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Leithian Script: Act III: 12. Scene IX
The Lay of Leithian Dramatic Script Project
TINUVIEL AT BAY: A CACCIA OF BELERIAND
--Slipped in thus stealthily, poison to the mind
most subtle, lingering,and potent one shall find--
[The apartments of Lord Guilin's House -- the style here is very high Noldor, even more so than in Orodreth's suite: more geometric and abstract, though still with natural and organic themes (more early Dynastic and Assyrian, less Amarna). There is a lot of glass in the ornamentation, both blown and cut, both functional and used for atmospheric effect of light and color. Finduilas and Gwindor are having an animated conversation in the main hallway.]
Gwindor: [arms folded, very abrupt]
I can't believe you're going on with this. It's completely inappropriate.
Finduilas: [exasperated and pleading]
It's been planned for months, Gwin. It would be far more awkward if we canceled it now.
It's still inappropriate.
We talked about it before -- if you were going to object you should have said something sooner.
If you will recall, Finduilas, -- I did.
Yes, but then you stopped.
Because you clearly had no intention of listening to anything I had to say.
Well, I'm sorry. But it's too late, to change it, now.
It's never too late.
Gwin, your father isn't going to cancel. Would you just -- oh, honestly--!
[she breaks off, shaking her head, turns away and folds her own arms. Brief pause.]
Well, perhaps I won't be here.
Milord, are you trying to be funny? Because you're failing dismally.
Gwindor: [just as haughty]
I wasn't jesting, your Highness. If you insist on holding celebrations with your snobby Eastern friends, you can just count me out.
Gwin! They're your friends too.
Not any longer.
You're not serious, are you? Do you know how humiliating that would be, for you not to be here? You don't mean it really.
I mean it. If you refuse to use your wits and your sensibilities and mindlessly accept things as they are, it's my duty then to think for both of us.
How dare you!
Someone's got to -- it might as well be me.
[not so snottily]
Please try to look at things rationally--
Do not try to slip out of this after those words, milord Guilinion! I will not put up with such arrogant, insulting, rude behavior without an apology!
Finduilas: [raising her voice still more]
Don't you dare call me that right now!
[Enter Lord Guilin]
--Children, what's the matter? You're disturbing the whole household with your arguing.
Finduilas: [holding out her hands]
Sir, your son is being impossible. Again.
Gwin, why must you take out your ill-humor upon your lady? Isn't there enough sorrow these days?
[Gwindor rolls his eyes]
Finduilas, dear, what is this trouble over?
He's being hateful about the Gathering tonight. Calling me insensitive and frivolous, as if doing nothing instead would help--
I'd hoped you were going to be mature about this, Gwin. I -- if you're going to attack anyone, attack me. Not the Princess. After all, I'm the one who made the decision; I should bear your scorn, not she.
Father, if you cared so much for my good opinion, then why haven't you taken it into consideration before making decisions? Keeping me sheltered like so much glass isn't going to bring back Gelmir. --Or the King.
Gwin! How can you be so cruel?
[Gwindor stands still, his expression angry and pained, and suddenly slams his fist against the panelling. One of the elaborate sculptures on the wall separates from its mount and drops onto the stone floor, shattering. Finduilas covers her ears instinctively, cringing, waiting for the breakage, and bursts into silent tears. Gwindor looks appalled and ashamed.]
Son. --Did that aid anything?
Faelivrin, I'm sorry--
It doesn't matter, I'll make another one.
[Gwindor goes over to her and puts his arms around her.]
I'm so sorry, I lost my temper, I--
[she shakes her head]
I'll be here tonight. I promise. I won't say anything. --I'm sorry.
It's all right.
[The Carillon sounds -- she starts.]
Oh! I've got to meet my father for dinner. I need to go change and see about a lot of things first.
[wipes her eyes]
Please excuse me, Lord Guilin.
Not at all, my dear. Please give him my regards. --Are you quite yourself again?
Finduilas: [bright smile]
I will. Yes, I'm fine, thank you.
[she gives Gwindor a quick kiss and goes off briskly. Her fiance does not look away from his father's recriminating expression, but after Lord Guilin leaves he sighs and carefully begins picking up the broken pieces of blown glass.]
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