The Book of Lost Tales, Part Two

by J. R. R. Tolkien

  Then were counsels of many a kind spoken upon that hill-top, and men feared to go openly against the dragon by day or by night or whether he waked or slept, and seeing their dread Turambar gave them a rede, and it was taken, and these were his words: “Well have ye said, O huntsmen of the woods, that not by day or by night shall men hope to take a dragon of Melko unawares, and behold this one hath made a waste about him, and the earth is beaten flat so that none may creep near and be hidden. Wherefore whoso hath the heart shall come with me and we will go down the rocks to the foot of the fall, and so gaining the path of the stream perchance we may come as nigh to the drake as may be. Then must we climb if we are able up under the near bank and so wait, for methinks the Foalókë will rest not much longer ere he draweth on towards our dwellings. Thus must he either cross this deep stream or turn far out of his ways, for he is grown too mighty to creep along its bed. Now I think not that he will turn aside, for it is but a ditch, a narrow rut filled with trickling water, to the great Foalókë of the golden caves. If however he belie my counsel and come not on by this path, some few of you must take courage in your hearts, striving to decoy him warily back across the stream, that there we who lie hid may give him his bane stabbing from beneath, for the armour of these vile worms is of little worth upon their bellies.”

  Now of that band were there but six that stood forward readily to go with Turambar, and he seeing that said that he had thought there were more than six brave men among his folk, yet after that he would not suffer any of the others to go with him, saying that better were the six without the hindrance of the fearful. Then did Turambar take farewell of Níniel and they kissed upon the hilltop, and it was then late afternoon, but Níniel’s heart went as to stone with grief; and all that company descended to the head of Silver Bowl, and there she beheld her lord climb to the fall’s bottom with his six companions. Now when he was vanished far below she spake bitterly to those who had dared not to go, and they for shame answered not but crept back unto the hill-top and gazed out towards the dragon’s lair, and Níniel sat beside the water looking before her, and she wept not but was in anguish.

  None stayed beside her save Tamar alone who had fared unbidden with that company, and he had loved her since first she dwelt in Bethos’ halls, and once had thought to win her ere Turambar took her. The lameness of Tamar was with him from childhood, yet was he both wise and kindly, though held of little account among those folk, to whom strength was safety and valour the greatest pride of men. Now however did Tamar bear a sword, and many had scoffed at him for that, yet he took joy at the chance of guarding Níniel, albeit she noticed him not.

  Now is it to tell that Turambar reached the place of his design after great labour in the rocky bed of the stream, and with his men clambered with difficulty up the steep side of that ravine. Just below the lip of it they were lodged in certain overhanging trees, and not far off they might hear the great breathing of the beast, and some of his companions fell in dread.

  Already had darkness come and all the night they clung there, and there was a strange flickering where the dragon lay and dread noises and a quaking if he stirred, and when dawn came Turambar saw that he had but three companions, and he cursed the others for their cravenhood, nor doth any tale tell whither those unfaithful ones fled. On this day did all come to pass as Turambar had thought, for the drake bestirring himself drew slowly to the chasm’s edge and turned not aside, but sought to overcreep it and come thus at the homes of the woodmen. Now the terror of his oncoming was very great, for the earth shook, and those three feared lest the trees that upheld them should loosen their roots and fall into the rocky stream below. The leaves too of those trees that grew nigh were shrivelled in the serpent’s breath, yet were they not hurt because of the shelter of the bank.

  At length did the drake reach the stream-edge and the sight of his evil head and dripping jaws was utterly hideous, and these they saw clearly and were in terror lest he too espy them, for he crossed not over at the spot where Turambar had chosen to lie hid because of the narrowness here of the chasm and its lesser depth. Rather he began to heave himself now across the ravine a little below them, and so slipping from their places Turambar and his men reached as swiftly as might be the stream’s bed and came beneath the belly of the worm. Here was the heat so great and so vile the stench that his men were taken with a sore dread and durst not climb the bank again. Then in his wrath Turambar would have turned his sword against them, but they fled, and so was it that alone he scaled the wall until he came close beneath the dragon’s body, and he reeled by reason of the heat and of the stench and clung to a stout bush.

  Then abiding until a very vital and unfended spot was within stroke, he heaved up Gurtholfin his black sword and stabbed with all his strength above his head, and that magic blade of the Rodothlim went into the vitals of the dragon even to the hilt, and the yell of his death-pain rent the woods and all that heard it were aghast.

  Then did that drake writhe horribly and the huge spires of his contortions were terrible to see, and all the trees he brake that stood nigh to the place of his agony. Almost had he crossed the chasm when Gurtholfin pierced him, and now he cast himself upon its farther bank and laid all waste about him, and lashed and coiled and made a yelling and a bellowing such that the stoutest blenched and turned to flee. Now those afar thought that this was the fearsome noise of battle betwixt the seven, Turambar and his comrades,28 and little they hoped ever to see any of them return, and Níniel’s heart died within her at the sounds; but below in the ravine those three cravens who had watched Turambar from afar fled now in terrror back towards the fall, and Turambar clung nigh to the lip of the chasm white and trembling, for he was spent.

  At length did those noises of horror cease, and there arose a great smoking, for Glorund was dying. Then in utter hardihood did Turambar creep out alone from his hiding, for in the agony of the Foalókë his sword was dragged from his hand ere he might withdraw it, and he cherished Gurtholfin beyond all his possessions, for all things died, or man or beast, whom once its edges bit. Now Turambar saw where the dragon lay, and he was stretched out stiff upon his side, and Gurtholfin stood yet in his belly; but he breathed still.

  Nonetheless Turambar creeping up set his foot upon his body and withdrew Gurtholfin hardly with all his strength, and as he did so he said in the triumph of his heart: “Now do we meet again, O Glorund, thou and I, Turambar, who was once named brave”29 but even as he spake the evil blood spouted from that wound upon his hand and burnt it, and it was withered, so that for the sudden pain he cried aloud. Then the Foalókë opening his dread eyes looked upon him, and he fell in a swoon beside the drake and his sword was under him.

  Thus did the day draw on and there came no tidings to the hill-top, nor could Níniel longer bear her anguish but arose and made as to leave that glade above the waterfall, and Tamar Lamefoot said: “What dost thou seek to do?” but she: “I would seek my lord and lay me in death beside him, for methinks he is dead”, and he sought to dissuade her but without avail. And even as evening fell that fair lady crept through the woods and she would not that Tamar should follow her, but seeing that he did so she fled blindly through the trees, tearing her clothes and marring her face in places of thorny undergrowth, and Tamar being lame could not keep up with her. So fell night upon the woods and all was still, and a great dread for Níniel fell upon Tamar, so that he cursed his weakness and his heart was bitter, yet did he cease not to follow so swiftly as he might, and losing sight of her he bent his course towards that part of the forest nigh to the ravine where had been fought the worm’s last fight, for indeed that might be perceived by the watchers on the hill. Now rose a bright moon when the night was old, and Tamar, wandering often alone far and wide from the woodmen’s homes, knew those places, and came at last to the edge of that desolation that the dragon had made in his agony; but the moonlight was very bright, and staying among the bushes near the edge of that place Tamar heard and saw all that there betid.


  Behold now Níniel had reached those places not long before him, and straightway did she run fearless into the open for love of her lord, and so found him lying with his withered hand in a swoon across his sword; but the beast that lay hugely stretched beside she heeded not at all, and falling beside Turambar she wept, and kissed his face, and put salve upon his hand, for such she had brought in a little box when first they sallied forth, fearing that many hurts would be gotten ere men wended home.

  Yet Turambar woke not at her touch, nor stirred, and she cried aloud, thinking him now surely dead: “O Turambar, my lord, awake, for the serpent of wrath is dead and I alone am near!” But lo! at those words the drake stirred his last, and turning his baleful eyes upon her ere he shut them for ever said: “O thou Nienóri daughter of Mavwin, I give thee joy that thou hast found thy brother at the last, for the search hath been weary—and now is he become a very mighty fellow and a stabber of his foes unseen” but Nienóri sat as one stunned, and with that Glorund died, and with his death the veil of his spells fell from her, and all her memory grew crystal clear, neither did she forget any of those things that had befallen her since first she fell beneath the magic of the worm; so that her form shook with horror and anguish. Then did she start to her feet, standing wanly in the moon, and looking upon Turambar with wide eyes thus spake she aloud: “Then is thy doom spent at last. Well art thou dead, O most unhappy,” but distraught with her woe suddenly she fled from that place and fared wildly away as one mad whithersoever her feet led her.

  But Tamar whose heart was numbed with grief and ruth followed as he might, recking little of Turambar, for wrath at the fate of Nienóri filled all his heart. Now the stream and the deep chasm lay across her path, but it so chanced that she turned aside ere she came to its banks and followed its winding course through stony and thorny places until she came once again to the glade at the head of the great roaring fall, and it was empty as the first grey light of a new day filtered through the trees.

  There did she stay her feet and standing spake as to herself: “O waters of the forest whither do ye go? Wilt thou take Nienóri, Nienóri daughter of Úrin, child of woe? O ye white foams, would that ye might lave me clean—but deep, deep must be the waters that would wash my memory of this nameless curse. O bear me hence, far far away, where are the waters of the unremembering sea. O waters of the forest whither do ye go?” Then ceasing suddenly she cast herself over the fall’s brink, and perished where it foams about the rocks below; but at that moment the sun arose above the trees and light fell upon the waters, and the waters roared unheeding above the death of Nienóri.

  Now all this did Tamar behold, and to him the light of the new sun seemed dark, but turning from those places he went to the hill-top and there was already gathered a great concourse of folk, and among them were those three that had last deserted Turambar, and they made a story for the ears of the folk. But Tamar coming stood suddenly before them, and his face was terrible to see, so that a whisper ran among them: “He is dead” but others said: “What then has befallen the little Níniel?”—but Tamar cried aloud: “Hear, O my people, and say if there is a fate like unto the one I tell unto thee, or a woe so heavy. Dead is the drake, but at his side lieth also Turambar dead, even he who was first called Túrin son of Úrin,30 and that is well; aye very well,” and folk murmured, wondering at his speech, and some said that he was mad. But Tamar said: “For know, O people, that Níniel the fair beloved of you all and whom I love dearer than my heart is dead, and the waters roar above her, for she has leapt o’er the falls of Silver Bowl desiring never more to see the light of day. Now endeth all that evil spell, now is the doom of the folk of Úrin terribly fulfilled, for she that ye called Níniel was even Nienóri daughter of Úrin, and this did she know or ever she died, and this did she tell to the wild woods, and their echo came to me.”

  At those words did the hearts of all who stood there break for sorrow and for dread, yet did none dare to go to the place of the anguish of that fair lady, for a sad spirit abideth there yet and none sets foot upon its sward; but a great remorse pierced the hearts of those three cravens, and creeping from the throng they went to seek their lord’s body, and behold they found him stirring and alive, for when the dragon died the swoon had left him, and he slept a deep sleep of weariness, yet now was he awakening and was in pain. Even as those three stood by he spake and said “Níniel”, and at that word they hid their faces for ruth and horror, and could not look upon his face, but afterward they roused him, and behold he was very fain of his victory; yet suddenly marking his hand he said: “Lo! one has been that has tended my hurt with skill—who think ye that it was?”—but they answered him not, for they guessed. Now therefore was Turambar borne weary and hurt back among his folk, and one sped before and cried that their lord lived, but men knew not if they were glad; and as he came among them many turned aside their faces to hide their hearts’ perplexity and their tears, and none durst speak.

  But Turambar said to those that stood nigh: “Where is Níniel, my Níniel—for I had thought to find her here in gladness—yet if she has returned rather to my halls then is it well”, but those that heard could no longer restrain their weeping, and Turambar rose crying: “What new ill is this—speak, speak, my people, and torment me not!” But one said: “Níniel alas is dead my lord,” but Turambar cried out bitterly against the Valar and his fate of woe, and at last another said: “Aye, she is dead, for she fell even into the depths of Silver Bowl,” but Tamar who stood by muttered: “Nay, she cast herself thither.” Then Turambar catching those words seized him by the arm and cried: “Speak, thou club-foot, speak, say what meaneth thy foul speech, or thou shalt lose thy tongue,” for his misery was terrible to see.

  Now was Tamar’s heart in a great turmoil of pain for the dread things that he had seen and heard, and the long hopelessness of his love for Níniel, so did rage against Turambar kindle suddenly within him, and shaking off his touch he said: “A maid thou foundest in the wild woods and gave her a jesting name, that thou and all the folk called her Níniel, the little one of tears. Ill was that jest, Turambar, for lo! she has cast herself away blind with horror and with woe, desiring never to see thee again, and the name she named herself in death was Nienóri daughter of Úrin, child of woe, nor may all the waters of the Silver Bowl as they drop into the deep shed the full tale of tears o’er Níniel.”

  Then Turambar with a roar took his throat and shook him, saying: “Thou liest—thou evil son of Bethos”—but Tamar gasped “Nay, accursed one; so spake Glorund the drake, and Níniel hearing knew that it was true.” But Turambar said: “Then go commune in Mandos with thy Glorund,” and he slew him before the face of the people, and fared after as one mad, shouting “He lieth, he lieth” and yet being free now of blindness and of dreams in his deep heart he knew that it was true and that now his weird was spent at last.

  So did he leave the folk behind and drive heedless through the woods calling ever the name of Níniel, till the woods rang most dismally with that word, and his going led him by circuitous ways ever to the glade of Silver Bowl, and none had dared to follow him. There shone the sun of afternoon, and lo, were all the trees grown sere although it was high summer still, and noise there was as of dying autumn in the leaves. Withered were all the flowers and the grass, and the voice of the falling water was sadder than tears for the death of the white maiden Nienóri daughter of Úrin that there had been. There stood Turambar spent at last, and there he drew his sword, and said: “Hail, Gurtholfin, wand of death, for thou art all men’s bane and all men’s lives fain wouldst thou drink, knowing no lord or faith save the hand that wields thee if it be strong. Thee only have I now—slay me therefore and be swift, for life is a curse, and all my days are creeping foul, and all my deeds are vile, and all I love is dead.” And Gurtholfin said: “That will I gladly do, for blood is blood, and perchance thine is not less sweet than many a one’s that thou hast given me ere now” and Turambar cast himself then upon the point of Gurtholfin, and t
he dark blade took his life.

  But later some came timidly and bore him away and laid him in a place nigh, and raised a great mound over him, and thereafter some drew a great rock there with a smooth face, and on it were cut strange signs such as Turambar himself had taught them in dead days, bringing that knowledge from the caves of the Rodothlim, and that writing said:

  Turambar slayer of Glorund the Worm

  who also was Túrin Mormakil

  Son of Úrin of the Woods

  and beneath that was carven the word “Níniel” (or child of tears); but she was not there, nor where the waters have laid her fair form doth any man know.’

  Now thereupon did Eltas cease his speaking, and suddenly all who hearkened wept; but he said thereto: ‘Yea, ’tis an unhappy tale, for sorrow hath fared ever abroad among Men and doth so still, but in the wild days were very terrible things done and suffered; and yet hath Melko seldom devised more cruelty, nor do I know a tale that is more pitiful.’

  Then after a time some questioned him concerning Mavwin and Úrin and after happenings, and he said: ‘Now of Mavwin hath no sure record been preserved like unto the tale of Túrin Turambar her son, and many things are said and some of them differ from one another; but this much can I tell to ye, that after those dread deeds the woodfolk had no heart for their abiding place and departed to other valleys of the wood, and yet did a few linger sadly nigh their old homes; and once came an aged dame wandering through the woods, and she chanced upon that carven rock. To her did one of those woodmen read the meaning of the signs, and he told her all the tale as he remembered it—but she was silent, and nor spoke nor moved. Then said he: “Thy heart is heavy, for it is a tale to move all men to tears.” But she said: “Ay, sad indeed is my heart, for I am Mavwin, mother of those twain,” and that man perceived that not yet had that long tale of sorrow reached its ending—but Mavwin arose and went out into the woods crying in anguish, and for long time she haunted that spot so that the woodman and his folk fled and came never back, and none may say whether indeed it was Mavwin that came there or her dark shade that sought not back to Mandos by reason of her great unhappiness.31