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Renewal
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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 freed captives back toward safer territory. For many days and nights they journeyed, walking through wood and field and fen by the light of the moon in silence; partly from grief and horror over the circumstances of their meeting, and partly from the gloom and danger of those parts of Beleriand in those days. At last they found Gwindor's first destination, a familiar and welcome place 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, and Mírian was greatly cheered by the sight of it as 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 to ease her mind of its horrible memories. She waded over and stood under its falls for a few moments, letting the rushing 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 must have been to this place before. He then realized that in all their long marches over the many days and nights, he had not yet got her name. But Mírian was hesitant over revealing her identity openly out here, so close to enemy territory.
"Anufiniel, lord Gwindor," she replied. "That is what my family called me."
Gwindor wondered at the choice of words in her answer, but turned his attention to their other companion who stood by staring forlorn at the pool, and called to him to drink of the spring and awaken from his spell of guilt-stricken woe, and so follow him to Nargothrond.
Mírian looked over. "Son of Húrin?" she asked in surprise.
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 suddenly did mirth rise in his heart, and he even laughed merrily as he turned to her. For despite her dishonored appearance he thought her fair, and to his curiosity she 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 to tell you. My true name answers both questions, Túrin son of Húrin, for I am Mírian, daughter of Huor, Húrin's brother."
The two warriors looked at her astonished. Túrin was speechless, now seeing the resemblance she bore 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 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, for now at least. 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 forest by which she became separated from her travel companions.
As she spoke she thought perhaps her foster mother had been right, and that the token signified that her message was meant to go to the Noldoli king southward. "I think it no mischance that I have found myself in your company, good Gwindor," she concluded. "For I have a message to your king from his seaward majesty Lord Ulmo."
In that moment there was a certain grace in her countenance that inspired an assurance which belied her young age, and her guide 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, Mírian Anufiniel!" he said in wonder. "Let us fare onward to my kingdom. There we may all find comfort and healing."
But then a shadow fell back over Turin, 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, and thought it better that she head back to the forest to find her foster people.
"You have many burdens to bear by this curse," she said to him. "And they will weigh heavy on your heart. But blame is not one of them. Do not forget 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 that way, not without aid of the elves who live there. Neither do I know if any of my friends even survived the attack. Thus I will risk this curse, for our paths now lie together," she replied.
"Nor would it be wise," added Gwindor, "to traverse back over such perilous country alone. No, if she is meant to go to the forest kingdom, then we must leave it to fate to lead her there when it will."
After a brief rest in that sacred place they began the rest of their journey, and followed the Narog as it widened and hastened along its way south.
