Season 6 Episode 5
Arvernien, First Age, Years of the Sun 522
[Scene opens on the harbour at Mouths of Sirion. We see Tuor sailing one of his self-built ships into port. It is broader and stronger, less slender than the Telerin ships and yet not as broad and clumsy as the fishing boats of the Edain. There are more grey hairs in Tuor's beard and hair than before and more wrinkles about his eyes. He ties up the vessel securely, exchanges a few words with a Falathrim fisherman, listening to the story of his latest catch. Waving to the harbour master he heads off along the promontory towards his home. The golden Sun lights the skies in reds and pinks. The crested waves shimmer as the waves roll onto the shore. On the beach we see Eärendil working on his own boat, sanding the planks until they are as smooth as silk. He has grown into a strong and handsome adult with the golden hair of his parents, though he is beardless like his Elven-kin. Tuor wanders over and casts a critical eye over his son’s work.]
Eärendil: Since your Sea-Wing has been launched successfully, perhaps you would care to help me build this one, Ada.
Tuor: I would be glad to lend you a hand, son… [picks up a plane and begins to shave a new plank. The two work in silence for a while, planning and sanding. Having finished his plank, Tuor takes it over to lean with the other finished He watches the Sun slowly sinking in the sky, seeming to lose himself deep in thought.]
Eärendil: What is it, Ada? You seem more restless than usual.
Tuor: The calling of the Sea has been strong in my heart ever since we came to these shores. I did not wish to heed that calling until you were fully grown. [sighs] Yet I am myself fifty this year…I think that I should leave before my health fails me and I am no longer able to sail.
Eärendil: [obstinately] But sail where?
Tuor: To the West
Eärendil: Why? No one can set foot upon the Blessed Realm.
Tuor: Idril might yet be permitted… [earnestly] If I can bring her home so that she might walk with bare feet under the trees alongside her mother and father, then I would be happy, even if I can only watch their bliss from the prow of my ship.
Eärendil: [darkly] You may not even make it that far. The storms of Ossë are fierce, and many ships seeking the West have been lost, as you well know.
Tuor: [turns from the sunset to meet his son's eyes.] Aye, I know…
Eärendil: [begging] At least wait until after my wedding to Elwing.
Tuor: [raises an eyebrow] That might be long in coming. You are both still very young.
Eärendil: [shrugs] We both have the blood of Men in our veins. Besides, everyone knows that we are going to be married to each other after I finish my apprenticeship.
Tuor: [smiles] Then I will wait at least that long, especially since you seem to have made up your mind.
[He turns as they hear a voice hailing them. We see Elwing running down the shore to meet Eärendil. She resembles her grandmother, Lúthien, in many ways, not least her flowing ebony locks and porcelain complexion. She waves to Eärendil happily and he waves back, taking leave of his father.
We see clips of Eärendil and Elwing sailing in his small skiff, walking along the cliff tops and just enjoying each other’s company. They stop at a sheltered cove and watch the waves, still hand-in-hand. Elwing notices he is more distracted than normal.]
Elwing: I can tell there something on your mind, my Love…do you wish to share it with me?
Eärendil: I have had a dream… [nervously] …of a ship unlike any that made by my father’s hands before. The ship was so sleek, cutting through the water with the grace of a bird floating on the wind…her sails designed to turn into the slightest breeze, yet simple enough to be handled by a small crew. [turns to Elwing, earnestly] I must go to Círdan on Balar and ask for his help to build it.
Elwing: [cautiously] Do you have to go? Why can you not stay and work here alongside your father?
Eärendil: We have only been building small fishing vessels, but the craftsmanship I need only Círdan can provide. [carelessly] Of course, it means that I must travel across to Balar regularly to study with him, but I am sure you can accompany me sometimes and visit Ereinion – I know how you miss him…
Elwing: [nods] Wherever you go, I will willingly follow…besides, Celeborn never needs an excuse to visit Círdan! I believe he and Galadriel will choose to live there when I no longer need their guardianship.
Eärendil: [takes his eyes from the dancing sea and turns to look at her flushed cheeks and rosy lips. Softly] You are so beautiful…Like the sea-pinks that blossom here on the cliff’s-edge, drawing me home.
Elwing: [smiles, and laces her fingers in his] And you are like a great sea-bird, soaring out over the waters, floating on the wind across the endless deep…
Eärendil: [reflecting] …yet driven back to land when the storms blow in! [looks at Elwing fondly] I do not know how you manage to be so calm and patient in the face of my passion and restlessness. You are my anchor…
Elwing: [smiles up at him] …and you are my sail! [They kiss tenderly. Fade.]
* * *
[Cut to some months later, to Isle of Balar. Círdan, Voronwë and Eärendil are pouring over the designs Eärendil has come up with:]
Círdan: I suggest that the edges of the hull planks overlap, at least up to this point. [taps the drawings.] but we flush-seam them above the waterline, perhaps…it will make her stronger.
Voronwë: You will not want too many masts – it would make her top-heavy and you would need too large a crew.
Eärendil: [enthusiastically] She will need strength, and to be able to stand up to harsh weather and high seas.
Círdan: A single mast. [sketches his version on a spare scrap.] A four-corned sail, rigged fore and aft, I think, and controlled by the gaff at the head - with perhaps a triangular staysail. If we have a long bowsprit we can set a jib forward of it - or, maybe, two.
Eärendil: [admiringly] She has fine lines, [traces the drawing with his finger] and it would appear that she will not sit too high.
Voronwë: [nods] It should allow for a greater press of sail…she will be built for speed.
Eärendil: [eagerly How long will it take to build her?
Círdan: [looks at him sternly.] It will take as long as it takes. This is an experimental design – we will need to test her thoroughly before you can take her to sea. What is the hurry, Eärendil?
Eärendil: [wistfully] I have heard Ulmo’s summons: the sea has awakened a hunger in me, and dabbling at the edges of the deep is no longer enough.
Círdan: You must learn patience, young one…meanwhile, you should spend some time at home with your betrothed, and ensure that she understands why you feel compelled to desert her for a more beguiling mistress.
Eärendil: [protesting] She knows the sea-longing runs in my family and accepts it.
Círdan: [sits back, sighing.] She has lost everything once before, Eärendil. She will not find it easy to let you go. [Eärendil flushes uncomfortably. Cut.]
* * *
[Cut to Voronwë walking along the mole, watching the splendid sunset. Near the beach he finds the High King, his cloak and hair fluttering in the gusty breeze. Apparently deep in thought he looks across the sea. Voronwë approaches his liege-lord. ]
Voronwë: [bows his head] My Lord.
Ereinion: [turns his head and gives him a small smile of acknowledgement. For a while both watch the sea in silence.] It seems I am not the only admirer of Arien’s fiery beauty this evening…
Voronwë: I have often felt the golden shine of Anar pulling at me to follow her to the West… I was born at the edges of the Great Sea: I remember as a child, standing at the beach at sunset, imagining that the shimmer beyond the sea was a glimpse of Valinor.
Ereinion: [snorts softly] It is too far away, my friend. Besides, it would appear that the Valar have withdrawn completely from us… we are all alone in the darkness.
Voronwë: I do not think that they have turned away from us. The Valar surely love us as a parent continues to love a wayward child... Tuor believes somebody must appeal to them, and I feel the same. Does not hope lie in the West?
Ereinion: Turgon sent several ships to make a request for help against Morgoth. Only you were permitted to survive–and the Black Foe still rules over Beleriand.
Voronwë: I believe I was spared by The Lord of Waters himself for a greater purpose. I still trust in their sympathy.
Ereinion: Ever the steadfast, Voronwë… [sighs] I am glad you still have this hope. I was taught the same by people who have lived in the Blessed Realm but my heart struggles to believe in their lessons any longer. [The sun sets. Fade.]
* * * * *
[Fade in on scene in Valinor…the Valar are gathered in the Máhanaxar, sitting upon their thrones. Ulmo’s is empty, whilst Nienna’s throne contains a silver salver which collects her tears…the salver channels into a rill which feeds an ornamental fountain. Camera focus on the surface of the fountain which begins to ripple gently at first, then it froths and bubbles as Ulmo, Lord of the Waters rises up from it. He is arrayed as usual in silvery mail like scales, though helmless this time, his hair and beard formed from the white foam. He addresses the gathered Valar, though as usual, they communicate in thought rather than speech, so the dialogue is heard as voiceovers:]
Ulmo: Brethren…I have come to plead on behalf of the Eldar of Middle-earth: mighty and many are the woes of the Children whom we have shunned.
Manwë: [stiffly] ‘Twas not we who turned our backs, Brother…
Ulmo: They have suffered greatly for their misdeeds, and they cry out for our forgiveness. They beg us to bring them release from the overmastering might of Melkor Morgoth.
Nienna: I have heard their cries, and my tears flow day and night for their suffering. Have none but I pity on their woes? [many of the Valar bow their heads in silence]
Manwë: The Curse of Mandos nears its fulfilment…
Ulmo: [bitterly] Aye…the works of the Noldor have all but perished and every hope they have built has crumbled bar one…the last hope alone is left.
Yavanna: What of the remaining Silmarils that Melkor stole, wherein now blooms the light of the Days of Bliss, when the Two Trees still shone?
Ulmo: Melkor regrets not the one Silmaril he has lost, for by it he deems that the last remnants of the Eldar shall be destroyed and the Firstborn vanish from Middle-earth.
Tulkas: Our errant brother has been allowed free rein for too long! Are we to stand by whilst Eru’s frail Children perish attempting that which we have so far denied responsibility for? Why do we not attempt to win back the Silmarils, for is not the light within them that which we ourselves made? [there is silence as the Valar sit in contemplation, and Manwë communes with Eru.]
Mandos: The hour is not yet come for forgiveness: Only one, speaking in person for the cause of both Elves and Men might move the counsels of the Powers…
Manwë: [heavily] Even I may not loose the Oath of Fëanor: It must run its course, until the sons of Fëanor relinquish the Silmarils upon which they have laid their ruthless claim.
Ulmo: So be it… [he dissolves back into the limpid pool. Fade.]
* * * * *
[Fade in to a few years later…scene fades in on Ereinion receiving Idril and Tuor in his chambers on Balar.. Galadriel, Celeborn are also in attendance. Tuor is noticeably greyer, and bows more stiffly when Ereinion greets them warmly.]
Ereinion: I trust the journey over to Balar was not too uncomfortable? I would have sent an escort had I know you were coming.
Tuor: I can still pilot Sea-Wing well enough, my liege, the years have been kind to me… [looks to Idril with a melancholy smile.] To live among the Eldar makes it easy to forget that I am just a mortal, bound to time and decay. But soon old age will force me to go – I do not possess that much strength to battle much longer.
Ereinion: [surprised] You are not old, not even in the years of the Secondborn, why do you want to go? There is still much you can do for the people of Arvernien.
Tuor:. I am weary, my friend. I have received wounds that touch more than my body. My heart is tired of the sorrow and the strain of the Hither Lands.
Ereinion: [frowns.] Where would you live if not here, with your friends and kin?
Tuor: It does not matter. I will be content wherever the Valar grant us stay. If I am Ulmo’s messenger, then perhaps, it is my duty to carry a message to the Undying Lands, where all others before have failed.
Galadriel: They have closed their realm to all the Firstborn. And despite all bonds of kinship between us you are still one of the Edain, whose fate differs from ours.
Idril: But I am of the Eldar – together we would represent both races. We do not demand entrance to the Blessed Realm…we would be content enough to reach Tol Eressëa.
Tuor: All I want is a place to spend my remaining years in peace and to forget all the sorrow.
Ereinion: [tersely] That is not something many of us will ever obtain. [takes a slow sip of his wine] And what about your people?
Idril: [softly] Eärendil is old enough. He can take our place.
Ereinion: Your son is still young and his mind is on ships, not on leadership.
Celeborn: [laughs curtly] That has never hindered Círdan!
Tuor: [smiling] Elwing will help him to find his place. They are to be married soon.
Galadriel: [warmly] The love between Elwing and Eärendil grows strong and is a joy to behold.
Celeborn: Truly, when I join their hands at their bonding ceremony it will be a blessed day…
Ereinion: You do not mean to leave before then, surely?
Idril: We have no intention to leave right away. We have some years left to prepare for our final voyage..
Tuor: [looks fondly at Idril] Idril and I will be glad to see our son happily settled before my time is over. [Cut.]
* * *
[Cut to brief clips of Elwing and Eärendil ’s marriage held on the shore at Arvernien. Fade.]
* * *
[Scene opens on camera panning over the low houses of the haven at the Mouths of Sirion, 5 years later. It has grown rapidly from a fairly rural settlement into a town, where the marshes meet the cliffs overhanging the water..Its buildings are small and cosy, and protected from the sea by a sturdy wall built from stone brought in on Círdan’s ships. Camera takes us along the streets and into Elwing’s house, where she is receiving a visit from Galadriel, who has been examining her in her room. Elwing lays on her bed, pale and listless as Galadriel tucks a light blanket over her legs.]
Galadriel: [smiling] Everything seems fine thus far, though the amount of nausea and weariness is a little cause for concern. You must continue to rest, Elwing, and do what the healers advise
Elwing: [ shakes her head.] I am finding it difficult to sleep whilst Eärendil is away so much. I have much that plays on my mind…
Galadriel: [gently] It is only natural that you should have some worries or fears about your impending motherhood… Would it help to share your concerns with me [Elwing sighs, and pulls out a leather-wrapped box, setting it on her lap. She looks at Galadriel: ]
Elwing: You know what this is… [Galadriel nods, silently] I have not looked at it since you place [she carefully pulls the leather away, and opens the box. The Silmaril’s light illuminates the room, like a star come to earth, dazzling with its brightness. The gems of the Nauglamír – sapphires, rubies, emeralds, opals, and diamonds – shimmer with reflected light.]
Elwing: It is so beautiful... [Galadriel lifts the necklace out of the box to examine it more closely]
Galadriel: [places the necklace round Elwing’s neck.] You should wear it more often… the people of Sirion think the safety and prosperity they enjoy is somehow related to the Silmaril,
Elwing: Perhaps it is…after all, was not the jewel hallowed by Varda herself? [sighs, taking the necklace off again. Bitterly:] All the Silmarils have ever brought is bloodshed! [She places the necklace back in the box and wraps it up again, placing it in the trunk at the foot of the bed.] I wonder sometimes why I do not just fling it into the Sea, where no one can ever reach it… but something always holds me back. It is perhaps the knowledge of Beren and Lúthien’s sacrifices, and my own father’s dying wish to keep it safe….
Galadriel: Or is it something else, some feeling of foresight? I do not think this Silmaril is destined for the depths of the Sea – or for the hands of the Kinslayers. It may be for the best that you keep it hidden away and try to forget.
Elwing: [shakes her head] Would that I could…perhaps part of the Silmaril’s curse is that it does not let me forget. [grows distant] I dreamt that they come back, more terrible than I remember from my childhood... I dreamt that Eärendil was there and he tried to stop them, he tried to greet them as kin, and they cut him down where he stood. They came again and again until I was the only one left alive… I could do nothing. I was helpless against them. Then they killed me and took the jewel…
Galadriel: [puts her arms around Elwing’ shaking frame] Elwing, my dear...
Elwing: [turns to Galadriel, terrified clutche at the front of Galadriel’s gown.] They will come here, will they not?
Galadriel: [soothingly] Hush, hush… [she presses a kiss on Elwing’s damp forehead.] You will not fail.
Elwing: How can you know that?
Galadriel: Your grandmother saw a glimpse your fate, when you were born. [smiles enigmatically] She was not the only Eldar with the gift of foresight… [Fade.]
* * * *
[Scene opens on the fortress of Amon Ereb. Amras and Amrod after several months away gathering news. It is a rainy and cold day. The Twins enter the main hall where Maedhros and Maglor are breaking their fast.]
Maedhros: So what is the news from Beleriand?
[Opening the clasp of his cloak, Amras goes towards the fireplace, to dry off and get the chill out of his bones.]
Amras: The Silmaril. It is true that Elwing still has it, in Arvernien, after all those years. She is married to Idril’s son, the Half-Elven mariner, and she is with child.
Maedhros: [slowly.] And what do you propose?
Amrod: Go to the Havens of Sirion, of course, and reclaim what is ours!
Maglor: [stretching idly] You know it will not be so straightforward. Do you think they will simply hand over the stone after what has happened in Doriath? No, they would defend it and I, for one, do not want to spill more blood.
Amras: [sharply] So instead you want to abandon the oath and all the sacrifices we have made?.
Maedhros: No, I suggest we merely postpone it. We have spent so many years in the attempt to win back our father's jewels, we can afford to wait a little longer. And then we will start negotiations.
Amrod: Negotiations? Why should they listen to us?
Maedhros: Because it will be the High King who speaks on our behalf.
Amras: [stares at his brother. You believe Gil-galad would defend our cause and advise Elwing to surrender the Silmaril?
Maedhros: It is possible…
Maglor: You know about his feelings towards our family! He will never go against Orodreth's oath. And Elwing is said to be very dear to him.
Maedhros: That is why he will be more interested in her safety than in old feuds.
Amras: [steps forward angrily] We should-
Maedhros: [interrupts firmly] -We should wait, little brother. We must show patience and wait. For the present the Silmaril is under the protection of Gil-galad: I will not start a war against a member of the House of Finwë, and certainly not the High King of the Noldor.
[Amras holds his brother's gaze for a few heartbeats, then he shrugs and leaves the room without another word, his twin close on his heel.]
Maglor: [dryly] Well spoken, brother, but I do not believe you mean that, do you?
Maedhros: [looks down on where once his right hand used to be.] It is not easy to deceive you, Maglor. I simply feel that it is not yet time to follow the oath. [cut]
* * *
The History of the Silmarils - Season 6, Episode 5
The History of the Silmarils - Season 6, Episode 5
There is magic in long-distance friendships. They let you relate to other human beings in a way that goes beyond being physically together and is often more profound.
~Diana Cortes
~Diana Cortes
* * * * *
[Cut to Eärendil and Elwing’s house in the Havens. It is after midnight and Eärendil awakes to find the heavily pregnant Elwing missing from their bed. He gets up to look for her and finds her sitting on the veranda of their house, rubbing her back and watching the waves roll in, the moonlight casting a silvery sheen upon the scene. He sits down beside her and draws her head to rest on his shoulder.]
Eärendil: [softly] You look tired.
Elwing: I am not sleeping well. It is too hot indoors – and the babe kicks so….. [sighs I am tired of being so uncomfortable.
Eärendil: [Rubs her back sympathetically] How much longer will it be?
Elwing: [shrugs] I am not sure… Were we Elves, it would be months – but I cannot imagine that I can get much larger than this.
Eärendil: [thoughtfully] No, and, among men, the time is shorter, is it not?
Elwing: [nods] It will probably be a month or two more at most. [sighs again]
Eärendil: I can barely imagine that ‘ere long I shall be a father… [smoothes her nightdress over her swollen belly, only to feel the unexpected kick of a small foot.] He is all fists and feet! [smiles in wonder at another undulation]
Elwing: [laughing] It seems our little one is destined to be a warrior!
Eärendil: Or maybe she is a little elleth…I would not mind a daughter.
Elwing: [sleepily] The midwife thinks it will be a son… [Eärendil gentle stroking soothes her still further and her head grows heavier as she settles happily in his arms.]
Eärendil: [sighs, resting his on Elwing’s soft hair and closing his eyes] I wish we could both have been born to the peace our ancestors knew. [regretfully] You deserve more than this… you deserve a husband who can stay by your side and love you rather than one who is always looking West across a restless sea. [Elwing sighs and stirs in his arms as their child moves within her. Eärendil holds them both gently to him.. Fade.]
* * *
[Fade into Eärendil pacing in the hall outside his bedchamber as the evening shadows lengthen outside. Elwing is in labour within. He sits down briefly, contemplating an untouched tray of food beside him then stands as Tuor and Celeborn enter the hall.]
Tuor: No news?
Eärendil: [shakes his head] She has been confined since before Dawn and since then there has been endless bustle in and out but I have been abandoned here to wonder what is happening within.
Celeborn: [places a comforting hand on his shoulder.] They would be making a lot more fuss if they were worried.
Tuor: [grins as Eärendil frowns at the closed door.] Trust me: I am sure everything is going as it should.
Eärendil: [fretfully] Surely we should hear something soon?
Celeborn: A while yet, I suspect. It is still too calm for the birth to be imminent. [turns to the tray on the cushioned window seat.] If you are determined to remain here throughout, you had better have something to eat and drink. You will not wish to faint on being presented to your offspring…
Eärendil: But . . .
Celeborn: And you will wear the rug out with your steps if you do not sit down. Eat! [Eärendil sits and reluctantly takes a bite of the food with distaste. Cut.]
*
[Cut back to later: the moon has risen fully before the frenetic activity begins. Elwing’s cries grow louder and longer, while the intervals between them shorten, and the voices of the midwife and her attendant become audible, even through the solid door that remains shut in Eärendil’s face. Eventually the wail of an infant pierces the groaning within. Eärendil’s face lights up with relief. Tuor claps his son on the back in congratulations. ]
Eärendil: [pacing again] Will they let me in now?
Tuor: Not yet…Elwing will want you to see both her and the babe at their best. You will be summoned when she is ready for you. [Just then the door opens and Idril comes out with the baby in her arms, wrapped in a clean towel.]
Idril: [beaming] May the Valar be praised, you have a healthy son, Eärendil… [hands the babe to his father.]
Eärendil: [takes his son with proud delight, cooing. At first the baby seems content then he starts to wail .Eärendil looks toTuor in panic] What is wrong?
Tuor: [laughing] Nothing: babies cry. You will grow accustomed to the sound soon enough!
[suddenly through the half-open door they hear Elwing cry out again, a long straining groan that clearly alarms those within the room.]
Eärendil: [anxiously] What is the matter? She should not be feeling pain now! [unable to stand it any longer he charges into the room only to find the situation under control. Idril turns to Eärendil, ]
Idril: Eärendil, you should wait outside
Eärendil: But…Elwing!
Galadriel: [calmly] There is a second child…
Eärendil: [stunned] Another…?
Midwife: [curtly] My lady, I need your help, now. [Galadriel turns to help the midwife.] He is crowning. Now, Elwing, you have not had time to forget what to do: Breathe until I tell you to push. [She rests her hand on the swollen belly, waiting for the contraction.] Now, my lady. The child is almost here.
[Camera focus on Eärendil’s face, his expression flickering between shock and wonder as the second baby emerges into the world and its small crumpled face begins a grimace at the harsh reality of life. With a final push, his wife expels the small body and the child begins to complain about its delayed arrival.]
Midwife: [smiling] It is another son, my lady. Twin boys! [She places the second child in Elwing’s arms]
Elwing: [Looks up from the tiny red-faced baby with wonder.] Are they not beautiful? [Eärendil’s face softens as he gazes from his eldest son to his wife, dishevelled, damp-haired, tear-stains marking her flushed cheeks.]
Eärendil: Perfect…but not as beautiful as their naneth… [he leans over his wife and kisses her brow.] My Love, you have given me a gift beyond belief. [Elwing looks up at him contentedly and smiles. Galadriel and Idril both slip out quietly to give the new family some peaceful moments alone. Fade.]
*
[Fade back in, a little while later. Elwing has been freshened up and is sitting in bed, feeding one of the babies. Eärendil is rocking the other. They both turn to see Celeborn and Galadriel enter with Eärendil’s parents.]
Eärendil: [smiling ] Naneth, Ada, my Lord and Lady, may I introduce to you Elros, [lifts the bundle he holds] and Elrond… [indicates the baby Elwing is nursing.]
Galadriel: [gently touches the dark-haired elf-child in Eärendil's arms] . Be welcome, Elros and Elrond. It seems you have inherited the handsome looks of Finwë’s line!
Celeborn: There is no doubting they have Lúthien’s heritage, either …
Idril: [sits down beside Elwing and kisses her brow.] How are you, Elwing?
Elwing: I feel a little tired, but I am well, truly! [eagerly] Are they not beautiful?
Galadriel: [looks at Elrond nursing] Indeed, they are. I do not want to disturb this little one in what takes so much of his attention but perhaps I could hold Elros instead?
[Eärendil eagerly hands over his son to Galadriel who takes him confidently. Captivated, she watches the rosy face and caresses the small forehead affectionately.. Elros remains completely unimpressed and dozes peacefully. Elrond finishes his feed, and Elwing winds him. Idril eagerly takes him for a cuddle. As Elrond snuggles sleepily in his grandmother’s arms his eye is caught by the green jewel brooch that she always wears at her breast.]
Eärendil: [smiles fondly] My first memory of Middle-earth is the green stone above your breast, as you sang above my cradle while Gondolin was still in flower.
Idril: [looks up from her grandson’s tiny face.] All the treasures of Middle Earth should mean nothing compared to them, but I would bequeath you the Elessar… [removes the brooch and places it in Eärendil’s hand] It shall be an heirloom of our House as long as our descendants remain in Arda, for there are grievous hurts to Middle-earth which maybe they shall heal.
Tuor: [watching his grandsons admiringly, puts his arm around Eärendil’s shoulder.] I am glad you have been blessed with two wonderful sons, as I was equally blessed with you, and thankful that I have been given enough time to greet them before I receive the Gift.
Eärendil: [anxious] Do not talk of passing on…surely you will be with us for many years yet?
Tuor: [smiles tiredly] My time grows short: I would not have your mother wake one morning to find where my spirit has gone beyond the Circles of the World without her. [looks fondly over at Idril rocking the baby.] Before that happens I will seek out the Valar and beg for mercy for her, at least. [Fade.]
* * *
[Fade in to a couple of months later, on a peaceful evening in early autumn, a frail Tuor, supported by Idril and Voronwë, have come to Balar one last time. They meet with Círdan and Ereinion.]
Tuor: [Looks yonder to the harbour entrance and addresses the waves] Sea-Wing is ready, my Lord Ulmo, and impatient to battle with your wilful moods!
Voronwë: [softly] Time has slowly leached him in ways that we Firstborn cannot fathom…
Idril: His time draws near… We have done our best for our people and now we seek to carry out one last duty...
Círdan: I will miss you… This is the price we pay for the friendship with the Edain: to lose you soon after you touched our lives and enlightened them with your friendship and love. Yet our desires are meaningless besides fates greater than our own.
Ereinion: [nods] If your heart tells you to go then follow it. May the Valar protect you and grant your request. How has Eärendil borne your decision?
Idril: Eärendil is away again, another journey to unknown ends, ever seeking to control the turmoil of a restless heart.
Ereinion: Yet perhaps it is wrong of him to leave a wife and a young family waiting…
Idril: Not even for the sake of Elwing and the children can he withstand the calling of his heart any longer. He, too, seeks a path to the Valar, believing their forgiveness is the best way to protect his family.
Tuor: [sighs] The sea’s call is not to be thrown off so lightly, but as lord Eärendil is loved, and his people will suffer his wanderings. I cannot blame him, and neither can I wait for his return to set out on my own voyage. I hope he will forgive us. [embraces both the lords, and Idril does likewise. ]
Círdan: [hoarsely] Farewell, my friends. May the Powers protect you as well until we perhaps meet again, on a better day and at a better place.
Tuor: [turns to Voronwë] Faithful friend…it grieves us sorely to forsake your company at the last, but we go where none may follow. I would that you can offer understanding, and for the sake of our friendship will continue to watch over our family in our absence…
Voronwë: I will, my Lord and Brother of my heart; may Eru guide your steps… [the two embrace fiercely. ]
Tuor: [Salutes the Elves in their own manner:] The skies are open now and we must depart…
[Tuor and Idril set sail in the ship Eärramé, (Sea-Wing) and leave the coast of Balar behind, forsaking the lands of their grief. ]
* * *
[Cut to onboard Sea-Wing, two days later. Idril leans on the railing, looking westward. Her eyes are bright and piercing, and bereaved of all hope. Tuor sits huddled at the tiller, wrapped against the chill breeze. The sky is dark with ominous clouds.]
Tuor: In my mind, I can see the island. But I cannot see how we shall reach it… [hoarsely] Do your keen eyes see anything yet?
Idril: [whispers:] Nothing. Maybe we just need to go a bit further... [musing] I am tempted to believe that is not the arriving that matters, but the journey itself, from one to other. [Fat rain drops start to fall….Cut.]
*
[Cut back to the little ship… the Sea has become stormy, mirroring masses of black clouds on its turbulent surface and the ship is being tossed wildly. Tuor and Idril have strapped themselves down and are trying to ride out the tempest. Both are soaked to the skin. Tuor no longer has the strength tocontrol the steering, and the boat is at the mercy of Ossë…]
Tuor: [anguished] It is no use! The way is closed, I can see that all too well, though my weak eyes falter. The Valar have forsaken their faithful messenger…We are lost!
Idril: [the light in her eyes dimming briefly in agony for him] Tuor...
Tuor: [staring at the Sea which he loves so much.] It is because of me that the straight way is hidden: [his features soften, but he shakes his head.] That I can remedy, while I can still stand on my feet and command my own movements…
Idril: [her face hardens, as she stares to the horizon. Resolutely she steps in front of Tuor, barring his view of the Sea.] I will not have it so, my love. You will not leave me, grieving for home and you…
Tuor: [anxiously, tears brimming in his eyes] Do you not understand? I must leave this ship…then, no walls will rise between you and the Undying Lands!
Idril: [shakes her head again, sadly] It would make no difference: I am an Exile. They will have no more mercy on me than on you. If it be the will of the Valar, then we will perish together!
Tuor: [grabs her roughly, crushing her to him] You will not do such a thing. I will not allow you!
Idril: [shakes her head, her heart brimming with pity] No, Tuor,…I made my choice long ago. I am not Lúthien, and cannot give up my own nature. But I will fear nothing to stay with you forever, like Tinúviel and her mortal husband.
Tuor: [forlornly] You are so beautiful, Idril... untouched by mortality, unmarred. You-you cannot wish for a watery tomb, next to an old man... [caresses the perfection of her cheek with his wrinkled, age-spotted hand.]
Idril: [A wry smile crosses her lips.] I am marred beyond redemption, like all the Noldor who heard the fiery words in Tirion that night. I have never truly hoped to tread the plains of Valinor again.
[Violent waves crash against the bow of the ship, as though Ossë is fighting to reject them. There is a loud crack as one of the spars breaks off, narrowly missing Tuor. Releasing the safety harnesses, Tuor climbs up with great effort to cling onto the prow’s treacherous support. Idril follows, nimbly. Tuor turns back again, to stare at the pale lines of her face and she smiles warmly at him.]
Tuor: I remember the first time I looked upon you, Turgon’s daughter, standing at that high window. My heart was lost from that moment…
Idril: [looks at Tuor, takes his hand in the grip of hers, and laughs in defiance.] The first time I looked upon you, you seemed to me one of the Valar. Little did I know that you would defy them in the end.
Tuor: [his lips curve in a small, bitter grin. He squeezes her delicate hand, and turns his gaze towards the grey Sea. The ship creaks and groans under the strain of the battering it is receiving.] She will not last much longer, the hull is beginning to give. May the Valar grant Eru’s Children the mercy that they did not grant me!
Idril: [her eyes glittering] May they rise from their thrones and hear us…
[As the two prepare for oblivion in the deep ,the waves suddenly freeze and melt away, the wind abates, and the Sea falls to an eerie calm….a voice is heard echoing around the becalmed ship:]
Mandos: Itarillë!
Idril: [lowers head in respect] Airë?
Mandos: You have heard me speak but once before. You heard then the Doom upon the Noldor your people. What say you to this?
Idril: Shall one yet a child turn her feet from the path taken by her elders? Shall she bear always their guilt? For the flight of her people has ever been a grief to her, and the evils done at Alqualondë a sorrow. This child pleads for the mercy of the Valar, Airë.
Mandos: Indeed by your own blameless conduct, even the heart of Eru is moved. Yet Valinor will remain fenced against you, until the labours of your son are completed on behalf of your people. [turns to Tuor:] Son of Huor…thought you to reach the Blessed Lands?
Tuor: I set out for those shores, Airë that I might see my beloved reunited with her parents once more, not for my own reward.
Mandos: Fate has carried you hither, through the Enchanted Isles, though the lands beyond be forever closed to mortals. The Music of the Ainur made this so, for it has ever moved your heart in accordance with the wishes of Eru Ilúvatar. To Men Eru gave a special freedom: they are not bound to his Song as are the Elves. Twice the blood of the elves has mingled with that of man. That is your gift to the Elves, son of Huor. Elvenkind will find strength in your line, and the Song shall be enriched by your voice. [Tuor and Idril clasp hands]
Mandos: Yet it is a both a gift and a burden also, for by your faith, you have followed the Song to your doom.
Tuor: [inclines head] I am ready to face the death-sleep…yet I have but a single regret - that death should part me forever from my beloved is an ache more painful than all the hurts of living.
Mandos: You begin to understand your doom, I think. Yet Eru is not without mercy. It is Eru's will, therefore, that you be not sundered from the Firstborn, but joined to them in fate… [A gentle glow envelops Tuor , who falls to his knees in amazement and gratitude]
Idril: [joyfully] Tis truly a joy unlooked for! [touches her husband’s unlined face. Gradually, a veil of mist lifts like a curtain rolling back, and we see in the distance Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle: green hills with wooded groves of Elm and Mellyrn and fair meadows stretching under blue skies. Golden beaches beckon where waves of white foam roll back to the Sea, glistening in the gleam of the sun. ]
Tuor: [embraces Idril tightly] Sometimes hope and destiny are made one… [Fade.]
* * * * *
[Cut to Eärendil and Elwing’s house in the Havens. It is after midnight and Eärendil awakes to find the heavily pregnant Elwing missing from their bed. He gets up to look for her and finds her sitting on the veranda of their house, rubbing her back and watching the waves roll in, the moonlight casting a silvery sheen upon the scene. He sits down beside her and draws her head to rest on his shoulder.]
Eärendil: [softly] You look tired.
Elwing: I am not sleeping well. It is too hot indoors – and the babe kicks so….. [sighs I am tired of being so uncomfortable.
Eärendil: [Rubs her back sympathetically] How much longer will it be?
Elwing: [shrugs] I am not sure… Were we Elves, it would be months – but I cannot imagine that I can get much larger than this.
Eärendil: [thoughtfully] No, and, among men, the time is shorter, is it not?
Elwing: [nods] It will probably be a month or two more at most. [sighs again]
Eärendil: I can barely imagine that ‘ere long I shall be a father… [smoothes her nightdress over her swollen belly, only to feel the unexpected kick of a small foot.] He is all fists and feet! [smiles in wonder at another undulation]
Elwing: [laughing] It seems our little one is destined to be a warrior!
Eärendil: Or maybe she is a little elleth…I would not mind a daughter.
Elwing: [sleepily] The midwife thinks it will be a son… [Eärendil gentle stroking soothes her still further and her head grows heavier as she settles happily in his arms.]
Eärendil: [sighs, resting his on Elwing’s soft hair and closing his eyes] I wish we could both have been born to the peace our ancestors knew. [regretfully] You deserve more than this… you deserve a husband who can stay by your side and love you rather than one who is always looking West across a restless sea. [Elwing sighs and stirs in his arms as their child moves within her. Eärendil holds them both gently to him.. Fade.]
* * *
[Fade into Eärendil pacing in the hall outside his bedchamber as the evening shadows lengthen outside. Elwing is in labour within. He sits down briefly, contemplating an untouched tray of food beside him then stands as Tuor and Celeborn enter the hall.]
Tuor: No news?
Eärendil: [shakes his head] She has been confined since before Dawn and since then there has been endless bustle in and out but I have been abandoned here to wonder what is happening within.
Celeborn: [places a comforting hand on his shoulder.] They would be making a lot more fuss if they were worried.
Tuor: [grins as Eärendil frowns at the closed door.] Trust me: I am sure everything is going as it should.
Eärendil: [fretfully] Surely we should hear something soon?
Celeborn: A while yet, I suspect. It is still too calm for the birth to be imminent. [turns to the tray on the cushioned window seat.] If you are determined to remain here throughout, you had better have something to eat and drink. You will not wish to faint on being presented to your offspring…
Eärendil: But . . .
Celeborn: And you will wear the rug out with your steps if you do not sit down. Eat! [Eärendil sits and reluctantly takes a bite of the food with distaste. Cut.]
*
[Cut back to later: the moon has risen fully before the frenetic activity begins. Elwing’s cries grow louder and longer, while the intervals between them shorten, and the voices of the midwife and her attendant become audible, even through the solid door that remains shut in Eärendil’s face. Eventually the wail of an infant pierces the groaning within. Eärendil’s face lights up with relief. Tuor claps his son on the back in congratulations. ]
Eärendil: [pacing again] Will they let me in now?
Tuor: Not yet…Elwing will want you to see both her and the babe at their best. You will be summoned when she is ready for you. [Just then the door opens and Idril comes out with the baby in her arms, wrapped in a clean towel.]
Idril: [beaming] May the Valar be praised, you have a healthy son, Eärendil… [hands the babe to his father.]
Eärendil: [takes his son with proud delight, cooing. At first the baby seems content then he starts to wail .Eärendil looks toTuor in panic] What is wrong?
Tuor: [laughing] Nothing: babies cry. You will grow accustomed to the sound soon enough!
[suddenly through the half-open door they hear Elwing cry out again, a long straining groan that clearly alarms those within the room.]
Eärendil: [anxiously] What is the matter? She should not be feeling pain now! [unable to stand it any longer he charges into the room only to find the situation under control. Idril turns to Eärendil, ]
Idril: Eärendil, you should wait outside
Eärendil: But…Elwing!
Galadriel: [calmly] There is a second child…
Eärendil: [stunned] Another…?
Midwife: [curtly] My lady, I need your help, now. [Galadriel turns to help the midwife.] He is crowning. Now, Elwing, you have not had time to forget what to do: Breathe until I tell you to push. [She rests her hand on the swollen belly, waiting for the contraction.] Now, my lady. The child is almost here.
[Camera focus on Eärendil’s face, his expression flickering between shock and wonder as the second baby emerges into the world and its small crumpled face begins a grimace at the harsh reality of life. With a final push, his wife expels the small body and the child begins to complain about its delayed arrival.]
Midwife: [smiling] It is another son, my lady. Twin boys! [She places the second child in Elwing’s arms]
Elwing: [Looks up from the tiny red-faced baby with wonder.] Are they not beautiful? [Eärendil’s face softens as he gazes from his eldest son to his wife, dishevelled, damp-haired, tear-stains marking her flushed cheeks.]
Eärendil: Perfect…but not as beautiful as their naneth… [he leans over his wife and kisses her brow.] My Love, you have given me a gift beyond belief. [Elwing looks up at him contentedly and smiles. Galadriel and Idril both slip out quietly to give the new family some peaceful moments alone. Fade.]
*
[Fade back in, a little while later. Elwing has been freshened up and is sitting in bed, feeding one of the babies. Eärendil is rocking the other. They both turn to see Celeborn and Galadriel enter with Eärendil’s parents.]
Eärendil: [smiling ] Naneth, Ada, my Lord and Lady, may I introduce to you Elros, [lifts the bundle he holds] and Elrond… [indicates the baby Elwing is nursing.]
Galadriel: [gently touches the dark-haired elf-child in Eärendil's arms] . Be welcome, Elros and Elrond. It seems you have inherited the handsome looks of Finwë’s line!
Celeborn: There is no doubting they have Lúthien’s heritage, either …
Idril: [sits down beside Elwing and kisses her brow.] How are you, Elwing?
Elwing: I feel a little tired, but I am well, truly! [eagerly] Are they not beautiful?
Galadriel: [looks at Elrond nursing] Indeed, they are. I do not want to disturb this little one in what takes so much of his attention but perhaps I could hold Elros instead?
[Eärendil eagerly hands over his son to Galadriel who takes him confidently. Captivated, she watches the rosy face and caresses the small forehead affectionately.. Elros remains completely unimpressed and dozes peacefully. Elrond finishes his feed, and Elwing winds him. Idril eagerly takes him for a cuddle. As Elrond snuggles sleepily in his grandmother’s arms his eye is caught by the green jewel brooch that she always wears at her breast.]
Eärendil: [smiles fondly] My first memory of Middle-earth is the green stone above your breast, as you sang above my cradle while Gondolin was still in flower.
Idril: [looks up from her grandson’s tiny face.] All the treasures of Middle Earth should mean nothing compared to them, but I would bequeath you the Elessar… [removes the brooch and places it in Eärendil’s hand] It shall be an heirloom of our House as long as our descendants remain in Arda, for there are grievous hurts to Middle-earth which maybe they shall heal.
Tuor: [watching his grandsons admiringly, puts his arm around Eärendil’s shoulder.] I am glad you have been blessed with two wonderful sons, as I was equally blessed with you, and thankful that I have been given enough time to greet them before I receive the Gift.
Eärendil: [anxious] Do not talk of passing on…surely you will be with us for many years yet?
Tuor: [smiles tiredly] My time grows short: I would not have your mother wake one morning to find where my spirit has gone beyond the Circles of the World without her. [looks fondly over at Idril rocking the baby.] Before that happens I will seek out the Valar and beg for mercy for her, at least. [Fade.]
* * *
[Fade in to a couple of months later, on a peaceful evening in early autumn, a frail Tuor, supported by Idril and Voronwë, have come to Balar one last time. They meet with Círdan and Ereinion.]
Tuor: [Looks yonder to the harbour entrance and addresses the waves] Sea-Wing is ready, my Lord Ulmo, and impatient to battle with your wilful moods!
Voronwë: [softly] Time has slowly leached him in ways that we Firstborn cannot fathom…
Idril: His time draws near… We have done our best for our people and now we seek to carry out one last duty...
Círdan: I will miss you… This is the price we pay for the friendship with the Edain: to lose you soon after you touched our lives and enlightened them with your friendship and love. Yet our desires are meaningless besides fates greater than our own.
Ereinion: [nods] If your heart tells you to go then follow it. May the Valar protect you and grant your request. How has Eärendil borne your decision?
Idril: Eärendil is away again, another journey to unknown ends, ever seeking to control the turmoil of a restless heart.
Ereinion: Yet perhaps it is wrong of him to leave a wife and a young family waiting…
Idril: Not even for the sake of Elwing and the children can he withstand the calling of his heart any longer. He, too, seeks a path to the Valar, believing their forgiveness is the best way to protect his family.
Tuor: [sighs] The sea’s call is not to be thrown off so lightly, but as lord Eärendil is loved, and his people will suffer his wanderings. I cannot blame him, and neither can I wait for his return to set out on my own voyage. I hope he will forgive us. [embraces both the lords, and Idril does likewise. ]
Círdan: [hoarsely] Farewell, my friends. May the Powers protect you as well until we perhaps meet again, on a better day and at a better place.
Tuor: [turns to Voronwë] Faithful friend…it grieves us sorely to forsake your company at the last, but we go where none may follow. I would that you can offer understanding, and for the sake of our friendship will continue to watch over our family in our absence…
Voronwë: I will, my Lord and Brother of my heart; may Eru guide your steps… [the two embrace fiercely. ]
Tuor: [Salutes the Elves in their own manner:] The skies are open now and we must depart…
[Tuor and Idril set sail in the ship Eärramé, (Sea-Wing) and leave the coast of Balar behind, forsaking the lands of their grief. ]
* * *
[Cut to onboard Sea-Wing, two days later. Idril leans on the railing, looking westward. Her eyes are bright and piercing, and bereaved of all hope. Tuor sits huddled at the tiller, wrapped against the chill breeze. The sky is dark with ominous clouds.]
Tuor: In my mind, I can see the island. But I cannot see how we shall reach it… [hoarsely] Do your keen eyes see anything yet?
Idril: [whispers:] Nothing. Maybe we just need to go a bit further... [musing] I am tempted to believe that is not the arriving that matters, but the journey itself, from one to other. [Fat rain drops start to fall….Cut.]
*
[Cut back to the little ship… the Sea has become stormy, mirroring masses of black clouds on its turbulent surface and the ship is being tossed wildly. Tuor and Idril have strapped themselves down and are trying to ride out the tempest. Both are soaked to the skin. Tuor no longer has the strength tocontrol the steering, and the boat is at the mercy of Ossë…]
Tuor: [anguished] It is no use! The way is closed, I can see that all too well, though my weak eyes falter. The Valar have forsaken their faithful messenger…We are lost!
Idril: [the light in her eyes dimming briefly in agony for him] Tuor...
Tuor: [staring at the Sea which he loves so much.] It is because of me that the straight way is hidden: [his features soften, but he shakes his head.] That I can remedy, while I can still stand on my feet and command my own movements…
Idril: [her face hardens, as she stares to the horizon. Resolutely she steps in front of Tuor, barring his view of the Sea.] I will not have it so, my love. You will not leave me, grieving for home and you…
Tuor: [anxiously, tears brimming in his eyes] Do you not understand? I must leave this ship…then, no walls will rise between you and the Undying Lands!
Idril: [shakes her head again, sadly] It would make no difference: I am an Exile. They will have no more mercy on me than on you. If it be the will of the Valar, then we will perish together!
Tuor: [grabs her roughly, crushing her to him] You will not do such a thing. I will not allow you!
Idril: [shakes her head, her heart brimming with pity] No, Tuor,…I made my choice long ago. I am not Lúthien, and cannot give up my own nature. But I will fear nothing to stay with you forever, like Tinúviel and her mortal husband.
Tuor: [forlornly] You are so beautiful, Idril... untouched by mortality, unmarred. You-you cannot wish for a watery tomb, next to an old man... [caresses the perfection of her cheek with his wrinkled, age-spotted hand.]
Idril: [A wry smile crosses her lips.] I am marred beyond redemption, like all the Noldor who heard the fiery words in Tirion that night. I have never truly hoped to tread the plains of Valinor again.
[Violent waves crash against the bow of the ship, as though Ossë is fighting to reject them. There is a loud crack as one of the spars breaks off, narrowly missing Tuor. Releasing the safety harnesses, Tuor climbs up with great effort to cling onto the prow’s treacherous support. Idril follows, nimbly. Tuor turns back again, to stare at the pale lines of her face and she smiles warmly at him.]
Tuor: I remember the first time I looked upon you, Turgon’s daughter, standing at that high window. My heart was lost from that moment…
Idril: [looks at Tuor, takes his hand in the grip of hers, and laughs in defiance.] The first time I looked upon you, you seemed to me one of the Valar. Little did I know that you would defy them in the end.
Tuor: [his lips curve in a small, bitter grin. He squeezes her delicate hand, and turns his gaze towards the grey Sea. The ship creaks and groans under the strain of the battering it is receiving.] She will not last much longer, the hull is beginning to give. May the Valar grant Eru’s Children the mercy that they did not grant me!
Idril: [her eyes glittering] May they rise from their thrones and hear us…
[As the two prepare for oblivion in the deep ,the waves suddenly freeze and melt away, the wind abates, and the Sea falls to an eerie calm….a voice is heard echoing around the becalmed ship:]
Mandos: Itarillë!
Idril: [lowers head in respect] Airë?
Mandos: You have heard me speak but once before. You heard then the Doom upon the Noldor your people. What say you to this?
Idril: Shall one yet a child turn her feet from the path taken by her elders? Shall she bear always their guilt? For the flight of her people has ever been a grief to her, and the evils done at Alqualondë a sorrow. This child pleads for the mercy of the Valar, Airë.
Mandos: Indeed by your own blameless conduct, even the heart of Eru is moved. Yet Valinor will remain fenced against you, until the labours of your son are completed on behalf of your people. [turns to Tuor:] Son of Huor…thought you to reach the Blessed Lands?
Tuor: I set out for those shores, Airë that I might see my beloved reunited with her parents once more, not for my own reward.
Mandos: Fate has carried you hither, through the Enchanted Isles, though the lands beyond be forever closed to mortals. The Music of the Ainur made this so, for it has ever moved your heart in accordance with the wishes of Eru Ilúvatar. To Men Eru gave a special freedom: they are not bound to his Song as are the Elves. Twice the blood of the elves has mingled with that of man. That is your gift to the Elves, son of Huor. Elvenkind will find strength in your line, and the Song shall be enriched by your voice. [Tuor and Idril clasp hands]
Mandos: Yet it is a both a gift and a burden also, for by your faith, you have followed the Song to your doom.
Tuor: [inclines head] I am ready to face the death-sleep…yet I have but a single regret - that death should part me forever from my beloved is an ache more painful than all the hurts of living.
Mandos: You begin to understand your doom, I think. Yet Eru is not without mercy. It is Eru's will, therefore, that you be not sundered from the Firstborn, but joined to them in fate… [A gentle glow envelops Tuor , who falls to his knees in amazement and gratitude]
Idril: [joyfully] Tis truly a joy unlooked for! [touches her husband’s unlined face. Gradually, a veil of mist lifts like a curtain rolling back, and we see in the distance Tol Eressëa, the Lonely Isle: green hills with wooded groves of Elm and Mellyrn and fair meadows stretching under blue skies. Golden beaches beckon where waves of white foam roll back to the Sea, glistening in the gleam of the sun. ]
Tuor: [embraces Idril tightly] Sometimes hope and destiny are made one… [Fade.]
* * * * *
There is magic in long-distance friendships. They let you relate to other human beings in a way that goes beyond being physically together and is often more profound.
~Diana Cortes
~Diana Cortes
[Scene fades in on Eärendil and Elwing in their bedchamber in their cottage at Arvenrnien. He has just returned home from his recent voyage and is unpacking. Elwing has just told him that his parents have departed from Middle-earth ]
Eärendil: [stops mid-action] What do you mean, “they are gone?”
Elwing: [hesitantly] They sailed less than two days past…[hands him a folded sheet of parchment] Idril has left a letter for you… Tuor knew his time had come: he felt in his aching bones and aging body. He saw the fear of separation in your mother’s eyes and could not bear for her to wake up one day beside his soulless body – he decide to take one last chance and sail west in the hope of finding the aid Turgon once sought.
Eärendil: [scans letter in disbelief, shaking his head] Long have I known that my time with Ada was limited, but I had thought Naneth would be here for me as long as I might endure…
Elwing: He wanted to, but she would not listen. She was shadowed, too, Eärendil – by loss and grief and the knowledge that she would lose both husband and son to the wearing of time, without being granted the chance to follow them. [placatingly] She believes that being no Kinslayer, perhaps her voice will be heard by the Valar.
Eärendil: [angrily] He would have been more likely to succeed in his quest without her – he was not under any Doom.
Elwing: [softly] It was obvious to all who knew them that they would go together.
Eärendil: [harshly] How many knew of their departure beforehand?
Elwing: [sighs] None, save perhaps Círdan. They had obviously made their decision long ago. We woke one morning to find them gone.
Eärendil: They took nothing with them?
Elwing: [shrugs] ‘Sea-Wing’ was fully equipped, laden with food and water, but most of their possessions they left behind.
Eärendil: [distraught] And I am left a green jewel in exchange for my parents!
Elwing: [Gently] I too know what it is to lose my parents…and more besides. Now is not the time for bitterness and fury. Let us mourn them together with love…
Eärendil: [packs his belongings in a state of anger and agitation] I must go after them and bring them back.
Elwing: [clinging to him] No! You cannot leave me alone with the babies again for months!
Eärendil: [despairingly] Maybe we were too young to marry, too young to be parents – and now I no longer have the time to be young. [removes her arms gently but firmly] I have to go…. Voronwë has a ship in port ready to sail
Elwing: [desperately] What if he refuses to take you?
Eärendil: He will not –he knows that I will go anyway, whether he aids me or not. If I hurry I can catch the next tide. [turns and exits the door. Elwing crumples to her knees on the floor in grief as the babies stir and start crying in a nearby room. Cut.]
*
[cut to clips of Voronwë and Eärendil heading west out of the harbour at Arvernien, into the open seas in search of Eärendil ’s parents. In full sail the ship leaps over the waves. Two days pass and there is no sign of Tuor’s ship, even from the top of the mast the sea seems empty…]
Eärendil: Surely it is not possible for them to have sailed so far that they would be beyond our sight, yet?
Voronwë: [pessimistically] They have too great a start on us, I fear. If they continued heading west, even with good weather, they would have become enmeshed among the Enchanted Isles. The Valar will not permit ships to approach too close to Aman…they will simply wander in confusion until they perish…
[Eärendil stares disconsolately ahead, trying to see the merest hint of a dark fleck in the silver of the vast ocean, Cut]
*
[After a few hours a contrary wind suddenly begins to pick up, and the sky begins to darken ominously.]
Voronwë: [insistently] Reef the sails!
Eärendil: [protesting] We will never catch up with Eärrámë if we reduce out speed!
Voronwë: [angrily] Neither will we catch up with them if we founder! It is one thing to run for home before bad weather hits, but we are not within sight of harbour now. The wind has changed direction: Ulmo has commanded Ossë to turn us back… [nods towards the dark clouds that are approaching them swiftly across the open sea]
Eärendil: [reluctantly backs down] Aye, Captain… [begins to reef the sails as darts of ragged lightning blaze across the sky and the sea darkens as it starts to broil].
Voronwë: [anxiously] Turn into the wind, Eärendil. We must run before it, it is our only chance – let the sea guide us where it wills…
Eärendil: [scowling]. We will lose too much time!
Voronwë: [staggers as a wave breaks over the side of the ship, before draining back into the surging sea.] We will lose more than time if we do not. We are in Ulmo’s hands, and he is not one to tolerate defiance. [grasps Eärendil’s arm.] If you want to get back safely to your wife in Sirion, you will bend to his will.
[as he finishes speaking, a surge twice the height of the ship lifts her high before dropping her into a grey-walled valley between two massive waves. Eärendil nods his agreement and labours to turn the ship, which withstands the slap of another wave before starting to move with the angry waters. Voronwë leans on the tiller with all his strength as he tries to keep the craft steady. The two fight in near darkness to hold their vessel steady against waters that curl repeatedly over the deck. Eventually the storm’s rage passes with the darkness. We see the ship floating idly on a glassy sea, scrubbed white by the ferocity of the waves, her sails hanging limp on the masts. Voronwë stands, leaning on the tiller, Eärendil is huddled on the deck, too exhausted to move.]
Eärendil: [numbly] They are gone: Tuor and Idril will not have been able to ride out this storm that we barely survived…. they will have drowned.
Voronwë: [doubtfully] We cannot know that. If Ulmo has a purpose for them, they will have been saved. [He turns towards the west, gazing along the Horizon, silently bidding farewell to his old friend and his king’s daughter. Cut to Eärendil resting his head on his knee, one arm curled round it as he sobs. Fade.]
* * *
[Fade back in on some days later, and we see.Eärendil sailing back into the harbour at Arverniens. He runs down the gangplank, and hurries along the cliff path to his home. Elwing flings wide the door as soon as she sees him coming. He takes her into his arms, crushing her to him as if he will never let her go.]
Elwing: [returns his embrace; softly:] You came home!
Eärendil: Did you doubt it? [hesitantly] I would have us be a family again, if you are willing… [He goes over both Elros and Elrond and takes them both from their cradle, hugging them and making them giggle. Turns back to Elwing, with sadness in his eyes] It was not Ulmo’s intention that I should follow my parents – He chose not to permit me the freedom of the wind and the waters. [kneels before her.] I am so sorry….forgive me, please?
Elwing: [raises hand gently to brush his salt-encrusted hair from his brow and caress his wind-burnt cheek,] I forgive you.
Eärendil: [sighs] Then I may rest easy at last. I love you, Elwing. And our sons as well have my heart, and there is naught I would refuse to do for them, or you.
Elwing: Yet you neglect me with enough ease.
Eärendil: If I could, I would spend a century or two at your side and raise our sons with you– but I cannot. [evenly] As much as I love you and our sons, you cannot hold me on land, not when the waves dance and Ulmo’s voice rings in the deep. It is more than a selfish desire to follow my own star at the cost of yours…The sea sings in my blood like a never-ending hunger.
Elwing: This I know well. All we can do is stand straight and follow our own paths… taking joy in what we are offered along the way. [they kiss. Fade.]
* * *
[Scene opens on the Isle of Balar, in Círdan’s shipyard. They are gathered around the skeleton timbers of Eärendil’s new ship design.…]
Ereinion: [sceptically] I hope it is a great enough reason that will tear you from Elwing’s side again. She has barely recovered from the distress your last precipitous sailing caused her..
Eärendil: Do you not see why it is plain that I must go? I am the only one who can. We are not safe here for long, and even Balar will not be safe for much longer. My crew remains because they sense now the very danger which drives me onward. My only hope to avail our kin is to come as quickly as I may to the Blessed Realm – even then nothing is for certain.
Ereinion: Do you really want to take such a risk? You have a wonderful family and they need you.
Eärendil: [stubbornly] And what about the Elves and other peoples of Middle Earth? They need help, too. Only by death or decree of the Valar shall I be parted from my purpose: Not even for the sake of Elwing and the children can I withstand the calling of my heart any longer.
Ereinion: [casts a questioning gaze at Círdan.] You have more experience with sea voyages than anyone else, especially with attempts to reach Valinor...
Círdan: In this matter no foresight is given to me. But this I know: maritime skills will not be enough…only one who is willing to plea selflessly on behalf of both Elves and Men could hope to find the passage to Aman.
Eärendil: Then you will help me?
Círdan: I believe you are the chosen one, Eärendil. You have all of my resources, my experience and my skill to see this ship finished. [Cut.]
*
[Cut to clips of Eärendil building the ship with Círdan in the shipyard. We see Celebrimbor in the smithy, forging the metal parts of the ship, from the strongest metal band strengthening the mast to the smallest nail.]
*
[ Cut to Elwing walking along the beach with her growing sons, beachcombing, rock pooling, and sitting sharing stories of olden times. Fade.]
*
[Cut to Eärendil and Círdan unveiling the finished ship: Camera focus on the nameplate - Vingilot, the ‘Foam-Flower,’ then pan over the beautiful vessel built of white birch wood with golden oars and sails as silvery as moonlight.. ]
*
[We see Vingilot set sail for the first time, skimming across the waves, like the seagulls following the wind, proving herself in all that was promised by the design.]
*
[Cut to scene of Eärendil preparing to sail on his latest voyage, with his three companions: Falathar, Erellont and Aerandir. It is a cool sunny morning in early spring… Eärendil's family have come to the quay to bid him farewell. Elrond hangs on Elwing’s skirts, quietly, while Elros fidgets by his mother’s side. Elwing is watching his preparations uneasily. Eärendil takes Voronwë to one side.]
Eärendil: Am I doing right to abandon my sons to the vagaries of fate?
Voronwë: They will have their naneth – and the care of those who remain in Sirion. Círdan and Ereinion will keep watch on them alongside me.
Eärendil: [wryly] I know to my cost just how safe the walls of inviolable fortresses are…
Voronwë: Ours has always been a desperate quest and sacrifices are required. Trust your wife, Eärendil. Trust in those who guide her – and concentrate on your mission.
Eärendil: [sighs] Is it woven in my fate that I must ever be pulled in two? [embraces him then turns away to say his goodbyes to his family.]
Elwing: A strong foreboding lays heavily on my heart, Husband. Though I do not normally worry when you put yourself at the mercy of Ossë, I would feel happier if you were not to leave at this time…
Eärendil: [sniffs the fresh sea air] I also feel a difference...a sense of anticipation! I have an inexplicable hope my endeavour will be successful this time. [embraces her tightly] Let us see what comes to pass.
[His hand caresses her hair, moving to cup the soft curve of her cheek, then resting briefly on her mouth as he commits as much as he can of her features to memory; her eyes feed hungrily on his face and she clasps his body desperately.]
Eärendil: [softly] I wish you could come with me.
Elwing: [the tears she has been holding back spill over. Shakes her head. ] I too have a duty...
Eärendil: [nods] Look after my sons – and see that they remember me. Hold Sirion safe.
Elwing: [whispers] I will do what I can.
Aerandir: [gently interrupting] My lord, the tide will be turning soon. You must come aboard.
Eärendil: [holds his wife convulsively.] This will become no easier for delaying the parting! [he rests his brow on hers for a moment before releasing her.]
Elwing: [staggers momentarily, then straightens and stands tall.] Bid your sons farewell, my lord, for who knows when you will meet again.
Eärendil: [drops to one knee in front of the small boys, taking a hand of each.] Look after your naneth, and grow big and strong, so that, when I see you again, I can be proud of my sons. Remember that I love you both. [He draws them close and shuts his eyes, breathing in the scent of their soft hair.] I will miss you…
Elros: [pipes up disapprovingly] Why do you have to go, Ada? Want you to stay here!
Eärendil: [voice cracking] The sea calls, my little star.
Elrond: [curiously] Where will it take you that we cannot go?
Eärendil: I go to find the Blessed Realm to beg audience with the High Ones who rule our fates. [kisses both children.] I will come back soon, Valar willing… [He rises and, taking a final loving look at Elwing, he boards Vingilot. Elwing's pale cheeks are tear-stained, as Vingilot leaves the harbour. Eärendil stands at the stern and watches his wife and his children until he can recognise their faces no longer. Fade.]
* * * * *
[Fade in on a few months later at Arvenien. A messenger brings a letter to the house of the Lord and Lady of Arvenien. A servant brings Elwing the missive. She glances at the scroll: It is addressed to her though she does not recognize the handwriting; she turns it over to break the seal and her gaze falls upon the many rayed star, emblem of the House of Fëanor, embossed in the wax.]
Servant: [sees Elwing turn deathly pale] My lady? My lady, are you unwell?
Elwing: [breathlessly] They have found me… [faints. Cut]
* * *
[Cut to council room in Arvenien as one of Elwing’s advisors, Dirhaval, finishes reading out the remainder of the letter:]
Dírhaval: “…my father swore by the Valar to reclaim the Silmarils. Though he died before he was able to complete this task, my brothers and I are bound by this same Oath. Therefore I ask you to renounce any claim to the Silmaril in your possession and restore it to its rightful owners. Whilst the House of Fëanor will, of necessity, reclaim the Silmaril in your possession by force, I remain confident we can negotiate a peaceful settlement between our people.” And it is signed: “Maedhros Fëanorion.”
Ithilbor: After all this time the sons of Fëanor have found you… those who survived the slaughter of Doriath, know all too well what they are capable of doing. [hesitantly] Could you, perhaps, acquiesce to their demands?
Elwing: [shakes her head. ] I cannot give it to them. Not after what they did at Doriath [looks at Ithilbor, pleadingly.] Do you not understand? I cannot. [looks at her other councillors.] … it would make all those deaths meaningless.
Dírhaval: Then what is your counsel, my lady?
Elwing: [angrily] They have forfeited all right to it. Furthermore, the Silmaril itself has blessed this place. I would harm my people by removing it.
Findegil: [warningly] They will come…
Dírhaval: On the other hand we do not know how many soldiers Maedhros can summon. Perhaps this, [points at the letter on the table between them,] is nothing but an idle threat. [He bows slightly towards Findegil.]
Findegil: [urging] We should prepare for attack: Send out scouts so that we are not taken by surprise and improve our defences where they are vulnerable! [Some of the others agree and look expectantly at Elwing, who gazes out of the window absently.]
Elwing: The sons of Fëanor might not care about the bounds of blood but they will not fight against the High King of the Noldor. If we cannot reach an agreement with them before Lord Eärendil returns, we will ask Ereinion Gil-galad for his help. [Cut.]
* * * * *
[Fade in on area westward of Ossiriand, between the Ramdal and the northern border of Taur-im-Duinath, the Forest Between the Rivers: we see a group of Avari lying hidden between the outermost trees of the great woods, watching a huge group of Elves pass by: Noldor soldiers…each one armed, their spears reflecting the sunlight cold and sharp. The Avari remain hidden, ignored by their Noldor kin. Fade.]
* * * * *
Eärendil: [stops mid-action] What do you mean, “they are gone?”
Elwing: [hesitantly] They sailed less than two days past…[hands him a folded sheet of parchment] Idril has left a letter for you… Tuor knew his time had come: he felt in his aching bones and aging body. He saw the fear of separation in your mother’s eyes and could not bear for her to wake up one day beside his soulless body – he decide to take one last chance and sail west in the hope of finding the aid Turgon once sought.
Eärendil: [scans letter in disbelief, shaking his head] Long have I known that my time with Ada was limited, but I had thought Naneth would be here for me as long as I might endure…
Elwing: He wanted to, but she would not listen. She was shadowed, too, Eärendil – by loss and grief and the knowledge that she would lose both husband and son to the wearing of time, without being granted the chance to follow them. [placatingly] She believes that being no Kinslayer, perhaps her voice will be heard by the Valar.
Eärendil: [angrily] He would have been more likely to succeed in his quest without her – he was not under any Doom.
Elwing: [softly] It was obvious to all who knew them that they would go together.
Eärendil: [harshly] How many knew of their departure beforehand?
Elwing: [sighs] None, save perhaps Círdan. They had obviously made their decision long ago. We woke one morning to find them gone.
Eärendil: They took nothing with them?
Elwing: [shrugs] ‘Sea-Wing’ was fully equipped, laden with food and water, but most of their possessions they left behind.
Eärendil: [distraught] And I am left a green jewel in exchange for my parents!
Elwing: [Gently] I too know what it is to lose my parents…and more besides. Now is not the time for bitterness and fury. Let us mourn them together with love…
Eärendil: [packs his belongings in a state of anger and agitation] I must go after them and bring them back.
Elwing: [clinging to him] No! You cannot leave me alone with the babies again for months!
Eärendil: [despairingly] Maybe we were too young to marry, too young to be parents – and now I no longer have the time to be young. [removes her arms gently but firmly] I have to go…. Voronwë has a ship in port ready to sail
Elwing: [desperately] What if he refuses to take you?
Eärendil: He will not –he knows that I will go anyway, whether he aids me or not. If I hurry I can catch the next tide. [turns and exits the door. Elwing crumples to her knees on the floor in grief as the babies stir and start crying in a nearby room. Cut.]
*
[cut to clips of Voronwë and Eärendil heading west out of the harbour at Arvernien, into the open seas in search of Eärendil ’s parents. In full sail the ship leaps over the waves. Two days pass and there is no sign of Tuor’s ship, even from the top of the mast the sea seems empty…]
Eärendil: Surely it is not possible for them to have sailed so far that they would be beyond our sight, yet?
Voronwë: [pessimistically] They have too great a start on us, I fear. If they continued heading west, even with good weather, they would have become enmeshed among the Enchanted Isles. The Valar will not permit ships to approach too close to Aman…they will simply wander in confusion until they perish…
[Eärendil stares disconsolately ahead, trying to see the merest hint of a dark fleck in the silver of the vast ocean, Cut]
*
[After a few hours a contrary wind suddenly begins to pick up, and the sky begins to darken ominously.]
Voronwë: [insistently] Reef the sails!
Eärendil: [protesting] We will never catch up with Eärrámë if we reduce out speed!
Voronwë: [angrily] Neither will we catch up with them if we founder! It is one thing to run for home before bad weather hits, but we are not within sight of harbour now. The wind has changed direction: Ulmo has commanded Ossë to turn us back… [nods towards the dark clouds that are approaching them swiftly across the open sea]
Eärendil: [reluctantly backs down] Aye, Captain… [begins to reef the sails as darts of ragged lightning blaze across the sky and the sea darkens as it starts to broil].
Voronwë: [anxiously] Turn into the wind, Eärendil. We must run before it, it is our only chance – let the sea guide us where it wills…
Eärendil: [scowling]. We will lose too much time!
Voronwë: [staggers as a wave breaks over the side of the ship, before draining back into the surging sea.] We will lose more than time if we do not. We are in Ulmo’s hands, and he is not one to tolerate defiance. [grasps Eärendil’s arm.] If you want to get back safely to your wife in Sirion, you will bend to his will.
[as he finishes speaking, a surge twice the height of the ship lifts her high before dropping her into a grey-walled valley between two massive waves. Eärendil nods his agreement and labours to turn the ship, which withstands the slap of another wave before starting to move with the angry waters. Voronwë leans on the tiller with all his strength as he tries to keep the craft steady. The two fight in near darkness to hold their vessel steady against waters that curl repeatedly over the deck. Eventually the storm’s rage passes with the darkness. We see the ship floating idly on a glassy sea, scrubbed white by the ferocity of the waves, her sails hanging limp on the masts. Voronwë stands, leaning on the tiller, Eärendil is huddled on the deck, too exhausted to move.]
Eärendil: [numbly] They are gone: Tuor and Idril will not have been able to ride out this storm that we barely survived…. they will have drowned.
Voronwë: [doubtfully] We cannot know that. If Ulmo has a purpose for them, they will have been saved. [He turns towards the west, gazing along the Horizon, silently bidding farewell to his old friend and his king’s daughter. Cut to Eärendil resting his head on his knee, one arm curled round it as he sobs. Fade.]
* * *
[Fade back in on some days later, and we see.Eärendil sailing back into the harbour at Arverniens. He runs down the gangplank, and hurries along the cliff path to his home. Elwing flings wide the door as soon as she sees him coming. He takes her into his arms, crushing her to him as if he will never let her go.]
Elwing: [returns his embrace; softly:] You came home!
Eärendil: Did you doubt it? [hesitantly] I would have us be a family again, if you are willing… [He goes over both Elros and Elrond and takes them both from their cradle, hugging them and making them giggle. Turns back to Elwing, with sadness in his eyes] It was not Ulmo’s intention that I should follow my parents – He chose not to permit me the freedom of the wind and the waters. [kneels before her.] I am so sorry….forgive me, please?
Elwing: [raises hand gently to brush his salt-encrusted hair from his brow and caress his wind-burnt cheek,] I forgive you.
Eärendil: [sighs] Then I may rest easy at last. I love you, Elwing. And our sons as well have my heart, and there is naught I would refuse to do for them, or you.
Elwing: Yet you neglect me with enough ease.
Eärendil: If I could, I would spend a century or two at your side and raise our sons with you– but I cannot. [evenly] As much as I love you and our sons, you cannot hold me on land, not when the waves dance and Ulmo’s voice rings in the deep. It is more than a selfish desire to follow my own star at the cost of yours…The sea sings in my blood like a never-ending hunger.
Elwing: This I know well. All we can do is stand straight and follow our own paths… taking joy in what we are offered along the way. [they kiss. Fade.]
* * *
[Scene opens on the Isle of Balar, in Círdan’s shipyard. They are gathered around the skeleton timbers of Eärendil’s new ship design.…]
Ereinion: [sceptically] I hope it is a great enough reason that will tear you from Elwing’s side again. She has barely recovered from the distress your last precipitous sailing caused her..
Eärendil: Do you not see why it is plain that I must go? I am the only one who can. We are not safe here for long, and even Balar will not be safe for much longer. My crew remains because they sense now the very danger which drives me onward. My only hope to avail our kin is to come as quickly as I may to the Blessed Realm – even then nothing is for certain.
Ereinion: Do you really want to take such a risk? You have a wonderful family and they need you.
Eärendil: [stubbornly] And what about the Elves and other peoples of Middle Earth? They need help, too. Only by death or decree of the Valar shall I be parted from my purpose: Not even for the sake of Elwing and the children can I withstand the calling of my heart any longer.
Ereinion: [casts a questioning gaze at Círdan.] You have more experience with sea voyages than anyone else, especially with attempts to reach Valinor...
Círdan: In this matter no foresight is given to me. But this I know: maritime skills will not be enough…only one who is willing to plea selflessly on behalf of both Elves and Men could hope to find the passage to Aman.
Eärendil: Then you will help me?
Círdan: I believe you are the chosen one, Eärendil. You have all of my resources, my experience and my skill to see this ship finished. [Cut.]
*
[Cut to clips of Eärendil building the ship with Círdan in the shipyard. We see Celebrimbor in the smithy, forging the metal parts of the ship, from the strongest metal band strengthening the mast to the smallest nail.]
*
[ Cut to Elwing walking along the beach with her growing sons, beachcombing, rock pooling, and sitting sharing stories of olden times. Fade.]
*
[Cut to Eärendil and Círdan unveiling the finished ship: Camera focus on the nameplate - Vingilot, the ‘Foam-Flower,’ then pan over the beautiful vessel built of white birch wood with golden oars and sails as silvery as moonlight.. ]
*
[We see Vingilot set sail for the first time, skimming across the waves, like the seagulls following the wind, proving herself in all that was promised by the design.]
*
[Cut to scene of Eärendil preparing to sail on his latest voyage, with his three companions: Falathar, Erellont and Aerandir. It is a cool sunny morning in early spring… Eärendil's family have come to the quay to bid him farewell. Elrond hangs on Elwing’s skirts, quietly, while Elros fidgets by his mother’s side. Elwing is watching his preparations uneasily. Eärendil takes Voronwë to one side.]
Eärendil: Am I doing right to abandon my sons to the vagaries of fate?
Voronwë: They will have their naneth – and the care of those who remain in Sirion. Círdan and Ereinion will keep watch on them alongside me.
Eärendil: [wryly] I know to my cost just how safe the walls of inviolable fortresses are…
Voronwë: Ours has always been a desperate quest and sacrifices are required. Trust your wife, Eärendil. Trust in those who guide her – and concentrate on your mission.
Eärendil: [sighs] Is it woven in my fate that I must ever be pulled in two? [embraces him then turns away to say his goodbyes to his family.]
Elwing: A strong foreboding lays heavily on my heart, Husband. Though I do not normally worry when you put yourself at the mercy of Ossë, I would feel happier if you were not to leave at this time…
Eärendil: [sniffs the fresh sea air] I also feel a difference...a sense of anticipation! I have an inexplicable hope my endeavour will be successful this time. [embraces her tightly] Let us see what comes to pass.
[His hand caresses her hair, moving to cup the soft curve of her cheek, then resting briefly on her mouth as he commits as much as he can of her features to memory; her eyes feed hungrily on his face and she clasps his body desperately.]
Eärendil: [softly] I wish you could come with me.
Elwing: [the tears she has been holding back spill over. Shakes her head. ] I too have a duty...
Eärendil: [nods] Look after my sons – and see that they remember me. Hold Sirion safe.
Elwing: [whispers] I will do what I can.
Aerandir: [gently interrupting] My lord, the tide will be turning soon. You must come aboard.
Eärendil: [holds his wife convulsively.] This will become no easier for delaying the parting! [he rests his brow on hers for a moment before releasing her.]
Elwing: [staggers momentarily, then straightens and stands tall.] Bid your sons farewell, my lord, for who knows when you will meet again.
Eärendil: [drops to one knee in front of the small boys, taking a hand of each.] Look after your naneth, and grow big and strong, so that, when I see you again, I can be proud of my sons. Remember that I love you both. [He draws them close and shuts his eyes, breathing in the scent of their soft hair.] I will miss you…
Elros: [pipes up disapprovingly] Why do you have to go, Ada? Want you to stay here!
Eärendil: [voice cracking] The sea calls, my little star.
Elrond: [curiously] Where will it take you that we cannot go?
Eärendil: I go to find the Blessed Realm to beg audience with the High Ones who rule our fates. [kisses both children.] I will come back soon, Valar willing… [He rises and, taking a final loving look at Elwing, he boards Vingilot. Elwing's pale cheeks are tear-stained, as Vingilot leaves the harbour. Eärendil stands at the stern and watches his wife and his children until he can recognise their faces no longer. Fade.]
* * * * *
[Fade in on a few months later at Arvenien. A messenger brings a letter to the house of the Lord and Lady of Arvenien. A servant brings Elwing the missive. She glances at the scroll: It is addressed to her though she does not recognize the handwriting; she turns it over to break the seal and her gaze falls upon the many rayed star, emblem of the House of Fëanor, embossed in the wax.]
Servant: [sees Elwing turn deathly pale] My lady? My lady, are you unwell?
Elwing: [breathlessly] They have found me… [faints. Cut]
* * *
[Cut to council room in Arvenien as one of Elwing’s advisors, Dirhaval, finishes reading out the remainder of the letter:]
Dírhaval: “…my father swore by the Valar to reclaim the Silmarils. Though he died before he was able to complete this task, my brothers and I are bound by this same Oath. Therefore I ask you to renounce any claim to the Silmaril in your possession and restore it to its rightful owners. Whilst the House of Fëanor will, of necessity, reclaim the Silmaril in your possession by force, I remain confident we can negotiate a peaceful settlement between our people.” And it is signed: “Maedhros Fëanorion.”
Ithilbor: After all this time the sons of Fëanor have found you… those who survived the slaughter of Doriath, know all too well what they are capable of doing. [hesitantly] Could you, perhaps, acquiesce to their demands?
Elwing: [shakes her head. ] I cannot give it to them. Not after what they did at Doriath [looks at Ithilbor, pleadingly.] Do you not understand? I cannot. [looks at her other councillors.] … it would make all those deaths meaningless.
Dírhaval: Then what is your counsel, my lady?
Elwing: [angrily] They have forfeited all right to it. Furthermore, the Silmaril itself has blessed this place. I would harm my people by removing it.
Findegil: [warningly] They will come…
Dírhaval: On the other hand we do not know how many soldiers Maedhros can summon. Perhaps this, [points at the letter on the table between them,] is nothing but an idle threat. [He bows slightly towards Findegil.]
Findegil: [urging] We should prepare for attack: Send out scouts so that we are not taken by surprise and improve our defences where they are vulnerable! [Some of the others agree and look expectantly at Elwing, who gazes out of the window absently.]
Elwing: The sons of Fëanor might not care about the bounds of blood but they will not fight against the High King of the Noldor. If we cannot reach an agreement with them before Lord Eärendil returns, we will ask Ereinion Gil-galad for his help. [Cut.]
* * * * *
[Fade in on area westward of Ossiriand, between the Ramdal and the northern border of Taur-im-Duinath, the Forest Between the Rivers: we see a group of Avari lying hidden between the outermost trees of the great woods, watching a huge group of Elves pass by: Noldor soldiers…each one armed, their spears reflecting the sunlight cold and sharp. The Avari remain hidden, ignored by their Noldor kin. Fade.]
* * * * *
Last edited by Elentári on Mon Apr 27, 2015 7:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.
There is magic in long-distance friendships. They let you relate to other human beings in a way that goes beyond being physically together and is often more profound.
~Diana Cortes
~Diana Cortes
* * * * *
[Fade in on Maedhros and his brothers, and their men, waiting in the birch forest of Nimbrethil, just beyond the farthest ring of guards around the city.]
Maedhros: The Haven of Sirion will be under protection of the High King within days...
Maglor: [gloomily] Surely there is still hope Dior's daughter will surrender the Silmaril?
Maedhros: [scoffs] You cannot tell me that in your heart you believe that will happen! [Turns to messenger returning with Elwing's answer. He tears open the letter and reads it. Turns to Maglor angrily:] She tries to postpone her decision and we know why! Each hour brings the ships of Círdan and the soldiers of Gil-galad closer to the Havens.
Maglor: Perhaps she can still be persuaded to change her mind… Think you she will throw away everything they have built in their settlement at the mouth of Sirion for a mere jewel, however radiant?
Maedhros: Does not everyone who has possessed the Silmaril persist in clinging to it, despite the ruination it brings? We have given Elwing a chance to end this standoff without bloodshed, indeed to our mutual benefit, and she has nigh on rejected the offer.
Maglor: [shakes head] She knows what we are capable of, yet she refuses to prevent the blood of her people-- of the rest of her family-- from being spilled!
Maedhros: [sighs] Maglor, have the Silmarils not driven all of us mad? The desire to reclaim them no matter the consequences… I do not believe that there is any persuasion but the sword that will change her mind. I will send for Amrod and Amras, and begin the necessary preparations. [Maglor’s face fills with pain, but he says nothing. Maedhros looks at him, surprised.] You do not protest my decision?
Maglor: [softly] Nay, it would do no good…
Maedhros: [slowly] No, no, it would not. There are no other options, if we are to keep our sworn word and reclaim what we seek. [he straightens himself in the saddle and gives his followers the signal to leave.] The Oath has awoken again and will not rest until the Silmaril of Arvernien is returned to its rightful owners! [cut.]
* * *
[Scene opens on guards on the outskirts of Arvernien being picked off by Maedhros’ men, one by one, silently and without raising an alarm.]
Maedhros: [speaks to his vanguard- riders on great horses] I have divided our forces in two; half are on the western side of the Havens, under the command of Amrod and Amras, while the other half will stay on the eastern side under my control. You are to gallop far into the city and cut off the inhabitants from the ships in the harbour. No one is to escape that way. We should be able to surprise them and reach Eärendil ‘s homestead without too much fighting.
[He waves them off. The riders make their way into the city. The Elves of the Haven have no chance against their attackers. Nonetheless they put up a fierce resistance, some with swords, others with anything at hand. Twice the defenders almost block the assault. With the third attempt Maedhros' troops break through and from this moment on the attack on the Haven of Sirion becomes the Third Kinslaying.]
*
[Cut to a small boat rounding the Cape of Balar to the west of the Havens of Sirion, a lone Elf piloting the vessel. A close up identifies the Elf as Voronwë. As he draws nearer he notices the uproar on the harbour arm that is usually silent and deserted at this time. As the first fires flared up he realizes in horror that the city is under attack. Voronwë turns his small ship around and tacks into the wind as fast as possible towards Balar
Voronwë: [begging under his breath] Please, Ulmo, Lord of all Waters, help me now. [The boat heads southwest towards Balar. Cut.]
*
[Maedhros grunts with effort as he catches a blade aimed for his throat on the edge of the shield strapped firmly to the stump of his right arm, then twists and drives the point of the shield into his opponent's wrist. The Elf shrieks, falling to his knees. Maedhros thrusts his sword into the Elf's chest, then tugs it sharply to remove it. He fends off an assault from his left and looks wildly around for his brothers.
There is a strangled cry, and a combatant near him suddenly pitches forward, twitching from the shock of a blow that has laid the back of his neck open. Maglor stands behind him, his eyes wide, and his blood-spattered face nearly as pale as that of the Elf he has just killed.]
Maedhros: [catches his brother's arm, gasping] We must not let Elwing flee with the Silmaril. Gather your men and follow me, quickly.
Maglor: The twins - have you seen them?
Maedhros: [impatiently] No. We must find Elwing.
Maglor: [warning] Our men are turning on us, Maedhros! [but Maedhros is gone, cutting a path through the crowd that has collected at the bottom of the street. Maglor whirls around just as a body hurtles through the air and knocks him over. He find himself struggling for his life against an enraged, snarling warrior, who he recognizes as belonging to Amrod's company.]
Rebel Elf: [growls] You murderers! Would you even kill babies? You left Dior's sons to die in the woods, and now you attack his daughter in her own home! [Maglor smashes the heel of his hand into his opponent's nose. The warrior's head snaps back, and blood spurts. Squirming out from under his opponent, Maglor stretches out his hand, and grabs his sword, which he has dropped. Summoning a burst of strength, he rises up and plunges his sword in the Elf’s gut. Feeling vaguely sick, Maglor struggles to his feet. Moving towards the great hall, he tries to locate Amrod and Amras.
Ahead of him he sees two of Elwing's guards attack Maedhros. He hamstrings one of them, who falls down and is trampled in the bloody rushes that litter the floor. Maedhros fights desperately, managing to bury his blade in the other's side. Just as the guard collapses, Maglor hears the hum of an arrow and he dives for cover. A second later, he hears a wail of pain as the arrow hits another target behind him. Maglor glances back along the path of the arrow and gasps to see Amrod on the ground, writhing in pain, the arrow protruding from his chest. Beside him, Amras drops his sword and kneels down to take his twin in his arms. Maglor twists and struggles to force his way through the press to reach his brother. He opens his mouth to shout a warning to Amras, but even as Amras scoops Amrod up for a final embrace, one of Sirion’s defenders seizes his chance and drives his sword through Amras's spine at the shoulders. Both twins fall dead in each other's arms.]
Maglor: [brokenly] No!!!! [A body slams against him, and he crashes to his knees again, barely remembering to raise his shield above his head. He remains on the ground, using sword and shield to protect himself until he realizes that the noise of battle has vanished, and one of his lieutenants is hauling him to his feet. He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog.]
Noldo soldier: It is over! The defenders have all been killed or have fled.
[Maglor does not answer, but forces his legs to carry him over to the tangled bodies of Amrod and Amras. Amras's empty eyes are wide with the shock of his death. Beneath his body, Amrod's face is twisted from his final pain. Maglor grasps the arrow embedded in his chest and tugs at it, even as his eyes blur with tears. Another hand covers his hand and stills its frantic motion.]
Noldo soldier: Leave that, my Lord. I will care for them. But you must find Lord Maedhros and the Silmaril without delay, and then we must be gone from this place. [Cut.]
* * *
[Cut to the main harbour of Balar, silent and peaceful. Several Elves sit together on the harbour wall, repairing their nets by the light of a single lamp. The tide is high and the waves gently lap the wooden posts of landing stages and the algae-covered stones.
Camera pan across the harbour to show a ship coming in with a dangerous speed on a white crest of foam. It turns and barges against the stony quay; huge gulls come flying from the sea, their shrill cries echoing over the harbour.Voronwë jumps onto the landing stage and runs towards the warning bell. His stiff, chilled fingers struggle to free the, thick rope…finally freed, he pulls on it with all of his weight. It gives a loud and thundering call, bringing the whole city alive. Cut.]
*
[Cut to Ereinion Gil-galad’s reception hall, where he and Círdan are discussing Elwing’s correspondence with Maedhros.]
Ereinion: [pacing the room] If only she would retreat here, even to relative safety….
Círdan: Retreat would merely delay this day; Maedhros would hunt the Silmaril even unto the shores of Balar, if it resided here. To relinquish the jewel and finish this at long last seems wise to me, but I understand Elwing and her people are decided against that.
Ereinion: [frustrated] The Doriathrim council could not persuade her – I believe naught could convince her to abide without it…
Círdan: The Havens of Sirion are under our protection. Maedhros may be desperate, but I believe all sense has not left him.
Ereinion: Perhaps he will not attack at all, but come only to fall upon his knees before us? I would prefer not to send any soldiers at this moment…I fear that this would aggravate the conflict. It is my hope that an agreement might be reached after Eärendil's return.
Círdan: I would advise we send at least a small guard…we would do well not to underestimate the power of the Oath they swore-- [ they are interrupted by Voronwë hurrying, breathless, into the hall:]
Voronwë: [panting] Noldor… Havens….fire!
Círdan: [aghast] A third Kinslaying??
Ereinion: [angry hiss] How many?
Voronwë: I know not, my Lord…several dozen at the quay but the smoke was too dense to see how many had reached the city. There were fires burning in the higher parts of town. We must go to their aid with all haste – I fear for Elwing and the children.
Ereinion: [turns to aide, urgently] Send all the soldiers we can muster to the ships at once, the rest can follow.
Círdan: This could mean that we will be underscored
Ereinion: I know, but we must take the risk. The crossing will delay us as it is: we cannot afford to lose more time
Círdan: [lays a hand on Ereinion’s arm.] Be careful. They will show no mercy, neither for the High King or for their nephew.
Ereinion: [strapping on his armour; Grimly] And neither will we show mercy for them. [Cut]
* * *
[Scene opens on Elrond and Elros asleep in their bed, cuddled up to one another. In the next room the camera shows Elwing and Idril’s former maid, Meleth, are sitting sewing by candlelight. All is peaceful until suddenly horns sound the alarm, startling her. Elwing’s heart leaps to her throat. Jumping up she goes to the window and peers through the shutters. The sun is sinking westward, but its ruddy light is tinged with a darker stain. The smell of fire reaches her, and the sounds of fighting can be heard above the waves – swords clanging against swords, battle cries in both Sindarin and Quenya, the screams of children, and the dying. Elwing gasps.]
Elwing: [whispers] The Star of Fëanor!
Meleth: [rushes to the window in hotrror: camera shows the many-pointed star rising glittering above the smoke, followed by the personal banners of Maedhros and Maglor.] But there has barely been time for the messenger to return to Maedhros, let alone for him to summon his brothers and organize all of this!
Elwing: [numbly] They did not even wait for my reply!
Meleth: [grabs Elwing’s arm and pulls her from the window,] Elwing, you must stay calm! You must keep your head! Stay here – hide – do not let them take the Silmaril!
[Elwing goes to her room and swiftly retrieves the Silmaril from the trunk by her bed. Casting aside the leather wrapping she puts the necklace around her neck, hiding it beneath her gown and shawl. Shouting fills the courtyard, and Elwing shrinks back into a corner, clutching the shawl to her chest with trembling fingers.]
*
[Cut to Maedhros striding swiftly through the ruin of Eärendíl's house. It has been all but raised to the ground, and its fair halls are now stained with blood. Outside, the sons of Fëanor are emerging victorious and the battle is slowing, but the sound of blade upon blade still rings sharply.
Cut back to Elwing and Meleth : Something crashes in the hallway outside, Elwing covers her mouth with her hand.]
Elwing: [whispers] Dear Eru have mercy on us! The sons of Fëanor do not care whether they hurt innocent children in their quest for the Silmaril…
Meleth: [pulls dagger from her belt] I will not let them harm the babes while I still have breath… [makes for the children’s room. Camera pans back round to the door which flies open, breaking against the wall, and Elwing screams. Maedhros enters, the Star of Fëanor upon his breastplate, which is splattered with blood, both fresh and starting to congeal. It is also caught in his hair, marring the deep russet colour. He looks around, wild eyed and desparate…
As soon as his eyes fall on Elwing, she flees, racing back to the parlour and barring the door behind her. With a shout, he follows, his hand slipping to the sword at his left side. He draws his sword, throws open the door sharply and leaps into the room, sword raised. Elwing lets out a choked scream, flinging her hands up in defence. Her eyes shine with fear as he shuts and bolts the door behind him.]
Maedhros: [quietly] Elwing, give me the jewel!
Elwing: You have lost your right to it!
Maedhros: [levelly] Give it to me...
Elwing: [lifts her chin to meet his eyes] I will not relinquish what my forefather won at such great costs! Neither will I give away the source of much prosperity and light for my people…
Maedhros: [ grim laugh] Look around, you, lady. Do you see prosperity and light? I see death and terror. Your people are scattered and your town in disarray. All who have opposed us are slain. Why have you brought down this destruction on yourself and your folk? Their blood is on your head.
Elwing: [stares at him with unmasked contempt] Their blood is on YOUR hands, Kinslayer! You slaughtered my parents… I know you will slay me whether I give you the jewel or not, such is your cruelty. Why should you be rid of the torment of the Oath? I see no reason to give what you ask… [suddenly, we hear the sound of a struggle in the next room and the terrified screams of a child tear through the air, and Elwing's face pales. ]
Elros: NANETH!, [The cries rise in pitch and intensity, and it becomes clear that there are two children crying for their mother. Elwing makes to go to them, but Maedhros steps across her path and neatly intercepts her. Behind him we hear muffled sobs:hanging limply in the arms of two guards are Elwing's sons]
Maedhros: It would seem that we have reached bargaining ground, would it not? My Simaril, in exchange for your sons.
Elwing: [looks from her children to him with terror-stricken eyes] You left my brothers to starve; now you will murder my children?
Maedhros: [hisses sharply] I did not leave your brothers to starve! [pushes her roughly against a heavy wooden dresser.] Do not speak of what you do not know! [hoarsely] I went looking for them! I searched for them for days; nay, weeks! And I found nothing. [breathing hard, he releases her, tries to compose himself.Elwing staggers back against the wall.] Tell me where the jewel is hidden, and I shall make sure your sons are unharmed…
Elwing: [her eyes blaze with a terrible anger as she believes it would be futile to heed him. She whispers:] You would not return them…You lie! They will never survive this day. [while she speaks she is carefully working her way towards the door, and has eased back the bolt behind her back. In one smooth motion, she opens it and runs out into the night. Caught by surprise, Maedhros is slow to take off after her. As he does so, sword blades are held up before him, and he draws his own sword, prepared to cut down whoever tries to stop him. Camera cut to show a small group of his own forces turned against him.]
Maedhros: [incredulously] What do you mean by this?
Rebel leader: [with show of bravado] We will no longer be murderers of womenfolk and children…
Maedhros: [fixes him with a chilling gaze. Orders softly:] Step aside!
Rebel leader: [earnestly] No.
[Maedhros moves with incredible speed, slitting the Elf’s throat with one swipe, seizing the opportunity to push past the renegade company while their captain slumps bleeding at their feet. He looks around frantically for Elwing, eventually spying a single point of brilliant light, clutched to breast of a woman running towards the sea, tears falling freely down her cheeks. He bolts after her, his eyes never leaving the jewel, fixed on the light bleeding through Elwing’s fingers as she runs headlong towards the cliff edge.
She stops as her right foot finds the edge of the cliff. She stares out at the undulating expanse before her, scanning the horizon in the faint hope that Eärendil might be returned. She glances over her shoulder as Maedhros shouts at her to turn around and come away from the edge, but she can only hear the roaring of the sea and the whispering of the jewel upon her breast. She turns:]
Maedhros: [steps closer, pleading, cajoling] Elwing, please! Think of your children…just give me the jewel and we will leave your family in peace!
Elwing: No, you are lying! You will kill my sons anyway…you are but a heartless monster! [clasping a thin, nervous hand to the Jewel strung around her neck] No one else will die because of me or this cursed jewel… [silently she steps backwards off the cliff. Maedhros rushes forward but his hands close on empty air. Looking down he sees her body falling gracefully towards the waves below…and then she is gone. A great swell takes her, drowning the light of the Silmaril, and Maedhros falls to his knees; He clenches his remaining hand into a fist as a great cry rises from his throat - a blend of animalistic rage and frustration, and utterly consuming sorrow. Moments pass before Maglor comes up behind him.]
Maglor: Sirion is ours, but we do not have much time. Where is Elwing? Have you got the Silmaril?
Maedhros: [hoarsely:] It was all for nothing…Again. We have achieved nothing!
Maglor: [wearily] It is as Mandos foretold: 'Their Oath will drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue.' [ reaches out tentatively and touches his brother's shoulder.]
Maedhros: I do not want to remain in this place of death any longer. [shrugs off his brother’s hand.] Come, let us gather our forces…find our brothers!
Maglor: [chokes] They fell, Maedhros. At one another's sides, to the last.
Maedhros: [slowly closes his eyes.] Only we two remain, then.
[Maglor nods, bowing his head in grief; the camera zooms in behind them on a great white bird rising up out of the white foam upon the waves, silvery wings glittering in the light of the jewel upon its breast. Catching the air currents awkwardly, it soon adjusts, and speeds silently off into the West, unseen by the brothers on the cliff top…
Behind them on the cliff a guard coughs to get the attention of his lords.]
Guard: My Lord? - What is to be done with the Peredhil? [Maedhros rises slowly to his feet and gestures for the soldiers to set the children down.]
Maglor: [speaking in subtitled Quenya so the children will not understand] What shall we do with them?
Maedhros: [impassively] I told Elwing I would return her sons in exchange for our jewel. She gave me no jewel. I should kill them, and be done with it! [He stands before the children: his arm trembles as he raises his sword streaked red with blood...]
Maglor: [horror struck, he grabs Maedhros’ arm] Maitimo…please! [The children both cry out, eyes wide with fear.]
Maedhros: [bends down to them, still speaking in Quenya] Do you understand me? [Neither answer. Maedhros repeats sharply.] Do you understand? Answer me!
Elrond: [replies tremulously] Yes...only a little bit…Please do not kill us. Please!
Elros: [sobbing] We do not have the jewel, we promise!
Maglor: [unable to bear it any longer he hugs the boys to him] Hush….We will not kill you, I swear it.
Maedhros: [stares at him, hollowly.]
Maglor: [turns to Maedhros; quietly but firmly] I love you, brother, and I will not let you do this. You would regret it…
Maedhros: Do not think that you can save my soul, Maglor… I am already damned. What does is matter if I send two more children to Mandos? They can join their mother. Our twin brothers are dead: we shall take their twins.
Maglor: These little children did not kill our brothers, Maedhros! These little children will not bring back our Silmaril. [kneels before the trembling boys, soothing:] You are safe, I promise. Everything will be all right.
Elros: [choking back his sobs] Please let us go!
Elrond: Where is Naneth?
Maglor: [swallows hard] She...she has gone to sea, to find your father.
Elrond: When will she come back?
Maglor: [Gravely] I do not know…
[Suddenly they hear a commotion below in the harbour. Ereinion’s fleet has landed. Maedhros commands his men to fall back and surround Maglor and the boys. The High King of the Noldor comes up the cliff path, backed by his force, looking every inch a king.]
Ereinion: [coldly furious] Come forward and face me! Are you a coward as well as kinslayer, son of Fëanor?
Maedhros: [turns around slowly] I am facing you, Ereinion Gil-galad.
Ereinion: [takes a step towards him] I should run you through with my sword for all that you have done, but I will not become a kinslayer for your sake.
Maedhros: [sarcastically] Noble words, from one descended from a house of kinslayers!
Ereinion: ignores the barb] I Where are Eärendil's sons?
Maedhros: [nods] We have them...they are unharmed.
Ereinion: I demand their return.
Maedhros: You may make all the demands you wish; they are ours now.
Ereinion: [fiercely] As High King of the Noldor, I demand their return!
Maedhros: [calmly] Ere you wave your title before me, consider that it is I who would be High King if not for my own choice to relinquish the title. You are High King by my grace. I swore to make war on anyone who withheld the Silmarils. Elwing withheld the Silmarils. Her sons are prisoners of war.
Ereinion: [softly] For pity's sake, they are but children!
Maedhros: [considers] Two little half-Elves... My two youngest brothers are dead. Twins for twins, it seems...for now. Farewell, Ereinion. [turns around and walks away. His men follow, Maglor leading the twins. Fade.]
End of Episode
*************************************************************************************
[Fade in on Maedhros and his brothers, and their men, waiting in the birch forest of Nimbrethil, just beyond the farthest ring of guards around the city.]
Maedhros: The Haven of Sirion will be under protection of the High King within days...
Maglor: [gloomily] Surely there is still hope Dior's daughter will surrender the Silmaril?
Maedhros: [scoffs] You cannot tell me that in your heart you believe that will happen! [Turns to messenger returning with Elwing's answer. He tears open the letter and reads it. Turns to Maglor angrily:] She tries to postpone her decision and we know why! Each hour brings the ships of Círdan and the soldiers of Gil-galad closer to the Havens.
Maglor: Perhaps she can still be persuaded to change her mind… Think you she will throw away everything they have built in their settlement at the mouth of Sirion for a mere jewel, however radiant?
Maedhros: Does not everyone who has possessed the Silmaril persist in clinging to it, despite the ruination it brings? We have given Elwing a chance to end this standoff without bloodshed, indeed to our mutual benefit, and she has nigh on rejected the offer.
Maglor: [shakes head] She knows what we are capable of, yet she refuses to prevent the blood of her people-- of the rest of her family-- from being spilled!
Maedhros: [sighs] Maglor, have the Silmarils not driven all of us mad? The desire to reclaim them no matter the consequences… I do not believe that there is any persuasion but the sword that will change her mind. I will send for Amrod and Amras, and begin the necessary preparations. [Maglor’s face fills with pain, but he says nothing. Maedhros looks at him, surprised.] You do not protest my decision?
Maglor: [softly] Nay, it would do no good…
Maedhros: [slowly] No, no, it would not. There are no other options, if we are to keep our sworn word and reclaim what we seek. [he straightens himself in the saddle and gives his followers the signal to leave.] The Oath has awoken again and will not rest until the Silmaril of Arvernien is returned to its rightful owners! [cut.]
* * *
[Scene opens on guards on the outskirts of Arvernien being picked off by Maedhros’ men, one by one, silently and without raising an alarm.]
Maedhros: [speaks to his vanguard- riders on great horses] I have divided our forces in two; half are on the western side of the Havens, under the command of Amrod and Amras, while the other half will stay on the eastern side under my control. You are to gallop far into the city and cut off the inhabitants from the ships in the harbour. No one is to escape that way. We should be able to surprise them and reach Eärendil ‘s homestead without too much fighting.
[He waves them off. The riders make their way into the city. The Elves of the Haven have no chance against their attackers. Nonetheless they put up a fierce resistance, some with swords, others with anything at hand. Twice the defenders almost block the assault. With the third attempt Maedhros' troops break through and from this moment on the attack on the Haven of Sirion becomes the Third Kinslaying.]
*
[Cut to a small boat rounding the Cape of Balar to the west of the Havens of Sirion, a lone Elf piloting the vessel. A close up identifies the Elf as Voronwë. As he draws nearer he notices the uproar on the harbour arm that is usually silent and deserted at this time. As the first fires flared up he realizes in horror that the city is under attack. Voronwë turns his small ship around and tacks into the wind as fast as possible towards Balar
Voronwë: [begging under his breath] Please, Ulmo, Lord of all Waters, help me now. [The boat heads southwest towards Balar. Cut.]
*
[Maedhros grunts with effort as he catches a blade aimed for his throat on the edge of the shield strapped firmly to the stump of his right arm, then twists and drives the point of the shield into his opponent's wrist. The Elf shrieks, falling to his knees. Maedhros thrusts his sword into the Elf's chest, then tugs it sharply to remove it. He fends off an assault from his left and looks wildly around for his brothers.
There is a strangled cry, and a combatant near him suddenly pitches forward, twitching from the shock of a blow that has laid the back of his neck open. Maglor stands behind him, his eyes wide, and his blood-spattered face nearly as pale as that of the Elf he has just killed.]
Maedhros: [catches his brother's arm, gasping] We must not let Elwing flee with the Silmaril. Gather your men and follow me, quickly.
Maglor: The twins - have you seen them?
Maedhros: [impatiently] No. We must find Elwing.
Maglor: [warning] Our men are turning on us, Maedhros! [but Maedhros is gone, cutting a path through the crowd that has collected at the bottom of the street. Maglor whirls around just as a body hurtles through the air and knocks him over. He find himself struggling for his life against an enraged, snarling warrior, who he recognizes as belonging to Amrod's company.]
Rebel Elf: [growls] You murderers! Would you even kill babies? You left Dior's sons to die in the woods, and now you attack his daughter in her own home! [Maglor smashes the heel of his hand into his opponent's nose. The warrior's head snaps back, and blood spurts. Squirming out from under his opponent, Maglor stretches out his hand, and grabs his sword, which he has dropped. Summoning a burst of strength, he rises up and plunges his sword in the Elf’s gut. Feeling vaguely sick, Maglor struggles to his feet. Moving towards the great hall, he tries to locate Amrod and Amras.
Ahead of him he sees two of Elwing's guards attack Maedhros. He hamstrings one of them, who falls down and is trampled in the bloody rushes that litter the floor. Maedhros fights desperately, managing to bury his blade in the other's side. Just as the guard collapses, Maglor hears the hum of an arrow and he dives for cover. A second later, he hears a wail of pain as the arrow hits another target behind him. Maglor glances back along the path of the arrow and gasps to see Amrod on the ground, writhing in pain, the arrow protruding from his chest. Beside him, Amras drops his sword and kneels down to take his twin in his arms. Maglor twists and struggles to force his way through the press to reach his brother. He opens his mouth to shout a warning to Amras, but even as Amras scoops Amrod up for a final embrace, one of Sirion’s defenders seizes his chance and drives his sword through Amras's spine at the shoulders. Both twins fall dead in each other's arms.]
Maglor: [brokenly] No!!!! [A body slams against him, and he crashes to his knees again, barely remembering to raise his shield above his head. He remains on the ground, using sword and shield to protect himself until he realizes that the noise of battle has vanished, and one of his lieutenants is hauling him to his feet. He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog.]
Noldo soldier: It is over! The defenders have all been killed or have fled.
[Maglor does not answer, but forces his legs to carry him over to the tangled bodies of Amrod and Amras. Amras's empty eyes are wide with the shock of his death. Beneath his body, Amrod's face is twisted from his final pain. Maglor grasps the arrow embedded in his chest and tugs at it, even as his eyes blur with tears. Another hand covers his hand and stills its frantic motion.]
Noldo soldier: Leave that, my Lord. I will care for them. But you must find Lord Maedhros and the Silmaril without delay, and then we must be gone from this place. [Cut.]
* * *
[Cut to the main harbour of Balar, silent and peaceful. Several Elves sit together on the harbour wall, repairing their nets by the light of a single lamp. The tide is high and the waves gently lap the wooden posts of landing stages and the algae-covered stones.
Camera pan across the harbour to show a ship coming in with a dangerous speed on a white crest of foam. It turns and barges against the stony quay; huge gulls come flying from the sea, their shrill cries echoing over the harbour.Voronwë jumps onto the landing stage and runs towards the warning bell. His stiff, chilled fingers struggle to free the, thick rope…finally freed, he pulls on it with all of his weight. It gives a loud and thundering call, bringing the whole city alive. Cut.]
*
[Cut to Ereinion Gil-galad’s reception hall, where he and Círdan are discussing Elwing’s correspondence with Maedhros.]
Ereinion: [pacing the room] If only she would retreat here, even to relative safety….
Círdan: Retreat would merely delay this day; Maedhros would hunt the Silmaril even unto the shores of Balar, if it resided here. To relinquish the jewel and finish this at long last seems wise to me, but I understand Elwing and her people are decided against that.
Ereinion: [frustrated] The Doriathrim council could not persuade her – I believe naught could convince her to abide without it…
Círdan: The Havens of Sirion are under our protection. Maedhros may be desperate, but I believe all sense has not left him.
Ereinion: Perhaps he will not attack at all, but come only to fall upon his knees before us? I would prefer not to send any soldiers at this moment…I fear that this would aggravate the conflict. It is my hope that an agreement might be reached after Eärendil's return.
Círdan: I would advise we send at least a small guard…we would do well not to underestimate the power of the Oath they swore-- [ they are interrupted by Voronwë hurrying, breathless, into the hall:]
Voronwë: [panting] Noldor… Havens….fire!
Círdan: [aghast] A third Kinslaying??
Ereinion: [angry hiss] How many?
Voronwë: I know not, my Lord…several dozen at the quay but the smoke was too dense to see how many had reached the city. There were fires burning in the higher parts of town. We must go to their aid with all haste – I fear for Elwing and the children.
Ereinion: [turns to aide, urgently] Send all the soldiers we can muster to the ships at once, the rest can follow.
Círdan: This could mean that we will be underscored
Ereinion: I know, but we must take the risk. The crossing will delay us as it is: we cannot afford to lose more time
Círdan: [lays a hand on Ereinion’s arm.] Be careful. They will show no mercy, neither for the High King or for their nephew.
Ereinion: [strapping on his armour; Grimly] And neither will we show mercy for them. [Cut]
* * *
[Scene opens on Elrond and Elros asleep in their bed, cuddled up to one another. In the next room the camera shows Elwing and Idril’s former maid, Meleth, are sitting sewing by candlelight. All is peaceful until suddenly horns sound the alarm, startling her. Elwing’s heart leaps to her throat. Jumping up she goes to the window and peers through the shutters. The sun is sinking westward, but its ruddy light is tinged with a darker stain. The smell of fire reaches her, and the sounds of fighting can be heard above the waves – swords clanging against swords, battle cries in both Sindarin and Quenya, the screams of children, and the dying. Elwing gasps.]
Elwing: [whispers] The Star of Fëanor!
Meleth: [rushes to the window in hotrror: camera shows the many-pointed star rising glittering above the smoke, followed by the personal banners of Maedhros and Maglor.] But there has barely been time for the messenger to return to Maedhros, let alone for him to summon his brothers and organize all of this!
Elwing: [numbly] They did not even wait for my reply!
Meleth: [grabs Elwing’s arm and pulls her from the window,] Elwing, you must stay calm! You must keep your head! Stay here – hide – do not let them take the Silmaril!
[Elwing goes to her room and swiftly retrieves the Silmaril from the trunk by her bed. Casting aside the leather wrapping she puts the necklace around her neck, hiding it beneath her gown and shawl. Shouting fills the courtyard, and Elwing shrinks back into a corner, clutching the shawl to her chest with trembling fingers.]
*
[Cut to Maedhros striding swiftly through the ruin of Eärendíl's house. It has been all but raised to the ground, and its fair halls are now stained with blood. Outside, the sons of Fëanor are emerging victorious and the battle is slowing, but the sound of blade upon blade still rings sharply.
Cut back to Elwing and Meleth : Something crashes in the hallway outside, Elwing covers her mouth with her hand.]
Elwing: [whispers] Dear Eru have mercy on us! The sons of Fëanor do not care whether they hurt innocent children in their quest for the Silmaril…
Meleth: [pulls dagger from her belt] I will not let them harm the babes while I still have breath… [makes for the children’s room. Camera pans back round to the door which flies open, breaking against the wall, and Elwing screams. Maedhros enters, the Star of Fëanor upon his breastplate, which is splattered with blood, both fresh and starting to congeal. It is also caught in his hair, marring the deep russet colour. He looks around, wild eyed and desparate…
As soon as his eyes fall on Elwing, she flees, racing back to the parlour and barring the door behind her. With a shout, he follows, his hand slipping to the sword at his left side. He draws his sword, throws open the door sharply and leaps into the room, sword raised. Elwing lets out a choked scream, flinging her hands up in defence. Her eyes shine with fear as he shuts and bolts the door behind him.]
Maedhros: [quietly] Elwing, give me the jewel!
Elwing: You have lost your right to it!
Maedhros: [levelly] Give it to me...
Elwing: [lifts her chin to meet his eyes] I will not relinquish what my forefather won at such great costs! Neither will I give away the source of much prosperity and light for my people…
Maedhros: [ grim laugh] Look around, you, lady. Do you see prosperity and light? I see death and terror. Your people are scattered and your town in disarray. All who have opposed us are slain. Why have you brought down this destruction on yourself and your folk? Their blood is on your head.
Elwing: [stares at him with unmasked contempt] Their blood is on YOUR hands, Kinslayer! You slaughtered my parents… I know you will slay me whether I give you the jewel or not, such is your cruelty. Why should you be rid of the torment of the Oath? I see no reason to give what you ask… [suddenly, we hear the sound of a struggle in the next room and the terrified screams of a child tear through the air, and Elwing's face pales. ]
Elros: NANETH!, [The cries rise in pitch and intensity, and it becomes clear that there are two children crying for their mother. Elwing makes to go to them, but Maedhros steps across her path and neatly intercepts her. Behind him we hear muffled sobs:hanging limply in the arms of two guards are Elwing's sons]
Maedhros: It would seem that we have reached bargaining ground, would it not? My Simaril, in exchange for your sons.
Elwing: [looks from her children to him with terror-stricken eyes] You left my brothers to starve; now you will murder my children?
Maedhros: [hisses sharply] I did not leave your brothers to starve! [pushes her roughly against a heavy wooden dresser.] Do not speak of what you do not know! [hoarsely] I went looking for them! I searched for them for days; nay, weeks! And I found nothing. [breathing hard, he releases her, tries to compose himself.Elwing staggers back against the wall.] Tell me where the jewel is hidden, and I shall make sure your sons are unharmed…
Elwing: [her eyes blaze with a terrible anger as she believes it would be futile to heed him. She whispers:] You would not return them…You lie! They will never survive this day. [while she speaks she is carefully working her way towards the door, and has eased back the bolt behind her back. In one smooth motion, she opens it and runs out into the night. Caught by surprise, Maedhros is slow to take off after her. As he does so, sword blades are held up before him, and he draws his own sword, prepared to cut down whoever tries to stop him. Camera cut to show a small group of his own forces turned against him.]
Maedhros: [incredulously] What do you mean by this?
Rebel leader: [with show of bravado] We will no longer be murderers of womenfolk and children…
Maedhros: [fixes him with a chilling gaze. Orders softly:] Step aside!
Rebel leader: [earnestly] No.
[Maedhros moves with incredible speed, slitting the Elf’s throat with one swipe, seizing the opportunity to push past the renegade company while their captain slumps bleeding at their feet. He looks around frantically for Elwing, eventually spying a single point of brilliant light, clutched to breast of a woman running towards the sea, tears falling freely down her cheeks. He bolts after her, his eyes never leaving the jewel, fixed on the light bleeding through Elwing’s fingers as she runs headlong towards the cliff edge.
She stops as her right foot finds the edge of the cliff. She stares out at the undulating expanse before her, scanning the horizon in the faint hope that Eärendil might be returned. She glances over her shoulder as Maedhros shouts at her to turn around and come away from the edge, but she can only hear the roaring of the sea and the whispering of the jewel upon her breast. She turns:]
Maedhros: [steps closer, pleading, cajoling] Elwing, please! Think of your children…just give me the jewel and we will leave your family in peace!
Elwing: No, you are lying! You will kill my sons anyway…you are but a heartless monster! [clasping a thin, nervous hand to the Jewel strung around her neck] No one else will die because of me or this cursed jewel… [silently she steps backwards off the cliff. Maedhros rushes forward but his hands close on empty air. Looking down he sees her body falling gracefully towards the waves below…and then she is gone. A great swell takes her, drowning the light of the Silmaril, and Maedhros falls to his knees; He clenches his remaining hand into a fist as a great cry rises from his throat - a blend of animalistic rage and frustration, and utterly consuming sorrow. Moments pass before Maglor comes up behind him.]
Maglor: Sirion is ours, but we do not have much time. Where is Elwing? Have you got the Silmaril?
Maedhros: [hoarsely:] It was all for nothing…Again. We have achieved nothing!
Maglor: [wearily] It is as Mandos foretold: 'Their Oath will drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue.' [ reaches out tentatively and touches his brother's shoulder.]
Maedhros: I do not want to remain in this place of death any longer. [shrugs off his brother’s hand.] Come, let us gather our forces…find our brothers!
Maglor: [chokes] They fell, Maedhros. At one another's sides, to the last.
Maedhros: [slowly closes his eyes.] Only we two remain, then.
[Maglor nods, bowing his head in grief; the camera zooms in behind them on a great white bird rising up out of the white foam upon the waves, silvery wings glittering in the light of the jewel upon its breast. Catching the air currents awkwardly, it soon adjusts, and speeds silently off into the West, unseen by the brothers on the cliff top…
Behind them on the cliff a guard coughs to get the attention of his lords.]
Guard: My Lord? - What is to be done with the Peredhil? [Maedhros rises slowly to his feet and gestures for the soldiers to set the children down.]
Maglor: [speaking in subtitled Quenya so the children will not understand] What shall we do with them?
Maedhros: [impassively] I told Elwing I would return her sons in exchange for our jewel. She gave me no jewel. I should kill them, and be done with it! [He stands before the children: his arm trembles as he raises his sword streaked red with blood...]
Maglor: [horror struck, he grabs Maedhros’ arm] Maitimo…please! [The children both cry out, eyes wide with fear.]
Maedhros: [bends down to them, still speaking in Quenya] Do you understand me? [Neither answer. Maedhros repeats sharply.] Do you understand? Answer me!
Elrond: [replies tremulously] Yes...only a little bit…Please do not kill us. Please!
Elros: [sobbing] We do not have the jewel, we promise!
Maglor: [unable to bear it any longer he hugs the boys to him] Hush….We will not kill you, I swear it.
Maedhros: [stares at him, hollowly.]
Maglor: [turns to Maedhros; quietly but firmly] I love you, brother, and I will not let you do this. You would regret it…
Maedhros: Do not think that you can save my soul, Maglor… I am already damned. What does is matter if I send two more children to Mandos? They can join their mother. Our twin brothers are dead: we shall take their twins.
Maglor: These little children did not kill our brothers, Maedhros! These little children will not bring back our Silmaril. [kneels before the trembling boys, soothing:] You are safe, I promise. Everything will be all right.
Elros: [choking back his sobs] Please let us go!
Elrond: Where is Naneth?
Maglor: [swallows hard] She...she has gone to sea, to find your father.
Elrond: When will she come back?
Maglor: [Gravely] I do not know…
[Suddenly they hear a commotion below in the harbour. Ereinion’s fleet has landed. Maedhros commands his men to fall back and surround Maglor and the boys. The High King of the Noldor comes up the cliff path, backed by his force, looking every inch a king.]
Ereinion: [coldly furious] Come forward and face me! Are you a coward as well as kinslayer, son of Fëanor?
Maedhros: [turns around slowly] I am facing you, Ereinion Gil-galad.
Ereinion: [takes a step towards him] I should run you through with my sword for all that you have done, but I will not become a kinslayer for your sake.
Maedhros: [sarcastically] Noble words, from one descended from a house of kinslayers!
Ereinion: ignores the barb] I Where are Eärendil's sons?
Maedhros: [nods] We have them...they are unharmed.
Ereinion: I demand their return.
Maedhros: You may make all the demands you wish; they are ours now.
Ereinion: [fiercely] As High King of the Noldor, I demand their return!
Maedhros: [calmly] Ere you wave your title before me, consider that it is I who would be High King if not for my own choice to relinquish the title. You are High King by my grace. I swore to make war on anyone who withheld the Silmarils. Elwing withheld the Silmarils. Her sons are prisoners of war.
Ereinion: [softly] For pity's sake, they are but children!
Maedhros: [considers] Two little half-Elves... My two youngest brothers are dead. Twins for twins, it seems...for now. Farewell, Ereinion. [turns around and walks away. His men follow, Maglor leading the twins. Fade.]
End of Episode
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There is magic in long-distance friendships. They let you relate to other human beings in a way that goes beyond being physically together and is often more profound.
~Diana Cortes
~Diana Cortes