‘Lord!’ cried Mîm in great fear, clinging to Túrin’s knees. ‘If I lose my life, you lose the dwelling; for you will not find it without Mîm. I cannot give it, but I will share it. There is more room in it than once there was, so many have gone for ever,’ and he began to weep.
‘Your life is spared, Mîm,’ said Túrin.
‘Till we come to his lair, at least,’ said Andróg.
But Túrin turned upon him, and said: ‘If Mîm brings us to his home without trickery, and it is good, then his life is ransomed; and he shall not be slain by any man who follows me. So I swear.’
Then Mîm kissed Túrin’s knees and said: ‘Mîm will be your friend, lord. At first he thought you were an Elf, by your speech and your voice. But if you are a Man, that is better. Mîm does not love Elves.’
‘Where is this house of yours?’ said Andróg. ‘It must be good indeed to share it with a Dwarf. For Andróg does not like Dwarves. His people brought few good tales of that race out of the East.’
‘They left worse tales of themselves behind them,’ said Mîm. ‘Judge my home when you see it. But you will need light on your way, you stumbling Men. I will return in good time and lead you.’ Then he rose and picked up his sack.
‘No, no!’ said Andróg. ‘You will not allow this, surely, captain? You would never see the old rascal again.’
‘It is growing dark,’ said Túrin. ‘Let him leave us some pledge. Shall we keep your sack and its load, Mîm?’
But at this the Dwarf fell on his knees again in great trouble. ‘If Mîm did not mean to return, he would not return for an old sack of roots,’ he said. ‘I will come back. Let me go!’
‘I will not,’ said Túrin. ‘If you will not part with your sack, you must stay with it. A night under the leaves will make you pity us in your turn, maybe.’ But he marked, and others also, that Mîm set more store by the sack and his load than it seemed worth to the eye.
They led the old Dwarf away to their dismal camp, and as he went he muttered in a strange tongue that seemed harsh with ancient hatred; but when they put bonds on his legs he went suddenly quiet. And those who were on the watch saw him sitting on through the night silent and still as a stone, save for his sleepless eyes that glinted as they roved in the dark.
Before morning the rain ceased, and a wind stirred in the trees. Dawn came more brightly than for many days, and light airs from the South opened the sky, pale and clear about the rising of the sun. Mîm sat on without moving, and he seemed as if dead; for now the heavy lids of his eyes were closed, and the morning-light showed him withered and shrunken with age. Túrin stood and looked down on him. ‘There is light enough now,’ he said.
Then Mîm opened his eyes and pointed to his bonds; and when he was released he spoke fiercely. ‘Learn this, fools!’ he said. ‘Do not put bonds on a Dwarf! He will not forgive it. I do not wish to die, but for what you have done my heart is hot. I repent my promise.’
‘But I do not,’ said Túrin. ‘You will lead me to your home. Till then we will not speak of death. That is my will.’ He looked steadfastly in the eyes of the Dwarf, and Mîm could not endure it; few indeed could challenge the eyes of Túrin in set will or in wrath. Soon he turned away his head, and rose. ‘Follow me, lord!’ he said.
‘Good!’ said Túrin. ‘But now I will add this: I understand your pride. You may die, but you shall not be set in bonds again.’
‘I will not,’ said Mîm. ‘But come now!’ And with that he led them back to the place where he had been captured, and he pointed westward. ‘There is my home!’ he said. ‘You have often seen it, I guess, for it is tall. Sharbhund we called it, before the Elves changed all the names.’ Then they saw that he was pointing to Amon Rûdh, the Bald Hill, whose bare head watched over many leagues of the wild.
‘We have seen it, but never nearer,’ said Andróg. ‘For what safe lair can be there, or water, or any other thing that we need? I guessed that there was some trick. Do men hide on a hill-top?’
‘Long sight may be safer than lurking,’ said Túrin. ‘Amon Rûdh gazes far and wide. Well, Mîm, I will come and see what you have to show. How long will it take us, stumbling Men, to come thither?’
‘All this day until dusk, if we start now,’ answered Mîm.
Soon the company set out westward, and Túrin went at the head with Mîm at his side. They walked warily when they left the woods, but all the land seemed empty and quiet. They passed over the tumbled stones, and began to climb; for Amon Rûdh stood upon the eastern edge of the high moorlands that rose between the vales of Sirion and Narog, and even above the stony heath at its base its crown was reared up a thousand feet and more. Upon the eastern side a broken land climbed slowly up to the high ridges among knots of birch and rowan, and ancient thorn-trees rooted in rock. Beyond, upon the moors and about the lower slopes of Amon Rûdh, there grew thickets of aeglos; but its steep grey head was bare, save for the red seregon that mantled the stone.
As the afternoon was waning the outlaws drew near to the roots of the hill. They came now from the north, for so Mîm had led them, and the light of the westering sun fell upon the crown of Amon Rûdh, and the seregon was all in flower.
‘See! There is blood on the hill-top,’ said Andróg. ‘Not yet,’ said Túrin.
The sun was sinking and light was failing in the hollows. The hill now loomed up before them and above them, and they wondered what need there could be of a guide to so plain a mark. But as Mîm led them on, and they began to climb the last steep slopes, they perceived that he was following some path by secret signs or old custom. Now his course wound to and fro, and if they looked aside they saw that at either hand dark dells and chines opened, or the land ran down into wastes of great stones with falls and holes masked by bramble and thorn. There without a guide they might have laboured and clambered for days to find a way.
At length they came to steeper but smoother ground. They passed under the shadows of ancient rowan-trees, into aisles of long-legged aeglos: a gloom filled with a sweet scent. Then suddenly there was a rock-wall before them, flat-faced and sheer, forty feet high, maybe, but dusk dimmed the sky above them and guess was uncertain.