolfin: [to Aredhel]
Well, child, now that
this brief excitement has passed like all earthly
things, perhaps you
would be kind enough to spend a little while communing
with your parent in
his lonely exile and indulge him in the diversion of
a quiet game of chess?
Aredhel: [demurely]
Pray excuse me, Father,
but I am reminded by Lord Edrahil's words that
I should practice my
meditations and strive to attain tranquility and
detatchment of spirit.
[she bows and hastily vanishes -- the Apprentice rolls his eyes]
Steward:
Oh, deftly done.
Captain:
She is good, isn't she?
Apprentice: [darkly]
Too good for her own
good. That one has -- an awful lot to learn.
Fingolfin:
I would remind you that
you are speaking of my daughter, young sir.
Apprentice:
Why, so we were, Your
Majesty. It is a shame my Master isn't here, so that
she could join in this
conversation with us.
[Fingolfin's expression changes to annoyance]
Captain:
Well, come on -- don't
dawdle about, your assignment's waiting.
[the Apprentice gives him a Look]
Fingolfin: [to the Steward]
My lord, seeing that
my own kin have abandoned me once again, might I for
a little demand your
gracious assistance in a brief round at the table?
Steward:
Your pardon, but I must
request your indulgence for the present: my lord
requires that I spend
more time in attendance on him, and less in diversions,
Your Majesty.
Fingolfin: [reasonably]
My nephew doesn't actually
need
you to do anything that he can't manage
perfectly well by himself.
This isn't Outside, nor does he have dominion
over two thirds of these
Halls and the troubles thereof. He can spare you
for another match. --I
understand that he wishes to embroil myself, if not
my folk, in another
scheme of his, is that not correct?
[pause]
Steward: [to the Captain]
Would you--
Captain: [nods]
--I'll make your apologies.
[he leads the Apprentice down the hall away from the others, still limping]
Apprentice: [remorseful]
I hurt you.
[the Captain shrugs]
--I'm sorry.
Captain:
Then you'd best put
aside arms, and all thought of them. It comes with the
territory. Get ready
for it.
Apprentice: [nettled]
I'm not afraid of being
injured.
Captain:
Then you're an idiot.
[an expression of annoyance flickers over the Apprentice's face, quickly vanishing]
Apprentice:
"Surely one may
regret the necessity for causing pain, even while not
holding back from the
deed?" -- Were those not your very words to my Master?
[the Captain gives him a sidelong glance, says nothing]
--How did you know I -- am not entirely what I seem?
Captain:
I didn't -- until now.
[this sinks in]
His Majesty had made
the conjecture first, of course, but we had no proof.
Thank you for the confirmation.
Apprentice: [disgusted]
Which--? -- Finrod.
Of course it would be he. --I am still sorry I hurt you,
but I confess -- not
quite as much.
Captain: [cheerfully]
At least I didn't have
to fight the High King. That would not have been fun.
Apprentice:
Why? I thought he was
fond of your crowd.
Captain:
What's that got to do
with it?
Apprentice:
. . .
Captain:
You don't think he'd
go easier on me because I'm not part of House Feanor,
do you? Aside from refraining
from an extra twist once he'd nailed me --
it's not as though I'm
some new recruit or beginning amateur. --No more
than you are.
[the Apprentice looks a bit sick]
Good thing for you you made the right decision, eh?
Apprentice:
--Wait -- why should
you have to fight Fingolfin?
Captain:
Had to draw you in somehow
-- I'd forgotten about Master Eol.
Apprentice:
This wasn't accidental
at all, then?
Captain:
By your Lady, no! Of
course not!
Apprentice: [chagrinned]
I was beginning to be
fairly certain there was more to you than someone who
just killed things.
Captain:
Still too slow, then.
--Speaking of which, you want to let Arda do as much
of the work for you
as possible. Don't fight your weight when you turn --
use it. I know
it looks impressive to jump around like that, but . . .
Apprentice [interrupting]
--So what is this task
your King has set you, which you've now arranged to
pass on to me? Organizing
a chorale society? Interviewing veterans of the
Battle-under-Stars for
his complete history of the War?
Captain:
To ensure your complete
and unconstrained cooperation in the matter of securing
inside information regarding
the Powers' deliberations concerning Melian's
daughter and the Lord
of Dorthonion.
[Nienna's Apprentice halts in shock]
Apprentice:
You -- want me to spy
on the councils of the gods for you?
Captain:
Not for me --
Apprentice:
For your king,
then.
Captain:
No. For the sake of
Beren and Luthien.
[the Apprenice just stares at him]
There is after all nothing
dishonorable in it; you've been doing it already
for your own curiosity
as well as to assist, have you not? And you cannot
think that my sovereign
lord means any harm or mischief to either Aman or
the Powers, can you?
We merely require that you bring the infromation you
have witnessed to King
Finrod in timely fashion and full measure, without
reserve or deception,
and without such noncooperative responses as providing
so much information
that no useful timely assessment of it can be made.
[with a narrow Look]
In other words, don't
report every fiddly little detail of "and then Lady
Yavanna started drumming
her fingers on the table again," unless for some
reason you really think
that's relevant and are ready to give reasons for it.
Apprentice:
Yavanna isn't there.
[hastily]
But I understand what you're getting at.
Captain:
And you'll do it?
Apprentice: [dawning realization]
You deliberately lost.
Captain:
Oh, I didn't lose. --Not
yet. Will you pay your forfeit, then?
Apprentice: [staring]
You let me strike you
down. Why?
Captain:
We needed some certain
way to provoke you into cheating. Nothing so likely
as the appearance of
it, eh? But it had to look plausible, hence desperate
enough.
[the Apprentice looks both horrified and awed]
Don't worry, everyone knows we're all stark staring mad.
Apprentice: [slowly]
I've thought that all
along too -- but recently my Master said to me, "But
what if they aren't?"
I haven't been liking the answers to that one very much.
--I'm liking them even
less by the heartbeat.
[acridly]
That means you did cheat,
though. Not technically perhaps, but in the deepest
sense. It was all a
setup, wasn't it?
Captain:
No, I didn't have anything
to do with the Endless Whirlwind -- they did that
all on their own, as
usual. I merely had to locate them.
Apprentice:
But the High King, and
your friend, and the rest of it -- that was all planned?
Captain: [grins]
What, rooking you into
it? Absolutely.
[with an ironic but not sneering bow, he gestures
for Nienna's Apprentice to keep
walking with him]
[to be continued...]
