(Part III)
SCENE IV.xix
[the Hall: the Ten and Beren are teaching the Sea-elf how to play chess,
while over on the Hill Finrod is sitting on the grass with an air of assumed
nonchalance in the midst a group distinguished by extreme discomfort,
where none of the participants are at ease with each other for a spectrum
of reasons, ranging from guilt to anger to distaste for witnessing family
tension to conversing with the dead/the living, and the peace is extremely
fragile--]
Finarfin:
For how long didst thou
hold sway over the Havens of Balar, then?
Finrod: [shaking his head]
No, I thought I made
that clear -- we were allied with the coasts, and
maintained the defenses
at Brithombar and Eglarest as well as as improving
the shipyards in the
south, but I never administered those areas. Lord
Cirdan and I were friends,
but he was never my subject; it would have
been absurd for one
as inexperienced as I, and a foreigner, to claim
dominion over the Sea-elves
of Beleriand on the grounds of being their
former King's grandson!
I gave him counsel, sometimes, as he advised
me well in turn.
Finarfin:
Indeed, and wert thou
not most singularly counselled in the course of
thy reign throughout?
[they both glance at the group by the falls,
briefly, and Finrod becomes
very stern]
Finrod:
I bestowed my trust
on those who proved themselves trustworthy, and
authority on those who
showed themselves fit to wield it. If they are not
the most easy-tempered
of Elves, what of it? I know you consider them
responsible,
like everyone else who didn't turn back with you, and a bad
influence -- but you
really don't grasp what things were like in the Old
Country, how much work
there was to be done, and how little ready
resources to do it with--
[leaning forward, intense]
--and especially
what the Crossing was like. I needed every trustworthy
and willing soul I could
get. I used my siblings' help when I could -- but
they had their own domains
to administer and Work to do, and I couldn't
go yanking them off
that whenever I needed something looked into. And
I never did figure out
how to be in three places at once. Nor had I your
option, of delegating
or diverting delicate matters of negotiation and
personal conflict to
my partner and co-ruler. So I'll thank you, Father,
not to speak
slightingly of those friends who did stay loyal to me.
[Finarfin looks down, not saying anything in his own defense]
Amarie: [taut]
They are rebels, notwithstanding.
Finrod:
Yes. We are.
[she looks away, fiddling with her sash, and
he does not pursue the matter --
instead he turns to his elders with an air of
innocent curiosity:]
So -- were you engaging
in yet another instance of sibling rivalry
with us, or was
it purely coincidental that we've got the largest
families of anyone in
Valinor, at least as things stood when we left?
Finarfin:
Thy query is past comprehending,
child.
Finrod: [to his father]
Of course it could simply
be that Grandfather wanted a lot of kids,
and you all simply took
it for granted as something to strive for,
internalizing it without
realizing it, and nothing deliberate about
it, but--
[to his aunt]
When my cousins and I
were -- not friends, as it after proved, but
friendly -- we
started wondering, after Cur pointed out the respective
ages and we did up a
comparison table, and they remarked on how
exceptionally pleased
you two were when the twins were born, as if
something had been definitively
settled, that you'd gotten so far
ahead that no one else
could catch up.
[she gives him a very frosty Look]
Nerdanel:
Thine other uncle hath
also more children than most commonly is custom.
Finrod: [blithely]
We know. I've asked
him, but he just ignores the question.
[shrugs]
I suppose it could
just be coincidence, but there does seem to be
something in the fact
that there do seem to be these batches of
cousins all right around
the same time in our House.
Nerdanel: [quellingly]
Nay, is it yet more
of yon quaint fashion of speech from the Old
Country? for surely
thou dost not mean to speak of people as were
loaves, else cakes--?
Finarfin: [even more quelling]
Finrod -- what,
deemst thou, thy mother should say unto such
malapert inquiring?
Finrod: [shrugs]
I've no idea. That's
why I'm asking, because I haven't any way of
knowing whether it's
the truth, and since she isn't here and you
two are, I'm asking
you instead.
Nerdanel:
Thy manners improvéd
not at all in the Old Country.
Finrod: [cheerful]
I must have lost them
back there, too.
[silence]
Ambassador:
Majesty, it is not gracious
to make light of the matter of unhousing
-- not all of us have
had the same leisure to grow accustomed to the
business, and such jests
are most distressing.
[the living Elves look relieved that another
shade has raised the issue
where they might not.]
Finrod:
Sorry. I meant my wits,
as it happens. I hear so many witty remarks
made concerning my lack
of sanity on, for lack of better phrasing,
a daily basis, that
it seemed the obvious comparison to me.
[cheerful]
So -- were you all having some sort of an artistic competition, then?
[the camera leaves them and moves to focus on
the chess-lessons, where
the Teler Maid is playing against the Captain,
who is presently glaring
at Beren, who is kneeling down next to the board
watching]
Captain:
Please don't
tell me what I should be doing. --Even if you're right.
And nobody go quoting
stupid sayings about things coming and going
around, either.
Teler Maid: [her brows narrowing as she stares at the board]
I do not care much for
this game.
[the Youngest Ranger is sitting beside her, advising her on moves]
Youngest Ranger: [encouraging]
You're doing quite well,
for a beginner, truly.
Teler Maid:
That is not my meaning.
In this fashion of it, there is no way to win,
unless another does
die.
Beren:
Yeah, that's . . . sort
of what happens, in war. Which this is based
on, I'm afraid.
Teler Maid: [shaking her head]
But might it not happen,
that from thinking this so like to war, that
one might come to think
of other Elves--
[looks at Beren]
--or Men -- as but such
small pieces to be set here and there, and
in harm's way, and so
to be knocked aside without regret, so that the
purpose of winning be
attained?
[dramatically she flips one of the pawns over
with a snap of her fingers
to reinforce the point, as if shooting a very
large marble]
Captain: [blinking]
Erm -- I don't see how.
It's but a game, after all.
First Guard: [disturbed but definite about his answer]
No, I'm -- sure, it
-- isn't possible that any of us should come to
such a point, where
the loss of life meant nothing whatsoever -- that
would be unthinkable,
Maiwe. There would be no difference between us
and the Enemy's minions
at that point.
Teler Maid:
You were not
killed by your own folk.
Captain:
Not directly.
Teler Maid:
And does that not but
go to show my sayings' truth, that you were set
aside without regret
by others, that did not care enough to care of your
deaths as if they were
their own?!
Captain: [patient]
There was a Curse invoked,
Curlew, and a great deal of other currents
involved in that turn
of affairs.
[at his words she tosses her head and looks over at the Steward]
Teler Maid:
And what do you
say, my learnéd lord? Think you my notion's but
folly, as well?
[the Captain winces at her words; the Steward
does not answer at once,
but instantly stops the strings, making it clear
that he's paying
attention and thinking about it first]
Steward: [carefully]
It is true that of those
who rebelled against our lord, were many
who favoured the board
as a means of honing skills of strategy,
beyond mere diversion;
but at the same time it is no less true that
the game was unknown,
to those who first committed the sacrilege
of murder against our
people.
Teler Maid:
That is two answers
-- which is to say, none at all!
Steward: [nods]
Indeed, in former days
I should have said at once -- Absurd, to think
that a mere pastime
might change the reasoning mind, a mere thing that
thought employs itself
about, as though the wax might shape the burin
that sculpts it equally,
though it be soft and bronze or agate hard.
But now upon reflection
it comes to me that it is true, that what is
carved does indeed chafe
and shape the tool that works it, for its
respective hardness
and softness thereof, and perhaps in like fashion
the mind should be affected,
pendant upon the self's own powers and
determination. For does
not thought, which shapes speech, and gives
birth to the words that
the tongue utters, hold precedence and rule
over the fleeting sound?
And yet--
[absent-mindedly running his hand around the forepillar of the harp]
--having seen how varied
speech may be, and how alike, and how unlike,
are the ways and manners
of thinking that each has that employs a
different one, I wonder
-- rather, judge it so -- that speech does
truly shape the mind
that makes it, even as the different densities
of stones, and woods,
and metals, do change the sculptor's very hand,
both in pattern of gesture
and by increase of strength. Yet this is
but analogy, of course,
and nothing definite.
Teler Maid:
You still have not said
yea or nay, but yea and nay.
Beren: [frowning]
Isn't that an Elvish
thing? I thought it came from being Eldar.
Steward:
Were I not fearful of
giving offense, I should say that it comes of
wisdom, which often
accompanies years but does not inevitably follow
upon them, but which
may by the course of time and wide experience
allow to overlook a
great many things, as from the topmost branches
of the tallest trees,
and thus reveal that things in truth be other
than at first presumed
while in their midst, as a distance might be
less great than seemed,
or greater, or things thought far apart lie
close beside, and only
such slow and laborious ascent to such a height
may grant the view,
and also must require as well the courage to look
so far and through so
lofty a gap.
[raising an eyebrow]
--Or else, at other times,
it comes but of mental sloth, that does not
care to take the trouble
to think on it, or possibly of simple ignorance,
that is too proud to
grant it.
[his ex gives him a wary look, and then an even
more uncertain one to their
companions, who are chuckling over this . .
. answer]
Soldier:
How did you win,
sir? Against His Majesty the High King?
Captain:
I just assumed you cheated
with the Sight.
[nods from several of the Ten]
Steward:
No, I -- merely played
kingstone, where he was playing chess proper.
Beren: [frowning]
How could you do that?
Steward:
I took the offensive
to his side, by putting my king into play, and
setting all my pieces
in guard around as a doubled nernehta. At first
he was so thrown by
the unprecedent and seeming-madness of such a
hazardous ploy, that
he could not mount an effective defense -- and
then as certain similarities
to unpleasant past events became increasingly
manifest, aided by the
fact that he had drawn black, His Majesty's
uncle became increasingly,
as you would say,
rattled. I nearly felt
badly at putting him
in check with my remaining knight. But I doubt the
stratagem would work
again, now that he has had time to study it.
Beren: [solemnly]
I can see where making
him play Morgoth to your Fingolfin might make
him a tad upset and
careless.
Teler Maid:
But it is little like
to Arda, after all's done, no matter how like
your War -- for when
one battle's ended, you but lay the pieces down
for yet another.
[she gives them a slightly uncertain, challenging
look, receiving only
sad affirmation in return: only the Steward
disagrees at all]
Steward: [shaking his head]
It is not much like
the world Outside -- but it is very like to here.
[he returns to playing, still quietly; beyond,
the Royal Guard sent on
errand to Fingolfin returns, and approaching
the hill, comes up quietly
and kneels down discreetly behind his King,
tapping him on the shoulder
to get his attention.]
Third Guard: [aside to Finrod, in a rather frustrated tone]
Sir, your uncle's being
gloomy over things again and wants you to go
talk to him yourself.
I did tell him you were busy with your father,
but he's not
in the mood to listen.
[he notices the surprised expressions of the
living Eldar and gives Finrod
a worried look]
Finrod: [very amused]
You're scandalizing
my family with our informality.
Third Guard:
Oh.
[bites his lip, straightening as he kneels, and begins again -- very formal tone]
--Sire, the High King
would have your Majesty attend upon his presence
most presently, and
requests that His Majesty the King excuse your
Majesty's absence for
the whiles.
[spoiling it]
How's that, Sir?
Finrod: [approving nod]
Good enough.
Third Guard:
What do you want me
to tell him next?
Finrod: [cool glint]
Nothing. He'll be getting
my response shortly, and regretting this game.
He should know by now
that I play to win.
[snorts]
--On the other hand, he won't be able to complain about being bored.
[to the Guard]
--Thank you.
[his follower nods and makes his departure with
rapidity and relief, heading
over to the much more relaxed, if still strained,
gathering by the waterfall]
Finarfin: [guardedly]
There is ill-will twixt
thee and thine uncle?
[Finrod shrugs, shaking his head a little]
Finrod: [a shade wearily]
He's not gotten over
the fact that most people here think of him as my
uncle, rather than me
as the High King's nephew. We try not to make
an issue of it; but
the fact of the matter is, I held more territory, and
more followers, than
all the rest of our family combined. --For all the
good it did me.
[Finarfin restrains a grimace]
Nerdanel:
But tell me, was that
not ever truth? Surely thy father's elder was not so
blind to see it not?
Finrod:
Yes, but it didn't matter
to him then, because he never paid much attention
to anything that happened
in the south. All his concentration was fixed on
Thangorodrim, and everything
else was important only in so far as it related
to the Leaguer. I might
have ruled most of Beleriand, but it never registered
saving insofar as it
meant that I could guarantee deliveries of weapons and
wine and gemstones and
seafood and safe passage for all of that and his
messengers and troops
to the siege.
Nerdanel:
Whence, then, this sudden
and much-belated cognition of such state as did
obtain o'er all for
nigh well all this Age?
Finrod: [wry]
Because -- an awful
lot of them are here. And yes, technically we are all
of us subject to him
-- my people, including my brothers and their people
as well, along with
the Feanorian dead -- but that doesn't change the fact
that an awful lot of
them, including occasionally my brothers and some of
the Feanorians, come
to me first for advice. Which -- as I've tried to tell
him -- has some little
thing to do with the fact that he's spent much of
the past decade moping
about and playing endless rounds of chess with
whomever he can conscript
into it.
[increasingly exasperated]
I mean -- Grinding Ice!
-- what
difference does it make any more? First
of all, it's completely
in the past; secondly, as you said, Aunt 'Danel,
nothing really
has changed except that he's been forced to notice it.
I don't understand why
he's so touchy about it now. When I was alive
my kingdom came close
to
encircling Elu's, and he never gave me such
a hard time as Uncle
Fingolfin is giving me now. Not even when he threw
us out.
Ambassador:
Yes, but you
freely gave him the one thing he did desire, you and your
siblings and your following
-- respect.
Finrod:
I--
[stops, fights back a grin]
I give my father's brothers
all the respect they are due. No less than
I gave my grandfather's
brother.
Ambassador:
And thus His Majesty
could but ever give his royal nephew hearing,
whether the words were
much to his liking or little, nor long stay
angry with you, Sire.
[Finrod sighs deeply]
Finrod:
--Too many Kings . .
. !
Finarfin: [very measured and slightly-mocking tone]
So, my son, -- art
thou King, or not? For first thou dost deny it, and yet
thy folk aver it, and
thou dost act in such wise ever amidst all, and now,
in guardless speech
thou eke averrest. Canst thou yet, in full cognizance,
and all consideration
of these things, deny me thus once more?
[they match stares for a long, intense moment,
far too much between them to be
said otherwise, and then Finrod sighs, yielding,
but not weakening:]
Finrod: [equally-measured, and very proudly]
For so long as my people
do hold me such, for so long as any of them
stand in need of my
protection, and for so long as we abide within these
Halls -- I shall be
their true lord, as they are true beyond all my
deserving, for how can
I choose other?
Finarfin: [coolly]
I had deemed no less.
--Glad am I in truth to find it so.
[Finrod is not sure what to make of his father's
words; Amarie, who has up till
now been very quiet and taut, now addresses
him, in an edged, brittle tone.]
Amarie:
Thou -- thou
dost not such things, in truth? To strike, with the sword's
keenness, thy fellow
shades?
Finrod:
Not usually.
[brief pause]
Usually, -- worse.
Finarfin:
Howso?
Finrod: [shrugging]
D-- Fire-breathing serpent-monsters.
Molten rivers. --Things out of
their worst nightmares
to haunt them.
Amarie: [sharp]
Then how mayest hold
thyself superior to these thy -- foes?
Finrod: [coolly]
They ravaged Swanhaven.
They haven't regretted it. Now I harry them.
--Not unprovoked, I
assure you.
[she does not respond, but only stares at him
with a strange intensity; he
gives his living relatives a defiant look. In
the background, the Feanorian
contingent returns, strengthened by the addition
of a few more bolder souls]
Nerdanel:
My nephew, didst not
assure that yon unquiet dead should ne'er dare to
return and trouble ye?
[looking around, he grimaces at her dry words]
Finrod:
Unwarranted optimism
-- ever our bane.
[sighing, he gets up and goes over to the incipient
conflagration, shaking
his head wearily at it all. With unspoken accord,
the other four rise and
follow to see what happens. The confronted parties
are in much the same
arrangement as before, with Beren and Huan together
remaining reluctantly
by the falls, while the two followings face
off without yet coming to blows.]
What seems to be the trouble, gentles?
Formenos: [airily]
What trouble would you
have, sir?
Finrod:
None whatsoever, by
my wish. But I fear you bring me some.
Formenos:
No, you and yours brought
it on yourselves. Your servant owes my friend
a debt of pain, and
we are here to see it paid.
Finrod:
You know what my decision
on that was -- that judgment should be left
up to them that rightfully
judge here, and I bid you go and make
your grievance known
to them. Have you not done so?
Aglon:
Hah -- as if they'd
truly judge honestly between you and yours, and us!
You know what the truth
of that is, I'll warrant.
Finrod:
As I know the truth
of what I say -- that I know not what judgment the
Doomsman would pronounce,
but that it be just.
Steward:
My lord, they will not
give you peace, until I yield. Let me--
Finrod:
No.
Steward:
For the common good,
and Beren's--
Finrod:
--No. I do not
betray my own.
[the Steward bows his head in obedience, though not relieved by the refusal]
Formenos:
So quickly you yield,
Enedrion. I hardly recognize you these days --
you must have been at
some pains to blend in over the years with House
Finarfin's "meekness,"
as I believe you used to call it over dinner at
Gatherings in the old
Day, considering how much you said it wore upon you.
[he seems somewhat disappointed and surprised
that the Ten express no surprise
nor dismay whatsoever at this "revelation"]
Aglon: [frowning thoughtfully]
No, it's the other way
'round, I think: he found his proper level with
these, who almost
instantly forgot their Noldor heritage -- such as it
was -- and "naturalized,"
I think they put it, when it's plants. None quite
quite as much as the
little sister -- but you'd swear they were all Dark-
elves themselves, the
way they've been running and hiding from trouble,
these last few years.
Of course, if he'd been
truly High-elven, at heart,
and not just from birth,
he'd not have held back and gotten caught up with
these stragglers back
in the initial stages of the Departure.
[the Steward does not respond, though his expression
reveals the strain --
Finarfin gives him a surprised look]
Finarfin: [darkly]
Is this ever their way
and fashion of words unto ye?
[quick nod]
Yet thou dost not strike him down for such form of insolence?
Steward:
Truly, my lord, I --
I seldom, if ever, permit my anger to rule my deeds.
--That -- was
a most uncommon exception.
Captain: [apologetic]
I usually take
care of any necessary violence, Sir.
Finarfin:
Aye, yet -- he derideth
not only ye, but my son the same, in his words
to thee.
[another quick nod]
Captain:
That's my jurisdiction
as well.
Finarfin:
I aver thy former actions
seem less worthy of reprehensions -- the both
of ye.
[to the Feanorian lords, impassioned:]
Wherefore ye seek naught
but to feed this malice that doth overgrow
thee like unto mossy
greens o'ersliming rocks that do stand in water--
deem ye not that it
shall be the more fitting employ of spirit and
strength to seek an
end, or some form of speech or form of service
that shall give solace
to thine injured mood, young shade, that doth
not give to other injury?
Nor that it befits thee better, that art
his elder both in earthly
years alike in death, to urge him peace,
belike discovering of
thine own wisdom such appeasement even, that
shall be acceptable
to all who now contend?
Formenos: [shaking his head]
No one can stop you
from talking, I suppose -- but I can't imagine
what you think you'll
accomplish, Finarfin old chap. Your skills as
a peacemaker and a leader
haven't exactly been shining successes,
what? After all, you
couldn't even keep your own children in line --
though I'm not sure
whether that says more about your parenting skills
than your -- ahem --
"leadership abilities," eh? Not like your brother
at all . . .
[he trails off, raising his eyebrow challengingly
-- Finarfin only gives him
a level Look, matching him stare for stare,
while to the side Finrod's jaw
hardens, though he doesn't say anything]
Amarie: [outraged]
He is King of the Noldor,
by right of descent that hath been confirméd
full by Taniquetil's
Powers -- and by desert, thou rebel, thou thief!
Aglon: [bored tone, not even looking at her]
Go back to your Valmar
birdcage and ring your bells, Firstling.
Amarie: [to Finrod]
--And dost thou stand
there, my lord, and hear, and do naught?
Finrod: [shrugging]
What do you want me
to do, exactly? I thought you were against violence.
Amarie:
It is thine own father
he mocketh, nor I alone!
Finrod: [bleakly]
I can tell him to be
quiet, but you've seen how much good that does.
If I hit him, it's going
to escalate, which is what I'm trying to
prevent. A bit counter-productive,
wouldn't you say?
[she snorts angrily; the Feanorians look on with malicious glee]
After all, it's hardly
fair of you to condemn Edrahil for losing his
temper at the same sort
of thing, and then goad me into it, -- unless
you're actually
trying to get me to do something to further justify
your bad opinions of
me--
Amarie: [loudly interrupting him]
Hold--
[she grits her teeth as if biting down on any
further imprecations, looking
as coolly unaffected as she can, but there are
tears in her eyes]
Aglon: [affecting innocence, gesturing back and forth]
So -- are you
two married, or not? I can never get a straight answer about
that, and my Lords weren't
quite sure either.
[to Amarie first]
It's just as well, considering,
that you stayed behind, Firstling -- you
do know he was notorious
for running off and not finishing things properly
before getting distracted
with something new. Saved yourself no end of
grief, I'm sure--
[to Finrod]
--It's hardly surprising
that nobody in Nargothrond followed you, when you
couldn't even convince
your own lady to do the same! Of course, that's not
really surprising either,
considering you never stayed there long enough
to unpack your bags.
--I wonder if they've even missed you yet?
[without looking around Finrod flings out his
arm, blocking the Captain from
moving forward; Amarie is white with fury]
Warrior:
We finished the defenses
of Barad Nimras, didn't we? And th--
Formenos: [cutting him off]
--Yes, and from what
I've heard, that was a signally pointless waste of
resources, wasn't it?
They didn't strike there, after all.
Ranger:
At least we didn't just
hang about on a perpetual shooting vacation enjoying
ourselves at other people's
expense!
[the Feanorian lords just smile, the baiting succeeding quite well]
Finrod: [impassive]
Have you anything of
substance
to impart, milords?
Nerdanel: [sternly chiding]
Ye should stand ashamed,
that have not learned aught of mercy else of
wisdom for the workings
of Doom.
[they don't even look at her, although a few of their following do.]
Ambassador:
They are Kinslayers,
noble lady, and one expects nothing else of them,
if one is wise.
[the Seneschal and Warden give him a glance and
then ignore him, as unworthy
of attention, while Nerdanel draws herself up
to deliver another rebuke.
Steward: [urgent]
Do not waste your time
and trouble, please -- it will only incur you
needless grief, and
insult.
[she gives him a a quick approving glance, and
continues to rake those who
formerly owed her fealty as well with an adamantine
glare. Some of them
display signs of clear discomfort, despite their
affectation of her non-
existence.]
Finrod: [disgusted exasperation]
What do you want? I'm
not about to let you hurt any of my people, and
I'm not going to allow
you to start a melee in here. Now you have the
choice of letting it
stop,
now, quietly, and taking it up with the Powers
that are here, as I
advised -- or of pressing it to open conflict. We are
not, --have not
-- and will not be the initiators of aggression. We do
our best to keep the
peace here, even in the face of your determination
to break it.
Aglon:
Oh, such pretty, pretty
words! What a pity they aren't true. --Or have
you forgotten how your
vassal there ran me through when I had done nothing
to him?
[the Steward lowers his head, but does not turn
away or retreat; Finrod is
unmoved by the retort, as are the rest of his
friends.]
Captain:
You hit the Sea-Mew.
Aglon: [blank]
Who?
Teler Maid: [loudly -- very loudly]
Me!!!
[he glances over, startled, and registers her presence]
Aglon: [exasperated, to Finrod]
I did no such thing.
I merely moved her aside as she was obstructing me --
all right, perhaps a
little
too much force, but nothing to hurt her, really.
[she snorts angrily, giving him a glare to which he is quite oblivious]
Finrod: [leadingly]
Obstructing you -- and
from
what?
Aglon:
? ? ?
[Finrod sighs, and looks at the Youngest Ranger]
Youngest Ranger: [clearly, if with reluctant expression]
From trying to strike
me, gentles.
Aglon:
--Who had struck me
without warning and most unsportsmanlike -- with
not even a proper weapon!
Finrod:
--And, as I understand
it, to forestall you from harming the Lord of
Dorthonion. --A Man
unarmed, crippled, occupied in peaceful pursuits,
and offering you no
cause for violence. Not to mention a valiant enemy
of our common Enemy.
[pause, in which everyone looks over at Beren
where he is standing unhappily
holding onto Huan's neck]
Aglon: [sullen]
He provoked me.
[derisive noises and loud jeers from the Ten & Huan -- Finrod gestures them quiet]
Finrod: [pleasantly]
Truthfully? I admit
that Beren's social skills are not always employed, but
tell me -- who spoke
first?
[silence]
Formenos: [patronizingly]
Finarfinion, you can't
really
expect us to take such insolence from one of
these yearsick Followers,
behaving as though he were one of us, our equal --
nay, our better -- and
not a
thief, come of a breed of thieves, overrunning
and taking all that's
ours by right.
Aglon: [nodding]
Indeed -- if he'd shown
me respect, as would be appropriate for someone who
owed everything
to our sacrifices in the Leaguer, I'd not have lost my temper
with your Man servant
there. Instead he behaved with less civility than the
rest of your people
usually do -- which I admit is a difficult thing to manage!
[simultaneously]
Second Guard:
Don't listen to them--
Ranger:
It isn't true, Beren,
don't pay attention.
Amarie: [amazed]
Still dost hold fast
to this thy jealousy, that art not even earth enough
to hold to aught
of earth, but like a shadow hast but swept 'cross the lands,
until thy time of Doom
hath swallowed thee as the night ever swalloweth
all such transitory
shadows? Wilt thou ever grasp at that which thou canst
not bear off, even as
thy
true Master doth ever seek to clutch all within's
own ever-increasing
hunger?
Teler Maid: [disdainful]
We might have
preferred the Twilight -- but only to better see the holy Stars,
and not to hide our
deeds!
Ambassador: [nodding]
Indeed, gentle maiden,
they are but Orcs that can endure the Sun, as
your words imply --
for so they have most clearly shown themselves to be.
Formenos:
Small your sort's gratitude
ever was, but it seems to have vanished
altogether, Dark-elf.
Ambassador:
What gratitude is owed,
for a deed unintended, sir? You did not have any
thought of our welfare
when you assaulted Morgoth, nor beleaguered him
-- it was but a consequence,
and quite as fortunate for your interests as
for those whose holding
Beleriand rightly was!
[the Lord Seneschal ignores him]
Aglon: [caustic, to Finrod]
I want satisfaction,
Your
Majesty.
Finrod: [looking at him as though he were a beetle]
And I want you and your
people out of here, or at least quiet, if you
insist upon staying.
Aglon:
And that's unfortunate,
since you can't enforce your will here any more
than you could in Nargothrond.
Finrod:
I don't recommend
you test that premise.
Aglon: [smiling a knowing smile]
No, you wouldn't --
since the Powers won't let you actually do anything
any more. And, of course,
like a dutiful little slave you promised to obey
them -- sorry,
child,
not thrall.
Finrod: [patiently]
I gave my word because
the Weaver was so upset, and it was a small thing
for me, to give her
peace of mind.
Aglon:
Oh, that's right --
you're just too nice for your own good. No wonder you
lost every battle and
contest you engaged in -- but considering you've but
a quarter Noldor blood,
it's perhaps more impressive that you ventured so
far from home and even
made the effort -- some sort of pity prize in order,
I should say!
Finrod: [raising an eyebrow]
The roads might
have been different -- but haven't they led us both to
the same prophesied
place?
Aglon:
. . .
Formenos: [graciously, to his confederate]
At least your
Doom meant something, saving our kinsfolk in the Battle
of Sudden Flame.
[Finarfin moves forward -- remembers -- checks, and turns to the Captain]
Finarfin: [low and fierce]
Smite him, friend --
and my blessing for it.
Captain: [regretful]
Gladly, my lord -- were
I allowed.
Amarie:
Is't within chance's
bounds, that any should have seen yon Doom unfold,
borne witness to all
its direst workings, and seen the truth of't borne
out, that all such unblessed
efforts end in misery and ruin -- and yet
offend thus blasphemously,
and most unsorrowing yet mock at it!?!
Formenos: [to Aglon and his supporters]
It's amazing how those
who have caged themselves will continue to insist
they're free, and better
off for being slaves, than those who have escaped.
No prisons like those
of the mind, don't you agree? We might be held here
against our will --
but at least we have our own free wills!
[as his friends smilingly agree, a strange woman's
voice echoes loudly through
the Hall:]
--Whenever are you going to learn -- Father?
[all turn to look at the new arrival, who is
standing just at the edge of
the dispute -- on the inner side of the Hall;
clearly she didn't just come in
through the door. Her appearance is striking:
it's impossible to tell which
Kindred this shade belongs to (hard even to
tell what gender) as the disorder
of her hair and ragged mismatch of her clothing
makes Beren look well-groomed,
and her expression makes Luthien at her most
frazzled seem calm and sane. She
stalks forward, stiff and awkward, as though
not used to people, or to welcome,
and everyone else draws back a little from this
hollow-eyed, ferocious-looking
madwoman -- with the notable exception of Finrod's
following. Ideally Natasha
McElhone from
Ronin would portray her.]
I never thought
to hear myself say this, but -- I am ashamed that
I am of any connection
to you all.
[her voice is harsh, and her way of talking sharp
and erratic like her movements.
The Feanorians stare at her, stunned, most of
them without recognition -- the
Seneschal of Formenos stares at her in shock,
completely speechless]
Not a word? After having been so glib in your own defense for so long!
[she folds her arms, wound up taut as a crossbow,
staring at those whose
primary self-identification is as Noldor, and
waits for someone to respond,
smiling without humor at their leader.]
Teler Maid:
Who are you?
Ex-Thrall: [ironically]
One of those who consented,
who stood by while you were killed. By my
ill-fortune I was not
drowned in the storm, the ship I rode on made the
dark voyage to Losgar,
and I lived to earn my Doom honestly.
[Beren shoulders through and comes around to
face her, Huan at his side
guarding him]
Beren: [troubled]
But how come you're
here?
Ex-Thrall: [genuine surprise]
You recall me?
Beren:
Of course I remember
you. You gave me half your scarf.
[someone in the crowd makes a noise, quickly cut off, and he looks up. Earnestly:]
Don't laugh. From someone who hasn't got much, that's a kingly gift.
[to the Ex-Thrall again]
Didn't you go home? --I didn't know you could talk.
Ex-Thrall: [bitter laugh]
What was there for me
to say? My deeds were sufficient. I went to the City.
[she shakes her head]
Something went
to the City, at least, and ate and bathed and walked in rooms
that did not stink of
decay and stared at every light like a witless moth.
Until Sun-return, when
there was no gift-singing there or joy, nor any way
to hide from the truth:
that I too, was an empty shell and nothing more, and
that there would never
be light again for any of us under that stone -- and
I lay down upon my couch,
and left.
[he tries to put his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs off any attempt at comfort]
I did not speak to any
here until I heard your name, and knew that someone
else that might comprehend
what I might say was here, and came forth from
the shadows to ask
-- and stayed to tell instead.
[she flashes a glance over towards the Steward,
who bows slightly in her
direction, his expression lightening a little,
though still grim and stressed]
I have found no other
company here one-half so congenial, though 'tis thought
I am aloof and care
not for any.
Captain: [easily]
No, -- I think most
of us know you're severely agoraphobic and would be
present more
if you could manage it.
[She closes her eyes and smiles a faint, brief,
genuine smile, while some of the
Ten look a little penitent. Emphatic:]
--You don't have to talk about it.
[at once she lifts her head again, defiantly,
shaking her head. The Seneschal
of Formenos takes a step closer to her, and
opens his mouth to say something --
but she gives a terrible scream of rage and
pain, drowning him out]
Ex-Thrall:
Do not say it! I have
no name! She that had that name died long ago --
would you hear how?
-- and only I am left. --Kinslayer. Murderer.
Bloodguilty coward.
--Yes! Murderer thrice over, and more.
Formenos: [in helpless protest, shaking his head over and
over]
No -- you were
never a warrior--
Ex-Thrall: [mocking]
I never wielded a sword.
--I did not need to. Others always killed for me.
First you -- all
of you -- and then the servants of my Master, so that I
never might stain my
hands with death -- only my heart!
Aglon:
But you got away safely
-- we died to guard the evacuation--
[he is just as horrorstricken as his friend]
Ex-Thrall: [matter-of-fact]
No. There were wounded
who were unable to continue; I was endeavoring
to heal them enough
to carry on, when we were overtaken.
[looking at her father]
After you were killed,
as the War crept on, I vowed to honor you by saving
as many of our folk
as might be from the fighting, and became a Healer, as
it's done in the Old
Country -- but I went beyond, and rode forth with the
companies along the
Northern Front, as very few other maids dared, or dared
trouble their kindred's
hearts by daring to do. --But was I not your daughter?
[gesturing emphatically]
How could I be
any less brave, nor any less concerned, than you who died
in effort to end the
War before it truly began? --I never did believe that
our lord had gone to
the parley in anything but good faith, because I'd
have had to think that
of you, too. Not while I was alive.
[he opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything,
and she keeps going, addressing
them all equally:]
When the War broke out
and broke our lines, and all the rest of it, and
those of us who survived
the initial assault on Aglon knew it wasn't possible
to hold it, and we thought
to pull back to Himlad and join our forces with
the garrison there,
and keep that, at least, firm against the invaders -- but
you know all about that,
you've argued it over for a decade now. But it wasn't
possible, instead we
were joined by a cavalcade from Himlad, where the Enemy
had got round, and pushed
past round Himring through the March as well, so
that our lords were
forced to lead us west with Prince Orodreth's company,
down the Old Road where
even orcs would not dare to follow, using their
combined powers to keep
off the Gloomweaver's spawn. But I never got so far.
[looking at the Warden of Aglon]
Your younger brother
was badly wounded, by an axe-cut. --And others, as well,
but -- you understand.
Aglon: [anguished]
He -- he's not
a slave now too--?
[she smiles, a sinister, sinister smile, shaking her head]
Ex-Thrall:
No. I'll get to that.
I stayed back, with some others, trying with all
our might and main to
patch our friends -- and loved ones -- sufficiently
for them to keep on,
but in vain. The smokes confused us, and we
ended up captives, like
so many others, harried back across the lands
we had once held as
ours,
that now were reclaimed by their true Master.
Two years I served in
hell, two years -- but Time isn't the same there,
as it wasn't the same
here, after the Sun came.
[shaking her head]
It's always dark, there,
always the same, and her seasons don't bring
renewal or strength
or plenty or peace by turns. Two years I struggled
to stay alive, to avoid
the notice, and the lash, of his fell Commanders,
and their underlings
-- and to stay others, wielding my skills in the domain
of Death, for those
burnt or broken in machinery, and doing it in defiance,
though I knew it was
tolerated as a useful thing, by our Lord and His
people. Every little
was an unimaginable gain, in that place that is Him,
where the very air corrodes
the lungs that breathe it, and the walls throb
with His anger when
you fall against them.
Formenos:
But you're free now
-- it's over--
Ex-Thrall: [blunt]
--Never. I left there,
in the company of many other slaves, for the south,
a group given -- selected
by what miserable fate I do not know -- to the
victorious Commander
who had just overthrown one of the last few bastions
of Elvish resistance,
and was working on consolidating the entire North
from the Pass to the
River. He needed workers to arm his troops, and serve
them, and to repair
the damages done to the fortress in its taking. And so
we came to Tol Sirion,
who had not thought ever to leave Angband again.
[she gives Finrod a significant Look]
It was . . . different
there. For one, it was more depressing: Angband
might be built in part
by Eldar hands, but not originally, and nothing of
its design says so.
For another, there's no such thing as anonymity: you
can't hide amid the
herd, be just another number, keeping your self to
yourself, so long as
you keep your head down and stay lucky, in a place
that small. I found
that out very shortly, when I was summoned -- well,
that's technically true,
though most likely not what you'd first think
of, for the word "summoned"
-- to the presence of our new Doomsman, the
Necromancer, from whom
it was whispered that not even death might set one
free, though we Light-elves,
and most lately captured, could hardly credit
such superstition.
Ranger: [automatically starting to correct]
It wasn't--
[but is interrupted himself by the Youngest Ranger
-- his junior in age, but
superior in rank, silences him with a hand over
his mouth and a Look; the
Noldorin warrior is apologetic and shamefaced,
but the Feanorian lady doesn't
seem to notice the disturbance]
Ex-Thrall:
The dread Lord of that
Island gave me to understand that he understood
very well, that there
were many among the thralls who were not equal to
their set tasks, whose
strength had failed, or was failing, and who were
covered for by their
friends and dearest ones. I denied it; he laughed.
"You heal them," he
scoffed, "you know it even better than I. So long as
you get them back to
work, it's all the better for my purposes. But when
it comes to feeding
useless drones -- no more, I say. What I want, is for
you to take note of
such, and inform me who is incapable, as you find
them so."
[she looks at the lawful Eldar grouped together]
Not even pretense, now,
when setting Elf against Elf -- raw and unvarnished,
his mastering of treason.
I said nothing -- he mistook me. Or so I thought.
"In return for your
services, I can assure you of far better treatment, not
only for yourself, but
for those you -- minister to," he pledged, offering
improved medical care
as the payback -- for the survivors, that is.
[shrugging]
It made sense, when he
explained it: his staff had to eat, not just the
Orcs and the Wargs,
but also his couriers as well. They needed fresh
blood, but it was always
risky for them to hunt, the chance of being
caught on the ground,
and by culling -- his word -- the slaves for those
who were going to depart
soon anyway, this meant less danger of messenger,
and message, being lost;
and of course the rest of the body would be eaten
by his other minions,
if it were not too wasted. A proposition triply
beneficial -- to him,
to me, and to the majority of us. And I refused.
[she smiles grimly, and pauses]
Formenos:
You've not been here
eight
years--?!
Ex-Thrall: [impatient]
Haven't you been paying
attention? No, he had me tossed in a closet for a
week -- I think
it was a week, at least -- not wide enough to lie down in
or high enough to stand
in, pitch dark -- it had been a chimney-breast once,
but was blocked off
for more useful purposes; he didn't trouble much with
keeping a cheerful atmosphere
going throughout the place. But I held fast,
and did not yield in
the least, not even in imagining -- I sang against him,
songs of Valinor, until
physically unable, and still I thought resistance at
him, and finally they
hauled me out of there and brought me into the Terrible
One's presence. And
then, I thought I'd won -- that either he'd send me back
to my labours, or harder
ones, or kill me then and there. No such luck.
[she looks sidelong at the Ten through veiled
lashes, her expression more
sneering than ever]
Finrod: [very serious]
Is this going to do
you any good?
Ex-Thrall:
What does that
matter?
[to her father]
Oh, but I was defiant,
I was strong -- I hadn't let them break me, and
I would not be
broken. No matter what. And he didn't say anything, not
a word, just smiled
at me, while I stood there shaking from hunger and
cramped muscles, weeping
in the torchlight, and telling myself, and him,
in my mind that it was
purely physical reaction, and meaningless, and
believed it. Some of
his minions carried in a block of iron, by the rings
set in its sides --
it was huge, the size of a wall-stone, too massive
to be moved by any one's
strength, not even one of us. I stared at it,
trying to think what
new torture it could be for -- I couldn't see any
moving parts, except
for the circular handles -- but I didn't show them
my fear. I would
not. And then they chained me to one of the rings, and
I laughed inside to
think that all this terror had been for but another
beating -- that there
was nothing so effective as the fearful mind for
defeating itself, and
all that was needed was true Eldar spirit, to
withstand the vaunted
Power of the Terrible One. I actually pitied the
Grey Kindred at that
moment, for all their terror of him and his kind,
poor weaklings without
the resistance of our people.
[she gives a quick glance towards the Youngest Ranger]
I was such a fool.
[to the Lord Warden of Aglon]
--I told you there was
more to your brother's story. They dragged him
in -- and what a reunion
that
was, when I hadn't known he was there --
or even still alive
-- or he the same of me. His defiance, and challenges,
and brave words in my
behalf -- they would have made your heart blaze
with pride, I'm sure,
as they did mine. It never occurred to us -- to me,
at least, and I'm sure
to him as well -- that we were nothing new, nothing
the Enemy and his followers
hadn't seen a hundred times before -- our
courage, or ignorance.
We were so sure that the Dark was weaker than our
love, that nothing could
defeat us, even though they killed us -- even
though they made hideous
sport of us first.
[wearily]
I don't know what Sauron
wanted from him. I don't know that he wanted
anything, and
would have killed him whatever he chose. I've always assumed
that -- that
he died simply because of me -- but perhaps that's but my
arrogance as well. I
don't know, now.
[pulling herself together, in her sarcastic tone again]
So there we were, both
cuffed to this block in the middle of the floor,
not enough length to
the chains to reach across it nor around it and hold
hands -- but by leaning
over it as far as one could stretch, we managed to
touch another way --
I must have looked as frightful and orc-like as he did,
but that didn't matter.
The soldiers applauded and made all sorts of comments,
but we didn't care about
that either. There was just
us, and the Dark didn't
matter. Then -- something
growled above us, and we broke apart so fast I
split my lip on his
teeth -- or mine, couldn't tell -- and tried to get away,
crawling back as far
as the chains would allow.
Formenos:
Not -- not a Balrog?
[his daughter shakes her head, smiling a little]
Ex-Thrall:
No. A Werewolf. The
big silvery one, the captain of his elite guard. Oh yes.
You've seen Wolves before,
seen his minions out and about, fought them, fled
them, killed them --
they're not so terrible, truly, no more than the Orcs,
isn't that so? Stronger,
swifter, a little more canny, in strange ways, harder
to understand -- but
not like the Fiery Ones, the commanding demons of our
Iron God. Wargs can
be answered with a spear, a sword, an arrow or a word on
the wind to bear your
scent elsewhere or blind them to you --Nothing like
Balrogs, right?
[she looks at her former comrades and relatives
with a self-mocking sneer,
while they avoid her eyes]
Beren: [flatly]
That depends. On where
you are in relation to 'em, and if they know you're
there or not.
[she doesn't turn towards him, but the slight
lift of her chin acknowledges his
words, while she continues to stare at her parent]
Ex-Thrall:
Handcuffed on the floor,
waiting for an execution order, looking at those
dripping fangs, those
glowing eyes -- it was, for me, at least. No fire left,
not even embers of that
blaze that was so bright -- both of us like grubs,
dug up from their roots,
writhing in the cold air -- no voice left to speak
defiance, nor love,
now. This was his place, and his power, and no other
song is possible in
his presence, far less than our common Master though
the Terrible One might
be. He strode through my shields as though they
were not even there,
and I realized that nothing had been hidden from him,
all along, and that
there
is no hope.
[though she does not, others cannot help but
glance at the Nargothronders
-- who look sorry for her, but not particularly
fazed, Finrod least of all,
as the former Healer continues:]
"You know what I want,"
he told me. "If you will not serve me, you are no
use to me as you are.
Shall I reduce you to your component parts, and make
use of them separately?"
I was still, and did not answer -- the Wolf's breath
down my neck, that should
have been warm, but I was in a winter gale, ice
all over me. "Which
will it be?" he asked my soul again, and smiled at us.
"Whose flesh will feed
my servants -- yours, or another's?"
[smiling through her teeth:]
I didn't say anything -- I didn't have to. It was that easy.
[the Lord Warden shakes his head in helpless
protest -- then looks around
suddenly with a wild expression as if he might
see his brother here, too]
I hid my face, and didn't
watch. While it was still going on -- but mostly
over -- they unchained
me and let me get dressed again, and I walked out
of there, and did not--
[her father interrupts her, involuntarily, with a spastic gesture of his hand]
Formenos:
You--
[he cannot go on, but she tosses her head scornfully, snorting]
Ex-Thrall:
Of course. You don't
feed people to the Wolves with their clothes on.
[lightly]
--What, you don't laugh? You don't find the idea at all amusing now?
[cold iron]
--I did not look back.
Not then. Not after. Not ever -- until the dark that
we crawled in ripped
open and the Night came pouring into our cells, our
prison-rooms -- our
tombs; and we remembered. We remembered -- things
we had never known.
Not truly. Not how precious they were, until we lost
them -- destroyed them
-- threw them away. All that time that I silently
handed over my fellow
prisoners for destruction, naming them as too weak
to work, and telling
myself that it was mercy, that they should die sooner,
and kinder to be eaten
quickly, than slowly by the Dark and the malice of
our Master -- lying
to myself, even as they thanked me for healing them and
caring for them, while
I gave them over in my stead, and none of them ever
knew -- I had
to do, it for my own survival, and I could not regret it,
because if I ever
looked back -- I could not go on.
[shaking her head without stopping]
Only -- that High-elven
lady whom you knew in Beleriand did not survive.
She too died in that
hour, eaten just as surely as the other, and what
walked away without
regret is all that remains.
[with a mocking smile]
Will you call me your
jewel, your songbird, your beautiful one now? Will
you embrace me and call
me your star, your sweeting, your treasure, now,
Father?
[she stares at him, daring him to reject her,
but hoping against hope that he
will not. With a cry of anguish he turns, clutching
at his temples, and remains
standing hunched over as if mortally wounded,
his head bowed and eyes
closed. She laughs wildly.]
I knew it -- I knew it!
You too cannot bear the thought of me, murderess,
Kinslayer, weakling
-- thrall--
[she reaches out her hands to the Lord Warden
of Aglon, who is looking at
her with an agonized expression, filled with
embarrassment as much as horror]
And you, my friend
-- all of you that were my friends, whose lives and
limbs I saved, those
many years of the Leaguer, whose hands held mine
in dance and peace,
even as for comfort when you lay wounded -- will
you disown me too?
[they look away from her in shame, some of them
lifting hands in protest,
or in appeal for her pity, and she falls on
her knees, bent over, weeping,
but still defiant and challenging: as the Ten
move closer to try to lift
her up or console her she flings their hands
away from her, and shouts at
the Feanorians:]
--Only these -- who alone
have the right to scorn me, of all you ghosts
and vainglorious shadows,
who faced the test and did not fail it -- only
they've not fled from
me in horror! O robbers, brigands, thieves who struck
down the helpless when
they tried to resist us -- and yet even
you have
not fallen so low that
you don't see the poisoned aura about me, and shrink
from it--!
[she starts rocking back and forth, her arms
clenched around her chest, trying
not to cry out loud, gasping]
Youngest Ranger: [very seriously]
I don't think it's that
-- I think it's that you're crazy.
[she gives a hoarse bark of surprised laughter, but he goes on in the same way:]
That's what scares them.
There's others have done worse things, you know.
Or at least -- more
of them. But they're not so plainly daft, as you.
[pause -- she chuckles through her tears]
--Or else they're worse, that they don't see that they should be.
[the Ex-Thrall pulls herself together and looks
up at the onlookers around
her, first her own kin and people, and then
at the watching faithful, living
and dead.]
Ex-Thrall: [defiantly]
What would you say to
me, Finarfin son of Indis? That I should have turned
back with you at Araman?
Finarfin:
I am King of
the Noldor now--
[meaningful tone]
--eke of them that do own me thus, even as them that yet do not--
[the Ten look down awkwardly, a little ashamed;
the Feanorian contingent gives
him startled looks, some angry, some wondering]
--nor be it meet that
I should add one measure to the judgment that hath been
given unto thee, presuming
to greater wisdom than the Powers thereby. Aye,
and thou hadst known
less sorrow, hadst indeed returned home in that time,
-- but this thou dost
even ken, ere didst speak it.
Ex-Thrall: [softly]
Like son, like father
--
[the two Noldor Kings steal glances quickly at
each other, before she goes on,
this time to Amarie:]
--And you, Fairest
One, come down from your mountain -- what word for
this bloodstained one?
--Or will you turn away in silence as well?
Amarie: [calmly]
Thou art far from first,
nor yet the last, that Feanor hath led astray --
nor indeed the mightiest.
Bereft of the heartening strength of this Land,
of Light, how might
ye help but fall beneath our Enemy's sway in the
Shadowed Realm?
[some of the Feanorians bridle at her words,
but others look troubled and
downcast; the Seneschal remains bent, anguished,
where he has turned away]
Ex-Thrall:
You speak of him
-- but what says she who would not be led, nor driven,
but held firm in her
resolve despite all persuasion?
[turning her head, she matches stares with Nerdanel,
who draws near to her
with an untroubled expression and kneels down
a short distance in front of
her while she addresses her:]
Nerdanel:
What hast thou
done, child, that mine own children did not? --And yet
I love them, nor shall
ever cease.
[the former Healer bows her head a little, closing
her eyes, and then squaring
her shoulders looks up coolly at Elu Thingol's
emissary.]
Ex-Thrall:
Well, lord of the Grey
folk -- hold you still with your lord's judgment
on us? Or have you learned
mercy in your own death?
Ambassador: [in a detached, level tone]
You have acknowledged
your deeds, Feanorian. Anything further that I might
say would be both needless
and cruel.
[they both sigh, recognizing that this isn't
enough, and it's the best that he
can give or she will get -- and then she turns
to look at the shade from
Alqualonde.]
Ex-Thrall:
And you, Foamrider,
who said but a little while ago that such a fate was
no more than such as
I merited -- what do you say to me, Kinslain?
[the Sea-elf stares at her directly, her eyes
very wide, her face otherwise
expressionless, for a long moment.]
Teler Maid:
I think -- I think you
have been tortured enough.
[the Ex-Thrall flinches as if the other had struck
her instead, shaking her head
a little in protest, and then looks at Beren]
Ex-Thrall: [softly]
Now that you know the
truth of me, traitor as much as victim -- will you
shun me, mortal?
[he shakes his head, very deliberately]
Beren:
I remember.
Huan:
[thin whines]
[the Hound walks slowly over beside her, tail
dragging, and puts his head down
by hers: she doesn't respond, but doesn't push
him away either. Moving softly,
as if not to startle a hurt animal, Finrod comes
to kneel down directly in front
of her, putting his hands on her shoulders and
looking her directly in the eyes]
Finrod:
Someday -- you will
take up your name again, and it will be true again, and
you will sing once more,
under the Stars.
Ex-Thrall: [disbelieving]
When?
Finrod:
I don't know. Someday.
[as he speaks, her father half-turns and looks
at them, as torn between hope
and remorse and doubt as she]
When you are ready, you
will leave the shelter of these Halls, and you will
walk under the sky,
and your voice will give as much peace to your hearers
as presently brings
pain.
[The Ex-Thrall sighs . . . and vanishes from
under his hands without another
word. The Lord Seneschal flinches, bowing his
head, and disappears as well,
leaving his cohorts in disarray as well as dismay.
Finrod gets up and turns to
face the remaining Feanorian supporters, addressing
them in a quiet, matter-
of-fact, but uncompromising tone:]
Why don't you just go now?
[the living Eldar look at him in shock and dismay
of their own, while a warrior
of Aglon asks his commander anxiously:]
Feanorian:
Sir -- what -- what
ought we do now . . . ?
Nerdanel:
But -- what of yon poor
maiden?
Finrod: [blankly]
--What of her?
[the Lord Warden makes a helpless gesture to
his follower, struggling for
articulate speech]
Aglon: [shaking his head, struggling against tears]
I -- I -- ah--!
Finarfin: [with a perceptive look at his son]
Such trouble is not
strange to thee, but oft thou must give thy counsel to
the broken of heart,
is't not so?
Finrod: [nodding]
Not infrequently. Sometimes
we talk. More often I listen. Generally they
just want to be seen
by someone who won't dismiss them, and then we
just sit quietly, or
I play--
[glancing over where the harp rests on the stones]
--until they're ready
to speak to someone higher. That was a tremendous
improvement -- usually
you can hardly tell she's there.
[as the four lawful Elves look at him, and each
other, and the stunned
Feanorians with lingering shock and distress,
Nienna's Apprentice comes in
through the doorway in determined haste, sees
the gathering and flings up
his hands in disgust.]
Nienna's Apprentice:
Oh, threnody, not this
again! Would you people go away and find something
constructive to do?
[he makes a sweeping, dismissive motion with his arm. Afterthought:]
--Please.
[the Warden of Aglon turns, welcoming this new
challenge as a replacement
for prior emotions, as do his companions]
Aglon: [extreme haughtiness]
You will not
address me in that fashion, boy.
Apprentice:
Actually . . . I will.
--Ghost.
[the Elven warrior shakes his head, standing
his ground, his lip curling at
the retort]
Aglon:
You -- can't
compel us to do anything. Can you?
[he sneers over at the Captain]
--That's what you were getting at, trying to be cryptic.
[to the Apprentice again]
--Can you?
Apprentice: [shrugging]
No, I can't. --But I
can
make things unpleasant enough that you'd wish
you'd cooperated in
the first place.
Aglon:
How?
Apprentice:
Erm . . .
Aglon: [snorting]
You can't even bluff
properly, you fool.
[his followers and associates grin savagely at the put-down]
Apprentice: [shakes his head, reasonable tone]
I wasn't bluffing, I
was considering which option was the more appropriate
one. I know which one
I'd
like better, but I don't think my Master would
like it at all. So --
I'm just going to annoy you by pointing out certain
hard truths in the presence
of people you're trying to impress, one of which
is the fact that you
feel you have to impress them demonstrates that you in
fact respect them enough
to care about their respect, deny it as you may.
You can't just walk
away from them, or leave them alone -- can you? But
they're indifferent
to your good or bad opinion of them, and that's a second
hard truth.
[ticking the points off on his fingers, and beginning
to pace restively in
front of them -- in the background several of
the would-be combatants quietly
fade from view]
Thirdly, you're blinded
by your self-importance to the fact that you
thereby make yourself
ridiculous in the eyes of most of your fellow-dead,
by pursuing these personal
grudges beyond reason.
[he frowns, trying to remember, and more of the rival faction discreetly slip away]
Oh, yes -- and the fact
that you always come off the worse in these little
exchanges and yet you
keep persisting in the same course says a great deal
for your tenacity and
even courage, -- but not a lot for your intelligence,
I'm afraid.
[pause]
Aglon: [ice]
I have better things
to do than waste my time listening to your chatter.
[he spins about with a flourish of his cape and
stalks off, followed by his
remaining fellow-partisans.]
Apprentice: [cheerful]
Success! Without having
to hit anyone, either. Though I don't know I'll
agree with his definition
of "better."
[to Finrod]
I thought about the way
you
usually manage to dissipate things without
recourse to violence,
and decided to try it myself, since people just
ignore me when I ask
them nicely, and laugh when I get angry.
[noticing that both Finrod and Amarie are both
standing there glaring at him
with identical expressions, arms folded.
Ah.
[to Amarie, brightly]
There you are
-- I was obliged to leave for just a moment, and when I came
back, you were nowhere
to be found.
[she raises an eloquent eyebrow; he flinches.]
Finrod: [abrupt]
Have you got anything
for me?
Apprentice:
Erm -- oh. Right. That.
Ah -- hm -- becalmed. Lulled, so to speak.
Finrod:
What?
Apprentice:
Circling on a thermal.
Stable.
Static. Or stagnant.
Finrod: [piqued, to the Captain]
Have you any
notion what he's getting at?
[the Elven officer shakes his head, amused; the
newest arrivals are giving
Nienna's student some very strange Looks]
Apprentice: [looking conspiratorially towards them]
But -- I mean, we'll
be
overheard--
Finrod:
Just say it. I'm tired,
annoyed, and out of patience--
[the other looks alarmed]
--nearly.
[as the Apprentice glances meaningfully at the four bystanders]
Go ahead -- they're all my family, after all, to greater or lesser degree.
[bland]
After all, if you can't trust your kin, whom can you trust?
[while Nienna's student gives him a very askance
Look, there is a great deal
of sudden throat-clearing and turning aside
of faces among the Ten; the
law-abiding contingent bridles somewhat at this,
but manage to refrain from
comment]
Apprentice:
Well, if you say so
-- your cousin suggested that recourse be made to the
highest authorities,
and was met with resistance -- but the subject of
debate shifted again
to other things, and . . . they're still arguing again
over whether it was
a mistake for our divine King and Queen to heed my
Master's plea and release
His Majesty's brother--
[in a rush, very forcefully]
--and please nobody
start arguing about that now, all right? -- and that's
where things remain.
[Finrod looks at the Captain, frowning]
Captain: [shaking his head]
That hardly seems worth
the trouble of reporting, now.
[the disguised Maia shrugs, giving Finrod an apologetic look]
Apprentice:
Sorry -- I'd actually
come back to ask if you'd mind -- much -- doing me
a favour.
Finrod: [flatly]
You're asking
me a favor.
Apprentice:
Just a small one. Not
you specifically.
[encouraged by Finrod's silence, he hurries on:]
I -- I've been given
another errand to run, and I'm supposed to be keeping
an eye on things, and
I thought I had that situation under control, but then
something unpleasant
occurred to me: what if the system I set up to do that
simply wasn't working
at all, and that's why there hasn't been any alarm?
And so I thought I'd
better check.
[blank, suspicious looks from all around -- hastily]
You know the, um, the
remote viewer over at His Lordship's throne -- that
stone sphere, well,
it's
made of stone -- you haven't noticed it, well, doing
anything, have
you?
Finrod:
Such as?
Apprentice:
Glowing.
Finrod:
No. --Of course, I've
not been here.
Apprentice:
I know. That's why --
[he glances around]
--if anyone had happened to see, I was hoping . . .
[the Ten share looks, headshakes all round]
Warrior:
We've not noticed anything.
Apprentice:
Would -- would you,
let me know if you do? If you wouldn't mind keeping
an eye on it?
Captain:
We can try -- but I
don't know that we won't get distracted and forget.
Things have been rather
-- well, distracting, lately, to put it mildly.
Apprentice:
But--
[pause]
No. Never mind.
Captain:
What?
Apprentice:
I was going to try to
argue that you owed me assistance in return, but
that isn't true, even
considering the rather-underhanded way you obtained
mine. And this -- having
several tasks assigned at the same time, each
one having top priority
-- that's something that preceded it, anyway, and
it's quite apart from
it. So I really can't claim any, erm, claim on your
time as a result of
that, either. It isn't as though it's your fault.
And you did promise
to do your best.
[raising his hands in a resigned gesture]
Just have to muddle through somehow, I suppose.
[frowning, noticing something about the falls]
I say, somebody's put that all wrong again.
[the apparent-Elf gestures towards the flame-illusions
over the shallow end
of the spill-pool, lowering them.
Ranger:
Stop that! That's someone
else's work.
Apprentice:
But they're all
wrong--
Ranger:
So? You don't just come
and change others' Art without leave.
Third Guard:
You used to do it all
the time, I recall.
Ranger:
Yes, but I learned better.
[pause -- frank admission]
After the villagers complained
to the King and it was explained to me.
At some length.
[he looks at Finrod, who raises his eyebrows bemusedly]
Thank you, Sir.
[to Nienna's student]
I understand how tempting
it is to remake something you think is flawed,
but you really ought
to ask first. And if they don't want to change it,
you can't just correct
it for them. That's just like Morgoth, really.
[the disguised Maia looks quizzical, but doesn't say anything]
Amarie: [officious]
Nay, 'tis false -- the
Dark One would but to break, and not to build.
Finarfin:
Yet dost thou not recall
how our High King hath spoken of the Enemy's
wish to shape all according
but to his will, nor only after did so strive
to wreck, that was not
given over unto him? Of such matters Lord Ingwe
hath most deeply questioned
the gods, and hath knowledge most profound
and widesome of us all,
Vanyar, Noldor, or Teler, in truth.
[Finrod can't help but cast a quizzical glance
at the Apprentice, who looks
suspiciously blank]
Amarie:
Yet is't not true as
well, that such ill-making should be most rightly
named destruction?
Finarfin: [smiling slightly]
Thou art most resolute,
my lady.
[she gives him an unamused Look]
Ranger: [ignoring their argument]
Anyway, you shouldn't.
It's our project, not yours. Go make your own
light-display elsewhere,
if you don't like this one.
Apprentice:
But I haven't time,
and I'll probably get in trouble for it.
Ranger:
That isn't our problem.
Apprentice:
Actually, it is -- only
you
don't care.
[to the Ten, cajolingly]
But don't you want
it to be right? Surely you can see it's all wrong the
way it is!
Ranger:
But it looks
right.
[appealing to the bystanders]
Doesn't it look better the way it was?
Finarfin:
I fear I did little
mark the difference.
Amarie: [sniffs]
'Tis a curious amalgam
of sundries, the which might eke be little changed
for better as for ill.
Ambassador:
I must say that I prefer
the brighter display myself.
Nerdanel: [consolingly to Nienna's Apprentice]
Nay, I do confess thou
hast belike the right of it, and most aptly so, for
being of the coasts
and seeing therefore most frequent th'effects of light
on water. Yet, naytheless
must I alike hold with all who hold it finer to
the eye, to give thereto
the greatest expanse of scintillation, the tallest
of flames thereby.
Apprentice: [glumly]
Oh, all right.
[he nods, putting the flames back as they were. Reluctant]
They do look prettier that way . . .
Teler Maid: [muttering to herself in bewilderment]
--He is not Teler. He
sounds not like to us at all! Why say they so, when
clearly he is Vanyar?
Captain: [aside to her]
People find what they
expect to find. And don't find what they don't, either.
Teler Maid:
Your riddles are as
poor as ever.
[she frowns, tossing her hair back, and stares
critically at the Apprentice,
who feels it and looks over to see her]
Apprentice: [reacting with pleased surprise]
Oh! How nice to see
you out and about, talking to people finally.
[she folds her arms and looks very prickly and put-upon]
Despite what reservations
some might have about your choice of company.
Will you be going home
soon, then?
Teler Maid:
Do not slight my friends!
[she is joined in her glowering by Finarfin,
whose glare is perhaps more
daunting due to recent events]
Apprentice: [dismayed]
I was only joking.
Captain: [sympathetic]
Good try, bad timing.
[Huan makes a sudden attempt to ambush the disguised
Maia but is successfully
thwarted and fended off, being obliged to remain
at arm's length, held by his
collar, grinning and panting -- next time, perhaps!]
Apprentice: [mock sternness]
There you are, you --
wretched mongrel! Lady Vaire's quite put out with
you, and so am I, because
I've been wasting my time looking for you to
tell you to stop. What
were you racing around the Halls making such an
uproar for?
Beren:
I told him to.
Apprentice: [staring]
Why in the Music would
you do that?
Beren:
He was acting kind of
crazy in here so I told him to go run around outside
for a bit. --I didn't
tell him to bark, though. I don't know why he was
doing that.
Finrod: [knowingly]
Echoes.
[to the Steward]
--Remember when he first came to Nargothrond and the tunnels unnerved him?
[wincing, the Steward nods; Finrod explains to those who were not there for it:]
He'd never been in such
a large enclosed space, with such echoes, and
they'd startle him,
and he wouldn't stop barking until Cel took him out
in the forest for a
while. He was still rather unsettled in those days.
Captain: [wry]
Everyone was, then.
Finrod:
I think he rather enjoyed
the ruckus as well, though, -- and the extra runs
and treats it won him,
until the newness wore off and he got bored of it
and used to the City.
Beren: [nodding agreement]
That sounds like a dog.
We had one that got scared as a puppy by Ma's
hand-mirror, used to
bark like crazy whenever she saw her reflection, even
after she was full grown,
so we were always sneaking it out and bringing
it to the dinner table
or the hearth and trying not to get caught with it.
Nerdanel:
I mind me of like happening,
though indeed Huan swiftly grasped the
illusion's truth and
no more did raise alarm 'gainst the glass. But hounds
do greatly take joy
in singing, and oft and easily and with light excuse
do lift voice in it.
Apprentice: [bemused]
How did we get back
to talking about the habits of dogs? Isn't there
anyone in Aman
who can keep to the subject at hand?
[pause]
And now that I've managed
to annoy everyone -- I really must be
going. Good-bye.
[spinning on his heel, he all but dashes out
of the Hall, leaving the remaining
company shaking their heads and staring after
him.]
Nerdanel: [half to herself]
Who is he? Ever
and anon he doth put me in mind of another one, but which,
I cannot tell . . .
[she, Finarfin, and Amarie turn their attention now to Finrod]
Finarfin: [beginning very low key, switching tone abruptly
halfway through]
I trust and have no
doubt of it, that I shall speak for us all, to enquire
of thee -- Finrod, what
matter is this, and what dost thou take upon thyself
to meddle amidst, that
seekst to interfere e'en with the deliberations of
the Powers?
[pause]
Finrod:
The Song, Father.
[long pause]
Amarie: [slow emphasis]
--Thou art full as mad
as all do say--!
Finrod: [offhand]
Oh, I doubt that. I
don't think any dozen Elves together could manage to
be as mad as report
would have me.
Captain: [aside]
All of us together,
however -- that's another matter.
[there is a nonplused silence as the lawful Eldar
struggle for meaningful
expression of their thoughts/emotions . . .]
[Elsewhere: the council chamber]
[Luthien is still hand-weaving away, the pattern
having expanded
significantly in width and complexity since
last we saw it -- still
apparently paying no attention to the verbal
battle in full spate over
her head. At the moment the Lord of Dreams is
upbraiding the Hunter
with atypical acrimony:]
Irmo:
No, the real
problem was the failure of you and your people to finish
routing out all of Melkor's
beastly followers and properly destroy
all of his property
so he couldn't use it again. That would have
forestalled his ability
to wage a second subversion of the Light by
giving him no resources
to fall back on.
[jabbing his finger repeatedly upon the arm of his chair as he declaims:]
--However, you didn't
eradicate his support structures, and as a
consequence,
he was able to wreak havoc without even having to be
in Middle-earth -- and
he had a ready-made base of operations to
encourage him to make
such a move, which he wouldn't likely have
done if he hadn't had
any safe bolt-hole and servants to defend
himself with. He was
always a careful and cautious sort, not the
type to act if he thought
he was likely to come out the worst of
it. So at the least
your neglect is responsible for encouraging him--
Orome: [slouching back, very blasé -- and calculated
to annoy]
Pfft -- you think he
knew that all his surviving cronies had survived
and scuttled themselves
away deep underground to regroup and rebuild?
That git was in solitary
confinement, and after he was released it
wasn't like he had any
Messengers flying over the Sea to bring him
news. I didn't see any,
at least. And I don't think any of the Sea's
People would have been
gossiping with him, do you? Not even Osse would
give him the grace of
the Hour, even after he "reformed."
[frowning, Luthien reaches over and helps herself
to some more of the
glowing dew, spinning more luminous strands
from it to add to her project]
Irmo: [agitated]
Of course he knew --
he's tied himself into everything he can reach
over there, haven't
you been following the news? Or did you just give
up your job and retire
to a country life when the Eldar embarked for
this shore? I'm telling
you, Tav, that you're being very, very, blind
if you go on insisting
it's all Nia's fault, and ignoring the fact
that your failures
contributed at least as much to the disaster as anyth--
Vaire:
But you're forgetting
the Spider, brother. --And the fact that logic
and self-interest had
very little part in anyone's response to the
Silmarils. Rational
or not, I am quite certain myself, that he would
have tried to take them
eventually -- even if he had been unable to
enlist Her help in it.
[pause]
Irmo:
Perhaps that's so. But
even if it is, your negligence made it possible
for him to re-entrench
himself with minimal effort, whereas if you'd
properly destroyed all
of his Works he would have had to start from
scratch, and then, regardless
of what happened here, someone would have
been able to deal with
him over there -- whether us, or the rebels, or
all of us together if
there'd been no rebellion--
Orome: [a slighly nettled tone creeping in despite his efforts]
--We spent decades
mopping up. Whatever we missed was impossible to find.
Anyone, anything
that slipped through did so because of Fate. We pounded
that place flat.
There were no obvious -- or unobvious -- hiding-holes
left when we finished.
[Namo shakes his head, gazing into his teacup
with a melancholy expression
as he gently swirls it about]
Irmo:
Nonsense. You didn't
try hard enough. Surely your specialists could
have done a more thorough
job of tracking the rest of his crew down --
combined with selective
tectonic realignment--
Aule: [sharply]
You haven't the least
notion what you're talking about. I could explain
it to you, if you'd
pay attention long enough, but I think you can
understand when I say
-- again -- that one doesn't -- doesn't, do you
understand? -- muck
about with the basic structures of the world without
dire consequences.
It would have been a fine thing, would it not, to
eradicate the very people
we were put here to protect, in the process
of saving them from
their enemies?
Orome: [with a dubious look at the Smith]
--Though I do wonder
how much of your concern was for the Firstborn,
and how much for your
own Children? Honestly, what possessed you--
[Aule's Assistant leaps (figuratively) into the fray before it gets even uglier]
Aule's Assistant: [urgent]
--Please, please, please!
Noble ones, gentles all! We are not here
to refight old defeats,
really now, are we? --If you will forgive my
impertinence in saying
so, of course.
[abashed silence all around]
Now, we are here,
if again you will permit me to go so far as to state
the obvious, for the
purpose of solving the problem of this anomalous
mortal presence. And
-- though I am but young in the Song by comparison
to you, my Lord -- my
Lords, my Lady -- still, I might venture to say
that it seems
to me that there might well be an acceptable solution,
if you will graciously
hear me out . . . ?
[Luthien looks up with a sudden eagerness that
belies her apparent
obliviousness and uninterest in all that's been
going on, her eyes
blazing, letting the threads of liquid light
fall from her hands unheeded]
Luthien: [fiercely passionate]
--What?
[the Hall]
[now Finrod and his following (which now includes
not only Beren & Huan
but also his mother's former assistant) are
confronting the law-abiding
contingent, who look extremely worried, (as
do some of the Ten, admittedly)
and expressive of definite concerns as to the
level of sanity at present]
Finrod: [calmingly]
Strictly speaking, I'm
not meddling with it in the sense of trying to
change it. None
of us are.
Amarie:
--Pray tell, of what
others thou dost speak, that are set upon this . . .
venture, with
thee?
[she gives the Ten a cold, suspicious look]
Finrod:
Well, everyone.
Obviously. Only some of us are aware of it, and
others aren't.
[pause]
Nerdanel:
I confess I take not
this declaration by thine ungarnish't word, all
unavailéd of
proof, child.
Finrod:
It's quite simple, really.
You just do whatever it is you do, and it
makes a difference --
subtle, usually -- in the way the Song plays out.
Amarie:
That is not by any chance
possible, forasmuch as that which is done,
shall be done only so
that it is Sung, and must be so.
Finrod:
So are you saying that
choice is an illusion, then? That Feanor only
did as he did because
he had to, because it was Sung, and had no
other recourse than
to deny the Earthqueen, defy the Powers, and
summon all of us to
join in his rejection? What does that make the
gods to be, then, but
hypocrites, or mad?
[looking at the Ambassador]
Or that my royal and
holy aunt had no will nor options of her
own, neither to betray
my cousin's secret counsels nor to abet her
in her escape, and that
choosing the easiest road of unresisting
silence was all that
she might do -- rather than that the Lady Melian
was as torn as any Elf
or mortal might be in similar circumstance,
caught between conscience
and desire?
[the Ambassador bows his head, as Finrod goes on:]
--Do we say, then, that
the Powers too are helpless in the torrent
of the Song they helped
to make, like chips of wood in a river --
all of them, that is,
except for Morgoth? That's a lot worse than
anything I'm saying,
it would seem.
[silence]
Finarfin:
Yet thou sayest not
what,
most plain and simple-spoken, 'tis indeed
thou dost, or wouldst--?
Finrod: [very much the teacher]
The way I've come to
see it, there is the Song, and the Song is full
of discords, which weren't
supposed to be there. Everyone knows this,
it's what we're taught
as children, is that not so? But then what? How
do we respond? Do we
simply ignore them, and focus on the harmonious
bits? Or do we join
the discordant elements, which spread all too
easily, and drown out
the rest -- back the winning side, so to speak?
[Amarie tosses her head in open scorn]
Amarie: [very haughty]
Indeed, but one
rightful choice betwixt yon twain, nor might any not
Turned from truth countenance
other
choosing to be made!
Finrod:
But who says those are
the only options?
[pause]
Why not increase
the harmony? Wouldn't it be best of all to try to
reclaim some of the
ruined parts and rebuild them, so to speak?
Nerdanel: [amazed]
Thou -- deemst self
able to unwork the makings of the greatest of
all the Powers, after
Lord Manwe even, even to restore the Great
Pattern as 'twere unbroken
and ne'er was, ere the Marring?
Finrod: [shaking his head]
Oh, no. I'm no match
for a god -- nor even a demi-god, and who knows
it better than I? But
isn't that what was done in the first place,
to stop the whole of
Ea from being made a wreck like Utumno, like
Angband? So, then, is
it not a worthy goal -- even knowing it Doomed
to failure -- to try
to repair what one can, restore harmony even for
a few notes out of the
Age, to the best of one's ability?
Finarfin: [mildly, shaking his head with a look of bemusement]
--And thou deemst thyself
no wise ambitious?
Amarie: [earnest]
Nay, this is true madness
-- else worse, that thou dost set upon such
path as the Marrer's
self did make, striving in truth to set all to
thine own will, else
other there be none, to overstrike the fashioning
the Powers -- nay, indeed,
the One! -- did adjudge at end to best
resolve the Dark One's
changes--
Finrod: [interrupting her]
--No, you see, that's
the difference, what we do, knowingly or
unknowingly, to restore
harmony doesn't
replace what's been changed
-- that's not even possible,
without worrying about the right or wrong
of it -- it's just adding
to it, the way you resolve a chord, turn
a harsh note to poignancy,
or a weak note glorious, by giving more
sounds -- and the addition
changes it, completely. Or like the story we
all know about ice
-- cold being tried as a way of stopping everything,
but instead, through
constructive application of new notes, resulting
in snow crystals and
frozen waterfalls and icebergs and all sorts of
beautiful things that
have their own fitting places in the world. There
might be in principle
a better way to have composed it, but working
with what we're given,
it's an improvement.
[pause]
Beren:
Maybe it's kind of like
when part of the hall's been wrecked by a storm
or a fire or just the
posts getting rotted out, and you don't tear it all
down, you just fix up
what's there, maybe not the same way, but you still
gotta live there while
you're working on it, and maybe the new way works
better for something
else?
Finrod:
That too. And sometimes
it means going against advice, and even common
sense, and even yes,
breaking rules and disobeying orders.
[he stares defiantly at Amarie, who gives it
right back to him, while Nerdanel
looks thoughtful and Beren asks the Guard next
to him:]
Beren: [aside]
Is he talking about
the Return?
[the Elven shade nods]
Finrod:
And paying the price
for it, of course. Always.
Finarfin: [looking thoughtfully at the Ten]
And hold all
thy folk with these thy curious tenets, else theorems,
whichever they be, or
art the only proponent of such . . . strangeness?
Finrod:
Not the only, certainly,
but certainly not all. Some find it far too
complicated or too troubling--
[the Warrior looks abashed, but Finrod gives him a sympathetic grin and goes on]
--and I grant it's much
easier to look at it as just a matter of doing wrong
and receiving the just
penalty for it. Or not breaking rules, and not doing
wrong. Others find it
far too optimistic -- and I can't deny that, either.
[he and the Steward share a meaningful Look]
Nerdanel:
Nay, I confess it seemeth
little of cheer, to hold that one needs must
do that which is forbid,
and that avisedly-so, and suffer after for the
doing, and all for chance
that good may come to pass of it, but little
like, and how then may
one know of surety which is good or which
is ill, when all law
be set aside as subject to disdain?
Amarie: [sharply to the Ambassador]
Hast thou heard such
heretical uttrances, my lord, of him in thy lands --
or did he perchance
learn such justifying words of thy shadowed folk?
Ambassador: [unruffled]
Many such deep matters
are often spoken of, when my Lady Melian is
present, and many thoughts
put forward, and questions asked, to which
not one, but many answers
may be offered, and each but bear another
riddle to the questioner.
[bows]
--Milady.
Finrod: [disregarding Amarie for the moment]
No, Aunt 'Danel, it
isn't like that, of course you can't ignore everything
and of course you can't
do
anything. But I did say it was too complex for
many people.
[she looks rather miffed, as he continues:]
As far as being too cheerful,
that
isn't what Edrahil's objecting to --
but there's more to
it. You see--
[he is interrupted as a pair of Elvish shades
enter (or as it proves re-enter)
the Hall: the Youngest Ranger who is still rather
twitchy and hypervigilant,
quickly draws another arrow and sets it to the
bow he has not reslung since
the last conflict, but only keeps it trained
on the latest arrivals -- even
when it become clear that they are the King's
brothers.]
Aegnor: [snappish]
Oh, good grief! --Put
that away!
[he ignores the fact that the Teler warrior doesn't,
and with Angrod strides
up to the ongoing family reunion.]
Fourth Guard: [aside]
--Who's using mortal
slang
now?
Aegnor: [with a bright, fixed, savagely pleasant smile]
Quite the little Gathering
you've got going on here, Finrod. Taking over
hospitality functions
along with counseling and building maintenance, hm?
[to Amarie]
Hullo, dear sister -- you've met our newest cousin, I believe?
[he nods towards Beren, and she frowns, first
curiously, then in sudden
thought, but he goes on before she can say anything:]
You were right when you
said we'd all come to a bad end, you know --
but I never expected
to see you here as well--
Finrod: [sharply]
Why are you here?
Angrod: [trying to calm things down]
We could tell you were
in trouble so we came to help.
Finrod: [snippy]
Well, it wasn't needful
-- I could have managed it on my own, there
weren't enough of you
to make a difference if I hadn't, and you're
too late anyway. But
-- I thank you for the intention.
Captain:
Better late than later,
what?
[the two siblings do not appreciate this at all;
he gestures to his subordinate
to stop covering them, and the Sindarin Ranger
denocks the arrow, but doesn't
put his weapons away.]
Finrod:
If you hadn't been dithering
about what you were going to say to Father
et al, you might have
got here in time to provide moral support. As it is
you managed to get the
worst of both outcomes.
[Aegnor is resolutely avoiding looking at Finarfin,
who is in turn looking
very sadly at his children. Nerdanel draws near
and pats his arm consolingly.
Amarie does not seem to have been successfully
deflected by Aegnor's attempt
to direct her attention to Beren. The Ambassador
from Doriath is looking
at his King's grand-nephews and shaking his
head.]
Angrod: [sighing]
Please don't
be difficult. --We're trying not to.
[pause]
Finrod:
Very well.
[he turns back to the conversation as if there hadn't been any interruption]
Anyway, Father, what
I was saying was, it isn't an attempt to change the
Song from what
it was intended to be originally, or to make it back into
what it was intended
to be, either.
Nerdanel:
Thou has returnéd
upon thine own words most uncommon paradoxical.
Finrod:
No, it isn't really
that complicated, listen--
[Aegnor addresses Beren quietly, in a tone gruff,
but surprisingly polite,
considering]
Aegnor: [aside]
Has he said the word
"destiny," yet, Beor?
Beren: [wary]
Uh -- not recently.
I -- don't think.
Aegnor:
Not in this conversation?
[Beren shakes his head, Aegnor elbows his other sibling and shakes his head.]
Six.
Angrod: [a bit guiltily]
--Twelve.
[Beren gives them an uneasy look, and then glances
at the Ten, who are either
ignoring them or ignoring them obviously]
Finrod:
--because it can't be
put right without undoing the World, but it can be
mended. The gods can't
do everything -- we just help them out a little.
If we do good, that
is, and not ill.
[Amarie closes her eyes, shaking her head in exasperation]
Amarie:
Nay, thy pride surpasseth
all no measure, for 'tis deeper than Osse's
crests, wider than Uinen's
tresses, and ceaseless as the restive Sea!
Hast thou not shame,
to so set limits to the very Powers?
Finrod: [baffled]
But surely you don't
think
they're all-powerful, all-knowing? That's
what I said before --
that if you think that, then you have to either
accept that they're
completely deranged, -- or just plain evil.
Finarfin:
Why "plain" evil, indeed
and how differeth such from evil of other kind?
Finrod: [rolling his eyes]
It's an emphatic. It
means
evil, and nothing more, no justification.
--The Song is too big
-- there's
too much of it for any one soul to
understand, god or not.
Beren:
Yeah, like the myth
about the Earth-queen forgetting how she'd already
made herself Children,
too, until King Manwe reminded her.
Amarie: [apalled]
Thou didst speak of
that
to all-and-sundry? 'Tis not enough hast gossiped
of me, of us!
but must e'en bruit about the private quarrels of the Holy
Ones as well?
Beren: [frowning]
You mean he shouldn't
have taught us the true stories, when we only had
the foggiest ideas about
Valinor? We thought it was in Beleriand, even.
And we--
Finrod: [a little too quickly]
And because of that,
even if things are Sung, it doesn't mean that
freedom's but an illusion,
because there's all the difference in the
world between a piece
composed and the actual performance, which is what
we are, this
world, only we're also the performers, don't you see? and
moreover there are so
many competing and conflicting and just plain
different things going
on, that the results when they collide or overlap
or run together are
something no one, not even the Singers, could have
predicted.
[gesturing animatedly with increasing enthusiasm]
--Or like waves, out
against the coast, they don't come neatly up to the
headlands in even rows,
though logically they ought to always, and keep
on so - but they cross,
and divert, and set up overtones, and then there's
the Moon, and that
rearranged everything! Because there are the completely
mysterious parts, that
the Powers themselves didn't put in, and no one
knows what they'll do,
or how they will affect the Song -- and us, that are
of it -- and all we
know for certain is the destiny of Arda will be changed
out of all expectation.
Aegnor:
Told you.
[Angrod takes off the ornate torc around his
neck and gives it to his sibling.
Finrod sighs, tolerant but a little disappointed-seeming.]
Beren:
What?
[pause]
What are you two betting on?
[now that everyone is looking at them, the Princes
are unsuccessfully trying
to hide embarrassment with nonchalance]
Angrod:
Erm -- the question
of how long -- or little -- time, how many exchanges,
it would be before--
[he can't meet Finrod's gaze, and breaks off]
Aegnor:
--Before he started
talking about his visions and this cracked idea he
has about how the world
will be after the end of the world.
[silence]
Finrod: [calmly]
Not visions. There's
just the one. And I'm not mad.
[Beren glances around with a wary expression]
Beren:
Um. I feel really stupid
asking this, and maybe it's obvious to everybody
here who isn't human,
but -- isn't "the world after the end of the world"
a something-or-other,
whatsit, uh, you know, a--
Steward: [quick and unobtrusive]
--Contradiction in terms.
Beren:
Yeah. That.
[before Finrod can begin to explain, his brother cuts in:]
Aegnor: [caustic]
Hasn't he told you?
You're supposed to save the universe or something.
Beren:
--Me?
Aegnor:
Well, obviously, since
you've managed to pull off marrying one of the
Firstborn. Luthien too,
since she's managed the corollary. It's got to be
the case that you're
the ones to bring about this great destiny, to carry
out this vision of his,
because otherwise you wouldn't have been any --
luckier -- than your
aunt and myself. You're just pawns of Fate, you see.
Beren:
--What??
[he looks around at them all, baffled and not
a little disturbed; the Captain
covers his face with his hands]
Captain
Dear Lady, here we go
again -- please no!
[Finrod glares at his brothers with smouldering
anger, well under control,
but appearing for the first time]
Finrod:
I thought you
were
not here to cause me difficulty, nor to harrass him,
but to help.
[to Beren, rather helplessly]
There is a -- a prophesy,
so to speak. But it's only mine. Not the gods'.
And it -- it isn't a
definite
one. Not like the one for my death. And you
remember how -- uncertain,
that one was, how I told you it seemed as
though it were about
to be fulfilled at the Bragollach -- and would have
been, were it not for
your kindred. I didn't only help you to somehow
further my own convictions,
as if -- as if you two were some sort of
experiment.
Beren: [shaking his head]
Have I ever doubted
you, Sir? I understood why you thought we were
a bad idea when you
talked about it with me in the City. Even before
I knew about the problems
in your -- our -- family.
[at this last, Finarfin looks from them across
to his other two sons, who
hastily look away from his gaze]
I wouldn't have thought
you protected me just to obey a prophecy or
some ulterior motive.
But if you thought that some great destiny had to
be involved for us to
get together in the first place, then it makes sense
that you'd go along
with it in spite of your doubts, and maybe for that
reason let your judgement
get overrode by enthusiasm. And I don't think
it makes any difference
one way or other for you helping me, any more than
than your being dead
or your debt to Da.
[nodding towards Aegnor and Angrod]
--I don't listen to these
guys, anyway. It's not like I know them or
anything, not like you.
[the Princes look severely disgruntled, the Ten wickedly pleased]
Go on -- I'm not gonna get upset.
Finrod:
All -- all right.
Amarie: [aside]
The very Powers daunt
him not a whit, yet this Follower child confoundeth
him that ne'er did I
see uncertain . . . !
Finrod: [a little weary and flat, now]
It seems to me that
all of us are Called to something, whether we know
it or not, and perhaps
we -- the Firstborn -- are helpless to work against
the Song, the parts
of it that are Marred or otherwise, with any real
effect because we are
too closely bound to it to change it, too close to
see it properly, the
way one must step back from any Work to judge it in
its setting and overall.
But the Secondborn are not, and what we Elves have
have thought of as weaknesses,
to be pitied and feared, might be instead
strengths, to
be used for good or ill to reshape the world. --For good,
of course, is my
hope.
Beren:
You mean that we --
mortals,
us -- might have been put here to help undo
the Marring?
[he looks around to see if the Eldar around him
think this is a joke, but not
even the Princes are smiling in derision]
And that my finding Tinuviel was supposed to be part of that?
Finrod:
Yes.
Huan:
[quiet keening, not
quite loud enough to be obnoxious]
Beren:
Huh.
[pause -- Finrod looks at him anxiously, but
when he continues it is a bit
sadly, but not anguished:]
I think -- probably
we already did it, only -- I botched it all up.
--The Silmarils.
Finrod: [shaking his head, earnest]
You're still here. The
story isn't over yet. You don't know that that
was the reason for your
existence, the Great Work you were meant to do.
It might not even be
anything,
not a thing like the Trees or the Silmarils,
or a Deed like finding
the Children and leading them West. I thought mine
was Nargothrond, and
then I realized that it wasn't, and that was a
terrible shock -- but
I had to keep doing it, I couldn't just stop and
do something else.
Nerdanel:
And what, child, dost
thou hold this Great Work of thine to be, that
thou dost strive for
but makest not, if not indeed the mending of all
that's Marred?
Finrod: [faint smile]
I don't know, yet. If
I tell you my suspicions, you'll have no doubts as
to my sanity at all.
Finarfin: [deadpan]
Nay, but doubt
after which fashion, absent or present?
[Finrod starts to share a grin with his father,
and then checks himself;
the living King sighs and looks away]
Nerdanel:
Hast not fear to offend
the Valar further, that hast been so gently pardoned
and thy transgression
set aside?
Finrod: [blinking]
No. I . . . am already
dead, I have no job nor place left to go back to
in the world Without,
and my lady doesn't want anything to do with me.
[Amarie spins half away, her arms folded tensely; he does not notice]
What else could
they do to me, assuming they were so inclined? But
arguing the ins and
outs of the universe with Lord Namo and his family
isn't particularly stressful,
in any case -- his Lordship gets impatient
sometimes, but not offended.
A little brusque, but that's just his manner.
Aegnor: [grimacing]
No, Aunt 'Danel, he's
just crazy, that's all.
[simultaneously:]
Beren:
Hey, you shouldn't call
Lord Mandos crazy--
Finrod:
No, I think the Doomsman's
quite
sane--
[Aegnor snorts in disgust, while other family
members look on in disbelief
or resignation]
Angrod: [aside to Aegnor]
You certainly set yourself
up for that one.
Finarfin:
Thou speakest, son,
with such little deference as the Powers were
thy very kin!
[brief pause]
Finrod:
Well -- they are.
[longer pause]
Yours too. All of you.
[the silence continues, though most of the Ten
are finding it hard to keep
from breaking it]
I'm not crazy -- am I?
[this to the Doriathrin lord]
Ambassador:
Our Lady is most certainly
of the Powers.
[with an apologetic glance towards Finarfin and Nerdanel]
--And as certainly kin
to your children, so I am forced to conclude that
the same holds true
for you.
Finrod:
See?
[before any of them can comment on this]
And it's been true all
along, only we didn't know it, because we didn't
know what happened to
Mother's uncle. And now it's true three different
ways -- by marriage,
by blood, and by marriage again.
[the Ambassador winces; so do Finrod's brothers,
but his father and aunt only
look puzzled]
--Marriage, to Elu; blood,
through their daughter our cousin, Luthien;
marriage, by Luthien
too.
[this does not dispel their confusion, but rather increases it all around]
Angrod: [frowning]
No. That doesn't work.
You can't count Luthien twice, Finrod.
Finrod:
I can't?
Steward:
I fear he is correct,
my lord -- through Lady Luthien you may now claim
kinship with Beren,
for that prior bond of blood that unites your and her
common ancestors; but
that does not permit you to reckon the Princess
as kindred anew, through
that marital bond in reverse, as though she were
now her own sister-in-law.
Finrod: [blankly]
Are you sure?
[his counselor nods, his expression quite sober
-- but there is a faint twinkle
of amusement to match Finrod's own]
Teler Maid: [loudly]
Oh, he is being most
silly, and all for to madden you, can you not see it?
[everyone stares at her]
Do not all look at me, or -- or I will vanish, I promise!
[she ducks back behind the Ten in an attack of shyness]
Finarfin: [to the ceiling]
I do believe that here
is one Maiwe, whose songs my hall long hath missed,
and my lady as long
withal and more of grief than merest echoes' lamentation.
Oft hath Earwen asked
of me, whether of deed, or of undoing, what wrong
we did thee that thou
shouldst rather gray death prefer, thereunto our House?
Teler Maid: [calling from the background]
No! I mean, it was never
your fault, good my lord. --Or my lady's.
Please do you tell her
I am sorry from me.
Finrod: [dry]
I think she's only accepting
family apologies in person, Maiwe -- though
she might make an exception,
you only being a cousin six or eight times
removed, wasn't it?
[Finarfin sighs, looking as though disappearing sounds like a very good option]
Nerdanel: [to the Steward]
Indeed, it did clean
fly from my mind, that I had meant to ask of thee:
is this the same young
Teler whose name was so frequent coupled with
thine own, by many tongues,
saving ne'er thine own? Is she thy true-love,
in truth, Enedrion?
[longish pause]
Steward:
For my part, the answer
should be yes.
Finarfin: [sternly]
What web of words dost
thou make e'en now?
Steward:
None -- presently. Your
question is nigh unanswerable, my lord: do I say
no, as it seems
the present truth now rests, I shall most infallibly make
it thus; but if on the
contrary I declare it so, then such presumption
should, I deem, have
but the same result in the end.
[while his hearers are trying to decipher this,
the subject of their discussion
emerges from cover again, her arms folded and
a very impatient expression on
her face]
Teler Maid:
He would say that I
will be angry with him no matter what he says, and then
I shall not be, but
he wishes that I were.
[she looks at him in amazement]
You have confessed your
love for me, and before your own great House, and
strangers--! Nor act
you as if ashamed of that no more than of me for all
my folly . . . and so
did I ever hope for, and now you do thus, -- and I am
afeared of you for your
readiness to strike, and more so for your cleverness,
that even here
you might twist words to deceive and confuse, and belike you
do so even now to win
me subject to you once again, and how shall I ever
know you are true then?
[her voice is almost a wail at the end, and she
wrings the ends of her braids
distractedly while he only looks at her seriously,
saying nothing]
Nerdanel:
Alas, poor child!
Teler Maid: [drawing herself together in sudden temper]
I am not a poor
child!
[sullenly]
Well . . . perchance.
--Stop talking over me! You are here to harry Lord
Ingold, are you not?
[Finrod's relatives look at each other askance,
while the Ambassador shakes
his head wryly]
Finrod: [easily]
Just my lady,
as it happens, Sea-Mew. The rest of them are actually here
to harry Beren's. It's
merely happened to work out that way. But that's
all right.
[to his family]
Of course she's correct,
I was jesting -- except not to annoy so much
as to anneal the conversation
with humour before it fractured from the
stress. You're all worried
about the wrong things.
Aegnor:
It gets better, you
see.
[his eldest brother gives him a warning Look]
Finarfin:
Indeed, and some such
form of it hath reached unto the multitude, else
some such semblance
of these discourses. --But I had for my part
rather hear it out most
plain and free of mitigations.
Finrod:
Don't worry -- I'll
gladly incriminate myself further. The substance of it
is this: the world is
broken, the Song distorted past all hope of restoration
-- even if it were somehow
possible to overcome the Enemy and repair
the effects of his destructive
acts all in a moment, that wouldn't make it
whole, wouldn't
undo what was done, nor make it other than a botched
mess suffering from
the lack of all those that were lost as a result. So.
We either have to say
the whole project was ultimately a failure -- which
certainly could
be the case -- or that we're missing part of the pattern,
and that's what
I've Seen. This isn't the whole of it at all. Unless you're
willing to admit that
the One is a worse loser than I am, the hypothesis
that there will be another
Song that will make the world anew is the
only one that makes
any sense.
[this has a predictable effect on his Vanyar
bride, and not much less on
his other hearers, rebel or not -- even repeated
exposure to such heresies
has not entirely dulled the impact. His father,
not seeming as troubled by
all this radical speculation as his companions,
glances at Beren before
looking at his eldest once more.]
Finarfin:
Whence cometh thy certainty
the Secondborn shall have part in this --
new Music, even as the
Ainur, and greater verily than we?
Finrod: [flippantly]
Well, they've got to
be doing something after the world ends, right?
You don't think the
Timeless Halls are just going to be filled with
bored spirits playing
pointless games like us here, surely?
[someone behind him snickers nervously -- Beren
and his father
however only look at him with sincere questioning,
and he sighs,
going on in earnest]
Because they are part
of the correction, and so -- assuming of course
the One is at least
a little better organized than we are -- the
ideal world is not
as some of our family have argued one in which
there are no other Children
than ourselves, but one in which their
music is not drowned
out nor co-opted by either ours nor the Enemy's:
they were made to answer
the first Discords, so the only question is
what shape does
that purpose take?
Amarie: [interrupting]
Yet even so are we,
and to us hath been given understanding of the
cosmos, that by virtue
of our nature alike as our ceaseless days
doth possess a greater
breadth and potentiality than might any brief
transient soul.
[he nods seriously]
Finrod:
And that is all
we know. We don't know how to give it up -- how to
to look at it as the
Powers must, as something apart from them yet
dear to them, that they
must outlast with sorrow as a parent who
outlives children, and
which cannot be grasped at nor held from
death forever -- because
we can't. In that way we're closer to
Morgoth than we might
think--
[simultaneously:]
Amarie: [cutting him off]
Out on thee--!
Ambassador: [frowning, very perturbed]
Why do you say th--
[Aegnor has been endeavoring to contain himself, but the endeavor fails.]
Aegnor: [talking over them both]
So none of it matters,
not Miriel, not the Kinslaying, not the killing
of the Trees, not the
torture and slavery of the ones left behind or the
poisoning of the lands,
because it's all going to be done over properly,
you see -- this is all
no more than erasing out bits on a rough sketch--
[as his brother and several of his Following
start to answer at once, and
chaos is about to take over, Nerdanel interjects,
raising her hand:]
Nerdanel: [forcefully]
Be ye still, my kinsmen.
[to Finrod, her tone dryly meaningful]
Though the impulsive
force of mine own speech be haply less by some
degree than thy brother's,
as hath been given to me to understand these
several years -- still
it doth much incline upon the same direction as
mine own, forasmuch
as such a . . . recasting should most greatly disdain
all that hath preceded
it, and make no reckoning of the griefs eke the
glories of the former
Day.
Finrod:
So all the many years
of struggle and pain to perfect an art are
worthless? The
burns, the cuts -- the half-finished works that aren't
quite right, but still
have beauty in themselves, worthless? The efforts
-- repeated -- to learn
to play or sing in proper balance, weighing and
subordinating individual
perfection and sublimity to the whole and with
regard to every performer's
own abilities, meaningless because directed
to a greater purpose,
mastering of beauty that encompasses all prior
work? You wouldn't say
that about anything made within Arda -- so why
say that of the world
itself?
Ambassador: [guardedly]
From both your words
and
the unspoken implication of them, I must guess,
Sire, that you hold
your vision to have come from a Source other than
either of the usual
channels -- that is to say, neither Beyond the --
this continent,
as rarely if ever has been possible since the Dark
One's Return, nor
from the currents and tides of Ea itself, bearing
message and meaning
either as cargo or riddle, freight to be unpacked
or deciphered or set
into the mosaic of days, as the early flight of
birds in autumn. Do
I take your meaning aright?
[clearly this means something significant to
the gathered Elves, from their
expressions, as Beren looks at them, trying
to piece out the overtones
and undertones of the conversation; the center
of the intellectual storm
is undisturbed by this challenge:]
Finrod:
Yes, that is
rather the obvious conclusion, since working within
a closed system doesn't
usually give rise to variables and outcomes
hinging on factors not
part of that system. But surely you don't want
to assert that such
isn't possible--?
Amarie: [hotly]
Aye, and for what shall
it be given unto thee?
[Finrod shrugs]
Finrod:
I don't know. I've no
idea why a god spoke to me out of the night and
told me to build a City
either -- why me, that is. The benefits of a
hidden stronghold being
obvious to even pacifists, I should hope.
Captain: [reasonably]
You don't know
that he didn't Call anyone besides you and your cousin,
as it's proven from
the White Lady's words. It could be, Sire, that
the rest of us were
simply deaf to it.
Nerdanel:
Ar-Feiniel is slain
as well?
Ranger: [aside, shaking his head]
We should just make
a list and hand it round.
Soldier:
Out of what? Stone?
Third Guard:
And think how long
it would have to be.
Aegnor: [brightly, not looking at Beren at all]
Yes, she married some
local fellow there under questionable
circumstances -- and
he killed her.
[predictably, they all look at Beren, who looks miserable]
Huan:
[sharp growling bark]
Finrod: [pleasantly, to his lawful kin]
Excuse me for a moment
while I berate my sibling.
[turns and grabs Aegnor by the shoulder, furious]
All right, I've just
about
had it with you. I've taken your guilting
about Lady Andreth and
about my failure to convince the High Command
to invade Angband because
I'm not completely free of blame and I feel
sorry for you. But you
know, I really didn't have the power to make
anyone obey me. You
didn't
have to listen to me telling you what you
wanted to hear--
[as his brother raises his hand]
Go on, hit me, that's
part of my job, isn't it? -- to make the
unpopular decisions
so no one else
has to and take the blame for
the consequences, because
there are always consequences, and never
make mistakes, never
be wrong, because I'm the King. --How dare I
get myself into a situation
I couldn't get out of, trying to save
your lives? How dare
I lose the Northwest Passage, and the North, and
Nargothrond? You might
almost think it was Fated, now, mightn't you?
[Angrod tries to intervene, but doesn't get a chance]
--And when it comes to
it, why weren't you able to convince your
own best friends that
an attack was in everyone's best interests?
Hm? Why didn't you
work on getting Cel to push his brothers into
going along? Though
I gather you did -- so why didn't you succeed?
[letting go of Aegnor and gesturing widely]
I couldn't solve all
your problems for you in Beleriand, and guess
what, I can't
solve them
here either. I'm sorry about that, that
I can't fix everything
that's gone wrong on either side of the Sea
-- the Starmaker knows
I tried, as well as failed, even if you don't
-- and I'm sorry I couldn't
even avenge you -- but right now there
is a problem
that possibly I can affect, and must at least endeavor
to, and if it is a matter
painful to us both, and cannot but bring
to heart that sorrow
afresh, still must we endure it.
[a little quieter]
I'm not asking you to
believe me. Nor even to help our cousin and
our friend. I only insist
that you not cause any more problems for
them. --But that is
all
I'm going to say to you on the subject. One
way or another.
Do you understand?
[snorting]
If you don't, or won't, -- then get out of my sight. Now.
[Aegnor stares at him, his mouth working, but
unable to speak; torn
between hauling off and slamming his eldest,
and vanishing, he flickers
for a moment, then pulls away and stands a little
ways off, his arms
folded, his eyes closed in pain. Huan comes
up to huff comfortingly
in his ear, and gets a hard shove on his nose
for his pains; meanwhile
Finrod turns back to the conversation, and the
horrified gazes of his
family. Puzzled:]
--What?
Ambassador: [warily]
You . . . displayed
ill-humour, Majesty -- if I may understate.
Finrod: [still slightly manic]
Yes, well, it does happen
from time to time.
[his relatives are all still taken aback: ironically]
--It isn't as though I drew a blade on him, after all.
Teler Maid: [almost whispering]
But -- you shouted
at him . . .
[their reaction leaves him a bit off-balance
-- he looks at the Ten for
reassurance, and gets it, if a bit strangely:]
Steward:
Considering, my lord,
that of all us that are present I have known
you the longest, the
latest, and the most continuous, and I have
only seen you mastered
by anger four times in as many yen -- to
your cousins, at Alqualonde;
your father, at Araman; against the
Enemy on the battlefield
at the Sudden Flame, and towards Nargothrond
at our exiling -- it
is I believe infrequent enough to warrant marvel.
[with a shrewd look at all the Finarfinions]
There were perhaps other
occasions when I was not present to witness,
certainly, and I do
not
reckon such situations where a severe rebuke
was required and furnished
with appropriate mannerims -- of which
last I incline
to judge this latest outburst, at least in part.
[pause]
Finrod:
Somewhere near half
-- I'm not sure of the exact proportion, myself.
I trust there
won't be another occasion for it in the near future,
either.
[picking up where he left off again]
So, anyhow -- it depends
on how you look at it, whether you see it
as contradiction,
as change, or as but a wider understanding of Fate
than we've grown up
accepting, unquestioningly. I don't think it's as
radical or unsettling
as everyone seems to believe: after all, I'm not
saying that the Song
won't end and we along with it -- only that there
will be a new
Music, and everything made new in it. --As we should
have been.
Amarie:
All?
[he nods]
Dost reckon full the
consequence of this thy claim? Even unto Morgoth,
verily?
[again he nods, seriously; clearly she wants
to say more, but it's too
much to be able to get out]
Beren: [unfolding realization]
That's what you meant.
That's
-- what you were trying to tell me
when -- right before
-- before you died. When you said . . . we
might not meet again,
but maybe it would be all right somehow.
I thought -- after
-- you meant about--
[nodding towards Huan]
--that they might
win. Not that we'd meet like this -- or after . . .
after the after-everything.
Finrod: [softly]
I didn't dare raise
any false hope -- I owed you honesty, not comforting
lies, but -- I couldn't
leave you with nothing but my failure, when I
might be right after
all. --I never Saw this, though.
[worried]
Are you -- angry with
me, for telling you no more of my vision than
that "maybe" --?
[Beren looks at him fondly, shaking his head]
Beren:
You spoke truer than
you knew, then.
Captain: [aside]
Thank you, my Lady!
Beren: [hesitant, but earnest]
Maybe -- maybe again,
too . . . ?
Amarie: [to Finrod, with a drastic gesture, very agitated]
Nay, this madness doth
far
outpace thine eldest uncle's! Which shall
be worse, I ken not
-- to grasp even at eternity, nor rest content with
all that hath been given
us -- else to proclaim that such as he shall
stand beside the Powers
as gods verily -- else to hold thou knowest
better far than even
holy Manwe
how this Ea is, and shall even be,
withal, as thou wert
Varda herself to grant such clarity unto the
greatest of the cosmos?
Hast thou not dread -- nay, I speak not of
shame to thee!
-- concerning of their affront, to hear of this thy
foolish pridefulness?
Nerdanel:
Nay, dost thou
truly hold the gods ken naught of thy love's certainties?
Think, child!
[as Amarie gives her an affronted look in turn:]
--Whence came yon troublesome
rumours, the truth of which we have so
plainly heard outspoken?
[to Finrod:]
'Tis a most fair dream,
to be sure, and the greater part of mine own
counter to it hath fled
like the molten flux before the most burning
proof: that well indeed
thou kennst this world its sorrow, nor recketh
lightly of it, nor deemst
it but foundation to the rest, as 'twere nay
than the crushing of
gravel fine to set beneath the footing of a lofty
pergola. Yet still I
may not but acknowledge it as shown, that thine
hope of Arda Envinyanta
is aught other than thy wish, from earliest
days, that all thy kin
might dwell together in peace and all their
rivalries be given o'er,
and now thou hast found to thyself more kinfolk
even, and would of thy
most generous spirit gather all these as well,
about thee for ever
more.
[as he starts to protest once more]
Nay, I confess I would
most
gladly consent with thee, saving that
my doubt, that hath
seen all fair beginnings fall to wrack and ruin,
and every clarity made
dark, and how joy turneth ever unto sorrow,
findeth it still nor
ever too light a resolution. --But, youngling,
thou dost self little
service, to win thy theorem hearing, thus to
make utterance in manner
so short and prideful, as wert all ways plain
and manifest, and only
fools might not see it likewise.
Finrod:
. . .
[she does not look away, and he turns after a moment to the Steward.
--Edrahil -- am I being proud and impatient about it?
Steward:
Aye, my lord, and so
should I declare even did I hold with it.
[Finrod looks towards the Captain, who nods agreement
soberly,
and then back to his relatives]
Finrod:
Sorry. I suppose I was
a
bit overbearing.
Finarfin:
Such shall be ever hazard
of this our lordly duty, I fear.
[his eldest gives him a wary glance, which becomes
more uncertain when he
sees the living King's expression is rueful
amusement, not sarcasm]
Angrod: [shaking his head]
For myself, I'd like
to know what Galadriel would have said to all this.
I can't imagine our
sister wouldn't bring a measure of cold reality to
temper the conversation.
[at Finrod's Look]
--I'm only saying what I think--
Nerdanel: [interrupting]
--Indeed, and another
matter that all that's followed did drive
from recollection: wherefore
the meaning-insolence of my former
vassals in their words
concerning thy youngest sibling, that she
of all of ye did swiftest
and most fully take to the other Shore?
Aegnor: [over his shoulder, shrugging]
Probably they were talking
about how she and her husband took off on
that expedition retracing
the March with a bunch of fellow lunatics.
Or else just that she
moved to Menegroth in the first place.
Finarfin:
Artanis hath wed?!?
Finrod:
Oh, that's right--
Finarfin:
Or when--
Finrod: [frowning]
Hm. --Edrahil, do you
recall--
Finarfin: [keeping going]
--Or unto whom?
[somewhat exciteably the Sea-elf points to Beren,
with an "I know
this!" attitude:]
Teler Maid:
To one of his
cousins!
Beren:
Uh, that's gonna conf--
Nerdanel: [to her nephews, in greater astonishment]
--Thy sister also hath
taken a mortal consort?
Ambassador: [quickly]
--By marriage, gentles
-- that is to say, one of l--Lady Luthien's
cousins, of royal Olwe's
kindred, the Lord Celeborn.
[Finarfin looks more bewildered than relieved]
Angrod: [reproachful]
You didn't tell
them?
Finrod: [staring at him innocently]
No, somehow it seems
to have slipped my mind, what with being
preoccupied trying to
save the universe, anger the Powers and oh,
by-the-by, pack in four-hundred-going-on-five
years' worth of
adventures into what
seemed like half-an-hour, not to mention
all the interruptions
and--
[chastened, Angrod raises his hand in appeal,
in a gesture and manner
very typical of his eldest sibling]
Angrod:
Ingold -- please.
[without any warning a banshee screech of unmitigated
fury echoes
throughout the entire Hall, startling everyone,
though there is
no visible source]
Beren: [wild-eyed]
That's Tinuviel--
[before anyone can do anything beyond react in
concern, Luthien herself
appears, out of thin air, in a tearful rush,
shoving anyone in her path
aside and flinging her arms around Beren's neck]
Luthien: [incoherent]
--Beren -- Beren
-- you're still here --
[she steps back, looking at him as if she can't
believe it, while Huan crowds
in as though he hadn't seen her for decades
and recognizes that she needs
a dog welded to her side, even if she doesn't]
Oh, Beren, dear one,
it's
no use, there's -- you mustn't trust anyone
here, you can't
trust my family, it doesn't matter what side of the
Sea they're on--
Finrod:
Not even us?
Luthien: [impatient]
Oh, don't be stupid
-- of course you.
[to Beren]
Don't -- don't listen
to anyone -- else, or let anyone talk you into
anything, don't agree
to anything, no matter how innocent it sounds,
or reasonable, don't
--
Oh!
[she shakes her head in outrage, unable to keep
going -- he catches hold
of her forearm, trying to get her to calm down]
Beren: [intense]
--Tinuviel. --What
-- did -- they -- say?
Luthien: [with a convulsive shiver]
He said -- he said you
could be -- be put in some sort of suspended
animation, unconscious,
as though you were someone who'd returned
from Exile illegally
and that way we'd still be married but I wouldn't
have to worry about
you and you wouldn't technically be in Aman,
you'd be on some islands
somewhere, and so it would all be lawful.
[he lets go of her wrist and draws himself up, shocked]
Beren:
W--what?!?
Luthien: [nodding]
That's what I said.
I -- I -- yes.
Beren: [flatly]
Unconscious. For how
long?
Luthien:
Always! I told
them, it was bad enough, you were unconscious for
a whole season, why
would they think I would be happy with you
like that forever?
[he is staring at her in disbelief, rapidly replaced
by conviction to
match hers that this is not a misunderstanding,
while Nerdanel looks at
Finarfin and her nephews incredulously and Amarie,
frowning, shakes her
head in disagreement.]
Finrod: [disgusted]
Honestly. I should have
insisted
on being present to help keep things
in perspective. This
is ridiculous -- and I'm going to tell Lord Namo
so myself as soon--
[Beren whirls to face them]
Beren: [almost incoherent in his own distress]
No -- you don't understand.
None of you! You -- I -- you can't!
Finrod:
Beren--
Beren: [shaking his head]
There's nothing -- look,
my whole life I spend fighting against the Dark,
and I lose everything,
and when I ask the gods for even a little help,
the only choice I get
is between exiled to Death now or exiled to the
Grey Country forever?
What -- kind of choice is that? Why can we not get
even the least break?
We've been patient, we've trusted the Powers to
do right by us, we're
not the bad guys, but--
Finrod: [trying to reassure him as before]
Beren, it isn't--
Beren: [ranting]
Don't! Don't lie to
me now -- there isn't any hope, Tinuviel's right,
nobody cares,
no one can help us and you do not understand because
you're here and
you don't have anything to lose, there isn't any place
else for you to go and
even if Amarie won't listen to you now there's
still hope for
you, you do have forever, and no matter what -- even
if you're right -- and
Ages down the road we do get to find each other
again, that
isn't
going to make the forever in between any less of a
Hell for us!!
[as Finrod reaches out, upset, he flings him
away and storms a short ways
off, stopping abruptly to stand, his back to
them, fist clenched at his
side, shaking. No one quite dares to approach
him -- except for Huan, who
realizes that it's Beren who needs a canine
shadow and additionally to
have his ear snuffled and a dog nose shoved
under his chin. The upshot of
this is to cause the mortal to turn and hug
the Hound, leaning against
Huan's chest for a moment before wearily but
resignedly rejoining the
assembled Elven company, ghostly and otherwise
(still with a divine Hound
practically welded to his side.) After kissing
Luthien quickly and she
brushing the hair out of his eyes with an anxious
caress, he faces the
Nargothronders again.]
Beren: [raggedly]
Sorry. I -- didn't mean
to be ungrateful. I just -- lost it and said
stuff that felt true
but -- I know you can't help it, and you would
if -- I don't mean
any of that.
Teler Maid: [sympathetic]
I do that sometimes.
[thoughtful]
At least I did before.
It -- it is harder, now, not simply here. Perhaps
I am growing up.
[hastily]
I did not mean to call you but a child, my lord.
[to Luthien]
--Or you, for such a
Doom would put any out of temper, I think.
Would you not agree?
[this last, innocently put to the newcomers,
evokes expressions ranging from
pensive to taut to intensely so; Beren, with
Huan still "at heel," approaches
Finrod & stands before him looking up at
him unflinchingly -- despite the
circle of witnesses, it is an extremely personal
moment]
Beren:
I cut you awful bad,
didn't I?
[sighing]
I'm sorry.
[the other shakes his head, smiling sadly]
Finrod:
I've dealt with angry
Men before. That -- wasn't the worst that any
of your family has said
to me.
Beren:
An' . . .?
[the Elf-lord nods, and he sighs again]
--Not so much angry --
as terrified. I haven't been afraid -- not really,
not since they said
that Carcharoth was dead -- not even here, even
before he came--
[scratching under the Hound's jaw]
--but now? I'm scared
out of my wits. I don't know what's coming,
what to do, and it just
keeps looking worse. And that's not going
away. Actually--
[grimacing]
--yes, angry,
and that isn't going away either, but -- now I'm riding it
and not the other way
'round.
[he looks around at the Ten earnestly]
Only there's nothing
for me to fight or destroy here, and that's sort
of all I know how to
do. --And wait. I'm good at waiting a situation
out . . . but . . .
Steward: [shaking his head]
Oh, little one. --Trust
the people who love you.
Captain:
--Trust our King.
[Huan's tail signals agreement, and Beren nods
ruefully, losing more of the
frenzied edge]
Beren:
I guess I shouldn't
understimate you all, either, huh?
Teler Maid: [a little too loud]
But of course not!
[embarrassed, she winces, but Finrod smiles at her, and she perks up again]
Finrod: [sincerely]
Thank you for that encouraging
confidence, Maiwe.
[to Luthien]
What, exactly, are they objecting to with regards to your marriage?
Luthien: [flinging up her hands]
Everything! --Nothing.
No one seems to take me seriously! They all
still treat me like
I'm a child -- I feel like I never left home.
[her father's counselor looks away, downcast;
Nerdanel reaches out to
him before recollecting, and sighs]
Why doesn't anyone pay attention to what I have to say?
Beren: [reluctantly]
Well--
Luthien:
What?!?
Beren: [ducking his head a little]
Look, it's not your
fault -- but -- earlier, you know -- you were
coming across a little
-- well, like my four-year-old cousin when
we had to explain to
her it was time to let her orphan squirrel go
back to the woods.
[as she glares at him, with rather a betrayed
expression, the Captain
gives a sudden loud shout of laughter, instantly
suppressed, and
receives the full brunt of her redirected wrath:]
Luthien:
What are you laughing
for? There's nothing funny about this!
Captain: [with a placating gesture, struggling not to lose
control again]
Sorry -- I -- I'm sorry,
Highness, I know, but -- I just couldn't help
it, when he said --
just -- trying to not think of that picture -- it's
just too wrong,
my lady -- you as an angry toddler, holding on to Beren
as -- as an orphaned
baby squirrel, and scowling at Lady Vaire like that--
Beren: [completely serious]
No, my cousin was older
than that, and so was the squirrel, that was
the problem--
Captain: [shaking his head]
I know, I know, humans
age differently, and -- it -- never mind, it
was foolish--
Finrod:
No, it was quite
inappropriate.
[thoughtfully]
Now, if either of you had said a young wildcat, instead . . .
[Luthien matches stares with her cousin, and
cannot help it -- a reluctant
smile forces its way onto her face.]
Luthien:
All right. It is a funny
picture. --But them wanting me to -- to set
Beren free --
isn't.
Finrod:
No. So we'll just have
to make them see reason, somehow.
Amarie:
--"Compel" --?!
Aegnor: [grim humor]
Yes.
[Amarie closes her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief]
Luthien: [noticing the Princes properly for the first time]
You! There you
are! I'm furious with you two.
[she strides up to them and starts building up
to a fine rage, while her
cousins realize that their earlier blasé
attitude was misplaced and try to
make their protests heard over her declamation
and their father exchanges
an impressed Look with the Doriathrin lord.]
--I felt sorry
for you when Dad punished you, you know -- but now I'm
only sorry he ever let
you come back! I'm sorry I ever helped feed you,
or made you clothes,
or sang for you, I'm sorry I healed you after that
mistake with the boar,
I'm sorry Mom didn't lock you both out of the
Labyrinth, I'm sorry
you--
Angrod: [raising his voice]
--I didn't do
anything--
[suddenly, the Powers appear, Namo and Vaire
before their respective
thrones, with Aule and his Assistant to one
side, Orome and Irmo on the
other; there is no flash of light nor other
dramatic signal to their
entrance. As the Lord and Lady take their seats,
the Valinorean Eldar
make polite gestures of acknowledgement; the
rebels merely stand to
attention, which is somewhat ambigious; the
Doriathrin Ambassador, noting
watching all reactions, shakes his head knowingly.
Rather hesitantly the
Teler Maid waves to Irmo, then retreats behind
the curtain of her hair.
Huan gives a quiet, experimental bark, but stops
at once at the Weaver's
severe Look. Before any of them speak, Luthien
strides up to the dais
in a no-quarter manner and begins:]
Luthien:
How could you say
such a thing -- or listen to it! -- far less expect
me to countenance
it?
Vaire: [matter-of-factly]
If you hadn't started
shouting at everyone and stormed out of the
room in a passion, Luthien,
you would have realized that it was
merely a suggestion
-- just one among all those already brought
up -- and not a decision
at all: that, in fact, it would have been
rejected in short order,
being merely a shifting of location, and
not in
any way
a new way of dealing with the problem.
Luthien: [aside]
Somebody else say something,
because I don't trust myself enough
to talk right now.
[before anyone else can, the Sindarin Ranger
comes forward from where he
is lurking at the back of the group of Finrod's
people, looking utterly
Doomed, and drops to his knees in front of Namo's
Throne, forcing himself
himself to look up]
Youngest Ranger:
Holy One -- my Lord
Judge -- I beg -- beg leave, to speak--
Namo: [puzzled]
Why are you on the floor?
Youngest Ranger:
? ? ?
Namo:
Do you see any of your
friends kneeling to us? Anyone?
[he shakes his head quickly]
So . . . why are you?
Youngest Ranger:
Ought -- oughtn't I
-- m--my Lord?
Namo: [shrugging]
If it makes it easier
for you to speak, then yes. It doesn't look like
it to me.
[doubtfully the Sindarin warrior gets to his
feet and stands straight before
the Throne, gripping his bow nervously]
What was it you wanted to say?
Youngest Ranger: [hopelessly resolute despite his stammering]
My Lord, if -- if I
am not -- supposed to be here, then -- and yet
you -- your Lady --
al--allow me, then -- why can't you make --
another exception --
for him?
Namo: [curious]
Who told you you
weren't supposed to be here?
[pause]
Youngest Ranger:
But -- Sir, I -- I'm
n--not one of Your people. I -- that is, to say,
I did assume--
Namo:
Are you not Eldar?
Youngest Ranger: [with a small flare of heat]
Not -- as some
tell it.
[bowing his head]
--Er -- yes, m--my Lord. But not -- of these islands.
Namo: [patient]
These Halls are
meant
to shelter such as you. It isn't the same as
for a mortal: there's
no intrinsic hardship or difficulty with you
remaining here. If you're
crazy enough to want to be included in
the Doom of the Noldor,
then obviously you do belong--
Vaire: [reproachful]
Darling!
Namo: [turning to his wife, confused]
What? That's word-for-word
what you yourself said.
Vaire:
True, but -- I didn't
say it in front of him.
Namo: [baffled]
That makes a difference?
[this gets him a Look]
I don't see why.
[his wife gives the Youngest Ranger an apologetic, embarrassed glance]
Youngest Ranger: [uncertainly]
I -- I don't have to
leave, then, H--Holy Ones?
Vaire:
Not before you're ready,
dear.
[speechless, he bows his head and sighs in relief;
his commander pats
him on the shoulder]
Captain: [aside]
Told you, didn't I?
[the other nods, too overcome to look up yet,
unaware of the looks of
gratitude and admiration directed towards him
by Beren and his companions]
Youngest Ranger:
Only--
Captain:
--Don't worry about
that
either. Trust Himself and look out for
ambushes -- same as
always.
[at that moment Nienna's student comes in through
the doorway in a
rush, hurrying up to the Thrones with the scroll
clutched in one hand
and something oblong and glittering, like a
cuneiform tablet made from
a prism, in the other, and wearing an extremely
worried expression]
Nienna's Apprentice: [looking around at the assembled crowd]
I -- was on my way up
to see you, my Lord, and I . . . heard
voices raised. Is --
everything all right?
Luthien: [loudly]
No!
Apprentice: [starting]
Erm -- sorry.
[with a skittish, worried look towards her and
Beren, he turns back to
the Doomsman]
Is there anything I can -- ought -- do about it?
[Namo shakes his head]
Oh. Well. Sorry.
Namo: [dubious]
Don't tell me you've
found everything on that list already?
[the other shakes his head in turn]
Apprentice:
I wanted to ask you,
Sir, what if I find some of it -- do you want me
to bring it to you right
away, I mean, or wait until I've gotten it all
together and then bring
it to you all at once . . . ?
Namo: [sighing, in a don't-expect-much-and-get-less tone]
When you find something,
yes,
bring it to me right away.
Apprentice: [pleased]
I thought you were going
to say that.
[with a bit of a flourish he hands over the crystal
tablet, which the Lord
of the Halls takes, raising an eyebrow, and
glances at -- as he does so
it vanishes with a flash; which part at least
seems not unexpected]
Namo: [curious]
What would you have
done if I hadn't?
Apprentice:
Apologized for disturbing
you. --And given it to you anyway.
Namo: [nodding approval]
Good.
[as his sister's pupil starts to leave again
he gestures with his mug towards
Aule's Assistant]
Why don't you take him
along with you? Two minds researching it
ought to be twice as
fast.
[the two lesser Powers look at each other with
equal enthusiasm, or
lack thereof.]
Aule's Assistant:
But -- my lord Judge,
I was contributing to the discussion of--
Namo: [cutting him off]
No, actually, you weren't.
That's why we're here now.
Assistant: [appealing to the Smith]
My lord . . . ?
Aule:
I'm sure you'll be able
to make quick work of whatever Namo needs doing.
Assistant: [modestly]
But of course, Sir.
[as he accompanies his disguised fellow-Maia,
he can be heard complaining
all the way to the door]
--You don't really mean to walk down all those stairs, do you?
Apprentice: [grimly]
Oh no -- run.
Remember? "Fast."
Assistant: [disgruntled]
I'm sure we could put
in some sort of camshaft-driven lift, powered
by water--
[the Lady of the Halls leaps to her feet as they vanish out the door]
Vaire: [ominous (and making everyone else, Power or not,
jump a bit)]
--No!!!
Aule:
Don't worry, Vaire --
the lad's as responsible as he is creative. He
won't go tearing holes
in the place without asking.
[as if only waiting for all attention to turn
to him, as it does now, Finrod
Felagund steps forward with a pleasant, lethal
smile familiar to all who
were at the last Counsel in Nargothrond . .
.]
Finrod:
Look here, my Lady,
my Lords, you're demonstrating quite admirably that
the art of endless debate
has
not fallen into neglect during the years
of our absence abroad
-- and trust me, I've become something of a
connoisseur of counsels
-- but I'm afraid that it's slipped your notice
how counterproductive
such ceaseless discourse and infinite recursions
of every possible outcome
and all the niceties of distinction are, when
at the same time you
complain of how much time you're being
compelled to waste upon
this matter.
[confiding, as between professionals]
One technique I
used for keeping debate to a manageable length was
setting strict time
limits for each subject -- of course, everyone
found ways around it,
but they wouldn't be Noldor if they didn't.
If you want, I can recommend
some people who could help design a device
for the purpose -- would
in fact be delighted to do so. Or -- we could
just stop ignoring the
important things and wasting time on trivial side
issues and resolve
my friends' situation instead. --Unless you really
have nothing better
to do and are merely complaining for the form of
it. I've known that
to happen, too.
[Namo's expression is very wry, while the Weaver
narrows her brows at
Finrod, who refuses to be daunted; as the Lord
of Dreams turns away hastily
covering a "cough," the Hunter and the Smith
share significant Looks:]
Orome:
Can't you do something
about him?
Aule: [sighs, shaking his head]
Unfortunately not. He
hasn't been under my jurisdiction for the better
part of the Age.
Orome:
Who is answerable
for him, then?
Aule: [snorts]
Can't you guess? Who's
conspicuous by his absence these days?
[brief pause]
Though if I didn't have
direct information to the contrary, I'd be
tempted to guess it
was your brother-in-law.
[Orome chuckles harshly at that; Huan wags his tail happily]
Beren: [whispering]
Who's -- his
-- brother-in-law? I can't remember. . .
Luthien: [quietly]
--Tulkas.
Orome: [cutting over her]
--Patron of brainless
enthusiasts.
[Beren looks angry on their behalf, but Finrod only smiles.]
Finrod:
--The patron of loyal
friends, my Lord.
Namo: [ignoring the repartee]
So what's your
solution?
Finrod:
First of all, I think
that instead of talking about the Lord of
Dorthonion, you ought
to talk
to him; that rather than discussing
mortals, you ought to
learn about them by listening to one. Then,
perhaps, you'll have
a slightly better understanding of what is
really best for him.
Namo:
He didn't have
anything to say to me, earlier.
Finrod:
Most of us find it difficult
to speak at first, until some healing
has taken place, or
the shock at least has worn off. Surely you don't
expect the Secondborn
to be any different?
[the Doomsman quirks an eyebrow at his adversary]
Namo:
I . . . have had some
experience dealing with mortals, yes. As I
stated, he hasn't had
anything he wished to tell me, beyond what
was already said, before
now.
[to Beren]
Has that changed? Or
is he leading you into a situation you'd rather
not be in but don't
know how to refuse?
Beren:
No. I mean -- yes. I
mean -- no, not--
[breaks off, looking at the floor]
It's -- no good. I can't do this.
Finrod:
Don't you believe in
what you'd say?
Beren: [with an impatient shake of his head]
I can't -- I can't calm
down enough to -- say it properly. I'm -- I'm
-- damn' close to not
being able to remember anything but the Old Speech.
Finrod: [perfectly calm]
Then say it in Taliska,
and I'll figure it out again and translate
for you. --Though I
expect Lord Namo will understand your thoughts no
matter how you organize
them.
Namo: [grimacing]
Your confidence in me
is overwhelming, Finrod.
[to Beren]
--Yes, of course. You
don't even need to use anything as clumsy
as language,
but most people find it easier to do so.
[the mortal bites his lip, nods, braces his shoulders,
tries again -- and
shakes his head]
Beren:
Whatever I say is going
to sound dumb by comparison.
[Finrod starts to say something reassuring, but is cut off:]
Steward:
Indeed, my lord, your
diction is lamentably rustic, rivalled in its
uncouthness only by
the atrociousness of your accent, and with no more
hope of ever being
polished
than a cross-grained mass of splintered
branches -- but in despite
of that, the substance of your words is clear,
and indeed refreshingly
so. Or, to restate, -- you are a foreigner, and
your fashion of expressing
yourself barbarous: make of that what you will.
[everyone except the Nargothrond contingent look
shocked at this ruthless
diagnosis, but the subject of it just raises
his eyebrows]
Beren: [emphatically]
--Okay.
[to Namo]
Sorry about that, I wasn't meaning to waste your time.
Namo: [dismissive wave of his hand]
Oh, that was hardly
anything, by comparison.
Beren:
I bet. Anyway, I just
really wanted to say one thing, and that's not
just to you,
Sir, but to all of you.
[he looks at the Powers, frowning at each one in turn.]
--I just want to know, when is somebody gonna say, "Thank you" --?
[deafening silence]
Orome:
What for?
Beren: [shrugging]
Maybe for fighting against
one of your renegades without any help
or anything, and doing
actually a damn' good job of it, considering,
that he had more power
and more people than any of us did, and not
just me but all my ancestors
too, as far back as we can remember?
Isn't that worth, oh,
maybe at least a "Good job," huh?
Namo:
Correct me if I have
misunderstood the information that's been given
me, but was not your
family tasked to guard the southern border of
Melkor's territory and
prevent his followers from committing crimes
in that area? Was that
not the price of those lands which your people
were given?
[after a moment Beren nods, conceding the point]
And was not the particular
mandate of the House of Beor to guard
your tribe against predation?
You
were their lords, were you not?
[resigned, Beren nods again]
Finrod:
But, Sir--
[the Lord of the Halls gives Finrod a Look which daunts even him]
Namo:
Do you want him to speak
for himself, or not? You cannot have it both
ways.
[the King bows his head, abashed. To Beren:]
--Yes?
Beren:
But I didn't have
to. I could have gone off someplace safer. Or I could
have made peace with
the Lord of Fetters, and ruled as his vassal instead.
Namo:
If it is one's duty
to protect the innocent -- a specific duty, beyond
that common to all Good
folk -- and it both given and accepted, then what
is due to such a one
who neglects that duty? Blame, or indifference?
Beren: [quietly]
Blame.
Namo:
Do you really think
that refraining from blameworthy actions is enough
to warrant praise?
[pause]
Beren:
No, Sir.
[his jaw tightens and he raises his head a little, defiantly]
What about the Silmaril?
Is getting one of them away from the Dark
Lord just nothing,
then? 'Cause that wasn't ever part of my family's
job description.
Aule:
Yes, but you didn't
return it to Yavanna, so your actions scarcely
can be counted as any
different from Feanor's, with the exception of
an additional -- but
equally self-centered -- motive for them.
[Luthien starts to object, but the Lord of the Halls is ahead of her]
Namo: [shaking his head]
No, you've got to be
fair: bringing it back to your wife was not an
option that was open
to him, so he cannot be criticized for not having
done nor attempted to
do so.
Orome:
No, but he can
be criticized for being stupid and greedy enough to try
to take all three of
them -- and losing the one he had in the process.
Beren: [disbelief]
What?
[the Hunter glares at him: Beren gives him back an incredulous, mocking grin]
You're kidding, right?
[shaking his head]
You think I shouldn't
have tried to break them out of there? Seriously?
'Cause that's what it
means, what you're saying, if you really blame me
for trying.
Orome: [extreme sarcasm]
So you think that making
it possible for Melkor to get one of his
Servants -- and not
just any minion, mind you -- through Melian's
blockade after all this
time, when nothing else could have, deserves
congratulations? I don't
get it.
Captain: [exasperated]
Oh, come on,
my Lord! By the Devouring Dark, that makes as much sense
as blaming him for the
Gloomweaver's venom -- to wit, none at all.
[Orome glowers at his former follower, who isn't
daunted, while Finarfin
shakes his head and Finrod gestures for quiet]
Vaire: [not amused in the least]
--Would you kindly
endeavor to control your language while in my
house? If you must speak
of the Void and -- that person -- at least
do so without
honorifics, child!
[slightly ashamed, he ducks his head at the Weaver's
anger; her husband
retreats behind his teacup hiding his expression
-- surely not smiling . . .]
Huan:
[short, but piercing,
bark]
[the Captain grabs his collar and pulls him down
as though he were a noisy
horse, rubbing his nose]
Beren:
--Guys, it's okay.
[to the Hunter]
That was an accident. There wasn't any way to know that would happen.
[as the two warriors stand glaring at each other,
Finrod looks from the
mortal to the deity and back, frowning thoughtfully]
Orome:
Yeah? You couldn't have
figured out that hanging around any longer
than necessary was a
bad idea? But no, you had to try to grab all
of them, you couldn't
be content with what any normal human being
would have considered
more than enough either of treasure or of
glory, and as a result
you blasted it all to hell-and-gone. And now
you want us to thank
you as if you'd actually succeeded instead?
You idiot. --Why
couldn't you just be happy with what you had?!
Beren: [slowly]
Don't you understand?
[he looks at them all, shaking his head a little,
lifting his hand and
gesturing in place of words]
Don't you?
[pause]
They're alive.
[still more earnestly]
They sing. I --
couldn't leave them there. Do you know what that place
is like? It's -- like
being inside a cloud of smoke only instead of smoke,
it's hatred.
They -- they don't want to be there, in the Dark, they're not
supposed to be locked
up, no more than you'd do that to a wild bird. How
could I not try? If
-- if I'd left them prisoner there, not even tried
to save them, when I
could
have -- how could I ever have faced my mother
when my time came? How
could I face my people? I had to try to free them.
[his voice breaks, but he keeps on]
--And yeah, -- I failed.
[in the silence that follows he wipes impatiently
at his eyes, but does not
look away, and the Hunter continues to lock
stares with him until the Lord
of the Halls summons his attention]
Namo: [gravely]
Can you truly say, young
Man, that your intentions in attempting the
other two stones were
entirely disinterested?
[long pause]
Irmo: [undertone]
That means -- done without
concern for personal ends or gain.
Beren:
I know what "disinterested"
means. I'm thinking how to answer.
[still frowning]
I can't say it was totally
without thought of any glory that I kept going --
to be the one who finally
succeeded where all the kings of the earth
hadn't been able to
pull it off, -- instead of the guy who barely got one
and lost it instantly
afterwards, like actually happened. Any more than
revenge, the
promise I made to Da's spirit over his cairn. I just don't
know. There wasn't any
question of
thinking about it at all. If you'd
ever seen them, you'd
understand--
Orome:
Ahem.
Beren: [laughing at himself]
--That's right. Sorry.
--Maybe they wouldn't have driven out everything
else from your mind,
since you all already seen -- saw them, before.
Maybe I should have
just cut our losses and run once the first one came
off. Or maybe I shouldn't
have hurried so bad and the knife wouldn't have
slipped and got broke.
Maybe it is all my fault, in spite of what my
friends think, and not
just the fact that Tinuviel got mixed up in--
Luthien: [adamant]
Beren, do not
start apologizing to me again. I'd rather hear my parents
scolding, actually.
[he nods, and resumes without further digression]
Beren:
Could you have
taken one and said, "Well, that's all I need, so what if
all my friends got killed
because of them, so what if these are what all
the fighting was about,
what all my family got killed for, what the whole
bloody War and the Dark
and everything was about, all of that wasted
lives and destruction,
but hey -- I got what I came for, so let some other
poor slob do the rest
of it." I mean, it ain't like Tinuviel risked her
life or anything
to get us this far, or, oh, like knives that can cut
through
godforged
iron aren't lying around at every blacksmith's shop, it
wasn't that hard
to get through noman's-land unspotted, like it took some
kind of miracle to make
it work, right--?
Amarie: [to the Captain, wry]
Thou hadst right --
'tis not possible to mistake.
Beren:
But hey, I don't know,
maybe you all could--
Irmo:
Sarcasm doesn't
help--
Orome: [cutting him off, barely-suppressed fury]
--You little punk.
Do you have any idea--
Beren: [interrupting]
--Yeah, I think so
-- I've only been doing your job since I was tall
enough to pick up a
stick and not put someone's eye out with it by
accident, that's what
I was born to do, that's what I was trained to
do, and that's what
I did better than any one Man in Dorthonion
except Da, so don't
try to tell me that I don't know what it involves,
or what failure costs,
or how I think adventure's a game but it ain't
all -- all banners
and glory and the rest.
Orome: [through clenched teeth]
I didn't say that.
[Namo gives him a Look]
Yet.
Aule:
Whatever your
intentions, the fact remains that the consequences --
taken as reason demands
we must, as a whole -- were nothing but
disaster on every hand--
[too late he catches himself, as there is a collective
flinch all around:
Beren raises his wrist, smiling as he glances
at it in a very vulpine way,
and looks at the Powers coolly.]
Beren: [solemnly]
Yeah, I kind of noticed
that.
Vaire: [ice]
Young Man, a little
courtesy never hurt anyone.
Beren: [dry]
I'll take your word
for it, Ma'am.
[before any further escalation, the Judge of the Dead raises his hand for silence]
Namo:
None here disputes your
deeds, nor will challenge the truth of your
valour, nor the intent
of your efforts.
[Beren looks at him, at first skeptically, then
somewhat at a loss as he
recognizes the factual sincerity of the statement.]
Besides recognition, what else do you demand from us?
Beren: [quietly]
Tinuviel.
Namo: [resigned]
And now we are right
back where we started.
[he rubs his temples wearily; Finrod steps forward again on Beren's right]
Finrod:
Let them have what was
taken from them, at least.
Namo: [flatly]
You want us to rehouse
your friend and your kinswoman and give them
both a home here in
Aman.
Finrod:
Yes.
Namo:
And then what?
I tried to explain this to your cousin already, but none
of you listen very well.
You of all people should know that, far better
than she -- how swiftly
Time passes on this Shore: what is a year in
Tirion or on the Shining
Plains? You spend twenty on the curve of a
gate, or the bridge
of a song -- and what is a score to the Secondborn?
Three score years fly
by like the days of the Sun to you Outside, and
you know what
they will bring to him, and then what? We cannot keep
him bound here in an
endless cycle of waning and rehousing. Would
you make Luthien watch
him fade while all else thrives, and have that
passing all the bitterer
to her for it, and this same parting once again,
for him? Wouldn't a
clean break be better than that?
[brief pause]
Finrod:
At least it would be
more than nothing, which is what they've had.
[Aegnor gives a long, shuddering sigh, but does
not speak or leave the
Hall or otherwise disrupt things.]
Namo:
But would it be any
better?
[silence]
Giving him life here
in Aman will not change the fact that she has
immortality, and he
does not.
Finrod:
Then give him mine,
for I've no use for it.
[utter silence -- because Finrod's relatives
and friends are too aghast and
taken aback to say anything to this]
Namo: [sighing]
What you are
is not a thing apart from you yourself. You know this.
Could you give your
name away to some one else -- wait, that's not
the best example--
Finrod: [talking over him]
Actually, mortals do
-- usually once they're done with them--
Namo: [interrupting in turn]
I said it wasn't a good
example. But it's not the same in any case:
there's no exchange,
is there? No loss?
[silence]
Your nature is not something
you can give away, like . . . like a ring.
Think about it: how
could you cease to be yourselves? And don't say
"possession," either.
You are not the matter of your selves, or else
we wouldn't be having
this conversation, and that's one reason why
it doesn't work properly,
apart from the right and wrong of it. What
is it that makes you
Elf, and not Man?
Finrod:
Less than than we thought
-- not that we are Quendi, for mortals speak
and hear even as we;
nor that they perish, for so indeed do we.
[facing the Thrones, he misses his relatives' reaction completely]
Namo:
Truly? You understand
then what it is to be born a stranger under the
Stars, to be forever
doomed to departure? You understand, as a human
would, mortality?
[silence]
Finrod: [fiercely]
I understand it better,
at least, having been -- Exile.
Namo: [nodding]
As he understands better
than any who is not Eldar, except perhaps
Melian herself, what
it is to be of the earth, to be such as you. You
can recognize what is
the
same, in each other, because you are aware
of the limits of those
differences. Is that not it?
[Finrod is silent. Beren turns to face him directly.]
Beren: [blunt]
He's right. We simply
are
different. And it can't be otherwise.
Finrod: [absolute intensity]
But it doesn't matter.
Beren:
I know. But even if
I was somehow immortal -- forget about how if
you did give it up I
couldn't live with myself knowing you'd given up
everything for
me, or what everybody else would say about it -- I
couldn't be at home
here. No more than I was in Nargothrond. All my
born days, I was human,
if a strange one: can the pattern of my life
be unwoven and made
into something else? I should always be remembering
Ladros, and a roof that
was ancient to me, and voices I'd never hear
again. And if somehow
I was made to forget, so as to be happy here,
like one newborn, --
what would there be of me? Would I still love her,
and she that one, who
didn't know her real name? It can't work.
[he looks down, shaking his head, gesturing as he struggles for words]
The place where I was
born is dead now, my family destroyed, even my own
language is dying
or dead, because there is no people left to sing the
old songs or make the
old jokes we couldn't ever translate into yours.
[Finrod is weeping silently]
Don't -- don't.
[putting his hand on Finrod's shoulder]
You did your best. No Man ever had a better friend. You tried--
Finrod: [harshly, refusing consolation]
And--?
[pause]
Namo:
Are you ready to go
on, then, Beren?
[he turns back and looks at the Judge in silence;
Luthien raises her hand
in anguished protest]
Beren: [meaningfully]
For myself -- I would
say yes. For myself.
[Luthien makes a small hurt sound, but Finrod
gives Beren a keen,
comprehending look, and touches her arm reassuringly
as he continues]
But I am not -- just
-- my own self: I belong to another. And that
part of me cannot leave.
If it weren't so . . . perhaps this -- nothing
like this would have
happened, but maybe not. You say this world isn't
my home, but -- it's
the only home I've ever known. The taste of it,
earth and air and water,
all wakened under the Sun's bright fire, clear
and gold as honey from
the comb, or crisp and shiny as mica under the
frozen Stars, and the
Moon's light like a pail of milk splashed over
all -- what else am
I, apart from them, still though I'm no more than
the echo of those days
of my life?
[shaking his head]
It might have been as
hard
for me to leave it, as it was for me to
leave Dorthonion, lingering
past all reason, when a sane Man would
have fled long since
-- not waited until winter was on before, or till
there was no way out
but through a little slice of Hell, first. Even
knowing better all my
life, I -- might have fought to stay, among the
trees and stones and
streams that had welcomed me, the memory of a
lost hunter in the forest,
or maybe the forest's memory of a stranger,
until the world and
Neldoreth was no more.
[he looks at Luthien then, finally, and reaches
his hand to her -- she takes
it, clinging to him protectively]
But then we met. And
I am
hers now, and I can't change that, no more
than I can stop being
myself. I left my homeland, for all I was harried
out, of my own free
will -- but it took a demon's jaws to drive me from
her side, and only the
word from her lips to await her here, that I
left -- or else I should
have stayed no matter what, as I lived four
houseless years in the
heather, the ghost of the land's true lord, until
my land was no more.
But my lady is immortal, and I won't forsake her.
I can't.
[they stand looking at the Lord and Lady of the
Hall without uncertainty
or defiance, only resoluteness]
Finarfin: [aside]
A certain fine rude
poetry his speech encompasseth -- and a finer lesson,
that might we
well have taken to heart, ere the Night fell.
[Amarie is looking steadily if somewhat tearfully
at Finrod, who turns his
head and returns the look defensively -- only
to lower his head first under
her gaze.]
Vaire: [most reasonable]
Then, if you love her,
do you not want what's best for her? Do you
not want her to experience
bliss with her real family here?
Luthien: [taut]
Beren, -- remember what
I said.
[he gives a quick half-smile, and doesn't answer]
Vaire: [extremely exasperated]
Luthien, hasn't any
of this conversation sunk in? I find it hard to
believe that you're
really that dense, given your parentage -- but
the alternative is that
you're being willfully obstinate in refusing to
admit the truth, and
that would mean so much self-delusion that
I would rather not credit
it.
[as the Lady of the Halls is speaking (and the
recipient of her lecture
returns a mutinous glare) her spouse taps hopefully
on the palantir,
frowning at it as if sheer willpower might make
it come to light with
a summons]
After all, we're only
telling you what your cousin's tragedy has amply
demonstrated about the
impossibility of Elven-human relationships --
as we have been repeatedly
informed ever since his arrival.
[as Luthien, and others, turn to stare at Aegnor, she goes on rather acridly]
He -- and his sibling
-- have taken up quite a disproportionate amount
of my husband's time,
and his sister's, complaining about it, as if there
were no one else here
whose problems warranted consideration.
[Aegnor looks thoroughly embarrassed, though still angry and resentful.]
All we want is for you
both to have what is best and most appropriate
for you.
[Luthien releases Beren's hand, lifting both of her own in furious appeal]
Luthien:
It isn't fair.
We had no time together.
[the Lord of the Halls straightens and levels
an attentive Look at her,
belying former apparent distraction]
Namo:
He is mortal,
and receives a brief allocation here, and eternity beyond
the confines of these
Circles. You are Eldar, and receive a full portion
-- in many more dimensions
than mortals as well as in Time -- in Arda,
and it balances out.
Unfortunately--
Beren: [interrupting]
Actually, I have a problem
with that, too.
[pause]
Namo:
Do you also have something
to ask? Or did you only want to express
your dissatisfaction?
[Luthien is affronted, but Beren takes this in the direct spirit it was asked]
Beren: [pointing to the Youngest Ranger and the Teler Maid
in turn]
What about people like
him?
Or her? They didn't do anything wrong, they
never listened to the
Dark Lord or told you off or disobeyed you.
[to the Sea-elf]
Maiwe, how old are you?
When you were alive, not counting ever since,
I mean.
[she frowns a little]
Teler Maid:
But you do not think
of the same thing when we speak of Time as I.
[the First Guard leans over and whispers something
to her, and her
expression clears.]
Four twelves less -- two. --But nearer one.
Beren: [amazed]
You're almost forty-seven!?
I thought you were maybe fifteen and
that was why you got
treated like a kid. But you're not that much
younger than Ma -- would
be -- you could have grown children
and grandkids, if you
were mortal, by now--
[she looks a little dubious, as if he might be
making up another
preposterous story, and looks to the others
for confirmation]
Orome: [with a grim smile, very sarcastic]
Perhaps a little more
thought along these lines would show where
the problems with your
marital situation lie, what do you think?
[Beren gives him a dark Look]
Beren:
Don't go changing
the subject -- I'm gonna get distracted, and that's
not the point of what
I'm trying to say, and you know it.
Amarie: [aside, amazed]
--Doth ever this
Man conduct himself thus, respecting of no Power?
Luthien: [sharp]
Only when people like
my Dad or Sauron try to push him around.
Beren: [frowning still more]
--Nobody calls Tinuviel
young, anyway.
[she rolls her eyes sardonically while he returns to the topic]
--They didn't
get any more time than mortals, and they didn't get bliss,
and not even all the
Noldor deserved what happened to them, and I'm not
talking about my friends,
they know what I mean whether they agree or
not, but what about
them?
[pointing at the Princes]
--because they weren't
Kinslayers, and yeah, they broke the rules,
and they knew it, but
does that mean that that whatever horrible things
happened to them are
all right and proper, because that doesn't sound
like it to me, like
the time Uncle Brego had to solve a dispute between
Gildor--
[aside to Finrod and his following]
--Gildor of Ladros, obviously,
not the Gildor you said he was named
after who went with
the Princess and her husband -- and his neighbors
over a set of good iron
chisels that got borrowed without asking --
actually, without permission,
after asking and getting a no when his
neighbor was away --
and then in retaliation the owner busted down
and burnt the gate he
made with 'em and the herd got loose and one
of his best milkers
got into a swamp and drowned, and my uncle was
so furious with Gildor
because he expected better from his own
household than dumb
stuff like that that he wanted to say it was just
fair -- but if it would've
been anyone else he wouldn't have, see?
[confused silence]
Finarfin:
I fear talk of young
Inglorion did distract my thought from talk of
the rivalries of strangers.
Amarie: [giving her brothers-in-law a hard Look]
For my part, amazement,
that after all that's passed he doth speak
favouringly of twain
that hath given unto him no kindness that I
did discern.
[Angrod and Aegnor try to appear as oblivious
bystanders, not very
successfully]
Namo:
I see you understand
the tension between determining levels of
accountability, based
on individual competence. --I'm not sure how
this relates to your
situation.
Beren: [shaking his head]
I'm not just talking
about us. I'm talking about everybody. I want
to know how it's fair
to punish all the Noldor for what some of
them did, and to keep
on punishing them, when some of what you're
blaming them for has
gotta be your fault.
[the only people present who do not express any
dismay or surprise
whatsoever at this bold declaration are the
Lord of the Halls and the
Lord of Dogs -- and Beren's wife.]
Steward: [quiet but urgent to Finrod]
My lord, -- can you
not do something?
[Finrod sadly shakes his head, yet there is something
of pride and
approval in his expression as he looks on]
Namo: [bemused]
My fault?
Beren:
Well, yeah --
you put a Curse on them, that would make it your fault,
right? I mean, I hate
to admit this, but even Curufin and his brother
aren't completely responsible,
are they, if you made it so that the
Noldor are Doomed to
betray each other? And plus you let them do it
-- leave, I mean --
so if you didn't want them to, why didn't you
just stop them
instead?
Namo: [narrowing his eyes]
So. You think that because
I Foresaw and foretold the inevitable
consequences of their
choice, the results are my responsibility?
[Beren nods, frowning]
Really? Then let me ask you this: when your -- niece? cousin?
[he manifests the glittering tablet for a moment
and glances at it before
putting it "away" and continuing]
--cousin, kept
on climbing up that birch tree beside where you were,
what, "pegging out a
deerhide"--? and you told her not to do that,
as she was going to
fall and break her ankle, and you weren't going
to stop what you were
doing and carry her back to the hall, and that
was in fact what happened,
-- was that your fault?
Beren: [amazed]
--That was a long time
ago. That was -- that was before the Bragollach.
Namo:
Did you in fact, "put
a hex" on her, as she later told her parents,
or in any other way
cause the tree to dislodge her or her to lose her
grip, or to land so
as to break her ankle?
Beren: [snorting]
No -- birches
aren't any good for climbing, mostly, and there was
rocks all around, and
I told her it was going to happen because I
done -- I did
-- the same thing myself at that age. I didn't make
it happen.
Namo:
Even the fact that you
correctly named the specific injury doesn't
change that?
Beren: [shrugging]
Could have been her
arm or her collarbone, too.
Namo:
But you did not cause
it, despite your foretelling.
[he shakes his head]
But you did not prevent it, either.
Beren: [shaking his head]
Like I told Bara, she
wasn't listening, and she wasn't a baby any more,
and I couldn't get her
down safely by force, and like she kept telling
me, I wasn't
her Da after all--!
Namo:
There was, in fact,
no way for you to stop her from willfully going
into a dangerous situation,
either lawfully or without causing greater
harm. But your decision
to keep working, instead of taking her home
at once, was
in your control, was it not? Why did you do so, if not
from vindictiveness
at her disrespect towards you?
Beren: [patiently]
Because if I stopped
then it would've dried all wrong and been spoiled,
and I'd already bargained
it to somebody, and you don't let any of your
take go to waste, not
if you want to have any luck on the trail ever again.
--If one of the other
little kids was around I would've sent one of them
up the hill to get help,
but the only reason she was out at the skinning
rack was that she didn't
want to play with Rian, so there wasn't anybody
around that I could
send. It wasn't like it made any difference, really:
I splinted it up tight
and made her sit still with her foot up . . . and
after I was done I carried
her back and they said I done a good job and
made her sit still with
her foot up.
[scowling at the recollection]
After I got yelled
at for letting her get hurt, until Aunt An' stepped
in and scolded the grownups
for blaming another kid when it was their
job to keep the little
ones out of mischief, and not mine really.
[snorting]
You know what that brat
did,
banged her head against mine the whole
way home, until I finally
said I wouldn't ever take her fishing
again if she didn't
stop it, all because she was mad at me. --Kids.
--And yeah, I get the
point of what you're trying to make me see,
but I don't think it
works because if it was really serious, if she'd
been bleeding,
if the bone was sticking out or she hit her head or
something, I would have
had to take her home right away and take the
loss of the hide and
just deal with it. "Told you so" wouldn't cut it.
Namo: [gesturing with his mug]
No analogy is perfect.
Beren:
This one's not even
close. I mean, you were supposed to protect
them, right?
[the Warrior winces visibly, as do others of
Beren's companions;
Nerdanel laughs a little, with a knowing expression
on her face:
deja vu, perhaps.]
And you didn't, and the
Dark Lord took over, and we didn't rebel,
and the Sindar didn't,
and that didn't help us any, on account of how
the Enemy was out to
get us all even before we existed, so it wasn't
like it was our fault
for getting involved with the Noldor, either,
and what else could
we do? It wasn't like we even knew they -- some
of 'em -- had done hamsoken--
[simultaneously]
Orome:
Teler Maid:
Done what?
[overlapping]
Angrod:
Taliska for illegal
entry and mayhem.
Luthien:
--Breaking into a home
and committing violence--
[the cousins exchange suspicious, rather jealously-territorial Looks]
Namo: [sighing]
--The Kinslaying.
Beren:
Right, so what's fair
about us being caught in all of that, and nothing
for all our pains except
a "that was what you should have been doing,
fighting the Enemy,
there isn't any other legitimate option"--?
[he gives Amarie a frown at this last]
I mean, we don't get
help, we don't get gratitude, all we get is chaos
that we didn't make.
Ambassador: [not quite aside]
--Hear, hear.
[The Hunter addresses Beren in the tones of one
explaining something to a
very small child, or while at the cutting edge
of patience]
Orome:
The Teler chose to split
up and some of them chose to remain Overseas.
Others of the Eldar
chose not to join us at all. That was their right.
By exercising that right,
they also chose the consequences. We can't
help that. --Or
do you think I should have forced them to come along
whether they wanted
to or not? Not sure how I could have done that,
given how stubborn and
resourceful the Firstborn are -- or wait! I know
-- I could have destroyed
their minds and set permanent states of Command
on them the way Melkor
does. Then none of this would have happened!
[Vaire rolls her eyes; Huan starts a continuous
snarling growl; and Aule gives
the Hunter a troubled glance]
Irmo: [weary]
Might we please
have some civility around here?
Aule:
--Can you do
that, Tav'?
Orome: [shrugging]
Beats me. Never tried
it.
Beren:
Oh yeah? I never heard
about you coming around looking for us. I heard
it was the other way
around -- that we were looking for you guys, on
our own, 'cause we heard
about you from some of those people you don't
care about because they
chose
not to come with you, those Dark-elves,
that Turned,
and we found our own way over the mountains, and--
Orome:
Don't blame your friends'
snobbery on me, boy--
Beren:
--Huh?
Orome:
Just because they waste
their time and energy coming up with class
distinctions instead
of--
Vaire: [cutting him off, gently chiding]
Tav', I know they've
disappointed you, but really--
Orome: [growling at Beren]
--Self-righteous little
git,
too good to hunt for yourself now--
[Huan starts to bark again, and is valiantly shushed by several of the Ten]
Vaire:
--Tavros! Huan!
Beren: [loudly]
Hey! I'm trying to ask
something!
[the Steward covers his face with his hands;
Aegnor stares at the mortal
with something of awe.]
--Lord Mandos, didn't you say it was my turn to talk?
[raising his eyebrows, Namo gives him a nod over his mug]
All right, then. Anyway.
We heard about you from them first -- and then
from him--
[pointing to Finrod]
--even if he was a rebel
and Doomed, he still told us the truth about
you. At least, I used
to think it was the truth--
[raising his voice as he goes on]
--that the gods were
good, that you weren't like Morgoth, who just wanted
to enslave us and kill
everybody he couldn't control -- and not only that
-- that you were better.
That you cared. That you made the world for
disinterested
reasons and you tried to protect it, and us, against the
Enemy and that you were
responsible for all the good stuff and not for
the bad, and that we
owed you gratitude for that, but I'm not sure about
that any more, and you
know what, I'm wondering if maybe Feanor wasn't
right -- not that about
making the Elves all your thralls, but about not
having a clue and not
doing a thing to protect them and maybe leaving
everyone who wouldn't
follow you behind where it wasn't safe was your way
of dealing with us instead,
until we Men are out of the universe and out
of your way. What aboutthat?
Namo: [aside, resigned]
I hate being right all
the time.
[simultaneously to Finrod]
Aule:
Orome:
This is your
fault--
[Finrod lifts his head proudly, giving them a
stern Look, not denying
responsibility in any way, audible or not]
Beren: [shouting]
No it isn't his fault,
and I'm not scared, you can do whatever you damn'
well please to me, because
if you can't answer me except by clobbering
me that just goes to
show that I'm right and you're not really any better
than Morgoth--
[he scowls defiantly at them, while Vaire stares
up at the ceiling and Aule
shakes his head, grimacing; Orome folds his
arms angrily and turns half-away;
the Lord of Dreams only sighs, looking wounded]
--and I'm not saying
this just because you all wanted to fling me back
into that nightmare
world or out into who-knows-what, for all I know
that's just as much
the end permanently for us as you all think the end
of the world will be
for the Eldar -- mostly--
[with a quick, apologetic glance at Finrod, he goes on, increasingly indignant:]
But I'm asking because
of my people, because I am their lord, and I'm the
only one left to ask
-- my father and mother served you, through them--
[pointing to the Finarfinions and their supporters]
--and so did my Grandda,
and my cousins, and their Da, and all my aunts
and uncles and grandparents
all the way back to Beor, and we lived, and
died, to keep your
kinsman under control, in an effort that it turns out
was Doomed from the
start, and my parents got split up trying to do both
of our tasks at the
same time, and poor Eilinel disappeared and got used
to destroy her true-love
even after she was dead, and Gorlim was tortured
into betraying Da, and
you can't tell me that either one of them deserved
that because it isn't
true and you can't tell me that eternity makes it
okay because that's
a piece of tin covered with foil and bits of glass,
that's something shiny
that looks nice so long as you don't look at it
too close or poke at
it too hard, but that doesn't make what happened
to them all right!!
[he stops, shaking with emotion, daring any of the Powers to say something]
Namo: [unfazed]
You said you had a question.
What is it?
[for a moment Beren is too thrown to respond
-- then he pulls himself
together, his eyes blazing, and asks it:]
Beren: [gesturing fiercely]
Where is the justice
in it? --Is there any, or is the whole thing just a
stupid muddle, and us
stupider still for trying to do right by it? I want
ANSWERS, dammit!!
[growing angrier by the word]
What's fair about it? You got an answer? --And if you don't -- WHO DOES?
[long silence -- and the Lord of the Halls sets
down his cup with a bang
and slowly rises from his Throne, with a terrifying
expression of anger,
so that the effect of a dark thunderhead-like
aura that gathers about him,
dimming the glow of the sconces, is almost unnecessary]
Namo: [stifled growl of fury]
You dare ask
me that? You DARE to ask that -- of me?
[Beren is speechless -- but returns a defiant
nod. The Doomsman stands
there equally speechless with rage, and then
grinds out the words:]
--Wait here.
[with that he vanishes, leaving confusion and
consternation behind --
the Weaver gives Beren a most reproachful look]
Vaire: [sadly]
Child, did you have
to do that, really?
[abashed, the mortal bows his head, but his posture
is as stubborn
as before]
Luthien:
Oh, Beren--
[he turns to her, and she smiles, anxious --
terrified, rather -- but
without disappointment or condemnation]
Beren:
Tinuviel--
[before he can say anything else the Lord of
the Halls has returned, still
glowering, but without quite the storm of anger
surrounding him as before
as he stands on the dais before his high seat:]
Namo: [without preamble]
Beren Barahirion, self-called
the Empty Handed: you have demanded to
know the reason for
suffering, for injustice, for the workings of Fate--
[he raises his hand, pointing to the floor behind
them, between the grassy
hill and the waterfall, and in the same way
that the garden gate appeared
for Finrod earlier, a portal manifests out of
the dimness -- but this one
is both far taller, reaching all the way to
the ceiling, and far realler --
there's nothing ghostly or suggestive of illusion
about this massive,
though narrow, carven stone doorway.]
If you will it, then
go ask your question of my Lord and Lady, and
learn from them the
same truths that were given to me, when I asked
it, many Ages ago as
you would understand it, and again, when this Age
began. Go through that
door, and receive your answers -- if you dare.
[Beren stares at it, wide-eyed, and then looks
back at the Thrones.
Behind him, the Captain seizes Finrod by the
arm]
Captain: [desperately imploring]
Sir, you've got
to stop him
Finrod: [shaking his head]
I can't.
[frowning, Beren gives the Powers a critical,
measuring look, and lifts
his chin]
Beren: [cold]
You say that like it's
a trap. What's going to happen, if I do?
Namo:
I don't know. That's
why I'm asking you this -- do you choose it?
[pause]
Because once a thing
is done, it is too late to undo it. Are you truly
willing to endure the
consequences? It is not yet too late to turn back.
[Beren looks at him steadily]
If you find knowledge
of things beyond mortal ken to be too great a
burden for any Man --
remember this, and that you chose to ask, before
you blame the answerer,
and that you did so against all advice and counsel.
Beren: [quietly, without any bravado]
I understand.
Namo: [with a sigh]
You will go forward,
then.
Beren:
I will.
[the Doomsman bows his head in answer, and the
portal swings open,
revealing a black, starlit sky and a staircase
of wide, shallow steps
ascending from the doorway, seemingly of black
stone or perhaps glass,
reflecting starlight on their edges. Beren stands
frozen, looking at
the opening -- and then makes a small movement
towards it. Luthien
catches at him desperately]
Luthien:
Beren--
[she shakes his shoulders, making him turn to her]
It is a trap. If you go -- out -- you'll never be able to come back--
Beren:
It isn't the Void. There
are stars there.
Luthien:
No! Stop -- somebody,
stop
him -- Huan, don't let him--
[Huan comes close and puts his head against Beren's
face, like a worried
horse, but does nothing else]
Beren: [stroking the Hound's muzzle]
I have to.
[he looks at Luthien, trying to reassure her]
I will come home to you. I promise.
[she doesn't say anything, staring fixedly at him]
I always have.
[he puts his hand on her cheek, very gently,
and kisses her, before
turning quickly and striding through the dark
gateway
without
looking back. The postern closes, seamlessly,
and dissolves into
nothingness, leaving all the rest standing there
in silence.]
Gower:
That boldness dareth,
that none other might,
to venture past known
travels, seeking sight
of sights more proud
and dear than word shall say,
resisting that fell
arrest that none may stay,
neither for vainglory,
nor increase of store,
but only for the cause
of faith forsworn
and wrongful sway o'ermastering
captive good,
whose tyranny, like
Time's oblivious hand, would
crush all makings and
their memory as well --
'gainst which should
death seem rest from hell
of life's lost fortunes;
were not that selfsame rest
a parting wretched,
from that which holds most blest--
[The Hall]
[as the shades of Eldar and Immortal, and the
living Elves, stand in dismayed
uncertainty, the Lord of the Halls looks grimly
at his colleagues]
Namo: [sounding very tired and fed-up]
Let's take this debate
to the proper venue.
[he vanishes at once, his preemptory departure
followed in short order by the
other four Powers, after somber and disappointed
Looks are conferred upon the
remaining individuals, who give each other worried
Looks in turn -- except for
Luthien, staring straight in front of her at
where the apparition of the Door
had been, and the Youngest Ranger, who drops
down to sit on the floor with a
massive sigh and a shaken expression, as though
overwhelmed by reaction. Huan
takes a moment from shadowing Luthien to give
him a comforting huff along the
back of his neck, since everyone knows that
there is nothing more reassuring
than having a giant carnivore looming over one
with half-bared fangs -- at least,
that's the impression conveyed by the Doriathrin
Ambassador's dubious glance.]
Luthien: [distantly]
And so it begins again.
[shaking her head]
It never stops. It's just like before.
[she moves in a sleepwalking manner towards the
steps at the foot of the Thrones
and sits down on them, looking lost]
He's gone away and left
me again, and here I am waiting, trying to keep from
flying apart, like smoke
on a windy day, and it's dark, and I can't breathe,
and no one else can
feel it but me. --How many times can I go through this,
before there's nothing
left of me--?
[the other Elves move to encircle her]
Finarfin: [concerned]
What wilt thou do presently?
[she wraps her arms about her knees and rests
her head against them. Huan flops
down in front of her and puts his head on her
feet.]
Luthien:
Wait. --If I
must wait till the end of the world, I'll wait for him.
[Aegnor's expression fills with pain; Angrod
puts his hand on his brother's back,
and for once Aegnor does not fling offered sympathy
away.]
Teler Maid: [anxious]
What will happen? Next,
I mean to say.
Luthien: [almost in tears]
How can I tell? Who
can say what he's going to do next? If I'd thought he was
going to take Horse
and go by himself to hell, I'd never have gone to sleep.
I don't think I have,
since then. If I -- I'd known he would -- would insist
on going out to let
Carcharoth finish the job, I'd -- I'd -- I don't know,
what could I have done,
except cage him and I couldn't do that --
[she starts crying, bitterly, as Finrod sits
down next to her and puts his arm
around her shoulders, letting her lean on him]
Finrod: [sounding as tired and helpless as after the defeat
in Nargothrond]
I'm sorry, Luthien.
--I know that doesn't help.
Teler Maid:
What will happen to
him, Lord Ingold?
Finrod: [shaking his head]
I don't know either.
I'm sorry. I can't See anything concerning Beren.
--I wonder if even Lord
Manwe can.
[pause -- mild sarcasm]
How strange. None of
my relatives are chiding me for blasphemy. Indeed,
the times are out of
joint--!
Finarfin: [pained]
Son.
[the Steward kneels down on Finrod's other side, looking him in the eyes]
Steward:
My lord, please -- alas,
there is no other way for it, awkward though it
shall be, being as we
now are -- but I must say this plain in the thought
of all. Neither your
father nor any of your kin did truly know what befell
us in Beleriand, not
even in elemental form -- no more than yonder rival
lord knew the truth
of what his child suffered. Only the merest tracings
of it, these past months,
have reached them in Tirion and beyond; doubtless
in mercy as much as
mayhap in carelessness, there being naught that knowing
might accomplish, save
greater sorrow. And thus it was when first we all
did speak, this . .
. late-passed time, and thus it would have been even yet,
had not her Highness
spoken freely, and disclosed the specifics of our fate.
[pause]
Finrod: [blank]
Ah. That would make
sense of it, then.
[wry]
I was beginning to wonder
if the Powers had replaced them all with much nicer
and more gentle-voiced
substitutes, but I've only ever heard of the Dark Lord
doing anything like
that.
[Finarfin winces; Nerdanel sighs, while Amarie
looks like a very elegant statue;
the Ambassador looks ashamedly at his Princess,
who lifts her head at the change
in conversation.]
Luthien:
What? What did
I do?
Finrod:
Nothing. No matter.
Just my own family squabbles.
[he shakes his head, grimacing, and pats her
reassuringly on the back. Beyond them
the Captain kneels down beside his younger follower]
Captain:
Are you all right?
[the other nods]
Really?
Youngest Ranger: [shakily conceding the point]
No, sir.
Captain: [gently, but definitely a command]
Go off duty for a while.
Youngest Ranger:
Are you sure . . . ?
[glancing anxiously at the doorway]
Captain:
The King's here, and
between Himself and the rest of us, that should be
enough to keep me out
of trouble, even without you.
[embarrassed at this recognition, the junior
officer starts muttering about
doing his job]
There's nothing we can do now for Beren -- except worry.
Youngest Ranger: [deadpan]
I do that really well,
too, sir.
Captain:
We'll just have to manage
without you for a bit. Take your rest -- you've
earned it.
[he helps the Sindarin lieutenant to his feet
and grips his elbow; the younger
Elf manages a wan smile]
Very well done.
[the other is abashed but straightens unconsciously
under the burden of praise,
and goes over to the level boulders beside the
Falls he made, where he stretches
out on the rocks, watching the light effects
on the water. Among the group of
troubled onlookers, his subordinate turns to
the nearer of the two Princes:]
Ranger: [stern correction]
You did, you know
-- your Highness.
Angrod: [completely confused]
Do what?
Ranger:
"Anything." You called
him a disgusting parasite. And you said a lot of
other stuff, too.
[Angrod looks down guiltily]
Luthien: [through her tears]
Ten years he
did your work, trying to keep the Enemy out of the North,
starving and cold and
with all of his friends dead, and he never thought
of giving up or switching
sides or calling in your brother's debt. And
you cursed him for being
defeated. I almost hate you.
Huan:
[thin whines]
Finrod: [consoling]
Shhh . . .
[looking up at his brothers]
Considered another way
-- you got off easy. So did I. It was fast for you,
and we didn't have to
watch it happening, but for him, the Bragollach lasted
ten bloody years.
[Finarfin clenches his teeth, but says nothing]
Aegnor: [starts to say something, stops]
. . .
[enter Fingolfin, approaching measuredly, if
not with outright reluctance, this
family reunion -- certainly not with enthusiasm.
He is accompanied by another
shade, this last a very ghostly figure, whose
appearance shifts frequently between
two guises, every time the camera includes her.
Sometimes the High King's companion
is a very elegant Elf-lady closely resembling
Amarie in her attire, but sometimes
her flickering manifestation is that of a heavily-swathed,
booted and gloved figure
whose ice-pale hair blends into the blowing
fur-fringe of her hood. Something about
their bearing should indicate that Fingolfin
is rather being herded here. The High
King stands in front of his nephew with an expression
of annoyed affection.]
Fingolfin: [wry reproach]
'Twas ill-done, nephew,
to set my son's lady against me.
Angrod: [astounded]
You sicced Elenwe
on him?
Aegnor: [equally]
How did you convince
her to come out of seclusion?
Finrod:
Not me: I was just the
messenger.
Aegnor: [glancing in wary surprise at his cousin-by-marriage]
But . . .
[he can't think of anything that wouldn't be more embarrassing to say, and shuts up]
Amarie: [very acerbic to Elenwe]
Well, my kinswoman --
thou didst make much of thine own will, nor shouldst be
swayed by any words
of wisdom else duty, nor let thy faithful family claim thy
just loyalty, but must
forsake thy heritage and home for rebel waywardness --
and lo!
thus
art thou rewarded, that hast neither consort nor kin, nor any house
whatsoever, for thy
folly's meed, that didst reproach me for choosing other.
Elenwe: [serene]
Nay, 'tis true -- but
I stand closer to my beloved than thou to thine, for all
of that.
[the living Vanyar woman exchanges a quick, unwilling
Look with her dead husband,
and does not make further retort.]
Fingolfin:
You've commanded my
attention, lad -- what specific task would you have me
undertake now?
Finrod: [flatly]
It doesn't matter now.
Go back to your table, uncle, and finish your game in
peace -- I could have
used your help earlier, but you weren't willing, and
now it's moot.
Luthien: [sniffling]
Don't you give
up now too--
[she wipes her eyes on a corner of her skirt
and tries to pull herself together,
but occasional sobs keep breaking through; quietly
and unobtrusively the Steward
withdraws from the group and goes quickly to
the Falls, where he kneels down
briefly at the water's edge, exchanging some
word with the Youngest Ranger meanwhile.]
Finrod:
I haven't. But what
happens now to Beren is out of our hands.
[she gives a short, unsettling laugh, shaking her head, and sniffles again.]
Ambassador: [stern and rather suspicious, to the Valinorean
Eldar]
For what should the
Doomsman warn against truths, that should harm him more
than swords or wolves
ever did -- what secrets are held in the West from us
beyond, for I who have
known the Lady Melian for all my life, can think of none.
[The Steward returns, bearing a goblet set with
gems and kneels down in front of
Luthien, saying to Huan as he does so:]
Steward:
Mind your ears, my lord.
[to Luthien, as the Hound prudently moves his head a little bit over]
If it please you, my
lady -- that which some have termed, "the echo of Ulmo's
theme," but even so,
more refreshing than merest longing.
[with a forced smile she accepts the cup and
takes careful sips, still hiccoughing
and blinking; he remains before them on on knee,
waiting patiently for her to finish.]
Finarfin:
In truth, I fear I ken
not what might prove harsher to the spirit, than what
already hath been revealéd
-- nor endured.
Finrod: [dark irony]
You can't? I wish I
had so little imagination. --I can come up with several,
without even trying.
[to his uncle]
You really needn't stay behind on our account -- this time either.
[his father's lips tighten, and the two sons
of Finwe exchange an awkward, half-
wary, half-apologetic look.]
Fingolfin:
Nay, lad, will you not
make introduction between the noble Luthien and we more
distant kindred, before
any preemptory dismissal?
Finrod:
A little late, isn't
it? You could have taken a little time off from staring
at the Gates and paid
a courtesy call on her family, you know. I know it would
been a terrible
waste of your time, but at least you could have provided moral
support when we had
to explain how it was we weren't really Kinslayers. Trying
to repair the damage
from that took decades, and you know the fact that you
were too busy to give
any official statements did absolutely nothing to build
confidence. I mean,
at least Fingon did ap--
[his family and friends are increasingly discomfited
through this exchange of
acrimony, regardless of who particularly is
coming under fire at any given moment]
Angrod: [pleading]
--Ingold, that's all
old
history, it doesn't matter now that we're dead --
isn't that what you're
always saying?
Finrod:
And you're always
saying I'm crazy and too soft for my own good. Shall I take
a page out of your book
then?
[to Fingolfin]
--All I asked
for was a small gesture of support today, just for you to lend
your presence and weigh
in on the side of the Edain -- I wasn't asking for any
complex arguments, after
all, just the loan of a little bit of that awe and
respect your Deed commands
even from the Powers, to assist me. --What is wrong
with our family that
we have to make an issue over ever single little thing?
[the High King of the Noldor (in Beleriand) gives
the High King of the Noldor
(in Aman) a pained Look before answering his
nephew:]
Fingolfin: [heavy patience]
You asked me, Finrod,
to come before my wiser kinfolk in this ruined state,
and challenge the gods
once more by thus abetting you. Please, let us make
no mistake of
what it was you demanded of me, ere you mock me for making
much of it.
Finrod: [bland]
So asking the Weaver
to please consider the deeds of the Edain in closer
detail -- is more difficult
than hand-to-hand combat with the Lord of Fetters?
[Fingolfin looks away with a still-more pained
expression, and Finarfin's glance
towards his elder brother is a little softer
and more sympathetic; Nerdanel shakes
her head a little, not approvingly.]
Nerdanel:
Kinsmen, can ye not
contain such outbreak of strife yet a little at the least?
What of poor Luthien
here, that doth mourn amongst us e'en now?
Luthien: [with a careless wave of the cup in her hand]
Oh, go ahead and fight,
it doesn't bother me one way or the other.
Elenwe: [slight smile, distantly amused]
'Tis most like to old
times, is't not?
Amarie:
And naught learnt
since!
Fourth Guard: [aside]
I hate politics.
[he sits down leaning against Huan's flank and
begins scratching the Hound's
ribs as the latter thumps his tail twice in
sympathy; several of his friends
also settle down gloomily on the steps or floor
nearby]
Elenwe: [cool disbelief]
Amarie, wherefore,
deemst thou, thy House would fain have had thee set sights
elsewhere than Indis'
flowering, fair indeed though they be? Did not our example
lesson thee enough,
of the perilous vaunting of the House of Fin' --? Or judged
thee thy lord might
by mere will alone step free of all contention, as mine own
did will it, most like
his brother -- nay, more so--
[giving Angrod and Aegnor a keen Look]
--in mood and temper
than these younglings of his nearest blood, but still and
yet they too are Noldor,
and the flame of rule doth burn in them no less than
in these others.
Amarie: [sharply]
Lesson me not, that
art rebel and unhoused.
Finarfin: [with a touch of sternness]
Daughter, and thou pleasest--
Captain: [sighing]
No doubt but we're home
again.
Amarie: [extreme frustration]
Nay, stands there none
that dost not but presume to harry me, howsobeit here,
else under Ezellohar's
shade, else to Everwhite's pinnacle?! For what, I
perforce wonder, did
I bide here loyal, that meet with naught but rebuke,
while law-scoff wayward
thankless fools do warrant such tenderest concern?
Finrod: [raising an eyebrow]
That was what
you stayed for, to be praised, then? And here I thought it was
something nobler than
that all along.
[her expression suggests that it's a good thing
her self-control is so strong --
or else he might swiftly find out what damages,
if any, a living Elf's will might
possibly inflict on a shade. . .]
Elenwe: [to nobody in particular]
Is any yet that still
'mazeth, that I should mine prefer mine own companioning
to such kindred as do
share these Halls with me perforce?
Aegnor: [grimly]
All right, brother,
you've made your point, everyone here understands what
you're trying to convey.
--Several times over, in fact.
Finrod:
What?
Nerdanel: [severe]
Aye, 'tis ill
thou dost thus to trifle with thy loved one's hearts and fearing.
[Finrod looks up at them, bewildered]
Finrod:
What are you talking
about? What point?
Angrod:
That -- volunteer
statement of yours.
[the Ten brace themselves, or try to look absent as possible without actually leaving]
Ranger: [aside]
Skirmish coming.
Warrior: [replying in undertone]
No, that we could
deal with.
Finrod:
I wasn't making any
statement.
Angrod:
You -- you weren't just
trying to make them listen? Just raising your voice at
council, so to speak?
You--
[he gives a worried glance towards Luthien, who
is apparently oblivious to the
discussion, absorbed in contemplating the decoration
on the remembered Noldor
vessel (which should look like a cross between
a Grecian kalyx and the Armagh
Chalice.)]
--really meant what you
were saying to Lord Namo, you weren't just trying to
make them pay attention?
[Finrod gives his nearest relations a long, narrow
Look -- there is some reflexive
flinching in response]
Finrod: [quietly]
You doubt me, then?
[pause]
You don't know me well at all, do you?
[he is looking at Aegnor now]
You don't think that
I consider the Followers fully as precious as we, or do
you still think that
I fear the unknown?
Fingolfin: [mildly]
I seem to recall, Finrod,
that you particularly admonished me against my rashness
during our traverse
of the Helcaraxe, and advised me to take better heed to my
following, while you
and your sister took charge of that passage. Have you given
up caution, altogether,
then?
Finrod: [shortly]
I told you lots
of things, uncle -- most of which you ignored -- over the past
four-and-a-half-centuries.
There's a difference between rushing in heedlessly
and without preparation
in the certainty that willpower and innate superiority
shall, together with
the justness of one's cause, carry one through despite
lack of provisions,
equipment, or proper information -- and taking a calculated
risk, even when the
odds are against one. But that's a somewhat-sophisticated
distinction, I grant.
[the onlookers wince]
Fingolfin: [not getting angry, simply incredulous]
You would really venture
beyond this Circle, trusting to nothing more than
these glimpses of insight
which you think a true Vision, then?
Luthien: [with a hiccoughing laugh, not raising her head]
Of course he would.
Just as of course Beren would refuse.
Finrod: [steelly]
Didn't I warn you --
Your
Majesty -- that I had seen your Doom awaiting you
if things continued
as they presently were, and specifically that I'd seen
you dead at Morgoth's
feet, and didn't you wave me away with the assertion
that nobody really knew
anything certain from the Sight, that the world was
fully of glimpsed possibilities,
and that it was more likely to follow if
you did take
our recommendations than if you didn't attack? You'd think people
would perhaps give me
a little bit of credit these days, wouldn't you?
[his uncle tolerates the retort with a melancholy expression.]
Nerdanel:
But surely thou dost
not in truth believe that thy mother and father would
not have thee to house,
and gladly! What meanst thou, to say that naught
awaiteth thee without
these walls?
Finarfin:
Aye, my children, I
pledge that ne'er reproach, else blame, else mocking word,
shall e'er escape my
lips to shadow ye, and dare aver that nor thy mother as
well should ever bespeak
ye in anger, once we shall have bespoken her firstly.
[silence -- Angrod and Aegnor won't look at him, or answer]
Finrod: [frowning with displeasure]
You're being irrational,
you know, Father -- avoiding conflict with me simply
because you've found
out that my fate was a little more unpleasant than you'd
imagined. It wasn't
all that much worse than the Ice, you know. -- Certainly
a lot shorter.
Nerdanel: [chiding]
Thou art passing cold,
lacking in all sensibility it seemeth.
Finrod: [still looking only at his father]
No, I'm merely realistic.
Sentimentality changes nothing of the facts. What
difference do the particulars
of Doom make to your judgement of the justice
of it? Or the fact that
I am your son -- except to indicate a partiality
unfitting in a King?
[Finarfin does not answer -- or look away, (though
he is blinking rather hard).
Fingolfin makes an an abortive gesture of consolation
and support towards his
little brother, breaking off the attempt with
a wry headshake at his own
insubstantial status.]
Amarie: [to her spouse]
Out on thee!
[to Finarfin]
I do comprehend full
well wherefore the gods importune us so -- but why dost
thou so wish
the company of yon Shadow-souled mocker, Sire?
[she turns her back on Finrod et al, folding
her arms tightly, standing straight
as a column. The Sea-Elf and Nerdanel both glance
at her, and catch each other's
attention inadvertently, exchanging understanding
Looks. Elenwe shakes her head,
smiling in a tolerant, knowing way which would
seriously annoy her fellow Vanya
if the latter were aware of it.]
Third Guard: [to his colleague, fervently]
--I share your views
on politics.
Finarfin: [weary plea]
Amarie, Amarie
-- set thy wrath 'gainst me, and thou must fix upon some target
nigh to hand, if for
naught else that I do thus presume to counsel thee by this
request
Angrod: [to Aegnor, but loudly]
I can't understand why
he's going on like that -- she's only saying the same
kinds of things he
said to us at Araman.
[their father closes his eyes, starting to say something and stops]
Fingolfin: [sharp]
Children! You have no
understanding of what sorrow and strain it is, to be
a parent--
Aegnor: [ice]
No, and we won't, will
we? We have our own troubles, uncle, which your generation
seems incapable of grasping.
It's much bigger now than just you and Father and
Feanor fighting for
Grandfather's affection and looking for affirmation from your
kids when you couldn't
get it from your parents--
Teler Maid: [aside to the Captain, as it starts escalating]
Can you not do something?
Elenwe: [wryly, to Finrod]
Nay, for none
save thee, Ingold, in all these halls, had I come--
Captain: [grim]
Probably.
Fingolfin: [daunting, to his nephews]
Then being so much wiser,
you should be as much more merciful upon your elders,
should you not?
Teler Maid: [urgent]
Well, then--?!
[overlapping]
Captain: [hollowly]
I expect I could make
it worse. Family fights -- you know how they go--
Angrod: [with a kind of grim satisfaction, to Aegnor]
And the emotional
blackmail starts, right on schedule.
[the torc passes between them again.]
Captain: [still aside to the Teler girl]
I say something, they
go for me, then he defends me, and -- Probably
better not.
[the Sea-elf doesn't answer, but keeps knotting
up her braids worriedly, very
unhappy at the strife.]
Finarfin: [with a kind of helpless, open appeal to his eldest]
Finrod, my wiseling,
dost thou not ken, in thy heart's inmost flame,
wherefore I unchilded
do grieve most bitterly for my parting words
against ye all, that
are here eke that yet do remain beyond -- but
bitterest of all for
that I spake unto thee?
[silence]
Finrod: [coolly]
Was I an utterly self-righteous
and merciless little twerp at Araman, or
was I not?
[pause]
Finarfin:
In truth, even as was
I, and no less, saving something the elder.
[Finrod gives his father a doubtful Look, trying
to find the hidden edge
in the words.]
--Art so proud, mine
eldest, that thou shouldst ne'er consent to rest 'neath
others' roof, else rule,
but deem't prison, howsoever freely given?
Finrod: [pedantic]
Well, Mandos strictly
speaking should not be called a prison, since the purpose
of a prison is
not the good of--
[the Elf-King only stares at his son, waiting
for the answer -- he sighs and bows
his head a little]
No. I am not quite
so proud. It might -- would be -- hard, indeed, but I'd
manage it, somehow,
if it were not for -- other considerations. But there's
nothing for me outside
these walls anymore.
[dead silence]
Aegnor: [narrow-eyed, voice dripping with sibling irony]
--Aren't you confusing
yourself with me?
Finrod: [very serious]
I have nothing of my
own to return to. Father's wish to have everyone happily
home aside, my presence
in Aman is both irrelevant and superfluous.
Angrod:
What are you talking
about?
Finrod: [shrugging]
I have nothing to contribute,
no useful skills, and none who needs my help
Outside.
Luthien: [looking up, tearstained]
What are you
talking about? Finrod, you -- you're -- that's one of the daftest
things I've ever heard,
which is saying a lot.
[checks -- grumpily]
--Of all the things to
bring away from Nargothrond, Celegorm's slang wasn't
what I'd have picked
-- regardless, it's still as silly as everyone here thinks.
Ambassador.
Indeed, all Beleriand
would contradict you, Majesty. Your skills are undeniable--
Finrod: [interrupting]
--And worthless. Here.
Ambassador:
But your mastery of
governance and diplomacy--
Finrod:
Debatable. --And hazardous.
[locking stares with his father -- with deliberate emphasis]
I do not rule in Valinor. I will never contend for power with my kindred again.
[the significance this has for all the present
members of House Finwe is somewhat
missing for the Belerianders]
Ambassador:
--and strategy, and
warfare--
Finrod: [fighting a smile]
Oh yes. That's going
to make me no end popular in the Cities, won't it?
Luthien: [knowingly, to her compatriot]
Trust me, they're weird
about it. They're not like us, not even the Noldor, no
matter how enthusiastic
they are for it -- perhaps all the more for that. It's
as if they regarded
all wine as suspect because someone once drank too much and
lost control.
[this bothers the Valinoreans and to a degree
the returned Noldor as well, but only
one responds with other than visible discomfort]
Amarie: [looking over her shoulder]
Fie, such benighted
thoughtlessness that recketh naught of the deep abhorrent
wrong of bloodshed proveth
ye e'en as I have said, O Princess of Shadows!
[Huan makes an unhappy grumbling noise without
moving, to which the Steward sighing
nods agreement]
Luthien: [cryptic]
The Night was first
. . . and it was ours first. If you've forgotten your
birthright,
I'm
not ashamed to claim it still.
[this time around, for whatever reason, Amarie
decides not to continue the insult
contest further]
Finrod: [observing]
You're going to get
a crick in your neck, Amarie, talking like that.
Luthien: [looking at him earnestly]
But anyway, you've got
all kinds of talents that don't have anything to do
with running kingdoms
or sieges. You can translate any language, you--
Finrod: [wryly]
In an essentially monolingual
society--
[his comrades look resigned -- to them this is not a new lament]
Luthien:
You're a musician --
an artist -- a scientist--
Finrod:
--A dilettante, where
the world has had four centuries and more to study
uninterrupted whatsoever
should be desired. Why do you think there are jokes
about it? I could never
steal the time away from my real work enough to master
any skill, so indulged
them all, and never finished one. Here -- in whatever
art you name, I shall
be but an unskilled dabbler, a trifler, with no greatness
compared to those who
remained. There is no need for anything I could bring
to Aman.
[pause]
Luthien: [frowning, slowly]
I think you're wrong.
[he blinks at her blunt dismissal, rather taken
aback by the brevity and
to-the-point nature. Someone makes a sound of
suppressed laughter from the
ranks behind him, but it's lost in the sound
of a canine sneeze.]
Nerdanel: [giving her nephew an unimpressed Look]
Hast not considered
what measure these thy maundering dismal certitudes
shall impress on thy
fellow Dead, to so at one sweep lay waste unto all
dreams and thoughts
of homecoming, with yon depiction of no place where
place doth 'wait them
to be found in heart?
[she gestures dramatically to the nearest shade,
who happens to be Fingolfin's
daughter-in-law]
Elenwe: [peaceful]
Nay, I have no
concern that doth remain or thus or so, only I do bide the
coming-hither of my
love.
[the living Eldar shudder a bit at that, if discreetly,
and even some of her
fellow shades find her complacency a bit unnerving.]
Fingolfin:
What of your friends
and followers, then? Have you no concern for their hopes,
lad, to set such strictures
on them as well?
Finrod: [taut -- this has touched a nerve]
In this I do not command
them. Nor do I speak for them.
[from where he is kneeling in attendance, the
Steward half-turns to address the
sons of Finwe, quick and dead]
Steward: [coolly]
For myself -- I had
rather be serving a houseless Elf than to be King of all
the living. --And I
do
speak for us all.
Angrod: [terse, his arms folded]
One would think that
a true friend would rather try to dissuade another from
such self-destructive
behaviour.
First Guard: [aside, unhappy]
We would have. --Tried.
Finrod: [low, but stern]
Angrod -- enough.
[troubled but now more-or-less docile, Angrod
subsides. Generally, but looking at
Amarie's set back]
--All that emptiness
I foresee awaiting me, would yet be balanced -- more than
balanced, as when an
ingot of gold is laid in the pan counter-weighted by an
ingot of tin, and crashes
in its turn -- by one welcome.
[Amarie turns quickly to face him, white-hot with fury]
Amarie: [with a cutting gesture]
Let thou not blame me
-- nor let any others likewise -- for thy will, that
thou wilt abide here!
'Tis thy pleasure -- as ever -- that thou dost fulfill!
Finrod: [incredulous]
My pleasure? Hardly.
[he looks at his father and uncle before continuing
with savage emphasis, equally
to all of them]
Those were our people
that hour in chaos and ill-led. You didn't need me.
They did.
[to Amarie, sweetly]
And you still
don't need me, it's clear -- so what does it matter what I make
of my death from here
on?
[to them all again]
I won't subject myself
to humiliation simply to ease the consciences of my
kinfolk -- nor play
the smiling fool Outside to ease your minds. As I have
returned, I am
-- and you don't like it much. Well -- that's just too bad,
I'm afraid.
[Luthien gives her father's servant a piercing
Look; there is a moment of pained
equilibrium amid all those present of the House
of Finwe, the prelude to the
hurling of more recriminations, or self-recrimination,
or both -- which are
prevented by the actions of one on the periphery
of the conflict, stepping in to
restrain things (or actually, turning where
he waits at the feet of the Princess
and setting one hand on his sovereign's knee
in a gesture not simply demanding of
attentiveness but also evocative of fealty-giving]
Steward: [level and forceful]
My lord, your words
are most ungracious, whatever the justification.
Finrod:
!?!
[Finrod looks at him with some affront, but his
friend is undaunted, and the
King's glare softens, some of the defiance and
hauteur going out of his shoulders,
though he does not look away from his chief
counselor]
--Yes.
[he sighs]
I should set a better example than I am given. And you--
[keenly]
Things are not well with you at all, are they?
[the other cannot help but look up at his ex,
who is watching him somberly (despite
absently standing like a heron again)]
Steward: [sadly]
I fear it is as you
say.
[the Teler girl lets her hair fall forward over her face -- but doesn't vanish]
Finrod: [shaking his head]
And I am consumed by
my own troubles, forgetful of yours -- Edrahil, please take
thought for yourself,
and trust that I'll take heed for my obligations hereunto.
Steward:
In death no less than
was my habit living, I find my peace best in the
mastery of my duties.
[his King looks away for a moment, then back with a rueful smile]
Finrod:
Then let this
be the task I give to you: that you stay by me for the present,
for my spirit's comfort.
No errands for now -- let me lean upon you a little
while longer, at least.
[meaningfully, though only the Ten understand what he's talking about]
I promise it will not be as dead weight, this time.
Steward: [with a faint smile]
Even that, until the
Lord of Beor comes.
[pause]
Finrod: [looking at him with great intensity]
You trust he will return,
then?
Steward:
I have no doubt of the
Beoring's intransigence.
Finrod: [sighing]
Then I'll share that
hope too, whether you name it so or not. Sit here at my
side for a while, and
we'll wait together, if it please you, my friend.
[he grips the other's wrist in a lingering clasp,
before turning to his Sindarin
kinswoman with an expression of focus and resolve;
the Steward settles down on
the next level, his own expression the politely-distant
look of someone trying to
stay attentive and not get lost in private regrets,
leaning back against Finrod's
knees with an Age-old familiarity devoid of
presumption. From time to time his King
reaches forward to set a hand on his shoulder
in a gesture of reassurance -- but
for which of them? Huan, convinced that someone
that close has a duty to scratch
his nose, starts nudging his arm until the desired
attention is gained.]
Finrod: [to Luthien]
You know, you promised
you'd tell me the whole story when we had a moment,
and it rather seems
as though an opportune moment has presented itself. I'd
like to hear it straight
out finally, in order, with all the gaps filled in,
and not by rumours.
Luthien: [with a watery smile]
You're just trying to
cheer me up and take my mind off worrying for Beren.
[he smiles back sadly, squeezing her hand]
Finrod:
That as well.
Luthien: [dry laughter]
As long as it isn't
just
that. I've had enough of that to last me for ever!
[those of the Ten who have not settled down on
the steps of the dais do so now
along with the Sea-elf, with all indications
of interest. Finrod's relatives all
look at each other awkwardly -- Nerdanel breaks
the silence]
Nerdanel:
Nephew, what would ye
have us about, while the twain of ye rehearse her tale,
or wilt thou but say
it mattereth not a whit to thee yet again?
[he looks slightly embarrassed]
Finrod:
I'm sorry, Aunt 'Danel.
I'm not entirely sure what is going on, and it is
certainly not within
my authority nor power to dismiss you, or command the
staff to send you home.
If you want to listen, by all means feel free to stay.
Nerdanel: [raising one eyebrow]
At least thou hast recalled
thy manners to thee; 'tis better than--
[looking narrowly at his siblings]
--some.
Finrod: [abashed]
I -- yes, it does come
to the same thing. But I am at a loss, and it's very
odd for me to have people
going from railing at me to asking me what they
ought to be doing.
[his brothers visibly bite back comment]
Finarfin: [bland innocence]
So many these late-passing
years a King, and art not yet used . . .?
[his eldest just gives him an expressionless
Look, which could hide anything from
cold contempt to anger to an extreme effort
not to share in the joke . . .]
Finrod: [matter-of-fact, gesturing around them]
We could make chairs,
but it might not be prudent, and you'd probably get all
twitchy. So I'm afraid
all that I can offer you are these steps and the floor.
Nerdanel: [agreeably]
'Tis level, and passing
clean.
[she kneels down gracefully on the stone and
waits, perfectly at home now, dividing
her attention watching Luthien and friends and
her own kindred, as the latter with
much more social awkwardness, if not physical,
find places not too close to any of
each other, but still close enough to attend
the tale-telling.]
Luthien: [wiping her eyes once more]
Where do you want me
to start?
[with a tiny laugh]
At least I won't have to keep defending my sanity to you --!
[the crowded tableau looks rather like a shallow
version of the Spanish Steps, minus
the sunlight, the baroque scrollwork, and the
cheerful atmosphere (though Nerdanel's
sketch-pad and stylus would fit right in on
a Roman plaza), as Luthien starts to
recount how all this got started for a more-sympathetic
cousin this time. . .]
[Elsewhere: the Shadowy Stair. Beren (looking
very ghostly and indefinite here)
slowly ascends the shallow steps with an earnest,
determined look, looking always
forward, not up or around. The stars reflect
in the polished material of the
staircase perfectly still, not moving as with
vibration the way reflections in
water on even a stone step would tremble, although
they flicker as in the night
sky. There is a richness and intensity to the
darkness, so that it does not look
flat-black, but rather as if it were composed
of an infinite number of layers of
blue.]
[It is with a dawning surprise that the traveller
realizes that he has come to
the topmost stair, and stands on a flat terrace
of indefinite dimension, like
a still lake in a midsummer midnight. He looks
around, slowly, frowning at the
vertical lines that angle up from the periphery,
faint glistening threads with
rainbow gleams as the camera moves, like the
embodiment of abstract geometrical
concepts. Then he looks up, and his jaw drops
as we follow to see the Constellations,
writ huge and throbbing overhead, the Swordsman
with his jewelled scabbard, the
Butterfly, the Western Eagle, and in the center
of them all, -- the Sickle, while
the oldest stars pulse more faintly all around
them, as if it were a desert sky
with no moon.]
Beren: [gasping, completely without irony]
--Ah . . . Lady!
[there is a momentary shift, as if the universe
somehow were shaken -- but it
is not Ea which changes, only the focus of the
beholder (camera), so that the
far-off stars are suddenly revealed to be very
near at hand, burning ornaments
on a vault of blue-black enamel -- or else of
transparent crystal, so flawless
that the Road of Stars shines through without
reflection; there is no way for
the eye to be sure. The incomprehensible edges
are facets of the prism-pillars
which uphold the dome, the flat top of the ascent
the floor of the Hall, the
darkness all around not simply emptiness, but
Space,
defined and contained in
ways almost beyond perception, so that one would
have to walk carefully touching
the edges to be sure what was support and what
was between. Everywhere that there
is light there is a faint rainbow effect, so
that the sense is of white light
that holds all colors within it, not white-and-black
devoid of color, against
the midnight-blue of the outer atmosphere.]
Beren:
I . . .
[his voice fades into silence as he struggles
to make sense of it -- it should be
both a far simpler, more primitive vision of
Infinity than anything in 2001: A Space
Odyssey, and also more beautiful, and
mind-boggling. The Hope Diamond, stared into
for long silent minutes, is the feeling that
the production artists should capture
-- not glass, but darkness and light made liquid
and cast into solid form, clear and
cold and perfectly blue in the shadows, iridescent
in the highlights.]
[There is a sudden flash of white like a magnesium
flare overhead, mirrored in the
floor -- a comet? meteor? or soundless lightning?
-- and he turns to follow its path
across the dome, and freezes. The bolt of light
rushes towards the farther side of
the plateau, and comes to a stop in mid-air
-- caught there, so it seems, until we
realize that there are two figures there as
well, seated on prismatic thrones, like
an Egyptian statue of the God-King and Living
Goddess carved not from basalt or
alabaster but from living crystal, but in the
Art-Nouveau Egyptienne style of Mucha.
[(Note: Most of the special effects budget should
be blown on the Taniquetil
animation -- it has to be good, so that
things are just alien enough to cause a
momentary lag in comprehension, without leaving
the viewer at a loss for what's
happening.)]
[The white lightning, still scintillating in
place, like burning metal, has come
to fasten on the King's wrist -- in its angular
pyrotechnic glare there should
still be some discernable abstraction of sentience,
of pointed intent, directed
at its Lord.]
[as Beren stands there speechless, the living
fireball twists and takes off again,
returning as it came, and he turns involuntarily
to follow its flight-path -- it
passes through the dome-perimeter somehow, whether
through an invisible window,
or otherwise, and as it intersects the star-space
it unfolds what are definitely
widening wing-shapes, still made at this point
of white light and glittering sparks
before vanishing below the horizon-level of
the hall. The Mortal shade turns back,
still mute with awe at witnessing an Eagle in
its native environment, to see that
the Starqueen and her Consort have risen in
greeting. (Though CGI, voices and
original acting should be provided for the sovereign
Valar by two of the great
classic performers of the silver screen, Madeleine
Carroll (Princess Flavia, The
Prisoner of Zenda) and Frederic March
(Jean Valjean, Les Miserables).]
[simultaneous]
Varda:
Manwe:
Welcome, --brother.
SCENE V.iii
[the Hall. Luthien is turning the now-empty cup
over and around and spinning
it in her fingers while she talks, distractedly,
until the Steward discreetly
reaches up and takes it back, dismissing it
without her even noticing]
Luthien:
It seems so long ago
-- an Age -- that we first touched in the dark . . .
[Finrod starts slightly at her words as she goes on sadly]
It's so far away and
small now, that time of moonlight and roses, like a
pearl -- you can only
look at it from the outside now, and never get back
into that radiance again.
[pulling herself together]
But wasn't that silly?
Saying that he must have had some Dark sorcery to
use on me -- me!
[she shakes her head in scorn; her father's advisor
bites his lip, but says
nothing]
Finrod: [reluctantly]
Well . . .
Luthien:
Please don't
joke. I'm not up to it now.
Finrod: [pensive]
I'm not.
[she looks at him in wide-eyed dismay and paranoia]
Luthien:
No. No. --Don't you
turn against him now, too--
Finrod: [gripping both her hands and giving them a little
reassuring shake]
Shh. I don't
think so in the sense that your parents and people meant it.
It's just that there's
-- something -- about him -- it isn't just him, his
whole family is the
same -- was--
[but goes on almost immediately]
--but there's some sort
of invisible aura about the Beorings which makes
it hard not to do what
they want, no matter how impossible-seeming it is.
[Aegnor puts his head down on his knees, as glances
are directed his way; Luthien
continues to look at Finrod flatly and in silence]
One just gets carried
away in spite of all one's better sense, thing which
cold logic declare insanity
start sounding plausible, and -- Luthien, I'm not
saying I wouldn't have
gone with him, or that you wouldn't, I'm just trying
to understand it myself
because it's hard to think clearly when someone that
certain of things is
defining the parameters of the debate.
[pause]
You noticed he was doing
it with the Powers as well. Not just arguing
with them, but carrying
it on his own terms.
[his father and Amarie shake their heads in residual
dismay; Luthien does not
say anything still.]
Aegnor:
--Yes, I'm surprised
you weren't as upset about that as you were about
Bereg doing the
same thing.
Finrod: [very definitely]
Bereg didn't do that.
He never said anything to me, or to any of us, about
his doubts or whom he'd
been speaking with of them. He just pretended
everything was perfectly
fine, said what he thought I wanted to hear, and
kept all his discontents
for private. I don't know if I could have reassured
him -- if anyone could
have -- or if things would have turned out the same
regardless. --But there
most certainly was no hope of any other outcome with
him not being willing
to question me. The only resemblance between them is
that ability to convince
others to go along in whatever he came up with, even
when it meant going
all the way back over the mountains they'd just come over
this way, into whatever
it was they'd thought worse than mountains to begin
with -- or at least
which Balan had thought worse than mountains and convinced
them all the same.
Angrod:
And Marach -- don't
forget, a good number of his people went with Bereg
as well.
Finrod:
But more of them didn't.
Malach Aradan ruled by popular acclaim -- but he
was responsible for
getting the tribe's consent in the first place and keeping
it. It wasn't ever a
settled thing, for him or for the rest of the family--
[with an earnest look from his brothers to his uncle]
--and think how much
worse
the Battle would have gone, and afterwards, if
Bregor and Hador hadn't
instilled their convictions not just in their own
children but the rest
of their folk as well. Not that it's much consolation,
but it could have been
an utter rout instead of a partial rout ending in
a standoff.
[to his cousin, who is still regarding him in rather a chilly manner:]
I'm not saying it's a
bad
thing, Luthien -- only that this mortal obduracy
is a formidable force
to be reckoned with, whether it's on our side or not.
Beren isn't any more
stubborn than the others of his Houses, on both sides.
Fingolfin:
Or -- what was her name,
that young mortal woman who caused so much fuss not
too long ago?
[the other Belerianders stare at him]
[simultaneously (overlapping)]
Everyone from Middle-earth, native or returned:
--Haleth!!
[there is an embarrassed moment as everyone sort of recollects themselves]
Fingolfin: [defensive]
You must grant, I never
met
the lady.
Aegnor: [sarcastic aside]
There's a surprise--
Angrod:
Neither did I -- but
we still heard about her enough to remember her name,
uncle! It wasn't as
though there weren't relatives of hers straggling through
the realm for the better
part of a decade.
Aegnor: [faint amusement]
It was almost like the
first years here, where you never knew when you were
going to walk into a
settlement of strangers giving you funny looks and
speaking a language
nearly but not quite comprehensible. It was rather hard
not to cross
Nargothrond and hear the name "Haleth" in the process--
Angrod: [interrupting]
--But he didn't, don't
you recall?
[the Princes shake their heads in too-obvious pity, to their uncle's chagrin]
Luthien:
Yes, annexing part of
the kingdom and then telling Mablung off for trespassing--
[to the Valinorean Eldar, living and otherwise]
--well, you don't
know our Captains, so that doesn't mean much to you, but
people listen
to them, most of the time -- when he came to try to evict them,
does sort of stick in
people's memory.
Finrod:
Not to mention dragging
half-a-thousand unwilling kinsmen through a vale full
of giant spiders and
other assorted monstrosities, and her with no natural
abilities whatsoever
to help her defend them, and most of them increasingly
convinced she was insane
for not staying in a land already cultivated and
partially settled, because
there was "too much open" to the northward. Or
commanding a successful
defense against the Enemy's minions, when everyone
else was on the verge
of giving up and dying before rescue arrived -- which
was partly the reason
they didn't kick her out as chief after the business
with the Old Road and
the mutant beasts. "The spiders were a mistake," she
told me, "I thought
they were bogles out of tales to frighten bad children--
or Men who might think
of going too close to the Shadowking's woods otherwise."
[shaking his head]
The way they talked about
her, you couldn't tell if they thought she was
brilliant, mad, or both
-- and that they weren't sure either. But not being
around her wasn't an
option, any more than for moths about a lit candle.
Amarie: [caustic]
Aye, my lord, and wherefore
didst thou not espouse her, for all thy fellowship
of the Secondborn? I
am astonish't.
[pause]
Finrod: [giving her a very askance Look]
I'm already married
to you.
Amarie: [wide-eyed]
But -- thou didst declare't
null, and didst e'en chide me for that I ne'er did
take another consort,
or hast forgot so swift thine own words so late-uttered?
Finrod: [getting a little bit flustered]
I -- meant for you,
that
you shouldn't have considered yourself bound when we
never completed the
ceremony--
Amarie: [tossing her head]
Now there's a
fine thing, fine sir! Wouldst have me as thy grandsire, then,
seeking one lord
here
whilst another bideth there, West or east it mattereth
not -- for how might
it be, that one should be bound, the other not? 'Tis not
of reason, that
thou shouldst hold it feasible to bide yet spouse to me, yet
I not in equal measure
thine to thee!
Finrod: [changing the subject without any finesse, lightly]
It would never have
worked, in any case -- she wouldn't have had me regardless,
even if she hadn't said
that five hundred-odd children were enough for any Man.
Nerdanel: [chiding]
'Tis far from the fitting
hour for japery, youngling.
Finrod:
Oh, I'm not.
[pause -- the Valinorean relatives look at him strangely]
She and her people expressed
rather a dim view of us, I'm afraid. Something
about the lunacy of
those who thought of fighting as fun and spent so much
time over weapons.
Fingolfin: [acerbic]
--Which, you must concede,
is most curious when 'tis considered how their
lives and livelihoods
were thereafter safeguarded in their new homeland by
those very weapons and
warriors of ours.
Luthien: [aside]
And here I thought
it was us. Won't Beleg be surprised--
[the Ambassador also starts to say something,
but Finrod makes a pre-emptive
quieting gesture]
Finrod: [to Fingolfin]
Well . . . in a very
general way. For a while. And after you died they did
a better job of defending
the Crossings than what was left of your people
-- or mine.
[blandly]
One thing which troubled
them a lot, though, was the little bits and pieces
they'd heard over the
years about Elves fighting Elves and siblings pulling
blades on each other.
[Fingolfin rests his forehead on his hand; his
living relatives look rather
told-you-so at this]
--But mostly the idea
of just going looking for trouble in the first place,
instead of away
from it.
Captain: [rueful]
"I'm betting that's
not much use for firewood, and it's mighty unhandy for
a dinner knife" -- her
opinion of swords.
Teler Maid: [curious]
Did she really say it
like
that?
Captain: [shaking his head]
No. I can't manage a
Brethil accent properly at all.
Finrod: [very dry]
She also had definite
things to say on the matter of living in caves, and
people who were mad
enough to do so. "Underground's for when you're dead,
and I'm not yet."
[his relatives think about this, and the several
implications of it, with the
expressions of people who know they ought not
to be amused at the amusing aspect
because of the grim]
Warrior: [aside]
On the brighter side
-- Nargothrond not overrun with swine and kine.
Teler Maid: [aside, with a dubious Look]
Ought I wish to know
what these your words meant?
Warrior: [rueful]
--Long story.
Luthien: [curiously to Finrod]
Just how much did
you leave out of that message to my father?
[pause]
Finrod:
I very much prefer it
when your father isn't angry with me. While I can in
no way foresee any of
this getting back to him, I'd rather not take that
slight, unforeseeable
chance.
Luthien: [faint smile]
Hmph. That bad.
Finrod:
It was mostly
a matter of style -- and the last time I saw her, following
the resettlement project
-- which Elu discreetly ignored without overt
comment, at least to
me--
Luthien: [raising her eyebrows]
You didn't notice him
asking you how much faster than we, did mortals grow up?
Finrod:
I said "overt," remember?
That was just him letting all know that no one
was pulling a fast one
on him, even if he wasn't going to haggle over every
returning formerly-disaffected
tribesman -- anyway, she conceded that he was
a pretty good king,
all told, as kings went, minding his own business and
leaving peaceable folk
in peace--
[the Doriathrin lord covers a smile at his words]
--and they really couldn't ask for better neighbors after all.
[biting his lip]
I just, ah, polished
off a few edges: a herald is worthless who can't be
trusted to deliver a
message as given.
Steward: [dry]
One of several side
benefits of serving as your voice, my lord, and not--
[he catches himself, with a quick glance at Nerdanel]
--anyone else's.
Finrod:
Oh, there were some
pretty sharp comments I sent upriver from time to time,
I seem to recall.
Fingolfin: [wincing]
Aye, as do I.
Steward:
But not of themselves
scathing, saving as the truth hurts.
Finrod: [grim smile]
--Like that damnéd
dam
project I heard about fortuitously, before Fingon
actually got started
on his brilliant notion to turn my river into a moat
around Barad Eithel.
Downstream rights, what? The only worse thing you lot
could have come up with
was damming up at Ivrin.
Fingolfin: [patiently, as to a child]
It wouldn't have left
Minas Tirith "high and dry" or even reduced the levels
of Sirion by more than
one part in the twelve--
Finrod: [cutting him off]
Well, that was your
guess.
You really don't know what it would have done.
And it would have severely
affected the marshes and silting along the main
watercourse, regardless.
I'm not going to get into this now, it's pointless,
but I was right.
Fingolfin: [aggrieved]
You didn't have
to threaten to have it brought to your sister's attention
-- with a careful breakdown
of exactly how long at the longest it should
take for your messengers
to arrive in Menegroth and she in Eithel.
[Finrod looks down and sideways at his erstwhile
Herald with a quizzical
expression]
Steward: [looking back innocently]
Thus I . . . polished
your injunction to get up there as fast as I might
and tell your "idiot
relatives that if they dared dream of blundering about
with the water volume--"
[Finarfin raises his brows, glancing at his elder
brother, but doesn't interrupt;
the Sea-elf stifles a giggle by main force]
--unless you -- or preferably engineers from Nogrod -- were supervising the plans, they'd find out that there were people with less patience and more power than even yourself. Since you had me ahorse and off before I knew whether I had my cloak on right-side-to or not, I was not entirely certain of whom in specific you were thinking, and since I dared not invoke Elu Thingol's power without consultation, nor Lady Melian, (nor dared detour so far as to make such query, nor without your permission) -- still less our great Lord without sign thereto, when for all I knew as yet this rumoured doing was even at his bidding--
Finrod: [snorting]
Oh, right, as if they'd
even thought of asking him about it--
[at his uncle's Look]
Sorry.
[to his right-hand Elf:]
--Did I really send you
off in that much of a rush? That was an awfully
long time ago.
Steward: [shrugging]
I was obliged to purchase
my dinners from fishing parties along the banks,
at the cost of new songs,
before I attained the Tower and so reprovisioning
-- or provisioning,
rather, so great was the urgency which you successfully
conveyed to me, that
I did not turn home to pack before setting out.
Captain: [blandly]
And here you were complaining
earlier that I'd done your packing for you--!
Steward: [ignoring him]
--Where I also, as per
your instructions, Majesty, picked up a sufficiently-
impressive escort force
from your brother (and a change of clothes) and 'twas
there, over breakfast,
that Prince Orodreth counseled me to invoke the Lady
Galadriel when I reached
the High King's castle, for such insult as was
rumoured planned to
your great-uncle's dear friend through his tributary
would surely arouse
the indignation of Elu's wife and her own friends, and
as your loyal -- if
independent -- agent abroad, your sister's duty might be
bespoken without prior
consulting. --Though I should surely face some pointed
ironies, did necessity
come to it and oblige me to convey the request to
Doriath. But neither
your brother nor I thought it a likely outcome, and I
judged the advice sound.
Angrod: [incredulous]
You just threatened
to sic Artanis on him, with no qualms whatsoever? On your
own recognizance? That's
a bit much, didn't you think?
Fingolfin: [wry]
Indeed.
Finrod: [shaking his head]
I don't know why everyone
is so intimidated by 'Tari -- there are other
people in our family
with far less control over their tempers and less
discretion!
Captain:
Well, actually, I think
that's part of it, Sire -- that, and the fact that
unlike some of her siblings,
she does little-to-nothing to temper her power
and try not to
intimidate people around her.
Angrod: [piqued aside]
--I'm sure there was
an insult in that -- or three.
Luthien:
Galadriel doesn't try
to intimidate people!
Captain:
Exactly, my lady.
Finrod:
Neither do the lords
of the Edain, by and large. It's the combination of
absolute certainty that
this is simply how things ought be done, convincing
everyone else of it
-- and managing to carry it off five times out of six so
they stay convinced.
[Luthien frowns, troubled, but not having anything
to say to this -- someone else
does, however]
Ambassador:
Indeed, Majesty, one
might deem them nearly equals of the Noldor, in that
respect.
[long, long pause]
Finrod:
. . .
[the expectant pause continues, while people
either look at Finrod or each other
or the ceiling -- even Huan takes a break from
demanding nose-scratching and
raises his head with pricked ears to look at
the youngest of the Kings present]
Finrod:
My lord, I -- concede
your point.
[pause]
What?
[as everyone keeps looking at him]
There's nothing else to say -- except -- guilty as charged.
[this encourages another to make a sally at him]
Fingolfin: [very dry]
Did you not remark,
my young nephew, that by his own admission your liegeman
has averred him to hold
your younger sister a greater than you, his liege?
For your words
were "those with more power than yourself" --and Galadriel his
answer.
[Finrod leans over again and gives his friend
an inquiring Look, full of low-key
amusement]
Steward: [easily]
Indeed, 'tis true --
considering "more power" in the most narrow of senses,
or else to say, who
might by virtue of nature and ability and circumstance
have been the ablest
at accomplishing your set task -- even as the warrior
on watch and wakeful
has more power than one inattentive, notwithstanding
though one be little
more than a child and the other of many Great Year's
practice. Power -- is
a present and transient thing, resting with whomsoever
wills to wield it --
I do not speak of potentiality, which some authorities
term latent power,
but which itself is subject to divisions of kind as in
degree, even as set
forth long ago by Rumil in "Of Modes and--
[Fingolfin raises his hands for silence, equal parts plea, command, and capitulation]
Captain: [regretful]
Too fast to stake a
wager.
Angrod: [patronizing]
Uncle, you should know better
by now than to start a duel of words with him.
That's as useless as
challenging Beleg to an archery contest -- oh, that's
right, you never called
on Menegroth, sorry--
[the brother and sister-in-law of the High King
of Beleriand exchange deploring-
but-amused glances]
Luthien: [unexpectedly taking Fingolfin's side]
Oh, give him a break
-- at least your uncle was polite when he happened to
think of us, unlike
some of your family I could name but won't out of respect
for the present company
since everyone keeps snapping at me to stop being rude--
[she startles and looks down at the Hound, who
is being a loyal canine friend and
showing his emotional support in a traditional
way by licking her foot]
Oh! Huan, stop that, it's disgusting even if you mean it kindly.
[she scratches his ears]
Teler Maid: [insistent curiosity]
Who? Who wasn't
polite?
Nerdanel: [resigned]
Mine own offspring.
Luthien:
Anyway, getting back
to my story--
[aside]
--and not conceding anything to anyone about anything--
[frowning]
--in retrospect, the
part about that time that was truly strange was what
didn't happen
-- that neither my mother nor Daeron said anything at all for
so long. --Did
she
know? It seems as though she must have, though she won't
answer me about that.
Daeron thought she did, he said so.
[outraged]
And he acted all perfectly
normal to me and everyone, only being preoccupied,
while it came out in
this pall of silence that gradually filled up all around
Menegroth and made everyone
wonder what kind of weird supernatural phenomena
was going on that summer.
Except it was just his internalized gloom and guilt
and angst smothering
everything subconsciously.
[with an exasperated wave of her hand]
It's -- all so -- so
sneakingly dishonest. Looking back on it all, after
everything else that's
happened -- I'd far rather have to deal with someone
who simply wants to
hurt me for uncomplicated selfish purposes, instead of
justifying it as being
for my own good, or insisting that I have to forgive
them because they're
miserable too, poor things, as if it wasn't their own
faults.
[darkly]
I should have set my
own
conditions, called down Fate on my side, before
going back home -- made
them
do some impossible task before I'd give in --
maybe then they wouldn't
talk so lightly about how much they were suffering--
[the Ambassador bows his head in apology]
Finrod: [deadly earnest]
Don't even joke about
such things.
Finarfin: [aside]
Nay, thus have they
learned, most bitter and full, or Time hath sundered
more than speech betwixt
us!
[there is an awkward moment, with neither Luthien
nor the Finarfinions quite
knowing what to say, far less anyone else.]
Elenwe: [looking at Nerdanel thoughtfully]
--Thus the course of
nature,
that love should e'er will self's cessation,
ere that of them belovéd
-- but dark rumour, that hath entwined even through
the 'stices of my dreams,
though of's truth I ken nor more nor less than ye,
hath muttered of a burning
shame; whose occasion, for all that 'twas set upon
that Shore that ne'er
I saw, save as a shadow undersetting distant flame, was
yet kindled on this
side -- nor hath regretted it.
[the moment that follows this observation is
even more awkward. Abruptly Huan
lifts his head, with a few restrained tail thumps]
Huan:
[quiet almost-bark]
[Nienna's Apprentice comes in, alone this time
again, his shoulders rather slumped
and no spring in his step as he comes towards
the dais.]
Finrod: [sharply]
I think they're all
at the Mahanaxar now.
Apprentice: [glum]
I know they are. He
took all the information over there because it made more
sense than walking and
wasting all that time -- and coincidentally, all the
credit as well. I guess
it isn't really important who gets it, but it still
stings.
Finrod:
Then what are you here
for?
[with a grimace and snort of restrained anger]
Couldn't you have mentioned
what you were up to before, so that we weren't
completely blindsided
by it?
Apprentice:
I -- what--?
Finrod: [flinging up his hands]
That you were gathering
a dossier on Beren, what else?
Apprentice:
Oh. I--
[he looks at the Captain with worry]
Was that the sort of thing you wanted to know?
[the Ranger shakes his head in disbelief, while his commander sighs.]
Captain:
Yes. But--
[he looks at Finrod]
It didn't actually make
any difference, one way or another, Sire. Not on the
outcome of the debate.
It just added details.
[to the disguised Maia]
Something concrete to
be used against our efforts, or against our covert aim,
that was very much the
sort of thing you should have been bringing to our
attention as a double
agent. Unless it was utterly against your conscience
to do so. But I think
you were just naive.
Apprentice:
Used against . . . ?
[he looks baffled and upset]
I thought -- that knowing
all the facts about your friend in such detail
would be a good thing,
since everyone would be able to see the things I
saw in our conversation,
not just being a useless, incompetent oaf with
an insolent mouth.
[hastily]
--Not my words. Curumo's.
Finrod: [to the Captain]
You're right. As usual.
--Naive.
[he sighs]
So what are you doing here?
Apprentice:
I wanted to offer my
sympathies to her Highness, it -- seemed appropriate,
since my Master isn't
present to to do so herself -- on the loss of your
husband.
[he bows his head to Luthien]
Luthien: [dangerously]
He's staying with me.
I
know it--
[putting her hand to her chest]
--here. He'll come back.
Apprentice:
. . .
Finrod: [short]
All right, you've done
that, so why don't you go now?
[Huan lifts his head and gives the youngest Elf-King a reproachful look]
Apprentice:
Actually, I was going
to stay here and keep an eye on the stone again. There's
nothing else for me
to do now.
[he sits down cross-legged on the upper tier
of the dais, close to the Thrones,
and rests his chin on his hand, watching the
still-quiescent palantir, quite
oblivious to (or ignoring) Finrod's piqued,
over-the-shoulder glare]
Captain:
Aren't you supposed
to be looking after things generally for Themselves?
Apprentice: [shrugs]
After that screech --
which must have shaken windows all the way to
Taniquetil -- and the
shouting that followed it, everyone's showing
remarkably good sense
in having apparently decided to lay low for a bit,
that now is not
the time to be complaining to the Lord and Lady about
someone looking at them
sideways seventy-two years ago--
[from the hallway outside an angry voice can
be heard raised and coming nearer
quickly]
Aredhel:
Isn't there anyone
here with authority? I demand to speak to Lord
Namo -- at once!
[Fingolfin winces. The rest of the company exchange
looks alternately
bewildered, amused, or resigned]
Apprentice: [glumly]
Of course, there are
always exceptions.
[the High King's daughter comes striding into
the chamber and over to the
dais, anger crackling all around her like wet
wood on fire -- Huan lifts up
his head, pricking up his ears, and wags his
tail, but she ignores him along
with everyone except the High King her father.
Amarie makes an exclamation
of disgust, looking as though this is pretty
nearly the final straw, and
very obviously refuses to grant Aredhel her
attention.]
Aredhel:
Where are they?
Why can't I find anyone? This is ridiculous!
Fingolfin: [pleading in the weary tone of one who knows it's
useless]
'Feiniel--
Aredhel:
I refuse to put
up with this any longer! I want an injunction against him!
You do something
about it, Father--
Warrior: [aside to the Fourth Guard]
He must have gotten
her again.
[his friend nods]
Fingolfin: [patiently]
Daughter, I haven't
authority over your husband -- I hadn't in life, and not
in here either. Besides,
you know--
[in the background Eol enters, the embodiment
of cynicism in black armour, and
comes up quietly to stand a little ways behind
her, relishing the negative Looks
from those who notice his presence.]
Aredhel: [cutting him off]
No, you just
don't
care about anything except your blasted board-games!
Nerdanel:
Niece, thou dost most
discourteously disrupt thy kinswoman's tale--
Aredhel: [impatient]
I'm not talking to you.
[back to her father again]
--You're so insensitive
and selfish! It's all your fault anyway: if you hadn't
insisted on dragging
us with you on your revenge quest, none of this would
have happened, and I'd
still be alive!
Angrod: [dry]
Really? You mean you'd
have gone back with him if he'd joined my father at
Araman? Because I seem
to remember you saying we three were idiots for not
taking Cel up on the
offer of a ride -- not that we should have turned back
from the Crossing.
[she lifts her head defiantly and ignores him, going right on]
Aredhel:
I'm going to insist
that Lord Namo give me an injunction against him, and
that he enforce it this
time--
Eol:
Against you,
you mean? You'll just break it again.
[she spins around and glares at him, while he
just stands there with folded arms,
head cocked to one side, sneering.]
Aredhel: [giving him a dark, undershot Look]
You--
[at a loss for insults, she clenches her fists as he chuckles]
Luthien: [to her other cousins]
Do they do this all
the time?
[answering nods; Finarfin and Nerdanel exchange Looks while Aredhel's father sighs]
Soldier: [undertone]
--Six.
Second Guard: [same tone]
--Four. --Which?
Eol:
You know you
can't stay away from me.
Soldier: [still quietly]
--Him. Love.
Aredhel:
Don't flatter
yourself,
Moriquendo.
[Fingolfin stares up at the ceiling, clearly
humiliated but not able to flee in
front of his brother and sister-in-law, far
less his nephews.]
Warrior: [aside to his companions]
I say hate.
Finrod: [deadpan]
Isn't family a wonderful
thing?
[Luthien stifles an edged snicker, as their relatives,
living and dead, give them
wary looks]
Eol: [maddeningly patronizing]
Let's just look at your
record, why don't we, dear? What'll this be, number
two-hundred-eighty-seven?
Soon to be a double gross, in fact.
Aredhel: [savage]
Shut up.
Angrod: [getting annoyed]
I want to hear the rest
of the story. --Not this rot again.
[the quarreling spouses ignore him]
Eol:
Why, if you'd only been
able to control yourself, we might not be in this
absurd mess you've gotten
us into.
Aredhel:
I!?!
Eol: [smug]
Of course. You couldn't
resist the thought of seeing me again, and so you
put yourself in the
middle of what didn't concern you.
Aredhel:
Didn't concern
me?!
Eol: [haughty]
My son's punishment
properly being my concern.
Aredhel: [furious]
He's more my
son than he is yours, since you never cared to do your part
while he was young --
you always had more important work to do--!
Eol: [getting really angry]
Don't start that
again -- you kept parental authority to yourself with such
jealous control, I hardly
got to know him at all. Just another example of
Noldor aggression, taking
not only our land but our very children from us--
[the two lunge for each other's throats like
predators battling over a contested
kill --]
Huan:
[agitated barking]
[--but though they collide simultaneously the
motive is not quite the same;
Aredhel cuffs her husband so hard across the
side of the head that he is
staggered a little, but he is in the process
of grabbing her to him in a
passionate "Gone With The Wind" style kiss and
isn't deterred. This clinch
goes on for much more than an instant, with
the White Lady showing no signs
of pushing the Dark Elf away, while their audience
reacts in a spectrum from
embarrassed resignation to awed amusement --
the gamblers are rather nonplused]
Soldier:
Whoa, that's
never happened before. I -- don't know how to call that one.
First Guard:
Me neither. Sir?
[they look towards the Captain, who only raises hands and eyebrows in bemusement]
Eol:
!!!
[he flings her off of him and himself away from her, his expression contorted in self-contempt]
--What Dark magic makes me unable to resist you, you sorceress?
Aredhel:
You spiderling -- how
dare
you--!
[she draws her sword and starts for him, her
eyes blazing with fury; groans and
expressions of exasperation from the Ten and
their hereditary lords. Luthien
stands up and scowls at her combative relations]
Luthien: [crossly]
All right, that's enough!
[there is a slight echo of power to her words,
but the two stop and stare at
her at once.]
Either go away now,
or sit down, be quiet and stop acting like you're
thirty.
[in the shocked silence, Elenwe gives a sudden
laugh. Aredhel tosses her head
angrily]
Aredhel:
You can't tell
me what to do. You're not Queen here.
Luthien: [narrowing her eyes]
Funny, I seem to be
doing it all the same. --Put that sword up now. And you--
[turning her attention to Eol]
--what is wrong
with you, cousin? We always knew there was something seriously
askew, but nobody dreamed
you were a secret Kinslayer and slave-taker!
Aredhel:
Don't call me
"thrall," you hick!
[Huan growls, while there is a collective wince from their onlooking families]
Luthien: [ignoring her]
Why are you so -- so
messed-up?
Did you swear service to the Lord of
Fetters? What is it
that makes you so Dark-hearted? You've got a lot to
answer for, Eol!
Eol: [looking her directly in the eyes]
Ah, the little princess
fancies herself all grown up, does she? Finally
realized that the big
world out there isn't all sweetness and light? The
answers aren't as simple
as Mum and Dad would like them to be?
Luthien:
Don't change the subject.
You've done appalling things and you don't seem
to have the slightest
idea how horrible they are.
Eol: [his voice and stare mesmerizing, edged with power]
So little Luthien is
still the know-it-all darling of Doriath . . . or is
she? We've been betrayed,
haven't we? Seen a few things we wished we hadn't,
I fancy. --Learned that
the people we trusted to have all the answers haven't
the slightest clue,
can't lead us out of the trap by its threads, and that
there's no escape --
except being strong, and alone.
Luthien: [wry]
No actually, that's
not the conclusion I came to at all.
Eol: [ironic & patronizing]
So you still think that
everything's
good, that "whatever comes is for the
best," and the roaring
chaos of the Sun is just as pleasant as the peaceful
shade our land once
knew -- and the people who brought it with them by their
misdeeds?
Luthien:
I'm as much Eldar as
you, Eol, and prefer the stars and moon to broad
daylight. So does my
husband, as it happens. But you never liked music.
In all the years I remember
you, you never once made any song. --Was
there ever any
harmony in your house, cousin?
[Aredhel smiles bitterly]
I've asked you questions,
Eol. Don't try to put me off with your superior
manner, I'm not impressed.
[he glares more fiercely at her, and she gives it right back]
Eol: [bewildered aside]
You're a child, and
no mighty "Elf of Aman" Why isn't it working?
Finrod: [mildly]
Perhaps the fact that
she's also half-Ainur has something to do with it?
Or possibly just being
to hell and back.
[Eol and Luthien continue to match stares --
it is Luthien who is holding her
elder kinsman now, very definitely, and his
expression growing more and more
strained under her fixed gaze.]
Luthien: [sad]
I'm sorry.
[tears are starting down her face again, but
there is no uncertainty or weakness
in her voice]
You should have asked for help.
Eol: [clipped]
I neither wanted nor
needed your parents' pity.
Luthien: [matter-of-fact]
I wish I could help
you.
Eol:
I won't take yours
either, girl.
Luthien: [same tone]
I know.
[she releases him from her stare and looks at Aredhel]
That isn't how love works.
You've got it all twisted up between you, like
the things that live
along the Edges of the Labyrinth. You've got to untangle
this poisoned chain,
or you'll never be able to love, either.
Aredhel: [scoffing]
As if you know
anything about it!
Luthien: [calm]
Listen and learn, then,
if you will.
[she sits down on the steps again, disregarding
them; but although the couple glare
warily at each other, like strange dogs circling
for a fight, they do not go after
each other again, but stiffly find places on
the steps of the dais, far apart.
Luthien is unconscious of the awed character
of the silence that surrounds her on
all sides as she resumes]
--Okay, where was I?
SCENE V.iv
[Elsewhere: Taniquetil]
[Beren is standing squarely in front of the Thrones,
looking rather overwhelmed
and shell-shocked but still with a hopeless,
manic resolution to carry through
to the end. Manwe and Varda are looking at him
with a quicksilver-blue glistening of
awareness in their eyes, making them alive and
disconcertingly unstatue-like. At
times meteoric lights flash past in the surrounding
Night, and the Constellations
of the star-dome pivot very slowly and steadily
throughout the scene.]
Beren:
So, that's pretty much
everything.
[he snorts, looking back over his shoulder towards the Stair]
Did you make it take
so long so that I'd have to cool down before I got here?
'Cause it only ended
up giving me more time to think about what all I wanted
to say.
Manwe:
Your last question makes
no sense to us, I fear.
Beren: [shrugging]
I'm just interested
in the other ones, really. What about the Doom, first
of all?
Manwe:
The Noldor spurned our
help, and refused to lend theirs to the World.
Beren: [ironic]
I thought they came
and helped save it.
Varda:
Have they saved
it, then?
[silence]
What would have been
possible, if they had been patient but a little, and
lent their abilities
to the effort of restoration, instead of leaving the
wreckage of their anger
and mad haste to mingle with the ruin of their
adversary's deeds? What
might have been made, and how much sooner, of Light
to halt and subdue Melkor's
forces, perchance to follow more swiftly than
marchers afoot, and
with wisdom to guide and not to learn in pain and
obstinacy the lessons
of war, and our power to assist in subtle effort,
theirs to wield, ours
to give, in one union of will and friendship and
both made stronger by
bitter trial, now kindled anew?
[pause]
Beren:
Well? What?
Manwe: [shaking his head]
None shall ever know.
That hope and chance they robbed from us, and you,
and from themselves,
when the Noldor made Feanor's choice their own, and
refused generosity even
to their own most near. How many elses might the War,
that you believe so
long, have gone? --more swiftly and perhaps to happier
end -- had all,
and not only some, of those who left thought better, and
returned to lend their
strength to the fashioning of these new Lamps, and
after?
[behind the Thrones as he speaks there can be
seen the orb of the Moon gliding
by, not as quickly as the meteoric lights, large
as when it first rises in the
sky but not orange, silver-white and looking
like a slightly-flawed pearl, with
a faint rainbow-haloing of ice crystals as it
passes under the stars on its
Westward, downward trajectory out of sight beneath
the window-walls of the Hall.]
Beren:
I get it. You mean you
couldn't do anything else. So you're not all powerful,
huh?
Varda: [with a narrow Look and sounding a very little bit
like Vaire]
You know that perfectly
well.
[when the mortal doesn't reply]
--Don't you? Didn't the King's son tell your people so, or did I mishear him?
[her consort reaches over and takes her hand,
soothingly, and she stops, shaking
her head a little]
Manwe:
There are always
options. They are not always preferable.
Beren:
Maybe you should've
let us decide that for ourselves.
Manwe:
I'm afraid you cannot
imagine what happens, when Powers contend within these
Circles.
Beren:
I know a lot about war.
And the destruction it causes.
Manwe: [sighing]
As I said, I fear you
cannot imagine what I am trying to convey.
Varda: [still slightly edged tone]
Or perhaps he
just doesn't think.
Beren:
Okay, so I let you off
for not fixing things after Morgoth broke loose and
all, on account of you
didn't have the resources to do it or you weren't sure
you could do it without
making things worse, I'll take your word for that.
So -- what did you go
and let him out for? I mean, you might not be all-
powerful, but at least
you're supposed to be wiser than we are. We wouldn't
have trusted him again.
Manwe:
You believe yourself
wiser than him you name Wisdom, then?
[Beren just glares at him]
You would not
have forgiven a kinsman who professed repentance, and
demonstrated it in his
deeds as well as words, to whom your heart inclined
you to welcome, and
to hope, and to believe that long reflection on the
harmful choices and
the better ways had done its healing work, so that the
long-remembered, long-cherished
love that had once been between you should
be renewed at last --
but so Finrod forgave his own, with less earthly warrant
and witness, and with
the memory of past treason to warn, when for us no such
thought of betrayal,
of thought uttered counter to heart's true thought, had
ever yet been conceived
-- or done -- amongst us. We did not know who, or how
many he had suborned,
until the deed of Darkness was complete.
Varda:
Past sight is always
clearest, but the present may not be clearly illumined
by it. We trusted, and
were scorned for it, by Melkor -- and by his aptest
students of both kindreds.
[there is a bare tinge of anger in her voice,
but enough to make Beren straighten
up and step back just a little]
Beren:
But couldn't you --
um -- just know he was lying? Just -- read his mind?
Manwe:
No. If even yours,
saving as you permit it, is inviolate to perception, how
might not the same be
true of my elder, and mightier in his conception than
even I? Only suspicion,
among some, and doubt that such a long-lasting and
profound will to power
and destruction might not be so swiftly turned by
meditation -- but suspicion
is not proof, and may not justly be acted upon.
Always had Melkor been
the most open and unsubtle of Voices, both in the
Timeless Halls and in
the World, in addition to his efforts in the Song.
We had no reason to
guess that it was otherwise.
[pause]
Beren:
So why couldn't the
One just tell you so that you wouldn't have to guess?
Manwe:
He does. It is not easy
even for me to understand His thought, thus enformed
as we are within our
realm, through the limits placed by the different
interfaces and frequencies
of -- excuse me, to hear through the borders of
the Circles, those messages
of counsel from the Timeless Halls, and then to
discern what the correct
application of them should be.
Beren:
So why can't you leave
and check and come back?
[the Lord of the Winds leans forward, very earnest]
Manwe:
Beren. This is the
World. It is not a game. Our mistakes are real because
everything is
real, because all of it matters. You want it to be a game, where
a judge or parent might
step in and declare this cast of the dart unfair, that
ill-stepped leap not
to count against the score, allow another tune be chosen
when the young singer
has outreached ability, warn a contestant of impending
error, always undoing
-- in pretense -- what has been done, for the sake of
mercy even more than
justice, so that all shall be pleased with the ending of
the contest, win or
lose. You ask that Arda be no more than a toy, a game, a
hobby of Immortals,
but unfortunately or not, it is real and we are bound to
it forever, as truly
as all else who breathe within its Circles. We cannot
stop playing
for a little while.
Beren: [shaking his head]
That isn't what I said.
Manwe:
I am afraid that it
is. Be assured, I understand the wish. Often.
[he sighs heavily, leaning back in his Throne]
Beren:
Well, couldn't you have
figured out on your own about not bringing the Elves
all the way across the
world to here? Then, for one thing, your brother wouldn't
have been able to tell
them that you were trying to replace them with us and
then they wouldn't have
had any reason to rebel, or any place to rebel
to,
right? So there wouldn't
ever have been any Kinslaying or anything.
Manwe: [to his wife, in a slightly-wry tone]
Do you remember being
that young and optimistic, love?
Varda:
Yes.
[she sighs -- then snaps out of it and says matter-of-factly to Beren]
So. When the Hunter from
beyond the Sea heard the Children's song, he should
not have gone
among them, should not have lead them west to a new homeland?
Beren: [sarcastic]
That would follow from
what I said, wouldn't it?
Manwe:
He and his kinfolk should
not
have taught them new lore and art, nor the
skills that allowed
them to thrive in greater health and strength than they
had previously known?
Beren:
That's what I said.
And you're leaving out all the problems it caused the Elves.
Varda:
We were not speaking
of the Firstborn.
[silence]
Beren:
N--no.
[shaking his head fiercely]
You're twisting it all around--
Manwe:
How so?
Beren:
It -- for us -- it was
different.
Varda:
How?
Beren:
It just was.
[Pause]
He didn't tell
us it was perfectly safe -- we knew there was a War going on,
and we knew the Enemy
was there and out to get us all.
Varda:
Naturally -- the world
had changed, and so that was then the truth in your
people's day.
Beren:
But the Enemy sneaked
through and committed murder anyway, and wrecked the land.
Varda:
Yes. We are most favorably
impressed.
Beren:
? ? ?
Varda:
Despite all that, your
people remained faithful, and did not turn from your
foreign lords in anger
and outrage at their newly-revealed weakness, but
stayed beside them through
the bitter dark that has followed, as loyal as
the Vanyar to us. Not
even Melkor's murder of your father served to turn
your heart against the
Eldar.
[momentarily speechless, Beren makes a cutting gesture before finding his voice]
Beren: [roughly]
You're twisting things
around again.
Manwe:
If you would be consistent,
you must allow it equally error on the part of
your friend and his
folk to interfere with the destiny and quality of life
of your people, as for
us to meddle with the fortunes of his own -- folly,
if well meant, and ultimately
no less ruinous to those 'twas meant to aid.
Beren: [almost shouting]
Don't say that! He--
[breaks off, upset]
Varda:
Do you not admit that
the problem of the Eldar and the problem of the Edain
are one in nature?
Beren: [grim]
No.
[silence. Across the prismatic dome overhead
and around, an aurora borealis
gradually appears, arcs for a while during the
following exchanges, and flickers
away]
Because I don't want it to be true.
[pause]
Look, I know it's dumb
and wrong, but I just can't. --Besides, that's not
where the problems start.
Whether you blame it on the Silmarils themselves
or some of the Elves
staying behind or whatever, the real issue is the fact
that there are monsters
and demons and diseases and an evil god running
around loose to cause
all these troubles. If you made the world, why can't
you just change it so
that things like that can't happen?
Manwe: [mildly]
Because to do so would
unmake the World.
Beren:
I don't see that.
[unison]
Varda:
Manwe:
We know.
[pause]
Beren:
Look, your explanations
aren't,
and I don't have answers for your answers
-- but how about something
I do understand damn' well? Let me give you the
problem on a smaller
scale, where maybe we can both agree on it: where is
the justice in Tinuviel
having to suffer and risk her life and lose her
happiness and lose her
life because of me? She wasn't Noldor, she didn't
choose one way or the
other to follow you or not to follow, she didn't rebel
against you, and all
the same she got caught by the Doom, and if it isn't
that you all are mad
at Thingol for marrying her mother, and made him ask
for a Silmaril to punish
him by having her die--
Manwe: [bemused]
--What a curious
notion--
Beren:
--which wouldn't be
fair to her, or anybody else in Doriath either, then
surely you could have
changed something to make it so that I didn't run into
her and none of this
every happened. Something. Anything. At least you could
have protected her from
me.
Manwe:
Any fate you
would find a better, than for you to find the daughter of
Melian, and she to follow
you?
Beren:
Yeah.
[the blue-black night sky slowly takes on an
angry reddish hue, as rising flames
lick up from along several points on the horizon,
and thereby define edges of
forest margin and steep hillsides in the dark.
(Note: the effect of this and the
animations which succeed it is an IMAX theatre,
only not photographic, but an
Impressionist painting done in stained-glass
-- brilliant, jewel-like colors lit
from within, but no black outlines.)]
[To one side of the Thrones, where the images
run between them and Beren, misshapen
shadowy figures bearing torches spill out from
the darkness into a rough circle;
dark tents and standards with skulls (real and
painted) and images of ravens and
wolves' heads are revealed by the flickering
light. Typical barbarian-warlord/
evil-sorcerer's encampment. From the nearest
tent emerges an ominous tall armoured,
cloaked figure, (typical barbarian-warlord/evil-sorcerer)
who stands expectantly
in the midst of his minions as the crowd parts
to allow a new group to enter]
Manwe:
In this ending, you
do not arrive in Doriath.
[the newcomers are a squad of enormous wolves,
several with riders, one of them
a pale blue-gray, and not ridden. One of the
riders does not do so voluntarily,
being draped over the Warg's back, bound hand
and foot (and arm and knee, for
good measure) until the nearest Orc pulls him
off and drops him face down on
the ground. Their commander walks over slowly,
standing there for a moment before
booting the prisoner over onto his back. Even
without sound, the gloating still
comes through, followed by some predictably-imprudent
defiance, judging from
the way the guards start hauling their mortal
captive upright. The camera swings
to focus on Beren and the Valar, so that we
don't actually see what happens next,
only the burning hillsides on the other walls,
while Beren keeps watching
apparently completely unfazed by it]
Beren: [utterly blasé]
Huh. Guess I did get
him that time after all.
Varda:
Such a fate does not
daunt you?
[he turns back to face the Thrones]
Beren: [shrugging]
It's only what I expected.
Manwe:
And for all your efforts
to avoid it, you find it preferable to that which was?
Beren: [levelly]
If that had happened
--
she would still be alive. And Huan. And Finrod, and
the noblest lords of
Nargothrond. And a whole bunch of other people in Doriath.
No one I loved would
have died because of me.
Varda:
It is too late for that,
at this stanza. Those who trusted in your ability to
defy our rival and to
defend them, against all reason, and left their hiding
places and rekindled
the flame of defiance against Melkor, and were ground
into the ashes of their
holdings -- are they no one, then? You survived that
disastrous rising, but
what of those who believed, and were taught the error
of their faith by the
Lord of Wolves?
[silence]
Beren:
That -- it -- it wasn't--
[he breaks off. In a choked tone]
You're not being fair.
Varda: [calm]
What is in error? That
your remnant people died? Or that they did so the
sooner, because of your
provocation? Or that you loved them?
[long pause]
Beren: [grinding out the words]
All right. I made mistakes
too. That can't be the only way.
[the fiery glow changes to a calmer light --
the sun is rising over a green valley,
over which in the background loom shining mountain
peaks; on one of these can be
seen the spires of a slightly-alien-looking
but mostly traditional castle. Far off
there is still a dark smudge on the horizon
even as the sky rapidly becomes blue.
In the foreground is a fairly-Viking-looking
village, with carved painted pillars
and gables on the houses, and fields all around
either plowed or full of livestock.
Lots of horses. A stream runs through the middle
of the vale. Deer drink at it;
broad-winged hawks circle overhead.]
Manwe:
Yet another ending,
to your story, then--
[up the road to the village comes a rider on
a gorgeous steed, cantering to one
of the farmhouses, from which charge several
tow-headed children of different
heights and both sexes, but all equally enthusiastic
enough to make it a good
thing the picture is without sound; they are
followed almost instantly by two
tall women with braided hair, one gold, the
other silver, who join in the mobbing
of the returned horseman -- whose clothes, even
in the impressionistic rendering,
certainly are not a mismatched collection of
rags. As the traveler, gesturing back
towards the distant tower, is welcomed home
by three generations of family, and
his children pile onto the horse heading towards
a barn, while wife and mother
lead him into the house, Beren turns a stricken
countenance to the Lord and Lady.]
Beren:
Is this real? Is that
what would have happened, if I'd gone instead of staying?
Varda:
We cannot tell. It could
have been.
Manwe:
Is this the story that
would content you, the ending rightfully yours, of
which your Doom has
cheated you?
Beren: [softly, shaking his head]
No. --No--
[he is distraught and nearly in tears]
Varda: [faintly curious]
You would not hesitate
to change your past for an earlier and more painful
death -- yet you are
of divided mind regarding a change that might have
granted a full and happy
life according to your people's measure. Do you not
think that a strange
thing?
Beren:
I -- I--
[he lifts his hand helplessly]
I wouldn't have known
Tinuviel then. I wouldn't ever have known -- what else
the world could be.
[pause]
I know that doesn't
make any sense. Everything else that way is the same.
Nobody else gets hurt.
But if I had just died fighting, I wouldn't -- I
wouldn't think that
was the best that it could be -- I wouldn't have missed
anything. It -- it seems
worse, to have lived without ever realizing what
more there was.
[he bites his lip, and shakes his head again, half-laughing, half-crying]
I guess it would have been better if I was never born at all.
Varda:
Truly?
[he nods, his expression grim]
You know, then, better than the One, who should exist in Arda?
Beren:
I didn't say that.
Varda:
Did you not?
[silence]
Beren: [sullen]
--Only for me. Because
of what happened because of me.
Manwe:
But there are so many
other possibilities. What if you had died to guard your
companions on their
way to join your kin of Hador? What if you had gone at
once to Nargothrond
with news of your father's death, instead of remaining to
wage war alone? Or if
Elwe's daughter had never found you in the forest --
how many long years
in peace would you have stayed? Each one a different story.
Would all those truly
have been so much worse than not having lived at all?
What of the lives you
did save, the fugitives you did guard who escaped to
other lands?
[Beren scowls, but doesn't answer]
Varda:
You would ordain the
world according to your certainty. But have you no
consideration for the
way that Luthien would rather have things Be? Would
her ideal Song
have no mortal note of yours?
[pause]
Beren:
It would still be better
for her if she hadn't met me.
[the Starqueen just Looks at him]
What?
[still waiting]
It's true.
Varda: [ice]
So you, too, number
yourself among those who are wiser than she, and how
her life should be ordered
for her, will she, nil she.
[silence]
Beren: [still stubborn, but quieter]
It would have been better
if things hadn't happened the way they did.
--Unless you think it's
a good thing she's dead.
Varda:
Many things would be
better, if matters had fallen out other than they did.
Manwe: [earnest]
Have you thought at
all what other deeds done in the world might have changed
things? Or do you believe
that your hands alone shape the fate of Arda?
Beren:
Hand. You're
behind on things.
[aside, dismayed]
--I don't believe I'm
doing this. I'm mouthing off to the High King and
Queen of all the earth,
like a bratty eight-year-old, and I can't help it,
and any Man or Elf would
have slammed me one by now or stopped talking to
me, and gods forbid
Ma would've heard me talking to anyone like this --
only they're not--
[shrugging]
It's not just me. About
me. Or us. It's everybody. Whatever happens, in war
or not, people suffer
and die. Even here. Because the world is all just wrong.
[the Powers look at each other for a silent moment
before turning their shimmering
gaze back on the mortal spirit]
Manwe: [quietly]
How, then, would you
have ordained the world?
[pause]
Beren: [short]
I'm serious.
Varda:
As are we.
[he looks at them, exasperated, but they're a lot more patient than he is]
Beren: [sarcastic, playing along, but getting caught up in
it]
Oh sure, you want me
to solve all the problems in the universe. How to end
suffering and warfare.
Hm.
[thinking out loud]
Well, let's see . . . for starters, no Morgoth.
Varda: [earnest]
He cannot be destroyed.
Even were we to battle him again -- which itself would
ruin as much or more
as he has done, and serve his purposes even as we attempted
to counter them -- we
cannot end him. His spirit is as eternal as ours, and may
only be restrained by
our strength, but never slain, though his shape may be
harmed according to
the laws of earth and flesh.
Beren:
I mean just -- never
make him, so he can't think of things to do to the world.
That would eliminate
them before they ever happened, right?
Varda:
Melkor did not compel
any of those who followed him to do so. Lied to them,
yes; suggested potentialities
to them that otherwise had never crossed their
minds; intimidated those
who wished to resist him. But if he could have forced
any to join him regardless
of will, would he not have done so to me, first
of all?
Beren: [frowning]
You? Why you?
[the High King of Arda covers his face with his
hands, while his Queen tilts her
head and Looks at the mortal with as much amusement
as a body shaped of starlight
and midnight can convey]
Varda:
Why Luthien the Nightingale?
--Why Arien of the Burning Heart? And many, many
more, most never given
names in your speech.
[as it starts to add up, Beren looks from her
to her consort in growing surprise,
then at the floor with an expression of chagrin.]
--Because there are those
who cannot bear the thought that beauty should be
free, that joy should
take cause from any source but themselves, that another
will should be strong
and use that strength for any other purpose but at their
pleasure.
[with a touch of sharpness creeping in]
I am not a collectible
either. Nor will I ever be a slave -- still less,
then, a tool
for another's ambitions.
Manwe:
If my elder had not
chosen to subject all voices to his own, and silence all
who would not sing his
tune -- still would those who gladly made themselves
his captains and spies
been free to choose to do the same, though weaker their
voices and smaller the
discords than he causes.
Varda:
Even we. Even in us
the lure of domination might rise, did we not take our
first and greatest joy
in being, not in having.
[louder]
--Even I might have refused
to allow any other light save my Work to shine
upon the world, commanded
that no rival stars be made from earth by cunning
hands, or when the Darkness
came, declared that so 'twas meant to be, and
never should any other
brightness defile the sky to hide my art, forbidden
my fellow Voices to
call forth the Two whose light obscures them, and fought
them if they refused
to obey me -- and given my love the choice between my
will, and my love. Even
I might fall, did I not ever strive against jealousy
and falsehood in my
heart. --Even I.
[softer]
Banishing a Voice unheard cannot prevent discord from rising in another's Song.
Beren: [pleading]
But can't you make
them be good? Without Morgoth you're the most powerful,
right? So why can't
you just change it?
Manwe:
How?
Beren: [frustrated]
I don't know,
I'm not a god. --Just stop them from being able to do anything
harmful.
Manwe:
Have you the
power to do harm?
Beren: [snorting]
I'm dead now.
Manwe:
We are aware of that.
Can one not choose to work to good or to ill, even in
fetters, when
no bodily power save the mind's ability to affirm, or deny,
to forgive, speak love
or hate, defy -- is all that remains?
[pause]
Have you not yet such power within your mastery?
Beren:
--Some.
Manwe:
Housed or not, whence
comes that power?
[pause]
Beren: [reluctant]
From me. Deciding
what to say or do.
Manwe:
Shall we take it from
you? Leave but an image of yourself, that cannot speak
any thought that does
not first come from mine, or work any wish that does not
come from hers? What
is left of Beren, when we have done so? Of any person,
mortal, deathless, or
divine?
[silence]
Beren: [grim]
Is -- is that what you're
gonna do to me?
[the Powers shake their heads]
Why not? I've caused you enough trouble, I bet.
Varda:
No one has that right.
--None.
[pause]
Beren: [smiling sardonically]
Not even me. I get it.
Manwe:
Nor even, entirely,
the power. To destroy is not to govern; to slay, not to
rule. Do not the Enemy's
own servants even rebel so far as they are able?
[pause]
Beren:
Okay, then . . . let's
tackle this a different way. Defensive, not offensive.
[frowning]
How's this? I wouldn't
have anything that could be hurt or destroyed. And
nothing that could do
harm or be used to destroy things. Nothing caused by
Morgoth, or tainted
by him.
[looking up at them with his head on one side, cockily]
I think that should do it.
Manwe:
Truly?
[Beren nods]
Varda:
Nothing?
[he shakes his head]
Varda:
Manwe: [unison, sadly]
Behold the world of
your
Song--
[in the windows the village disappears from the
valley and the castle from
the mountainside. Followed, in turn, by the
soaring birds and deer, and then
the vegetation, leaving only bare earth, rock,
and water under an empty sky]
Beren: [angry]
No. That isn't
what I said.
Varda:
Nothing mortal is left
-- nor Eldarin, for to live and to know is to be able
to suffer.
Manwe:
But even now, there
are still those things which may be harmed, and those
which were caused by
my elder.
[the stream vanishes, and the mountains sink
down into the earth, leaving an
empty plain under the sun, which fades slowly,
not setting, right from the middle
of the sky. As the horizon reddens and darkens:]
Nor will the moon rise
to take her place, for neither Anor nor Isil would
have come to be, were
it not for the deaths of the Two. Is this lightless
world, too dead for
Death to work any further harm upon, better than the other?
[pause]
Beren: [stubbornly]
The Stars weren't made
by the Enemy. They can't destroy anything.
[in the deepening gloom, points of light reappear,
gradually returning almost to
their real splendour]
Varda:
But they were made for
our fellow Children, and to warn Melkor against doing
harm to the world. So
they, too, were partly caused by him.
[pause]
Beren:
Still -- not made by
him, and -- they can't be hurt. They're just lights.
Varda: [calm]
But even my works will
not last forever, and in time they too will reach
the end of their lifespan,
and the Heavens will fail, and then there will
be nothing left but
the changeless Dark.
[in the windows the Stars slowly go out, leaving
only blackness -- the only
lights now are from the three spirits conversing
there]
And we, too, are banished
from your Song -- for we have been harmed with Ea,
and we must suffer in
this All-that-is of ours.
[he does not answer]
Two times already you
have denied the Void. Will you now, at the last, reject
the World?
[pause -- Beren looks silently at the wall of
unending Night, and then at the
Starmaker, for an equally long moment, and then
slowly bows his head]
Beren: [almost whispering]
No.
Varda: [with a shading of approval in her remote voice]
We hoped you would not.
Manwe: [equal approbation]
Well-chosen, friend.
[the star-dome returns as it was, blue-white,
blue-black, silver-iridescent,
shimmering over them.]
Beren: [bitter smile]
Huh.
[he looks at them again, at last; softly:]
What should I do?
[simultaneously]
Manwe:
Varda:
We do not know.
[he bows his head again, shaking it]
Beren:
Right.
[he turns as if in a daze, or concussed, and
begins walking wearily towards
the Stair.]
Varda:
What will you do?
Beren: [brokenly]
I don't know.
[at the door he looks back, speaking over his shoulder:]
The Stars -- they were
very beautiful . . . Thank you for making them.
--And for the Eagles.
[He turns again and steps through the Door, and
vanishes. The King and Queen
look at each other sadly and clasp hands between
their thrones.]
[the Hall]
[Luthien is looking a bit hectic and brittle
as she talks, just short of
ranting, with the illusion of more control than
actually is present. It is
a very awkward situation for her audience, who
cannot actually do anything
to help the distress to which they are witness,
and haven't anywhere else
to go -- though Luthien is fairly unaware of
their presence at the moment
now that Finrod has gotten her started talking,
and would probably not
notice if they left or not.]
Luthien:
And everyone kept trying
to make me feel that it was my fault for being
miserable, as if I were
just -- choosing to be unhappy, out of spite, to
punish them. Not that
if I'd known what they were going to do after I
wouldn't have
wanted
to -- but I'm not Gifted that way. Not like Mom.
[shaking her head]
It's so strange, looking
back on that time, and knowing now what I didn't
know then, not just
about what was happening to Beren and you, but about
everything. How
things would happen. What people would do. That they would
make those decisions,
and what I would do, and now it's like watching other
people playing chess,
and seeing the strategies they're using, and knowing
how the game is going
to go, and not being able to do anything about it,
because they won't listen
to advice. Only it's not really like that, because
it's all in the past.
--But would we have listened, if we had actually known
what was going to happen,
or would we not?
Angrod: [quietly]
We didn't.
[Finarfin tries to catch his gaze, but he won't look up]
Luthien:
The worst thing was
how they all expected that it would pass, if I weren't
being so perversely-stubborn.
"I can't just get over him," I kept telling
everybody--
[with a narrow Look at the Ambassador]
--"and I'm not singing
because I don't feel like singing, not because
I'm trying to make you
feel guilty, and I'm staying out in the woods all
the day round because
I can't stand to be around here, and at least there
I can remember him even
if it hurts -- not because there's still a spell
on me."
[angry sigh]
And Dad would say things
like "He's not coming back, he's certainly not
crying his eyes out
over you, and he isn't worth your notice, let alone
getting despondent over,"
and Mom would say, "You don't understand," and
when I'd say -- "What?
So tell me--" she'd just shake her head and sigh
and give me this pitying
smile, until I'd start saying it was the same
as them, and
then she'd get upset.
[icy emphasis]
And everyone wanted me
to
just be happy. --Or to stop being unhappy so that
they wouldn't have to
feel uncomfortable around me, at least. That was the
worst -- when I realized
that it wasn't -- at least not entirely -- concern
for me that made them
want me to be normal and back to my old self.
Amarie: [aside]
Aye, that's a
tune its burden I ken well.
[her lips tighten in angry recollection]
Luthien: [getting more and more precise]
I felt so -- so drained
and horrible at first, after the numbness wore
off, that I thought
I was fading -- and I told people that, and they
laughed. "Don't
be silly." --Don't be silly--! That was what they told
me. Because you can't
really be in love with a human, so you can't be
fading, even if he was
dead. --Only Daeron didn't laugh. He knew it was
real. He always knew.
[she wipes her eyes furiously while Finrod looks
up over her head to meet
Aegnor's burning Look]
Finrod: [quietly]
I never said that. --You
said something very close to that, when you came
to ask me for help.
--I didn't laugh, either.
Luthien: [oblivious to their interaction]
And I thought he was
sorry because he understood now, because he believed
me, that it was an accident
in a way, an honest mistake of him fearing for
me -- not that he was
jealous and didn't care that we were truly in love.
He was so understanding
and sympathetic, listening to me for hours, and it
never occurred to me
to think that he was doing it for an ulterior motive.
[the tears start winning over her self-control again]
Elenwe: [shaking her head]
'Tis a strange and wondrous
thing, such avarice for love, that sorroweth
at others' joy, nay,
had liefer suffer in solitary darkness than take
delight in the shining
world else, and seemeth much akin to that which
denieth joy to others,
when to share delight should cost one naught of
loss, nay, moreover
but little distance, to that Darkest joy that feedeth
but on sorrow.
Ambassador: [hackles raised]
My lady, we of the Twilight
are not of the Dark, and little would you presume
to think it, did you
know our Lord and Lady in their gracious selves.
Finarfin: [not angry, but stern]
Sir, we do not for ever
here compare our very selves unto our sundered Kin,
but most of all do speak
and think of that which hath our present and former
experience encompass't.
--Such, I do believe, is most commonly the way of it,
among any folk of any
race, else place, else Age. My kinswoman did set in
balance the deeds of
this thy Daeron against them of Feanor my brother, and
deem both at some near
remove from th'envious soul of him our common foe,
the Lord of Fetters
-- no more.
[pause]
Ambassador:
I do beg your pardon,
gentles. The dissensions that your rebel element's
return have made within
this Age throughout our lands have caused us to be
somewhat over-ready
in taking insult; but I should have considered first
that those most near
to Felagund would scarcely speak with the same arrogance
as others.
[Elenwe is as indifferent to the apology as to
the reason for it, but
Finarfin exchanges a wry glance with his brother's
shade -- the "relative
of Finrod" status is a sensation which takes
some getting used to]
Luthien: [unable to stop crying, embarrassed]
I'm sorry, this is so
stupid--
[Eol chuckles -- Finrod turns to give him a lethal
glare while Fingolfin turns
away from the sight of his son-in-law's ghost,
clenching his fists]
Finrod: [to Eol]
Say anything,
kinsman, and I will both personally and vicariously beat you
into the floor.
Repeatedly,
until you learn better manners or the Powers ask
me to stop, whichever
comes first. Understood?
[Eol doesn't deign to respond, but doesn't say
anything to or about Luthien.
Aredhel smirks, just a little]
Captain: [grim approval]
No shortage of volunteers,
for that.
[the Noldor princess leans towards him, in a familiar aside]
Aredhel: [offhand]
You know, it's a shame
your sister isn't here.
[the Captain starts, and then stares fixedly
ahead at her words, with the
expression of someone who does not dare to say
anything just yet, or else is
choking on too many things to be said all at
once. Finrod's cousin goes on:]
She's so much fun
-- I'd enjoy having her about, and then there'd be someone
on my side finally.
[pause]
Luthien: [sobbing]
"I can't just
cheer up," I said, "and I'm not even going to try -- are you
crazy?" And then
-- people started pretending -- pretending -- that I wasn't
there--
[overlapping]
Amarie:
Would that I might have
had such inattention 'gainst myself!
Teler Maid:
Only one person ever
did feign I was not present.
[their respective partners react with obvious
tenseness and chagrin. The Captain
looks at Aredhel at last:]
Captain: [absolutely neutral and pleasant]
It's funny you should
say that, your Highness, because my lord's sister and
I were discussing the
same thing on the Ice once, and what the Lady Galadriel
said to me was, "Good
thing Suli's smarter than either of us -- I'd hate to
have drawn her into
this," and I agreed absolutely with every point of it,
in every possible way.
[longer pause]
Luthien: [sarcastic]
"Just forget
about him" -- as if!
Finrod: [rueful]
At least you didn't
have siblings telling you that you ought to find
someone else.
[Amarie gives him a sudden diamond-flash Look,
but his attention is on
comforting Luthien. Angrod and Aegnor share
involuntary, guilt-filled
glances. Aredhel narrows her eyes at the Captain]
Aredhel: [coldly]
My cousin indulges your
impertinence shamefully.
Captain:
No, as a matter of fact,
the word you want is "abets," my lady. I manage
things that it would
be inappropriate for him to take official notice of.
--Unless you're referring
to that one time when I broke your nose by accident.
--Which I wouldn't have
done if you'd clobbered me from in front rather than
behind. Did you want
me to apologize for that again, your Highness?
Aredhel:
No.
Captain: [meaningfully]
Just a little friendly
advice -- I really don't think you should express
your indignation on
behalf of your friends quite so -- energetically this
time, when someone says
anything about the sons of Feanor in the near future.
Aredhel:
Do not tell me
what to do. You're not one of my counselors.
[snorting]
--I don't consider you a friend, either.
Captain: [easily]
Yes, but I consider
the Lord of Dogs and Beren and Princess Luthien mine,
in their own ways. They
don't need more trouble, even if you aren't worried.
[with a sidelong Look]
Besides, Highness, what
do you care what anyone says to you? You never let
it affect you one way
or the other.
Aredhel:
Shut up.
[Luthien pounds her clenched hand on her knee,
until Huan lifts up his head with
a whine and rests it on her lap]
Luthien: [raising her voice]
"He's not a tame deer,"
I said, "I didn't lose a pet -- and I didn't
lose a game either,
it isn't just that I was humiliated in front of
everybody -- I can't
just brush it off and move on to the busy fun-
filled rest of my life,
and you trying to 'help' me by making me
participate in silliness
and make-work are just making it worse by
making the contrast
between your lives and what's been done to us
all the stronger!"
[she shakes her head, stroking Huan's muzzle
absently as she goes on,
getting hiccoughy again]
And they said -- you're being -- heartless. --And irrational.
[her voice gives out and she lets Finrod pull
her against his shoulder
so she can just cry.]
Fingolfin: [sad]
Those twin goads of
loneliness and anger do serve as spurs to action
at the need, but in
the quiet hours and between-whiles how such terrible
weights drag upon the
heart and mind and even flesh and bone, so that
only action cure them,
for a little while . . .
[his living relatives look at him with both sympathy
and a little surprise
at this display of reflection on the part of
one so formerly brash, but his
daughter shakes her head scornfully]
Aredhel: [impatient]
Oh, Father, when
are you going to stop feeling sorry for yourself? It's
embarrassing
to be around you any more.
[Nienna's Apprentice has a sudden coughing fit
-- he waves his hand in dismissal
as people turn and stare at him]
Apprentice:
Sorry. Something stuck
in my throat.
[aside]
--Words.
[very quietly and looking (for him) quite uncertain
and awkward, the Lord Warden
of Aglon comes in, scanning the chamber and
not seeming to find whomever he is
looking for. As he stands there by the doorway,
the Lord of Dogs lifts his head
and bares teeth in his direction, snarling softly,
and both the Steward and his
ex tense up -- Finrod sets one hand on his counselor's
shoulder and takes hold
of Huan's collar with the other, addressing
all of his following in an undertone:]
Finrod:
--Disregard him unless
and until he makes a scene.
[after hesitating there the Lord Warden begins
a very circuitous journey towards
the side of the dais where the Apprentice is
sitting, very obviously avoiding
everyone else as well as avoiding looking at
them, his carriage very stiff and
haughty.]
Eol: [spitting the words]
I'll not share the same
floor with one of them--
[he starts to rise]
Aredhel: [brightly]
Farewell!
[at that he glares and sits back down, caught
between two horns of the dilemma
of controlling pride]
Soldier: [quietly]
Mithrim again.
Fingolfin:
Aye.
Elenwe: [curious]
What signifieth that
word?
Finrod: [grimacing]
Long story. It's the
lake where we first set up a permanent camp, you
see . . .
[as he gives a very quick rundown for
the cousin who never set foot there, the
partisan of Feanor comes to stand next to Nienna's
Apprentice, wearing a bleak
and very uncomfortable expression]
Aglon: [abrupt]
Where's your Master?
[the Apprentice shrugs]
I need to talk to her.
Apprentice:
Join the crowd.
Aglon: [ice]
I am in no mood for
your humour now.
Apprentice:
Wasn't joking. I don't
know where she is, and I badly want to ask her advice,
so that makes two of
us at least here. --Join the crowd.
[shrugs again]
Or don't, as you please.
[the Warden of Aglon glares at him for a brief
moment, looks around at the others
uncertainly and realizes that he is not
the center of all attention, that nobody
is giving him more than passing notice, and
slowly makes his way a little distance
off, sits down -- but not so far that he is
completely out of the conversation.]
Elenwe:
Little other than Tirion
in the time of unrest it seemeth -- to journey so
far afield, and yet
make all as 'twas homewards!
[she shakes her head in mild amazement at their folly]
Finrod:
Yes, but there it was
different because we knew they'd killed, instead of
just having it be this
mysterious and unspoken possibility as it was in the
Day of innocence. So
it was pretty unpleasant for us, as you might imagine.
[the newcomer gives him a hostile Look, but does
nothing. To Luthien, who has
cried herself out again:]
Would you like more water?
Luthien:
No, thank you, I'm fine,
I -- I'll be all right.
[she wipes her eyes again and goes on in a thin forced tone of normality]
Would you believe, my
parents actually were put out with me because --
they said --
it was my fault they couldn't take their summer holiday that
year!?
[with a grim smile of beyond-outrage exasperation]
And I said, "My heart
is broken, and you're complaining because you don't
feel you can go on vacation."
And Dad said, "You'll get over it."
[wry]
--I didn't.
[Elsewhere: the shadowy Stair]
[Beren goes blindly down the steps, bent and
defeated, his unsteadiness
increasing with each pace, until he stumbles,
falling to his knees as though
drunk -- or wounded -- and lies sprawled on
the descending staircase, his
eyes closed and his face set in an expression
of grim misery. For one instant
he tries to push himself up, but his hand slips,
his balance is gone, and he
slams down hard against the stone again, and
lets his head rest with a sigh.
As the camera draws out from his face we see
that the dark stairway has changed,
into a slope of cindery grains, beyond which
are yet more dark hills and dunes
interrupted by the occasional sharp and broken-edged
rock. There is a cold light
over all, as if from a full moon that cannot
yet be seen beyond the horizon,
but no stars, and nothing living to be seen
anywhere . . .]
[the Hall]
[Nearly everyone is paying close attention to
Luthien's account of the
abrupt shattering of Doriath's serenity, although
Aredhel is boredly
flipping a dagger into the air and catching
it in various creative ways,
and as a result the Teler Maid is watching her
with the disconcerting
fascinated focus of a cat. Whatever temptations
are simmering in her
mind however apparently requiring some level
of cooperation, any nefarious
plans are presently held in check -- every time
she looks pleadingly at
one or another of the Ten, the Captain shakes
his head definitely against
it; for the present the White Lady is safe from
juvenile mayhem.]
Luthien: [earnestly to Finrod]
I'm so sorry, you must
be so bored listening to me complain about my
family by now.
[she is in much better control of herself right
now, but clearly still
fragile. Her cousin shakes his head]
Finrod:
No. I'm -- rather upset
by the fact that part of me was still convinced
that some of it had
to be -- not exaggerated, perhaps, but at least
somewhat magnified
and distorted by report, and -- that I was wrong.
I -- did expect
much better of Elu and your mother than that.
[he looks very downcast and rather agitated]
This is the first time
in the past twelve years that I've regretted 'Tari
going out East. If she'd
been there, I'm certain things wouldn't have come
apart this way.
[his father's attention sharpens, but the (living)
King of the Noldor does
not interrupt]
Luthien: [sighing]
Me too. From the very
start.
[with a slight smile]
She hates being
called that, you know. It annoys her worse than when you
roll the "d" in her
name.
Finrod: [shrugging]
Of course. That's why
I do it. Someone's got to make her laugh when she
starts getting all "Harken,
fools!" over trivial things. Going on a picnic
in May is not
organizing a rope-bridge traverse over a crevasse and sometimes
she forgets that.
Steward: [observing quietly, apparently to Huan]
You know it's gotten
out of control when I start wondering if it's really
necessary to redistribute
the weight in the saddlebags just one more time
and if it will make
any difference if we've four dozen different choices
of menu or only thirty-six.
[the Doriathrin lord smiles faintly but quickly
restrains his humour at the
recollection; Finarfin's expression is a study
in melancholy longing]
Luthien: [wryly]
And we still forgot,
what was it, the walnut-butter? No, apple jelly.
[frowning at Finrod]
Only that was because
you
nicked it to tease her, and then you forgot you'd
put it in your wallet
until we'd gotten home.
[pause]
You're cheering me up again.
Finrod: [rueful smile]
Sorry. I'll try not
to do it again.
[she gives him a light swat with her fingers on his elbow]
Luthien: [serious again, but in a sort of whimsical-remote
tone]
No, but really, it was
as if I was the only adult left in Doriath, and
everyone else was acting
like -- like -- I don't know, like spooked
animals in a thunderstorm
or something. There's Mom -- "Let's just
pretend nothing's happening,"
-- right after she's just told me that
oh, yes, Beren's being
tortured in a dungeon and the only brightness
in his life is remembering
us
-- but don't go ask your father for an
army, and don't even
think
about trying to rescue him yourself, because
you'll just be miserable
afterwards anyway. There's Daeron -- "I won't
help you for his sake,
because I'm upset with him for making you so
unhappy, even if it's
not reasonable -- but I'll do it for yours."
[tossing her head scornfully]
Huh -- with this friends
like this, enemies have to wait their turn.
And then there's Dad,
alternating between shouting at me, shouting at
Beren even though he's
not there, and pleading with me in tears to just
stop it all and promise
that I wouldn't try to follow him.
[she laughs shortly]
--And then there's me,
feeling like -- feeling like maybe this was what
it felt like here,
when the Darkness came and everybody went half-crazy
like we heard--
[with a raised-eyebrow Look at Angrod]
--in bits and pieces, to be sure.
[transferring the Look to the Ambassador]
And then there's everybody
else, making perfectly-reasonable suggestions
about what should be
done to the madwoman, like keeping me locked in my
rooms for a hundred
years, except no, that wouldn't work, because I'd get
sick and pine not being
able to see starlight and trees, unless what if
we put her to sleep
for all that time instead, except that wouldn't work
because nobody's powerful
enough except maybe Mom and she wouldn't get
involved, so then somebody
comes up with the brilliant suggestion of
sticking me up in the
top of Hirilorn, which was just fiendishly brilliant,
and who was it who came
up with it any way, you or cousin Galadhon -- or
I suppose it doesn't
matter now, does it . . .
Eol: [confused and disgusted]
Why wouldn't it?
[Luthien stares at him in equal confusion]
The wrong does not cease
to have been done you, because you are dead and
there's no way now for
you to revenge yourself against the perpetrator.
[Elenwe turns and slowly looks at him as though
he were some repellent but
fascinating beast]
Elenwe:
'Twas yon will to vengeance
that did animate thy foes, was't not? And
burning vengeance that
drove my lord his uncle, and's father, across
the Sea unto their Dooms.
[earnest]
It must come,
an end to vengeance -- else ne'er end shall come in Arda,
nor only Arda its ending.
Eol: [controlled, mocking irony]
Spare me your pious
mysticism,
Light-elf.
Elenwe: [mild]
Aye -- yet shall any
spare thee from thyself, kinsman?
[the Warden of Aglon gives her a strange, troubled
Look and then turns away,
staring out into the shadows with an expression
of longing]
Luthien: [ignoring Eol and continuing to Finrod]
You know, I finally
felt sorry for Galadriel after it came out about the
Kinslaying. It's funny
-- I felt sorry for you all, getting shouted at by
Dad, but I was too upset
with her to pity her at all, back when it happened.
I mean, I forgave her,
and it was all right between us, like with her and
Mom, but when it first
was all still going on, after you left, and my parents
made her sit down and
fill in all the gaps and verify Mom's guesses--
[shaking her head]
--I just felt betrayed.
Because I felt like she was a little sister, or
even better, because
she was so different from everyone else I knew in
Doriath and I knew her
so much better than you, because she lived with us.
I'd never had a friend
like her before, and she was so clever and exciting
and had so many stories
to tell . . . and then I realized how much she'd
been leaving out, and
why,
and it just made me sick.
[in the background, the palantir is glowing softly,
but no one is paying
attention, and no one notices, not even Nienna's
Apprentice. Eventually
it goes dark again.]
I wouldn't talk to her
for I don't know how long. I stayed up in the
trees because I didn't
even want to look at her, or hear her try to
apologize to me. When
Mom and Dad were raking her over the coals and
Celeborn took off to
stand guard with the Rangers for a while and said
he didn't know if he
was going to come back, what was the point of
setting up a communications
system if the people it was meant to reach
weren't going to talk
to us -- I just felt it was justice.
[Huan starts making increasingly-loud Please-Don't-Be-Unhappy!
whines and
she reaches down to shush him. With a profound
sigh:]
I still do. I don't think
there's any comparison between concealing the
story of the Darkening
and all but lying to Mom while she was taking
everything Mom would
teach her, and not even telling Dad his best friend
had been murdered until
she had to, let alone the rest of it -- and my
keeping Beren's presence
for myself. I knew he wasn't a threat to us,
-- and he wouldn't have
been, if they hadn't made him into one. But when
it was my turn to be
questioned and reprimanded and cross-questioned and
scolded again and again,
I understood why she would have tried to put it
off forever, pretend
that everything was all right and deny it when it
wasn't, for as long
as possible -- because there's nothing more horrible
than having the people
you love look at you as if you've changed into
something awful, or
been
changed--
[seriously]
I'd forgiven her, but
I hadn't ever pitied her before. But I finally
knew what she must have
been feeling, and how much it must have hurt
inside, and I finally
thought, "Poor Galadriel."
[with an uneven smile]
I only then realized
how much it must have hurt for us to call her
that -- Galadriel, I
mean, not "poor" -- because of it being the name
Celeborn gave her, until
they got back together again after all that.
What else were we going
to call her? I don't think it even occurred to
us to use her other
ones. But she never gave any sign of what it must
have felt like. I wasn't
that brave -- though it was the other way
around, I wanted
them to use the name he'd given me -- but . . .
Finrod: [gently]
There was at least as
much pride involved as unwillingness to embarrass
you. --I know what we're
like. She wouldn't have admitted that it made
her unhappy any more
than I ever let on that being teased by my relatives
for having a Dwarven
aftername once bothered me.
[his uncle looks penitent, while his living relatives look interested]
Luthien: [frowning]
It did?
Finrod: [correcting]
The jesting -- that
got old quickly. It stopped mattering when I asked
myself why it
did, being a true name, and given that I held the wisdom
of the one who had occasioned
it in far higher esteem than those kinsmen
who laughed at the thought
of Elves living in burrows underground.
[Luthien gives the High King of the Noldor in
Beleriand a hard Look -- then
on a sudden inspiration turns and catches the
Princes also looking rather
embarrassed]
Luthien: [dry]
No, well, you wouldn't
have heard any teasing like that around our House,
obviously.
Finrod:
Why do you think I used
to invite myself over for long visits? It wasn't
only for the
free music.
Luthien:
I thought it
was to argue over the nature of Time with Dad. That's what it
seemed like.
[with a small reminiscent smile]
Galadriel and I used
to have bets on how long it would take for you to
start arguing about
whether Time was a constant or not and who would be
the first one to say
the words "axle of the heavens."
Finrod: [loftily]
We -- discussed other
things, too. On several occasions.
[checks]
Sorry -- I'm cheering you up again.
Luthien: [with a nostalgic smile]
It's all right.
[dreamily]
It's kind of nice . .
. to remember being happy and safe and not worried
or angry. It wasn't,
when I was alive -- it just made things so much worse.
[checking]
Is that -- another
reason -- why you all never wanted to talk about Aman
the way Mom did?
[Finrod nods sadly]
Nerdanel: [shaking her head, bemused]
I confess, I do find
it a great wonder and a difficulty, to conceive of
young Artanis wed.
Aredhel:
It's even funnier thinking
of her living the primitive rustic life out in
the woods all the
time, not just going out on hunting trips but staying
in a cave with no conveniences
and no technology surrounded by illiterates.
[Eol snarls at this; Luthien gives the Noldor
Princess a cool, thoughtful look
as the latter says leadingly]
Though someone as dull and dutiful as he sounds might be pleasant . . .
[she smiles at her husband's expression; for
the first time she seems to
properly notice her aunt's existence.]
--What are you doing here anyway, 'Danel? You're not dead.
Nerdanel: [brusque]
I do recollect me that
once thou hadst better manners, when thou didst
guest within my House
-- else better mastery of thy inconsideration.
[she gives Fingolfin a Look that says volumes
(or centuries, rather) about
past familial interaction]
Finrod:
'Feiniel, you know we've
told you what the Thousand Caves were like,
not quite a thousand
times, but often enough.
[Aredhel tosses her head as she catches her dagger
by the point and spins
it about her fingers]
Aredhel:
Yes, but it's amusing
to watch my consort strangle over wanting to
contradict me but not
wanting to say anything nice about his royal
cousins whatsoever.
[this doesn't impress any of her relatives --
favorably, but it does inspire
the Elf from Alqualonde to beg for her friends'
assistance again]
Teler Maid: [urgent whisper]
Please! Oh please, just
but once!
[she clasps her hands and makes puppy-eyes at
the Captain, but he shakes
his head]
Captain:
Be patient, Ternlet.
[she sulks a bit, and starts eyeing the Apprentice
speculatively as her next
target in would-be conspiracy]
Finarfin: [hesitantly to Luthien]
Gentle kinswoman, I
had not willingly to interrupt thy discourse further
-- yet must I perforce
wish to, would I or no; and thus I'll entreat thy
gracious indult that
thou might say, and thou wouldst in mercy, of what
temper and measure and
spirit be this thy kinsman, that hast been named
in hearing as one Celeborn
-- and eke my son as yet unknown to me, by
bond of love.
[Luthien blinks for a moment]
Luthien:
What's he like--?
Well, um . . . he's my cousin . . . he likes messing
around with boats, he's
got a good way with trees -- he can be pretty
stubborn, sometimes
-- of course, that's all of us--
Finrod: [cutting in]
He's pretty reasonable
most of the time, I always thought.
Aegnor: [muttering]
Yes, but you only say
that because he usually agrees with you.
Finrod:
And your point is--?
[his living relatives are not sure how to take this]
Angrod:
You two argued for almost
a month over the special boat service you
wanted Menegroth to
implement as part of your communications network.
Finrod:
Yes, but he came round
to my way of seeing things in the end, so that
was all right.
Nerdanel: [raising an eyebrow]
And thou dost rebuke
others for fault of arrogance?
Finrod: [snorting]
You think I believe
only agreement is a sign of rationality? Not at all
-- his objections were
mostly well-founded, and indicated things which
needed to be worked
through in more detail, if they hadn't been quite
overlooked. I was referring
to him losing his temper and saying things
he has to apologize
for afterwards, or running off to the Marches instead
of . . .
[he stops talking and looks quickly at and away from Amarie. Pause. Stiffly:]
Never mind about that.
--He isn't unreasonable beyond reason -- most of
the time he is
quite rational and objective.
Finarfin: [still concerned]
Thou art assuréd
of his goodness, his wisdom, moreover that his strength
sufficeth for that thy
sister might not overawe his better sense, as hath
betimes been known of
our House in bygone Day?
Finrod: [slightly mocking tone]
Father, are you asking
me
for my judgment on matters of virtue and prudence?
Finarfin:
Aye.
[pause]
Finrod:
Yes. He loves her enough
to contradict her when he must. There aren't that
many of any of our Kindreds
brave enough to do that. And she loves him
enough to listen when
he does. She knows that she can trust Celeborn to
stand firm upon matters
of principle, even if he'd rather give in to her
for the sake of peace
-- but that in matters of personal pride and no more,
he's strong enough to
bend, and to apologize, and to change his mind when
he sees himself in the
wrong.
Finarfin: [with the slightly-edged tone his son used a moment
ago]
And thou dost not deem
him weak, else irresolute, for all of that?
[pause]
Finrod: [taut]
No.
[Elsewhere: the Dark Land]
[Beren is still lying motionless on the burnt hillside, with all as in the
previous scene, the only movement or sound being a small whisper of wind
over the dunes blowing little drifts of ash about. A tall figure approaches
across the field of defeat, completely robed and muffled in long, flowing
draperies that conceal all individuality and prevent any glimpse of features
beneath the overshadowing hood. There should be a striking resemblence between
Luthien in Act II and She Who Mourns, as she now appears, coming to stand
beside him, still veiled.]
Nienna:
For what do you sorrow,
Child?
[there is a long pause, before he answers, through
clenched teeth, not raising
his head nor even opening his eyes:]
Beren:
--Everything.
Nienna:
--Then for what do you
not weep?
Beren: [bitter]
What difference
does it make?
Nienna:
You might be surprised.
[pause]
What of the griefs that
are yours? What of your pains, and the losses
of home, of comrade
and kin, of joy and hope and song?
Beren:
What are mine,
in the balance of Ea?
Nienna:
If you will not grant
your own sorrow the right of honour, what of
others'--?
[pause]
What then of she who
loves you, who has known so many weary days on your
behalf, each filled
with grief beyond measure, and each heavier than
the last? Is her
sorrow of no worth, for being the sorrow of one only?
[silence -- but alive with tension]
--What, too, of the lady
of the Northlands, who left behind her heart
and her hope, even as
she bore away others' in the strength of her staff
and her sword, repaying
the trust of her people at the cost of heart's
breaking?
[the ash blows in a sudden gust like smoke]
What of her lord,
who dying hoped, but never knew, that the son of their
love yet escaped the
Doom that love betrayed had brought him?
[he makes a choked sound, not quite a sob, but does not move]
What of those lovers,
rent for no wrongdoing of theirs, but only the
misfortune of place,
and time, and the Marring? Or what of the lost, with
their lord and the land
they defended, whose reward for such service was
ever-more privation,
and not even victory to set in mind as the hope or
the fee of it? What
of that land, of the wounded earth and the tortured
trees, and the anguish
of all under the burden of hate?
[Beren gives a convulsive shiver]
What of the people who
loved as well and truly as they hated, hiding their
young lord and holding
his secret in their own despite? Or of those others,
not bound by blood,
nor fealty, nor any tie save friendship, whose faith
held firmer than any
wall or weapon ever shall? What of the King who
suffered shame upon
shame without reproach, and clasped pain still greater
most freely in hope
of sparing friend the same?
[his hand clenches up the burnt sand where it rests]
What of the faithful
Hound, who might not save his master, for all his
strength, and all his
suffering, even at the cost of his own life --
exchange made but folly,
in that Man's dying?
[pause]
Are they not worthy of your tears?
[silence -- he does not answer, but she does
not leave, waiting. After long
moments Beren draws his arm closer against his
face, hiding his expression --
and very quietly begins to cry. ]
[the Hall]
[Luthien has recovered some of her usual animation
and is telling about
her past experiences in a tone made more vigorous
by indignation, though
there is a very tenuous quality to it, like
a gap between clouds on a
midsummer day. (Huan has finagled the Steward
into allowing him to rest
his head on the Elf-lord's lap, and now is lying
on the dais like a docile,
napping Kodiak bear, enjoying non-stop if absent-minded
ear scratching.)]
Luthien:
I was so completely
in shock. I didn't honestly know what I was feeling
at the moment -- it
was as though I were watching myself and wondering
what it was this person
was going to do now, as if I were hearing a tale
about someone that this
was all happening to. And convinced that it wasn't
actually going
to happen -- that I was having a nightmare, just like a
mortal, not that it
was real, but that somehow I was going to break out
of it and find it was
only a dream gone bad. Or if it was real, surely it
wouldn't really play
through to the end of the verse -- that Dad wasn't
really serious, that
Mom wasn't going to pretend she didn't know what was
happening right outside
our front door, which was a pretty impressive bit
of self-deception given
all the work it was to set up rigging and build
a full-fledged house,
not just a talan, all the way up in Hirilorn.
[looking rather anxiously at Finrod]
Was I wrong? Was I stupid
to refuse to give in, and just lie about
it and pretend
to agree to give up Beren, and then leave? Instead of
telling the truth, that
I couldn't make that promise in conscience,
or honor it if I gave
it?
Finrod: [quiet but earnest]
No. Trying to do evil
so that good will come of it is hopeless. It
would have made everything
worse eventually.
[she frowns with a bitter expression, not at him but abstractedly]
Luthien:
I still don't understand
it. --Especially Mom. Even after we came home
I couldn't get any straight
answers out of her. --Any answers, really.
If she knew Beren was
there, why didn't she tell Dad right off? If she
knew I was seeing him,
why did she say nothing to any of us, not even
me? I know they fought
about her silence after he found out that I'd
gone to her for advice
and she didn't say anything to him about what
I said, but -- and then
she didn't stop me, but she didn't help me
either, but then she
sort of did by not preventing me by interfering.
So I just don't get
it.
Nerdanel: [mild]
Belike her tenderness
towards thee did differ in small wise from thine
own most fearful love
and striving to hold safe withal thy Beren from
his fate?
Luthien:
Yes, but then why did
she not not get involved as much as she did
get involved?
[silence]
Amarie: [aside]
There's naught
of sense in that.
Angrod:
Actually, it isn't really
any different from us wondering why the
gods back home didn't
stop things before they got out of hand.
Aegnor: [undertone]
--Here. We are
home, brother.
Amarie:
Aye, and here's the
end forewarnéd of such rebel thinking!
[Finrod looks away in distress; Luthien clasps his hand in sympathy]
Angrod: [pleasantly]
Indeed, here we are
-- and
do you know, I've heard more harping on
that one note in the
last hour, than I have in the past ten years
since we were killed,
from the Powers that rule here?
[pause]
Captain:
More like twelve --
no, thirteen, by now.
[Amarie's expression is set as stone]
Luthien:
Actually, Nessa was
very definite that they don't and didn't know
everything that's going
on in the world, only lots of it. I didn't
get any sense that she
was lying, or even shading the truth, to me.
Nerdanel: [with a touch of trouble-making]
Nay, 'ware thee, cousin,
else my niece-by-love be troubled to heart's
veriest heart by thy
most impertinent impieties.
[the living Vanyar lady reacts with an angry glare]
Angrod: [frowning, with both resentment and confusion in
his tone]
Though that still leaves
the question of how they managed not to
realize what we were
up to, right next door to us as it were.
Fingolfin: [tolerant, but sad]
Nay, lad, have you forgotten
so swiftly, that we did all in our power
to conceal our activities,
and dissembled with smiling faces and lying
silence, at the first,
and then with the guise of our heraldry and devices,
making it seem but one
more new thing we had devised, no more than letters,
or the symbolism of
colors and other such languages, hiding our swords'
forging beneath this
covering most open to the eye, as we covered our
resentments beneath
words of flattery and studiousness that did but steal
all that teaching so
freely given -- and why should they mistrust us from
the first, that had
given us no cause to hate them? If you would be judged
fairly, you must be
as just in your own turn.
[his nephew bridles a bit at being so rebuked,
but nevertheless is thoughtful
and silent at his words; his living kin regard
him with bemusement, but only
his daughter-in-law actually says anything:]
Elenwe: [surprised tone]
Verily, is't thou,
Fingolfin?!
[in the awkward interval of Valinorean surprise
at the fact that Feanor's
eldest brother is talking about prudence and
dispassionate perspective:]
Apprentice: [aside]
I'd regret the fact
that this son of Finwe has learned mercy and wisdom --
even a little -- too
late; but I know my Master and her brother would sigh
and look at me oddly
until I figured out why -- so I suppose I've got to
figure it out before
I say it to them.
[as the family chagrin is set aside in a spontaneous
return to the subject,
simultaneously:]
Finrod:
About Melian -- I've
been thinking--
Finarfin:
Haply else 'twere thy
mother's--
[they both stop at once at the realization that
the other is also speaking,
and look at each other warily, waiting/indicating
for the other to go on.
Finarfin shakes his head a little, and after
a second Finrod continues,
a little more self-consciously]
Finrod:
If in fact Beren's Doom
was to--
[he is cut off by the Princess of Doriath]
Luthien: [intense exasperation]
--Did he say that
to you, too? Mablung told me that, what his last words
were -- but it isn't
true, it can't be, and if you think so then--
[Finrod makes hasty shushing gestures and she
stops mid-rant with an
apologetic Look]
Finrod: [placatingly]
Let's just assume, for
the sake of argument, that Beren is right -- at
least in part; that
he was
meant to recover the Light of the Trees from
the Lord of Fetters,
even if nothing went as it ideally should have.
--Please note, cousin,
I didn't say, "even if he bungled it." I don't
think that any single
one of us -- not even Elu Thingol -- is responsible
for the scale of this
fiasco, any more than any one of us--
[glancing round at his brothers, companions, and uncle]
--is responsible for
the failure of the Leaguer. Considering the level of
Power you were up against,
it's more than amazing you three succeeded in
so far as you did. Beginning
from that premise, ask yourself what Melian
was supposed to do.
[pause]
Luthien:
You mean in a Fate sense
of "supposed," not "what was I supposed to do?"
the way people usually
mean when they say that.
[he nods]
Er . . .
[she shakes her head impatiently]
Finrod, I'm too tired for guessing games.
Finrod:
Well, if you were meant
to help him -- because it's not in question that
he couldn't have done
it alone any more than, as it turned out, I could
have -- then it would
be Melian's duty as one of the loyal Powers to
assist in the project
to steal back the Silmarils. Right?
Nerdanel: [passionately, shaking her head]
Yet how should any parent
-- any that's deserving of the name -- consent
and moreover gladly
thereto, that her child most beloved and so long
reared and sheltered,
now doth go afield and into most grievesome dangers,
into fell perils and
woes both certain and uncertain, nor e'er but restrain
as she is able?
Ambassador: [to Luthien]
The lady has put it
quaintly, yet as well as any might, my Princess.
Luthien: [to Finrod]
Now I'm going to sound
very contrary -- but I'm going to agree. I don't
like the thought of
Mom having -- an ulterior duty of some sort, beyond
to us -- we're her family
after all! -- but that--
[shaking her head]
--just sounds too -- too creepy. And if it is true--
[breaks off, biting her lip]
Eol: [macabre glee]
--It's pretty funny,
if it is -- great Melian, daunted by nothing in the
whole wide World, singlehandedly
holding back the power of the Dark Lord,
handing out bread and
wisdom all these years for the grateful masses and
her adoring husband
-- and coming quite to pieces because with all her
legendary foresight
she wasn't prepared for her daughter taking after
her -- and up
with a travelling stranger. Who'd have thought it, Fate
catching up with the
runaway goddess at last, her thinking she'd done
her divine duties by
looking after the poor benighted savages and it not
being what she'd thought
at all. It's easy to do what you please, and
fancy yourself virtuous,
isn't it? Much harder when you have to give up
something that really
matters -- like your child.
[Aredhel growls at him under her breath, gripping
the hilt of her dagger as
if about to hurl it at him]
Luthien:
Mom's not like that
at all!
Eol: [maddeningly patronizing]
Well, of course you
wouldn't see it, young demigoddess.
Teler Maid: [aside, to the Guard nearest her]
Has he truly killed
someone once?
Third Guard: [nodding]
At least.
[the Sea-Elf stares at Eol with spooked horror, covertly]
Ambassador:
Lord Eol, you wrong
not only our Queen and King, but our entire people
with your groundless
mockery.
Eol: [offensive]
Yes, well, you always
did know what board your bread was on, didn't you?
[the Captain gestures covertly to his team, and
four of the Ten get up and
surround Thingol's kinsman promptly]
Captain: [to Finrod and Luthien]
How far into the floor
did you want him?
Aredhel:
Hah!
Luthien: [dispirited]
Oh, just leave him alone
-- his is just a warped version of what I was
going to say. And it
won't do him any good to beat him up, I'm afraid.
[all of the Noldor shades present look faintly
disappointed, as does the
Doriathrin Ambassador, though the Teler Maid
has only expressed alarm at
the prospect, and Elenwe more amused, if slightly
disapproving, than
anything else]
Soldier: [aside, wistfully]
But he deserves it .
. .
Luthien: [sighing]
Yes, but he doesn't
seem to realize that, and I don't think it will
help him to, either.
[turning back to Finrod as the disappointed Elf-warriors
leave her alienated
cousin alone, with visible regret]
Because if that's
true -- not only is it creepy and disturbing, but then
I'd have to feel sorry
for her, too. And I know I said it felt like I was
the only grown-up and
sane Elf in Menegroth then, but I don't really want
it to have been the
case -- that I was more mature and responsible than
Mom during all of this.
Because that's what it would really mean, if it
was right and proper
for me to pity her for being in over her head and
not able to cope.
Finrod:
I didn't say it was
going to be a cheerful conclusion at all. I'm a little
unsettled by the one
I reached long ago and whose implications I'm still
working out, that I
was supposed to go to Middle-earth.
[looking at his father intensely]
In the Doomed sense of the word.
[there is a moment of uncertain silence from
his family; Huan lifts his head
and gives Finrod an attentive Look]
Amarie: [sharp]
What, in the Song?
[the Steward winces, and there is a general bracing
of selves among Finrod's
following as their sovereign gives his consort
a long, cool Look in turn,
before there is an intervention]
Elenwe: [matter-of-fact]
Most assuredly, such
is th'import of thy lord his words.
Amarie: [derisive]
Oh, but there's an easy
answer -- return to all reproach, that most
pridefully declareth
-- 'Twas Foredoomed so, wherefore I may bear no
guilt in this--!
Aredhel: [piqued aside]
Didn't we hear all this
when we left? Do we need more sanctimonious
lecturing, really?
[she goes back to knife-juggling with a bored
expression, while the Apprentice
listens with intent curiosity -- but no surprise
or disapproval, apparently
unaware that his non-reaction is noted with
interest by various of the Ten]
Elenwe:
Far from, for still
'tis no answer to that which each must ask unto
heart its inmost heart
-- did
I but follow "ought" unto Doom, else did
I but Doom mine own
self for aught of pride, else folly? --Still less
what purpose should
be served, by such a cross-grained mandate, nor
whether it be fulfilled
by deed, by undoing, else by failure. And there's
but the least and eke
the simplest portion of't. For if it be so, then
must be asked thereafter
-- what signifieth this, that the One should
ordain such strife amongst
his Children, nay, set those who strive to
remain in tune at discords,
each unto each the other?
Finrod: [surprised]
I didn't realize you'd
thought this through as well--
Elenwe: [blandly]
Some do spend these
measureless hours in anger, some in despite, some
in despair -- some
had rather go busily to and fro making many diverse
sorts of affairs and
contentions, whilst some others rather do occupy
the passing Ages in
deep seekings after wisdom, the better to comprehend
their Doom.
Finrod: [mock affront]
I'll have you know,
I don't spend all my time dashing about starting trouble!
Elenwe:
There's a great
change, assuredly.
[Amarie breaks impatiently into their affectionate teasing]
Amarie:
Yet thou dost hold it
within potentiality, no less, that deeds done
against the will of
Manwe, nay, in willful disrespect of, as well as
all that's done by cause
of such thereafter -- might yet be holy, and
sanctioned by a higher
Power oversetting yet?
Elenwe:
Aye.
Amarie: [furious]
Out on thee, cousin!
[the Vanyar ghost looks up at the vaulted ceiling, her expression ironic]
Elenwe:
Not yet, I.
[the living Elf-King leans forward, earnest rather
than perturbed by this
cosmic speculation]
Finarfin:
Nay, canst make plain
unto me, what cause thou holdest warrant for thy
certainty, beyond all
those with which ye did reproach me heretofore?
Finrod: [meaningful]
If all else had gone
the same, except only that I had not gone forward
over the Grinding Ice,
and all else had fallen out the same but for what
had been changed by
that--
[checking, frowning abstractedly]
--which actually would
have been fairly significant in the western part
of the country, and
very uncertain -- though I think that whatever the
nominal state of things,
Galadriel would have ended up running the House
overseas, but that isn't
what I'm talking about -- in any case--
[back to his serious tone as before distraction]
--if I had not
been there, who then should have met and dealt with Beor
when they came into
the eastern territories?
[pause]
Finarfin:
Whom, then, meanst thou?
Finrod:
Feanor's children. If
anyone.
[longer, speculative silence]
Angrod: [quiet, but upset]
No. No, and no.
Finrod:
I don't mean that's
the
only.
Aegnor:
--But you think it's
the most important.
[his eldest brother does not deny it]
Admit it -- you do.
Finrod:
Well -- yes.
[their relatives regard this display of cryptic
sibling communication with
worry and confusion]
Aredhel: [impatient]
What are you
three rattling on about there?
Apprentice:
I would have phrased
it differently, but -- precisely.
Aglon: [startling those who have forgotten he's present]
He means that the most
important Deed he accomplished in the course of
the Age, was not
to do with the War, nor in spreading the glories of our
civilization throughout
the disordered wilderness we found there, but
simply this -- that
he should be the one to discover the Followers, and
not my lords' brothers.
[fiercely, to Finrod]
--Is that so?
[pause]
Finrod:
Essentially, though
I'd also phrase it somewhat otherwise.
Aglon: [shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the Elf-King's]
No. I meant -- do you
still believe it, now, after -- after what was done
to you? --In perfect
honesty?
Finrod:
Oh, yes. More so than
ever, that it was my Work to find the Secondborn,
and lead them, to the
knowledge of the West, at least.
[to his lawful relatives]
Something set
me in the Eastern Marches in the proper season, in that
year of all years, where
I had no reason to be then rather than a year
before, or ten years
after; something called me to follow the sunlight
on the distant mountainsides,
to yearn more to see the way the fading
day should change the
lands before me than for the cheerful company of
my own kind -- though
it seemed no more than the truth of the old saying,
that every bit of countryside
should be viewed between the ears of a horse,
until I heard the singing.
--Everything else which I did, or helped in
doing, someone else
of us could have done, or did.
[to Luthien, quietly]
Only I failed there,
too -- and far worse, having so much more by way of
resources at my command,
than Beren ever could be considered to have done.
[very deliberately she takes his hands in her
own, and one after the other
raises them to her lips while he blinks away
tears]
Luthien: [sad]
I keep forgetting, that
you've lost Men you loved too -- that it isn't
just me.
[she turns to look now at Aegnor, who flinches under her gaze]
Aegnor: [involuntary honesty]
Don't -- please, don't
-- I'd rather you hate me than pity me, cousin.
Luthien: [shaking her head]
I'm sorry, I can't help
it. Even if I wanted to.
[Elsewhere: the Dark Land]
[the mortal shade is in the same pose as before, but still now, and relaxed,
not taut with agonized helplessness -- he lies blinking on the sands, utterly
exhausted, while She Who Mourns still kneels behind him. Now she lifts him
up to a half-sitting position, and holds to his lips a shallow bowl made of
a crystal so pure that it, and the water it contains, give a prismatic
reflection (sfx) even in this small amount of light, supporting him while
he drinks with desperate urgency. At last he raises his head to see his
rescuer--]
Beren: [hoarse]
Thank you--
[--but no one is there. As he slowly looks around,
still half-dazed, he sees
only swirling mists in a gradually-brightening
but still very dim light, in
which no shapes nor structures can be discerned.
The ground is also pale now,
the almost-colorless, winter-bleached grass
revealed after the snows have
gone . . .]
[the Hall]
Luthien:
It is sort of funny that they did it to keep me safe, when you think about
what the consequences were. I mean--
[fighting a grim smile]
--it isn't as if I was
particularly
safe, walking myself down the trunk, or
as if given a choice
between sending someone out quite alone and going with
at least a company of
warriors, you'd think that alone was preferable.
Finrod:
Well, I -- don't think
they expected you were going to do something like
that, really.
Luthien:
Why ever not? I'd been
saying I was going to run away and find Beren -- that's
why they locked me up,
after all, wasn't it? So what would give them the
slightest impression
that punishing me that way would make me give up?
Finrod: [biting his lip]
I'm pretty sure that
Elu didn't think you could, or else he wouldn't have
been so careless.
Luthien:
Well, it was lucky for
me that he underestimated me, but--
Finrod: [quietly]
I'm not defending him--
Luthien: [not stopping]
--I really don't see
why Dad thought I would be more inclined to agree with
him if he insulted me--
Nerdanel:
Nay, an erring slight
be else than insult, in truth.
Luthien:
What about calling me
insane? And deluded? We consider those insults back
home where I come from.
Nerdanel: [undaunted by sarcasm]
It hingeth upon purpose
and intent alike, th'import of description, so it
be merest declaration
of percievéd truth, otherwise of scathe.
Luthien:
He called me stupid
-- he called me a brainless baby who didn't know what
I was talking about,
didn't know what lay outside the borders of the country
and that wasn't
courage, that was just my ignorance talking when I said I
was willing to face
the Outside -- he said I took for granted everything I'd
been given and I was
a selfish, vindictive brat who didn't appreciate what
they were doing for
me -- he said I didn't deserve to be treated like an
adult since I wasn't
acting like one--
[she stops, too impassioned to go on in an orderly fashion]
Finrod: [raising his eyebrows]
--As Beren would say,
--Hoo boy.
[he shakes his head regretfully; Nerdanel grimaces,
inclining her head in
acquiescence]
Elenwe:
--Scathing, aye, verily.
Luthien:
Then there was
the bit when I said, "what if you were a prisoner of the
Enemy, what if you'd
got caught and were strung up on his Gates or in his
dungeons, wouldn't you
expect Mom would come after you to rescue you then?"
and he said, "I'm sure
your mother would have the good sense to put her
duty to all of you over
personal considerations and not risk either herself
or the kingdom on a
mad and hopeless venture," and I said but Fingon and
he
raised his voice
to me--!
[loud enough to make people jump]
--And what's more, we both knew perfectly well it wasn't true!!
Ambassador:
L-- Highness, he only
wished to protect you, for your own sake--
Luthien: [biting]
Well, he went about
it in the worst way possible, didn't he, then?
[her compatriot cannot answer her, but another attempts to]
Finarfin:
Aye. That, in truth,
none might e'er deny. --Yet lettest thou nor cease
to bear in mind, that
elders be but Eldar, e'en as their offspring, and
subject no less than
more unto equal passions, to the world's storms and
the heart's disquiet,
and to wrath, and inconstancy, even as to the over-
mastering pride, that
durst not yield concession of any, lest smallest
surrender be presage
to the all; and willfulness doth ever raise the cry
of --Willful!
-- as 'twere a mirrored shield to turn back just rebuke.
[with a sweeping gesture, looking at his sons even as he addresses her]
--For hard indeed, and
surpasseth measure, to be held unto reckoning by
one subject, for fealty,
and if 'tis so, how much more so when him that
challengeth is child
and student, younger in years, in knowing, and in
deed, and holding all
those -- or so it seemeth -- but from one's self,
as a gem's light inwrought
by the artisan; for so easily and swift do we
forget, that neither
earth, nor holy fire, are of our own sole making,
nor aught but gift to
us that we might help to shape it, nor for our own
solitary pleasure, but
that all the world derive the blesséd good of it.
[Luthien looks down, pensive and troubled at
his words; but they are taken
differently by another]
Finrod: [lightly, in a tone of false patience]
Yes, I'm arrogant, I
took the gifts you gave me and squandered them and
encouraged my siblings
in pernicious rebellion -- and I really didn't
need to hear it all
over again, Father.
[the living Elf-King does not say anything in his own defense]
Teler Maid: [aside, uncertain]
But that is not at all
what he meant . . .
Captain:
Sire -- think
about what Lord Finarfin has said.
[Finrod turns and glares at him]
--Use your head, my lord,
not only your heart. As if you were listening
to any other speaker,
at court or in the realm.
[pause]
Finrod: [his voice shaking slightly]
I can't be dispassionate
about it. Not after what he said there -- do you
know what he said to
me then--
Captain: [apologetic]
--Well, yes, I was standing
about this far away at the time--
[he gestures about a yard and a half apart with
his hands; Finrod goes on,
talking right over him]
Finrod: [stifled, almost unable to speak as he goes on]
He called me ungrateful.
He called me a traitor, and a liar as well. He
accused me of making
my way to power through the blood of my family. He
asked me how long
I'd wanted to seize authority from him, while pretending
to be on his side in
all our House debates--!! He said he hoped I would
lose everything the
way he'd lost it, the loyalty of our people the way
I was taking it from
him, have my own flesh and blood turn on me as well,
and leave me in the
same desolation as I was leaving him, before the Doom
of the gods fell on
me.
[Finarfin buries his face in his hands, bowing
his head as both Amarie and
Nerdanel turn, and with the Sea-Mew, stare at
him in shock]
--Well, his wish came true.
[snorting furiously]
He couldn't have cut
me worse than if he'd taken your spear and run it
through my heart--
Captain: [insistent]
Yes, but he's apologizing--
[Luthien nods, her expression earnest agreement,
but Finrod is too upset
to notice]
Finrod: [stiffly]
I didn't hear a "sorry"
in there anywhere.
Captain:
My lord -- only consider
how long and complicated your own apology to
the Powers was, given
that there were parts of what you'd done that you
didn't regret, nor feel
that you ought to regret, either.
Finrod: [very brittle tone]
Even you, now?
Captain: [quietly]
What do you think,
Sire?
[long pause]
Finrod:
Sorry.
[he reaches out his hand to clasp the Captain's]
--Curse or not, it all
served one good purpose, notwithstanding -- to show
me which were my true
friends.
[simultaneous, amused contempt]
Eol:
--Milksop.
Aredhel:
You're such a loser,
Ingold.
[Finarfin raises his tear-stained countenance
in a stern glare at his niece,
while his brother steels himself to rebuke his
daughter and the Warden of
Aglon looks at the couple with a conflicted
dismay]
Aglon: [aside]
--Is that how I appear?
Angrod:
Aredhel!
Aredhel:
What?
[to Finrod]
You know you let your people walk all over you--
Either Angrod or Aegnor: [not quite aside]
--But not his consort--
[the Noldor Princess turns quickly trying to catch who it was]
Aredhel: [dangrously]
--What was that?
[the Princes both look equally innocent, or guilty;
Eol, contrarily, frowns
at them for slighting his wife, but before any
of their respective kindred
can say anything more in reproach]
Soldier: [aloud to his comrades]
We could just bore a
deep hole in the floor and fling them both in.
Second Guard:
But Lady Luthien said
not to.
Fourth Guard:
She didn't say anything
about the White Lady.
Second Guard:
--That's true.
[their conversation arouses both appalled dismay
and involuntary laughter
from the lawful Eldar]
Warrior:
She only said not to
pound him. That doesn't rule out pushing him, does it?
Third Guard:
But Ar-Feiniel is the
High King's scion. Are we allowed to do things to her?
Ranger:
We just won't ask. So
what if we get in trouble after?
[pause -- glancing at the late High King of the Noldor in Beleriand]
Besides, I don't think he'll mind it that much, even if he thinks he ought to.
[Fingolfin winces and looks at the ceiling]
Aredhel: [standing up, furious]
I will not stay here
and be insulted like this.
Eol: [unfazed by any of it, with a casual wave of his hand]
Don't worry, darling,
I'll be here waiting for you -- before or after
your ill-bred countrymen
have indulged their natural inclinations for
bloodshed.
[she glares at him and sits down again in sulky quiet]
Apprentice: [worried frown]
Don't you think you
really ought to be encouraging your followers to
solve problems without
recourse to violence?
Captain: [serious]
They just did. At least
for the moment.
Finrod: [partly serious lament]
Why couldn't I have
been born to some quiet, obscure, uncomplicated
family with no ambitions
and no connections and nothing to do but
employ my skills as
I pleased?
[Finarfin, struggling to control his tears, gives
a short involuntary laugh
at that]
Fingolfin: [entirely serious lament]
Why could I not
have been blessed with servants possessing the intelligence
and courage to call
me down and restrain me, instead of the agreement and
recklessness I mistook
for the former virtues?
Finrod: [snapping right out of humorous self-pity]
Because you didn't choose
people of that caliber to counsel you, uncle.
Luthien: [troubled]
That's an awfully cold
thing to say, Finrod.
Fingolfin:
--Yet the truth, I fear.
'Tis always easiest to choose those that but agree,
and that enthusiastically,
than those discouraging sorts who point out every
possible reason not
to follow the desired course, and what the possible
consequences of any
action are, and the likelihood of the least pleasant of
them to occur as a result,
nor is it particularly pleasant to surround one's
self with those who
do not hesitate to name your faults, as soon or sooner
than to sing your praises,
and still less when there is no question it be
done from loyalty, not
jealousy.
[he bows his head to the Steward, who smiles wryly at this unsought praise]
Finrod: [resigned]
Edrahil, is there anything
else you'd add to that?
Steward: [sadly]
Little -- save to remind
you, my lord, that it requires two to hold converse,
and words which were
said did not go unanswered that Night. --As you yourself
in recollected times
recall, and have regretted that which you said in turn,
which was little less
in harshness.
Finrod: [dark sarcasm]
Little?
[his father makes a hurried gesture]
Finarfin:
--Nay, 'tis no matter--
Luthien: [slowly]
What other sorts
of things did you say to your father, besides calling him
irresolute and weak?
[her cousin starts to answer -- stops, looks
away in shame, tries again and
shakes his head]
Finrod:
I -- can't we just say
it was -- in anger, and let it go at that?
Luthien: [shrugging]
If you're willing to
leave it like an open chasm between you.
Finrod:
You don't--
[checks again -- helplessly]
Luthien, I -- I can't. I'm -- not proud of what I said.
Luthien:
But too proud to repeat
it.
[pause]
You'll have to address
it someday -- which you must have known, unless you
stay here forever really.
[Angrod and Aegnor shift restlessly, avoiding
each other's eyes, and everyone
else's]
Finrod: [sighing]
--Yes. And yes. But
I thought I would have a lot longer to put it off.
--Like 'Tari.
Finarfin: [earnest]
'Tis no matter,
my son.
Finrod: [looking up, his gaze fierce]
But it is. She's
quite right. And I'm a coward, and--
[overlapping]
Finarfin: [amazed aside]
Thou?!
Luthien:
You, a coward?
Finrod:
--I don't want
to revisit that -- that Darkening, I'd much rather pretend
it didn't happen, just
like you -- but it remains a yawning abyss which
will swallow up all
attempts to bridge it over, unfilled. If -- if you
chose to remind me of
my words, Father, that would be one thing, but I --
cannot overcome my shame
at them to utter them again, even to unsay them,
not even though most
people here heard them the first time.
[Luthien looks at him seriously]
Luthien:
But he won't. You can
See that as clearly as I.
Finrod: [bleak]
And I can't.
Captain: [intense]
Then set another the
task in your stead, Sir.
[Finrod turns and stares at him with uncertainty and worry]
Finrod:
That -- is no office
for a friend.
Captain:
If not a friend -- then
for whom?
[after a moment Finrod nods assent, tautly, but
looking somehow relieved that
it's taken out of his hands, as does his father]
I'll make report of you,
for you, to both of you, my lords, and do you tell
me if recollection fails
me.
[Finrod puts his head down on his forearms, hiding his face]
Finrod: [muffled]
Only not all
of it, for Nienna's sake--
Captain: [grim smile]
No, I don't think there's
any need for all six-hundred exchanges less ten
with or without repeats.
The last one is enough--
[he pauses, gathers himself and goes on in a
cold, clipped, ironic cadence
recognizably familiar from Act II, the close
of the Council, despite the
archaic phrasing of this debate]
"Nay, then, sir, do thou
go back in duteous release, winking at thine
own cowardice, and name
thyself faithful and hold thyself high as Oiolosse
in thine own
esteem, and thou will't -- but thou shalt ken, e'en as we,
aye down all thy safe
unthreatened changeless hours, that selfish and
corroded center of thy
spirit, which hath feigned a pious remorse at which
offense nor thou nor
we did e'er commit, nor might have circumvented,
saving only had we forgone
all prudence, and hasted e'en so rashly as our
blood-reckless kin,
and so there's naught of reason in yon self-blaming
for Swanhaven so sad
incarnadined -- no more than in thine accusatory
claims upon me. Indeed,
'tis well hast ceded up thy ring withal, for
certes thou hast
no claim longer upon thy folk that now, saving but for
we that art 'most
willfully rebel 'gainst the gods,' do wander without
guide or guard to their
defence and ordering. Desert them, in their darkest
need, my father, and
name thyself virtuous thereby, in empty Tirion -- and
be
that thy consolation,
as our duty must needs be ours."
"Deceive thyself,
as thou wouldst, O Wise Elf, but do thou rest thee assuréd,
thou dost
not
hide thy falsehood its truth from mine eyes; nor will I pardon
thee, nay though the
Lady of Sorrows in her own most high self should weep
for thy pains, that
hast rent apart nor only our House, but my heart withal,
stealing from me all
my children that thy mastery be complete--"
[he stops, as distraught and shaken as the Kings he has been quoting]
--I'm sorry.
[shaking his head]
I can't do the rest either.
Nerdanel: [mournful]
There's none may wound
another so bitter-keen nor killing deep, as them
that long in love enwoven
dwelt, and afterwhiles be riven--
[it is Luthien's turn to put her arm around Finrod's
shoulders in a gesture
of comfort which is severely lacking by the
looks on the faces of all gathered
there; even the Lord Warden and the embattled
spouses appear somewhat subdued
at the recollected display of familial disintegration
they have just witnessed.
Finrod raises his head to face his father, even
as the Captain rests his forehead
on his hand, looking unwell and upset -- the
Steward quietly urges Huan to get up
and go around behind the dais to his friend,
where the Hound crouches down behind
him like a sphinx, leaning his jaws on the Captain's
shoulder. (The Sea-elf, who
was moving to make a similar gesture, stops
and frowns at the Lord of Dogs.)]
Finrod: [with effort]
I regret . . . all of
my words to you at Araman . . . except those which
which were true, and
remain so.
[Finarfin doesn't say anything, just Looks at him]
We couldn't have prevented the Kinslaying, and--
[frowning]
--it was our duty
to lead, and that fact of duty . . . all my consolation
hereafter.
[silence; Amarie sighs and shakes her head dispiritedly]
Finarfin: [evenly]
And I do ken full well
thou wert no rebel miscreant nor rival unto me, my
wiseling, and would
unsay my charges of that coldest hour. Canst thou yet
pardon me, of thy pity,
for that cruel anger and yet this last, the which
I vow indeed be last,
nor only latest--?
[pause]
Finrod: [softly]
I do, sir.
[Elsewhere -- the brightening mists]
[Beren looks around in the swirling grayness, wary and cautious as he rises
slowly from the matted turf, but in a very hyper-alert way, not able to see
what or where anything else might be. He whirls, as if hearing something, and
then turns back as though glimpsing something from the corner of his eye,
standing very still, taut as a bowstring -- and then someone reaches out of
the fog to tap him lightly on the shoulder, with one quick finger, pulling
back like a playful cat. Beren spins around, making a completely instinctive
and utterly futile attempt to draw nonexistent sword with equally absent hand
before flinging himself down and aside in a defensive roll, coming up in a
crouch ready to fend off the person who has accosted him as best he can.]
[He is not prepared, however, for peals of laughter,
or an iridescent-robed
figure too overcome at his reaction to speak
for several moments, or even to
stand straight. It is Vana, Orome's wife, but
not as we have seen her before
while watching the Loom: now she is The Ever-Young,
the embodiment of Springtime,
and although she is not much taller than Luthien,
she is incomparably more
beautiful and creepy -- for her visible manifestation
changes from moment to
moment, flowers and petals appearing and blending
to form the semblance of her
gown, her jewelry, and even perhaps her hair
and features, so that the Maiden
of Flowers appears not so much as an illusion,
but as a glimpse of something
far more complex and timeless than any single
image could convey.]
Beren: [sharply]
That wasn't funny.
Vana:
Yes, it was.
[she claps her hands delightedly]
It was the most ridiculous
thing I've seen all season. Come on, haven't you
lain around long enough?
[she darts forward, like a bird, and grabs his
hand, tugging him up and spinning
him halfway around as she keeps going, then
releases him to stand and look at him
critically.]
--What are you staring at me for? You've seen me often enough.
[while he is standing there open-mouthed, she
darts off into the mist again and
vanishes, leaving Beren shaking his head in
bewilderment.]
Beren:
But who--
[she reappears behind him again and startles him by tugging on a strand of his hair]
Aah--!
[he turns and gives her an accusing look -- but
she is not there, having turned
with him like a ballerina and stayed out of
his angle of vision -- and then taps
him on the shoulder again. This time he stays
still, statue-like, as though frozen,
while a long moment passes. Finally she sighs
in exasperation and comes around to
face him.]
Vana: [sulky]
You're no fun.
--Why not?
Beren:
Um. --If you haven't
noticed, I'm dead.
Vana:
--So? Lots of people
are.
[she circles him again, in a very stylized movement,
as if she were practicing
dance-steps, seeming to ignore him -- then pounces
again:]
So why are you so grim and dreary all the time? You didn't used to be.
Beren: [dry]
How much time you got?
This could take a while.
[she waves her hand dismissively]
Vana:
You don't need to tell
me about how your life was ruined by Morgoth several
times over, everybody
already knows all about that. I'm talking about now.
Beren:
It still happened.
Vana:
But you can't do anything
about it now. --Can you?
Beren: [getting stubborn-angry]
It's still happening.
Everywhere I go -- everyone is out to get me. It's
not right.
Vana: [disbelieving]
Really?
Beren:
Yeah--
Vana: [halting in mid-pirouette]
Everyone?
[she gives him a very piercing Look from the
corners of her eyes and waits until
he looks down first.]
Beren:
Not everyone.
But--
Vana:
So why are you worrying?
Why don't you enjoy the time you have now?
[she darts around him again, he turning this time to try to keep facing her]
Beren: [frustrated]
But you don't--
[he breaks off in open-mouthed astonishment,
seeing that the turf in the little
circle around them is now lush and green as
far as can be seen into the haze]
You're -- Are you--?
[but gets no further, as she has swung around
the other way and caught hold of
his shoulder, spinning him back off balance]
Vana:
You used to know how.
But you've forgotten.
[frowning]
You've forgotten how
to dance. How can you be fit for my sisters if you
can't dance?
Beren:
Wha--
Vana: [impatiently]
Come on, you
don't want to stay here, do you? This is boring!
Beren: [gesturing to the fog]
But you can't see where
you're going in this--
[she moves about behind him again and surprises
him by covering his eyes with
her hands for an instant]
Vana:
What does it matter,
if you think there's nowhere to go?
Beren:
There isn't. Not for
me at least. --Except away.
Vana: [appearing in front of him again and folding her arms]
Do you have any idea
how tiresome you're being? Do you want me to leave you
here alone?
Beren: [blurting it out]
No!
[covering]
I mean -- I'm not trying to be rude--
Vana: [tossing her head]
I'd hate to see you
try, then.
[long pause]
Beren:
I'm sorry. You're right,
I don't know how to live anymore -- Tinuviel gave
that back to me, every
time, but I've lost it again --for good, I'm afraid.
Vana: [scoffs]
Oh, not for good.
[she circles behind him and pulls his hair again]
Besides, you've not tried looking, yet.
[he moves away in annoyance]
Beren:
What's the point, though?
Really?
I'm asking -- if it's just going to be
yanked away from me
again--
Vana: [flatly]
This is so boring.
--Misery, anguish, and world-sorrow. If it weren't for
her, I swear
-- it isn't as though I haven't things to do, you know, -- and
I was already
very
put out with you for making Tav' so unhappy--
Beren: [completely confused]
Wh--what?
Vana: [shaking her head impatiently]
Never mind, it's boring,
and it's over. I told them I would, anyway. Come
on, I'll lead the way--
[she reaches out her hand to him, but he draws back]
Vana:
Don't you trust me?
[he shakes his head, half-smiling in a kind of amused dismay]
Beren: [completely honest]
No--
Vana: [sulking]
Not even a little?
[she puts her hands on his shoulders and looks at him very seriously]
I promise I won't lead
you into a green field of algae over a quagmire.
--I couldn't have, anyway:
you saw the waterflies above the surface and
heard the peepers and
knew, as your pursuers did not.
Beren: [sounding confused]
No, I did that
-- the patrol that morning--
Vana: [snippy]
You made the
marsh thaw? The frogs and bugs start mating? Really.
[she gives him a narrow Look]
Beren:
No, that wasn't -- I
mean--
[without warning she spins him around and darts
forward to end up standing in
front of him again, staring at him intensely]
Vana:
Have I ever led
you wrong?
Beren:
? ? ?
Vana:
--Or would you rather
still be wandering in the wood, your voice still frozen
in your heart's midwinter?
[while he is still struggling to understand,
she lunges for his hand again and
pulls him, urging:]
Come on -- race you!
[he resists, not actively, but anchoring her
as she flits back and forth before
him like a bird on a thin twig or a narcissus
on a windy day, pulling him along
behind her]
Beren:
Where to?
Vana:
The top of the hill.
Beren: [looking around at the pale swirling mists around
them]
Which?
Vana: [as she draws him up the beginning of a slope, increasing
her pace]
This one!
Beren:
But how can you not
win, if you're leading me?
Vana:
Figure it out, silly!
[he jerks his chin defiantly at that, and something
determined and a little
crazed comes into his expression, as he tries
to keep pace with her. Just as
they are reaching the crest of the hill he swings
her around, using the slope
to assist him, so that he is now leading, and
as her speed carries her in an
arc that helps spin them both up, he stops her,
catching her with his right
arm around her backwards-leaning waist before
she can fall, as though they
were dancing partners in a sculptured tableau.]
Beren: [softly]
I win--
Vana: [also whispering]
Yes--
[For a long, long instant they stare at each
other, the Ever-Young with a
mysterious smile, Beren with a kind of amazement
at his own daring: slowly,
almost as if in a trance, he lifts his hand
to touch her hair, her cheek,
her lips, as lightly as if he were touching
a wild bird, while she smiles
up from his hold. It is a very intense, very
strange moment -- which is
promptly broken as the precarious balance of
their pose is lost and they
topple onto the grass, Vana with a wild shriek
of laughter, he with a cheerful
shout of alarm, and she leaps up, tugging him
to his feet with a little
impatient bounce in her step.]
Beren: [laughing, his eyes sparkling]
--I won.
[she nods, just as gleeful]
Vana: [brightly]
Now you must pay the
forfeit!
[he thinks she's teasing him]
Beren:
For winning?
Vana:
Of course!
Beren: [uncertain if she's joking]
What forfeit?
Vana: [raising her eyebrows]
What does it matter?
You cannot undo what you've done. Or can you?
Beren:
Well, no, but--
Vana:
Then it doesn't matter.
You must pay the price.
Beren: [still hoping it's a joke]
So -- what does a goddess
want from me?
Vana: [offhand]
Your sight.
Beren: [dumbfounded]
You--
[shaking his head]
--you can't ask that of me!
Vana: [brightly]
Of course I can.
[she pirouettes carelessly, ending up back in
front of him, and he steps away
in alarm]
Beren:
Why?
Vana:
Why not?
Beren: [increasing panic]
What good will
it do you, to take my -- my sight?
[she only shrugs, and darts around him, her lightheartedness
seeming suddenly
very sinister]
Vana:
Pay up.
[he backs away again, and she keeps following,
with an erratic, half-dancing
motion, smiling the whole time]
Beren:
But this isn't right--
Vana:
You won.
Beren:
By a trick--
Vana:
And? Haven't you always?
[he takes another step backwards -- and into
something dark and solid behind
him, like the wall of a tower in the fog, and
she steps in close, with no
more room to retreat, definitely invading of
personal space. Intense:]
Will you disavow your deeds, then?
[pause -- he stares back at her, not looking away]
Beren:
Never.
[she reaches out and takes his face in her hands.
He flinches, closing his
eyes, and she kisses him hard and hungrily on
the lips. The Power steps
away suddenly, reeling a little as though dizzy,
her eyes wide in shock]
Vana:
Oh! . . . oh
. . . I never guessed . . . I never guessed you saw us that
way . . . --No wonder
my sisters love you so much!
[he looks at her, blinking, dazed, and she laughs]
Remember what I told you!
[sfx -- vanishes into a spread of mixed flowers rising around him]
Beren: [stunned]
I guess that means all
of it . . . --as if I could ever forget!
[he turns to see what he fetched up against,
and looks up -- and up -- to the
black column rising behind him into the mist,
wide as a tower and just as tall.
Half unbelieving, he looks across through the
brightening mist to where another
dark, shrouded outline can be seen.]
Beren: [hushed]
The Corollaire --
[he raises his hand to touch the bark of Telperion
reverently, and the mist
is cleared away in a sudden breeze, revealing
not only the dead Trees fully
but the mountains all around in the distance
and right here, the sweep of
land below leading out to the hill with the
white city of Tirion on its crest
and out through the Pass, a glimpse of coast
and blue horizon far off. (Note:
as the light changes from foggy pallor to the
clarity of dawn, everything in
the scene is awash in radiant morning color
-- including Beren: no longer
ghostly, his worn cast-offs and tatters richly
glowing in tones of sienna
and umber, granite and kingfisher blue of his
Elven knight's cloak, the browns
and grays no more drab than burnished wood or
rain-wet leaves against the sky;
this remains so throughout the entire Corollaire
sequence.)]
--Is this real?
[There is a sound behind him of wind in branches,
not terribly loud,
the prolonged rustle of a species whose leaves
are very lightly hinged
to their twigs, such as birches -- he turns
again, and sees -- a beech
tree, unbelievably tall, its leaves shimmering
in the morning, where
there was none as they raced up the hill, directly
between the Two,
and he falls on his knees, bowing his head in
homage.]
--My Lady--
Yavanna: [voice heard as camera focuses on Beren]
Rise, my Champion --
it's a little late for such formality, don't
you think?
[the Hall]
[Luthien is looking down at the stretch of dais
between her and the more
orderly part of her audience with rather a bemused
expression as her cousin
and his foremost counselor kneel on the stones
building a large map of the
sort first seen in Act II, an illusion of topography
and vegetation which
looks both like an ambitious architectural model
made of silvery light, and
a very lumpy glowing carpet. By their expressions,
their living friends and
relations find it at least as peculiar as she
does.]
Finrod:
So did you come out
of Doriath
here, or further up, here?
Luthien:
Hmm . . . I'm not really
sure -- it didn't look anything like that when
I was there, after all.
It was sort of looming over me, you see--
Finrod: [briskly interrupting]
Well, let's turn it
this way instead--
Steward: [stopping him]
I don't think
that is going to help, meaning no disrespect to the Lady,
since--
Finrod: [cutting him off with a frown]
You set Watchtower Number
Ten in the wrong place.
[pointing to a section]
Steward: [looking hard at the map]
I did not.
Finrod:
I should know,
Edrahil, I put it there myself in the first place.
Steward:
The tower, indeed, my
lord -- but surely not the hill? That did predate
our arrival in Beleriand,
I believe.
Finrod: [exasperated]
That's what I meant.
The
hill is too far west.
Steward:
Far from it.
Luthien: [mildly]
You should know, none
of that is anywhere near where I was.
Finrod: [pointing]
Look. It should
be a league and a half from Eleven, but that would put
it right there--
Luthien:
So does it really matter
if it's all correct?
Finrod:
--which is in the middle
of the Narog!
Steward:
And I might point
out, were I so inclined, that 'twas not I who drew the
watercourses.
[Luthien shrugs and gives up, somewhat bemused;
the lawful Eldar look rather
dismayed. Camera shift to the back ranks of
the steps, where the Elf of
Alqualonde is scowling at the Lord of Dogs,
who keeps giving her worried,
eye-rolling glances over the Captain's back,
the latter having his head down
resting on his arms]
Captain: [without looking up]
Please stop glaring
at Huan, Sea-Mew.
Teler Maid:
How do you know that
I am, if you attend not?
Captain:
You're making him whine
and twitch.
[lifting up his head and looking at her]
It's not necessary,
is it? He already knows you don't forgive him, and
there are more appropriate
targets for your anger present.
[pause]
Teler Maid:
But I am afraid of that
one, still, when I am not too angry to recollect it.
[she looks across them at the Lord Warden, and
back down again hastily, and
shudders]
Captain:
But not of Huan.
[she gives him a sidelong Look but doesn't reply,
while the Hound rolls his eyes
in doggish worry towards her]
Teler Maid:
I will not make him
bark again.
[Huan gives a hesitant tail thump; she tosses her hair]
It is much too noisy.
Steward:
No, Sire, I did not
make it too long -- every wretched ell of it that I ever
travelled, and no more,
'twixt there and Teiglin!
[Finrod makes an impatient exclamation and gesture
over the map, while Luthien
watches them in tolerant amusement]
Teler Maid: [worried frown]
Why do they quarrel
over such a small matter now?
Captain:
Because it is
a small, unimportant matter, and why did you come home and
snap at my sister whenever
you'd gone down to hang about on the steps of
the Mindon and been
snubbed by Edrahil?
[pause]
Finrod: [disgruntled]
What scale are we using,
anyway? I don't think it's the same overall.
Steward:
The scale is
irrelevant, so long as it maintains internal consistency.
Teler Maid:
Because Suli' did not
mind it and I was cross and joyless.
Captain:
Well then, there's your
answer.
Finrod:
Well, exactly -- and
how can we tell that if we don't know what it is?
Angrod: [mostly aside]
Please, just stop
it, would you?
Steward: [patronizing]
Very well, Majesty --
choose a measure and set a distance, and we'll
refigure it from there.
Luthien: [rueful, to her relations near and distant, living
and dead]
--I don't think it took
me this long to cross the Talath Dirnen on foot.
Teler Maid:
You are cross
and joyless as well.
Captain:
True.
Teler Maid:
Why did you do it, when
you would not ere now?
Captain: [shrugging]
Situation changed. They
do that, you know.
[meanwhile the Doriathrin Lord has gotten involved
in correcting the map, which
is getting bigger by the moment]
Ambassador:
--No, your Majesty,
my lord, I must declare you are both wrong, in setting
the Road so nigh to
Malduin there . . .
Teler Maid:
But you said you would
not, and it would do more harm than good!
Captain: [with another small shrug]
It needed to be done,
and no one else could in that particular given
circumstance. Command
responsibility, it's called.
Teler Maid:
But you did not manage
it at all well.
Aegnor: [to the ceiling]
Surely no one's surprised
by that--!
[the Captain winces; as the Sea-elf contrarily
turns a fierce glare on her liege
lady's son, the latter's brother elbows him
sharply in the ribs. Aegnor gives
Angrod a glare in turn, but Angrod stares his
sibling down, or at least away.]
Teler Maid. [more subdued]
I am sorry. But it is
true nonetheless.
[the map has now crept along almost the entire
bottom tier of the dais, up to
Angband, and Fingolfin is correcting their placement
of the northwestern mountain
ranges, while Luthien looks on with increasing
ironic humour, others of the Ten
offer suggestions, Finarfin and Nerdanel at
least find it fascinating, as does
the Apprentice (though Elenwe does not seem
much interested), Aredhel is sulking,
and Eol is pretending he isn't interested in
it at all. (Amarie is watching Finrod
with a cold and quite expressionless countenance.)]
Captain: [nods]
Nonetheless -- it was
enough.
[sighing]
Edrahil couldn't do it
-- that would have made things far worse, even if he
had been there
for it all and not off agonizing over whether he dared set foot
on what was, when you
come right down to it, just a very deep lot of water on
top of an even deeper
lot of water.
Finrod:
That should be
a little more to the right--
Fingolfin: [strained]
Nephew, I do not tell
you
where your capital city was.
Finrod:
--Because you don't
know--
Fingolfin: [smoothly]
Nor would I, if I did.
Teler Maid: [in a tone of quiet scorn]
It is so foolish,
that he does fear the Sea.
[as the Captain gives her a level Look, defensively]
You never did.
Captain:
No . . . I'm afraid
of things like being unable to see or move or breathe
freely, or of being
completely powerless to help someone else, -- or of
the people I trusted
unquestioningly to make the best choices for the best
reasons, suddenly turning
on each other and mauling each other without regard
for truth or kinship.
[Aegnor makes as if to say something, then stops;
Angrod stares at him, but he
feigns to be absorbed in watching their eldest
sibling wrangle with their uncle
over the positioning of the forts of the Leaguer.]
Aglon: [aside]
You'd think those who
are unfit to be named among the Noldor would at least
have the sense of shame,
if nothing else, to refrain from displaying that fact!
[his erstwhile adversary looks around at the
number of people present, then at his
solitary state]
Captain: [to Huan]
Dumb, but brave, no
question.
[the Sea-elf giggles but quickly ducks out of the Feanorian's line of sight]
Aglon:
Outnumbered or not,
I am
warranted in despising you for your . . . servility
and lack of regard for
our people's higher station.
Captain: [shaking his head in disgust]
I do not understand
how you can sit there and mock us for being proud to be
servants of our King,
when your own life hinged on being Celegorm's gatekeeper.
Aglon: [hot indignation]
Lord Feanor's House
are
worthy lords and it is an honor to serve them, and give
whatever aid
one can to their efforts.
Captain: [snorting]
This is why I
clobber you people, because I haven't the patience to go round
and round in endless
circles with you, trying to get you to see how you're
being inconsistent.
[the Warden gives him a sullen glare and looks away.]
The difference between
us is -- well, one of them, at least -- is that I'm
honest about wanting
direction and guidance, if no more than the reassurance
that someone with greater
knowledge, understanding and dispassion is there
to back me up or call
me down if need be, so I don't have to constantly
second-guess the whole
many-sided situation and my own judgments, to wit,
should I be doing this
at
all? Are we even supposed to be here? Does anyone
in charge have the least
notion of what's afoot, and if I'm really it -- we've
Morgoth's mercy of a
chance of getting through this--
Finrod:
Wouldn't you agree that
I at least ought to know the disposition of the
blasted marshes, now?
Steward: [very precise]
If I may remind
you, my lord, you were not in full possession of your
faculties at the time.
The channel proper of Sirion was here, not here.
If that had not been
so, we would have drowned -- which I am fairly
certain was not the
case.
Finrod: [disgusted]
Oh, stop -- there,
happy now?
Captain: [disbelief evident]
--Don't tell me you'd
rather have had ultimate responsibility for the
possible death or capture
of your lord, not merely your company, than
being told -- Hold the
Pass and stop them from getting through after us,
no matter what? --I
know which I would have prefered in the Sudden Flame.
[the Warden does not answer; again Finrod's brothers
have a quick silent
interchange, but do not end up saying anything.]
Steward:
That depends, Sire --
what definition of happiness are you using?
Captain: [after a momentary hesitation, quietly]
--I'm sorry about your
brother.
[pause]
Nerdanel:
I confess, I find it
a matter of great wonderment to me, that ye do find it
not troublesome i'the
least wise, to make such Workings illusory, for lacking
of all flesh.
Apprentice: [reluctant and very apologetic]
Er -- my lady, it's
not really polite to mention the fact that people are --
dead, here.
Warrior:
No, that's all right,
that's
only scientific curiosity, not that the lady's
disturbed by us being
ghosts.
Nerdanel: [smiling sadly]
Nay, yet e'en so likewise.
Warrior: [with a respectful nod]
Exactly, ma'am.
[this just leaves the disguised Maia more confused than ever]
Elenwe:
On the contrary, good
mine aunt, 'tis most passing light, that hath not weight
of flesh thus interposéd
'twixt thought and world, that one verily might dwell
most utter and complete,
did so wish, within the pleasaunce of illusion.
[Note: she pronounces "illusion" archaically,
with a sibilant "s" instead of
the "zh" sound, which makes it sound not unlike
"Elysium".]
Finrod: [offhand, still moving trees around]
And then there's the
possibility which has yet to be proven one way or the
other, that everything
here is illusory, in a sense.
Finarfin: [jolted out of his brooding]
All?
Finrod: [looking up from the project for the moment]
Right -- that none of
this environment is extant in the same way that, say,
the Big Island exists,
or Arda itself, or our halls within Tirion, any more
than a painting of a
house is the same as the house itself, even if it were
painted on screens around
one so that someone walking through might not be
able to tell without
touching the walls that they were cloth instead of stone.
Aredhel: [rolling her eyes]
Oh, Stars, this is too
absurd.
Finrod:
You can't prove it isn't
so, all the same.
Angrod: [guardedly]
Lord Namo got very put
out when you said that last time.
Finrod: [gesturing to the arches overhead]
I don't mean that the
Halls themselves are necessarily unreal. Only that
whatever we perceive
here might well be as much a matter of Their willing
and mental images of
it, as our own perceptions of ourselves are our own.
--One greater Working,
making it possible for us that are discorporate to
feel at home.
[pause]
Nerdanel:
And what, youngling,
of we that bide here most presently enflesh't?
Finrod:
Either the same -- or
else you might be but dreaming, and your bodies still
Outside.
Amarie: [outraged]
Nay, I ken well that
I dream not!
Finrod:
How?
Luthien: [thoughtful frown]
Hm. I'm really not sure,
myself. It all looks and seems very real -- but then
it would, wouldn't it?
Amarie:
Forasmuch as were't
mine own, 'twould be other than this, in truth!
Finrod: [carefully bland]
Against the Weaver's
workings, and Lord Namo's -- you'd back your own
strength, then?
[she stares at him angrily, caught ought; he
goes on as if not aware of her
dilemma]
What this place looks
to be, to one of the gods -- or to the One -- I
am not sure, as much
as I am sure from all the evidence that it does not
appear exactly the same
to each of us, and that our own will changes not
only our own perceptions,
but may also shift those of others near us.
That's all.
[to Elenwe]
I must say, dearest cousin,
your garden in Tirion is superb. One can almost
recall color
therein.
Elenwe: [self-deprecating]
Aye, well, 'tis long
enow I shall have Worked it, verily.
Finarfin: [to Fingolfin]
What makest thou of
such theorem -- or indeed must I declare, theorem passing
strange and troublous,
my brother?
Fingolfin: [shrugging]
It does not seem to
matter much one way or the other, ultimately -- Majesty.
[Finarfin looks at him warily, but his elder
is smiling at him with a faintly-
rueful expression of shared sibling humour,
and precedes to manifest a chessman,
raising his eyebrows as he continues:]
So that I might conjure
me up the semblance of my diversions, for myself it
changes nothing if the
floor beneath my gaming table be as phantasmal as the
board, if your son's
most troublesome speculation, that there be no hall of
very hollowing, but
all here's solid rock, and thus the Halls to be enlarged
ever without difficulty,
by virtue of their merely artificial state.
Finrod: [who is frowning rather hard at a section of the
lower Sirion]
Mind you, uncle, I don't
think
that possibility's particularly likely -- it
would require, for one,
that the Weaver have broken an imaginary lamp in a
fit of anger, then gotten
upset over that and flung it at us, which would
seem to be taking a
bit of playacting rather far and indicate that she herself
had gotten caught up
in her own illusions, which in turn just doesn't fit with
what I know of the Powers
at all. --Though it would explain how it's so easy
to move them around,
and so hard to map them -- or how there's no consistency
of distance or travel
here. One explanation, at least.
[to the Steward, indicating some detail on the map]
--What about that?
Fourth Guard: [wry]
Whatever you do, Sir,
don't
mention that possibility to Beren.
[checks -- to Luthien]
I'm so sorry, my Lady.
Luthien: [serene]
Don't be. I know that
he's isn't lost.
[to the mapping team]
That looks rather different from the image I saw in the Hall of Maps.
Finrod: [looking up again from where he's kneeling, pleased]
Oh, did you see that?
What did you think of it?
Luthien: [sighing]
Mostly -- that's
how much further I'm going to have to walk? And then, -- that
it was incredibly beautiful.
Finrod: [with a touch of mischief]
Edrahil made that, you
know.
Steward: [tolerant patience]
Aye, my lord, even as
you
made Nargothrond, in degree proportionate to its
lesser scale.
[pointing]
If you're going to put
in ponds of that small size, her Highness will never
get a chance to resume
her narrative.
Finrod:
Don't be absurd, it
won't take that long.
Steward: [aside]
And that is a
saying that has never been heard before.
Ambassador: [dryly]
One does wonder if Lord
Namo will be quite as indulgent as my master your
uncle, Sire . . .?
Captain: [calling down to them]
Oh, I'm sure he won't
mind stepping over him ever time he has to hold an
audience, really. Nor
her Ladyship.
Finrod: [mock indignation]
Hey there, enough --
that project only took . . . er, right. I suppose we
ought to finish it up,
oughtn't we?
Steward:
We, my lord?
[As the Captain is scratching Huan's nose with
a more cheerful expression,
(and Finrod's brothers are looking rather wistful
at the easy camaraderie of
the preceding exchanges,) the Sea-Mew edges
up closer to them and pokes him
on the arm]
Teler Maid:
Well?
Captain:
Well, what?
Teler Maid:
Well, did he or did
he not? Make that other map?
Captain: [shrugging]
It was his idea; he
got permission -- coordinated the research -- planned
the program of the illustrations
and their sequence -- chose the colors --
assembled a group of
artists to carry it out -- might perhaps have actually
touched the murals twice
in the course of correcting its lines. What do you
think?
Teler Maid: [raising her eyebrows]
I think it most
odd that they do quibble over it then.
[the Lord Warden breaks into the ensuing pause
with an abruptness reminiscent of
a bird-of-prey's sharp movement]
Aglon: [impatient]
Well?
Captain: [shaking his head]
This again! Well, what?
Aglon:
Aren't you going to
say anything else?
Captain: [bemused]
Almost certainly. It's
rather a habit, I'm afraid.
[the Warden gives him a very dark Look and snorts
indignantly, but does not
further explain. Finrod sits back and looks
down at the carpet of three-
dimensional illuminated terrain appraisingly]
Finrod:
That should do it, I
think.
Luthien: [hesitant]
It still seems a bit
off.
Finrod:
It's probably the difference
in perspective that's causing it. At least--
[with an ironic grin, to his chief counselor]
--let's hope so!
[they get up and resume their former places on
the steps, the Steward giving
his lord a hand up; as the youngest of the Kings
present circles the image
he intersects, quite unawares, with his father's
ankle, causing the latter
to flinch not with fear but distress; the late
High King, observing, reaches
out to comfort the living, and then catches
himself -- but Finarfin gives his
brother a grateful and appreciative look all
the same. As Finrod sits down by
Luthien's side, he whistles]
That's a great deal of map, isn't it?
[to Luthien, a bit chagrined]
Sorry.
Luthien: [shaking her head]
It's all right, I understand.
Angrod: [muttering]
He's put Mithrim in
the wrong place.
Aegnor:
No, he hasn't; it's
the angle, that's all.
Angrod:
I don't think so.
Aegnor:
Fine -- you get
him going again now that he's calmed down.
Eol: [contemptuous]
Of course they would
leave out Nan Elmoth.
Aredhel: [looking around at him, and in the same tone]
Stop being stupid --
the map doesn't go that far east. I don't see my home
on there, either, do
you?
Luthien:
That's a deliberate
omission, though, I'm guessing, since it must be right
in there somewhere--
[she points towards the topography of the Crissaegrim]
Aredhel: [sitting up straight, shocked]
How do you know
where it is?
Luthien: [shrugging]
Well, I saw it -- or
what I presumed it must have been, unless there are
more secret Cities tucked
away in Beleriand than our spies ever heard of.
Finrod:
You actually saw
Gondolin?
Luthien:
I saw a stone city,
not like ours, but like a big white water-lily in a cup
of water--
[Elenwe seems really interested, for the first time, but doesn't interrupt]
Aredhel: [giving Luthien an incredulous Look]
--What?! It's
nothing like that!
Luthien: [speaking on as if the other woman hadn't been so
rude]
--or like, like the
Fortress might have been, if it wasn't contaminated
and an awful lot bigger.
Finrod: [suspiciously hoarse]
--How?
Luthien: [blinking]
Um. You mean, how did
I see it? That was when the Eagles were taking us
south from Angband.
But that's a long while after, and I'm getting ahead
of myself. But from
the air, that's how.
[he doesn't answer, and looks rather strained]
What's wrong? Finrod?
[Finrod shakes his head, lifting his hand in
a waving-off gesture, but can't
talk. The Steward half turns and grips his wrist
reassuringly]
Steward:
My lord, let not the
shock of unprepared-for recollection force from your
thoughts that Lord Turgon
is well, and safe, and his folk likewise -- and
leave aside as unfruitful
all concerns for the cause and breadth of your
friendship's sundering
until you may see him again to question him in person.
[Finrod looks down, not speaking]
Elenwe: [earnest]
Ingold. And he hath
changéd out all recognition, mine own dear love had
ne'er willingly reft
thy friendship, nor thee of his companioning. --Trust
me, that hath a consort's
comprehension, if thou mayest not trust thy friend
in his absentry.
Huan:
[worried whine]
Captain: [holding him down by his collar]
No, he wouldn't appreciate
it if you trod on everyone to go cheer him up.
Fingolfin: [very knowing]
The hurt is assuaged
somewhat by knowing that my son and granddaughter bide
secure -- but it abides
nonetheless.
[Finrod does not look up yet, but nods in answer]
Aredhel: [distinctly uncomfortable]
I don't see why you're
making such a matter of it -- it isn't as if you'd
likely have seen him
more than once in a yen regardless.
[the Steward turns his head and gives her an arctic Look]
Steward: [ice]
Highness, do not exaggerate
that you may diminish your own unease for my
lord your kinsman's
sorrow even as your royal father's.
[she does not quite dare to tell him to
shut up, so contents herself with
ignoring him.]
Finrod: [straightening with a sigh]
Well.
[shaking his head]
It's a good thing the
Enemy hasn't managed to construct any creatures
capable of matching
an Eagle for flying capability.
[Aredhel's husband shakes his head, laughing scornfully]
Eol:
Is there no end to your
frantic and implausible speculations, Noldo?
[taut, hostile pause as the Ten and the Princes give Eol angry glares]
Finrod: [wry]
Not that I've discovered,
cousin.
[from Eol's expression, no epithet could be more
insulting/annoying than that
last; to Luthien:]
So -- do you want to
tell me about your journey now? You've waited long
enough, I'm afraid.
Luthien: [apologetic]
Oh, there hardly seems
that much to tell, when you come down to it. I mean,
it was rather frightening
and rugged -- but the fear was wasted, really. It
was more boring
than anything else -- walk all day; find water; scavenge
something to eat; hide
if it sounded like something larger than a mouse might
be about, find a tree
or a high boulder to rest on when I got too tired to
walk any longer -- and
do it all again the next day.
[shrugging]
I didn't see anything
more dangerous than stags and boar -- no more sign of
Orcs than of my father's
scouts. I'd hoped that laying a false trail Northward
would have misled them
-- but I scarcely dared to hope it would work, if you
know what I mean.
Finrod:
They probably thought
you'd go the easiest way, through Brethil, right to the
Crossings and strike
upriver to the Fortress from there.
Luthien:
I'm not that foolish.
I did try to do things prudently and systematically at
least. I just didn't
anticipate--
[she glances at Nerdanel and checks herself]
--Fate.
[shaking her head, ironic]
To think of all the energy
I wasted worrying about those Enemy armies my
father said were waiting
to swoop down and hunt me like a deer, when I
could have been worrying
full time about you all instead.
Ambassador: [weary]
Highness, your father
only said that because it was the truth.
Luthien: [coolly]
Then why did I never
hear anything before Dad comes out with it as if he'd
only just thought of
the possibility and were trying to convince himself
that it were more than
that?
Ambassador: [sighing]
My Princess -- no
one wished to trouble you with useless fears, that you
might no longer pass
each day in full content -- or still worse, to cause
you grief and guilt
over the risk and cost of life to our warriors, as
though it were indeed
your own fault and responsibility that our ancient
foe should seek in such
a way to harm great Melian and our lord your father.
[pause]
Luthien: [grim]
You know perfectly well
what it looks like, though -- don't you?
Ambassador:
. . .
[overlapping, all as worried as if it were still a potential danger]
Second Guard:
Please, my Lady, it
was
the truth--
Captain:
Your father wasn't lying,
Highness, I did hear about that from Beleg once--
Finrod:
Even if it sounds suspect
and was manipulative, you can believe that part,
cousin.
Luthien: [with a sweeping-away gesture of her hand]
Oh I do, I believe it
--
now; Beren told me. And it does make sense, after
all, really -- that
He'd be trying to get me as part of all his other
offensives against them,
to use me as leverage to get Doriath to surrender,
if he could take me
hostage. Or for revenge. But--
[she is still grim and her expression bitter]
Finrod: [gently]
--Nevertheless, it's
a difficult thing, to discover that those you've trusted
to be wiser than yourself
for all your life -- and more perfect in all abilities
and virtue -- have deceived
you. It calls all into question, everything that
they've said before,
and then afterwards to justify it -- not excluding whether
or not it really
was done for good intentions and for your own sake.
[she nods, gloomily; he turns a challenging Look on the living Vanya present]
--Do you not agree, my lady?
Amarie: [stifled, looking straight ahead]
I deny thee not the
right of thy words.
Finrod:
And what of the rightness
of them?
[finally she glares at him]
Amarie: [through her teeth]
I'll not allow thee
right thereunto defend thy rebel soul, by holding claim
of ill-doing 'gainst
the gods, that one wrong be set to justification of the
other.
Luthien: [reasonable]
But that isn't what
he's doing. He's pointing out the fact that after one
has ruined one's credibility
in a great matter, the trail's been beaten for
any subsequent crises
to follow, so that both future credibility and moral
authority are now forever
going to be deservedly taken with a grain of salt.
That's why we
don't really trust the Noldor any more. --Present company
excepted with exceptions,
of course.
[to Finrod, with a curious frown]
--Why salt?
Finrod:
Er -- what?
[he is just as thrown as everyone else by both
the non-sequitur and the rapid
recovery from angry exhausted nervous wreck
to competent member of an ages-old
ruling House, both those who knew the Princess
in life as much as those who have
only seen her under present circumstances.]
Luthien:
Where does that expression
come from, and what does it mean? Beren had no idea
why they used it as
a figure of speech.
Finrod:
Oh. It -- ah, it's used
in chemical reactions.
[as she keeps looking at him doubtfully, head to one side]
Steward:
There are also medical
applications of the element, my Lady -- which must be
ever tempered lest it
do more harm than good, to mortal systems -- and there
is a more likely route
for the metaphor to have entered the mortal vernacular,
I judge.
Finrod: [nodding]
Yes, that's a much clearer
way of putting it.
Luthien:
Oh.
[clearly not quite satisfied]
He guessed it might
be because you can make any old glop taste halfway
edible, if you add salt
to it, when you're messing out pottage.
[the Ambassador winces at her idioms]
Finrod:
That -- could also be
right.
[pause]
Dare I guess,
how Elu reacted to you using North-country Sindarin about
the place?
Luthien: [rueful]
Sounds like you already
have.
[Elsewhere: the Corollaire]
[As Beren lifts his head we see that the Earthqueen
has taken on her form
as one of the Children of Eru, but here, out
of doors and above-ground, her
green dress glows in the early morning light
and power coruscates from her
like a waterfall in sunshine. No question that
this is one of the Greater
Powers who stands here, whatever her visible
guise. She approaches him and
rests her hands on his shoulders.]
Yavanna:
Well done.
[smiling, she pulls him up to his feet and continues
to stand with her hands
on his shoulders, looking down at him with an
expression of tearful pride]
Beren: [wonderingly]
I . . . know
you. --But I've always known you--
Yavanna:
Of course.
[she draws her hands down his arms, taking his
hand and holding his amputated
wrist for a moment before reaching up to brush
the hair away from his forehead]
--My bravest of servants.
[still holding him by the hand, she turns and
leads him to the eastern crest of
the Corollaire, where she sits down in the grass
and pulls him down beside her
while he is still hesitating over whether it
would be disrespectful. Putting her
arm around his shoulders as if he were a younger
sibling:]
--So. Is this real?
[startled, he ventures to look at her directly,
and realizes that she is teasing
him a little, -- and starts to smile back]
Beren:
I think -- that so much
of me is left -- is really here. --Whatever here means
without a body.
[with a faintly-confused expression]
But -- it seems so real
to me -- I seem real to me, I don't feel like a
wraith here, even though
it's -- Outside--
[stretching, leaning back, lifting his head and
closing his eyes, like a hound
scenting the wind]
The air -- the grass
-- I can smell the breeze, taste the dew on it -- it
doesn't feel
like just memory this time--
Yavanna: [tossing her head]
Hmph. I should hope
not.
[she rubs his back gently, and he looks at her again, trying to understand]
Beren:
Are -- are you
making all this happen -- for me?
[she nods]
I guess it's like when
Tinuviel Sent to me in prison -- I never did understand
if that was completely
in my mind, or not -- I don't think she understood what
I was asking, either
. . . I said, "You were there. We were home," and she
said, "I know, I was
trying so hard to reach you, I didn't know if you were
still here," and I kept
trying to figure out if it was just a dream, or if I
was really seeing it,
and she just kept saying, "Well, yes, of course," and
I figured it didn't
really matter.
[frowning intently]
Except -- when I heard
her in the dungeon, I was alive, so if it was real
the way I still think
of real then it was her changing the world outside me
so that I really sensed
it, but if it was a dream -- and I do know better now
than to say, just
a dream, but I still sort of think that way, telepathy isn't
originally a mortal
word at all, although none of these are, I guess . . . and
you're being incredibly
patient, listening to me ramble around like this--
[Yavanna smiles without saying anything]
--so anyway, if it was
all a dream, inside my mind, not the outside world
changing but her voice
affecting me directly, and I do think that has to
be the case, because
I don't think even a trumpet you could hear that far
underground, much less
a voice, then I was still there, only inside myself,
so to speak -- so if
that's what you're doing now, only more so, because this
is even realler than
that was -- where am I then? See, if I'm a ghost, then
I still must be somewhere,
right? But I'm having a hard time figuring that out,
and how it would work
really -- I mean, outside myself. Because I'm not making
this up for me, you
are.
[frustrated]
I don't have the words to explain this.
Yavanna: [dryly]
I can tell you've been
spending far too much time around those "Wise Elves"
for your own peace of
mind. The words you're looking for are "immaterial
extramental reality,"
I believe.
Beren: [nodding]
That sounds about right.
[gesturing down towards the tranquil, uninhabited sward just below them]
--So, if someone was
out there, and you didn't think of putting them in
this -- extramental
reality, I wouldn't see them, would I? And if they looked
up at the Corollaire,
and happened to be looking on this side, they'd see you
just sitting here talking
to your self? --Apparently?
Yavanna: [raising an eyebrow]
What makes you think
they'd see anyone at all?
Beren:
You can be invisible
if you want to? Oh. Yeah. You're a goddess, I guess you
can if you want. Or
. . .
[he frowns, worrying it over]
--Are you even here
at all? On the real Corollaire? Or is this just the idea
of it that's in your
thoughts?
[still smiling, she nods, once, deliberately; he looks down, biting his lip]
I guess I asked for that
one. Um. What I'm trying to say is, how much of this
is real? except
what I'm really trying to ask is, what is "real"--?
Yavanna:
We are.
Beren: [half-smile, teasing her just a little--]
So if you forgot about
me would I stop existing?
Yavanna: [quizzical]
Did I make you?
[he blinks at this, uncomprehending -- reaching
down into the grass on her other
side, she picks up a large snail, which comes
out of its dormant state and begins
to crawl across the back of her hand, waving
exploratory eyes as she offers it to
Beren, who lets it transfer itself to his knuckles,
regarding with a charmed smile]
--Not even the solid
shell, that once protected your moving self as this little
one's does, as integral
and as hardily lost, is truly of my making, for all that
the elemental substance
of your flesh was taken from the works of my fashioning,
even as theirs takes
its nourishment from my husband's. --Though that did allow
me to clothe you more
appropriately while you remain my guest.
[as Beren looks at the Earthqueen, confusion
becomes comprehension -- swiftly
followed by utter embarrassment; blushing furiously
he scrutinizes the gliding
mollusk rather than meet her eyes. She regards
him with gentle curiosity:]
--Why does that shame
you? Or are you ashamed of your housing itself -- that
love once gave you dwelling,
made for you a shelter and warmth and garb for
your naked soul, like
every least furry animal? Do you think it nobler then,
to be self-incarnate
as we, taking shape but of our own will and power from
the elements -- as young
Melian did, for love -- than to come into Arda
involuntarily, like
this little one?
[she scoops up a small rodent from the hillside,
mouse or vole or similar critter,
and holds it between them cupped in her palm]
--Or Luthien Tinuviel?
[Yavanna looks at him with earnest expression,
waiting patiently for an answer.
After a moment he carefully lets the snail crawl
down onto grass and reaches over
to stroke the little mammal sitting in her hand
as it grooms its whiskers:]
Beren:
No. I'm not ashamed
of being born.
[looking up at her meaningfully]
I'm not ashamed of being shaped of Earth.
[with a slightly-rueful smile]
--Little bit embarrassed
at the idea of you knowing me that thoroughly that
you can remember all
this--
[gesturing across his body]
--so right, but I guess
I can deal with that, since it never bothered me to
think of it when I was
living, having been born.
[in a light, bantering tone, as he recovers from his discomfiture]
--Thank you for the outfit,
by the way. I always seem to be getting given
shelter and clothes
-- seems like another thing hasn't changed, being dead.
You know, I'm supposed
to be old enough to look after myself--
[a sudden expression of alarm comes over his face]
Hey, does that mean that
-- that I was in their thoughts the same way I'm
in yours, earlier, when
. . .
[he hides his face against his knees in mortification
as Yavanna smiles amusedly,
letting the mouse-creature run freely from one
hand to the other as she sits
peacefully in the shadow of the dead Trees .
. .]
[the Hall]
[there is a certain definite tension in the atmosphere,
and a more alert
aspect to all the listeners, which might be
the consequence of recent events,
or of those which are about to be reached in
the story being told. Huan is
hunkered down at the back, hard up against the
footing of the Thrones, trying
very hard to be as unobtrusive as possible for
a horse-sized canid.]
Luthien: [in a frank, matter-of-fact tone]
The whole thing is very
difficult to talk about, because it's very hard
even to think
about properly at this point. I can't sort out well what
were my impressions
then,
without them taking color from the light of
subsequent revelations,
and I'm not the same person I was then, either--
Eol: [interrupting]
--No, you're just a
dead one, silly girl. You're still the same person.
Luthien: [with a controlled edge]
That wasn't what I meant,
cousin. By the time we returned home finally --
long before that in
fact -- it was--
[thoughtful pause]
--as if Luthien
was another country, and Tinuviel someone who had lived
there, once, but long
ago and that land so far distant that it perhaps
didn't exist and there
could be no going back to there in any event.
[briskly again]
So, as it happened, where
we were when Huan caught me wasn't as far from
the City as it seemed,
but I'd no way of judging distances out there, away
from Doriath where I
knew the landmarks, and being carried on horseback
instead of walking.
I didn't know we were going so much slower than need
be, until much later,
and then I realized that they must have been working
out their approach to
dealing with Orodreth and everyone else that was part
of the following of
House Finarfin.
[with a very edged, lopsided smile]
They just forgot to take into account two other people.
Captain: [frowning to himself]
Now, why were they out
there at all? That wasn't part of their normal
preferred range -- what
were they hunting up in the northern borders
for, anyway?
Luthien: [shrugging]
Apparently there were
a lot of Wargs up there lately. I don't know, I
never saw any. But that's
what people said, besides themselves -- when
we got back to the City
-- I mean, when they got back to the City and
I got there --
everyone was asking them if there had been many this time
and congratulating them
on doing such a good job of defending the Realm.
[the Captain makes a disgusted sound and shakes his head]
Yes, well, the fact that
I never saw a Werewolf in my travels made me
wonder at first if they'd
deliberately gone to intercept me, if they'd
Seen me coming, but
it seems there was legitimately an increased threat
reported by the border
patrols, and that was the reason for the hunt they
were holding. But I
did glean from things overheard and said carelessly,
by them and by the guards
from their following, that it was partly a
deliberate decision
to make a good showing, focus attention on how active
and proactive the two
of them were being -- as compared to Orodreth
sequestered in his office
and buried under stacks of parchment.
Finrod: [quiet]
How was he doing, as
far as you could tell?
Luthien:
Completely overwhelmed,
from what I could see. --Now I really don't know
how things were supposed
to run, because I know you do them so much more
different from Menegroth,
but I definitely had the impression that even
though things seemed
normal on the surface -- not surface, you know what
I mean -- nobody was
starving, the City still had light and heat and there
weren't any signs of
want about -- that despite that, it was total chaos
underneath and Orodreth
was finding it quite beyond him to manage both
your jobs at once.
[to the Steward, who is brooding over her words,
leaning forward and putting
her hand on his shoulder]
--My lord, don't agonize
over feeling somewhat satisfied that your Work
was finally recognized
and appreciated, if too late -- your friends will
certainly be doing it
for you, and you're not pleased about it any more
than about the cause
of it.
[he looks somewhat surpassed at her perception
and assessment and nods once
in acquiescence]
Finrod: [sadly]
I had hoped that by
my according him authority in view of all, he would
have had more confidence
in doing what needed to be done. He's a very able
administrator -- there
were never any significant complaints, nothing beyond
the usual grumbling
on all sides that there never were enough resources or
time to meet all expectations,
or that expectations weren't being met to
satisfaction -- in all
the centuries he ran Minas Tirith for me.
Aegnor: [sharp]
Don't feel sorry for
him, Ingold -- it was his duty to stand by you, not
to take the easy route
of non-resistance (again--!) and he doesn't deserve
any pity if it turned
out to be a tougher job than he'd anticipated.
Finrod: [very gently]
It's much more complicated
than that.
[he is looking at their father as he speaks;
Finarfin's countenance is as
expressionless, and fragile, as a glass mask.
Luthien looks over her shoulder
at the Princes:]
Luthien: [earnest]
Why do you blame Beren,
and not him, anyway?
[longish pause]
Finrod:
Because they don't want
to think about one of us standing by and doing
nothing to aid or defend
the other. Easier to lay all the blame on those
outside the family.
Aegnor: [hotly]
Don't speak for
us -- you're not me!
[their sibling nods agreement]
Finrod:
All right. --What would
you say different to what I said only now?
[they both look sullen, Angrod more gloomy, Aegnor
more tense; but don't actually
have anything to add as it turns out]
It's the same problem with facing the fact of their friends' complicity.
[it is Aredhel's turn to glare now as well, but she doesn't say anything yet]
Finarfin: [softly]
Yet thou dost not hate
thy brother?
Finrod: [shaking his head]
No. Oh, no. I understand
Orodreth far better now. I admit I was very
angry with him at the
outset, and -- bitter, for quite some time
thereafter . . . and
it still twinges, now and then, the way old scars
do -- but the anger
died when I understood what he'd been up against,
and why he couldn't
face the thought of conflict again. He was right;
I shouldn't have let
him follow me from Aman.
[his father shakes his head in turn, very definite]
Finarfin:
Nay. In that hour thou
couldst no more have stopped him, from staying by
side of thee his dearest
friend, than I to hold ye back. And he did blame
thee for his -- will,
he did most assuredly to err.
[Finrod looks uncomfortable, but somewhat reassured]
Angrod: [taut]
The fact remains that
he broke, and you didn't.
Finrod: [in a patient, we've-argued-this-before tone]
He fell back on a stronger
position in order to save as many as he could
from the Enemy, rather
than stay, and die, and give to Sauron not only the
Fortress but casualties
we couldn't afford with it.
[before the brothers can raise any more objections]
Fingolfin:
I must aver that I hold
still 'twould have been a better risk, had young
Orodreth made the attempt
I died in making, and hazarded his own life
against that of his
adversary, so that the loss of one where one's own
side was losing might
chance to take the head from the winners and make
the field level, if
not recover victory thereby.
[this gets him disturbed Looks from their living relatives]
Angrod: [contrarily defensive]
No, that would have
been a completely wasted gesture, uncle, you know he
isn't a warrior on a
level with you or Fingon--
Aredhel: [not quite aside]
That's a very kind way
of putting it--
Finrod: [forcefully]
We are interrupting
our royal cousin's story once again. --Luthien, pray
continue, if you please.
Luthien:
Well. At first I thought
they just didn't believe me, and then I thought
they couldn't because
of some strange Dark influence over everyone's minds
-- and then I didn't
want to believe for a long time that they just didn't
want to believe me.
Afterwards I found out that most people were very
uncomfortable having
me about trying to force them to think about it, but
I just thought it was
surreal the way everyone was still having parties
and enjoying themselves
and worrying about trivial things -- and then
they'd ask me why I
was crying and wouldn't I like to dance perhaps?--!
[darkly]
Then there were
some who were, as it turned out, laughing at me all along
as I tried to wake the
rest of the City up to the crisis.
[back along the dais,
the Sea-elf whispers to the Captain, who nods
affirmatively]
Nerdanel: [tired]
Nay, seek not to spare
my soul from anguish, good Luthien, else thou must
needs spend a wearisome
longsome time thy tale a-telling, to periscribe
all mentioning my sons
their names.
[they exchange a look of regret and sympathetic understanding]
Luthien:
I wish I didn't have
to.
[sighing]
Anyway, the whole time
there is very confusing and strange. I kept
getting lost, and everyone
kept smiling -- in the politest way -- at
the poor native girl,
overwhelmed at being out of the woods for the
first time. I was dazed,
and sick, and felt like I was missing part
of me, and I thought
sometimes that Beren must already be dead and
I was starting to fade,
and other times it seemed like I was in some
illusion gone wrong
and couldn't escape from it--
[she is starting to fray a little again]
Amarie: [weary exasperation]
Nay, let not thy words
to melt anew and drown thy tale its telling--!
Luthien: [pulling herself together]
I'm not going to start
crying again. I'm just saying that it's hard
for me to describe my
adventures in Nargothrond, because half the time
I don't know where exactly
I was any more than I'm sure of what was
going on, and a lot
of it runs together as if it was the same but I
know it wasn't, but
I couldn't tell what time of day it was any more
than I could tell where
I was in relation to where I was -- had been,
I mean.
Steward: [straight-faced]
We could construct a
model of the City, if that would help, my Lady.
[Finrod gives him a tiny, amused shove]
Luthien: [smiling a little]
Well, it turned out
that it was because my power had been taken from me
and locked away so I
really was only partly there -- as soon as Huan
brought me back my cape
I was instantly recovered, mostly, and I wasn't
disoriented at all.
I think I could have found my way out by myself,
then, even without Huan's
guiding me, but of course it was much faster
with -- where is Huan,
anyway? Has he gone off again?
Captain:
He's up here, hiding,
behind us, my Lady.
Luthien: [looking round]
What are you hiding
for, dog? Why don't you come out here where we can
all see you?
[Huan wags his tail, lifting his head from his
paws to give her a canine grin,
but doesn't get up.]
You don't need to be embarrassed -- all of us made mistakes, after all.
Huan:
[more vigorous tail-thumps]
[but he still doesn't come to her]
Luthien: [shrugging]
All right, suit yourself.
Finrod:
Why don't you manifest
your cape with you, here, by-the-by?
Luthien: [wry]
It didn't seem appropriate
to show up showing off, or that's how it
felt like it would feel,
saying "I'm the one who knocked out Morgoth
and don't you forget
it!" It seemed -- hm, impolite, and as though it
wouldn't be particularly
helpful.
[frowning grimly]
Though now I'm
not sure it or anything would make any difference one
way or the other.
[Finrod pushes her hair back where it has fallen
in her face again and
squeezes her shoulder consolingly, and she manages
to give him a wan smile]
Curufin wanted to try
to figure out military applications for it, I
heard -- but that wouldn't
have worked in the end, since there's only
one of me, and
Celegorm's whole purpose in taking it away from me was
to keep me from leaving
so that I wouldn't be in danger. So there would
have been a collision,
ultimately, there.
[as she makes this acerbic remark, Aredhel leans around and glares at her]
Of course, when I say
"danger," that only refers to danger-outside-
Nargothrond, not
to danger from Celegorm becoming besotted with me and
abandoning all Elven
standards of decent behaviour in his attempts to
convince me to return
his affections--!
[Nerdanel closes her eyes briefly before returning
her attention to her
sketching]
Aredhel: [sharply]
What did you do to him?
Luthien:
Me?
Aredhel: [snorting]
No, the other you
-- of course you.
Luthien: [blinking]
I talked to him, listened
to him, played chess against him -- I didn't
use any of my power
against him, if that's what you're getting at --
though that wasn't for
want of trying! it just wasn't possible to awaken
him from delusion when
he wasn't deluded -- at least, not that way.
Aredhel:
There must have
been something else.
Luthien:
What are you talking
about?
Aredhel: [scoffing laugh]
Well, obviously. Just
look
at you.
[shaking her head]
There's got to be some
reasonable explanation for why a Noldor prince would
be taken by an uncivilized,
ill-groomed Dark-elven barbarian he'd never even
met before.
[there are several suppressed "coughing fits" around the group at her words]
Sorcery's the only one that comes to mind.
[silence]
Steward: [aside]
I did at first wonder
why the White Lady was ill-at-ease in her brother's
City, but no longer.
[Luthien glances briefly at Nerdanel, who is
completely preoccupied,
to outward appearance, with copying the map
of west Beleriand into
her sketchbook and allows no flicker to cross
her expression at the
conversation's turns]
Luthien: [glacially slow]
You're saying
it's
my fault that Celegorm became obsessed with the idea
of marrying me whether
I wanted him or not and made that clear not only
by word but by deed?
[silence]
How, exactly, am I supposed
to have done that? --And why would I want
to? Star and Water,
I only went with them because they said they were
friends of Finrod and
would help me rescue Beren.
Aredhel: [decidedly]
Then there must have
been some sort of misunderstanding on your part.
Luthien: [levelly]
No, I don't think so.
That isn't the sort of thing one can misunderstand.
It's like being shot
at repeatedly from no range at all -- in some
circumstances you could
explain away a stray arrow as a hunting accident,
but not that one.
Aredhel: [getting still more definite]
He isn't that sort of
person -- he's not an Orc, a monster, he wouldn't do that! Neither
of them.
Luthien: [blunt]
He might not have been
the sort of person who would do that when you
knew him -- but he certainly
was then. And Curufin even Darker.
Aredhel: [accusatory]
Then what made
him that?
[pause]
Luthien: [very deliberately]
I think killing people
for gain or anger, and not dire necessity, changes
you. Even more than
hunting, or fighting in defense, does. I think that
after you've done that,
and after you've spent long enough justifying it
to yourself, it becomes
impossible to See anything properly. You become
like Morgoth, and once
that impossible abomination has become possible
to you, and righteous
to you, then there's no reason you can't justify
anything else you want
to do -- any kind of taking and tyranny is open,
after that theft of
another's body -- why stop at a different sort?
Insight is useless at
that point, I'd guess, because one's vision is
too distorted to allow
for accurate perspective.
[the Lord Warden of Aglon is shaking his head,
but with a somewhat uncertain
and dismayed look]
--That's why I stopped
Beren from killing Curufin. The Enemy has enough
servants as it is. I
don't
know that it would be impossible to recover
from kinslaying, alive
-- but it didn't seem advisable to find out.
[Aredhel is gathering herself to respond, but
the Doriathrin lord breaks in
first:]
Ambassador:
But -- they weren't
kin, then: he's mortal, and you two weren't --
wed, then.
Luthien: [meaningful]
If we were not akin,
would we have fallen in love? There is as little
distance between Men,
and us, as between ourselves and the gods.
Ambassador:
But--
[Luthien just Looks at him with one eyebrow raised;
he covers his face with
his hands, embarrassed]
Amarie: [quiet but fiercely resentful]
Needs must ever boast
thy divine descent, Daughter of Twilight?
Luthien: [coolly]
Only when it seems relevant.
[Aredhel is about to start in on Luthien again, but her husband gets there first]
Eol: [snorting]
That's what you get
for trusting the Noldor. Elu and I agree on that,
at least.
Luthien: [curiously]
How do you deal with
the fact that you're partly Second Host yourself?
Eol: [ominously cold]
What did you say?
Luthien: [puzzled]
You know, about--
[Aredhel breaks in before he can answer]
Aredhel: [jeeringly]
He doesn't. He won't
talk about his parents at all. I only know because
I got it out of his
servants eventually. --It is funny, isn't it?
Eol: [turning his anger on her]
Who was it who told
you? I swear, I'll--
Aredhel:
--You'll what? We're
dead,
in case you hadn't noticed, idiot.
Luthien: [intrigued]
Is that why you hate
the Noldor so much? Are you jealous because you think
you ought to have been
one of them? Or is that why you're so afraid of love,
because it made your
father stay when your mother was helping to look for
Dad? Or both of those,
I suppose both could be tr--
[her kinsman sits forward, his eyes blazing, all his cool carelessness gone]
Eol: [quiet menace]
Luthien, stop talking
now.
Luthien: [looking at him with disbelief]
Um -- no?
Eol: [adamant]
Luthien. You are a child,
and you will keep silent among your elders.
Luthien: [smiling sadly]
Eol? That doesn't work.
I'm not one of your dysfunctional followers who
are willing to put up
with your eccentricities for the sake of stable
employment and security.
[he grimaces at her, helpless to overwhelm her
with his hypnotic aura, and
subsides, aloof and haughty, while Aredhel smirks]
Angrod: [shaking his head in disgust]
'Feiniel, why did you
marry this loser?
Eol:
Don't talk to
my wife, Outlander.
Aredhel: [to Eol]
I'll talk to whomever
I like, Master Smith! --Especially my kin.
[to her cousin]
Don't talk about my husband that way, do you hear me?
Aegnor: [almost pleading]
But 'Feiniel, why, why
on the gods' green earth would you choose to take
up with some repressive,
antisocial, deranged hermit who's always telling
you what to do? --And
not
to do?
Elenwe: [to Finrod, wry]
Dost not wish thou'dst
chosen to abide most peaceably 'neath trellis by
fountain's edge, in
this its stead?
Aredhel: [raising her voice]
That's not how it was,
you don't know what you're talking about--
Aegnor: [going on regardless]
It's almost as if you've
been brainwashed except you act like yourself in
every other way, only
more so. It just doesn't make sense to anyone who
knows you.
Finrod: [frank]
That much peace and
quiet, I fear, would drive me crazy--
[mischievous]
Though who'd notice -- especially in present company?
Aredhel: [turning to snap at him]
--Ingold, stop
acting superior.
[the dead High King looks at his living counterpart]
Fingolfin: [bland]
Shall we go for a walk,
my brother, while our children bicker, and see all
that there is not
to see here, until they have sorted it out for themselves?
Aredhel: [jabbing her dagger into the step for emphasis as
she speaks]
You're all judging everything
from the outside, and you don't understand.
Eol: [flatly, arms crossed as he leans back on the steps]
You think you'll ever
convince one of your people of anything? Trust me, it
isn't going to happen.
Finarfin: [bemused, to his sibling]
Was e'en so, deemst
thou, for our own parents in that former Day? Such
wearisome dismay at
folly?
Fingolfin: [dry]
What folly, --
parent
of Finrod? For I seem to recall that you were ever
busy pouring oil upon
troubled fires, while we elders kindled them, you all
the while blowing on
coals
in effort to put them out.
[his younger brother winces -- but with a grin
of mutual comprehension, though
some of the Ten look a bit nervous at the interchange
of jibes between Finwe's
sons.]
Angrod: [getting more and more exasperated]
Cousin, you never could
stand to have anyone telling you what to do.
Apprentice: [brightly]
As a matter of fact
we think that's part of it.
[pause]
You see, since no one
was ever willing to demand anything of her, nor to
insist on her compliance
in any regard -- or to, what's the phrase, "stick
with it"? when they
did try -- it became uninteresting to her, and the
continual pushing of
boundaries began to find someone who would -- and
that's what she found
in Master Eol here, someone who wouldn't give in to
her, wasn't impressed
by her birth or skill or adventures, and who would
insist on things. And
that makes him very fascinating to her, as well as
a challenge to overcome.
[gesturing with his hands animatedly]
So she can't just walk
away from him -- it isn't only that they're
soulmates, it's a kind
of magnetic thing where sometimes they pull
together and sometimes
they push apart, you see. --That's what my
Master thinks, at least,
and Lord Namo tends to agree, though of
course nobody except
them can be sure, and not even them probably,
given how oblivious
they are to everyone else's feelings but their
own. Even each other's,
except as one manipulates the other by them.
--Though the Weaver
thinks they're just selfish brats who deserve
each other, and that
she's
as stubborn and self-destructive as Miriel
without any of Miriel's
excuses . . .
[he trails off -- Aredhel is glaring at him with
a very lethal expression,
while the rest of her family look carefully
elsewhere, except for Eol, who
seems caught between wanting to laugh at his
spouse and to explode with
indignation; the disguised Maia glances around
at the Ten, concerned.]
That wasn't a very diplomatic thing to say, was it?
[the Captain shakes his head solemnly]
--Threnody! When will I learn to keep quiet sometimes?
[Aredhel stands up, sheathing her dagger with a snap]
Aredhel: [setting her right hand on the hilt of her sword]
If you're going to talk
about me in such an insulting fashion, infant,
you're going to give
me satisfaction for it.
Apprentice: [mildly]
I don't think I'm supposed
to get into fights with the patients while
I'm supposed to be keeping
the peace.
Aredhel: [tossing her head]
I'll be happy to trounce
you regardless.
Aglon: [looking more cheerful at last]
This is going to be
good.
Apprentice: [same bland tone]
I'm pretty sure, however,
that I'm allowed to defend myself if I must.
[with a dangerously-pleasant smile]
I'm willing to chance being wrong and a reprimand.
Captain: [reluctantly to Aredhel]
Highness, I really wouldn't
if I were you -- he's not half bad, and you
haven't any real combat
experience against armed opponents, either.
Aredhel: [whirling on him]
How dare you insult
me that way!?
Captain: [raising his eyebrows]
How is a fact
an insult?
Aredhel: [outraged]
Ingold! Make your people
stop slandering me -- I am not a Kinslayer!
Fourth Guard: [aside to one of his comrades]
How can she say that?
Warrior: [shrugging]
She believes it.
Captain: [with a very askance Look]
I was talking about
the giant spiders, Princess. I don't think they've
developed tool-using
skills, at least. --Though it is interesting that
you assumed I was talking
about Alqualonde, when actually I was trying
to spare you from being
badly thrashed.
[the Lord Warden of Aglon gives him a dubious frown at that last statement]
Fourth Guard: [getting louder as he gets more agitated thinking
about it]
But how? --Denial about
the fighting, or that we're all kin?
[his friend nods]
Warrior:
The latter, I think.
Aredhel: [turning aggrievedly to face the dead High King]
Father! Make them stop
it!
Fingolfin: [edged patience]
'Feiniel child, you
know
I can't do that. I could request that they cease,
and your cousin's folk
would very likely honour that for their kindness
to me, but I cannot
bind any spirit here to anything. My kingship here
is entirely honorary,
and I have no power here whatsoever.
Aredhel: [sullen]
You're the best warrior
in the Halls.
Fingolfin: [very stern, approaching angry]
You wish me to fight
those who utter only the truth, and punish them for
that? Daughter, I am
ashamed for you.
Eol:
See, my dear? Not even
your own family wants you about. You should have
stayed with me, I'm
telling you -- again.
Aredhel:
Shut up, Orc-spawn!
Captain: [righteously]
Now I never called him
that,
but I get in trouble with her for being
rude to him.
Aredhel:
You shut up too.
--You're nearly as much of a Dark-elf as he is, anyway.
Ambassador: [shaking his head]
It really is a good
thing that your father's marchwardens refused to bring
her into the Kingdom,
I must say, my Princess, given such violence and
recklessness of nature
-- can you imagine what would happen at a banquet
with her in attendance?
Luthien: [trying very hard not to laugh but failing]
That isn't very kind,
but you do have a point--
Elenwe: [to Amarie, wonderingly]
I do vow, she hath full
so froward a temper as Lord Osse in his ragings.
[Amarie checks, not wanting to agree with a rebel
Vanya, but fighting a smile
and losing]
Amarie: [shortly]
--Aye.
[the Noldor princess is half frantic with anger
and hurt feelings, beset on
all sides and unable to fix on a target to vent
her fury upon]
Aredhel:
I hate you all!
[her husband shakes his head pityingly]
Eol:
Haven't you realized
yet that I'm the only person in the entire world
who's willing to put
up with you, my love? Though--
[with a partly-feigned bewilderment]
--I'm really not sure why I do.
Aredhel: [voice shaking with rage]
Oh, you are truly going
to regret that--
[she starts towards him, stalking through the
map which curls about her
ankles like mist before re-coalescing]
Eol: [unimpressed]
Many, many, many
years now, my own, many years--
[as she stomps up to where he is reclining lazily,
reaching as if to drag
him upright by the gorget of his armour, he
sweeps her ankles out from under
her with his own foot and jumps up as quickly
as she does, recovering, and
both of them draw their swords. Before anyone
else can interfere, Luthien
also springs to her feet, very agitated, and
shouts at them:]
Luthien:
Stop it! Stop mauling
each other and listen!
Eol: [mock sincerity]
Ah, Melian's daughter
is going to bestow some of her vast wisdom and
understanding upon us
-- my, what have we done to be so blessed?
Luthien: [ignoring his rudeness, passionately]
You could have chosen
to be awakened by her to a world so much wider and
brighter than Nan Elmoth
and your heart.
[to Aredhel]
You could have
chosen to learn stillness and contemplation of things
you'd thought beneath
you, from him, for your part. Both of you could
have striven to heal
each other's lacks, and been strong where the
other was weak or wounded,
and grown -- but instead you stayed where
you were, giving nothing,
grinding and tearing each other down like
the Enemy's minions--
Aredhel: [snarling, starting towards Luthien]
How dare you -- you
apologize to me, you barefoot savage, or I'll--
[Luthien raises her hand, palm outward, towards the Noldor lady]
Luthien: [her voice echoing loudly with power]
Hold--!
[Aredhel is stopped in her tracks -- as Eol moves
forward, his kinswoman
lifts her other hand and makes him halt as well.
As she speaks the
following lines in an icy declaration, the memory
of her shadowcloak
appears around her, the folds stirring like
finest silk in a restless
draft. They cannot interrupt her, or
even look away.]
--Well-matched indeed
are you, who have neither hope nor mercy in your
love, but only selfishness
and greed.
[to Aredhel]
Lady, rest now from your discontent and have peace, for so long as you will--
[to Eol]
--And you, kinsman, from
the memory of your grievances, in hopes that you
may learn grief instead--
[before her upraised hands they vanish, both
wearing near-identical expressions
of disconcerted astonishment. As she seats herself
again her cape disappears once
more; her matter-of-fact attitude markedly in
contrast to the others around her,
particularly the dead, though only two give
any audible sign of surprise -- most
are simply too shocked to do more than stare,
though a few among the ghostly
following of House Finarfin look somewhat smug.]
Huan:
[short surprised bark]
Teler Maid:
Oh!
[wide-eyed, looking at the Captain]
Was that what
you meant, when you said 'twould soon be better sport than
setting a sudden blaze
about her knife?
[he nods once, solemnly]
--But how did you know that would follow . . .
[she trails off, frowning thoughtfully at the
Doriathrin princess; on the other
side of the steps the Princes look at each other]
Aegnor: [shocked]
How can she do
that?
[his brother only shrugs, as astounded; to their eldest, rather manically:]
Ingold, you can't do that -- why can Luthien?
[Finrod only shrugs in turn; when Aegnor addresses
his cousin it is warily and
very respectful, now]
Luthien, how did you do that?
Luthien:
That's my power. That's
what I do. Dreams and visions and healing, all
mixed up together. It's
easy, once I figured out how to focus it.
[the Princes look at each other with rather wild
expressions and not a little
dismay, and are very quiet]
Teler Maid:
But where did they go?
Apprentice:
I was going to say that.
[Luthien shrugs]
Luthien:
Wherever they wanted
to be most. I didn't pry.
Apprentice: [faintly]
That's -- what my Master
does, only -- you did it rather differently.
[she raises her hands, deprecating his praise]
Luthien:
That's the only way
I
know how. It wasn't that hard -- by comparison,
at least; the part of
them that was crying out for help wasn't very
deeply hidden.
[there is still a distinct awe over the gathering,
if not unmixed with
resentment in some quarters]
Finrod: [wickedly]
Twelve feet tall --
and
a battle-aura brighter than his--
[he nods towards his uncle, and Luthien elbows him lightly, trying not to smile]
Fingolfin: [softly, but very earnest, to Luthien]
--Thank you, your Highness.
--Would you be so good as to continue in your
reminiscences, if it
please you?
[she nods, pausing to reflect a moment]
Nerdanel: [managing a dry, if somewhat brittle, humour despite
all]
Nay, belike thou'lt
have thee something less of interruptions, hereafter.
Luthien: [straight-faced innocence]
--Probably.
[Elsewhere -- the Corollaire]
[Beren is still sitting in silence, now with
his chin on his knees, looking
out towards the Pass of Light, while Yavanna
frowns at him with a concerned
expression as she sets the rodent down to go
about its rodenty life:]
Yavanna:
Are you being quiet
because you're overwhelmed, or because you're focusing
on everything around
and trying to take it all in?
Beren: [confused]
Can't you tell?
Yavanna:
I can tell which of
the many possibilities are most likely, but not which
it is. Knowing you,
either one is a reasonable guess.
Beren: [thinking about it]
Yeah. --A little of
both, I guess.
Yavanna:
So, are you happier
now?
[he gives her a puzzled frown]
Now that someone's recognized
your efforts and told you "Good job" at
last--?
Beren: [looking down]
Oh.
[he appears embarrassed]
I -- Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. Mostly I'm just--
[checks, frowning]
--actually, I'm not.
[he looks at her with a bit of surprise]
I was going to say "tired,"
but that isn't true. --Still confused, though.
A lot.
Yavanna:
About what?
Beren:
Everything.
Yavanna:
Well, no wonder, since
Everything is beyond the ability of any of us
to sort out. But then
you've always been the ambitious sort.
[out of nowhere she takes a shining garnetlike
fruit, somewhat like an
all-red nectarine, and looks at him inquiringly]
Yavanna:
Want some?
Beren:
Uh -- can I?
Yavanna: [matter-of-factly]
No, I'm inviting you
so that I can contrarily refuse to oblige,
afterwards. --What do
you think?
Beren: [sighing]
That that was a dumb
question.
Yavanna:
Very.
[she twists the fruit in half and gives him one
side -- as he is looking
at it in fascination:]
--Don't you dare ask me if that's real or not.
Beren: [almost managing to keep a straight face]
I wouldn't have dreamed
of it, my Lady.
[she gives him a narrow Look]
Thought of it, sure -- but I wouldn't dare ask.
[she gives him a friendly swat on the arm]
It's beautiful. And tastes just as wonderful as it smells.
Yavanna: [smugly]
The jewels of my making
are much more than just pretty to look at.
Beren: [aside]
I'm not even going to
go near that one.
[the Lady gives him a raised eyebrow]
Family fights, bad enough -- between immortals? --Already done that.
Yavanna:
Hmph. Most of the time
you're a prudent soul.
Beren: [between mouthfuls]
So -- your sister's
Spring, right?
[she nods, though her expression is a bit wry;
he frowns as he wipes the
juice from his fingers onto the hem of his outer
tunic]
You just have the one, right?
Yavanna:
That, too, is a bit
-- dependent on your definition. Why? Did you
meet her?
Beren:
Well, if she's the Spring,
then I did.
Yavanna:
She is as much the beginning
of all growth as I am Autumn. And our
sister by love, Nessa,
the high Summer of blooming roses and the swift
young animals in their
pride. But we are both -- all of us -- far more
than any of our tasks.
As are you, my Hunter.
[he shakes his head a little, distracted, half-smiling]
Beren:
Is she -- just a little
bit -- well, crazy?
Yavanna: [suddenly stern and daunting]
Did she harm you in
any way?
Beren: [quickly]
No -- not at all. The
opposite. She--
[he chuckles again]
She was kind of cute, really. In a completely terrifying way. I--
[looking at Yavanna with a very confused expression]
I was going to say she
reminded me of Tinuviel before things fell
apart, but--
[shaking his head]
--it's the other way around, only -- I never met her before, so -- how--
[the Power sets her hand calmingly but very firmly on his shoulder]
Yavanna:
Was there ever a year
of your life when the snows did not melt and the
crocus and pheasants-eye
bloom? When all beasts wild or tame, however
old, did not leap like
fawns in the new light? When the bees did not
crawl out of their hollows
and the little brown bats, and the swallows
return from the southlands,
all to dance upon the warming airs? --Then
how should you not recognize
the Ever-young, when met in the person of
your own true love?
[pause]
Beren:
But -- Tinuviel's Tinuviel,
right? She's not -- not really Vana, too,
is she? I mean -- she's
herself . . .?
Yavanna: [reassuring]
--Always. As
you are yourself, my Champion.
[she strokes the hair from his brow gently]
Beren: [puzzled]
How come you call me
that?
Yavanna:
Because it is true.
[to be continued...]
