Túrin Son of Húrin & Glórund the
Lo! the golden dragon of the God of Hell, the gloom of the woods of the world now gone, the woes of Men, and weeping of Elves fading faintly down forest pathways, is now to tell, and the name most tearful of Niniel the sorrowful, and the name most sad of Thalion's son Túrin o'erthrown by fate.
Lo!
Húrin Thalion in the hosts of war was whelmed, what time the white-clad armies of Elfinesse were all to ruin by the dread hate driven of Delu-Morgoth.
That field is yet by the folk named Ninin Unothradin, Unnumbered Tears.
There the children of Men, chieftain and warrior, fled and fought not, but the folk of the Elves they betrayed with treason, save that true man only,
Thalion Erithámrod and his thanes like gods.
There in host on host the hill-fiend Orcs overbore him at last in that battle terrible, by the bidding of Bauglir bound him living, and pulled down the proudest of the princes of Men.
To Bauglir's halls in the hills builded, to the Hells of Iron and the hidden caverns they haled the hero of Hithlum's land,
Thalion Erithámrod, to their throned lord, whose breast was burnt with a bitter hatred, and wroth he was that the wrack of war had not taken Turgon ten times a king, even Finweg's heir; nor Fëanor's children, makers of the magic and immortal gems.
For Turgon towering in terrible anger a pathway clove him with his pale sword-blade out of that slaughter -- yea, his swath was plain through the hosts of Hell like hay that lieth all low on the lea where the long scythe goes.
A countless company that king did lead through the darkened dales and drear mountains out of ken of his foes, and he comes not more in the tale; but the triumph he turned to doubt of Morgoth the evil, whom mad wrath took.
Nor spies sped him, nor spirits of evil, nor his wealth of wisdom to win him tidings, whither the nation of the Gnomes was gone.
Now a thought of malice, when Thalion stood, bound, unbending, in his black dungeon, then moved in his mind that remembered well how Men were accounted all mightless and frail by the Elves and their kindred; how only treason could master the magic whose mazes wrapped the children of Corthûn, and cheated his purpose. 'Is it dauntless Húrin,' quoth Delu-Morgoth, 'stout steel-handed, who stands before me, a captive living as a coward might be?
Knowest thou my name, or need'st be told what hope he has who is haled to Angband -- the bale most bitter, the Balrogs' torment?' 'I know and I hate. For that knowledge I fought thee by fear unfettered, nor fear I now,' said Thalion there, and a thane of Morgoth on the mouth smote him; but Morgoth smiled: 'Fear when thou feelest, and the flames lick thee, and the whips of the Balrogs thy white flesh brand.
Yet a way canst win, an thou wishest, still to lessen thy lot of lingering woe.
Go question the captives of the accursed people I have taken, and tell me where Turgon is hid; how with fire and death I may find him soon, where he lurketh lost in lands forgot.
Thou must feign thee a friend faithful in anguish, and their inmost hearts thus open and search.
Then, if truth thou tellest, thy triple bonds I will bid men unbind, that abroad thou fare in my service to search the secret places following the footsteps of these foes of the Gods.' 'Build not thy hopes so high,
O Bauglir -- I am no tool for thy evil treasons; torment were sweeter than a traitor's stain.' 'If torment be sweet, treasure is liever.
The hoards of a hundred hundred ages, the gems and jewels of the jealous Gods, are mine, and a meed shall I mete thee thence, yea, wealth to glut the Worm of Greed.' 'Canst not learn of thy lore when thou look'st on a foe,
O Bauglir unblest? Bray no longer of the things thou hast thieved from the Three Kindreds.
In hate I hold thee, and thy hests in scorn.' 'Boldly thou bravest me. Be thy boast rewarded,' in mirth quod Morgoth, 'to me now the deeds, and thy aid I ask not; but anger thee nought if little they like thee. Yea, look thereon helpless to hinder, or thy hand to raise.' Then Thalion was thrust to Thangorodrim, that mountain that meets the misty skies on high o'er the hills that Hithlum sees blackly brooding on the borders of the north.
To a stool of stone on its steepest peak they bound him in bonds, an unbreakable chain, and the Lord of Woe there laughing stood, then cursed him for ever and his kin and seed with a doom of dread, of death and horror.
There the mighty man unmovéd sat; but unveiled was his vision, that he viewed afar all earthly things with eyes enchanted that fell on his folk -- a fiend's torment.
I.
Túrin's
Lo! the lady Morwin in the Land of Shadowswaited in the woodland for her well-beloved;but he came never from the combat home.
No tidings told her whether taken or dead,or lost in flight he lingered yet.
Laid waste his lands, and his lieges slain,and men unmindful of his mighty lordshipdwelt in Dorlómin and dealt unkindlywith his widowed wife; and she went with child,who a son must succour now sadly orphaned,
Turin Thaliodrin of tender years.
Then in days of blackness was her daughter born,and was naméd Nienor, a name of tearsthat in language of eld is Lamentation.
Then her thoughts turnéd to Thingol the Elf-king,and the dancer of Doriath, his daughter Tinúviel,whom the boldest of the brave, Beren Ermabwed,had won to wife. He once had knownfirmest friendship to his fellow in arms,
Thalion Erithámrod -- so thought she now, and said to her son, 'My sweetest child,our friends are few, and thy father comes not.
Thou must fare afar to the folk of the wood,where Thingol is throned in the Thousand Caves.
If he remember Morwin and thy mighty sirehe will fain foster thee, and feats of armshe will teach thee, the trade of targe and sword,and Thalion's son no thrall shall be --but remember thy mother when thy manhood nears.'Heavy boded the heart of Húrin's son,yet he weened her words were wild with grief,and he denied her not, fo no need him seemed.
Lo! henchmen had Morwin, Halog and Gumlin,who were young of yore ere the youth of Thalion,who alone of the lieges of that lord of Mensteadfast in service staid beside her:now she bade them brave the black mountains,and the woods whose ways wander to evil;though Túrin be tender and to travail unused,they must gird them and go; but glad they were not, and Morwin mourned when men saw not.
Came a summer day when sun filteredwarm through the woodland's waving branches.
Then Morwin stood her mourning hiding by the gate of her garth in a glade of the woods.
At the breast she mothered her babe unweaned,and the doorpost held lest she droop for anguish.
There Gumlin guided her gallant boy,
And a heavy burden was borne by Halog;but the heart of Túrin was heavy as stoneuncomprehending its coming anguish.
He sought for comfort, with courage saying:'Quickly will I come from the courts of Thingol;long ere manhood I will lead to Morwingreat tale of treasure, and true comrades'--for he wist not the weird woven by Bauglir,nor the sundering sorrow that swept between.
The farewells are taken: their footsteps are turnedto the dark forest: the dwelling fadethin the tangled trees. Then in Túrin leapthis awakened heart, and he wept blindly,calling 'I cannot, I cannot leave thee.
O Morwin, my mother, why makest me go?
Hateful are the hills where hope is lost.
O Morwin, my mother, I am meshed in tears.
Grim are the hills, and my home is gone.'And there came his cries calling faintly down the dark alleys of the dreary trees,and one who wept weary on the thresholdheard how the hills said 'my home is gone.'The ways were weary and woven with deceito'er the hills of Hithlum to the hidden kingdomdeep in the darkness of Doriath's forest;and never ere now for need or wonderhad children of Men chosen that pathway,a few of the folk have followed it since.
There Túrin and the twain knew torment of thirst,and hunger and fear and hideous nights,for wolfriders and wandering Oresand the Things of Morgoth thronged the woodland.
Magics were about them, that they missed their waysand strayed steerless, and the stars were hid.
Thus they passed the mountains, but the mazes of Doriathwildered and wayworn in wanhope bound them.
They had nor bread nor water, and bled of strengththeir death they deemed it to die forewandered,when they heard a horn that hooted afar,and baying dogs. It was Beleg the hunter,who farthest fared of his folk abroadahunting by hill and hollow valley,who cared not for concourse and commerce of men.
He was great of growth and goodly-limbed,but lithe of girth, and lightly on the groundhis footsteps fell as he fared towards them,all garbed in grey and green and brown --a son of the wilderness who wist no sire.'Who are ye?' he asked. 'Outlaws, or maybehard hunted men whom hate pursueth?''Nay, for famine and thirst we faint,' saith Halog,'wayworn and wildered, and wot not the road.
Or hast not heard of the hills of the slain,or the tear-drenchéd field where the terror and fireof Morgoth devoured both Men and Elves?
There Thalion Erithámrod and his thanes like godsvanished from the earth, and his valiant ladyweeps yet widowed as she waits in Hithlum.
Thou lookest on the last of the lieges of Morwinand Thalion's son Túrin, who to Thingol's courtare wending by the word of the wife of Húrin.'Then Beleg bade them be blithe, and said:'The Gods have guided you to good keeping.
I have heard of the house of Húrin the Steadfast - and who hath not heard of the hills of slain,of Nínin Unothradin, the Unnumbered Tears?
To that war I went on, but wage a feudwith the Orcs unending, whom mine arrows bitteroft stab unseen and strike to death.
I am the huntsman Beleg of the Hidden People.'Then he bade them drink, and drew from his belta flask of leather full filled with winethat is bruised from the berries of the burning South --and the Gnome-folk know it, and the nation of the Elves,and by long ways lead it to the lands of the North.
There bakéd flesh and bread from his walletthey had to their hearts' joy; but their heads were mazed by the wine of Dor-Winion that went in their veins,and they soundly slept on the soft needlesof the tall pine-trees that towered above.
Later they wakened and were led by waysdevious winding through the dark wood-realmby slade and slope and swampy thicketthrough lonely days and long night-times,and but for Beleg had been baffled utterly by the magic mazes of Melian the Queen.
To the shadowy shores he showed the waywhere stilly that stream strikes 'fore the gatesof the cavernous court of the King of Doriath,
O'er the guarded bridge he gained a passage,and thrice they thanked him, and thought in their hearts'the Gods are good' -- had they guessed maybewhat the future enfolded they had feared to live.
To the throne of Thingol the three were come,and their speech sped them; for he spake them fair,and held in honour Húrin the steadfast,
Beren Ermabwed's brother-in-arms.
Remembering Morwin, of mortals fairest,he turned not Túrin in contempt away;said: 'O son of Húrin, here shalt sojournin my cavernous court for thy kindred's sake.
Nor as slave or servant, but a second king's sonthou shalt dwell in dear love, till thou deem'st it timeto remember thy mother Morwin's loneliness.
Thou wisdom shalt win unwist of Menand weapons shalt wield as th warrior Elves,and Thalion's son no thrall shall be.'There tarried the twain that had tended the child,till their limbs were lightened and they longed to farethrough dread and danger to their dear lady.
But Gumlin was gone in greater yearsthan Halog, and hoped not to home again.
Then sickness took him, and he stayed by Túrin,while Halog hardened his heart to go.
An Elfin escort to his aid was givenand magics of Melian, and a meed of gold.
In his mouth a message how her wish was granted;how Thingol called her to the Thousand Cavesto fare unfearing with his folk again,there to sojourn in solace, till her son be grown;for Húrin the hero was held in mind,and no might had Morgoth where Melian dwelt.
Of the errand of the Elves and that other Halogthe tale tells not, save in time they cameto the threshold of Morwin, and Thingol's messagewas said where she sate in her solitary hall.
But she dared not do as was dearly bidden,for Nienor her mestling was not yet weaned.
More, the pride of her people, princes of Men,had suffered her send her son to Thingolwhen despair sped her, but to spend her daysas alms-guest of others, even Elfin kings,it liked her little; and there lived e'en nowa hope in her heart that Húrin would come,and the dwelling was dear where he dwelt of old.
At night she would listen for a knock at the doors,or a footstep falling that she fondly knew;so she fared not forth, and her fate was woven.
Yet the thanes of Thingol she thanked nobly,and her shame she showed not, how shorn of gloryto reward their wending she had wealth too scant;but gave them in gift her golden thingsthat last lingered, and they led awaya helm of Húrin that was hewn in warwhen he battled with Beren his brother-in-armsagainst ogres and Orcs and evil foemen;'twas o'erwritten with runes by wrights of old.
She bade Thingol receive it and think of her.
Thus Halog her henchman came home, but the Elves,the thanes of Thingol, thrust through the woods,and the message of Morwin in a month's journey,so quick their coming, to the king was said.
Then was Melian moved to ruth,and courteously received the king her gift,who deeply delved had dungeons filledwith Elfin armouries of ancient gear,but he handled the helm as his hoard were scant;said: 'High were the head that upheld this thingwith that token crowned of the towering dragonthat Thalion Eithámrod thrice-renownédoft bore into battle with baleful foes.'Then a thought was thrust into Thingol's heart,and Túrin he called and told when comethat Morwin his mother a mighty thinghad sent to her son, his sire's heirloom,a helm that hammers had hardened of old,whose makers had mingled a magic thererinthat its worth was a wonder and its wearer safe,guarded from glaive or gleaming axe --'Lo!
Húrin's helm hoard thou till manhoodbids thee battle; then bravely don it';and Túrin touched it, but took it not,too weak to wield that weight as yet,and his mind mournéd for Morwin's answer,and the first of his sorrows o'erfilled his soul.
Thus came it to pass in the court of Thingolthat Túrin tarried for twelve long yearswith Gumlin his guardian, who guided him thitherwhen but seven summers their sorrows had laidon the son of Thalion. For the seven firsthis lot was lightened, since he learnt at whilesfrom faring folk what befell in Hithlum,and tidings were told by trusty Elves,how Morwin his mother was more at ease;and they named Nienor that now was growingto the sweet beauty os a slender maiden.
Thus his heart knew hope, and his hap was fairer.
There he waxed wonderly and won him praisein all lands where Thingol as lord was heldfor the strength of his body and stoutness of heart.
Much more he learned, and loved wisdom,but fortune followed him in few desires;oft wrong and awry what he wrought turnéd;what he loved he lost, what he longed for he won not;and full friendship he found not easily,nor was lightly loved for his looks were sad.
He was gloomy-hearted, and glad seldom,for the sundering sorrow that seared his youth.
On manhood's threshold he was mighty holdenin the wielding of weapons; and in weaving songhe had a minstrel's mastery, but mirth was not in it,for he mourned the misery of the Men of Hithlum.
Yet greater his grief grew thereafter,when from Hithlum's hills he heard no more,and no traveller told him tidings of Morwin.
For those days were drawing to the Doom of the Gnomes,and the power of the Prince of the People of Hell,of the grim Glamhoth, was grown apace,till the lands of the North were loud with their noise,and they fell on the folk with flame and ruinwho bent not to Bauglir, or the borders passedof dark Dorlómin with its dreary pinesthat Hithlum unhappy is hight by Men.
There Morgoth shut them, andt he Shadowy Mountainsfenced them from Faërie and the folk of the wood.
Even Beleg fared not so far abroadas once was his wont, and the woods were filledwith the armies of Angband and evil deeds,while murder walked on the marches of Doriath;only mighty magic of Melian the Queenyet held their havoc from the Hidden People.
To assuage his sorrow and to sate the rageand hate of his heart for the hurts of his folkthen Húrin's son took the helm of his sireand weapons weighty for the wielding of men,and went to the woods with warlike Elves;and far in the fight his feet led him,into black battle yet a boy in years.
Ere manhood's measure he met and slewthe Orcs of Angband and evil thingsthat roamed and ravened on the realm's borders.
There hard his life, and hurts he got him,the wounds of shaft and warfain sword,and his prowess was proven and his praise renowned, and beyond his years he was yielded honour;for by him was holden the hand of ruinfrom Thingol's folk, and Thû feared him --Thu who was thronéd as thane most mighty neath Morgoth Bauglir; whom that mighty one bade'Go ravage the realm of the robber Thingol,and mar the magic of Melian the Queen.'Only one was there in war greater,higher in honour in the hearts of Elves,than Túrin son of Húrin untamed in war --even the huntsman Beleg of the Hidden People,the son of the wilderness who wist no sire(to bend whose bow of the black yew-treehad none of the might), unmatched in knowledgeof the wood's secrets and the weary hills.
He was leader beloved of the light-armed bands,the scouts that scoured, scorning danger,afar o'er the fells their foemen's lairs;and tales and tidings timely won themof camps and councils, of comings and goings --all the movements of the might of Morgoth the Terrible.
Thus Túrin, who trusted to targe and sword,who was fain of fighting with foes well seen,and the banded troops of his brave comradeswere snared seldom and smote unlooked-for.
Then the fame of the fights on the far marcheswere carried to the court of the King of Doriath,and tales of Túrin were told in his halls,and how Beleg the ageless was brother-in-armsto the black-haired boy from the beaten people.
Then the king called them to come before himever and anon when the Orc-raids waned;to rest them and revel, and to raise awhilethe secret songs of the sons of Ing.
On a time was Túrin at the table of Thingol --there was laughter long and the loud clamourof a countless company that quaffed the mead,amid the wine of Dor-Winion that went ungrudgedin their golden goblets; and goodly meatsthere burdened the boards, neath the blazing torchesset high in those halls that were hewn of stone.
There mirth fell on many; there minstrels cleardid sing to them songs of the city of Túnneath Tain-Gwethil, towering mountain,where the great gods sit and gaze on the worlfrom the guarded shores of the gulf of Faërie.
Then one sang of the slaying at the Swanship's Havenand the curse that had come on the kindreds since:all silent sat and soundless harkened,and waited the words save one alone --the Man among Elves that Morwin bore.
Unheeding he heard or high feastingor lay or laughter, and looked, it seemd,to a deep distance in the dark without,and strained for sounds in the still spaces,for voices that vanished in the veils of the night.
He was lithe and lean, and his locks were wild,and woodland weeds he wore of brownand grey and green, and gay jewelof golden trinket his garb knew not.
An Elf there was -- Orgof -- of the ancient racethat was lost in the lands where the long marchesfrom the quiet waters of Cuiviénenwere made in the mirk of the midworld's gloom,ere light was lifted aloft o'er earth;but blood of the Gnomes was blent in his veins.
He was close akin to the King of Doriath --a hardy hunter and his heart was brave,but loose his laughter and light his tongue,and his pride outran his prowess in arms.
He was fain before all of fine raimentand of gems and jewels, and jealous of suchas found favour before himself.
Now costly clad in colours gleaminghe sat on a seat that was set on highnear the king and queen and close to Túrin.
When those twain were at table he had taunted him oft,lightly with laughter, for his loveless ways,his haggard raiment and hair unshorn;but Túrin untroubled neither turned his headnor wasted words on the wit of Orgof.
But this day of the feast more deep his gloomthan of wont, and his words men won harder;for of twelve long years the tale was fullsince on Morwin his mother through a maze of tearshe looked the last, and the long shadowsof the forest had fallen on his fading home;and he answered few, and Orgof nought.
Then the fool's mirth was filled the more,to a keener edge was his carping whettedat the clothes uncouth and the uncombed hairof Túrin newcome from the tangléd forest.
He drew forth daintily a dear treasure,a comb of gold that he kept about him,and tendered it to Túrin; but he turned not his eyes,nor deigned to heed or harken to Orgof,who too deep drunken that disdain should quell him:'Nay, an thou knowest not thy need of comb,nor its use,' quoth he, 'too young thou leftest thy mother's ministry, and 'twere meet to gothat she teach thee tame thy tangled locks --if the women of Hithlum be not wild and loveless,uncouth and unkempt as their cast-off sons.'Then a fierce fury, like a fire blazing,was born of bitterness in his bruiséd heart;his white wrath woke at the words of scornfor the women of Hithlum washed in tears;and a heavy horn to his hand lying,with gold adorned for good drinking,of his might unmindful thus moved in irehe seized and, swinging, swiftly flung it in the face of Orgof. 'Thou fool', he said,'fill thy mouth therewith, and to me no furtherthus witless prate by wine bemused' --but his face was broken, and he fell backward,and heavy his head there hit upon the stoneof the floor rock-paved mid flagons and vesselsof the o'erturned table that tumbled on himas clutching he fell; and carped no more,in death silent. There dumb were allat bench and board; in blank amazethey rose around him, as with ruth of hearthe gazed aghast on his grievous deed,on his wine-stained hand, with wondering eyeshalf-comprehending. On his heel then he turnedinto the night striding, and none stayed him;but some their swords half slipped from sheaths-- they were Orgof's kin -- yet for awe of Thingolthey dared not draw while the dazéd kingstonefacéd stared on his stricken thaneand no sign showed them. But the slayer weary his hands laved in the hidden streamthat strikes 'fore the gates, nor stayed his tears:'Who has cast,' he cried, 'a curse upon me;for all I do is ill, and an outlaw now,in bitter banishment and blood-guilty,of my fosterfather I must flee the halls,nor look on the lady beloved again' --yea, his heart to Hithlum had hastened him now,but that road he dared not, lest the wrath he drawof the Elves after him, and their anger alightshould speed the spears in despite of Morgotho'er the hills of Hithlum to hunt him down;lest a doom more dire than they dreed of oldbe meted his mother and the Maid of Tears.
In the furthest folds of the Forest of Doriath,in the darkest dales on its drear borders,in haste he hid him, lest the hunt take him;and they found not his footsteps who fared after,the thanes of Thingol; who thirty dayssought him sorrowing, and searched in vainwith no purpose of ill, but the pardon bearingof Thingol throned in the Thousand Caves.
He in council constrained the kin of Orgofto forget their grief and forgiveness show,in that wilful bitterness had barbed the wordsof Orgof the Elf; said 'his hour had comethat his soul should seek the sad pathwayto the deep valley of the Dead Awaiting,there a thousand years thrice to ponderin the gloom of Gurthrond his grim jesting,ere he fare to Faërie to feast again.'Yet of his own treasure he oped the gates,and gifts ungrudging of gold and gemsto the sons he gave of the slain; and his folkwell deemed the deed. But that doom of the KingTúrin knew not, and turned against himthe hands of the Elves he unhappy believed,wandering the woodland woeful-hearted;for his fate would not that the folk of the cavesshould harbour longer Húrin's offspring.
