Unfinished Tales - J. R. R. Tolkien [43]
Of what had happened and of what might happen in the days to come Morwen said little to Túrin; and he feared to break her silence with questions. When the Easterlings first came into Dor-lómin he said to his mother: ‘When will my father come back, to cast out these ugly thieves? Why does he not come?’
Morwen answered: ‘I do not know. It may be that he was slain, or that he is held captive; or again it may be that he was driven far away, and cannot yet return through the foes that surround us.’
‘Then I think that he is dead,’ said Túrin, and before his mother he restrained his tears; ‘for no one could keep him from coming back to help us, if he were alive.’
‘I do not think that either of those things are true, my son,’ said Morwen.
As the time lengthened the heart of Morwen grew darker with fear for her son Túrin, heir of Dor-lómin and Ladros; for she could see no hope for him better than to become a slave of the Easterling men, before he was much older. Therefore she remembered her words with Húrin, and her thought turned again to Doriath; and she resolved at last to send Túrin away in secret, if she could, and to beg King Thingol to harbour him. And as she sat and pondered how this might be done, she heard clearly in her thought the voice of Húrin saying to her: Go swiftly! Do not wait for me! But the birth of her child was drawing near, and the road would be hard and perilous; the more that went the less hope of escape. And her heart still cheated her with hope unadmitted; her inmost thought foreboded that Húrin was not dead, and she listened for his footfall in the sleepless watches of the night, or would wake thinking that she had heard in the courtyard the neigh of Arroch his horse. Moreover, though she was willing that her son should be fostered in the halls of another, after the manner of that time, she would not yet humble her pride to be an alms-guest, not even of a king. Therefore the voice of Húrin, or the memory of his voice, was denied, and the first strand of the fate of Túrin was woven.
Autumn of the Year of Lamentation was drawing on before Morwen came to this resolve, and then she was in haste; for the time for journeying was short, but she dreaded that Túrin would be taken, if she waited over winter. Easterlings were prowling round the garth and spying on the house. Therefore she said suddenly to Túrin: ‘Your father does not come. So you must go, and go soon. It is as he would wish.’
‘Go?’ cried Túrin. ‘Whither shall we go? Over the Mountains?’
‘Yes,’ said Morwen, ‘over the Mountains, away south. South – that way some hope may lie. But I did not say we, my son. You must go, but I must stay.’
‘I cannot go alone!’ said Túrin. ‘I will not leave you. Why should we not go together?’
‘I cannot go,’ said Morwen. ‘But you will not go alone. I shall send Gethron with you, and Grithnir too, perhaps.’
‘Will you not send Labadal?’ said Túrin.
‘No, for Sador is lame,’ said Morwen, ‘and it will be a hard road. And since you are my son and the days are grim, I will not speak softly: you may die on that road. The year is getting late. But if you stay, you will come to a worse end: to be a thrall. If you wish to be a man, when you come to a man’s age, you will do as I bid, bravely.’
‘But I shall leave you only with Sador, and blind Ragnir, and the old women,’ said Túrin. ‘Did not my father say that I am the heir of Hador? The heir should stay in Hador’s house to defend it. Now I wish that I still had my knife!’
‘The heir should stay, but he cannot,