The Lay Of The Children Of Húrin: I Túrin's Fostering

Túrin Son of Húrin & Glórund the Dragon

Lo! the golden dragon    of the God of Hell,

the gloom of the woods    of the world now gone,

the woes of Men,    and weeping of Elves

fading faintly    down forest pathways,

is now to tell,    and the name most tearful

of Niniel the sorrowful,    and the name most sad

of Thalion's son Túrin    o'erthrown by fate.

Lo! Húrin Thalion    in the hosts of war

was whelmed, what time    the white-clad armies

of Elfinesse    were all to ruin

by the dread hate driven    of Delu-Morgoth.

That field is yet    by the folk named

Ninin Unothradin,    Unnumbered Tears.

There the children of Men,    chieftain and warrior,

fled and fought not,    but the folk of the Elves

they betrayed with treason,    save that true man only,

Thalion Erithámrod    and his thanes like gods.

There in host on host    the hill-fiend Orcs

overbore him at last    in that battle terrible,

by the bidding of Bauglir    bound him living,

and pulled down the proudest    of the princes of Men.

To Bauglir's halls    in the hills builded,

to the Hells of Iron    and the hidden caverns

they haled the hero    of Hithlum's land,

Thalion Erithámrod,    to their throned lord,

whose breast was burnt    with a bitter hatred,

and wroth he was    that the wrack of war

had not taken Turgon    ten times a king,

even Finweg's heir;    nor Fëanor's children,

makers of the magic    and immortal gems.

For Turgon towering    in terrible anger

a pathway clove him    with his pale sword-blade

out of that slaughter --    yea, his swath was plain

through the hosts of Hell    like hay that lieth

all low on the lea    where the long scythe goes.

A countless company    that king did lead

through the darkened dales    and drear mountains

out of ken of his foes,    and he comes not more

in the tale; but the triumph    he turned to doubt

of Morgoth the evil,    whom mad wrath took.

Nor spies sped him,    nor spirits of evil,

nor his wealth of wisdom      to win him tidings,

whither the nation    of the Gnomes was gone.

Now a thought of malice,    when Thalion stood,

bound, unbending,    in his black dungeon,

then moved in his mind    that remembered well

how Men were accounted    all mightless and frail

by the Elves and their kindred;    how only treason

could master the magic    whose mazes wrapped

the children of Corthûn,    and cheated his purpose.

'Is it dauntless Húrin,'    quoth Delu-Morgoth,

'stout steel-handed,      who stands before me,

a captive living    as a coward might be?

Knowest thou my name,    or need'st be told

what hope he has    who is haled to Angband --

the bale most bitter,    the Balrogs' torment?'

'I know and I hate.    For that knowledge I fought thee

by fear unfettered,    nor fear I now,'

said Thalion there,    and a thane of Morgoth

on the mouth smote him;    but Morgoth smiled:

'Fear when thou feelest,    and the flames lick thee,

and the whips of the Balrogs    thy white flesh brand.

Yet a way canst win,    an thou wishest, still

to lessen thy lot    of lingering woe.

Go question the captives    of the accursed people

I have taken, and tell me    where Turgon is hid;

how with fire and death    I may find him soon,

where he lurketh lost    in lands forgot.

Thou must feign thee a friend    faithful in anguish,

and their inmost hearts    thus open and search.

Then, if truth thou tellest,    thy triple bonds

I will bid men unbind,    that abroad thou fare

in my service to search    the secret places

following the footsteps    of these foes of the Gods.'

'Build not thy hopes    so high, O Bauglir --

I am no tool    for thy evil treasons;

torment were sweeter    than a traitor's stain.'

'If torment be sweet,    treasure is liever.

The hoards of a hundred    hundred ages,

the gems and jewels    of the jealous Gods,

are mine, and a meed    shall I mete thee thence,

yea, wealth to glut    the Worm of Greed.'

'Canst not learn of thy lore    when thou look'st on a foe,

O Bauglir unblest?    Bray no longer

of the things thou hast thieved      from the Three Kindreds.

In hate I hold thee,      and thy hests in scorn.'

'Boldly thou bravest me.    Be thy boast rewarded,'

in mirth quod Morgoth,    'to me now the deeds,

and thy aid I ask not;    but anger thee nought

if little they like thee.    Yea, look thereon

helpless to hinder,    or thy hand to raise.'

Then Thalion was thrust    to Thangorodrim,

that mountain that meets    the misty skies

on high o'er the hills    that Hithlum sees

blackly brooding      on the borders of the north.

To a stool of stone    on its steepest peak

they bound him in bonds,    an unbreakable chain,

and the Lord of Woe    there laughing stood,

then cursed him for ever      and his kin and seed

with a doom of dread,    of death and horror.

There the mighty man    unmovéd sat;

but unveiled was his vision,    that he viewed afar

all earthly things    with eyes enchanted

that fell on his folk --    a fiend's torment.

I.

Túrin's Fostering

Lo! the lady Morwin    in the Land of Shadows

waited in the woodland    for her well-beloved;

but he came never    from the combat home.

No tidings told her    whether taken or dead,

or lost in flight    he lingered yet.

Laid waste his lands,    and his lieges slain,

and men unmindful    of his mighty lordship

dwelt in Dorlómin    and dealt unkindly

with his widowed wife;    and she went with child,

who a son must succour    now sadly orphaned,

Turin Thaliodrin    of tender years.

Then in days of blackness    was her daughter born,

and was naméd Nienor,    a name of tears

that in language of eld    is Lamentation.

Then her thoughts turnéd    to Thingol the Elf-king,

and the dancer of Doriath,    his daughter Tinúviel,

whom the boldest of the brave,    Beren Ermabwed,

had won to wife.    He once had known

firmest friendship    to his fellow in arms,

Thalion Erithámrod --    so thought she now,

and said to her son,    'My sweetest child,

our friends are few,    and thy father comes not.

Thou must fare afar    to the folk of the wood,

where Thingol is throned      in the Thousand Caves.

If he remember Morwin    and thy mighty sire

he will fain foster thee,    and feats of arms

he will teach thee, the trade    of targe and sword,

and Thalion's son      no thrall shall be --

but remember thy mother      when thy manhood nears.'

Heavy boded the heart      of Húrin's son,

yet he weened her words    were wild with grief,

and he denied her not,    fo no need him seemed.

Lo! henchmen had Morwin,    Halog and Gumlin,

who were young of yore    ere the youth of Thalion,

who alone of the lieges    of that lord of Men

steadfast in service    staid beside her:

now she bade them brave    the black mountains,

and the woods whose ways    wander to evil;

though Túrin be tender    and to travail unused,

they must gird them and go;    but glad they were not,

and Morwin mourned      when men saw not.

Came a summer day    when sun filtered

warm through the woodland's    waving branches.

Then Morwin stood    her mourning hiding

by the gate of her garth    in a glade of the woods.

At the breast she mothered      her babe unweaned,

and the doorpost held      lest she droop for anguish.

There Gumlin guided    her gallant boy,

And a heavy burden    was borne by Halog;

but the heart of Túrin      was heavy as stone

uncomprehending      its coming anguish.

He sought for comfort,    with courage saying:

'Quickly will I come    from the courts of Thingol;

long ere manhood      I will lead to Morwin

great tale of treasure,    and true comrades'--

for he wist not the weird    woven by Bauglir,

nor the sundering sorrow      that swept between.

The farewells are taken:    their footsteps are turned

to the dark forest:    the dwelling fadeth

in the tangled trees.      Then in Túrin leapt

his awakened heart,    and he wept blindly,

calling 'I cannot,    I cannot leave thee.

O Morwin, my mother,      why makest me go?

Hateful are the hills    where hope is lost.

O Morwin, my mother,    I am meshed in tears.

Grim are the hills,    and my home is gone.'

And there came his cries    calling faintly

down the dark alleys    of the dreary trees,

and one who wept    weary on the threshold

heard how the hills said    'my home is gone.'

The ways were weary      and woven with deceit

o'er the hills of Hithlum    to the hidden kingdom

deep in the darkness      of Doriath's forest;

and never ere now      for need or wonder

had children of Men    chosen that pathway,

a few of the folk    have followed it since.

There Túrin and the twain    knew torment of thirst,

and hunger and fear    and hideous nights,

for wolfriders    and wandering Ores

and the Things of Morgoth    thronged the woodland.

Magics were about them,    that they missed their ways

and strayed steerless,    and the stars were hid.

Thus they passed the mountains,    but the mazes of Doriath

wildered and wayworn      in wanhope bound them.

They had nor bread nor water,    and bled of strength

their death they deemed it    to die forewandered,

when they heard a horn    that hooted afar,

and baying dogs.      It was Beleg the hunter,

who farthest fared    of his folk abroad

ahunting by hill    and hollow valley,

who cared not for concourse    and commerce of men.

He was great of growth    and goodly-limbed,

but lithe of girth,    and lightly on the ground

his footsteps fell      as he fared towards them,

all garbed in grey    and green and brown --

a son of the wilderness    who wist no sire.

'Who are ye?' he asked.    'Outlaws, or maybe

hard hunted men    whom hate pursueth?'

'Nay, for famine and thirst    we faint,' saith Halog,

'wayworn and wildered,    and wot not the road.

Or hast not heard    of the hills of the slain,

or the tear-drenchéd field    where the terror and fire

of Morgoth devoured    both Men and Elves?

There Thalion Erithámrod    and his thanes like gods

vanished from the earth,    and his valiant lady

weeps yet widowed    as she waits in Hithlum.

Thou lookest on the last    of the lieges of Morwin

and Thalion's son Túrin,    who to Thingol's court

are wending by the word    of the wife of Húrin.'

Then Beleg bade them    be blithe, and said:

'The Gods have guided you    to good keeping.

I have heard of the house    of Húrin the Steadfast -

and who hath not heard    of the hills of slain,

of Nínin Unothradin,    the Unnumbered Tears?

To that war I went on,    but wage a feud

with the Orcs unending,    whom mine arrows bitter

oft stab unseen    and strike to death.

I am the huntsman Beleg    of the Hidden People.'

Then he bade them drink,    and drew from his belt

a flask of leather    full filled with wine

that is bruised from the berries    of the burning South --

and the Gnome-folk know it,    and the nation of the Elves,

and by long ways lead it    to the lands of the North.

There bakéd flesh    and bread from his wallet

they had to their hearts' joy;    but their heads were mazed

by the wine of Dor-Winion    that went in their veins,

and they soundly slept    on the soft needles

of the tall pine-trees    that towered above.

Later they wakened    and were led by ways

devious winding    through the dark wood-realm

by slade and slope    and swampy thicket

through lonely days    and long night-times,

and but for Beleg    had been baffled utterly

by the magic mazes    of Melian the Queen.

To the shadowy shores    he showed the way

where stilly that stream    strikes 'fore the gates

of the cavernous court    of the King of Doriath,

O'er the guarded bridge    he gained a passage,

and thrice they thanked him,    and thought in their hearts

'the Gods are good' --    had they guessed maybe

what the future enfolded    they had feared to live.

To the throne of Thingol    the three were come,

and their speech sped them;    for he spake them fair,

and held in honour      Húrin the steadfast,

Beren Ermabwed's    brother-in-arms.

Remembering Morwin,    of mortals fairest,

he turned not Túrin    in contempt away;

said: 'O son of Húrin,    here shalt sojourn

in my cavernous court    for thy kindred's sake.

Nor as slave or servant,    but a second king's son

thou shalt dwell in dear love,    till thou deem'st it time

to remember thy mother    Morwin's loneliness.

Thou wisdom shalt win      unwist of Men

and weapons shalt wield    as th warrior Elves,

and Thalion's son    no thrall shall be.'

There tarried the twain    that had tended the child,

till their limbs were lightened      and they longed to fare

through dread and danger    to their dear lady.

But Gumlin was gone    in greater years

than Halog, and hoped not    to home again.

Then sickness took him,    and he stayed by Túrin,

while Halog hardened    his heart to go.

An Elfin escort    to his aid was given

and magics of Melian,    and a meed of gold.

In his mouth a message    how her wish was granted;

how Thingol called her    to the Thousand Caves

to fare unfearing    with his folk again,

there to sojourn in solace,    till her son be grown;

for Húrin the hero    was held in mind,

and no might had Morgoth    where Melian dwelt.

Of the errand of the Elves    and that other Halog

the tale tells not,    save in time they came

to the threshold of Morwin,    and Thingol's message

was said where she sate    in her solitary hall.

But she dared not do    as was dearly bidden,

for Nienor her mestling    was not yet weaned.

More, the pride of her people,    princes of Men,

had suffered her send    her son to Thingol

when despair sped her,    but to spend her days

as alms-guest of others,    even Elfin kings,

it liked her little;    and there lived e'en now

a hope in her heart    that Húrin would come,

and the dwelling was dear    where he dwelt of old.

At night she would listen    for a knock at the doors,

or a footstep falling    that she fondly knew;

so she fared not forth,    and her fate was woven.

Yet the thanes of Thingol    she thanked nobly,

and her shame she showed not,    how shorn of glory

to reward their wending    she had wealth too scant;

but gave them in gift    her golden things

that last lingered,    and they led away

a helm of Húrin    that was hewn in war

when he battled with Beren    his brother-in-arms

against ogres and Orcs    and evil foemen;

'twas o'erwritten with runes    by wrights of old.

She bade Thingol receive it    and think of her.

Thus Halog her henchman    came home, but the Elves,

the thanes of Thingol,    thrust through the woods,

and the message of Morwin    in a month's journey,

so quick their coming,    to the king was said.

Then was Melian    moved to ruth,

and courteously received    the king her gift,

who deeply delved    had dungeons filled

with Elfin armouries    of ancient gear,

but he handled the helm    as his hoard were scant;

said: 'High were the head    that upheld this thing

with that token crowned      of the towering dragon

that Thalion Eithámrod    thrice-renownéd

oft bore into battle    with baleful foes.'

Then a thought was thrust    into Thingol's heart,

and Túrin he called    and told when come

that Morwin his mother    a mighty thing

had sent to her son,    his sire's heirloom,

a helm that hammers    had hardened of old,

whose makers had mingled    a magic thererin

that its worth was a wonder    and its wearer safe,

guarded from glaive    or gleaming axe --

'Lo! Húrin's helm    hoard thou till manhood

bids thee battle;    then bravely don it';

and Túrin touched it,    but took it not,

too weak to wield    that weight as yet,

and his mind mournéd    for Morwin's answer,

and the first of his sorrows    o'erfilled his soul.

Thus came it to pass    in the court of Thingol

that Túrin tarried    for twelve long years

with Gumlin his guardian,    who guided him thither

when but seven summers    their sorrows had laid

on the son of Thalion.    For the seven first

his lot was lightened,    since he learnt at whiles

from faring folk    what befell in Hithlum,

and tidings were told    by trusty Elves,

how Morwin his mother    was more at ease;

and they named Nienor    that now was growing

to the sweet beauty    os a slender maiden.

Thus his heart knew hope,      and his hap was fairer.

There he waxed wonderly    and won him praise

in all lands where Thingol    as lord was held

for the strength of his body    and stoutness of heart.

Much more he learned,    and loved wisdom,

but fortune followed him      in few desires;

oft wrong and awry      what he wrought turnéd;

what he loved he lost,    what he longed for he won not;

and full friendship    he found not easily,

nor was lightly loved    for his looks were sad.

He was gloomy-hearted,    and glad seldom,

for the sundering sorrow    that seared his youth.

On manhood's threshold    he was mighty holden

in the wielding of weapons;    and in weaving song

he had a minstrel's mastery,    but mirth was not in it,

for he mourned the misery    of the Men of Hithlum.

Yet greater his grief    grew thereafter,

when from Hithlum's hills    he heard no more,

and no traveller told him    tidings of Morwin.

For those days were drawing    to the Doom of the Gnomes,

and the power of the Prince    of the People of Hell,

of the grim Glamhoth,    was grown apace,

till the lands of the North    were loud with their noise,

and they fell on the folk    with flame and ruin

who bent not to Bauglir,    or the borders passed

of dark Dorlómin    with its dreary pines

that Hithlum unhappy    is hight by Men.

There Morgoth shut them,    andt he Shadowy Mountains

fenced them from Faërie    and the folk of the wood.

Even Beleg fared not    so far abroad

as once was his wont,    and the woods were filled

with the armies of Angband      and evil deeds,

while murder walked    on the marches of Doriath;

only mighty magic    of Melian the Queen

yet held their havoc    from the Hidden People.

To assuage his sorrow    and to sate the rage

and hate of his heart      for the hurts of his folk

then Húrin's son    took the helm of his sire

and weapons weighty    for the wielding of men,

and went to the woods    with warlike Elves;

and far in the fight    his feet led him,

into black battle    yet a boy in years.

Ere manhood's measure    he met and slew

the Orcs of Angband    and evil things

that roamed and ravened    on the realm's borders.

There hard his life,    and hurts he got him,

the wounds of shaft    and warfain sword,

and his prowess was proven    and his praise renowned,

and beyond his years    he was yielded honour;

for by him was holden    the hand of ruin

from Thingol's folk,    and Thû feared him --

Thu who was thronéd    as thane most mighty

neath Morgoth Bauglir;    whom that mighty one bade

'Go ravage the realm    of the robber Thingol,

and mar the magic    of Melian the Queen.'

Only one was there    in war greater,

higher in honour    in the hearts of Elves,

than Túrin son of Húrin    untamed in war --

even the huntsman Beleg    of the Hidden People,

the son of the wilderness    who wist no sire

(to bend whose bow    of the black yew-tree

had none of the might),    unmatched in knowledge

of the wood's secrets    and the weary hills.

He was leader beloved    of the light-armed bands,

the scouts that scoured,    scorning danger,

afar o'er the fells    their foemen's lairs;

and tales and tidings    timely won them

of camps and councils,    of comings and goings --

all the movements of the might    of Morgoth the Terrible.

Thus Túrin, who trusted    to targe and sword,

who was fain of fighting    with foes well seen,

and the banded troops    of his brave comrades

were snared seldom    and smote unlooked-for.

Then the fame of the fights    on the far marches

were carried to the court    of the King of Doriath,

and tales of Túrin    were told in his halls,

and how Beleg the ageless      was brother-in-arms

to the black-haired boy    from the beaten people.

Then the king called them      to come before him

ever and anon    when the Orc-raids waned;

to rest them and revel,    and to raise awhile

the secret songs    of the sons of Ing.

On a time was Túrin    at the table of Thingol --

there was laughter long      and the loud clamour

of a countless company    that quaffed the mead,

amid the wine of Dor-Winion      that went ungrudged

in their golden goblets;    and goodly meats

there burdened the boards,    neath the blazing torches

set high in those halls      that were hewn of stone.

There mirth fell on many;    there minstrels clear

did sing to them songs      of the city of Tún

neath Tain-Gwethil,      towering mountain,

where the great gods sit      and gaze on the worl

from the guarded shores      of the gulf of Faërie.

Then one sang of the slaying    at the Swanship's Haven

and the curse that had come    on the kindreds since:

all silent sat    and soundless harkened,

and waited the words    save one alone --

the Man among Elves    that Morwin bore.

Unheeding he heard    or high feasting

or lay or laughter,    and looked, it seemd,

to a deep distance    in the dark without,

and strained for sounds    in the still spaces,

for voices that vanished      in the veils of the night.

He was lithe and lean,    and his locks were wild,

and woodland weeds    he wore of brown

and grey and green,    and gay jewel

of golden trinket    his garb knew not.

An Elf there was -- Orgof --      of the ancient race

that was lost in the lands    where the long marches

from the quiet waters      of Cuiviénen

were made in the mirk    of the midworld's gloom,

ere light was lifted      aloft o'er earth;

but blood of the Gnomes    was blent in his veins.

He was close akin    to the King of Doriath --

a hardy hunter    and his heart was brave,

but loose his laughter    and light his tongue,

and his pride outran    his prowess in arms.

He was fain before all    of fine raiment

and of gems and jewels,    and jealous of such

as found favour    before himself.

Now costly clad    in colours gleaming

he sat on a seat    that was set on high

near the king and queen    and close to Túrin.

When those twain were at table    he had taunted him oft,

lightly with laughter,    for his loveless ways,

his haggard raiment    and hair unshorn;

but Túrin untroubled    neither turned his head

nor wasted words    on the wit of Orgof.

But this day of the feast    more deep his gloom

than of wont, and his words    men won harder;

for of twelve long years    the tale was full

since on Morwin his mother    through a maze of tears

he looked the last,    and the long shadows

of the forest had fallen    on his fading home;

and he answered few,    and Orgof nought.

Then the fool's mirth    was filled the more,

to a keener edge    was his carping whetted

at the clothes uncouth    and the uncombed hair

of Túrin newcome    from the tangléd forest.

He drew forth daintily    a dear treasure,

a comb of gold    that he kept about him,

and tendered it to Túrin;    but he turned not his eyes,

nor deigned to heed    or harken to Orgof,

who too deep drunken    that disdain should quell him:

'Nay, an thou knowest not    thy need of comb,

nor its use,' quoth he,    'too young thou leftest

thy mother's ministry,    and 'twere meet to go

that she teach thee tame    thy tangled locks --

if the women of Hithlum    be not wild and loveless,

uncouth and unkempt    as their cast-off sons.'

Then a fierce fury,    like a fire blazing,

was born of bitterness    in his bruiséd heart;

his white wrath woke    at the words of scorn

for the women of Hithlum    washed in tears;

and a heavy horn    to his hand lying,

with gold adorned    for good drinking,

of his might unmindful    thus moved in ire

he seized and, swinging,    swiftly flung it

in the face of Orgof.    'Thou fool', he said,

'fill thy mouth therewith,    and to me no further

thus witless prate    by wine bemused' --

but his face was broken,    and he fell backward,

and heavy his head    there hit upon the stone

of the floor rock-paved    mid flagons and vessels

of the o'erturned table    that tumbled on him

as clutching he fell;    and carped no more,

in death silent.    There dumb were all

at bench and board;    in blank amaze

they rose around him,      as with ruth of heart

he gazed aghast    on his grievous deed,

on his wine-stained hand,    with wondering eyes

half-comprehending.    On his heel then he turned

into the night striding,      and none stayed him;

but some their swords    half slipped from sheaths

-- they were Orgof's kin --    yet for awe of Thingol

they dared not draw    while the dazéd king

stonefacéd stared    on his stricken thane

and no sign showed them.    But the slayer weary

his hands laved    in the hidden stream

that strikes 'fore the gates,    nor stayed his tears:

'Who has cast,' he cried,    'a curse upon me;

for all I do is ill,    and an outlaw now,

in bitter banishment      and blood-guilty,

of my fosterfather    I must flee the halls,

nor look on the lady    beloved again' --

yea, his heart to Hithlum    had hastened him now,

but that road he dared not,    lest the wrath he draw

of the Elves after him,    and their anger alight

should speed the spears    in despite of Morgoth

o'er the hills of Hithlum    to hunt him down;

lest a doom more dire    than they dreed of old

be meted his mother    and the Maid of Tears.

In the furthest folds    of the Forest of Doriath,

in the darkest dales    on its drear borders,

in haste he hid him,    lest the hunt take him;

and they found not his footsteps    who fared after,

the thanes of Thingol;    who thirty days

sought him sorrowing,    and searched in vain

with no purpose of ill,    but the pardon bearing

of Thingol throned    in the Thousand Caves.

He in council constrained    the kin of Orgof

to forget their grief    and forgiveness show,

in that wilful bitterness    had barbed the words

of Orgof the Elf;    said 'his hour had come

that his soul should seek    the sad pathway

to the deep valley    of the Dead Awaiting,

there a thousand years    thrice to ponder

in the gloom of Gurthrond      his grim jesting,

ere he fare to Faërie    to feast again.'

Yet of his own treasure    he oped the gates,

and gifts ungrudging    of gold and gems

to the sons he gave    of the slain; and his folk

well deemed the deed.    But that doom of the King

Túrin knew not,    and turned against him

the hands of the Elves    he unhappy believed,

wandering the woodland    woeful-hearted;

for his fate would not    that the folk of the caves

should harbour longer    Húrin's offspring.