| *** |
The Leithian Script — Why?
Well, it's more fun than the Cliff Notes…
Seriously, it was forged out of a combination of several consecutive retellings of the story, set into the wider Arda Mythos context on the fly, to younger, teenage Tolkien fans who had either not read Silmarillion or not lately; several particularly inane Usenet statements and a general tone of obliviousness cluelessness as to character motivations; and a free morning when I didn't feel like cleaning the house…
It had started as nothing more than the cartoon which accompanies it, the mental exercise of imagining how the throne room scene would appear if one were actually there to witness it having caused me too many fits of giggles not to inflict it on — er, share it with — others. Unfortunately, the rest of the scene insisted on playing itself out, and thus The Script was born…
Then, although it was only conceived as a one-off short sketch, I was urged repeatedly to keep going, which didn't happen until I finally figured out how to do this — it truly is a very complicated architectonic and stylistic construction, and not a simple matter of translation at all. Then a way to make it work, as a unified drama, occurred to me, and the madness went on…
Here I show you the ropes and pulleys, the gaffers and grips, making it all happen — that is to say, the textual citations, in-jokes, obscure/obligatory references, and terrible puns, along with interpretations & interpolations of Canon — and ultimately the answer to "Why?" such a project at all…
Now, as far as The Script goes, overall I'm following the story and Canon as set forth in the 1977 Silmarillion, which as far as I can tell from subsequent reading is close to, if not quite identical with, the unpublished 1930 Silmarillion for the story of Beren and Luthien. However, I also have made massive recourse to the Fragments of the Lay of Leithian, written out in the last half of the '20s, mostly, and found in The Lays of Beleriand together with the earliest version of The Lay of the Children of Hurin, which I will refer to as LL1 and LL2, the latter being a revision of some of the cantos begun ca 1950. Generally speaking I will take the Lay Fragments as primary, though not always, when there are differences.
I have also utilized where I have found them relevant facts and information
from elsewhere in the History of Middle Earth, where sometimes a small
sentence or aside will provide vast insights into the connections or complications
of the story. And, of course, there is the whole question of variations
internally, which I treat by a) picking the versions I like best; b) acting
as though the writings are actually translations of pre-and post-Atalantaean
works recovered by Professor Tolkien, which have been mucked
about with and partially mangled and partly forgotten and often rewritten,
just like The Song of Roland and other real epics and romances of the Primary
World. So The Script is, on one level, an attempt to harmonize these various
rescensions of Canon, just as it is on another level an attempt to make
the obscurer parts comprehensible to a modern audience.
Three things are important to remember: first, the Silmarillion version of Beren & Luthien is complete in length, but not in detail; secondly, the LB versions are not complete in length (what I would not give for the lost 3.5 cantos!) but much fuller in detail; thirdly, there are hints and crucial elements developed in the adjunct notes and summaries jotted down as Tolkien developed the plot more fully. But the LB is very hard to work with, due partly to the typeface and partly to the masses of interpolated scholarly commentary, which are useful on one level, but do not make for easy or fluid reading. And it's poetry in a high-medieval style, like that of the famous "Ubi Sunt" — which goes like this in part:
Were
beth they biforen us weren,
Houndes ladden and hauekes beren
And hadden feld and wode?
The riche levedies in hoere bour
That wereden golden in hoere tressour
With hoere brightte rode…
…Were is that lawing and that song,
That trayling and that proude gong,
Tho havekes
and tho houndes?
which is not a style natural to us these days, (or most of us, at least) and requires some adjustment to be readable as a novel is to us. But oh, it has some grand stuff in it, and I at least enjoy "the character of its hero," and do not find it merely "a treasure chest of trivia," as the blurb on the back cover calls it.
He grew afraid
amidst his power once more; renown
of Beren vexed his ears, and down
the aisléd forests there was heard
great Huan baying.
Why did I choose to render it in a pseudo-Shakespearean format, modeled on Henry V with the device of the Narrator, Gower the medieval poet-historian, on loan from that play? Partly because it's fun to do neo-Elizabethan verse (at least for me) and partly because it allows me to add commentary and make connections past what information would be available to the characters at any given scene. And because it bridges well the divide between the epic story and the flippant modern style I've adopted, and provides an almost-plausible (I hope at least) framework with which to counteract the synapse-shorting dichotomies — in Henry V, Gower exists "outside time," speaking to the audience directly from the context of the theater group which is thus acknowledged to exist and to be merely portraying the events, and so the artificiality of the play-world is thus dissipated by recognition, and anachronisms and historical differences are likewise obviated.
In other words, Gower can talk about computer screens, and it isn't
"wrong" any more than when he asks us to imagine that "this wooden O" is
the battlefield of Agincourt or the hall of the King—
| ACT I — An Appointment in Menegroth |
The title of course refers to the traditional story "An Appointment in Samara" with its invocation of Fate and the ironic consequences of elaborate precautions to avoid it. It is told in Silmarillion how Elu Thingol, King of Doriath, in justifiable apprehension of the consequences of having scads of ambitious, powerful, talented, troublesome relatives and their entourages grabbing up territory on all sides, refused to open his borders to the returning Noldor and warned them against displacing the native peoples of Beleriand.
We are also told that he had had premonitions in prophetic dreams of doom and destruction concerning mortal Men and the future of Doriath, and so unlike others of the lords of the Eldar, refused to allow Men into his kingdom or into his service at all. Read the Sil. chapter "Of the Coming of Men into the West" to get a lot of backstory on the political situation of Beleriand (which is a lot more interesting than modern Earth politics, since we don't have Oracles and acknowledged Powers involved in the affairs of nations these days) and the foreshadowing of Doom in the conversation on all this between Melian and her apprentice, Finrod's little sister Galadriel…
Act I, being very brief, is really a quite straightforward take on the scene as presented in Silm. and LL1, my own interpolations and emendations being limited to two (besides the fact that I've "translated" the dialogue into the modern style) of significance.
The first is the presence of Mablung and Beleg at the Court — although they are not specifically mentioned, and given the rather unregimented style of Doriath could well have been anywhere in the realm, I chose to include them for several reasons. The foremost is to provide a foreshadowing/unifying to the end of the story, as they are, so to speak, "in at the kill" and involved deeply along the way — also, introducing them as ancillaries to the scene allows for a slightly less entangled version/vision of events than is available to any of the participants, including Daeron, whose wierd behavior we are told has been noted, if not understood, by other people in the community.
The second is assuming that the description of Beren in LL1 as making his dramatic exit and farewell to Luthien so abruptly before the thrones of King and Queen is more bardic traditional than historically literal — I consider it justifiable artistic license to give them a longer and semi-private leave-taking, as the Doriathrin aren't monsters nor is saying goodbye anywhere else in the story ever shown to be quick or easy any more than for lovers today — "There isn't enough room for all the truth in songs," is a saying I've heard, and any comparison, or simple consideration, of the needs of narrative compression will prove this.
"brainwashed slave" — this refers to one of the major security concerns
in Silm., "Of the Return of the Noldor", described as Morgoth turning
the power of his eyes on any of the Eldar he could take alive, and so daunting
them "that they needed chains no more, but walked ever in fear of him,
doing his will wherever they might be." This fact features majorly in the
Nargothrond interactions, when the sheer number of freed thralls, and the
fact that they're escorted home by Huan, makes it darn hard to ignore them
or turn them back at the borders. It also features not insignificantly
in the Gondolin story… It's my assumption that one of the uses of such
victims, in addition to the canonical use as spies, would be as assassination
attempts, (perhaps unwarranted and caused by too many viewings of Manchurian
Candidate, but I doubt it.)
Again, pretty obvious, I tend to think. For amendation, only the assignment
of the suggestion/reminder to seek out Finrod Felagund for assistance to
Luthien is really mine. Beren is certainly no fool, but the creative genius
of the pair is Luthien, and particularly considering the stressfulness
of the recent scene, it isn't a stretch to think her cool-headed enough
to make the association for him.
"Fell" — this entire exchange refers to both the continual assaults
on the outskirts of Doriath beyond the Girdle which accompanied Morgoth's
unresulting efforts to see past Melian's defenses, and the horrible mutative
effects which occurred along the northern borders where the residual traces
of Ungoliant's time there not only corrupted the environment but interacted
with Melian's power and created, we are told, still more hideous things
which only grew worse as time went on. (They weren't half so bad a few
generations ago when Haleth led her people through to Brethil, for example.)
I don't know that any of them were multi-headed monsters, but in the vague
descriptions of the half-seen creatures of Dungortheb it is implied that
they had more eyes than creatures should, and not all of them were spiders…
Hence I give his age as "about twenty-five" because that would make
him fifteen at the Dagor Bragollach — any older, and I cannot see any reason
why he would not also go with the muster to the Leaguer, like his cousins
— and that would make the explicit statement that Finrod recognizes him
without need of token an irrelevance not worth mentioning; obviously the
King would recognize someone he'd met before. "About" because after living
so long in the wilds without human companionship, no communal events or
celebrations, calendars would be essentially irrelevant to him, and similar
seasons flow together.
(Some of the detail here is far clearer in the full-resolution version for printing, which will open in a new window, and is about 900 KB.)
This is the heart of it all — the original scene that endeavored to explain why, just possibly why, on the most basic level, Thingol and Melian might not have been entirely thrilled over their daughter's choice of prospective husband. Your brilliant, talented, grown-up daughter it never occurred to you not to trust on her own, shows up with a (significantly!) younger guy, who just happens to be homeless, jobless, broke, and living in your woods for the past year. The fact that for the past half-dozen years and more he's been a guerrilla warrior and besides owning no other property than the armor and weapons he's wearing, has no other skills to offer besides killing monsters is just going to be added insult — most parents are not going to be leaping ecstatically up to welcome him into the family, regardless of race and immortality issues, oracular forebodings, or anything else. Not in my experience, at least…
This sketch is a little rougher than the ones which followed, as it was only a dashed-off idea, essentially, and I'd never done a cartoon at all. But the intent is to convey the organic and woodland style of Menegroth, together with its brightness and glory, contrasted with the utter scruffiness of Beren and how far out of place he is there — at least superficially. And you may notice a slight ancient-classical influence in Melian's costume, as in Luthien's — this is deliberate, and refers to the archetypal antecedents of women of divine origin met in groves of nightingales and offering wisdom and song, or taking earthly lovers. Remember, JRRT was a trained and practicing Classicist before devoting his life to other projects…
Tulkas, of course, is the Power you want on your side when you need someone pounded but maybe not necessarily to go into too much detail about why — the Wrestler is loyal, brave, enthusiastic, but he's not terribly much interested in the finer ins and outs of theory and so forth!
And yeah, Luthien does pretty much start out thinking that simply meeting Beren will be enough to convince her family of how wonderful he is — I wouldn't call her dumb, myself, though, but rather that she expects the best from the people she loves, the same high standards they've raised her to believe in, and is sadly disappointed…
Back to The Script
Table of Contents page…
| ACT II — The Sojourn in Nargothrond |
This section gave me a double problem to resolve throughout.
Typically in fairy tales, fantasy and science fiction, there is a viewpoint character to reveal the tale's Wonders to us, the Ordinary Fellow, who witnesses them vicariously and reacts to them as we would. (C.S Lewis also addresses this at length in an essay on sf which has lots of fascinating revelations about the different kinds of speculative fiction and how they work.) And ordinarily, this is how a story of a mortal hero wandering into the Land Beneath The Hills would work — how most folk tales work, indeed, whether he be prince or a weary soldier returned from the wars, or the youngest son of a poor widow — or she be the merchant's youngest daughter, indeed!
But — Beren is anything but an ordinary guy by this time — not that he ever was, being "being born in charmed hour" under a great Doom to a house of Elf-friends and extraordinarily motivated (not to say driven) and duty-bound people devoted to Powers they'd never met. So his reactions are not going to be the same as someone from a developed nation who's never spent years being hunted through the woods with a price on his head, four of them entirely apart from human companionship, let alone been chosen as the True Love of the immortal daughter of a demigoddess — which brings me to the singular irony of the Elven realms.
Namely, that they are far closer to our age, and our developed world, than anything Beren would have known even in peacetime. For the lifestyle in peace of the Men of Beleriand is only a little removed (if at all) from the pioneer experience, which people tend to forget when they think "Middle-earth = Medieval" — Kate Elliott in her Crown of Stars series is the only contemporary author I know of who seems to be aware that Europe even as late as around 1000 years ago was essentially a jungle, mostly covered with dense old-growth forest full of wild animals through which, and around which, people cut clearings and eked out a living and fought to tame. Hence in the Exeter Book the Anglo-Saxon riddle about the plough calls Men "the wood's old foe" bringing axes and fire to the forest.
After five generations of settlement, the Northlands would be somewhat tamed, but still rather in the mode of the old Highlands, or the hill-and-forest-clearing fields of New England before the rise of the mills and mass transport. No shopping malls, no mass-production — and not even great Fairs, like in the high Middle Ages, because no walled cities and roads to carry goods on. Small farms, small communities like those of the Viking sagas, mostly independent, not tightly organized nor "feudal" in the image we tend to have from movies. And this is a dangerous way to live when being invaded, as the ordeal of the Haladin earlier in Silm. portrays, but it is the way that independent and self-motivated types have historically chosen to live.
Thus, the Nargothrond sequence, with its centralized government, organized services, modern conveniences and assumptions of what a proper lifestyle entails, is in a real sense us — magic indistinguishable from technology and vice-versa, if sufficiently advanced — revealing another world and lifestyle to our sensibilities in their reaction to Beren.
I've made the dialogue of Nargothrond more formal and archaic, slightly, than that of Doriath, as a consideration of their more sophisticated historical background and more unified culture. Again, see the ROTK Appendices for a detailed discussion of the employment of different modes and dialects to convey meaning in Tolkien's own words.
We are told that Beren was received with great courtesy (despite the fact that he looked like a bum) as he was arrested on his careful and public entry into Nargothrond. Given that for five generations previously his family had not only sent troops to the Leaguer but sent squires to Nargothrond of whom some remained there like Bëor, who gave over the headship of his tribe and ended his days in service to the King, I imagine that there would be considerable deja vu among the native Nargothronders (though not necessarily for the recent influx of Feanorian partisans) and most especially among surviving veterans of the Leaguer, on encountering Beren.
This scene is indeed my own, but should not be seen as contrary to Canon but simply gapfilling: how in detail might Beren's welcome and arrival play out, how would Nargothrond react, what political and personal complications are already existing there and what might they look like? Obviously, something had to happen during all those hours; I'm just taking a stab at, possibly, what. Could any or all of the other characters present in the City have encountered Beren? Sure! What would their likely reactions and interactions have been, given what we know of their personalities? relationships? —That's all.
Oh, and it provides a useful way of indicating just how much unlike your typical fantasy hero Beren is, which is something [else] that tends to get lost in the usual summaries and renderings of the tale. Not only is he not just some random warrior, which I emphasize by the use of his title in formal exchanges; — Conan "Dark Lord killed my family? Constant fighting? Giant spiders? Piffle!" the Barbarian he ain't. (No more than he is "Bond —Whoops, did I lose another girlfriend there? —James Bond".) Even before he leaves Dorthonion one step ahead of the death squads, he is already practically the poster child for PTSD. He isn't even your modern typical commando dude who can count on being extracted from enemy territory and taken home to first-world luxury and safety at mission's end. He doesn't even have the support structure of a Rebel Alliance to give some assistance and comfort while being hunted from system to system. It's hardly surprising that he is described while in Doriath as being "as wild and wary as a faun/that sudden wakes at rustling dawn, and flits from shade to shade, and flees/the brightness of the sun, yet sees all stealthy movements in the wood," even when no one is actually out to get him.
And things just keep getting worse...
Thanks to NovusSibyl for taking part in clarifying discussions
on the question of whether or not the battlefield survivors would have
had any awareness that Gelmir was a POW, which is usually assumed by readers
but not warranted in my opinion either by canon or by Primary World experiences
of war...
"Fair
were the words of Narog's king
to Beren, and his wandering
and all his feuds and bitter wars
recounted soon. Behind closed doors
they sat, while Beren told his tale
of Doriath; and words him fail
recalling Luthien dancing fair
with wild white roses in her hair,
remembering her elven voice that rung
while stars in twilight round her hung.
He spake of Thingol's marvellous halls
by enchantment lit, where fountain falls
and ever the nightingale doth sing
to Melian and to her king.
The quest he told that Thingol laid
in scorn on him; how for love of maid
more fair than ever was born to Men,
of Tinuviel, of Luthien,
he must essay the burning waste,
and doubtless death and torment taste."
I have endeavored to do justice here not only to the texts but to the
whole backstory that leads to this meeting and exchange "behind closed
doors."
Researching this I discovered that not only was that assumption incorrect, so too the assumption of similiar coloration for her son. According to notes in HOME, though Emeldir was born in Dorthonion, of the tribe of Beor, her mother was of the ruling house of Marach, and her father was also of matrilineal Hador descent. (Stories there, for anyone who wants to explore First Age peacetime life, the journeys and meetings and daily experiences of the Edain…) So Emeldir is blond like her great-nephew Tuor, and her son inherits lighter brown hair and is taller than Barahir his father, and we can gather that she too is both tall and robust, very likely taller than her husband. And an extremely good fighter, given that she successfully got a party of women and children through two sets mountains full of Orcs to safety in her ancestral homeland.
There are a few other elements upon which I draw: first of all, that Beren is not Turin. Granted, there are many ways in which one could not be like Turin, but taken into combination with what we do know of Beren's character, this makes it easy to shade in the portrait — in any given circumstance, not dealt with in the extant texts, a good many responses can instantly be ruled out this way? i.e., "How would Turin react? Ok, that wouldn't happen here, then." Nor, despite his long years as a solitary rebel warrior, does he become a psychopath like Turin's outlaws. This says two things to me: very strong moral fibre, and a very good upbringing.
And so I can't help but see Emeldir of Dorthonion as someone highly principled, absolutely uncompromising when it comes to demanding the best from herself and everyone around her, considered a bit eccentric in peacetime but not concerned with people's opinions of her (only whether they're deserved or not), willing to give her all and sacrifice her own wishes to duty, and — when the menfolk are off at the War — the Lord as well as Lady of the place, just as in medieval and frontier times. And, equally naturally, her son's first teacher and example during those those years. Was she a good and loving person as well as a brave, strong, and dutiful one? Just look at how her son turned out…
And the relationship between his parents?
Well, Beren is neither threatened by, nor resentful of, a woman stronger
than he. (Absolutely terrified that she'll end up like Eilinel as a result
of her association with him, but that's only natural.) And that
says more to me than almost anything else…
It's even more interesting that his uncle Bregolas died alongside Finrod's
brothers in the fighting — Angrod and Aegnor had been the lords of Dorthonion
as vassals of their brother the King before the land was given to the Beorings,
who took the defense over from them, and with whom they still defended
the frontier of that country. The connections and parallels are more complex
and deeply woven than at first sight...
Because — for me, at least — implicit in the notion of a pledge is the
fact of the exchange: the token is given the first time as the visible
sign of the vow, and then returned in the claiming of it. So although it's
nowhere explicitly stated that Beren gave the King back his ring, it's
still there, unless contradicted. And lo and behold! in LB there is, it
turns out, a marginal note in one of the manuscripts that at some point
Finrod should give the ring back to Beren. —Disconcerting, but also a bit
of a morale-lifter for a scriptwriter. Obviously it's my call here, but
I think (hope) not implausible.
Because Huan can't simply leave Celegorm and follow Luthien because she's "the damsel in distress," nor help her and Beren against his lord because they're cooler people than the Sons of Feanor. He has too much character and integrity for that — nor, in fact, does he. It takes him a while to decide, remember?
This is the problem of Antigone, by-the-by, which is answered pretty definitely in the same way by Aeschylus: Justice and the general moral imperatives trump all earthly laws, and political obligations. Of course Huan's situation is even more complicated in that he's already disobeyed one divine mandate as less binding than an earlier one: by taking part in the flight of the Noldor, but given to Celegorm as liege-dog by Orome. Huan is a very angsty character, and the complicated development of the plot outline involving his decisions in the versions and notes to the story is well-worth considering. But more on this in Act III.
Here's where I really get going with the compare-contrast-equate business of Elven-Mortal/Modern-Archaic cultural assumptions. Again, I don't consider this counter-Canonical, simply interstitial — not that I ever consider anything of my supposing to be Canonical in the sense of reflecting The Professor's intentions (unless some obscure note discovered proves it so) but simply that I try to make things plausible as I render them in more detail — what happens in the "meanwhiles" and "elsewheres," is all.
The overwhelming material prosperity and high standard of living of Nargothrond is one thing I wish to convey, but another, which is in fact more significant even, is the difference between even our Age and society, and Elvendom — that is, the relative time-scales and the inability to get past them. (And yet — we tend to be rather isolated, don't we, both on a personal and national basis, the concerns of our own lives overriding the sense of what is happening elsewhere, until it comes home to us somehow…)
The fact that the last remaining companions of Beren in Dorthonion and the ten warriors of Nargothrond who accompanied Finrod into exile were all at the Fen of Serech is Canon. I've simply drawn out and made plain what is only implicit in the originals, yet perhaps all the more powerful for its subliminality: the realization of the parallels buried throughout — but only scarcely covered! — Silmarillion and HOME has been one of the unfolding delights of venturing into the regions I once thought of as arid background material…
Another is that the Fall of Nargothrond dates from this point — it takes a while for the collapse to become total, but the foundations are blasted in this time. And why not? It isn't just that Orodreth is not as good a ruler as his brother. The combined forces of expiation and revenge and the fact that morale and leadership have been repeatedly shaken are powerful factors in the actions of the Nargothronders at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and afterwards. Turin's coming is like the echo that starts the avalanche — but the careless climber didn't cause that buildup of thousands of tons of snowpack up above.
What about the gap left by the loss of those who went with the King? This is surely no small factor either. They would not have been nonentities, random losers whose absence would make no difference to the life of the City, to be able alone of all the realm to disregard the danger, the Oath, and the overwhelming popular opinion against them — though not all, necessarily, of high political rank or standing (no more than a certain gardener in another Age) and thus I have taken the artistic liberty of sketching roles for the Ten, "who had ever fought/wherever his banners had been brought", and whose names, unlike those of the Beorings, are not given, save one. This is not an accident, though what it says about Arda may be a little disconcerting: the Silmarillion is the Elven history of Middle-earth. —They know who they are.
"Danger
he sought and death pursued
and thus escaped the doom he wooed,
and deeds of breathless daring wrought
alone, of which the rumor brought
new hope to many a broken man.
They whispered 'Beren', and began
in secret swords to whet, and soft
by shrouded hearths at evening oft
songs they would sing of Beren's bow,
of Dagmor his sword: how he would go
silent to camps and slay the chief,
or trapped in his hiding past belief
would slip away, and under night
by mist or moon, or by the light
of open day would come again.
Of hunters hunted, slayers slain
they sang, of Gorgol the Butcher hewn,
of ambush in Ladros, fire in Drûn,
of thirty in one battle dead,
of wolves that yelped like curs and fled,
yea, Sauron himself with wound in hand.
Thus one alone filled all that land
with fear and death for Morgoth's folk;
his comrades were the beech and oak
who failed him not, and wary things
with fur and fell and feathered wings
that silent wander, or dwell alone
in hill and wild and waste of stone
watched o'er his ways, his faithful friends."
LL2: The legends and ballads of Beren's heroic one-man stand against Morgoth are chroncicled in brief here, as well as the inspiring but ultimately useless effect they had on their hearers. Beren's sword is identified as bearing the name "Dagmor," which has to break down as "Dark Battle" [dag~, dagor = battle, mor~ dark/black] but which since only two swords actually of black metal are ever spoken of in Middle-earth, and their forging is a singular event (Turin's blade Anglachel, and its twin, by Eol) I assume that the name has the appropriate significance of "ambush" or "sneak attack" or "night fighting" or all of the three.
This is my play with the problem of canonicity, and which versions of
a story are the "right" one — the changing and exaggerating of legends,
the loss of some details and the inclusion of others. I recommend that
everyone read JRRT's essay "On Fairy-stories" where he discusses this at
some length in regard to the identification of various "legendary" stories
with various historical figures, and what this means about human beings.
"The sons of Finarfin bore most heavily the brunt
of the assault, and Angrod and Aegnor were slain;
beside them fell Bregolas lord of the house of Beor,
and a great part of the warriors of that people.
But Barahir the brother of Bregolas was in the fighting
further westward, near to the Pass of Sirion.
There King Finrod Felagund, hastening from the south,
was cut off from his his people and surrounded
with small company in the Fen of Serech; and he
would have been slain or taken, but Barahir came up
with the bravest of his men and rescued him, and
made a wall of spears about him; and they cut their
way out of the battle with great loss."
—Silmarillion,
"Of the Ruin of Beleriand"
"Their
names are yet in elven-song
remembered, though the days are long…
For these it was, the chosen men
of Beor's house, who in the fen
of reedy Serech stood at bay
about King Inglor in the day
of his defeat, and with their swords
thus saved of all the Elven-lords
the fairest…"
(LL2: Inglor/Ingoldo are variants of Finrod's mother-name.)
Hathaldir is called "the young" in Silm., and hence like Beren
for the reasons previously stated I have judged that likewise he (and perhaps
others) might not actually been at Serech and yet still be part of the
collective group, and known as one knows colleagues' family members by
conversation. Beren's dogs are nowhere named, so I have given them traditionally-inspired
mastiff names, but that he and his father had hounds, and loved them, and
that he talked about them is Canon — Luthien discusses this with Huan during
her enforced hospitality at Nargothrond later.
"since
the black shaft with venomed wound
took Belegund and Baragund,
the mighty sons of Bregolas…"
Ic þa wiht geseah
on weg feran
I saw
this thing on the wave faring
heo waes wraetlice
wundrum gegierwed
it was well-wrought wonderfully crafted
wundor wearð on wege
waeter wearð to bane
wonder went on waves water went to bone
—Exeter Book, Riddle LXVIII
Again, mostly just painting out the truth behind the songs — realities
of logistics and terrain and the Arts of War, assumed common knowledge,
assumed as default in the epics and chronicles and hence not requiring
explication. I've conjectured and translated — but you will find no real
anachronisms here, no more than anywhere else. The archaic custom of sword-bonding
does, for example, equate to a safety-catch on a modern weapon — though
peace-strings serve more for an accidental going-off of the user,
than the weapon itself…
And yes, that does make for a pun there in the original Elvish…
1) the fact that after confiscating Celegorm's horse they keep on walking, rather than ride off, which makes a lot of sense given that if one is not a particularly confident rider that one would not want to attempt such an exit with a rather nervous and shaken animal especially, any more than an amateur pilot would be likely to hop into an F-15 and take off;
2) the fact that the Beorings do ride to the rescue of Serech, but live in rugged highlands and mountain forests, not good horse country at all, and terrain where typically the riding beasts are small, scruffy, tough and bloodthirsty;
3) the question of where in Dorthonion at the height of the invasion, Barahir's outlaws would be likely to keep horses — cavalry, even ponies, being comparatively high maintainance, noisy, and not especially happy living in swamps for the most part — they're certainly not using them by the end;
4) the fact that by the time they reach the borders of Doriath the first time, Beren is sufficiently comfortable with the horse and with riding generally to undertake the long retracing of the journey back to the borders of Angband at high speed.
Hence I tend to think that he would have had early experience with horses,
using the term very loosely, probably never have seen a full-size ancestor
of the mearas before getting nearly run over by Celegorm, and given
the combination of his ranger skills, empathy with animals, and low intimidation
factor, wouldn't have taken very long to not only regain his earlier riding
ability but to be at ease with a steed easily twice as tall and much faster
than anything he would have ever ridden before.
We go up in fame
or we come down in flame
but nothing can stop
the Army Air Corps
—as my people used to sing…
Also the fact of the social fragmentation and uncertainty in Nargothrond following the Defeat is in part inspired by the events chronicled in Sil and the rest taken from my own observations of history and group interactions. I can't imagine that someone as cruel and cynical as Curufin would have failed to make use of Beren as an object lesson in his rhetoric, either…
The bit about the fault-lying in the failure of the Leaguer is particularly audacious, given that we're told in Silm. that the Sons of Feanor were chief in those objecting to any offensive action, against the High King Fingolfin's recommended tactics, because of the inevitable casualties caused by taking the battle to the Enemy. Of course, in the end, keeping him locked up only resulted in more casualties.
And the "jewel/girl" line is an ObRef to the actual text of Celegorm's Curse as given in full in the Lay:
"Farewell," cried Celegorm
the fair.
"Far get you gone! And better
were
to die forhungered in the
waste
than wrath of Fëanor's
sons to taste
that yet may reach o'er
dale and hill.
No gem, nor maid, nor Silmaril
shall ever long in thy grasp
lie!
We curse thee under cloud
and sky,
we curse thee from rising
unto sleep!"
—It's a doozy, all right.
Those
banners come to bribe or threaten
Or whisper that a man's a fool
Who when his own right king's forgotten
Cares what king sets up his rule.
If he died long ago
Why do you dread us so?
There
in the tomb drops the faint moonlight
But wind comes up from the shore.
They shake when the winds roar
Old bones upon the mountain shake.
Morgoth's Parole - referring to the sowing of discord and seduction
to rivalry carried out undercover by Morgoth after his release from prison
following his first attempt to destroy all light in the world, when he
was allowed to go about freely just as though he'd never done anything
treacherous before and all was forgiven.
The epithet "Unburning" derives from the symbology of Ghanian traditional
reincarnatory monotheism, where the idea of that which burns eternally
without being consumed or destroyed is used as one of the ways to describe
the Divine; it is also evocative of the Stoic belief in Fire as the Element
underlying the universe, and the essential nature of the soul.
I just tend to think that the SOFs are the sort of people who wouldn't be able to resist coming down to gloat, even if, for prudential reasons, discreetly.
And Huan, who we are told in LL1 loves the King, would surely also be there to say goodbye.
(Some of the detail here is far clearer in the full-resolution version for printing, which will open in a new window, and is about 1.2 MB.)
The three tile designs behind the throne represent three sigils used by Finrod in Middle-earth — the first two are traced directly freehand from JRRT's own designs, and the third is my interpretation based on textual description of a device that I have not seen any authoritative rendering for as yet but only verbal descriptions.
The uppermost and central design is the emblem of House Finarfin, with golden sun rays which also evoke Egyptian lilies in their termini. As Finrod is in the peculiar position of having taken up the overlordship of his group after his father's conscience will no longer allow him to go on, and in a sense is the vicarious king of his people here in Middle-earth, it seems fitting to me that he would employ the heraldic device of his father's House, just as Fingolfin, as High King of the Noldor after Maedhros' relinquishment of the right of the Eldest, bears his father Finwë's symbol of the Sun-in-Splendour for his own.
The left sigil is Finrod's personal badge representing his role as liege-lord of Bëor: the symbols of a harp and blazing torch on a green field are invocative of the history recounted in Silm., wherein Finrod is inspired to wander off on his own while hunting with his kinsmen and discovers the first of the clans of the Secondborn, who have crossed the mountains to find peace and hope to discover the Valar, based on tales and rumors from the Avari who taught them in the East. There he took up the harp of their leader, Balan, as they slept, and began to sing to them of the story of the making of Arda, and the Marring, and the High-Elven lore, and both they and he found that he could understand their thoughts and convey his meaning to them with his music, and thus they were able to work to a common linguistic understanding. After convincing them that he was not in fact a Vala, Finrod assumed the role of protector and teacher and became ultimately their King, and Balan received the accolade of Bëor, which is translated as 'vassal,' and Finrod got the often thankless job of mediating between the other Elven kindreds and the influx of Mortals from beyond the mountains, those who became the Edain. The Harp and Torch are therefore both historically literal and symbolically figurative.
The rightmost symbol is the device found also on the ring given to Barahir by his King after the Battle of Sudden Flame: Finarfin's personal badge of obscure origin, showing two golden serpents beneath a crown of flowers, that "one upholds and one devours" — in this instance I've made the device rendering in a more Indo-European style, reminiscent of the protective serpents rendered in exquisite goldwork knotted through jewelry from the height of Classical Greece and Rome. This design fit the area better than the alternative, a cadeuceus-style layout, as well as fitting the text.
The Nauglamir design is entirely and hubristically my own, but inspired by the fact that it's described in a term that I have only heard used of the kinds of great gemmed collars such as the ones made for Tutankhamen — both graceful and weightless-seeming on whomever wore it. The weight and balance of the Egyptian collars and the exquisite detail and technical skill employed in crafting them does in fact seem magical. But in additon to the agrarian themes of the original collars, with their gem-crafted Seeds and Flowers, and the wings of the sacred birds, I've worked in the common world mythic elements of the Sun and Moon and Stars, the Indo-European symbols of Salmon and Wave and Beech Leaf, and the bird opposing the Eagle is the Swan which is mighty in Celtic lore as well, and in the center is the flame representing the Secret Fire, the Flame of Anor, which the wearer serves. I've attempted to do the idea of it justice…
For the design style of Nargothrond, as opposed to that of Menegroth, I've employed a form of the Industrial Design version of Art Nouveau, of which Christopher Dresser is one of the more famous workers — it seems with its splintering rays and angles that could be light, could be leaves, could be mathematical paradigms, (could be birds' wings, too, for that matter) to be particularly appropriate for the Noldor. However you'll note that the more organic Sindarin style is employed as well where apt, and that every individual's gear and costume is different and unique — neither mass-production nor conformity being particularly characteristic of Elven society! (And, consistently, Beren's own sword-belt is held together with knots — replacement buckles, and blacksmiths, being no doubt hard to come by under the New Regime in Dorthonion.)
Back to The Script
Table of Contents page…
| ACT III — Tinuviel at Bay: A Caccia of Beleriand |
A caccia is a hunting song, related to the modern words "catch"
in both senses, the verb and the song, and so appropriate in multiple ways
— first there is the story's theme of following, followed by the trapping
and holding of the heroine, and second the medieval (perhaps older) use
of "the hunt" as a metaphor for pursuit in love — and hence thirdly as
a play on the Lays of Beleriand. "At bay" of course refers to a game animal
held encircled by the hounds which summon the huntsmen to finish the job,
and by extension refers to anyone forced to a confrontation largely one-sided.
As Act II had several purposes and points of focus, Beren's character, the Oath and the Silmarils, the unfolding of the War against Morgoth, and the relationship between the Noldor and the Edain, so too Act III. It is Luthien's turn, and part of that is the exploration of the Return of the Noldor as it affected those born in Middle-earth: instead of contrasting the situations of Elf and Man, I attempt to contrast the differences between the native and emigree Elven cultures.
In both acts, as throughout The Script, I also endeavor to make clear
the connections with Third Age events and persons. Any such apparent references
to LOTR are, in fact, intentional, just as before.
The other way, which may seem a bit simplistic (at first at least) is to assume that when Aragorn calls his many-times great-grandmother "wise" in his ballad, he's merely speaking plain truth. After all, he's met at least two people who knew her personally and had ample opportunity to converse with them — the Lady and Lord of the Golden Wood, as well as who knows how many remain of Doriath's refugees in their company.
You can assume that someone older than most of the Returnees, growing up in not only one of the great cultural centers of Middle-earth, but the cultural center for most of that time, as much a crossroads and confluence of different ethnic groups as Rome, and under continual siege for, again, most of that time, is completely oblivious to the harsher realities of life (despite being both a trained healer and a trained mage in an embattled capital) and incapable of making rational decisions — but I'm not sure why anyone would.
So — what does one discover when one looks at the relevant texts? And further, into the archives and chronicles of Middle-earth? The answer is, surprisingly perhaps, someone rather scary. Not because of her intrinsic, inherited power — but because of her uncompromising principles and force of will (which long predate the self-discovery of her abilities as the most powerful telepath ever to walk Middle-earth — and that includes Melian), and the fact that she doesn't just do things randomly and without forethought. So that when she does make a decision, you have a better chance of turning aside a tidal wave than stopping Tinúviel. The only thing more intimidating than a wild-eyed idealist is — a cool-headed, logical, dispassionate idealist, wouldn't you say? And when that icy rationalism is combined with passion, the result is absolutely terrifying.
Everything in here derives either from a comprehensive reading of the Silmarillion, and a consideration of the connections and implications, or from the Lay of Leithian fragments. Relevant quotes will of course be supplied along the way. (Occasionally I have also had recourse to the oldest form of the story, the Tale of Tinuviel from The Book of Lost Tales, vol. I, for insights and images, when helpful.)
Again I have made the usage of dialogue reflect background, to some extent, and Luthien speaks with a less formal idiom to reflect the changing and much-influenced Sindarin culture of Doriath as opposed to the more static, and archaic society of the Returnees from Aman. Ardalambion has an amusing essay on how language becomes simpler and faster when you're fighting Orcs and all...
Luthien's appearance comes straight from the Lay of Leithian fragment 1, as do the rest of the quotes in this act unless otherwise noted:
"Far
from her home, forwandered, pale,
she flitted ghostlike through
the vale;
ever her heart bade her
up and on,
but her limbs were worn,
her eyes were wan...
...down she let slip
her shadowy cloak,
and there she stood in silver
and white.
Her starry jewels twinkled
bright
in the risen sun like morning
dew;
the lilies gold on mantle
blue
gleamed and glistened..."
This is clearly the same overgarment she wore the previous winter when
Beren saw her dancing in the ice, compared in LL1 to the Northern Lights
overhead:
"Her mantle blue with jewels white
caught all the rays of frosted
light.
She shone with cold and
wintry flame..."
For her ragged and barefoot state further textual evidence is found
in Canto X, where she is described as "worn, unshod, roofless and restless."
"In Nargothrond the torches
flared
and feast and music were
prepared.
Luthien feasted not but
wept.
Her ways were trammelled;
closely kept
she might not fly. Her magic
cloak
was hidden, nor did answer
find
her eager questions. Out
of mind,
it seemed, were those afar
that pined
in anguish and in dungeons
blind
in prison and in misery.
Too late she knew their treachery.
It was not hid in Nargothrond
that Feanor's sons held
her in bond
who Beren heeded not, and
who
had little cause to wrest
from Thu
the king they loved not
and whose quest
old vows of hatred in their
breast
had roused from sleep. Orodreth
knew
the purpose dark they would
pursue:
King Felagund to leave to
die,
and with King Thingol's
blood ally
the house of Feanor by force
or treaty. But to stay their
course
he had no power, for all
his folk
the brothers had yet beneath
their yoke,
and all yet listened to
their word.
Orodreth's counsel no man
heard;
their shame they crushed,
and would not heed
the tale of Felagund's dire
need."
Taking this as my theme and inspiration for the understanding of Lúthien's own sojourn in Nargothrond, I've built on the very gothic themes of this canto to make a dark mystery story of the unfolding revelations of the situation, past and present. I don't think I'm going out unwarrantedly, though, in this — it isn't specified how long it took for that which "was not hid" to become completely clear, and the indication that Nargothrond is in severe denial creates for me an atmosphere of extreme surreality in which the one sane person appears, inevitably, mad.
I've used, and will use throughout, ballads mostly from the Anglo-Appalachian
tradition to represent the songs of Dorthonion — partly because they have
so many apt quotations and applications, partly because I know them best,
having grown up hearing them, and partly because they fit, for me, with
the "hick" aspect of Dorthonion, Beren's remote back-country accent which
so annoyed and horrified Elu Thingol, which I had deduced before I actually
discovered that in HOME there's a reference to that fact. That Lúthien
has not sung until it becomes necessary to her escape, combined with the
ideological decision to learn the Bëorings' ancient language as a
rejection of her own family's rejection of them, is my motivation for having
her employ the folksongs of the Edain, common across Hithlum as well as
Dorthonion, which would be in the then-Common Tongue of Sindarin as spoken
in the North.
Curufin spake: "Good brother mine,
I like it not. What dark
design
doth this portend? These
evil things,
we swift must end their
wnderings!
And more, 'twould please
my heart full well
to hunt a while and wolves
to fell."
And then he leaned and whispered
low
that Orodreth was a dullard
slow;
long time it was since the
king had gone,
and rumour or tidings came
there none.
"At least thy profit it would be
to know whether dead he
is or free;
to gather thy men and thy
array.
'I go to hunt' then thou
wilt say
and men will think that
Narog's good
ever thou heedest. But in
the wood
things may be learned; and
if by grace
by some blind fortune he
retrace
his footsteps mad, and if
he bear
a Silmaril — I need declare
no more in words; but one
by right
is thine (and ours), the
jewel of light;
another may be won—a throne.
The eldest blood our house
doth own."
It's clear that they do care for popular opinion, and that equally, they care nothing for the truth...
As far as Orodreth's characterization, that too derives from the Lay
fragments as much as from consideration of the entire history of House
Finarfin as told in the Silmarillion, but the source texts must
wait upon the proper time for their presentation.
Yes, the Sons of Fëanor did in Canonical fact pretend to be merely "Lords of Nargothrond" as well as acting like it was all news to them, that they'd never heard the name Beren before; qv. LL1, Canto VIII. (In other words, Lúthien isn't a fool, she didn't not know that they were hereditary enemies of her House and prattle away to them cluelessly. She just didn't recognize them as the Sons of Fëanor — not like there are tabloids and publicity shots in Middle-earth, after all.) It's my assumption that they would have used the less-familiar mother names of Aman naming convention, and have constructed for them the Sindarin forms used here.
"...O
lady fair, wherefore in toil
and lonely journey dost
thou go?
What tidings dread of war
and woe
In Doriath have betid? Come
tell!
For fortune thee hath guided
well;
friends thou hast found,"
said Celegorm,
and gazed upon her elvish
form.
In his heart him thought
her tale unsaid
he knew in part, but naught
she read
of guile upon his smiling
face.
"Who are ye then, the lordly chase
that follow in this perilous
wood?"
she asked; and answer seeming
good
they gave. "Thy servants,
lady sweet,
Lords of Nargothrond..."
...Sign nor word
the brothers gave that aught
they heard
that touched them near...
This scene, of the seduction of Finduilas to the aid of Curufin's plotting,
has a dual purpose: to illustrate Curufin's skilll with words and half-truths,
how the Sons of Feanor hold sway without need for violence, as per LL1,
"...for all his folk
the brothers had yet beneath
their yoke,
and all yet listened to
their word,"
and to set the stage for the upcoming scenes between Luthien and Finduilas.
I have tried not to be too unfair to Finduilas throughout — though we know that she will abandon Gwindor for Turin, she is more than a stock "fickle woman" in the originals, and so I have, while using her as a foil for Luthien, tried to draw her as someone not particularly recollected, very conventional without understanding or caring for the philosophical principles behind the conventions, and much attached (as are many of the Returnees who suffered through the Helcaraxë, q.v. Gondolin, not only poor Salgant) to comforts and "the good life," though not as the Socratics understood it. She holds positions and views like wax — that is to say, in perfect detail until replaced by another, stronger impression, hard yet brittle until softened for a new stamp. —She is, sadly, a composite of many real characters I have known in my life.
Of Huan's crisis of conscience in LL1:
Ahead leaped Huan day and
night,
and ever looking back his
thought
was troubled. What his master
sought,
and why he rode not like
the fire,
why Curufin looked with
hot desire
on Luthien, he pondered
deep,
and felt some evil shadow
creep
of ancient curse o'er Elvenesse.
His heart was torn for the
distress
of Beren bold, and Luthien
dear,
and Felagund who knew no
fear...
For this reason (as well as reasons of style, character distinction,
and humour) I've given Celegorm the idiom of the "huntin', shootin', fishin'
" aristocrat of British literary tradition, the sort of chap who in Jane
Austen's delightful parodies of popular romance is willing to break off
his engagement when he discovers that the day set for the wedding is also
the first day of "the Season".
This should have been easy, since I'm only reworking LL1, cantos III-V
in the first person, essentially, combined with the putting of the worst
possible construction on the events of those cantos, to reconstruct the
sorts of messy, unpleasant and endless conversations we are told that Lúthien
had with her family before they gave up on her and took the avoidant route.
It actually turned out to be rather brutal to write, because it is so easy
to put the worst possible construction on their romance, and so the challenge
was to write something emotionally trying to the characters without being
too unpleasant on the reader. Hopefully I've succeeded at it, and so far
the responses have been positive, so I'm pretty satisfied with this part
now.
This does a very good job of explaining Daeron's bizarre behavior — because there is no way that Daeron can be considered anything but neurotic, as I have Luthien point out. If all this past millenium and almost-a-half he's seen her as "little" Lúthien — and this is not only plausible, but common, not simply to older friends, but to parents as well, the inability to recognize that children do grow up and don't stay three-year-olds — then to suddenly realize that she is indeed an adult, not merely intellectually but having it inescapably presented to him, is going to be jarring, to say the least. And in that jarring, he too gets his "first sight" of her — which doesn't happen until he sees her, as it were, through Beren's eyes.
Because the people who have grown up with her, all her life, don't see her until circumstances are drastically changed. (This includes her parents, most definitely.) They are incapable of perceiving her true strength and potential power, because they take her for granted as their little girl. (There is also the complicated, and oft-missed, fact that in the Arda Mythos, "beauty" is among other things a metaphor for moral strength, the reasons for which are made rather clear in the essay "On Fairy-tales." This is not of course sufficient and complete: the ways in which this is used and abused within the histories provide ample warrant for the Canonical necessity of trusting one's feelings as well...But this is a topic probably outside the scope of these Notes.)
So add to Daeron's cognitive dissonance not only the fact that now he realizes that Lúthien is an adult, is not a child, and is not only old enough to fall in love, and has done so, but that she is desirable as an adult, and desired — and that he didn't notice at all, and does now, and at the same time has the image of her as child and practically younger relative, and you have the combination calculated to send even the most intellectual and rationally-governed of Elves (or Men) round the bend. Mix of shame/embarrassment over feeling that these feelings have to be inappropriate, self-reproach over lost opportunity, conviction that "Hey! I should have dibs! I've known her longer!" and back to the inappropriateness and forfeited opportunites, plus the automatic older-relative-protective mode, and realization that that isn't appropriate for him, her being a competent adult, either—
—Way easier just to blame the interloper for it all. (Which I suppose is better than blaming Lúthien, but not much more rational.)
Further warrant for this interpretation is found in LL1 in the fact
that the issue at court is that Beren is a stranger in Doriath (not supposed
to happen) and worse yet, of a class entirely forbidden (this was always
the case, even in the oldest version of the story, where instead of being
Mortal he was a Noldor lord displaced in the War and the grievance against
him was the hereditary association with the Kinslaying) and the fact of
Daeron's subsequent shame: there's no self-righteousness after he
gets caught, he's morbidly guilty right from the start, even though he
keeps hoping throughout the Throne Room Scene (guiltily) that Beren will
be executed. Doesn't stop him from doing it again, out of (ahem) the best
of motives — or from being ashamed yet again — the old saying about the
path paved with good intentions seems to be illustrated here in hellish
detail.
horn-mad: crazy as a mad bull, used in The Comedy of Errors,
where Adriana of the much-tried patience mistakes it for an accusation
of retributory infidelity against her Antipholus by the unfortunate Dromio
of Ephesus.
Gower is, of course, referring to Banquo's appearance in Macbeth.
As far as how, in Primary World history, real heraldic devices came
to be chosen — many are much odder than this. Puns abound (William of Islip,
whose escutcheon bore an eyeball and a shouting man falling out of a tree,
"eye" + "slip" = "I slip!") along with instances of people taking insults
and turning them to their own interpretation, as well as the more common
adoptions of mythic or conventional symbology — but how in the days before
myth and symbol had become tradition? One historical instance of a totemic
animal being chosen after witnessing an incident which was taken as oracular
exists in the story of the pioneering settlers of Tenochtitlan, presently
known as Mexico City: the emblem of the hawk battling the snake which has
endured for millenia.
"poison": a reference to Hamlet. More than one kind can be administered
by ear — this was, after all, Morgoth's favorite ploy, to start rumours,
make insinuations, raise doubts, and then let them grow and run wild on
their own. After all, one can always find evidence for one's suspicions...
(As a side note, I highly recommend that everyone read the works of
Frances and Joseph Gies, historians who make medieval Europe come to life
with authentic quotes and often darkly-hilarous details. Life in a Medieval
City, for example, brings us the image of an angry Abbess leading her
retainers in a local war against papal demolition crews, while Life
in a Medieval Village provides coroners' reports to demonstrate why
Alcohol and Crossbows Don't Mix.)
tafl, or "table", also known as "king's table" and "king-stone" (cyningstan) after the key piece, is the Scandinavian board game similar to chess, but offering an interesting challenge. The form of it I have used here is the Finnish version called "tablut," which uses an 8 - 16 ratio instead of the more common 12-24, and thus allows for such a use as I have made of the common gameboard setup. The source for the rules and layout of the game I found here, with citations from early texts and archeological references [http://www.vikinganswerlady.org/games.htm]; the applicability is, I hope, obvious.
I am perhaps taking some artistic liberties here in assigning Primary World board games to Arda, as I cannot immediately recall or provide any citations regarding either chess or draughts (checkers) in Middle-earth (the apparent citation, of "amber chessmen" in the endnotes in LB is not in fact by JRRT, but a suggested, unused, stanza by C.S. Lewis, so I don't accept it). But as such games of strategy and skill are common in the epic tradition and throughout the world as well as across the ages, I feel warranted in using the device here, upon the assumption that someone in Beleriand would surely have devised some such game, especially with the artistic opportunities that the pieces provide, and that other peoples would have mucked about with the game and made their own versions. (Given their long-standing occupation with both warfare and artistry, it's entirely possible that such a game would have been invented by the Dwarves first — though that would probably pique certain factions of the Eldar no end!) One may simply assume that as with the Red Book of Westmarch, the Middle-earth game has been "translated" into an equivalent form here . . .
As for the rationale behind the rules of tablut, that is my own, but
I think it plausible, though I will stand corrected if any Scadians have
better information and/or combat experience, of course. The use of chess
in both life and literature as an opportunity for political and romantic
metaphors is well attested. (Plus there's just something apropos about
using a Lapp form of the game, given that Tolkien was so inspired by the
Kalevala as to learn Finnish in order to be able to read it in the original!)
Battles for incredibly high stakes — not only property, but spouses,
and even one's self, abound in Indo-European folklore — unfortunate addicts
to the ancient Irish version called "fidchel" occasionally made the mistake
of playing for keeps against wizards and ended up trapped in animal form
as well.
"our mothers": neither Feanor's wife Nerdanel nor Celebrimbor's wife
approved of the Return, and chose to remain behind in Aman. We know that
there was a long history of trouble between Curufin's parents, but the
details of his own marriage as far as I know were never written down.
One significant element is the entire creation of Nargothrond, which exists, in great measure, and as it eventually is revealed, not only because of Turin's destiny. From a fall-back secondary base camp dating from the breaking of the Leaguer it becomes a great and ancient City — and Finrod becomes its King and founder — because Beren must go there. By the time of the writing of LL1 circa 1926, it is established that Orodreth was not the original ruler, but the third and youngest brother of the King (this is when Finarfin was named Finrod, and it had not been established yet that "Felagund" was an aftername, and before Galadriel was known to be their sister) and that the Sons of Fëanor are guests (in fact DPs and refugees) of their cousins.
However, in some of the earlier summary outlines, Celegorm was the original founder and rightful King of Nargothrond, who had become indebted to Beren's father, and so the conflict was both more and less complex: the Oath binding him from whole-hearted assistance, he nevertheless sends a warband with Beren; and following their capture, when he takes Lúthien prisoner it is less cynical, more pathetic: he explains that he has already sent his troops with Beren and cannot send more, and though he does hope that Lúthien will turn to him instead, he eventually lets her go when she appeals to his conscience.
So the sense that he still retained some better nature that could
be appealed to, which was not necessarily overridden by either passion
or the Oath I have chosen to allow in the shading-in of Lúthien's
captivity in Nargothrond.
Hamlet also provides us with the line "A hit, a very palpable
hit" — and an example of a friendship betrayed.
Another possibility — there are always other possibilities — is that
for prudential reasons the native Elves of Beleriand only used a common
name in public, given the magical controls possible through names, just
as the Dwarves did. But my remark on legitimacy still holds, either way.
I don't think it's an unwarranted assumption that similarly "enhanced"
wildlife might have been sent out against other disputed borders as disposable
drones.
Gower here invokes T. S. Eliot's Murder in the Cathedral, where many trenchant observations on the nature of power may be summed up in the following quote—
"King, emperor, bishop, baron,
king :
Uncertain mastery of melting
armies,
War, plague, and revolution,
New conspiracies, broken
pacts;
To be master or servant
within an hour,
This is the course of temporal
power."
—a rather eye-opening thing to encounter as a teenager trying to understand
the facts, foundations, and myths of authority in the Primary World, requiring
a lot of mental wrestling with concepts rather contrary to popular assumptions.
"adage": Another Macbeth ObRef — a play much concerned with loyalty
and its reverses.
"gild the gold day lily" : Gower's epigram refers to the collapsed quote
taken from King John, Act IV.ii, which is known in the phrase "gilding
the lily", but in the original goes "as well gild refined gold, paint the
lily" — and refers to the addition of a second royal title upon a first
by conquest and/or marriage. The play dealing with the matter of France
and England, the symbolic lilies in which form such a theme throughout
the play would in any case have been gold, the heraldic fleur-de-lys of
the ancien regime. (Shakespeare's prediliction for queenly brunettes found
most prominently, but not only, in the Sonnets, makes the contrasts and
parallels still more apt.)
"ceremony": ObRef to Henry V, of course. (Act IV, scene I — "thou
idol ceremony" — a very appropriate passage in all ways.)
"auguries": ObRef to Sonnet 107, which opens:
"Not
mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
can yet the lease of my true love control,
supposed as forfeit to a confinéd doom..."
As far as Lúthien's defensiveness in regards to her homeland, I've derived that from the ambiguity of her own words and feelings in the Lay:
"My heart is glad when the fair trees
far off uprising grey it sees
of Doriath inviolate.
Yet Doriath my heart did hate,
and Doriath my feet forsook,
my home, my kin. I would not look
on grass nor leaf there evermore
without thee by me..."
as well as from the fact that it would be pretty hard not to have absorbed the same attitudes as her father across four hundred years and more of being snubbed and/or verbally threatened by two of the three Houses of the Returnees.
The superior attitude of the "Easterners" and to a lesser extent the original citizens of Nargothrond is inspired largely by Fëanor's words to Olwë: "Yet you were glad to receive our aid when you came at last to these shores, faint-hearted loiterers, and wellnigh empty-handed. In huts on the beaches would you be dwelling still, had not the Noldor carved out your haven and toiled upon your walls." (Silm., Of the Flight of the Noldor)
I also wanted to carry a bit of the historical contrasts with the "Home Front" inevitably seen in any war — life goes on, oddly, and people don't worry and mourn all the time, if they aren't actually under siege. I modeled the atmosphere partly on the decades of WWI reading I've done, fact & fiction, modern and contemporary, and partly on the Second World War, as depicted in the classic film The Cruel Sea. Back again to the verse:
"In Nargothrond the torches
flared
and feast and music were
prepared.
...Out of mind,
it seemed, were those afar
that pined
in anguish and in dungeons
blind
in prison and in misery."
The subsequent injunction against the use of Quenya in Beleriand, however, has more the feel of a deliberate and considered measure, opportunely taken. One cannot think that the defender of the Sindar would have been overjoyed at seeing their ways and cultures lost and overwhelmed in the tide of the invaders, any more than he liked the thought of them being dispossessed from their hereditary lands. (I do not, however, have any hard proof of this conjecture.)
Now King Thingol welcomed not with a full heart the
coming of so many princes in might out of the West,
eager for new realms...[He] hearkened to the words
of Angrod; and ere he went he said to him: 'Thus shall
you speak for me to those that sent you. In
Hithlum the Noldor have leave to dwell, and in the highlands of
Dorthonion, and in the lands east of Doriath that
are empty and wild; but elsewhere there are many of my
people, and I would not have them restrained of
their freedom, still less ousted from their homes. Beware
therefore how you princes of the West bear yourselves;
for I am the Lord of Beleriand, and all who seek
to dwell there shall hear my word..."
—Silmarillion,
"Of the Return of the Noldor"
(It was in response to Angrod's delivery of this message that Caranthir
Fëanorion publicly referred to Thingol as a "Dark-elf," which attitude
I've chosen to see as coloring all the following of Fëanor, and not
obliterated by a mere decade of contact with the Nargothronders.)
"Now Lúthien doth her counsel shape;
and Melian's daughter of deep lore
knew many things, yea, magics more
than then or now know elven-maids...
...A
magic song to Men unknown
she sang, and singing then the wine
with water mingled three times nine'
and as in golden jar they lay
she sang a song of growth and day;
and as they lay in silver white
another song she sang, of night
and darkness without end, of height
uplifted to the stars, and flight
and freedom. And all names of things
tallest and longest on earth she sings:
the locks of the Longbeard dwarves; the tale
of Draugluin the werewolf pale;
the body of Glómund the great snake;
the vast upsoaring peaks that quake
above the fires in Angband's gloom;
the chain Angainor that ere Doom
for Morgoth shall by Gods be wrought
of steel and torment. Names she sought
and sang of Glend the sword of Nan;
of Gilim the giant of Eruman;
and last and longest named she then
the endless hair of Uinen
the Lady of the Sea, that lies
through all the waters under skies.
Then did she lave her head and sing
a theme of sleep and slumbering,
profound and fathomless and dark..."
Note that some pretty strong stuff is invoked there, and not all of
it "nice". (Glómund is an earlier form of Glaurung, by the by.)
The principle of sympathetic magic is that similar things are metaphysically
connected and may be substituted for, or invoked, to affect each other.
"But ever the Noldor feared most the treachery of
those of their own kin, who had been thralls in Angband,
for Morgoth used some of these for his evil purposes,
and feigning to give them liberty sent them abroad, but
their wills were chained to his, and they strayed
only to come back to him again. Therefore if any of his captives
escaped in truth, and returned to their own people,
they had little welcome, and wandered alone and desperate."
—Silmarillion,
"Of the Ruin of Beleriand"
The Hall of Maps is based on a real place that I found in Rome. It's part of the Vatican Museums/Library complex and is incredibly cool — no other word for it, I'm afraid. They go all the way up to the ceiling, they're divided with ornate gold borders, so that when you walk in you're not sure if they're tapestries or not — except that tapestries don't have that intense cerulean blue and jade green to them. The semi-topographical nature with the realistic color makes it much more like a fly-over shot than a conventional map — which I find more useful than the artificially-colored and ruled maps that used to predominate atlases. And the place-names are lettered in gold... I don't remember how old it is, but it's at least two centuries, and possible quite a few more. (And I want one of my own — but I don't own this building, so I can't make one…)
There should be a distinct Helen of Troy atmosphere in this scene: despite
the fact that it was at least as much Paris' fault, and subsequently his
father the King, and their counsellors who chose to back the Prince and
not the law, it was Helen who got all the blame from the people of Troy
for their downfall. (This was a topic for discussion and debate through
classical times as well as returning again through the present.)
"straw out-burneth": Gower makes a deliberate contrast to the seventh
poem of the sequence "The Passionate Pilgrim," in which complaint is made
of the lady's fickle love, burning as bright and as quickly consumed as
dry grass.
"A
tree she climbed, till the bright air
above the woods her dark hair blew,
and straining afar her eyes could view
the outline grey and faint and low
of dizzy towers where the clouds go,
the southern faces mounting sheer
in rocky pinnacle..."
Barad Nimras: this is the fortress that Finrod built on the south
coast of Beleriand to guard against the possiblity of Enemy attack by sea;
which did not however take place. I threw this in as a reminder first of
Valinor and the West, and secondly of how much their power has been diminished
and their dominion hemmed in since the Bragollach, and doubly so since
the loss of Tol Sirion.
"And
even such as were most true
to Felagund his oath did rue,
and thought with terror and despair
of seeking Morgoth in his lair
with force or guile..."
Moreover, it seems plausible that in such desperate times, the Regent would rely most heavily on those closest to him, and put such responsibilities and authority as he still controlled into trusted hands — all of which would contribute to the ongoing meltdown of Nargothrond with subsequent developments.
The entire sequence of the sortie at Thangorodrim took on added impact for me when I put it together with the Geste: Gwindor has an extremely personal stake after his brother is made example of by the enemy, but for the rest of his company to take part with the same demented berserker rage in the assault on the Gates speaks to me not only of vengeance but of atonement as well: —This time—
It also is strongly indicative to me of later events in the Silmarillion,
most particularly his dying words to Turin, but also the latter's ascendence
in Orodreth's affections and counsels — and Finduilas'. Turin can be seen
as Gwindor's doppelgänger. Consider: Gwindor returns from captivity
in bad enough shape to seem as an elderly mortal, while the son of Morwen
the Elven-bright, tall, black-haired, raised among Elves, and an implacable
warrior against Morgoth, has to have seemed almost Gwindor himself come
back from the past. Thus the royal house can't help but fall for him, and
so the Noldor lord can't hate him, despite Turin co-opting his life and
the destruction caused by his rashness: "As you were, I once was, and
as I am shall you become."
The discussion between Lúthien and Celebrimbor is not only intended
to introduce and foreshadow the battle for the "spoken keys" of Tol Sirion,
but as a quiet reminder that Fëanor's grandson was not only responsible
for making the three Elven-rings and inadvertently aiding Sauron's rise
through the creation of the One, but also assisted with the fashioning
of the Gates of Khazad-dûm on the Hollin side.
"miss the mark": Hopefully it's obvious — but not too blatant for the
irony value — that more is going on with Celegorm's testing of bows than
merely the obnoxiousness of the brothers unscrupulously making free of
Finrod's belongings.
"Her ways were trammelled;
closely kept
she might not fly..."
This sequence is another homage to the original premise that she would
leave with Huan, but without her cape, requiring subterfuge and infiltration
instead of direct action to lure out and overpower the foe. Also, though
without access to it her powers were greatly diminished, still her knowledge
and essential skills wouldn't have been forgotten. The preceding verse
indicates to me at least that she did try to escape, if she had
to be thwarted and prevented — which is only logical, considering previous
events.
Gower's speech is a reference to Sonnet 65, which opens:
"Since brass, nor stone,
nor earth, nor boundless sea,
but sad mortality o'ersways
their power,
how with this rage shall
beauty hold a plea,
whose action is no stronger
than a flower?"
sickening indoors: this belief is the reason for the elaborate and difficult scheme Thingol and his counselors concocted regarding the house in Hírilorn, as described in LL1, Canto V:
...In angry love and half in fear
Thingol took counsel his most dear
to guard and keep. He would not bind
in caverns deep and intertwined
sweet Lúthien, his lovely maid,
who robbed of air must wane and fade,
who ever must look upon the sky
and see the sun and moon go by.
Black, black, black is the
color of my true love's hair,
His face is something wondrous
fair,
The purest eyes and the
bravest hands,
—I love the ground whereon
he stands
(Another version, speaking of a female beloved, has the refrain, "—She of the wondrous hair.")
Black Is The Color
Appalachian song of English derivation,
learned from the version as sung by Joan Baez on the
Vanguard recording In
Concert 1. (Amazon link, no audio clip avail.)
A midi of a version similar to this may be found here
at The Contemplator.
Name magic: in Primary World lore, it's been used to control and bind, hence the use of secret names as well as masks for protection against hostile supernatural forces in shamanic traditions. Power can be held over someone by the fact of knowing an identity without any magical control as well, as in the case of espionage agents, or as described in "Narn i Hîn Húrin" (Unfinished Tales) when Nienor defiantly and catastrophically reveals herself to the dragon. Hence the secrecy with which Aragorn conceals himself, until ready to challenge Sauron with his presence.
Another use of what might be termed "name magic," is in self-definition and revelation. In Arda this is manifested in the "names of insight" or prophetic mother-names given among the Noldor, and in the "afternames" which are chosen or conferred throughout one's life, such as the many names of Strider. In the Primary World we only fortuitously encounter names which afterwards seem to have been given prophetically, though we do choose names that are meaningful and inspiring for our children. However, the giving and/or taking of names of usage is a huge part of growing up, and the rejecting of nicknames, alteration of spellings, using of middle names, and return to old forms all can be ideological and deliberate processes of self-identification.
The theme of identity, both as part of a family, and as a self
standing apart from one's family, is also one of the many constant themes
found in Middle-earth. All of these factors being active in Lúthien's
situation, it seems plausible that she might very well make an issue of
being recognized as she chooses to be, by her enemies-and-relations, and
be just as adamant about it as her father was on the matter of Quenya.
Gower is referring to the vow Lúthien gave her father when Thingol tried to get her to promise not to run away:
He sent for Lúthien,
and said:
'O maiden fair, what hath
thee led
to ponder madness and despair
to wander to ruin, and to
fare
from Doriath against my
will,
stealing like a wild thing
men would kill
into the emptiness outside?'
'The wisdom, father,' she
replied;
nor would she promise to
forget
nor would she vow for love
or threat
her folly to forsake and
meek
in Doriath her father's
will to seek.
This only vowed she, if
go she must,
that none but herself would
she now trust,
no folk of her father's
would persuade
to break his will or lend
her aid;
if go she must, she would
go alone
and friendless dare the
walls of stone.
In
angry love and half in fear
Thingol took counsel his
most dear
to guard and keep...
ObRef to the famous sonnet by Sir Thomas Wyatt, which I think fits rather well:
Whoso list to hunt, I know
where is an hind,
But as for me, hélas,
I
may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied
me so sore,
I am of them that farthest
cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my
wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but
as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave
off therefore,
Sithens in a net I seek
to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put
him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his
time in vain.
And graven with diamonds
in letters plain
There is written, her fair
neck round about:
Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.
On the other hand, it's impossible to imagine the same person who both
felt sorry for Carcaroth and faced him down being either reduced to complete
incompetent hysterics or demanding immediate squishing of the same...
"jaw kicked in": in the wild, this happens to bad-mannered stallions
who ignore both rejection signals and warnings. Fatalities resulting from
a broken jaw have been documented among mustangs.
There's something of a fashionable trend to dismiss Lúthien as nothing more than a pretty face, and Tolkien by extension for writing characters who fall in love with mere beauty. Let us leave aside the fact that this requires ignoring a personality that, as written, for sheer stubbornness easily rivals Fëanor, to which add the combination of ingenuity, technical smarts and sheer nerve to follow through. —There's simply no getting around the fact that when the sons of Fëanor came upon Lúthien in the woods, she was not looking at her best, not after first roughing it for weeks and then having just been chased furiously through the woods "like a butterfly" by a hungry bird (LL1). It wasn't the beauty of a fashion-model impeccably painted and groomed for a photo-shoot, nor even of a Grace Kelley or Jackie Kennedy or Princess Diana at a state affair, that left the brothers dumbstruck. Like Yeat's description of a dangerously-beautiful lady as "Pallas Athena in a railway station," or the traditions surrounding Cleopatra, the most compelling beauty is that sort which is not merely symmetry and conventional prettiness — may indeed break all the conventions of the same — but which is informed by a dynamic personality and spiritual vibrance.
It is this — this charisma, technically termed — which Lúthien possesses in spades; and this being Arda, where myth is history, there are further metaphysical dimensions. She has a supernatural aura which manifests itself not only visibly in her physical appearance, but in her talents as well. (Before dismissing her singing ability, one ought to consider well what song means in the Silmarillion. Mock singing, —and one disses the universe itself.) From her divine parentage comes a link into the primal forces of Creation, and from her earthly parentage the Elven unity with nature that gives an entirely different kind of power and comprehension. It isn't that she's "only half-Maia," but rather that she combines both sets of qualities into something different — and more powerful — than either. (The question of whether or not Melian realized her own destiny was not simply to protect, but to raise up a peaceful weapon, so to speak, in the person of her daughter, and set her free to follow a like path — and willfully (if passively) turned away from this duty, is one which can never be answered conclusively, but is worthy of much consideration.)
So on the one hand Celegorm, meeting Lúthien, who manifests the
Light of Valinor untainted by Rebellion and Downfall, can't help but be
as drawn as Beren, or Huan, or, in turn, Morgoth. Mortal, Elf, Principality
or Power — everyone wants Lúthien. The question is, whether they
see her as a treasure to be kept, accquired, confiscated and locked up
— or as a person whose free companionship, under whatever circumstances
and at whatever costs, is the real prize. (Any parallels which may be drawn
or discerned with certain jewels of divine and Elvish origin can scarcely
be coincidental.)
Aside from foreshadowing future events, the introduction of the Gondolin connection, and the Black Sword, serves not only to reinforce how the past carries through all actions, at all times, but also as reminder of the eternal historian's problem of who knew what when, and whence. Receiving history in prefabricated lumps neatly edited into narrative, we tend to forget that on the one hand, this is not how it happened, and on the other, it is not how it is learned. The inchoate mass of happening is ongoing and not organized into compartments, however the outlines and chapters in schoolbooks might make it seem. It is important to bear in mind that the Silmarillion, being a chronicle of imaginary history, is just that — compiled after the fact by several chroniclers from many varied sources after the fact, attempting to put events into perspective and track down origins and prior influences which would not have been apparent at the time to those living them scattered across the country.
Trying to figure out what information would have been available to which persons at which times and by what means is one of the challenges of the diligent student of the past — but it can be a most rewarding one, filled with unexpected delights as well as disappointing revelations. For an example — not entirely unrelated to this present project — there is no single complete manuscript of the Iliad existing from ancient times: the oldest complete copy of it is medieval. Hence we do not have the same Iliad that Alexander supposedly carried around at all times and read before going to sleep each night, either in the particular physical copy or in the substance of the text, let alone "the Iliad of Homer." Yet before one dismisses the extant Iliad as invalid it's crucial to consider the many fragments themselves, the known provenance and history of the epic — and the fact that it's quoted and referenced in scores of existing pop-culture works from antiquity, from political debates to fanfiction parodies of the myths and epics, and these all shed light on the validity of the Venetus manuscript. And that's where it gets fun, tracking down things like these. —At least, I think so.
(Obviously, the "who knew what when whence" question is a driving concern
(or should be) for the fanfiction author as well.)
Nought said Huan; but Curufin
thereafter never near might
win
to Lúthien, nor touch
that maid,
but shrank from Huan's fangs
afraid...
"Hence and spurnéd hither:" in other words, kicked out.
Gower's elegant phrasing comes from The Comedy of Errors, where
a luckless lackey compares himself to a football as he's sent back and
forth with unwelcome messages.
If there are echoes in this scene not only of Morgoth's original subversion
of the Eldar in Aman but also Sauron's many subsequent manipulations of
the folk of Middle-earth through the ages — there should be.
"smile and smile": Gower invokes Hamlet's words (Act I.v) on learning
that his uncle murdered his father, declaring that "one may smile and smile
and yet be a villain."
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
"Sindarin-style record keeping": among the several things going on in this scene is the intention of emphasizing what gaps of knowledge may result from the loss of oral traditions, based directly on statements made in the Silmarillion:
"Of the long years of peace that followed after the
coming of Denethor there is little tale. In those days,
it is said, Daeron the Minstrel, chief loremaster
of the kingdom of Thingol, devised his Runes; and the
Naugrim that came to Thingol learned them, and were
well-pleased with the device, esteeming Daeron's
skill higher than did the Sindar, his own people.
By the Naugrim the Cirth were taken east over the
mountains and passed into the knowledge of many
peoples, but they were little used by the Sindar for
the keeping of records, until the days of the War,
and much that was held in memory perished in the
ruins of Doriath."
(from "Of the Sindar")
"Leaguer" is actually a very accurate analogy of the situation, given
the way it turns out.
Alone
of hounds of the Land of Light
when sons of Fëanor
took to flight
and came into the North,
he stayed
beside his master. Every
raid
and every foray wild he
shared,
and into mortal battle dared.
Often he saved his Noldor
lord
from Orc and wolf and leaping
sword...
Ergo he must have been actively involved on that mid-winter night when
the Pass of Aglon was forced and the brothers with their followers (and
their guest and cousin Orodreth) were compelled to evacuate Himlad — presumably
down the same unpleasant road along the northern edge of Doriath followed
in past centuries by the Haladin and Aredhel (since if they'd been able
to go around the southern marches, there's no obvious reason for them not
to have joined up with Caranthir and the twins down at Ramdal by Amon Ereb
across from Ossiriand.) Huan would no doubt have been a tremendous asset
in keeping off giant spiders and other sorcerously-mutated creatures.
In one of the outlines where Lúthien and Huan go off without
her cape, the Nargothronders return it to her via Huan after he returns
with the liberated captives, out of shame and guilt. This says to me that
a lot of people were aware on some level of the situation as it was playing
out. Moreover it's said in LL1 that "Huan alone" was never enchanted
by Lúthien's power, either deliberately or otherwise, which also
indicates to me that she tried with the people of the City, (as is only
to be expected.)
"Lord of Misrule": Gower refers to the custom of appointing a Master
of Ceremonies responsible for arranging all the holiday entertainments
and revels during Yuletide at the courts and larger organizations of late
medieval England, whose authority over such matters as music selection,
pageants, party themes, charades, drama productions and banquets was real,
and who held court and was given homage as part of the game.
"lasting storm": the imagery of this speech of Gower's is derived from
the words of Marina, Princess of Tyre, whose plight in Pericles
has some points in common with Lúthien's situation.
"...she would not wed with him. She loved him indeed,
for he was beautiful even for one of the Eldar,
and valiant and wise; but she was of the Silvan
Elves, and regretted the incoming of the Elves from the
West, who (as she said) brought wars and destroyed
the peace of old. She would speak only the Silvan
tongue, even after it had fallen into disuse among
the folk of Lórien, and she dwelt alone beside the falls
of the river Nimrodel to which she gave her name."
I have ventured to presume that the outspoken and self-assured Grey-elven
lady to some degree resembled her predecessor, and have thus dared to ascribe
her opinions to Lúthien as well.
—But he didn't, and continued to demean the Teleri and pursue the path of arrogance and greed, and so the last trace of divine favour leaves his House with the gift of his patron, and passes to his rival.
"monuments": ObRef to several Sonnets, where the themes of love, mortality, Time and memory are woven together, most particularly numbers 55,
"Not marble, nor the gilded
monuments
of princes shall outlive
this powerful rhyme,
but you shall shine more
bright in these contents
than unswept stone, besmear'd
with sluttish time,
when wasteful war shall
statues overturn..."
and 64,
"When I have seen by Time's
fell hand defaced
the rich proud cost of outworn
buried age;
when sometime lofty towers
I see down-razed,
and brass eternal slave
to mortal rage;
when I have seen the hungry
ocean gain
advantage on the kingdom
of the shore..."
as well as 81,
... from hence your memory
death cannot take,
although in me each part
will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal
life shall have,
though I, once gone, to
all the world must die:
the earth can yield me but
a common grave,
when you entombéd
in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my
gentle verse,
which eyes not yet created
shall o'er-read,
and tongues to be your being
shall rehearse,
when all the breathers of
this world are dead...
and the conclusion of 107,
"And thou in this shall find
thy monument,
when tyrants' tombs and
crests of brass are spent."
And
now was her labour but begun:
long was she spinning, long she spun;
and though with elvish skill she wrought
long was her weaving. If men sought
to call her, crying from below,
'Nothing I need,' she answered, 'go!
I would keep my bed, and only sleep
I now desire, who waking weep.'
These are, by-the-by, two of the most common and distinctive symptoms of depression.
Not merely angst, I hope, but conveying the reality (Primary World as well as Arda) that the events which have significant impact on history are not all measurable in simple cause-and-effect equations, but follow more complex patterns of interaction whose terms may never be fully definable. Reducing the causes history to an either-or debate which is cast as exclusively either strong individuals or broad societal forces ignores the fact that society is made of nothing but individuals, and the small decisions made each day for good or ill by said individuals is what builds up to movements, disasters, wars, reclamation projects, and the like. The top-down impact of authority figures on morale and a society's tenor is matched from beneath by countless examples of behavior and leadership on lesser scale, neither of which are separable from the other. The grand gestures and major events rest on a foundation of very minute actions and choices.
It is this reality which is behind the sense that fate can descend on
a civilization for the deeds of its leaders, not unjustly, but because
by action or inaction the group chooses to allow and approve those deeds,
as played out in the ancient tragedies of Oedipus and Antigone.
The depiction of Lúthien's Working in action is, of course, entirely gapfilling: the Lay cuts from Huan's bringing her the cape to the engagement at Tol Sirion, and the actual escape is left to our imagination, as is his retrieval of the spell-cloak. But I have derived it from the earlier escape which is recounted in detail in Canto V:
Of cloudy hair
she wove a web like misty
air
of moonless night, and thereof
made
a robe as fluttering-dark
as shade
beneath great trees, a magic
dress
that all was drenched with
drowsiness,
enchanted with a mightier
spell
than Melian's raiment in
that dell
wherein of yore did Thingol
roam
beneath the dark and starry
dome
that hung above the dawning
world.
and now this robe she round
her furled
and veiled her garments
shimmering white;
her mantle blue with jewels
bright
like crystal stars, the
lilies gold,
were wrapped and hid; and
down there rolled
dim dreams and faint oblivious
sleep
falling about her, to softly
creep
through all the air. Then
swift she takes
the threads unused; of these
she makes
a slender rope of twisted
strands
yet long and stout, and
with her hands
she makes it fast unto the
shaft
of Hírilorn. Now,
all her craft
and labour ended, looks
she forth
from her little window facing
North.
Already the sunlight in the trees
is drooping red, and dusk
she sees
come softly along the ground
below,
and now she murmurs soft
and slow.
Now chanting clearer down
she cast
her long hair, till it reached
at last
from her window to the darkling
ground.
Men far beneath her heard
the sound;
but the slumbrous strand
now swung and swayed
above her guards. Their
talking stayed,
the listened to her voice
and fell
suddenly beneath a binding
spell.
as well as from the fairy-tale that provides (like Rapunzel) a "negative inspiration" for this theme in the Geste — the image of the Castle being overwhelmed with enchanted sleep not to imprison the Princess, but in this case to ensure her escape. Stretching the parallel? Consider these earlier lines:
Again
she spake: 'Now go, I pray,
to Melian the queen, and say:
"thy daughter many a weary hour
slow passing watches in her bower;
a spinning wheel she begs thee send." '
and after commissioning her loom from Daeron,
...This
Dairon did and asked her then,
'O Lúthien, O Lúthien,
What wilt thou weave? What wilt thou spin?'
'A marvellous thread, and wind therein
a potent magic, and a spell
I will weave within my web that hell
nor all the powers of Dread shall break.'
Then Dairon wondered, but he spake
no word to Thingol, though his heart
feared the dark purpose of her art.
(It almost seems as though she's giving him one last chance to redeem himself, by this vague answer — not enough information that anything could really be made of it, and no specific statement of plan — daring him not to betray her one more time, in such a way that outraged innocence could retort with perfect honesty, "Yeah, I told him I was going to see if it was possible to weave a protection spell into cloth — is there something wrong with that? Is counting leaves the only thing I'm allowed to do now?")
The "take back the night" theme which is resumed at the conclusion of
LOTR is particularly strong in Leithian: the assertion that not
even darkness is originally or rightfully under the control of evil, and
is being reclaimed like a stolen territory by the just authority of the
Powers through Melian and her daughter. Lúthien, in fact, does
"own the night" — making Morgoth's defeat all that more ironic.
This setting is, I fervently hope, immediately recognizeable as Ard-galen at the Dagor Bragollach, which forms the subject of many lines throughout the Lay of Leithian: introduction of such past history into the story is by no means my own invention. Here is the opening of LL1, Canto XI:
Once wide and smooth a plain
was spread,
where King Fingolfin proudly
led
his silver armies on the
green,
his horses white, his lances
keen;
his helmets tall of steel
were hewn,
his shields were shining
as the mon.
There trumpets sang both long and loud,
and challenge rang unto
the cloud
that lay on Morgoth's northern
tower,
while Morgoth waited for
his hour.
Rivers of fire at dead of
night
in winter lying cold and
white
upon the plain burst forth,
and high
the red was mirrored in
the sky.
From Hithlum's walls they
saw the fire,
the steam and smoke in spire
on spire
leap up, till in confusion
vast
the stars were choked...
One of the points of this cut-scene is to serve as a reminder that Celebrimbor
too is a warrior no less than an artist, who will eventually be overcome
and destroyed by the same adversary they are presently refusing to face.
(Unfinished Tales.)
Huan's authority over the other hounds is revealed in Canto X, when after the final irreparable breach caused by the assassination attempt on Lúthien,
"Thereafter
never hound was whelped
Would follow horn of Celegorm
or Curufin."
More gapfilling — but there had to be considerable consternation, recrimination
and embarrassment following the discovery. I've just tried to envision
it plausibly and in character.
(Yet another parallel is the arrival of the Eagles following the contest of wills: the fact that the Eagles got there in time to actually save them — thanks to Huan — is yet more validation of my argument that the singlemost critical factor in taking on Dark Lords is reliable backup.)
I also wanted to point up the fact that Lúthien was never under any self-deceiving illusions that she was (at least by any outward measure) the ideal person for the job — simply the only one willing to take it on.
Lúthien
wept not for very pain,
and when he ceased she spoke again:
'My friend, I have a need for friends,
as he who a long dark journey wends,
and fears the road, yet dare not turn
and look back where the candles burn
in windows he has left. The night
in front, he doubts to find the light
that far beyond the hills he seeks'
And thus of Melian's words she speaks,
and of her doom and her desire
to climb the mountains, and the fire
and ruin of the Northern realm
to dare, a maiden without helm
or sword, or strength of hardy limb,
where magic founders and grows dim...
Like as the waves make to
the pebbled shore,
so do our minutes hasten
to their end,
each changing place with
that which goes before,
in sequent toil all forwards
do contend...
along with the aesthetic device used elsewhere by Shakespeare of building
a rhythm of consecutive similar phrases, as in Sonnets 66 ("Tired with
all these, for restful death I cry,—") and 91 ("Some glory in their birth,
some in their skill") to rise to a crescendo of themes followed by counterpoint.
I know it's a cardinal rule of fanfiction not to create "songfics" for many good and sound reasons; I also couldn't write this Act any other way. Hopefully the "authentic" nature of the ballads employed and their application made up for breaking this rule not once, but eleven times, on the principle that if one is going to do so, let it be on a grand scale.
Editorial decisions were made after the fact — that is, I didn't sit down and think, "I need verses, which ones can I appropriately use?" but rather, while listening or singing throughout the day, would observe, "Wow, that fits far too well — but 'London' in the second line just doesn't work." Hence the first verse of Queen of Hearts was dropped partly because it wasn't as evocative in the story — but even were that not the case, would still have been ruled out due to the intrinsic reference to card games, which I at least cannot justify in First Age Middle-earth. ("To the Queen of Hearts is the Ace of Sorrows...").
Lesley Nelson's site, The Contemplator, has a great deal of information about the traditional ballads of the British Isles and North America. I find the midi files rather over-orchestrated and too heavy on the piano, obscuring the tunes, but at least it gives a gist of the melodies.
This German site, 20,000 Volkslieder, has a lot of traditional songs, though without the provenances and background information, but the midi files, when available, are less overworked.
The Digital Tradition collection has huge numbers of tunes, many with midi files and sheet music, but the provenances are iffy and there's little-to-no background information. The midi files, however, are usually clean and uncluttered. I prefer this mirror site as easier to load.
The Internet Renaissance Band doesn't have as many ballads, of course, but the arrangements are excellent and any of the midi files here will give an excellent idea of the richness of pre-classical music and introduction to the world of Early Music at no cost. "Elslein, liebes Elslein" is a particularly fine one, and were I not limiting myself to English songs for practical reasons (I'm not confident of being able to make a singable translation of anything) I would have found a way to use this in the Script somehow: "So sein zwei tiefe Wasser wohl zwischen dir und mir—" There lie two deep Waters, parting thee and me—
abc is a music language which can be used in a variety of computer applications, some of which are freeware, others shareware — but I myself use it most as a shorthand for jotting down melodies without music paper. It uses only basic ASCII characters and is extremely flexible — and you can actually sight-read it! Learn all about it at the page of Chris Walshaw, the inventor.
Finally, I cannot recommend the old recordings by Joan Baez highly enough.
It isn't simply that they are historical artifacts of the beginnings of
the reclamation of traditional music in recent decades — they are spectacular
renderings of the old songs, cleanly and clearly performed. (The one danger
is that they will likely make you impatient of sloppy vocallists with indistinct
articulation and poor quality-control.) Growing up hearing these around
the house helped to create mental linkages between "real life" and the
mythopoeic that are not without a great deal of responsibility for what
you are currently reading — her versions highlight the story of
the ballads and the drama that is created through the combination of simple
dialogue and stock imagery.
(Some of the detail here is far clearer in the full-resolution version for printing, which will open in a new window, and is about 900 KB.)
The setting, and the window-like murals I've devised, are intentionally evocative of the betrayal scene in LL1, where Luthien climbs one of the tallest trees in Doriath to look at the distant mountains of the north, while Daeron has gone directly to her father after assuring her that he will help her in her aim. Also note the Eagles in the distance — a deliberate reference to future events, and not just there to fill such blank space.
Lúthien's costume is taken straight from the description of her escape in LL1, Canto V, and modeled in part on the illustrations of Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema; Finduilas' gown has overtones of the Art-Nouveau Medieval styles inspired by William Morris' Arts and Crafts movement (and everyone knows such dresses are held up by magic.)
The fact that Lúthien's haircut hides her ears is not accidental, either, any more than the invocations of Lothlórien in the visual design of the set.
Back to The Script
Table of Contents page…
| ENTERACT |
There are two (perhaps three) reasons for dealing with the main actions of the Geste in this roundabout fashion. The first, most basic one is simply that there's no way (for me at least) to do it, that the contrast between the subject matter and the tone is too great.
Part of this, and possibly a separate reason in its own right, is the difficulty noted by The Professor in "On Fairy-stories" intrinsic in converting fantasy to drama. Logically, it would seem that this difficulty would forbid the existence of the Script itself; but in fact there is very little that is fantasy, strictly speaking, about it. Aside from Huan's presence, the special effects are minimal, and mostly peripheral — could be largely done away with with very little rewriting and recasting into narrative chorus. It is character-driven drama, and the parts of it that are fantastic and not mundane, derive (or should) from the dialogue itself, and the images that those words invoke in the imagination of the audience. Little more disbelief should require suspension, either by work of stagecraft or by (heaven forfend) the audience, than in presenting a production of The Misanthrope or The Cocktail Party, were the Script somehow to be put on. By far the greatest part of the budget would be devoted to the sets instead of the effects; and even those could be sketchily evoked by a skilled production team, as I have seen done with an excellent student production of the Winter's Tale.
But that would not be possible, attempting to dramatize the several battles at Tol-in-Gaurhoth, or the Anfauglith with its transformation scenes, or the wizards' duel between Morgoth and Lúthien, or the Eagles, or the Hunting of the Wolf — those episodes are the imagery, and unless storyboarded,* simply cannot be presented in a scripted format. And so like Shakespeare in Henry V, I leave it to the combined skill of the Narrator and the audience's imagination to make "this glassy square" the contested places of Beleriand, whether the struggles be magical or mundane.
Finally — the ultimate reason for the Script's existence is to bring
out that which is hidden, and thus illustrating the ramifications of the
Geste, and the widening repercussions of the waves created by it, seems
to me the most appropriate way of treating these episodes.
This is the center of my characterization of Orodreth — this scene as drawn in both of the Lay fragments, each version of which has its own dramatic delights. Again, I feel rather badly, since I can't compare with the originals, which I'm simply translating out here with minimal invention: all the work is essentially done for me, I'm just filling in the gaps.
Very simply, Orodreth has to be the same person who on the one hand didn't argue strongly on his brother's behalf and who lost an undamaged command to the Enemy…yet who for centuries held a castle which was not simply a remote garrison but the capital of a province which controlled the only north-south corridor in Western Beleriand, through which all friendly traffic for much of the First Age was compelled to travel (the alternative being going across Ard-galen, down through Aglon, south through the east side of the subcontinent, then west along Doriath's southern borders to the seacoast, or the reverse — not very practical at all), who enjoyed a friendly relationship with the traitors prior to the coup, — and who, when presented a second time with the alternative of passive non-resistance to the status quo and cathartic violence, held against both strong influences with these words:
"The kingdom now
is mine alone. I will allow.
no spilling of kindred blood
by kin,"
when
"Let us slay these faithless
lords untrue!"
the fickle folk now loudly
cried
with Felagund who would
not ride.
In the second fragmentary version of the Lay, this scene is even more fully developed:
To
Nargothrond no more he came
but thither swiftly ran
the fame
of their dead king and his
great deed,
how Lúthien the Isle
had freed:
the Werewolf Lord was overthrown,
and broken were his towers
of stone.
For many now came home at
last
who long ago to shadow passed;
and like a shadow had returned
Huan the hound, though scant
he earned
of praise or thanks from
Celegorm.
There now arose a growing storm,
a clamour of many voices
loud,
and folk whom Curufin had
cowed
and their own king had help
denied,
in shame and anger now they
cried:
'Come! Slay these faithless
lords untrue!
Why lurk they here? What
will they do,
but bring Finarfin's kin
to naught,
treacherous cuckoo-guests
unsought?
Away with them!' But wise
and slow
Orodreth spoke: 'Beware,
lest woe
and wickedness to worse
ye bring!
Finrod is fallen. I am king.
But even as he would speak,
I now
command you. I will not
allow
in Nargothrond the ancient
curse
from evil unto evil worse
to work. With tears for
Finrod weep
repentant! Swords for Morgoth
keep!
No kindred blood shall here
be shed.
Yet here shall neither rest
nor bread
the brethren find who set
at naught
Finarfin's house. Let them
be sought,
unharmed to stand before
me! Go!
The courtesy of Finrod show!'
In scorn stood Celegorm,
unbowed,
with glance of fire in anger
proud
and menacing; but at his
side
smiling and silent, wary-eyed,
was Curufin, with hand on
haft
of his long knife. And then
he laughed,
and 'Well?' said he. 'Why
didst thou call
for us, Sir Steward? In
thy hall
we are not wont to stand.
Come, speak,
if aught of us thou has
to seek!'
Cold
words Orodreth answered slow:
'Before the king ye stand.
But know,
of you he seeks for naught.
His will
ye come to answer, and to
fulfil.
Be gone forever, ere the
day
shall fall into the sea!
Your way
shall never lead you hither
more,
nor any son of Fëanor;
of love no more shall there
be bond
between your house and Nargothrond!'
'We
will remember it,' they said,
and turned upon their heels,
and sped,
saddled their horses, trussed
their gear,
and went with hound and
bow and spear,
alone; for none of all the
folk
would follow them. No word
they spoke
but sounded horns, and rode
away
like wind at end of stormy
day.
I hardly had to do anything. It's all there in the original, and a little consideration of the geopolitics and alternatives, (along with first- and second-hand experience of sibling and group dynamics) unfolds the whole messy interpersonal aspect of the setup of the situation, leading stage by stage inescapably yet not with absolute inevitability to the prophesied Doom.
This scene, like the next, I had to build, and not merely re-present in modern unrhymed form; but the scene itself is merely gapfilling. The outlines of the unwritten cantos in LB describe the "meanwhiles" in Doriath, the sorrow at the flight of Lúthien, how "Thingol's heart was hardened against Beren despite words of Melian," and relate how during the unsuccessful search for Lúthien, Daeron splits off from the rest of the seekers and disappears, with only rumors left through history of him wandering far in the East, where his flute might yet be heard. Celegorm's embassy shows up, and the letter, and the ambassadors, are so obnoxious, stating that "Beren and Felagund are dead, that Celegorm will make himself king of Narog, and while telling him that Lúthien is safe in Nargothrond and treating for her hand, hints that she will not return," and also warning him against troubling the matter of the Silmarils, that "Thingol is wroth — and is moved to think better of Beren, while yet blaming for the woes that followed his coming to Doriath, and most for loss of Dairon." And so he prepares an army to invade Nargothrond.
Subsequently, however, things get even more complicated."Melian says she would forbid this evil war of Elf with Elf, but that never shall Thingol cross blade with Celegorm." The army sets out, but before they get too far they hit another invading Orc-host, sent out by Sauron in hopes of catching Lúthien, as the rumors of her wandering have reached the Enemy. Thingol's forces are victorious, and the King slays the Orc-chieftain himself, fighting with Mablung at his side.
(It is not clear whether it was the leader of the first Orc-raid, as in the completed portion, or the second raider captain, who was to be finally named Boldog, as in the outline; I'm going by the former, as that's the only instance where the enemy commander's name is relevant. I'm also going with the assumption that there were two raids, and that these were but the latest of many attempts on Doriath, not only on the basis of the LL fragments but also of the Lay of the Children of Hurin, where it is said of Sauron,
Thû 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.'
I also find it logical that these would be chronic attempts over the First Age, but significantly stepped up in the past decade following the breaking of the Leaguer and most particularly the acquisition of the Gaurhoth as forward regional command.)
"Though victorious Thingol is filled with still more disquiet at Morgoth's hunt for Lúthien. Beleg goes forth from the camp on Doriath's borders and journeys, unseen by the archers, to Narog. He brings tidings of the flight of Lúthien, the rescue of Beren, and the exile of Celegorm and Curufin."
This sentence is what I've expanded into the second scenelet of the Enteract — though much of the matter of it has indeed been made present already in Act III through Lúthien's warnings regarding the likelihood of such actions. It shows a far greater level of maturity, both in terms of strategy and restraint, than was shown by the Noldor under Fingon at Alqualondë, despite outrageous provocation — exactly what one would expect of a successful leader with many embattled centuries of experience — as well as the quality and loyalty of his people. There's no sense that there is anything terribly exceptional (aside from the fact that it would likely be impossible for any one else in Beleriand) about Beleg ghosting into the heart of potentially-hostile territory and staying long enough to hear all relevant facts so that Thingol will be informed enough to act as prudently as possible: he's "the chief of his scouts," it's simply his job.
Even though the Lay does not set out the familial connections between the House of Finwë and the sovereign of Doriath (which may well not have been fully defined at the time of its inception) the outlines make it clear that it is both offenses, and not merely that against Lúthien, nor the personal insult of it, which put Elu quite literally up in arms. "He is roused to wrath by the hints of the letter that Celegorm will leave Felagund to die, and will usurp the throne of Nargothrond," and there is an intimation of weregild in the demand for "recompense," in addition to material support in efforts to locate Lúthien, that was later sent to Maedhros et al as Thingol's considered response to the news. This is quite in keeping with the ancient views of kinship whereby siblings' children were (in ideal at least) considered to be no different from one's own; q.v. Théoden's adoption of his niece and nephew in LOTR. Plainly the friendly relations between the two Elf-kings, revealed in detail in Silm., (where after the revelation of the Kinslaying has blown over, as Thingol said it would, Finrod not only has his friendship, but the ability to persuade him against his inclinations and better judgement in the matter of the Haladin) are background, even as the Kinslaying, from the earliest development of Nargothrond as a City proper.
The increased demoralization of Doriath, which began with Daeron's revelation and the assigning of the Quest, and Lúthien's subsequent contagious despair, is inevitable, given the succession of losses and bad news; it also is in keeping with the interconnection of leadership and populace, and the complicit responsibility for bad decisions and consequent Fate in the ancient worldview.
Finally, Thingol's closing words are not incompatible with the statement in the outlines that "He renews his vow to imprison Beren for ever if he does not return with a Silmaril, though Melian warns him that he knows not what he says," in harking back to the earlier part of the Lay, when his first inclination is to execute Beren, and only the reluctant recollection of his promise prevents him. It is also in line with the ancient patterns of bad decisions progressively interfering with the ability to heed or perceive divine warnings, despite all best intentions, seen equally throughout the Silmarillion as the works of Aeschylus.
So while the specifics of the dialogue are my own devising, the substance and the scenario are entirely canonical.
This third is the most conjectured, but no less necessary or grounded in canon. It is noted in HOME (I think it's in Shaping of Middle-earth) that Morgoth was mocked behind his back by the Orcs after his loss, and given the caustic and sullen attitude of the rank-and-file in LOTR towards Sauron, it isn't much of a stretch, I think, to guess how it would have sounded. It's also possible thus to reconcile the apparently contradictory statements in Silm that no songs were made about Fingolfin's Fall on either side, with the Lay's that "Orcs would after laughing tell" of the Duel, the answer being, —only when there was no chance of him overhearing! Dark Lords tend not to be the sort of easy-going commanders willing to turn an indulgent eye to such things as "morale checks" or the ribald songs that even Julius Caesar tolerated from his armies.
As for the substance of the griping — there's no guesswork about that at all. It's horribly yet hilariously clear that Sauron didn't make anything like a full, free, and frank disclosure of the circumstances surrounding the loss of his command. What he left out, and what he did say, can be reconstructed from the events that followed and the words of the Lay:
Then his heart with doubt
and wrath was burned:
new tidings of dismay he
learned,
how Thû was o'erthrown
and his strong isle
broken and plundered, how
with guile
his foes now guile beset;
and spies
he feared, till each Orc
to his eyes
was half suspect. Still
ever down
the aisléd forests
came renown
of Huan baying, hound of
war
that Gods unleashed in Valinor.
Then
Morgoth of Huan's fate bethought
long-rumoured, and in dark
he wrought.
Fierce hunger-haunted packs
he had
that in wolvish form and
flesh were clad,
but demon spirits dire did
hold...
From these a whelp he chose
and fed
with his own hand on bodies
dead,
on fairest flesh of Elves
and Men,
till huge he grew and in
his den
no more could creep, but
by the chair
of Morgoth's self would
lie and glare
nor suffer Balrog, Orc,
nor beast
to touch him...
There deep enchantment on
him fell,
the anguish and the power
of hell;
more great and terrible
he became
with fire-red eyes and jaws
aflame...
Him
Carcharoth, the Red Maw name
the songs of Elves. Not
yet he came
disastrous, ravening, from
the gates
of Angband. There he sleepless
waits
where those great portals
threatening loom...
and none may walk, nor creep,
nor glide,
nor thrust with power his
menace past
to enter Morgoth's dungeons
vast.
So, the reports — sent from a safe distance by airborne courier — clearly contained no mention whatsoever of Lúthien, and quite possibly none of Beren, but plenty about disguised Noldor warrior-mages, and most of all about Huan. After all, which sounds better?
"We apprehended a dozen hostiles attempting to
infiltrate the DMZ disguised
as our troops, and following routine processing
discovered that the mission
was comprised of not only one of the four top
enemy commanders-in-chief but
also that rebel human we thought had been napalmed
a year ago. Subsequently
the Valinorean Wolfkiller arrived on scene in
company with Target Number Two
and the two of them proceeded to sucker all
my elite guard into an ambush and
forced me to surrender at fangpoint, following
which she used the information
I had to give her to buy my life to demolish
the base. We haven't yet determined
if the two events were in any way connected,
or what the adversaries' rationale
for the attacks was. Please furnish more troops
and a new HQ,"
or
"An elite enemy strike team led by the CIC of
Nargothrond, disguised as one of
our own units, and supported by the Valinorean
Wolfkiller, made a stealth assault
in an effort to retake the fortress. We took
heavy casualties and although I
swiftly detected their presence, successfully
negated their mind-control attempts
and survived personal combat on both physical
and magical levels, I was unable to
maintain control of the area and was forced
to take steps that ensured the complete
destruction of the base, thereby denying it
to our adversaries. Unfortunately none
of the Noldor unit survived for interrogation,
but we are reviewing the after-action
data and scrutinizing it to determine the rationale
and timing of the attack. I am
presently reorganizing my remaining forces in
a secure location and will personally
report to you as soon as I have avenged my honor
and made the enemy pay for this."
The second summary is a whole lot more plausible-sounding, in every sense, and in Primary World terms as well, as anyone with any close experience of actual (non-Hollywood) military matters will aver. It's amazing what can be finessed in reports in terms like "routine replacements" or "inadvertent contact" — though the consequences, if and when the facts get out, can be far more unpleasant than owning up in the first place.
And this coverup worked both for and against Morgoth, because nobody outside Angband had any idea that Carcaroth had been rapidly force-grown as a fail-safe defense against the Hound of Valinor, which made for an extremely nasty surprise when discovered — but Morgoth had no idea that the most dangerous part of the equation was in fact that scared, unarmed, 1300-something Elven singer he'd been trying so long to acquire for personal as well as political reasons. Another example of the danger in getting what you've wished for…
Back to The Script
Table of Contents page…
| ACT IV — Beloved Fool: Beyond the Western Sea |
And now we come to the closure and the summation of the whole bizarre project, the resolution that made all the preceding continuations possible, because I couldn't figure out a way to make it work at first until I realized that I could tell it in retrospect and completely change the tone and focus without it being inappropriate (at least in theory.) Some readers have understood the subtitle, and have been horrified at the prospect, to which the only answer I have been able to make is, "Yeah, me too."
There are a few brief remarks that need to be made at the outset. First of all, there are a few devices in the technical sense that allow this to work, which are not strictly canonical. The dedication at the opening, to Lucian and TSE, is not thrown in for looks. In fact, those who know those authors well might feel some trepidation at those lines as much as at the "disclaimer" that follows them. Eliot invited the Furies home to dinner after a disastrous vacation cruise in The Family Reunion, and Lucian needs to be more widely read throughout the science fiction and fantasy world for having gone far above and beyond in his pursuit of mythological accuracy, visiting Hades to interview Charon and his passengers, ascending to Olympus to interview Zeus himself, and sailing beyond the Gates of Hercules to find Homer himself on the Blessed Isles and ask him that that burning question in an attempt to solve the great literary controversy — what deep meaning was there in the opening lines of the Iliad, "Sing, goddess &c"—?
As Homer, in the True History of Lucian's impossible journey, replies over a glass of nectar, that it just happened to pop into his head, you can gather that his take on the myths in these metafics is somewhat less than ponderous. Riddled with bad puns and biting social commentary, you do not want to read Dialogues with the Dead or Dialogues with the Gods while eating or drinking anything. And Fishers, where the great Philosophers are given a travel-pass by Hades so that they can come up from the Underworld and beat Lucian up for parodying them in his Auction skit, is both hilarious and a great consolation to any student afflicted by academic pomposity.
What has all this to do with Arda? Well, aside from Lucian being practically the patron saint of fanfiction, there's a more than good chance that Tolkien was familiar with his work, being after all a classicist. In fact, it's quite possible that C. S. Lewis who makes use of one of Lucian's devices and refers to him in The Great Divorce, was introduced to his work by JRRT. And the alternation of flippancy and earnestness is very similar to the tone of Farmer Giles of Ham, or the dry asides and comments on the foibles of Shire-folk. But it is not mere mockery, his parodying, because it provides not only a refreshingly unponderous take on the classical myths, but also in doing so provides insights into those very legends and distant figures. —What would it have been like to be Hera, coping with having Ganymede around the palace, or Paris, being bribed by three Immortals to fix the judging of a beauty pageant, or the Gatekeeper of the Underworld, dealing day after day with clueless arrivals who haven't yet realized that being a famous sports hero Upstairs doesn't mean anything now?
In his interview with Zeus, Lucian notices a complicated amplification system built into the King of the Gods' study, which proves to be a sort of prayer-filter, through which the petitions of mortals can come to his attention. This, and the subsequent discussion of which pleas are answered, and how, has its reflection in my own device of the Loom. As a device, it serves a more important purpose than merely being a humorous modernism — it allows for information to be conveyed in the context of the story both plausibly and without endless expository dialogues, making it possible to get to what (I think) are the more important problems. Other solutions throughout (no specifics for spoiler reasons) which may seem no less dubious, are also borrowed from Lucian , but can at least be justified if not proven. (Surely you didn't think the Norns wove with ordinary wool? nor even a rayon-silk blend.)
But the most important things (and many of the minor ones as well) can all be backed up with HOME textual citations — even some of the more surprising ones. (All of which will be marked in these Notes as appropriate.)
You may also have noticed that there is an homage to old movies, of which I am a long-time fan, in the noir setting, and the casting of the Powers. As always, I cast by voice and presence — performers who have and thus can convey the necessary ranges of strength and nuance, not merely pretty faces; though again, as always, these are merely my own choices, and as with any play other casts might be assembled. Obviously this episode is impossible to stage — though if it weren't, this is where the special-effects budget would go — and so can only exist in the interface between "this glassy square" and the readers' imagination. But if it were to be done (and likewise the entire Script) ideally it would be animated by a collaboration of the greatest animators, (personally I favor Matsumoto and Miyazaki) working under the direction of, yes, a Disney artist — the late, incomparable Kay Nielsen.
It's true: the renowned illustrator — and set designer! — was for a time employed at Disney's studios, though the only surviving work of his which actually made it to the screen was the very brief scene at the end of Fantasia, where candlebearers process into a cathedral to the "Ave Maria" a sequence which instantly made me think of Nielsen when I first saw it, without knowing he was actually responsible for it. He had, however, been working on sketches for a "Ride of the Valkyries" sequence — and a Little Mermaid feature length film which would not in any way have resembled the one which was eventually released. Alas, they didn't happen. But we can imagine what might have been, and since Nielsen was responsible for popularizing "East of the Sun, West of the Moon," I'd like to have him helm this production too. (Coincidentally, the famous "Sorcerer's Apprentice" sequence in Fantasia is taken from an episode in one of Lucian's narratives, brooms and all.)
Finally, — does it work? It may prove to be an impossibility which should not have been attempted. this endeavor to steer between the Scylla of mawkishness and the Charybdis of buffoonery, whilst evading the Clashing Rocks of Canonicity and Artistic License. Nevertheless — Excelsior!
Oh, and the title? It comes from Lúthien's own description of
Beren, to his face, in a moment of extreme exasperation — the point at
which he is just about to set off on his own to infiltrate Angband, when
she and Huan have finally caught up to him. That passage, from Canto XI
of the first Lay of Leithian fragment, is key — to understanding
not only Lúthien's character, and not only the Lay itself, but also
the entire Arda mythos. And I don't think I'm exaggerating.
"this glassy square" — Gower's speech recalls the intrusive reminder
of the physical setting of the play during the narration of Henry V,
in
which the theatre is called "this wooden O" and the audience requested
to imagine the fleets of sea-going ships, the cannons being loaded,
the horses and royal panoply of war which 16th-century special effects
units couldn't provide — which, by making such an acknowledgment, that
this is only a play, and a mere homage to events, and nothing really
like, allows the process of suspending disbelief to proceed with an untroubled
subconscious.
It isn't just that their own original language, invented for use in
a material dimensions, was considered harsh and "like the glitter of swords"
by the Elves of Aman, who endlessly refined theirs to make it more melodious.
After all, the one Power we get to know quite well in Tolkien's
writings is pushy, impatient, sarcastic, appreciative of good food — and
drink! — and lamentably given to practical jokes, like leaving "Burglar
for hire" signs on the doors of unsuspecting homeowners, or making terrifying
pyrotechnic special-effects to shake up a tipsy bunch of partygoing townsfolk…
The reference to her travelling west via Eagle, however, is oddly reminiscent of another particular class of European folk-tales, most famously represented by "East of the Sun, West of the Moon," with which Tolkien was of course quite familiar. One of the sequences in this variant of the "Mastermaid" stories is the heroine's journeying through rugged mountainous lands, finding unexpected assistance, and when confronted with the need to make an impossible journey to the ends of the earth, across the sea, is aided by either the Winds themselves or by the King of the Eagles, who carry her to her destination and the rescue of the ensorcelled, sleeping, prince who is her long-lost husband. (There is something oddly familiar about that last, isn't there?)
So I have played with, or paid homage to, both sources with the suggestion that Lúthien must in fact struggle to reach the abode of the dead — and this too is not mere supposition on my part, based on world mythology and the preceding texture of the story, which has been far from easy on our heroine, as in one of the outline-drafts for the "lost cantos" of the Lay of Leithian, it speaks, following the lines, "the meeting and farewell of Beren and Tinúviel beneath Hirilorn. Burial of Huan and Beren," of the "Fading of Lúthien. Her journey to Mandos." (Emphasis mine.)
That it is described as a journey, and intended to warrant a
descriptive section in the canto, indicates to me that it was not
an easy jaunt. Eagles and other great birds have always been seen as spirit-messengers
and bearers of the dead to the realms of immortality (q.v. the sculpted
images of various Roman emperors being shown in apotheosis) in every culture
around the globe; while the idea that Lúthien's Maiar side might
take over while she was unbodied, leading to all kinds of distractions,
has its inspiration in part in the distractibility of immortals by the
natural world demonstrated by Voronwë in UT, "Of Tuor and his
coming to Gondolin" — which would, as Silm. describes and Act IV
shows, be exacerbated for those who are not only immortal but Immortal.
That the Eagles, being who they are, great Maiar serving Manwë as
messengers, exist in both the Seen and the Unseen realms is hardly to be
questioned.
"More frail were Men, more
easily slain by weapon or mischance, subject to ills, or grew old
and died. What befell their
spirits the Eldalië knew not. The Eldar said that they went to the
halls
of Mandos, but that their
place of waiting was not that of the Elves, and Mandos under Ilúvatar
knew alone whither they
went after the time in his wide halls beyond the western sea. They were
never reborn on earth, and
none ever came back from the mansions of the dead, save only Beren
son of Barahir, who after
never spoke to mortal Men. Maybe their fate after death was not in the
hands of the Valar." (HOME:Shaping
of Middle-earth)
Considering that the Valar, in no recorded chronicle, are shown to have
acted in haste and without deliberation, that there was a prolonged and
widening discussion before ever Námo appealed to Manwë
for assistance in solving the dilemma, (which as the mortal Bard reminds
us was not solely the Doomsman's decision) is not completely implausible.
This means there are only two possible sources of this information. The first, least likely, is via the Eagles, who travel freely between the continents — but there is not much indication that they spend a great deal of time bringing news to people in Beleriand, or dealing with any save the people of Gondolin on a regular basis; nor would there be any probable way for the news to arrive from Gondolin between the Geste and the fall of Doriath, since the only significant egress from the Hidden Kingdom was during the disastrous expedition to the battle that would become known as the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and there was not a lot of time for chatting and catching up for Turgon at that debacle, and the already shattered state of communications and travel in Beleriand post-Bragollach became a nightmare of Enemy occupation. So, barring a post-fall-of-Gondolin rewrite at the Havens, when the survivors of Gondolin united with the remnants of Doriath and Cirdan's following (or even later revision), there is one probable answer — and that is Beren and Lúthien themselves, upon their final return to Menegroth.
Now, this could, logically, have merely been conveyed to them;
they might have only asked, and/or been told the news — that, perhaps,
he had already been released. My reasons for taking a different tack are
again, not mere sentimentality, but as with Huan's presence, a way of exploring
a huge number of ramifications, implications, and cultural aspects of Valinorean
history in a natural and dramatic manner. Because, after all, if he were
still there — does anyone seriously think he wouldn't be meddling, too?
So much for generalizations. In specific, one can safely say that her family took a dim view of the proposed union, since it was in obedience to their objections that she did not join Finrod in the Return — and that she was extremely angry with him as well, because she obeyed them. If they had not had such misgivings, it is unlikely, given the deep reluctance displayed to break up or block even the most ill-advised of lovers in Aman, Finwë and Indis, that they would have been so forceful about it. It is essential to remember that Elenwë, the wife of Turgon, who died in the course of the Crossing, was Vanyar as well. (Why might they have objected to Finrod, one might ask, who after all is part-Vanyar himself? There is a very good answer in the fact of his extremely contentious extended family, who by this time were deeply embroiled in feuding and had been for quite a few years.) And if Amarië herself had not been furious with him, it is unlikely, given the generally-intractable nature of the Eldar, male and female, who feature in the chronicles of the First Age, that any parental disapproval would have sufficed to restrain her from going. (Again, I point to the example of Elenwë.)
Why furious? Well, Vanyar or not, the Eldar are proud. Rejection isn't something they deal with well at all, as the stories indicate. And to be set second, below either (in less-rational moments) mere things, like treasure and vengeance, or (in more cool-headed recollection) other people, Noldor friends and relatives, all of whom have forsaken peace and gratitude and cooperation for greed and self-aggrandizement — or worst of all, the lure of far-off lands and strangers, quite incomprehensible to the Vanyar, content to dwell where they are and needing no more from life than what they have — is a hard thing for a relationship.
And, of course, she ought to be a match for Finrod — in the medieval sense, that is, where the concept of mate included the notion that both parties were equally matched and appropriate for each other on many different levels — unless of course one takes the view that it was an ill-advised, youthful folly, and they were neither of them suited for each other at all, which is a bit hard to justify, given that Finrod at least was over a hundred at the time of the Return: not exactly a smitten young fifty-year-old with no experience of judging character, his own included. If they are really soul-mates, then Amarië is bound to be just as intelligent, perceptive, good-willed, and energetic as her would-be consort. (Which is rather a frightening thought, actually: not one, but two of them, working in tandem?) But a messy break-up, and four-hundred-sixty-plus years to brood about it, and the conviction of unshakable moral superiority, is a very bad situation to start over from.
—In other words, they're Doomed. (Think Nargothrond, and Finrod's response
to rejection before the assembled folk there. Mirror it. —Take cover.)
"Carcharoth
goes mad and drives all [orcs] before him like a wind. The sound of his
awful howling
causes rocks to split and fall. There is an earthquake underground. Morgoth's
wrath on waking.
The gateway [falls] in and hell is blocked, and great fires and smokes
burst from Thangorodrim.
Thunder and lightning. Beren lies dying before the gate. Tinúviel's
song as she kisses his hand
and prepares to die. Thorondor comes down and bears them amid the lightning
that [stabs] at
them like spears and a hail of arrows from the battlements. They pass above
Gondolin and Lúthien
sees the white city far below, [gleaming] like a lily in the valley."
His being trapped in an unpleasant dream world is also described in the Silmarillion, but earlier in LL1, Canto X, he has had a similar experience, if much shorter, during the night when he was being healed of the arrow-wound by Lúthien:
The
shadows fell from mountains grim.
Then sprang about the darkened
North
the Sickle of the Gods,
and forth
each star there stared in
stony night
radiant, glistering cold
and white.
But on the ground there
is a glow,
a spark of red that leaps
below:
under woven boughs beside
a fire
of crackling wood and sputtering
briar
there Beren lies in drowsing
deep,
walking and wandering in
sleep.
Watchful bending o'er him
wakes
a maiden fair; his thirst
she slakes,
his brow caresses, and softly
croons
a song more potent than
in runes
or leeches' lore hath since
been writ.
Slowly the nightly watches
flit.
The misty morning crawleth
grey
from dusk to the reluctant
day.
Then Beren woke and opened
eyes,
and rose and cried, 'Neath
other skies,
in lands more awful and
unknown,
I wandered long, methought,
alone
to the deep shadow where
the dead dwell;
but ever a voice that I
knew well,
like bells, like viols,
like harps, like birds,
like music moving without
words,
called me, called me through
the night,
enchanted drew me back to
light!
Healed the wound, assuaged
the pain!
Now we are come to morn
again,
new journeys once more lead
us on—
to perils whence life may
be won,
hardly for Beren; and for
thee
a waiting in the wood I
see,
beneath the trees of Doriath,
while ever follow down my
path
the echoes of thine elvish
song,
where hills are haggard
and roads are long.'
And they pick up fighting right where they left off the day before…
(Beren's arguments to her as he has reported them to the Ten, as to why
they cannot just camp out in the woods forever are almost exactly as they
are given in the following verses of the Canto, by the way.)
"The
embassy meets the onslaught of Carcharos who by fate or the power of the
Silmaril
bursts into Doriath. All perish save Mablung who brings the news. Devastation
of the woods.
The wood-elves flee to the caves."
This is followed by the note that the three travelers find the woods
eerily silent and empty as they proceed towards Menegroth.
'…Whom
do you serve, Light or Mirk?
Who is the maker of mightiest
work?
Who is the king of earthly
kings,
the greatest giver of gold
and rings?
Who is the master of the
wide earth?
Who despoiled them of their
mirth,
the greedy Gods? Repeat
your vows,
Orcs of Bauglir! Do not
bend your brows!
Death to light, to law,
to love!
Cursed be moon and stars
above!
May darkness everlasting
old
that waits outside in surges
cold
drown Manwë, Varda,
and the sun!
May all in hatred be begun,
and all in evil ended be,
in the moaning of the endless
Sea!'
But
no true Man nor Elf yet free
would ever speak that blasphemy,
and Beren muttered: 'Who
is Thû
to hinder work that is to
do?
Him we serve not, nor to
him owe
obeisance, and we now would
go.'
Thû
laughed: 'Patience! Not very long
shall ye abide. But first
a song
I will sing to you, to ears
intent.'
Then his flaming eyes he
on them bent,
and darkness black fell
round them all.
Only they saw as through
a pall
of eddying smoke those eyes
profound
in which their senses choked
and drowned.
And the battle begins in earnest…
"Will you not return?"
"No!" she said.
"Then I must help you," said Mablung, " though it is against my own will.
Wide and deep here is Sirion, and perilous
to swim for
beast or man."
"Then bring me over by what ever way the Elven-folk are used to cross,"
said Morwen, "or else I will try the swimming."
Therefore Mablung led her to the twilight meres. There amid the creeks
and reeds ferries were kept hidden and guarded
on the east
shore; for by that way messengers would pass to and fro between Thingol
and his kin in Nargothrond.
"Morgoth hears of the ruin
of Thû's castle. His mind is filled with misgiving and anger. The
gates
of Angband strengthened;
because of the rumour of Huan he fashions the greatest
chooses the
fiercest wolf from all the
whelps of his packs, and feeds him on flesh of Men and Elves, and
enchants him so that he
becomes the most great and terrible of all beasts that ever have been—
Carcharos."
Canto XII goes into it at some length, detailing the rationale behind it and the morbid processes by which one force-grows a super-werewolf, which I will quote here again.
Then came word
most passing strange of
Lúthien
wild-wandering by wood and
glen,
and Thingol's purpose long
he weighed,
and wondered, thinking of
that maid
so fair, so frail. A captain
dire,
Boldog, he sent with sword
and fire
to Doriath's march; but
battle fell
sudden upon him: news to
tell
never one returned of Boldog's
host,
and Thingol humbled Morgoth's
boast.
Then his heart with doubt
and wrath was burned:
new tidings of dismay he
learned,
how Thû was o'erthrown
and his strong isle
broken and plundered, how
with guile
his foes no guile beset;
and spies
he feared, till each Orc
to his eyes
was half suspect. Still
ever down
the aisléd forest
came renown
of Huan baying, hound of
war
that Gods unleashed in Valinor.
Then Morgoth of Huan's fate
bethought
long rumoured, and in dark
he wrought.
Fierce hunger-haunted packs
he had
that in wolvish form and
flesh were clad,
but demon spirits dire did
hold;
and ever wild their voices
rolled
in cave and mountain where
they housed
and endless snarling echoes
roused.
From these a whelp he chose
and fed
with his own hand on bodies
dead,
on fairest flesh of Elves
and Men,
till huge he grew and in
his den
no more could creep, but
by the chair
of Morgoth's self would
lie and glare,
nor suffer Balrog, Orc,
nor beast
to touch him. Many a ghastly
feast
he held beneath that awful
throne,
rending flesh and gnawing
bone.
There deep enchantment on
him fell,
the anguish and the power
of hell;
more great and terrible
he became
with fire-red eyes and jaws
aflame,
with breath like vapours
of the grave,
than any beast of wood or
cave,
than any beast of earth
or hell
that ever in any time befell,
surpassing all his race
and kin,
the ghastly tribe of Draugluin.
Him Carcharoth, the Red Maw,
name
the songs of Elves. Not
yet he came
disastrous, ravening, from
the gates
of Angband. There he sleepless
waits;
where those great portals
threatening loom
his red eyes smoulder in
the gloom,
his teeth are bare, his
jaws are wide;
and none may walk, nor creep,
nor glide,
nor thrust with power his
menace past
to enter Morgoth's dungeon
vast…
There is moreover a weird parallel between the clash/combination of
Light and Dark powers in Melian versus Ungoliant, which results in the
blighted area between Dorthonion and Doriath, the "Mountains of Terror,"
where the "poison of Death" that was in the Spider-demon and her lethal
aura which has corrupted that region wars and merges with the healing,
life-giving power of the Maia who was once part of the original domain
of Lórien and a companion of the Vala of renewed life, Vána
— and the situation of Carcharoth-plus-the-Silmaril. On the one hand, the
entire physical being of Carcharoth is so corrupted on so many levels that
contact with the Varda-blessed jewel sears him, just as it did Morgoth;
yet on the other hand, containing the primal life-energies, undiminished,
of the universe, it gives him inordinate power even as it burns him, so
that he is maintained in a permanent state of destruction and renewing.
In a way, he is but another casualty of the war, like Nan Dungortheb itself,
since whatever pride and attraction to violence lured him to follow Melkor,
this fallen Ainu can hardly have had any notion what he was getting himself
into: if he weren't mad to begin with, such a grisly ordeal would certainly
have made him so.
'The Lord of Wolves hath
prisons dark,
chains and enchantments
cruel and stark,
there trapped and bound
and languishing
now Beren dreams that thou
dost sing'
is found in LL1, Canto V, when she asks the Maia what has become of him and gets the bad news. (There's so much elegant, understated sensuality in the Lay of Leithian fragments that I'm surprised they're not more widely known; I guess it's the understatement.) The differing attitudes towards sex, implicit and embodied in the fact of Elves celebrating the date of conception, not of birth, as age-marker, follow naturally from the greater unity with the natural world that is theirs (including body-mind, which makes conception a controllable and voluntary action on the part of parents) and spiritually Unfallen state (unlike mortals, their Fall is the rebellion of the Noldor, a much more limited corruption, though certainly no less devastating in its consequences.)
A reverential but entirely neurosis-free and non-aggressive attitude towards reproduction is the natural result — "seldom is told of any deeds of lust among them" — and although Beren coming from a much more "primitive" society as well as one whose culture is heavily influenced by Eldar beliefs and attitudes (and being for all practical purposes a devout pantheist) would be far less afflicted by the neuroses of "modern civilization," there is still a world of difference between regarding something as Mystery and therefore not casually or irreverently spoken of, and not regarding it as any different from the rest of everyday life at all. The affectionate teasing his comrades subject him to, born of their incomprehension of his embarrassment, is intended not only to point up this fact (and contrast it with contemporary attitudes in our world), but to illustrate the confusion that mortals in turn experienced while dealing with the Eldar, the apparent contradiction between their vast knowledge and sophistication, and the apparently-childlike "naiveté" which doesn't understand (as Men see it) the seriousness of things ("Athrabeth") — whereas to the Elves it appears that Men are both troubled and troublesome, and the recipients of "strange gifts." (Silm., "Of the Beginning of Days.")
It's not entirely unrelated to their differing approaches to the Powers, as well, and the cognitive dissonance that Beren has mentioned earlier when trying to cope with statements like "And then I asked Varda…" which also follows from the difference of their respective backgrounds, which only gets worse the more deities he encounters.
This casual disregard of the mortal as mere muscle, and not any longer
a major player with Dorthonion effectively "pacified," is of course fortunate
(and not indeed too uncommon in so-called intelligence services today,
who all too often overlook key figures in conspiracy) as what would have
happened, subsequently, had Sauron known, when Lúthien arrived,
that it was her own true love he had in the dungeon, does not bear thinking
about.
Like everyone else in Beleriand, they were driven south by the successes of Morgoth and eventually forced to resettle in the eastern, remaining parts of Middle-earth after the Dark Lord's defeat. However, some of them even took advantage of the gift of the Valar and journeyed to Númenor, where they lived until that realm began its decline, returning to Middle-earth with the cryptic (yet prophetic) statements that the place was no longer stable. (Now there are potential stories that would be interesting to tell, and hear, about those adventurous deep-woods tribesfolk crossing the Sea and living on what would become Atalantë!)
"My word, alas, I now must
keep
and not the first of men
to weep
for oath in pride and anger
sworn.
Too brief the meeting, brief
the morn,
too soon comes night when
we must part!
All oaths are for breaking
of the heart,
with shame denied, with
anguish kept.
Ah! would that now unknown
I slept
with Barahir beneath the
stone,
and thou wert dancing still
alone,
unmarred, immortal, sorrowless,
singing in joy of Elvenesse.'
To which she, unimpressed, returns:
'That may not be. For bonds
there are
stronger than stone or iron
bar,
more strong than proudly
spoken oath.
Have I not plighted thee
my troth?
Hath love no pride nor honour
then?
Or dost thou deem then Lúthien
so frail of purpose, light
of love?
By stars of Elbereth above!
If thou wilt here my hand
forsake
and leave me lonely paths
to take,
then Lúthien will
not go home—"
Considering this exchange in the light of what they've both just been
through, here is all the warrant needed (if it should be needed) for the
characterizations of Beren as a guilt-ridden depressive and Lúthien
as sarcastic, impatient, and absolutely indomitable.
"Immortal were the Elves,
and their wisdom waxed and grew from age to age, and no sickness
or pestilence brought them
death. But they could be slain with weapons in those days, even by
mortal Men, and some waned
and wasted with sorrow till they faded from the earth. Slain or
fading their spirits went
back to the halls of Mandos to wait a thousand years, or the pleasure
of Mandos according to their
deserts, before they were recalled to free life in Valinor, or
sometimes were reborn, it
is said, into their own children…"
Those who chose to come to Aman, on the other hand, and their descendents,
not having the complicating problem of the almost-impassible Sea barrier,
could be reincarnated right there, as soon as they were ready to return
to the world, and pick up more or less where they left off. This would
be a rather workable and fair system, but like any system would get bollixed
up by intractable and anomalous cases, like that of someone who didn't
want to be reincarnated at all regardless of what it meant to her
family and friends, or who wanted to change his ethnicity to match his
friends…
The unfortunate (for everyone) Lieutenant Telumnar we have encountered
already, in Act III, via the documents left behind by Finrod, outlining
his discussions with the Captain over promotions, which Orodreth belatedly
has discovered. The idea that good commanders know what they need, and
don't
need, to know about, is applicable to many situations, from parenting to
organizing a business — though the opposites, at both extremes, are more
obviously to be found. (One example of a leader who fails to grasp the
fact that not everything needs to be micromanaged, and not every
minor infraction sought out and punished, is to be seen in The Caine
Mutiny, where the compulsive Captain Queeg makes "strawberries" into
a byword for overkill.)
| Oft him anhaga
are gebideð
metudes miltse þeah þe he modcearig geond lagulade longe sceolde hreran mid hondum hrimcealde sae wadan wræclastas wyrd bið ful aræd swa cwæð eardstapa earfeða gemyndig wraþra wælsleahta winemæga hryre |
['Often the solitary man enjoys
The grace and mercy of the Lord, though he Careworn has long been forced to stir by hand The ice-cold sea on many waterways, Travel the exile's path; fate is relentless.' So spoke a wanderer who called to mind Hardships and cruel wars and deaths of lords.] |
|
| oft ic sceolde ana uhtna gehwylce
mine ceare cwiþan nis nu cwircra nan þe ic him modsefan minne durre sweotule asecgan Ic to soþe wat þæt biþ in eorle indryhten þeaw þæt he his ferðlocan fæste binde healde his hordcofan hycge swa he wille Ne maeg werigmod wyrde wiðstondan ne se hreo hyge helpe gefremman for ðon domgeorne dreorigne oft in hyra breostcofan bindað fæste swa ic modsefan minne sceolde
|
—Oft should I, alone each dawn,
my cares lament: now living is none that I to him the mood of my heart dare disclose. I know full well that for a leader 'tis lordly strength that he his locked counsels shall fastly bind, hold close his coffered thought, howso other he would. —No more may heartwearied Doom stand defying, nor shall troubled musings bear with them help— for they most earnest of others' respect, tears oft in their breast's chamber shall bind away fast. So should I oft my soul make safe—
|
|
| wenede to wiste
wyn eal gedreas
for þon wat se þe sceal his winedryhtnes leofes larcwidum long forþolian ðonne sorg and slæp somod ætgædre earmne anhogan oft gebindað þinceð him on mode þæt he his mondryhten clyppe and cysse and on cneo lecge honda and heafod swa he hwilum ær in geardagum giefstoles breac ðonne onwæcneð eft wineleas guma gesihð him biforan fealwe wegas baþian brimfuglas brædan feþra hreosan hrim and snaw hagle gemenged þonne beoð þy hefigran heortan
benne
|
He minds him ever ^how
all joy is broken,
for that he knows that his joyful lord and his dear counsel shall long be forgoing: then sorrow and sleep ever together pitiful, solitary, oft are binding him in mind that he his liege-lord clasps and kisses and on knee lays hand and head, as he did betimes, vassal in spear-hall, at the gift-dealing— yet, then awakened, the joyless man sees before him the fallow waves, bathing the seabirds, broad of wing, as sleet and snow and hail fall mingled. Then all the heavier be heart's wounds,
|
|
| for þon ic geþencan ne mæg
geond þas woruld
for hwan modsefa min ne gesweorce þonne ic eorla lif eal geondþence hu hi færlice flet ofgeafon modge maguþegnas swa þes middangeard ealra dogra gehwam dreaoseð and fealleþ for þon ne mæg weorþan wis wer ær he age wintra dæl in woruldrice Wita sceal geþyldig ne sceal no to hatheort ne to hrædwyrde ne to wac wiga ne to wanhydig ne to forht ne to fægen ne to feohgifre ne næfre gielpes to georn ær he geare cunne Beorn sceal gebidan þonne he beot spriceð oþ þæt collenferð cunne gearwe hwider hreþra gehygd hweorfan wille |
For this I may not in this world think
of aught that my heart might darken not when I name noble lives all gone thence, [how they suddenly have left their hall] brave horsemen and vassals. So Middle-earth and all upon it daily fades and fails. For this a warrior may not name him wise who has not dwelt winters in that worlds-realm. [A wise man must be patient, not too hasty in speech, or passionate, impetuous or timid as a fighter, nor too anxious or carefree or too covetous of wealth; Nor ever must he be too quick to boast Before he's gained experience of himself A man should wait, before he makes a vow, Until in pride he truly can assess How, when a crisis comes, he will react] |
|
| ongietan sceal gleaw hæle
hu gæstlic bið
þonne eall þisse worulde wela weste stondeð swa nu missenlice geond þisne middangeard winde biwaune weallas stondaþ hrime bihrorene hryðge þa ederas woriað þa winsalo waldend licgað dreame bidrorene duguð eal gecrong wlonc by wealle sume wig fornom ferede in forðwege sumne fugle oþbær ofer heanne holm sumne se hara wulf deaðe gedælde sumne dreorighleor in eorðscræfe eorl gehydde |
—Such a one knows how soul-shaking shall be
when all this world's wealth stands bestrewn as now likewise upon Middle-earth the wind bewails where walls are standing ice-enameled, ruined the fortresses, fallen the wine-halls, [monarchs lifeless lie deprived of pleasures,] dead the defenders, lying by walls. Some the war took from us, faring in faroff ways: that one fed the carrion fowl far from harbour, to that one the ice-grey wolf dealt out death, — that one the faithful friend hid in earthen grave, mourning for lord. |
There is a lot more of this poem which I haven't translated or
transcribed, but which is well-worth reading, as it contains, for example,
the lines "where now the horse, where now the rider?" and other trenchant
meditations on hubris, mortality, and the transience of status and good
fortune.
This is among other things an homage to the great swashbucklers of the 1930's: The Prisoner of Zenda, Robin Hood, Captain Blood, The Scarlet Pimpernel, and all the rest of those films which managed to combine action, adventure, romance, drama, intrigue, special effects, great costuming, superb cinematography and well-turned dialogue, products of an art which appears to be largely lost these days.
Gower's speech reflects the frequent comparison of true love as more permanent than the sturdiest earthly monuments, both in essence and in memory, such as stone buildings and cast bronze statues, in Shakespeare's sonnets, q.v. the Notes to Act III. The addition of trees is a recognition of the culture of Arda.
"Vairë the Weaver is
his spouse, who weaves all things that have ever been in Time into her
storied
webs, and the Halls of Mandos
that ever widen as the ages pass are clothed with them."
(Silm., "Valaquenta.")
But it is often overlooked that Aulë is patron of weavers and embroiderers as well as smiths and artisans, and co-patron (with Yavanna, naturally) of farmers. (Silm., "Of the Beginning of Days.") Into his purview fall the arts-and-crafts, and the abstract sciences as well as the applied ones, and we are told that he and Melkor had most in common, and there was an intense rivalry stemming from Melkor's unwillingness to acknowledge anyone else his equal — but Aulë's efforts are all creative, and not destructive. (Silm., "Valaquenta")
Since it is also under his aegis that the Noldor invented and refined
letters, there is a happy fusion of interests in Vairë's living-history
recording project, and I consider it not unlikely at all that Aulë
would have both been involved in the creation of it, and that at the counsels
of the Valar their interaction would have taken the form of oblivious tech-speech,
impenetrable to outsiders…
| But many Men remained in Estolad, and there was still
a mingled people living there long years after, until in the ruin of Beleriand
they were overwhelmed or fled back into the East. For beside the old who
deemed that their wandering days were over, there were not a few who desired
to go their own ways, and they feared the Eldar and the light of their
eyes; and then dissensions awoke among the Edain, in which the shadow of
Morgoth may be discerned, for certain it is that he knew of the coming
of Men into Beleriand and of their growing friendship with the Elves.
The leaders of discontent were Bereg of the house of Bëor, and Amlach, one of the grandsons of Marach; and they said openly: 'We took long roads, desiring to escape the perils of Middle-earth and the dark things that dwell there; for we heard that there was Light in the West. But now we learn that the Light is beyond the Sea. Thither we cannot come where the Gods dwell in Bliss. Save one; for the Lord of the Dark is here before us, and the Eldar, wise but fell, who make endless war upon him. In the North he dwells, they say, and there is the pain and death from which we fled. We will not go that way.' Then a council and assembly of Men was called, and great numbers came together. And the Elf-friends answered Bereg, saying: 'Truly from the Dark King come all the evils from which we fled; but he seeks dominion over all Middle-earth, and whither now shall we turn and he will not pursue us? Unless he be vanquished here, or at least held in leaguer. Only by the valour of the Eldar is he restrained, and maybe it was for this purpose, to aim them at need, that we were brought into this land." To this Bereg answered: 'Let the Eldar look to it! Our lives are short enough.' But there arose one who seemed to all to be Amlach son of Imlach, speaking fell words that shook the hearts of all who heard him: 'All this is but Elvish lore, tales to beguile newcomers that are unwary. The Sea has no shore. There is no Light in the West. You have followed a fool-fire of the Elves to the end of the world! Which of you has seen the least of the Gods? Who has beheld the Dark King in the North? Those who seek the dominion of Middle-earth are the Eldar. Greedy for wealth they have delved in the earth for its secrets and have stirred to wrath the things that dwell beneath it, as they have ever done and ever shall. Let the Orcs have the realm that is theirs, and we will have ours. There is room enough in the world, if the Eldar will let us be!" Then those that listened sat for a while astounded, and a shadow of fear fell on their hearts; and they resolved to depart far from the lands of the Eldar. But afterwards Amlach returned among them, and denied that he had been present at their debate or had spoken such words as they reported; and there was doubt and bewilderment among Men. Then the Elf-friends said: 'You will now believe this at least: there is indeed a Dark Lord, and his spies and emissaries are among us; for he fears us, and the strength that we may give to his foes.' But some still answered: 'He hates us, rather, and ever the more the longer we dwell here, meddling in his quarrel with the Kings of the Eldar, to no gain of ours.' Many therefore of those that yet remained in Estolad made ready to depart; and Bereg led a thousand of the people of Bëor away southwards, and they passed out of the songs of those days. But Amlach repented, saying: 'I now have a quarrel of my own with this Master of Lies, which will last to my life's end'; and he went away north and entered the service of Maedhros. But those of his people who were of like mind with Bereg chose a new leader, and they went back over the mountains into Eriador, and are forgotten. |
And yes, this would be a very raw bit of guilt-tripping, too.
"But it was said afterwards
among the Eldar that when Men awoke in Hildórien at the rising
of the Sun the spies of
Morgoth were watchful, and tidings were soon brought to him, and this
seemed to him so great a
matter that secretly under shadow he himself departed from Angband,
and went forth into Middle-earth,
leaving to Sauron the command of the War. Of his dealings
with Men the Eldar indeed
knew nothing, at that time, and learnt but little afterwards; but that
a
darkness lay upon the hearts
of Men (as the shadow of the Kinslaying and the Doom of Mandos
lay upon the Noldor) they
perceived clearly even in the people of the Elf-friends whom they first
knew. To corrupt or destroy
whatsoever arose new and fair was ever the chief desire of Morgoth;
and doubtless he had this
purpose also in his errand: by fear and lies to make Men the foes of the
Eldar, and bring them up
out of the east against Beleriand…"
(Silm., "Of the Coming of Men into the West")
The reason for its presence and emphasis here is not only continuity
with the earlier parts of the Script: it will become clearer, but the secret
of tafl is that it embodies the "song of staying" described
in LL1, Canto VII. If you haven't read the Lay of Leithian fragments yet
— what are you waiting for?
"In angry love and half in
fear
Thingol took counsel his
most dear
to guard and keep…"
I have moreover made the presumption that the emissaries sent to Himring
to demand restitution and help in finding Lúthien from Maedhros
would include some of the most senior of the kingdom's counsellors.
The Steward, on the other hand, is now shown to have come from a much
"higher station" initially than his friend, and not the nearly co-equal
status they now possess, from a much more "typical" Noldor background,
and from a much more stressful family situation as a result. (Note that
nobody has any doubt that rebel or not, the Captain's relatives will welcome
him back with rejoicing, while his friend is not sure he still has a home
to go back to.) By assigning him to the following of Mahtan, he is in a
perfect position to be completely torn between parents who expect him to
become a great artist — in the visual arts, and his own musical
yearnings, pulling him equally towards the more skilled and prestigious
grandson of Mahtan, and his much-junior, less-renowned, but far more congenial
cousin and his multi-ethnic family. Which latter friendship itself will
strain ingrained assumptions and snobberies to the breaking point, ultimately,
but not without a great deal of personal turmoil in the meantime.
"…they come upon the werewolves,
and the host of Thû Lord of Wolves. They are taken
before Thû, and after
a contest of riddling questions and answers are revealed as spies, but
Beren is taken as a Gnome,
and that Felagund is King of Nargothrond remains hidden.
They are placed in a deep dungeon. Thû desires to discover their
purpose and real names
and vows death, one by one,
and torment to the last one, if they will not reveal them. From
time to time a great werewolf
Thû
in disguise comes and devours one of the companions.
…at last only Felagund and Beren remain. It is Beren's turn to be devoured…"
and in another draft,
"They go and seek to break
into Angband disguised as Orcs, but are captured and set in chains,
and killed one by
one. Beren lies wondering which will be his turn. by the Lord
of Wolves, and
set in bonds, and devoured
one by one."
The combination of these facts, one positive, one subtractive — the
removal of the line which states that he wondered when his own time would
come — strongly indicates that it was no accident that Beren outlives the
Ten. The idea of a form of lot-casting, for fairness, follows from that
not unnaturally; the idea of a verbal form comes from the technical difficulties
of drawing lots while immobilized and in complete darkness, and the fact
that in the Elvish languages, as in many earthly ones, the same characters
were used for numbers as for letters. And, of course, a system that works
by the choosing of letters whose order of precedence depends on a word
as yet unannounced by the leader could be foiled by someone able to guess,
or know, what that word was going to be.
She, however, unlike the vast majority of the Noldor, was not swayed by his charisma against her better judgment and when he stopped heeding her counsel, she went her own ways. Even before their separation, this independence was demonstrated in her friendship with her husband's step-mother, a sign of open-mindedness as well as autonomy, (but which undoubtedly made Finwë's son conclude that everyone was out to get him, that his father's second wife had succeeded in taking even his own wife's loyalty away from him — instead of judging, as a reasonable person would, that perhaps since even Nerdanel liked her, Indis might not be a totally worthless person after all.) After the Flight of the Noldor, Nerdanel moved in with her mother-in-law, and that is the situation which we find at present.
She is also possessed of a certain degree of the Sight, and while trying to convince Fëanor to leave at least the two youngest children behind, while he in turn dared her to prove her love for the family by joining them in the Flight, warned him that one of them at least would never make it to Middle-earth regardless — which foretelling is borne out in the story that their youngst son was sleeping on board the ships from homesickness when Fëanor burned them to prevent defections and forestall any chance of competition from his other relatives in Middle-earth.
So I have tried to show her as wise, independent-minded, indomitable, and an artist/technocrat, as she is described in the various source texts — "firm of will, but more patient than Fëanor, desiring to understand minds rather than to master them" — and someone with a tremendous burden of sorrow, who still keeps going and uses her own experiences to help her in that quest to understand others (which is a significant component of wisdom, after all.)
Her presence comes from the need to have a foil worthy to match
words with Finrod from among those who remained behind, but not as closely
or as personally tied to him, with the attendant emotional complications
— obviously, it would not be possible to find anyone among the great houses
of the Eldar with no connections to the Finarfinions! That is, she
can say things that Finarfin and Amarië can't, won't, or won't say
without a discrediting overlay of resentment and anger.
"Never
since have the Ainur made any music like to this music,
though
it has been said that a greater still shall be made before
Ilúvatar by the choirs of the Ainur and the Children of Ilúvatar
after the end of days.
Then
the themes of Ilúvatar shall be played aright, and take Being
in the moment of their utterance, for all shall then understand fully
his intent in their part, and each shall know the comprehension of each,
and Ilúvatar shall give to their thoughts the secret fire, being
well pleased."
There, in a nutshell, is the entire notion of Arda Envinyanta, the
idea that the universe will be made new again, and the still-more radical
notion that all the Children will help by contributing in its creation,
not just the celestial demiurges. That phrase "though it has been said"
when examined carefully reveals one thing and raises the question of another:
that the scribe setting down their mythology in the "Ainulindalë"
had some doubts about the matter, personally — and who, exactly, was it
who was saying this, now? Working "within the fiction," I can imagine
Pengolod going over the traditions and writings of Rumil, and thinking
to himself in some great library in Tirion, "It all seems so very orderly
and rational…but then there are those strange ideas that Turgon's cousin
has put forward, which also sound so compelling when you hear him. Of course
he's quite mad, but…"
"—Yes, but I'm right, too"
says Finrod genially, replacing a borrowed scroll. And the scribe shakes
his head, and keeps writing… (The idea that complete, unrestricted communication
is at least in part the key to universal peace and harmony also should
not be too surprising, given The Professor's great love of languages.)
Another thing to consider is the distilling or filtering effect which the accidents of history have in what words and systems become common usage, and which are forgotten or left behind. One thing which must have been the case is that a different set of names for the days of the week would have been used before the Darkening, as the current Elvish system used in one form or another throughout Middle-earth reflects that event, memorializing the Trees in their own day, and commemorating the Sun and Moon in others. And, in fact, poking about in the Etymologies (HOME:LR) proves this to be true. "Couplesday" was the day dedicated, interestingly enough, Aulë and Yavanna, as joint patrons of matrimony. (This makes me wonder if they were perhaps the first of the Valar to pair off, while the two most powerful brothers were both courting Varda and Tulkas was still a nobody.)
However, in the First Age, and especially given the separation of the
different fiefdoms and domains across Beleriand, it is entirely possible
that some of the Noldor would have continued to use the old calendar, and
that the new system developed slowly — or even that it was a Valinorean
creation of the Eldar there, and only brought to Middle-earth in after
years. Or it might well have been, given the progress of events, the one
in use in Gondolin, which through its peculiar mix of colonists, their
preservation of Quenya lore, and the subsequent consolidation of the surviving
refugee populations under the predominance of its ruling family, had a
strong and lasting influence on the cultures which followed in Middle-earth.
Just as the months and day-names we use today are similar to, and related
to, those used in Roman times, but not identical, it's possible that the
systems Beren was familiar with were not the same as those employed in
the Second and Third Ages, either.
"…when Melkor saw these lies
were smouldering, and that pride and anger were awake among
the Noldor, he spoke to
them concerning weapons; and in that time the Noldor began the smithying
of swords and axes and spears.
Shields also they made displaying the tokens of many houses and
kindreds that vied with
one another; and these only they wore abroad, and of other weapons they
did not speak, for each
believed that he alone had received the warning. And Fëanor made a
secret
forge, of which not even
Melkor was aware, and there he tempered fell swords for himself and for
his sons, and made tall
helms with plumes of red. Bitterly did Mahtan rue the day when he taught
to
the husband of Nerdanel
all the lore of metlawork that he had learned of Aulë."
"Fingolfin like a shooting
light
beneath a cloud, a stab
of white,
sprang then aside, and Ringil
drew
like ice that gleameth cold
and blue,
his sword devised of elvish
skill
to pierce the flesh with
deadly chill.
With seven wounds it rent
his foe,
and seven mighty cries of
woe
rang in the mountains…"
in which it is also told that Grond was the name of Morgoth's mace,
the war-hammer of the underworld — a name that will infamously return to
haunt Middle-earth again. (It is, I should say, a signal of how much superior
the technology of First Age Noldor artisans was to subsequent levels of
smithing, that the High King's weapon is recorded as having wounded Morgoth
eight times, (on the final stroke permanently laming him), without losing
its strength, whereas the Númenórean blade wielded against
the Captain of the Nazgûl dissolves on contact with the Ringwraith,
as Aragorn indeed had warned would happen should such a stroke occur.)
The conflicts, large and little, which are apparent or implicit in the
Geste are all stated and expounded in this Scene, and given context, hence
its length.
The Wassail Song: this Yuletide carol is the "Gloucestershire
Wassail," which is datable back to the 1700s but in melodic feel sounds
much older, due to its smooth linear progressions and mellow intervals,
which resemble those of prior centuries like "Lo How A Rose E'erblooming"
and "Of the Father's Love Begotten" rather than the popular music of the
18th. Each of its many verses hails another member of the landholder's
household — even the four-legged ones. (This is, after all, a drinking-song.)
The words and melody may be found in The Oxford Book of Christmas Carols,
(Oxford University Press) which is available in several editions of various
size and cost, originally published in 1928.
—I have included these "extras" for the simple reason that someone very
like them must have been there, given the enormously high casualties taken
in Beleriand by the Noldor, and their chronological and demographic distribution.
Not only does their presence add an element of conflict, but furthermore
a firsthand presentation of different perspectives, untempered by the regrets
and allegiances of the retellers.
Quite late in the day, I realized that I had created an OFC who
also happens to be the romantic interest of a canon character… (And now
yet another layer of significance is added to the word-game towards the
end of Scene II.)
súma: hollow concavity, bosom, i.e., cleavage; the equation of territorial elevations with female breasts transcends culture and language (as seen in the range from Scotland, "The Paps," to the New World's "Uncanoonuc," which by local legend memorializes an ancient Abnaki noblewoman) so I have extended the parallel to Elven cultures as well. (But without the attendant human self-consciousness.)
palúre: the surface of the land, as in the expression
"the bosom of the earth" (equated with the English root "fold" as in Westfold)
and the source of an alternate name of Yavanna, Palúrien.
It also serves to point up the fact that the Ainur chose what they were going to be in Arda, and when they were going to join in. Not everyone was interested in making Eä at once, and not everyone arrived at the same time once the world was made. The Ainur aren't regimented, despite the urges of fans to organize them so: the Timeless Halls aren't Orwellian in nature. Power and authority are fluid, and come as much from within as from any Eru-conferred roles. Recall (since "Ainulindalë" is a bit long to retype, I haven't put it all here, but I commend rereading it) that the only Valar whose status as such we actually see taking place in the story are Melkor and Tulkas, who end up exchanging places. Melkor opts out of a universe he can't control; Tulkas shows up out of nowhere, starts slugging, and becomes the new member of the core leadership group. The Song begins slowly, with a lot of "tuning-up" — that is, each Ainu must discover his or her own voice — and this takes place very slowly for some, and quicker for others, and it is never rushed by the One nor is self-knowledge forced on any of the Powers-to-be — and then from that, awareness of each other, and then the delight of small spontaneous jam sessions slowly grows into a comprehension of Music on a grand scale, and the potential for something really spectacular…
This is actually somewhat abridged from the original MS, which is available in HOME:Shaping, "The Quenta," and has a lot more of the interpersonality of the Ainur in the Before-Time worldbuilding. There it's remarked that Melkor's music was forceful, though chromatically dull, and had the effect of either drowning out the quieter voices or leading them to follow his dominant monotonous tune — in fact, the whole story is very resonant to anyone with any experience of playing in groups of various sizes. The idea of each performer learning to make his or her own music, not being forced into "the box", and this being the foundation for building the symphony, attuned to the strengths of the individual soloists, is idyllic and utopian, (though not impossible when considering celestials at play) but it also does reflect the reality of many successful groups whose sound is utterly unique and yet which changes over time as new members enter and old ones depart, and such spontaneity and individuality is also the hallmark of such folk groups as jazz ensembles, swing bands, Celtic and Cajun "sessions," medieval and renaissance consorts, and innumerable parallel ethnic traditions from around the world.
Except then there's a rebellion, and the woodwind section leader wants everyone to play his improvisation as if it were the only possible elaboration on the given line, and manages to convince most of the section to join in his vision of how the symphony should go, and gets a crew playing "Twinkles" very, very loudly on rackets (industrial-strength renaissance kazoos) — and whether you want to or not, it's very hard sometimes to stick with your own line if you have a loud, piercing voice right next to you, and especially if they tend to do the line wrong-but-easy…
I've also had the personal advantage of observing different conducting styles over the past dozen years, from the obsessed, manically-up-tight control freak whose band resembles nothing so much as a pen of deer-in-headlights trapped behind their music stands, to the completely indiscriminating, approving-of-everything leader who benignly waves the baton over a cacophony which the discerning audience, after much struggle, may finally be able to identify without recourse to the programme — to the generally laid-back, affirming director who makes sure the timid people get solos and aren't abandoned to finger silently or whisper for fear of making mistakes, and lets people improvise and brings those variations into the final version if they work with the piece as a whole, and doesn't leap all over someone who mangles a key phrase by accident — but doesn't hesitate to step in and address the issue when timing gets out of control or someone just won't stop adding in excessive tremolo after repeatedly being advised that it isn't appropriate to gargle on every note…and maybe gives that grand solo not to the metronome-perfect ten-year student, but to the two-year neophyte, still a little rough around the edges, a little uncertain, who leaps in with fiery enthusiasm and brings the piece to life.
The symbolism of the odd task described is I hope obvious, and comes
from two very different rituals I am aware of, on vastly-separate parts
of this earth: the feast of Divali, in India, wherein tiny clay lamps,
about 3 cm tall, are lit and placed along the edges of window-sills and
rooftops, filling the towns with a warm golden glow far beyond what such
a tiny flame would seem capable of generating, singly or in groups; and
the kindling and exchanging of the Paschal flame in Roman rite Catholic
churches during the Easter vigil. The style of the task, and all others
implied or related, comes from the two mythic examples I am aware of in
which a high-ranking female celestial has the tutelage of an earnest young
male whose enthusiasm is not always equal to the study; one of which may
be found in the Hebrew Scriptures, and the other in Chinese epic literature.
(More on these parallels later.)
As to why she wouldn't have done so, despite inclinations and
ability — see Act III for likely reasons.
—Who just happens to be a dog as well.
One of the reasons I have made Huan so very doggish is that he is, even in the leadership role and narrow time frame in which we get to see him during the Geste. (This should not surprise, given the authentically-doggy personality of Garm, that canine Sancho Panza, in Farmer Giles of Ham.) Throughout the Lay, Huan enjoys his work, hunting the Werewolves of the Enemy with a gusto and enthusiasm which owners of working animals (not simply hunting hounds) will well recognize; he is eager to do what he thinks should be done, as the comment in the Lay mentioned in the last Act notes, running ahead and looking back to see what's keeping his master; he is perceptive, which even ordinary dogs are, of the strains and stresses between his people, and easily depressed by it; but his affections are not given or withheld in accordance with his owner's priorities — also very canine behaviour. His creative interpretation of commands like "Stay!" is all too familiar to any dog-owner, and his protective behaviour and autonomous intelligence while in advance of, in very much in line with real experiences of Newfoundlands and other large, loyal breeds of dog told not simply in legend, like that of Gelert and the hound of Odysseus, but also in fact.
"You do not ride Shadowfax:
he is willing to carry you — or not. If he is willing, that is enough.
It is then
his business to see that
you remain on his back, unless you jump off into the air." (LOTR:TTT,
"The
Palantir")
There are also interesting parallels between Gandalf's steed, and the
Lord of Dogs, who understands spoken language, and is so proud and unique
that his carrying of Lúthien is a matter of some amazement in the
chronicles, but nevertheless remains one of the kelvar in his daily
life. Like the Lord of the Eagles, who is unashamedly a Large Bird of Prey
who makes no bones about snacking on stray cattle when opportunity presents
itself, despite the armed objections of their owners (The Hobbit),
this nobler kinsman of Garm is also mirroanwë — a full incarnate,
who abides by the rules of Earth even when he transcends them by virtue
of his nature; and unlike Sauron he cannot "cheat" and escape death by
morphing into another shape: every time he fights in defense of his friends
is potentially the last time, until he meets his Wolf and walks that road
alone. —Which is also not unlike the situation of a certain Maia in the
distant future.
In the same way, what is a "good" decision or an imprudent one, cannot always easily be decided without considering the circumstances at the time each judgment call is made. This too is presented by the Professor in the course of the story, and while readers tend to oversimplify, one recurring theme in Silm. is that every action has both good and bad consequences. (Like Finwë's remarriage, for one.) Consider one alternative history of Arda: the Powers return to Middle-earth and remain there with the Eldar. Morgoth comes up for parole, concealing his malice, and successfully incites division and rebellion among the Elves. When his misdeeds are exposed (in whatever form it should take in this timeline) and he flees, he doesn't have anywhere near as far to go, and all his secret stash of superweapons (i.e. Balrogs) are ready for instant recall to go up against the forces of the Ainur presently dwelling on this side of the Sea.
The War of Wrath takes place centuries earlier in a fully-inhabited Middle-earth, on the eastern side of the Blue Mountains, with the same havoc that previous battles between gods and demigods always result in, like stray mountain-ranges and sinking rifts, and the Eldar are for all intents and purposes wiped out — along with the Dwarves, and Men as yet unborn. Endor is split into two new continents, Beleriand to the West and on the other side of a wide mediterranean sea, the remnant portion beyond the Misty Mountains, across which the handful of traumatized survivors are scattered. Eriador down to Isen no longer exists. The Gap of Rohan is the Gulf of Rohan leading up to Anduin, Fangorn an Everglades, Rohan a Camargue — except that there isn't any population left to give those areas names. All of civilization, and potential civilization, being in one restricted area, nothing of future history happens in any way resembling the known timeline of Arda. There's no Belegost, no Nogrod, no Long Peace, no Edain, no Gondolin — and no Aman as we know it; no cultural and material reserve to rebuild a Númenor after the Terrible Battle, so there's no Mordor, no Gondor, no Erebor, and also no Shire. Nothing happens as it would otherwise have unfolded.
—Would this have followed, if the Eldar had not removed in part to Valinor?
No way of telling. Could it have happened? The maps say yes.
(It's also an homage to LOTR generally, and TTT, "Flotsam
and Jetsam" specifically, where the telling of tales itself is as integral
to the story as the recounting of the adventures themselves.)
(This, combined with his early removal from the general landscape of Beleriand had the interesting effect of making Gondolin bilingual when Quenya was banned in the world outside: the Noldor, Sindar and "Gray-Noldor" of his domain being already one united people, no special stigma was attached to the language of Aman, regardless of whether or not the news of Thingol's prohibition ever reached them before Aredhel's return. Which in turn had ramifications for the subsequent history of Middle-earth, in that there was a significant portion of those few who escaped the fall of Beleriand who possessed and were at ease with the ancient knowledge, thus aiding in preserving what little did survive and bequeathing it to Númenor.)
One indication of why (beyond, that is, the lure of distant far off lands and strange peoples which she shared canonically with her eldest sibling) is given in the varied sketches from UT, in which it is noted that they took a company, containing no small number of Noldor followers as well, beyond the mountains because it seemed to her dangerous to keep themselves penned up in the subcontinent, all one's eggs in one basket so to speak, and that they needed to spread out more: a forewarning of danger, vaguer than the ones her brother and cousin received, perhaps borne only of her own strategic understanding — but it's also certainly possible that she too received some form of message of her own while in Doriath. Ulmo was a particular friend of Thingol and Melian, and the Girdle was extended so as to enclose a section of Sirion within its boundaries, for the purpose of maintaining that contact between them. I don't say it did happen, but it could have.
"But
Thingol marvelled, and he sent
for Dairon the piper, ere he went
and sat upon his mounded seat—
his grassy throne by the grey feet
of the Queen of Beeches, Hirilorn,
upon whose triple piers were borne
the mightiest vault of leaf and bough
from world's beginning until now.
She stood above Esgalduin's shore,
where long slopes fell beside the door,
the guarded gates, the portals stark
of the Thousand echoing Caverns dark."
These lines from LL1, Canto IV, herald Daeron's first betrayal, and Lúthien's first impassioned defense of Beren, as Thingol seeks to discover the reason behind the "spell of silence" that the great musician's jealousy has cast over Doriath. It is not, I think, coincidental that Oromë is mentioned in the lines which follow:
Then
Thingol said: 'O Dairon fair,
thou master of all musics rare,
O magic heart and wisdom wild
whose ear nor eye may be beguiled,
what omen doth this silence bear?
What horn afar upon the air,
what summons do the woods await?
Mayhap the Lord Tavros from his gate
and tree-propped halls, the forest god
rides his wild stallion golden-shod
amid the trumpets' tempest loud,
amid his green-clad hunters proud,
leaving his deer and friths divine
and emerald forests? Some faint sign
of his great onset may have come
upon the Western winds, and dumb
the woods now listen for a chase
that here once more shall thundering race
beneath the shade of mortal trees.
Would it were so! The Lands of Ease
hath Tavros left not many an age,
since Morgoth evil wars did wage,
since ruin fell upon the North
and the Gnomes unhappy wandered forth.
But if not he, who comes or what?'
And Dairon answered: 'He cometh not!
No feet divine shall leave that shore,
where the Shadowy Seas' last surges roar,
till many things be come to pass,
and many evils wrought. Alas!
the guest is here. The woods are still,
but wait not; for a marvel chill
them holds at the strange deeds they see,
but kings see not — though queens, maybe,
may guess, and maidens, maybe know.
Where one went lonely two now go!"
Is it a coincidence that Thingol happens to wonder if it is Oromë's return which has caused this hush over the land — or that when he learns of a trespasser, demands,
"How
walks he free
within my woods amid my folk,
a stranger to both beech and oak?"
— when elsewhere these particular trees are named as Beren's comrades?
It would take a much longer space than this to go into all the tree-symbolism,
mythic archetypes and stories of Oak-Heroes and Kings of Summer and Winter
that seem to play beneath the surface here.
| 'Slender, and very dark of hair,' said Vëannë,
'and her skin was white and pale, but her eyes shone and seemed deep, and
she was clad in filmy garments most lovely yet of black, jet-spangled and
girt with silver. If ever she sang, or if she danced, dreams and slumbers
passed over your head and made it heavy…
'…but now the song of Gwendeling's nightingales was the most beautiful music that Tinwelint had ever heard, and he strayed aside for a moment, as he thought, from the host, seeking in the dark trees whence it might come. And it is said that it was not a moment he hearkened, but many years, and vainly his people sought him, until at length they followed Oromë and were born upon Tol Eressëa far away, and he saw them never again. Yet after a while as it seemed to him he came upon Gwendeling lying in a bed of leaves gazing at the stars above her and hearkening also to her birds. Now Tinwelint steping softly stooped and looked upon her, thinking, "Lo, here is a fairer being even than the most beautiful of my folk" — for indeed Gwendeling was not elf or woman but of the children of the Gods; and bending further to touch a tress of her hair he snapped a twig with his foot. Then Gwendeling was up and away laughing just softly, sometimes singing distantly or dancing ever just before him, till a swoon of fragrant slumbers fell upon him and he fell face downward neath the trees and slept a very great while. 'Now when he awoke he thought no more of his people…but desired only to see the twilight-lady; but she was not far, for she had remained nigh at hand and watched over him. More of their story I know not, O Eriol, save that in the end she became his wife…" "She dwelt in the gardens of Lórien, and among
all his fair folk there were none more beautiful than she, nor more wise,
nor more skilled in songs of magic and enchantment. It is told that the
Gods would leave their business, and the birds of Valinor their mirth,
that the bells of Valmar were silent, and the fountains ceased to flow,
when at the mingling of the light Melian sang in the gardens of the God
of dreams. Nightingales went always with her, and she taught them their
song. She loved deep shadow, but she was akin, before the World was made,
unto Yavanna, and often strayed from Valinor on long journey into the Higher
Lands, and there she filled the silence of the dawning earth with her voice
and with the voices of her birds.
|
So we have an adventurous, independent, powerful-yet-mischievous demigoddess who wanders the dark corners of the world on her own until she meets the love of her Immortal life, the young chief of a primitive, newborn people, and goes off to tame a savage and dangerous land with him by her side . . . and doesn't know how to cope when their daughter takes after her parents. (I particularly like the image of Melian like a gypsy Queen, clad in sparkly transparent black dancing outfits, and the attendance of singing birds is an old Celtic attribute of divinity — Aengus is the most famous of the Celtic god-heroes, but there are others as well.)
She's a fascinating character, who like most epic figures raises more questions than are or can be ever answered, but it's intriguing to think about them. —What was she supposed to do, in Middle-earth, and what might have happened if she hadn't been so ambivalent about her daughter's destiny? (In one of the earliest rescensions, the second betrayal is not simply by Daeron (who is still her brother at this time) but partly accidental — Lúthien is trying to get her mother to help by pleading with Thingol to get an army together, after being told of Beren's captivity, and in one version she does help, but in the other Melian says — "No help wilt thou get therein of me, little one, for even if magic and destiny should bring thee safe out of that foolhardiness, yet should many and great things come thereof, and on some many sorrows, and my rede is that thou tell never thy father of thy desire" — just as the latter happens to be coming into the room, and says — Tell him what?
Which makes things so much worse that she wishes she'd never even talked to her mother; but — does Melian say this by accident, really, or not? And does she counsel Lúthien not to speak about it as advice to give up, or to do it on her own? All along, her role is strangely ambiguous — or is it? Your only daughter wants to go off and challenge your mortal enemy, the most powerful ruler in the known world, against whose defenses Elven armies have come to ruin, on behalf of someone who isn't going to stick around in this life or the next, and she wants your help to do it, and to take her side against your husband, and there are already strains in your relationship because of the situation …but on the other hand, there is your nature, your calling, the task you took up Ages ago to guard the Land, and the fact that by birth and training your daughter has a right to the name you gave her, Sorceress —
Some days it doesn't pay to get up in the morning, as the saying goes.
"…and
when the stars began to shine,
unseen but near a piping woke,
and in the branches of an oak,
or seated on the beech-leaves brown,
Dairon the dark with ferny crown
played with bewildering wizard's art
music for breaking of the heart.
Such players there have only been
thrice in all Elfinesse, I ween:
Tinfang Gelion who still the moon
enchants on summer nights of June
and kindles the pale firstling star;
and he who harps upon the far
forgotten beaches and dark shores
where western foam forever roars,
Maglor, whose voice is like the sea;
and Dairon, mightiest of the three."
Maglor being of course the second of Fëanor's sons; I don't know anything about Tinfang Gelion (also known sometimes as Tinfang Warble) — neither ethnicity, place of origin, nor gender, nor even preferred instrument (though "Warble" would indicate vocalist primarily) — who always appears as one of the three foremost but who seems to have been lucky enough not to have gotten famous for anything else in history. (The status of Daeron and Tinfang in fact predates the inclusion (or final name) of Maglor, going back to the Tale of Tinúviel.)
| "At length the Vanyar and the Noldor came over Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains, between Eriador and the westernmost land of Middle-earth, which the Elves after named Beleriand, and the foremost companies passed over the Vale of Sirion and came down to the shores of the Great Sea between Drengist and the Bay of Balar. But when they beheld it great fear came upon them, and many of them withdrew into the woods and highlands of Beleriand…" |
—As is Ulmo's continuing concern for all the Eldar, regardless of ethnicity,
and efforts to help them throughout the course of the War.
"Then
hung they helpless Húrin dauntless
in chains by fell enchantments forged
that with fiery anguish his flesh devoured
yet loosed not lips locked in silence
to pray for pity…"
as well as in the present context in LL1, Canto VII:
"…to
dungeons no hope nor glimmer know
where chained in chains that eat the flesh
and woven in webs of strangling mesh
they lay forgotten, in despair."
| "Well, your father gave me this to give to you; and if
I have chosen my own time and way for handing it over, you can hardly blame
me, considering the trouble I had to find you. Your father could not remember
his own name when he gave me the paper, and he never told me yours; so
on the whole I think I ought to be praised and thanked! Here it is," said
he, handing the map to Thorin.
"I don't understand," said Thorin, and Bilbo felt he would have liked to say the same. The explanation did not seem to explain. "Your grandfather," said the wizard slowly and grimly, "gave the map to his son for safety before he went to the mines of Moria. Your father went away to try his luck with the map after your grandfather was killed; and lots of adventures of a most unpleasant sort he had, but he never got near the Mountain. How he got there I don't know, but I found him a prisoner in the dungeons of the Necromancer." "Whatever were you doing there?" asked Thorin with a shudder, and all the dwarves shivered. "Never you mind. I was finding things out, as usual; and a nasty dangerous business it was. Even I, Gandalf, only just escaped. I tried to save your father, but it was too late. He was witless and wandering, and had forgotten almost everything except the map and the key." "We have long ago paid the goblins of Moria," said Thorin; "we must give a thought to the Necromancer." "Don't be absurd! He is an enemy far beyond the powers of all the dwarves put together, if they could all be collected again from the four corners of the world. The one thing your father wished was for his son to read the map and use the key. The dragon and the Mountain are more than big enough tasks for you!" |
It should be immediately apparent that the reference is entirely and
utterly apt (surprising though this may be to those who have neglected
The
Hobbit in the mistaken belief that it is merely a light children's
book, undeserving of attention.)
455/56 The Dagor Bragollach takes place at midwinter, winding down somewhat
in spring of '56. Of the lords of
the northlands, Fingolfin, Hador Lórindol, Angrod, Aegnor and Bregolas
are all killed, with massive allied
casualties and loss of territory. Finrod saved by Barahir, joined by Orodreth,
with Celegorm, Curufin,
Celebrimbor, and surviving followers driven from Aglon and Himlad, regrouping
in Nargothrond.
458 Tol Sirion lost. (The Haladin protect
Doriath and Húrin and Huor are separated from their cousins, then
rescued and taken to Gondolin by the Eagles.) Subsequently the situation
in Dorthonion worsens; Lady
Emeldir takes surviving civilians westward in search of safety — no exact
time frame given.
459 (Húrin and Huor are given special conduct to leave Gondolin and return home to Hithlum via Eagle.)
460 Sauron comes to settle the rebels in person.
Gorlim captured; Barahir and the other Outlaws killed.
Beren
continues his personal war alone.
462 (Morgoth attacks Eithel Sirion, Húrin's father Galdor killed there. Cirdan brings a fleet to Fingon's rescue.)
463 (Easterlings arrive en masse in East Beleriand, ally with Maedhros, Maglor and Caranthir.)
464 Beginning quarter, during winter,
Beren leaves Dorthonion, crosses the dead zone and enters Doriath,
taking up residence in the northeastern quadrant of Neldoreth. (Also in
the early part of the year, in
Dor-lomin, Húrin marries Beren's cousin Morwen.)
Around midsummer Beren sees Lúthien for the first time and is smitten.
(Towards the end of the year, Túrin is born in Dor-lomin.)
Through
autumn and winter Beren haunts Neldoreth, occasionally catching sight or
sound of Lúthien, but
unable to approach or talk to her.
464/5 At midwinter Beren sees Lúthien celebrating in the snow.
Spring
arrives, and the "spell of silence" on Beren is broken. Through the next
few months their relationship
develops, overwatched unknown to them by Daeron.
Around
midsummer Daeron betrays them to Thingol. Beren is assigned the Quest and
departs westward
for Nargothrond. Lúthien mourns at home and gives her family the
silent treatment.
Early
autumn he arrives Nargothrond, the coup takes place, and "on an evening
of autumn" Beren, Finrod,
Edrahil and the other nine leave the City in the divided possession of
Orodreth and the sons of Fëanor.
After
indefinite days of travel northward, they are picked up at the border of
Anfauglith and taken back
to Tol Sirion by Sauron's patrols. Duel, defeat and imprisonment.
Simultaneously
in Doriath, by psychic means, Lúthien discovers the truth and plans
to attempt a rescue.
Betrayed to her father again by Daeron and imprisoned in Hirilorn for indefinite
days before escaping.
Arriving environs Nargothrond is intercepted and taken hostage by Celegorm.
Escapes with Huan after
indefinite days imprisoned there. Arrives Tol Sirion late autumn/early
winter.
Joint
battle and defeat of Sauron, rescue of Beren and other Elvish slaves employed
at Tol Sirion. Burial
of Finrod there. Ex-thralls travel to Nargothrond with Huan, while Beren
and Lúthien wander around for
an indefinite while sightseeing and arguing about what to do next, heading
generally towards Neldoreth.
In
Nargothrond, counter-revolution results in the eviction of the sons of
Fëanor. Their eastward route
between Nan Dungortheb and Doriath intersects with Beren and Lúthien's
trail north of Brethil. Attempted
shooting of Lúthien, Beren shot, Huan defects to their side. The
following day after Beren's healing they
begin a debate/journey back to Doriath, taking an unspecified number of
days.
Meanwhile
in Doriath proper, Thingol receives Celegorm's "offer of alliance" and
responds with an
army, but en route is obliged to detour to cope with an invasion of Orcs,
and after taking care of that,
sends Beleg in to Nargothrond to infiltrate and gather intelligence. Learning
that Lúthien is gone
who-knows-where, and that the sons of Fëanor have been sent packing,
he gives up on that attempt
and returns to Menegroth to plan new rescue efforts. No exact timeline
for these events.
Winter,
early a.m. Beren sneaks off on Curufin's horse and rides back west and
north to the Anfauglith.
Later same day Lúthien convinces Huan to take her along, they detour
briefly south to Tol Sirion, pick
up Huan's stashed trophies and go north to catch up to Beren at the border
of noman's-land at nightfall.
(Could have been not that same day but the next — but maybe not,
given the fact that the steeds were
respectively a proto-meara and an Immortal.) Huan leaves to go talk
to Thorondor and other lawful
animal species, after scolding Beren. That night Lúthien transforms
them, at midnight they begin the
crossing of the burnt plain.
About
two days travel broken by rest periods to get to the Gates of Angband (midnight
through the
following day and night, arriving at the foothills of Thangorodrim the
next morning, and the road that
led through the rough tailings to the Gate where they rest through the
afternoon before continuing down
it to arrive at the Gates by evening) followed by the attempted infiltration
of Angband and The Duel,
followed by the removal of the gem, the messed-up escape plan, Beren's
maiming, and the extraction
from before the Gates by Thorondor, Gwaihir and Landroval, with evacuation
to the starting point in
northern Doriath where Huan is waiting.
466 Through the end of winter Beren is
comatose, cared for by Lúthien and Huan. Meanwhile Carcharoth
is rampaging madly around the northeast, as much a menace to Morgoth's
own forces as to anyone
else, and Thingol has sent an embassy to demand damages and assistance
in finding Lúthien from Himring
but the emissaries are intercepted and slaughtered by the Wolf, with only
Mablung surviving the attack.
Spring
arrives, Beren recovers consciousness but not hope. Return to Menegroth
end of spring/beginning
of summer. The hunt of the Wolf. Beren & Huan killed.
467 Lúthien dies, no season of year given, and goes to Mandos to appeal on Beren's behalf.
468 Maedhros decides he could
certainly do a better job than they managed and starts planning his own
invasion of Angband.
469 Beren & Lúthien
return to Middle-earth, no season of year given, and after an unspecified
time leave
Menegroth, wander for a while, and end up in Ossiriand. Sometime in the
next five years Dior is born.
Finrod on the other hand is invoking the family issues of the preceding generation as a negative model and reproach, reminding them of the destructive consequences of their uncles' sibling rivalry for their grandfather's attention and approval — not a comparison which would be at all welcome, particularly given their centuries'-long role as elder guardians of mortals.
His attempt to console Aegnor and the latter's response connect with
the matter of the "Athrabeth," Aegnor being no more willing, in this envisioning,
to accept such a tenuous hope than his true-love was.
Since Elves (with the world-shattering exception of Finwë) bond with a single partner, and conception follows from a voluntary act of the parents' will, bastardy cannot be an Elven concept in its origin; there is no way for it to enter the vocabulary except through contact with mortals, as the observation of nature would only yield the fact that different kinds of creatures follow different rules for social organization, including those concerning mating. Not until encountering sentients so similar in outward appearance and yet so different on very fundamental levels would, it is reasonable to assume, such a thing even occur to the Eldar — and, it is equally reasonable to deduce, be very troubling to think about. (Angrod and Aegnor, having been in close contact with Men for so long, understand the word superficially at least, enough to use the insult with meaningful intent.)
Nerdanel, however, being as wise, is likely to cut right through the
social confusion following the faux-pas
of the unmeant corrolary
of such an insult (i.e., her presumed infidelity) and to see the crucial
facts of such a psychic difference, and their implications for recent events.
And no, I don't think that there would be any Hollywood moment for Maiwë
here, no "my hero!" exclamation and dazzlement overwhelming all rational
doubts and self-interest at an act of violence undertaken (at least in
part) on her behalf, given who she is, the culture she comes from, and
what happened to her.
That having more children than one's sibling would be understood more in the nature of being a prolific artist — and a collaborative one, at that — rather than in any notion of male sexual prowess, comes from HOME:Morgoth's Ring, "Laws & Customs" where it's made clear that according to Elven thought, having children is one among many skills and talents, like painting, sculpture, writing, fibre arts, music, and so forth; that it's one complete process, throughout which both parents are fully involved (if in different ways) and that the father's part doesn't begin and end in bed, nor the mother's part begin in pregnancy (take that, Aristotle!) and that one has no business indulging in the begetting if one doesn't plan to stick around for the childrearing part. Though like all analogies this is a limited one, because the Elvish sages also believed that while parents contribute psychic energy to the developing offspring (one reason why fathers need to be around, literally lending psychological support) the newcomer is not in any way "part of" the parents' souls, but a unique and different person, independent of others, not a mere extension of the family, certainly not property — even, or especially, in the case of those who are reincarnated.
The political importance was even greater, as was the "sphere of influence,"
because of the fact that Finrod alone communicated with all the Free Peoples
of Beleriand, serving as the bridge between the factions of his family
in the northeast and northwest, with the Teler of the seacoast and the
Sindar of Doriath, (and safeguarding the renewed contact previously broken
by Morgoth between them), with the wandering tribes of the Lindar
in the East, and with those who were entirely Other as well, the Dwarf-Lords
and mortals. Nargothrond controlled the main north-south traffic corridor,
the Sirion valley, and also had what no other Noldor house had — a safe,
quick, route east and west through Doriath, and a vast source of free information
through Elu's messengers. No other Elven King had the same level of access
to places and news, not because of pre-eminence of birth or military power,
but because of interest and involvement — no one else was a xenophile,
to put it another way. Family connections only get you so far, and nowhere
at all with people who aren't related to you in any degree. The rapid disintegration
of what remains of organized resistance in Beleriand after Finrod's exile
cannot all be ascribed to the military might of the Dark Lord, nor should
it be facilely ascribed to the curse of the Silmarils, as if dooms operate
in a vacuum, rather than working on, and through, the available materials.
But
Caranthir, who loved not the sons of Finarfin, and was the harshest of
the brothers and most quick
to anger, cried aloud: 'Yea more! Let not the sons of Finarfin run highter
and thither with their tales to this
Dark Elf in his caves! Who made them our spokesmen to deal with him? And
though they be indeed
come to Beleriand, let them not so swiftly forget that their father is
a lord of the Noldor, though their
mother be of other kin.' (Silm., "Of the Return of the Noldor")
"…the Gods' jealousy,
who guard us here
to serve them, sing
to them in our sweet cages,
to contrive them gems
and jewelled trinkets,
their leisure to please
with our loveliness,
while they waste and squander
work of ages,
nor can Morgoth master
in their mansions sitting
at endless councils.
Now come ye all,
who have courage and hope!
My call hearken
to flight, to freedom
in far places!"
(LB, "The Flight of the Noldoli From Valinor")
along with the fact that Valmar, the city of the Vanyar, was known for
its golden architecture and its many bells whose notes filled the air around
it.
"two years" — to cross-reference, it will be recalled that this is when the situation in Dorthonion becomes untenable, and the extraordinarly-dangerous step of removing surviving civilian population willing to leave across that now-enemy-held area, through the mountains, is undertaken by their Lady.
Little Ease (& other horrors): her ordeal is not as "modern" as it seems, in large part because Tolkien himself anticipated many of the horrors of the 20th century years before they became fact, which in turn reflects the fact that the totalitarian excesses of the last century were but the outgrowth of those which preceded them, the police state well-known throughout 19th and 18th century Europe, the labour camps of Siberia merely continuing the traditions of the Czarist regime, the actual and virtual slavery of disenfranchised laborers, whose protests put down with such violence on the continent resulted in so many emigrations to the New World, and the infamously-hellish working conditions of mill and factory which have only moved to places where there is less regulation and oversight (or enforcement) these days. Angband's work environment is described in LL1, Cantos XII-XIII:
"They
woke, and felt the trembling sound,
the beating echo far underground
shake beneath them, the rumour vast
of Morgoth's forges…
…the
thunderous forges' rumours grew,
a burning wind there roaring blew
foul vapours up from gaping holes.
Huge shapes there stood like carven trolls
enormous hewn of blasted rock
to forms that mortal likeness mock;
monstrous and menacing, entombed,
at every turn they silent loomed
in fitful glares that leaped and died.
There hammers clanged, and tongues there cried
with sound like smitten stone; there wailed
faint from far under, called and failed
amid the iron clink of chain
voices of captives put to pain."
And of course the systematic employment of brutality to control one's fellow-sentients, and by those who by innate temperment and/or bad upbringing find it an enjoyable diversion, is at least as old as recorded history. The confinement of political prisoners in an enclosure too small to lie down or stand up in was known to the jailers of Elizabethan England as "Little Ease," and the "divide and conquer" method of dealing with resistance well-known to the Romans. However Orwellian it might seem, this sequence is actually inspired more by Dante and the sources from antiquity that he drew on (along with the Lay itself, obviously.)
How bad could it have been? There is a tendency among fans to mistake reticence for naivete on the part of Tolkien, (which does not seem to take into account the facts of the Great War, for one thing) based on contemporary decades' explicitness in describing fictional torture and atrocity, often with a tone which indicates relish rather than real horror on the part of the authors. (Eddings, Jordan, Goodkind all leaping to mind.) But in one of the rescensions of the Fall of Nargothrond, when the dying Gelmir commands Túrin, he orders him to go and rescue Finduilas if he can — or kill her, if he cannot. Gelmir knows what he's talking about — if he, a veteran of four centuries' worth of warfare and the Crossing of the Ice, thinks the Halls of Mandos are a better alternative to surviving as a thrall, we can be sure that it was every bit as bad as anything described by Solzhenitzen or other survivors — and worse: after all, the thugs of 20th century labour camps and prisons were not supervised by telepathic Darkside overlords. The following description of Húrin's "softening-up" in Angband dates from around 1926:
Said
the dread Lord of Hell: 'Dauntless Húrin,
stout steel-handed, stands before me
yet quick a captive, as a coward might be!
Then knows he my name, or needs be told
what hope he has in the halls of iron?
The bale most bitter, Balrogs' torment?
Then
Húrin answered, Hithlum's chieftain—
his shining eyes with sheen of fire
in wrath were reddened: 'O ruinous one,
by fear unfettered I have fought thee long,
nor dread thee now, nor thy demon slaves,
fiends and phantoms, thou foe of Gods!'
His dark tresses, drenched and tangled,
that fell o'er his face he flung backward,
in the eye he looked of the evil Lord—
since that day of dread to dare his glance
has no mortal Man had might of soul.
There the mind of Húrin in a mist of dark
'neath gaze unfathomed groped and foundered,
yet his heart yielded not nor his haughty pride.
But Lungorthin Lord of Balrogs
on the mouth smote him, and Morgoth smiled:
'Nay, fear when thou feelest, when the flames lick
thee
and the whistling whips thy white body
and wilting flesh weal and torture!'
Then hung they helpless Húrin dauntless
in chains by fell enchantments forged
that with fiery anguish his flesh devoured
yet loosed not lips locked in silence
to pray for pity. Thus prisoned saw he
on the sable walls the sultry glare
of far-off fires fiercely burning
down deep corridors and dark archways
in the blind abysses of those bottomless halls;
there with mourning mingled mighty tumult
the throb and thunder of the thudding forges'
brazen clangour; belched and spouted
flaming furnaces; there faces sad
through the gloom glided as the gloating Orcs
their captives herded under cruel lashes.
Many a hopeless glance on Húrin fell,
for his tearless torment many tears were spilled.
This scene — with the emphasis of helplessness and anticipation being employed as simultaneously the stripped, brutalized Edain leader is set up for an example to the other prisoners (mostly Elven) and their hopeless state kept in front of him to make sure that he knows there is no way out — and the following, wherein Morgoth plays good-cop next, offering Húrin not only healing from from his burns and flogging, but a high place of rank in his armies—
"I
am a mild master who remembers well
his servants' deeds. A sword of terror
thy hand should hold, and a high lordship
as Bauglir's champion, chief of Balrogs…"
—if he will only betray Gondolin's King to him, follows classic past and present interrogation tactics.
Add to that the fact that those Elves on whom the Dark Lord expended
direct effort to break, remained pyschically broken thereafter,
and — yeah, it would have been that bad. (Think of the mindflaying power
of the Great Eye in LOTR.) The worst accounts of Primary World abuse
always involve a level of consent, of the tyrant (small scale or large
scale) forcing the victim to cooperate in their own degradation, and particularly
by betraying companions, which both is the political end in itself, a way
of maintaining the hold over the mind in absentia — and just plain
fun
for the kind of person who willingly gets involved in these activities.
And yes, they're real, and they're not few, and they're far scarier than
the hyped-up, eroticized serial killers of popular fiction, and they're
not limited to any nationality or chronological period. You've probably
encountered them in school already. All they need is organizers willing
to use them against their enemies, and you have the Mob, the classic "police
state" — or Angband.
| "Oromë tarried a while among the Quendi, and then
swiftly he rode back over land and sea to Valinor and brought the tidings
back to Valmar; and he spoke of the shadows that troubled Cuiviénen.
Then the Valar rejoiced, and yet they were in doubt amid their joy; and
they debated long what counsel it were best to take for the guarding of
the Quendi from the shadow of Melkor. But Oromë returned at once to
Middle-earth and abode with the Elves.
Manwë sat long in thought upon Taniquetil, and he sought the counsel of Ilúvatar. And coming then down to Valmar he summoned the Valar to the Ring of Doom, and thither came even Ulmo from the Outer Sea. Then Manwë said to the Valar: 'This is the counsel of Ilúvatar in my heart: that we should take up again the mastery of Arda, at whatsoever cost, and deliver the Quendi from the shadow of Melkor.' Then Tulkas was glad; but Aulë was grieved, foreboding the hurts of the world that must come of that strife…" (Silmarillion, "Of the Coming of the Elves") |
The suggestion that he might have been reluctant to do so for fear that
it would harm the unawakened Dwarves follows naturally from the concerns
of the Valar in the earlier Ages that their battles might injure or destroy
the Children they knew of from the Song, but whose place of Awakening was
unknown to them:
| "In the confusion and the darkness Melkor escaped, though
fear fell upon him; for above the roaring of the seas he heard the voice
of Manwë as a mighty wind, and the earth trembled beneath the feet
of Tulkas. But he came to Utumno ere Tulkas could overtake him; and there
he lay hid. And the Valar could not at that time overcome him, for the
greater part of their strength was needed to restrain the tumults of the
Earth, and to save from ruin all that could be saved of their labour; and
afterwards they feared to rend the Earth again, until they knew where the
Children of Ilúvatar were dwelling, who were yet to come in a time
that was hidden from the Valar. Thus ended the Spring of Arda…"(Silm.,
"Of the Beginning of Days.")
"And it is said indeed that, even as the Valar made war upon Melkor for the sake of the Quendi, so now for that time they forbore for the sake of the Hildor, the Aftercomers, the younger Children of Ilúvatar. For so grievous had been the hurts of Middle-earth in the war upon Utumno that the Valar feared lest even worse should now befall; whereas the Hildor should be mortal, and weaker than the Quendi to withstand fear and tumult. Moreover it was not revealed to Manwë where the beginning of Men should be, north, south or east. Therefore the Valar sent forth light, but made strong the land of their dwelling." (Silm., "Of the Sun and Moon.") |
The validity of such concerns is shown by looking at the map of Beleriand
in conjunction with the passages which follow the first quotation given
above — or by comparing the map of Beleriand with that of Third Age Middle-earth.
One remarkable implication of all this is the fact that Arda Renewed will not be Arda as it would have been without the Marring, as if Morgoth had never rebelled, any more than it is simply a patched-up version of this present universe. Another is what it says to possibly contradict the Elven certainty that unlike mortals, their lives are limited to this world only, with no hereafter — the Professor's dramatic re-envisioning of an old European folk-belief, which, unexamined, simply declares that the deathless ones of the land and sea, Fair Folk and mermaids, have "no souls." This belief, which is what the Eldar traditionally hold, and which is the meaning of the "sundered fates" and the tragedy of mortal-Elven love (and equally, of Ainur-Elven love), is revealed to mortals in the Athrabeth, a complicated philosophical work set like a Socratic dialogue or Anglo-Saxon debate (but unlike most 20th century philosophy) into a "real-world" context of individuals and problems personal, societal, and metaphysical.
The Athrabeth cannot be understood without considering it in the context of the Geste. It doesn't make sense apart from the full stream of events retold in Silm., neither for its irony nor for its implications. It isn't something tacked on to the mythos, either, as some have declared, but the natural outgrowth of the issues which the Geste, and the other three central stories of Elven-Edain interaction, the Narn, Gondolin, and Earendil, create and embody, but do not examine. They are, after all, stories — there is room for some reflection in them, but not much, without stopping the action dead. But during all those long years before, after, and during the crises which get stories told about them, the characters of the Silmarillion were thinking and talking and writing about what was going on around them and how they were reacting to it. It's just that most of the lore, as we are repeatedly told throughout Silm., of the First Age was lost in the course of the War and subsequent disasters. Athrabeth is one fragment which wasn't.
The setting, which in the context of the Athrabeth only unfolds gradually, and is revealed as the argument progresses, (significant spoilers, I'm afraid) is sometime not long before the Dagor Bragollach, of which coming disaster Finrod has vague premonitions, sharing with his brothers the certainty that containment of Morgoth is not the best strategy, but with no more knowledge than that future warfare is the inevitable result of the present stalemate. And a little while longer ago, one of his younger brothers, Aegnor, fell in love with a noblewoman of the Bëorings' tribe, and wasn't able to deal with it. Knowing that not only was she going to become old and feeble, but also that after she died they would be separated for eternity, he took the classic commitmentphobe's way out and stayed away from her for the rest of her life. The Athrabeth itself is the discussion of mortality, immortality, and Eternity by Finrod and the now-elderly, embittered mortal sage Andreth, wherein and both of them learn surprising things even after all these years about each other's peoples, and Finrod is hit with another vision, in which he starts seeing how these contradictory impressions and beliefs about the universe might actually all fit together and work out ultimately.
It's long, it's complicated, it touches on high-level metaphysical issues that Plato, Aristotle, the Vedas, Anselm of Canterbury, Dame Julian of Norwich, the Talmud and Lao Tzu all wrestled with, to name a few, and taken together with the Second Prophecy and the Second Music, undoes one of the most devastating facts of the Arda mythos, the idea that Elrond and Galadriel and all their people will just cease, as if they had never really mattered at all, except as preparation for human beings, and that this is somehow balanced out, as the Elven sages believed, by their own earthly immortality. It needs to be read in full, not once, and like every serious work of metaphysics I've ever encountered, can't be summed up simply, or understood the same way on each reading.
But a few things stand out from it, which can be easily remarked on (aside from the signal fact that Finrod will shortly die for one of Andreth's nephews aiding and abetting a relationship which he once considered fundamentally ill-advised): that he is willing to consider the worst possibilities — namely, that Evil is ultimately stronger than Good — while rejecting that claim; that he himself is at ease with the thought of his own finiteness, his own ultimate mortality, though grieved for the parting of friendships between their races; that only a "Great Doom" will make a mortal-Elven relationship work (which if you think about it, is really the same as saying that they have to be very unusual people to overcome the obstacles); the unpleasant consideration of those obstacles, not only the ultimate tragedy of separation, but the mundane and wretched problems of one spouse aging, the other not, and the fact that the Eldar don't think it's good to have children when the father is likely to be away or at risk in war, because of the importance of parental, not merely maternal, nuturing in early years; that the Eldar are not willing to risk things any more, and prefer to take the safe route of permanence over the harrowing risks of the future; that both the Firstborn and the Secondborn are meant to teach, enrich, and heal the other.
Thus the counter-arguments of his perturbed compatriots — that Finrod is grasping for everything (as would the Dark-seduced Numenoreans in the Second Age), or that he therefore doesn't regard suffering and destruction as serious in consequence, or that he's being hubristic to claim that he, a mere Elf, has glimpsed what is beyond the ability of even the Valar to know — are for the most part invalidated by the Athrabeth, valid though such objections are against some (or many) Eschatalogical arguments which I have read. The concept of Arda Envinyanta is unfathomable, but it doesn't simply dismiss past traumas as irrelevant compared to future goods, any more than Arda as it is is held up as "the best of all possible worlds." It isn't a wish for personal continuation that underpins Finrod's struggles to formulate his theory, but a conviction of the universal Justice as guiding force in the universe, that ultimately Good is, and cannot be destroyed — as a Greek poet put it, "—if the gods are evil, they are not the gods—" The role of the Followers in recreating the cosmos isn't just an adopted parent's enthusiatic belief in his own protegés, but implicit in the very Themes themselves.
—Whether or not claiming to know better than the gods themselves how the Song goes overall is arrogant, is one of those internal states of mind which can't be judged from outside — but it's a dead certainty it would look that way to most people. It is entirely in keeping, however, with his historical connection to Ulmo (more on that below). —Note, however, that the Powers themselves are depicted in Act IV as singularly blasé about ranting Eldar uttering defiant, radical, irreverent claims (or apparently-defiant, radical, irreverent claims) that others might think impious or blasphemous, which also comes from the Silmarillion and elsewhere. That the Weaver is more worried about damage to her house and tools, and her husband more worried about her being upset, isn't just for humorous effect. —After all, it isn't as though Finrod is doing anything wrong (being annoying doesn't count), like, oh, cutting down trees for no good purpose…