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Crossed Paths

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When Mírian awoke she found she was slung over the back of a pony as he bounced along, relieved of her cloak and her weapons, with her wrists and ankles bound aching tight. Her only comfort now was that the little treasure hanging from her neck had not been discovered. The going was supremely uncomfortable as her ribs and stomach and hips jumbled and bounced and hit against the pony's saddle. But she dared not lift her head, lest she be made to run at their desired speed, which she could not hope to match. And so she traveled in this way for many hours which ran into days. But the Orc band traveled very fast, and though it did not feel so at the time, it wasn't long until they reached the safety of their conquered territory in Dorthonion.

In a clearing low on the northward slopes of the foothills the Orc company at last settled down. But no sooner was she pulled off the beast and set on the ground did her gratitude for the halt turned to dread. For she saw that they had another prisoner who was now bound tight to a sad dead old tree, enduring such torments that she turned her face in horror.

"Aw, don't worry," one grumbled at her. "We've saved some of the fun for you, too!"

Now she was brought forth as well, and carried over to the tree. She squirmed and struggled, but they just laughed, for most of her bearers had arms of fantastic strength. They tied one end of a rope to her wrist binding, and the other end they fixed to a low bough, having pulled and tightened it so their captive hung, feet dangling just above the ground. Another rope they added to the bind at her ankles, and pegged the trailing end to the ground.

"Careful with those two," growled the low scratchy voice of the captain. "Master'll wanna have his own go at 'em. Keep 'em both alive and in runnin' condition. But we can ease our pace a bit now, so both prisoners enjoy the fun of settin' pace for us the rest of the way."

At that his grunts gave a good giggle, and with these orders of restraint the captors carried on with their evil treatment of the prisoners. They tried to question their maiden captive, asking to whom she was kin, and if she knew the man they had tied to the tree. At first she was afraid, ready to fend for herself with the truth that she did not know him. But looking over she saw the suffering in his eyes, and the pride of her house kindled the courage where it slept in her heart, and she turned on her interrogators. "Maybe I know him and maybe not," she hissed at them, "but I see not how it is any business of yours!"

The man's eyes widened at the reply. He looked at her astonished, and fear fell on his heart, for he knew she would pay dearly for such defiance, and pay she did. Her interrogators laughed heartily at her response. "Surely you are of the folk Master hates most!" said one who seemed to have taken charge of the questioning. "You have courage, maiden, I'll grant that. But we have ways to school you mortal brats in such insolence."

And so they proceeded to inflict their punishment. By the pride of her house could she keep sealed her lips as she endured the lashes. But the captain she had injured now brought forth a long thin chain which he had set in the fire for a while, which he set to limbs and hands and waist, even the neck, just for the practice, and the scars from all these things she bore for the rest of her days. With this the girl could no longer bear their strikes in silence. "Enough!" the man soon cried out. But at that moment she swooned, and it was his turn again. Thus were the two given their punishments in turns, until their captors at last grew weary of their fun.

So it was that deep into the night the two rescuers Beleg and Gwindor came across the wrenching scene of two mortals asleep after their gruesome torments. The Man they found bound the tree with many cuts and burns of his own, and knives in the trunk all about him and pierced through his clothes. As Beleg worked to cut him loose from the tree, Gwindor took in sight of the much smaller figure hanging by the hands from a low bough. Across the back the tunic was shredded and bloodstained on account of what looked to be a series of burns and lashes. He thought at first that he looked on a young male, either Man or Elf maybe, for the hair fell roughly shorn well above the shoulders. But looking around he saw the tunic was very long, and his heart froze when upon the ground he spotted a long thick golden braid. Stepping around he beheld the unfortunate young maiden who had been caught up in the sad fate of the Man they pursued.

"Valahiru!" he exclaimed in a whisper.

At this the young lady stirred, and saw the light of the West in his face, fair but burdened with long tormented years of hard toil in the deep pit mines of Angband. She wondered if one from among her ancestors had come to usher her to the afterlife. Mírian looked up at him, grieved and weary.

"Have I died, Galahir*?" she said softly.

The question pierced his heart, but he smiled. "Nay, lady!" he replied. "We both live, yet. I am Gwindor, and this is Beleg. We are here to help."

Beleg came up with his black sword, looking on her with deep pity, and wonder and curiosity, for she seemed at first to be one from among his people. He cut the ropes at her wrists and at her ankles, and brought forth a small flask and bade her drink, planning to tend to her wounds more closely once they reached a safer spot. Taking a sip Mírian knew it to be the tonic of the elves, for right away the weight of horror and grief and weariness on her mind was lessened. Then she found she could stand, so she carried Beleg's weapons as the two elves carried the large and heavy man to a safer spot in the woods up the hillside. Beleg saw the girl had nothing but her shredded garments to protect her from the autumn chill in those northern mountains, so he handed her his cloak also.

They watched as Beleg prepared to free the other prisoner of his bonds. But the wind picked up, and when the elf went to cut the bonds at his ankles, not far lightning struck down, and the man's foot was cut. An instant later the mighty archer of the Woodland Elves of Doriath was run through the neck, and fell to the ground. Gwindor cowered at the rage blazing on the man's face, and Mírian standing near dropped the great bow and cried out in terror, her scream drowned by the following thunder as it boomed.

Mírian scrambled over to Beleg to see if there was any hope to treat him, but saw that his wound had been fatal, and the kill instant, and his spirit had already departed. For half a moment she looked up horrified at the slayer. Then she calmed, understanding that his torments had put him in a perilous state, and she sat back on her knees and bowed her head in silence.

Gwindor, now mastering himself, went and asked the man to help bury the slain elf. But the man now stood motionless, in a trance cast by his own horror with himself, as the rain following the lightning and thunder reached them. So the escaped thrall went over to the maiden and urged her to come take shelter with him. Mírian stirred, and followed him to the cover of the woods close by where she sat gazing in grief at the scene of the mortal Man standing over his slain friend, still as statues frozen in time. But as she sat by her new companion she was calmed by the light of the West that shone from his face, and she was again overcome by weariness and fell against the tree and was asleep.

At last morning came, and the sky was now clear over the pine covered hills, and the Orcs were gone. Gwindor found the man kneeling at the feet of his fallen friend, and gently he roused him. The man had now calmed enough to oblige, and while the two men worked to dig Mírian collected large rocks to help fill and cover the spot. Thus did they bury Beleg Strongbow, rescuer and healer to all three, mighty and honorable knight of Menegroth.

Gwindor, taking up the sword and flask and pack filled with lembas, now led the two rescued captives back toward safer territory. For many days they walked in silence, partly from grief and horror over the circumstances of their journey, and partly from the gloom and danger in those parts of Beleriand in those days. At last they found Gwindor's first destination; a familiar and welcome sight to Mírian: the falls of Eithel Irvin at the source of the Narog.

There all were comforted and much relieved of the burdens on their hearts. Mírian was greatly cheered by the sight of it; the last safe place she had been to with her foster folk. The morning mists rose high over its pure and gentle waters, but the sunlight still pierced through and glittered against the little waves of the pool. She cast off the hooded cloak of Beleg, and walking right in she submerged herself despite its chill, and its cool waters soothed her burns and helped ease her mind of its horrible memories. Then she waded over and stood under its falls for a few moments and let the springwater run over her.

Thus refreshed, Mírian came back to the shore and returned to the cover of the great cloak. Gwindor was curious, perceiving that she indeed must have been to this place before. He then realized that in all their long march over the many days, he had not yet got her name. She was hesitant over revealing her identity out in the open, so close to enemy-held territory.

"Anufiniel, master Gwindor," she replied. "That is what my family called me."

But now he turned his attention to their other companion who stood by forlorn and staring at the pool, calling to Túrin to drink of the spring and awaken from his spell of guilt-stricken woe, and so follow him to Nargothrond.

"Son of Húrin?" asked Mírian, looking up.

But at that moment that Túrin drank, and the locks that the horror of recent memories had on his heart and mind loosened, and the floodgates opened to his grief, and he wept freely. But then in that hallowed place did mirth rise in his heart, and he even laughed as he turned to her. For in spite of her dishonored state he thought her fair, and to his curiosity the young lady was looking on him in wonder and joy.

"More like a nickname does that sound, Sunset Hair," he said. "Is that your only name? And why do you look at me so?"

After some pause in thought, at last she replied, "Well, sir, as we are in a place still hallowed by the Lord of Waters, I suppose it is safe enough here now to tell you. My true name answers both questions, Túrin son of Húrin. For I am Mírian, daughter of Huor, Hurin's brother."

The two warriors looked at her amazed. Túrin was speechless, seeing clearly now the resemblance to his father. "Two now I have found of the House of Hador!" exclaimed Gwindor. "Strange chances indeed does one meet on the roads of war! How came you to be in such an evil plight, lady?"

And so while they rested in that sacred place Mírian told them her story. But she thought of the Enemy mission for Turin's capture, and of his father's captivity in Angband, and decided it best to leave out mention of her brother, saying only that one other mortal akin had lived with her. And so with great interest her new companions heard her tales of growing up fostered by the woodland elves of Mithrim, and of the attack in the woods by which she became separated from her traveling companions.

As she spoke she thought perhaps her foster mother had been right, and that the token signified that her message meant to go to the Noldoli king southward. "I think it no mischance that I have found myself in your company, Lord Gwindor," she said. "For I have a message from Lord Ulmo to your king."

And in that moment there was a certain splendor and grace in her countenance that inspired assurance which belied her young age, and he felt no doubt that this young mortal maiden was under no misunderstanding, and truly had a task to his king from the Lord of Waters. "Come then, Anufiniel!" he said. "Let us fare onward to my kingdom. There we may all find comfort and healing."

But then a shadow fell back over Turin's face, and he quieted. For now he held himself to blame for the cruelty she had suffered, fearing he had caught her in the net of his curse.

"You have many burdens to bear by this curse, cousin," she said. "And they will weigh heavy on your heart. But blame is not one of them. Forget not who works this woe upon you. The same foe we may all thank for our losses and suffering."

"Nonetheless, cursed I still am," he replied. "You would do well to flee from me, lady, and go rather to Doriath as your foster folk intended, lest you also fall victim to it."

"Even if I would, my business takes me in your direction. Nor is there any safe passage in that direction, not without aid of the elves who live there. Thus I will risk this curse, for our paths now lie together," she replied.

After a brief repose in that protected place, they began the rest of their journey, and followed the Narog as it widened and hastened along its way south.

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*Lord Shining in Radiance