(Húrin by Alan Lee)
Melian: [voiceover over clips of Húrin chained to a stone chair on top of Thangorodrim, being shown visions of his children’s lives by Morgoth]
Here it must be told that during Beren and Lúthien’s first three decades on Tol Galen, events were taking place in Doriath and throughout Beleriand that would soon affect all the peoples of Middle-earth. These events, pertaining to the children of Húrin, concern some of Morgoth’s most evil doings in capturing Húrin during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, placing him on a stone seat and giving him vision to watch the unfolding of the sad lives of those he loved most…
After nigh on 30 years of imprisonment and the death of his children, Húrin was finally released. He had grown grim to look upon: his hair and beard were white and long, but there was a fell light in his eyes. Returning to his old homelands in Hithlum he found House of Hador had been destroyed, and those who remained as slaves or outlaws held him in suspicion and fear, believing he served the evil lord Morgoth. In despair, Húrin went to the Vale of Sirion, seeking the entrance to Gondolin…
[Fade into scene of Húrin crossing over the Ford of Brithiach, and wandering in the dark feet of the Echoriath. All the land is cold and desolate… He comes to a great fall of stones beneath a sheer rock wall. Although he does not know it, this is all that is left of the old way into Gondolin, after Turgon ordered the entrance to be blocked. Húrin looks up into the grey sky, hoping that he might descry the eagles as he did before, so long ago. But he sees only dark clouds and shadows blown from the East, and hears only the wind hissing over the stones.
Húrin stands in despair before the silent cliffs of the Echoriath; the setting sun pierces the clouds for a brief moment, and his white hair is stained blood red. He cries aloud in the wilderness, not caring if any heed him, cursing the pitiless land…Climbing onto a prominent rock he cries in a great voice:]
Húrin: Turgon, Turgon, remember the Fen of Serech! O Turgon, will you not hear in your hidden halls? [cut.]
* * *
[Cut to scene of Thorondor descending from the skies above Gondolin, which are clouded with the dust of Angband. He speaks to Turgon from the walls.]
Thorondor: There is one in the valley who came long ago as a stranger and departed as a friend. I know not how he returns here beyond hope.
Turgon: [in wonder] Can it be that Húrin now returns out of the very darkness of Angband? Does Morgoth sleep? [shakes head in disbelief. Firmly] You were mistaken…
Thorondor: [sharply] Not so. If the Eagles of Manwë were wont to err thus, then long ago, lord, your hiding would have been in vain.
Turgon: Then your words can bear but one meaning. [purses dry lips.] Even Húrin Thalion has surrendered to the will of Morgoth. My heart is shut.
[Thorondor is silent, giving only a last penetrating gaze. The King of Eagles pushes off from the walls with mighty claws, spreads his wings once more, and swiftly launches into the sky. Turgon turns away, heartsick, his own words ringing in his ears. Idril enters, and seeing her father’s distress, tries to comfort him.]
Turgon: Thorondor tells me Húrin is seeking access to our realm again. I have refused, for Morgoth allows none who do not serve his purpose in some way to walk freely from Angband.
Idril: Do you not recall the boy you once knew? … do you remember also the man who, with his brother counselled you to leave the field of battle and save our people? The man who, standing between Angband and Gondolin, gave the aid of the House of Hador that Lord Ulmo prophesied?
Turgon: [nods in anguish]
Idril: Then surely you cannot bring yourself to believe that such a man would seek now to betray us?
Turgon: I have erred in my pride… [rushes again to the balcony, cries to the Eagles] Eagles of Manwë, come to me! [Several of them come to the city walls in a rush of wings.] Make haste and bear word to the one who seeks me: the one I doubted in this dark hour but will doubt no longer. Bear word and welcome to Húrin Thalion! [Cut]
* * *
[Cut back to Húrin standing still on the rock. There is no sound save the wind in the dry grasses.]
Húrin: [Bitterly] Even so the grasses hissed in Serech at the sunset… [as he speaks the sun sets behind the Ered Wethrin and the wind ceases as a silence falls in the waste. In the darkness Húrin stumbles as he steps down from the rock, and he falls into a heavy sleep of grief. The Eagles circle above, unable to find him, yet the spies of Morgoth, who has not truly released him, observe all and hurry to report back to their Master. Fade.]
* * *
[We see clips of Húrin travelling southwards, crossing the Teiglin river and heading towards Nargothrond. He pauses, contemplating the lonely height of Amon Rûdh; we next see him on the banks of the Narog, and making his way precariously across the wild river via the fallen stones of the bridge. He stands before the broken doors of Finrod’s underground realm, leaning on his staff. Cut.]
*
[Cut to shot inside the ruined halls of a strange, stunted creature sitting amidst the piles of gems and gold, fingering them, and letting them run through his fingers. It is a petty-dwarf. He looks up as he hears the scratching and thudding of Húrin’s staff echoing far above at the entrance to the caves… Cut.]
*
[Cut to Húrin attempting to enter the caves over the rubble of the doorway. Suddenly he is aware of a glowering presence in front of him. He looks up to see the petty-dwarf barring his way, axe in hand.]
Húrin: [angrily] Who are you, that would hinder me from entering the house of Finrod Felagund?
Dwarf: I am Mîm; and before the proud ones came from over the Sea, we Dwarves delved the Halls of Nulukkizdin. I have returned to take what is mine; for I am the last of my people.
Húrin: Then you shall enjoy your inheritance no longer; for I am Húrin son of Galdor, returned out of Angband, and my son was Túrin Turambar.
Mîm: [blanches at that name, takes involuntary step back]
Húrin: I see you have not forgotten who slew Glaurung the Dragon who wasted these halls where now you sit; Neither is it unknown to me by whom the Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin was betrayed…
Mîm: [in great fear] My Lord, I beg your forgiveness…I beseech you, take what you will, only spare my life! I beg you, Lord! [but Húrin does not heed the dwarf’s pleas, and drawing his great sword, beheads him with one stroke, leaving the body where it falls across the threshold. He enters into the halls and coming across the treasure strewn across the floor of the great throne chamber, stands in contemplation, weeping silently.
Eventually he turns to leave, but as he does so, something catches his eye, and moves to pick it up. Struggling outside, he holds it up under the blue sky and we see it is the Nauglamír of Felagund. He grunts and pockets the necklace, shuffling off on his way. Fade.]
* * *
[We see clips of Húrin journeying eastward, to the Meres of Twilight above the Falls of Sirion, and there he is captured by the marchwardens of Doriath. Cut.]
* * *
[Cut to scene of the ragged and decrepit Húrin being dragged before Thingol. He looks upon him in wonder and grief]
Thingol: I know this man! Surely beneath that grim and aged countenance lies Húrin Thalion, the Steadfast! [gestures to guards to release him] Welcome to our Halls. We have long-believed you a captive of Morgoth and my heart rejoices to see you freed among us…few can claim to have survived the hospitality of the Dark Lord! [offers Húrin refreshments but Húrin refuses any hospitality and makes no answer. He draws forth from beneath his cloak the Nauglamír, and casts it at the feet of Thingol]
Húrin: [cries bitterly] Receive you your fee, for the fair keeping of my children and my wife! For this is the Nauglamír, whose name is known to many among Elves and Men; and I bring it to you out of the darkness of Nargothrond, where Finrod your kinsman left it behind him when he set forth with Beren son of Barahir to fulfil the errand of Thingol of Doriath! [glares scornfully at Thingol, who looks upon the great treasure, recognizing both the carcanet, and the intent behind Húrin’s gesture. Being filled with pity for the Man’s misperception of events he restrains his wrath, and says nothing.]
Melian: [calmly] Húrin Thalion, Morgoth hath bewitched thee; for he that sees through Morgoth's eyes, willing or unwilling, sees all things crooked. Long was Túrin thy son fostered in the halls of Menegroth, and shown love and honour as the son of the King; and it was not by the King's will nor by mine that he returned not to Doriath. And afterwards thy wife and daughter were harboured here with honour and goodwill; and we sought by all means that we might dissuade Morwen from the road to Nargothrond. With the voice of Morgoth thou dost now upbraid thy friends.
Húrin: [stands unmoving, gazing long into Melian’s eyes. Eventually the veil of Morgoth’s lies is lifted and Húrin understands the truth. Nodding, he sighs: ] Here in Menegroth, defended from the darkness of the Enemy, I read the truth of all that was done, and taste at last the fullness of woe that has been measured for me by Morgoth Bauglir. [stoops and lifts up the Nauglamír from where it lies before Thingol's chair, and gives it to him:] Receive now, Lord, the Necklace of the Dwarves, as a gift from one who has nothing, and as a memorial of Húrin of Dor-lómin. For now my fate is fulfilled, and the purpose of Morgoth achieved; but I am his thrall no longer.
[Thingol bows his head in acknowledgment. Húrin turns away, his face grimmer than ever; he passes out from the Thousand Caves, as all that see him fall back before his face, clearing his path. Fade.]
* * *
[Fade back into Throne room of Menegroth. Thingol sits silently gazing upon the necklace that lies across his knees. Melian enters and goes to a table to pour a goblet of wine. She hands it to her husband with an enquiring look on her face.]
Melian: Has my lord considered yet whether he might keep the Dwarven-necklace, or send it to Finrod’s kin at the Havens?
Thingol: I have given the matter much thought, and I begin to wonder if the carcanet might not be remade…it would please me to have the Silmaril fashioned within it so that I might bear it with me always in memory of our daughter. [to guards:] Call before me the Dwarves from Nogrod who are presently dwelling among us.
Melian: [concerned] Ever have I counselled you to return the Silmaril to Fëanor’s sons: despite Beren and Lúthien’s blood and sacrifice, your own lust for the Silmaril threatens to match theirs…
Thingol: [heavily] Nonetheless, I fear I am bound to it, for good or ill. There is a power within this holy jewel that keeps me from surrendering it!
[Guards re-enter, escorting Regin and another Dwarf before the throne.]
Thingol: Master Dwarves: Behold you the work of your fathers! [holds up the Nauglamír before them. Dwarves murmur, making admiring noises] …likewise this jewel, fashioned by the greatest of the pupils of Aulë himself in the Undying Lands: [opens the casket containing the Silmaril. Dwarves gasp in wonder and no little lust as they stare dumbfounded at the brilliance of the gem] If your skill is great enough, it is my wish that you undertake the task of uniting the two.
Regin: [swallows hard, fighting the urge to snatch the Silmaril from Thingol’s hand and drags his eyes back to the Nauglamír] If I may? [reaches out for the necklace and makes a show of studying its craftsmanship, confers in Khuzdul with his companion. Turns back to Thingol:] It will take some time, my Lord, and much patience, but I would say it could be done to your satisfaction…and for suitable recompense.
Thingol: [eagerly] I am sure we can come to some agreement on completion of the task. For now I would ask you to humour me and allow me to observe your craftsmanship, for I am loath to allow these treasures out of my sight.
Regin: [glances at companion briefly, replies cordially] Then you must accompany us down to our smithies deep within these Caves. Though I am sure you will find our labours less than exciting… [Fade...]
* * *
[Fade back in to clips of Dwarves working on the necklace in their smithy, Thingol sitting ever among them, watching eagerly. Eventually Thingol’s desire is achieved and the two are brought together and made one. The Dwarven smith holds up the finished necklace: the countless jewels of the Nauglamír reflect the light of the Silmaril, casting it abroad in marvellous hues around the chamber. Thingol, still alone among the Dwarves, makes to take it up and clasp it about his neck; but the Dwarf at this moment withholds it from him:]
Regin: By what right does the Elven-King lay claim to the Nauglamír that was made by our fathers for Finrod Felagund who is dead? It has come to him but by the hand of Húrin, the Man of Dor-lómin, who took it as a thief out of the darkness of Nargothrond.
Thingol: [scornfully] I perceive your hearts, and see well that you desire the Silmaril beneath this fair cloak! How do ye of uncouth race dare to demand anything of me, Elu Thingol, Lord of Beleriand, whose life began by the waters of Cuiviénen years uncounted before the fathers of the stunted people awoke? [stands tall and proud] Be gone unrequited out of Doriath, foul swindlers and base liars!
[The Dwarves are kindled to rage by these words and they rise up about him angrily protesting; Thingol makes a grab for the necklace and they lay hands on him to prevent it. Suddenly in the tussle we hear a sword drawn and an exhalation of breath as Thingol is stabbed. His last sight is of the Silmaril before his eyes roll upwards in their sockets. His body becomes limp in the arms of the Dwarves he was struggling with, and his sudden dead weight drops slowly to the floor. The Dwarves make good their escape as Elves come running to investigate the sound of the uproar. Fade.]
* * *
[Fade into shots of the Dwarves fleeing with the Nauglamír passing out of Menegroth and fleeing eastwards through the forests of Doriath. Tidings are passed swiftly through the forest by animals and birds, and the company are soon pursued to the death by the Sindar as they approach the eastward road; the Nauglamír is retaken, though we see Regin and another Dwarf manage to escape and shot fades as they head towards the Blue Mountains.]
* * *
