The Book of Lost Tales - J. R. Tolkien [53]
Then did Glorund taunt Túrin nigh to madness, saying that lo! he had cast away his sword nor had the heart to strike a blow for his friends—now Túrin’s sword lay at his feet whither it had slipped from his unnervéd grasp. Great was the agony of Túrin’s heart thereat, and the Orcs laughed at him, and of the captives some cried bitterly against him. Even now did the Orcs begin to drive away that host of thralls, and his heart broke at the sight, yet he moved not; and the pale face of Failivrin faded afar, and her voice was borne to him crying: “O Túrin Mormakil, where is thy heart; O my beloved, wherefore dost thou forsake me?” So great then became Túrin’s anguish that even the spell of that worm might not restrain it, and crying aloud he reached for the sword at his feet and would wound the drake with it, but the serpent breathed a foul and heated breath upon him, so that he swooned and thought that it was death.
A long time thereafter, and the tale telleth not how long, he came to himself, and he was lying gazing at the sun before the doors, and his head rested against a heap of gold even as the ransackers had left it. Then said the drake, who was hard by: “Wonderest thou not wherefore I have withheld death from thee, O Túrin Mormakil, who wast once named brave?” Then Túrin remembered all his griefs and the evil that had fallen upon him, and he said: “Taunt me not, foul worm, for thou knowest I would die; and for that alone, methinks, thou slayest me not.”
But the drake answered saying: “Know then this, O Túrin son of Úrin, that a fate of evil is woven about thee, and thou mayst not untangle thy footsteps from it whitherever thou goest. Yea indeed, I would not have thee slain, for thus wouldst thou escape very bitter sorrows and a weird of anguish.” Then Túrin leaping suddenly to his feet and avoiding that beast’s baleful eye raised aloft his sword and cried: “Nay, from this hour shall none name me Túrin if I live. Behold, I will name me a new name and it shall be Turambar!” Now this meaneth Conqueror of Fate, and the form of the name in the Gnome-speech is Turumart. Then uttering these words he made a second time at the drake, thinking indeed to force the drake to slay him and to conquer his fate by death, but the dragon laughed, saying: “Thou fool! An I would, I had slain thee long since and could do so here and now, and if I will not thou canst not do battle with me waking, for my eye can cast once more the binding spell upon thee that thou stand as stone. Nay, get thee gone, O Turambar Conqueror of Fate! First thou must meet thy doom an thou wouldst o’ercome it.” But Turambar was filled with shame and anger, and perchance he had slain himself, so great was his madness, although thus might he not hope that ever his spirit would be freed from the dark glooms of Mandos or stray into the pleasant paths of Valinor;14 but amidst his misery he bethought him of Failivrin’s pallid face and he bowed his head, for the thought came into his heart to seek back through all the woods after her sad footsteps even be it to Angamandi and the Hills of Iron. Maybe in that desperate venture he had found a kindly and swift death or perchance an ill one, and maybe he had rescued Failivrin and found happiness, yet not thus was he fated to earn the name he had taken anew, and the drake reading his mind suffered him not thus lightly to escape his tide of ill.
“Hearken to me, O son of Úrin,” said he; “ever wast thou a coward at heart, vaunting thyself falsely before men. Perchance thou thinkest it a gallant deed to go follow after a maiden of strange kin, recking little of thine own that suffer now terrible things? Behold, Mavwin who loves thee long has eagerly awaited thy return, knowing that thou hast found manhood a while ago, and she looks for thy succour in vain, for little she knows that her son is an outlaw stained with the blood of his comrades, a defiler of his lord’s table. Ill do men entreat her, and behold