the story of beren and lúthien ~ finished by geoff zeiger
VII
Thus twelve alone there ventured forth 1995
from Nargothrond, and to the North
they turned their silent secret way,
and vanished in the fading day.
No trumpet sounds, no voice there sings,
as robed in mail of cunning rings 2000
now blackened dark with helmets grey
and sombre cloaks they steal away.
Far-journeying Narog's leaping course
they followed till they found his source,
the flickering falls, whose freshets sheer 2005
a glimmering goblet glassy-clear
with crystal waters fill that shake
and quiver down from Ivrin's lake,
from Ivrin's mere that mirrors dim
the pallid faces bare and grim 2010
of Shadowy Mountains neath the moon.
Now far beyond the realm immune
from Orc and demon and the dread
of Morgoth's might their ways had led.
In woods o'ershadowed by the heights 2015
they watched and waited many nights,
till on a time when hurrying cloud
did moon and constellation shroud,
and winds of autumn's wild beginning
sighed in the boughs, and leaves went spinning 2020
down the dark eddies rustling soft,
they heard a murmur hoarsely waft
from far, a croaking laughter coming;
now louder; now they heard the drumming
of hideous stamping feet that tramp 2025
the weary earth. Then many a lamp
of sullen red they saw draw near,
swinging, and glistening on spear
and scimitar. There hidden nigh
they saw a band of Orcs go by 2030
with goblin-faces swart and foul.
Bats were about them, and the owl,
the ghostly forsaken night-bird cried
from trees above. The voices died,
the laughter like clash of stone and steel 2035
passed and faded. At their heel
the Elves and Beren crept more soft
than foxes stealing through a croft
in search of prey. Thus to the camp
lit by flickering fire and lamp 2040
they stole, and counted sitting there
full thirty Orcs in the red flare
of burning wood. Without a sound
they one by one stood silent round,
each in the shadow of a tree; 2045
each slowly, grimly, secretly
bent then his bow and drew the string.
Hark! how they sudden twang and sing,
when Felagund lets forth a cry;
and twelve Orcs sudden fall and die. 2050
Then forth they leap and cast their bows.
Out their swords, and swift their blows!
The stricken Orcs now shriek and yell
as lost things deep in lightless hell.
Battle there is beneath the trees 2055
bitter and swift, but no Orc flees;
there left their lives that wandering band
and stained no more the sorrowing land
with rape and murder. Yet no song
of joy, or triumph over wrong, 2060
the Elves there sang. In peril sore
they were, for never alone to war
so small an Orc-band went, they knew.
Swiftly the raiment off they drew
and cast the corpses in a pit. 2065
This desperate counsel had the wit
of Felagund for them devised:
as Orcs his comrades he disguised.
The poisoned spears, the bows of horn,
the crooked swords their foes had borne 2070
they took; and loathing each him clad
in Angband's raiment foul and sad.
They smeared their hands and faces fair
with pigment dark; the matted hair
all lank and black from goblin head 2075
they shore, and joined it thread by thread
with Gnomish skill. As each one leers
at each dismayed, about his ears
he hangs it noisome, shuddering.
Then Felagund a spell did sing 2080
of changing and of shifting shape;
their ears grew hideous, and agape
their mouths did start, and like a fang
each tooth became, as slow he sang.
Their Gnomish raiment then they hid, 2085
and one by one behind him slid,
behind a foul and goblin thing
that once was elven-fair and king.
Northward they went, and Orcs they met
who passed, nor did their going let, 2090
but hailed them in greeting, and more bold
they grew as past the long miles rolled.
At length they came with weary feet
beyond Beleriand, to fleet
young waters, rippling, silver-pale 2095
of Sirion hurrying through the vale
where Taur-na-Fuin, Deadly Night,
the trackless forest's pine-clad height,
falls dark forbidding slowly down
upon the east, while westward frown 2100
the northward-bending mountains grey
and bar the westering light of day.
An isléd hill there stood alone
amid the valley, like a stone
rolled from the distant mountains vast 2105
when giants in tumult hurtled past.
Around its feet the river looped
a stream divided, that had scooped
the hanging edges into caves.
There briefly shuddered Sirion's waves 2110
and ran to other shores more clean.
An elven watchtower had it been,
and strong it was, and still was fair;
but now did grim with menace stare
one way to pale Beleriand, 2115
the other to that mournful land
beyond the valley's northern mouth.
Thence could be glimpsed the fields of drouth,
the dusty dunes, the desert wide;
and further far could be descried 2120
the brooding cloud that hangs and glowers
on Thangorodrim's thunderous towers.
Now in that hill was the abode
of one most evil, and the road
that from Beleriand thither came 2125
he watched with sleepless eyes of flame.
From North there led no other way,
save east where the Gorge of Aglon lay,
and that dark path of hurrying dread
only at need the Orcs would tread 2130
through Deadly Nightshade's darkling gloom
where Taur-na-Fuin's branches loom;
and Aglon led to Doriath,
and Fëanor's sons watched o'er that path.
Men called him Thû, and as a god 2135
in after days beneath his rod
bewildered bowed to him, and made
his ghastly temples in the shade.
Not yet by Men enthralled adored,
now was he Morgoth's mightiest lord, 2140
Master of Wolves, whose shivering howl
oft echoed in the hills, and foul
enchantments and dark sigaldry
did weave and wield. In glamoury
that necromancer held his hosts 2145
of phantoms and of wandering ghosts,
of misbegotten and spell-wronged
monsters that about him thronged,
working his bidding dark and vile:
the werewolves of the Wizard's Isle. 2150
From Thû their coming was not hid;
and though beneath the eaves they slid
of the forest's gloomy-hanging boughs,
he saw them afar, and wolves did rouse:
"Go, fetch me those sneaking Orcs," he said, 2155
"that fare thus strangely, as if in dread,
and do not come, as all Orcs use
and are commanded, to bring me news
of all their deeds, to me, to Thû."
From his tower he gazed, and in him grew 2160
suspicion and a brooding thought,
waiting, leering, till they were brought.
Now ringed about with wolves they stand,
and fear their doom. Alas! the land,
the land of Narog left behind! 2165
Foreboding evil weights their mind,
as downcast, halting, they must go
and cross the stony bridge of woe
to Wizard's Isle, and to the throne
there fashioned of blood-darkened stone. 2170
"Where have ye been? What have ye seen?"
"In Elfinesse, tears and distress,
the fire blowing and the blood flowing,
these have we seen, there have we been.
Thirty we slew, and their bodies threw 2175
in a dark pit. The ravens sit
and the owl cries where our swath lies."
"Come, tell me true, O Morgoth's thralls,
what then in Elfinesse befalls?
What of Nargothrond? Who reigneth there? 2180
Into that realm did your feet dare?"
"Only its borders did we dare.
There reigns King Felagund the fair."
"Heard ye not then that he is gone,
that Celegorm sits his throne upon?" 2185
"That is not true! If he is gone
then Orodreth sits his throne upon!"
"Sharp are your ears, swift have they got
tidings of realms ye entered not!
What are your names, O spearmen bold? 2190
Who your captain, ye have not told."
"Nereb and Dungalef, and warriors ten,
so we are called, and dark our den
under the mountains. Over the waste
we march on an errand of need and haste. 2195
Boldog the captain awaits us there
where fires from under start and flare."
"Boldog, I heard, was lately slain
warring on the borders of that domain
where Robber Thingol and outlaw folk 2200
cringe and crawl neath elm and oak
in drear Doriath. Heard ye not then
of that pretty fay, of Lúthien?
Her body is fair, very white and fair.
Morgoth would possess her in his lair. 2205
Boldog he sent, but Boldog was slain;
strange ye were not in Boldog's train.
Nereb looks fierce, his frown is grim.
Little Lúthien! What troubles him?
Why laughs he not to think of his lord 2210
crushing a maiden in his hoard,
that foul should be what once was clean,
and dark should be where light had been?
Whom do ye serve, Light or Mirk?
Who is the maker of mightiest work? 2215
Who is the king of earthly kings,
the greatest giver of gold and rings?
Who is master of all the wide earth?
Who despoiled them of their mirth,
the greedy Gods? Repeat your vows, 2220
Orcs of Bauglir! Bend not 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 2225
drown Manwë, Varda, and the sun!
May all in hatred be begun,
and all in evil ended be,
in moaning of the endless Sea!"
But no true Man nor Elf yet free 2230
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." 2235
"Patience!" Thû laughed: "Not very long
shall ye abide. But first a song
I will sing to you, to ears intent."
Then flaming eyes he on them bent,
and darkness black fell round them all. 2240
Saw they only as through a pall
of eddying smoke those eyes profound
in which their senses choked and drowned.
He chanted a song of wizardry,
of piercing, opening, of treachery, 2245
revealing, uncovering, betraying.
Then sudden Felagund there swaying
sang in answer a song of staying,
resisting, battling against power,
of secrets kept, strength like a tower, 2250
and trust unbroken, of freedom, escape;
of changing and of shifting shape,
of snares eluded, broken traps,
the prison opening, the chain that snaps.
Backwards and forwards swayed their song. 2255
Reeling and foundering, as ever more strong
Thû's chanting swelled, Felagund fought,
and all the magic and might he brought
of Elfinesse into his words.
Soft in the gloom they heard the birds 2260
singing afar in Nargothrond,
the sighing of the sea beyond,
beyond the western world, on sand,
on sand of pearls in Elvenland.
Then the gloom gathered: darkness growing 2265
in Valinor, the red blood flowing
beside the sea, where the Noldor slew
the Foamriders, and stealing drew
their white ships with their white sails
from lamplit havens. The North wind wails. 2270
The wolf howls. The ravens flee.
The ice mutters in the mouths of the sea.
The captives sad in Angband mourn.
Thunder rumbles, the fires burn,
a vast smoke gushes out, a roar – 2275
and Felagund swoons upon the floor.
Behold! they are in their own fair shape,
fairskinned, brighteyed. No longer gape
Orclike their mouths; and now they stand
betrayed into the wizard's hand. 2280
Thus came they unhappy into woe,
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. 2285
Yet not all unavailing were
the spells of Felagund, for Thû
neither their names nor purpose knew.
These much he pondered and bethought,
and in their woeful chains them sought, 2290
and threatened each with dreadful death,
if one should not with traitor's breath
reveal this knowledge. Wolves should come
and slow devour them one by one
before the others' eyes, and last 2295
should one alone be left aghast;
then in a place of horror hung
with anguish should his limbs be wrung,
in the bowels of the earth be slow,
endlessly, cruelly, put to woe 2300
and torment, till he all declared.
Even as he threatened, so it fared.
From time to time in the eyeless dark
two eyes would grow, and they would hark
to frightful cries, and then a sound 2305
of rending, slavering on the ground,
and blood flowing they would smell,
but none would yield, and none would tell.