Leithian Script: Act III: 37. Scene XXVIII

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37. Scene XXVIII

A Boy, A Girl & A Dog
The Lay of Leithian Dramatic Script Project



Not for the first time nor the last, recalling words hard-spoken,
Tinuviel rueth yet again the fact of them unwitting broken,
ne'er to trust repose in kindred souls, whose loyalty's but token--

[In the solar of her private wing, Luthien looks at the artificial Northern 'window' and leans on the stone frame as if it really overlooked a landscape.]

Luthien: [hardly more than a whisper]

The trees they do grow high
And the leaves they do grow green
Many is the time my true love I've seen
Many an hour I've watched him all alone
--He's young but he's daily growing

[She sighs, dispiritedly tracing the carved ornament with her forefinger. Behind her Celebrimbor enters the solar and watches her in silence; sensing his entrance, she gives no sign of awareness.]

Oh, what's the use? I can't sing underground, where's no air, no light, no wind or stars to give me voice. And even if I could -- I set so much of my power into my Work, heart and soul and song and love -- it's as much myself as these my hands are now. I could not go far from it, or far without it, or do much after if I did, I'm afraid.

[After a moment she begins to sing again:]

Father, dear father, you've done me great wrong --
You've married me to a great lord's son --
I am twice twelve and he is but fourteen!
--He's young but he's daily growing

Daughter, dear daughter, I've done you no wrong
I've married you to a noble lord's son --
When he's grown, he'll make a lord to wait upon
--He's young but he's daily growing

One day as I was lookin' o'er my father's castle wall
I spied all the boys a-playing at the ball
My own true love was the flower of 'em all
--He's young but he's daily growing

At the age of fifteen he was a married man
At the age of sixteen the father of a son
At the age of seventeen his grave it was green
And death had put an end to his growing --

[speaking without looking around to Celebrimbor]

That isn't how it was, of course. Quite the opposite, in fact. But there's something in their story that calls to my heart. I don't even know if they were real people: it might have happened long ago in the Forgotten East, but mortals often tell stories that are about no one real, and yet they seem to be about everyone. I've learned so many, many stories about mortal Men that are nothing like what our sages believe.


--When will the host of Nargothrond be ready to set forth?

I cannot say.

Then why did you bother to answer my message, if you haven't any news?

I only wanted to tell you -- that you should not let your hopes soar too high -- lest the fall be too much for you.

You could come with me. You could help us. You're good at technical stuff, everyone says: you could figure out how to get past the security systems. I've never done anything like that.

But you escaped from Doriath, in a rather . . . complicated and . . . technically involved way, I understand?

That was just talking people into doing what I wanted, people who don't stop to think about what you're asking, or why, or know they shouldn't be obstructing you in the first place. The rest was easy.

Celebrimbor: [pained smile]
-- As you're doing to me at this moment, my lady. Congratulations: it nearly worked.

But I'm asking you -- as a friend -- or one who could be a friend --

I'm afraid, Your Highness, if you're looking for friendship -- you will not find it here in Nargothrond. Not now.

Luthien: [slowly, chillingly]
Then it is true -- that there is something dark in Nargothrond, something biting at its roots, draining out the Light from its soul. I've felt it, but told myself it was just my own fears, and the oppressiveness of the hills over us.

My lady --

Don't "my lady" me!

I can't -- my father, my uncle, they would --

Join us.

But duty to my kin--

Luthien: [savagely]
--What's "kin"? What's the word worth, if it doesn't mean friend first? What does it add, to friendship? I have no kin.

You don't understand -- it's the Curse, the Doom, it cannot be denied --

I deny it. I will not give my beloved and my friend to an undeserved fate, because you ex-Valinoreans are fools, and the Sons of Feanor mad, wicked, and beyond all help. --Choose, Lord Celebrimbor, choose -- before it's too late.

[He goes out again, silently; she bows her head against the stone mural]

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

Story Information

Author: Philosopher At Large

Status: Reviewed

Completion: Complete

Era: 1st Age

Genre: Drama

Rating: General

Last Updated: 01/25/03

Original Post: 08/16/02

Go to Leithian Script: Act III overview


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