The Deaths of Túrin Turambar, Niënor Níniel, and Brandir the Lame by Zorbo_Jorks  

Woe! Full woe and worse ○ be with those who hear
Of the woman Niënor ○ and those two men who loved her!
Of Túrin Turambar ○ swart and sorry
Espoused to Niënor ○ since as sister he never knew her.
And Brandir of Brethil ○ lame of leg and wise,
Who loved that lady ○ and bore it his bitterest burden.
His limp warring longing ○ this lord labored forth
Across the war-wrought wastes ○ (as the tale to come makes clear)
To see his dear love and her spouse ○ felled by a foe-beast’s leer.

The foul Glaurung ○ fell, foul, and feal
Not to none but he ○ who wrought him real:
That Dark Lord dread ○ a dragon was he,
A serpent smart and swift ○ though now scarce they be.
Fell and fierce ○ his fire felled many Men
That full fearsome wrath ○ wreaks a foul fate o’er Húrin’s kin
Sorely, in past, the serpent spelled ○ Túrin stay still, as he bade
And he stole from this Man ○ dear Finduilas, that sweet and frely maid
And then next he cursed Niënor ○ to none her life remember.

This monster’s match was made ○ in Túrin’s wrathful gloom:
A man so solely sought ○ in malice and misfortune.
Turambar, the Brethil-men hailed him, ○ and hosted him
Against anguish and anger ○ a friend there had he made
In the frely lord Brandir ○ full gentle and sage.
For his ill-fated Finduilas ○ the orcs did Túrin fight, when
Upon Haudh-en-Elleth ○ the hill of his late lady’s tomb,
Found he Níniel, lying lost and lonesome ○ and soon to Túrin love-bound.
Brandir bore love the same ○ though secret he kept it then.

Though silent and secret ○ e’er swift to learn was Níniel
And took she great to heart ○ all things new and old.
Knowing nothing of the world ○ with Brandir oft she walked
To question and to learn ○ of all his wisdom’s worth.
And fondly she did dub this man ○ a dear and docile brother,
But fierce did love o’er Brandir fall ○ for Níniel, fair and frequent.
He adored her well ○ as she adored another;
To Turambar did she turn ○ her attention and her vigor.
And he to her did turn as well ○ so that twice-loved was Níniel.

So dear did Brandir love this maid ○ that with dread his heart grew grim
About that doom of death ○ which ‘round Turambar did drift.
And good was Brandir’s counsel ○ that caught a breeze and flew
From the love-lost heart of Níniel ○ and all his lands-folks’ listening.
In loathly mood ○ does Brandir that land leave
For fault of Túrin Turambar ○ and his own vain longing.
Now lost he is of all in life ○ but fair Níniel;
Forlornly Brandir follows her now ○ into the growing dim
As she calls for Turambar ○ long past his battle’s end.

But at Cabed-en-Aras ○ would all it end most ill
For Glaurung there made mete ○ upon mansflesh and woe
And Túrin found two friends, ○ and they three went to Glaurung find and fell;
But for fear Dorlas fled ○ and Hunthor’s faith proved fatal.
And Túrin brought his black sword ○ at the beast most bitter
And beneath Glaurung’s belly ○ did Gurthang brace and bite.
Glaurung shrieked and spat ○ and fell to the strike, bleeding,
And soon into swoon ○ his sore killer sank and lay still
By the blood and sour stench ○ that the serpent did o’er him spill.

Though the dragon now nears death, ○ Níniel draws nearer on;
Thus the Worm lies there to watch her ○ willing himself yet to wait.
Brandir, running ragged ○ can not but watch and see
As poor Níniel comes closer ○ to find her Turambar at last,
Beside the beast’s belly ○ and by the blow he had dealt
To best Glaurung ○ and, she will believe, to have bested himself.
But yet she holds hope ○ as she wends hither with haste,
That her husband ere yet lives ○ that hearty Húrin’s son.
To hail or heal or hold ○ though in hope she is just one.

And comes she then before them both ○ beast and man bloodied about her.
“Oh, death!” cries she and drops down drear ○ o’er her fallen husband.
Kisses she him and binds his burn ○ though they be both in vain,
And cries and mourns and holds him ○ and moans in sore lament:
“Master of doom mine ○ doom hath mastered you
And left me all alone in life ○ ‘gainst the love you swore me!”
She cries and calls ○ yet could not see
That yet a creature comes awake ○ and cranes his head to catch her.
And growling and grumbling ○ does Glaurung greet her hence:

“Noble Niënor, fairest of her folk! ○ Thine brother dost thou see.
“Know thee him now, Niënor ○ an ignoble friend and vicious enemy!
Soon, by his best bearing ○ in thee shall his worst be best brought.
Remember thee, now ○ all that thee forgot!”
Dies the dragon then ○ and what dark drench o’er Níniel’s past
Does lift as steam ○ and remembers she at last:
Mother, kin, and country ○ which that cruel cloud did cover.
But hard it hits her heart ○ that her husband is, too, her brother!
Niënor Níniel then does stand ○ horror her all o’ercome.

And Brandir’s horror matches her ○ there watching while she weeps
She whirls then about, and with wild eyes ○ does begin once more to run.
“Oh, wait!” cries he, to keep her ○ but cold is her reply:
“Could that I keep your council, friend ○ but I can stay here not!”
Wend does she then, in full woe ○ a wraith, all wrapped in white
And, worried, Brandir follows on ○ wailing, still, she waits.
But so brought undone by anguish ○ she breathes a final breath
And over Cabed-en-Aras ○ herself she throws into the chasm deep.
Cabed Naeramarth was it named ○ e’er after that woe woman’s leap.

And Brandir sees her bleach-white gown ○ now blink out, o’er the brim
Like a phantom of a figment ○ fleeting there and then flown.
And ‘gainst the wind he wails ○ “Oh, would that you had waited!”
When called you me "brother" ○ two brothers worshiped you!
But one forsook the other ○ and for faithlessness you fell!
Damn you Túrin, you doom’s master ○ mastered by doom and pride!
And damn me too to all dishonor ○ doomed Níniel I failed!”
Returns he to the Brethil-men ○ to tell them of the fall
Of Turambar and his tragic wife ○ though he was, in part, half-wrong.

For the Blacksword upon Brandir comes ○ borne back from death, it seems
Bent upon the Brethil-folk ○ to bid after his beloved.
These men cry out ○ thinking there stands a spectre
Threatening them in disguise ○ and can not they him answer.
“Death!” speaks Brandir, “Dare you now to live ○ you dare, too, to ask it!
Dead! Dead lies Níniel! ○ For dread of dour truth!
For since Níniel mourned you ○ yet so there sat Niënor:
Sister and spouse, weeping one ○ the serpent so told with lasting breath
And so she slew herself ○ by sheer jump into the gorge’s depth!”

But Túrin takes his tale for lie ○ so shrouded is his will
And worse, so wary-warped is he ○ that truth and tiding rages him ill.
“Serpent-friend!” speaks he ○ “Traitor! Secrets’ son!”
And so is friend turned foe ○ by foul curses felt
As Túrin’s blade brings ‘round ○ and Brandir’s death it’s dealt.
Ran Túrin then into the woods ○ and he Mablung came upon,
Long-travelling after Niënor ○ and quick to tell his troubles.
But his tale did turn Túrin to dread ○ as Brandir’s claim proved true.
To Cabed Naeramarth fast he flew ○ fraught and wishing all him gone.

“Weapon mine!” he wailed ○ “Woesome wondrous thing!
Won’t thee will to wreck he ○ who wrought naught but death ‘round thee?
For I beg that by thy blade ○ shall mine own blood be spilt!”
“Blood of Beleg, Blood of Brandir,” ○ quoth the blade at he
“Bright o’er my blade ○ by blame of thee
Túrin Turambar, take thee o’er me ○ if truly thee will’t.”
“Aye!” he moaned, and mournfully ○ that metal to his chest did bring,
And melted he o’er it ○ a man no more to be.
So comes the line of Húrin ○ to rest at Gurthang’s hilt.

What say they came from this ○ such sorry suff’ring here?
That those frely few should fall ○ to fell-cursed fate and fear?
Woe, none but sighs now follow names! ○ “Oh, Niënor! Oh, Brandir! Oh, Túrin!”
Remain they now in mournful words ○ And tales grown murky dim.
Túrin twice-loved by one alone ○ and Niënor thrice by two
And Brandir, who loved and warned ○ was loathed for words untrue.
And tales before and tales to come ○ too, told for tragedy
That plight of lovers e’er about ○ may fall for wrongful deed.
Full woe! Full woe! Full woe!

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