The History of the Silmarils - Season 6, Episode 6 Part 1

[Elentári]

Season 6 Episode 6 Part 1

Episode opens on recap of Elwing’s flight to the cliff edge…

[Camera focus on a single point of brilliant light, clutched to breast of a woman running towards the sea, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Maedhros bolts after her, his eyes never leaving the jewel, fixed on its light escaping 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!

[clasps 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… Fade.]

* * *

[Fade back in on scene of Vingilot ploughing through a tranquil sea…the sky is a vault of perfect blue. The creak of the sails and the splash of the water against the hull can be heard as the camera closes in on the occupants.]

Eärendil: It cannot last…if the voyage were truly this straight forward between Balar and Aman then Círdan’s ships would be plying a regular trade!
Aerandir: [nods towards the west.] We will be approaching the Enchanted Isles before long: Ulmo’s goodwill will not see us through them so easily…they are shrouded with confusion.,
Falathar: [gloomily] They say it is possible to wander there endlessly without ever emerging into the clarity of a sunlit day such as this…

Erellont: I have heard that some of Turgon’s envoys rest there still, unaware of whom they are and why they sought the lands beyond the sunset. Once we enter the mists surrounding the Isles, it may be that we will never escape.
Eärendil: [wryly] Do we have any choice in the matter unless we wish to return at once and acknowledge ourselves beaten? We must go on in hope that we have something that no others possessed – and that it will be enough.

[Gradually the sea stills as the haze closes round them like a drift of fine tulle. It feels cold and clammy…an unnatural fear fills their minds and their hearts beat faster, their breathing becoming shallower as the air gives them a sense of being stifled…]

Erellont: I remember Voronwë describing this: it is designed to make those that approach want to do nothing more than leave. He said it is worse at the edges – and it is not easy to escape. Only Ossë’s rage enabled him to break through the barrier.
Eärendil: It seems it will take more than the wish of our hearts to break the ban of the Valar.
Falathar: [curiously] The outside is not the same as the inside… [Frowns] … lines bend on the inside, like the heat haze on a blazing afternoon.
Aerandir: [agrees] It is like looking through molten glass…
Eärendil: Yet we have no choice…we must go on. [Cut.]

*

[Cut to some hours later. The sailors are confused at their lack of progress, The sea is amazingly calm, yet Vingilot moves in steadily forwards, leaving a series of moderate ripples in its wake. Island s loom up faintly through the haze then disappear as the ship continues on its invisible course.]

Falathar: [narrowing his eyes] I would say we are in a narrow band of current, being driven by unseen hands…
Erellont: We are still heading west, my lord, [scratches head] At least, I believe so…
Eärendil: [resigned] We are in the hands of Lord Ulmo, We must remain calm - fighting the sea could make things worse.

Aerandir: We will need to make landfall sometime soon, Captain, or it will not matter who guides us. That or hope for heavy rain. The sea will provide us with food enough, but we need fresh water.
Falathar: Yet it will not be easy to pull out of the current. We must hope that the Lord of the Sea wishes us to make land, or we will watch island after island pass us by as we continue helplessly towards whatever doom awaits us.
Eärendil: We must be prepared for when the current releases us: we know only too well that the attentions of the Lords of the Sea are not always friendly – they demand respect, even when offering their aid. When Ossë tires of helping us, he is only too likely to add a sting to his farewell. [sighs] We will be of little use in our quest if Ossë is permitted to smash Vingilot to kindling and abandon us on some remote strand. [Fade.]

[Fade back in to shot of sun sinking in glories of indigo and deep purple. Vingilot is now totally becalmed. The breeze has stilled and the sails hang motionless on the mast, As far as they can see in any direction the surface of the sea is motionless, like a mill pond of liquid silver.]

Erellont: [muttering] ‘Tis a shame Círdan did not have the foresight to provide Vingilot with oars!
Eärendil: [calmly] We have been becalmed before: the wind will return when it is ready. All we need to do is wait.

[Vingilot drifts; a speck of dust on an infinite ocean. The silence grows heavier, each crew member inspecting the water as if seeking some sign to offer hope.]

Falathar: [murmurs absently] The sea has become our prison…one from which there is no escape.
Aerandir: [helplessly] We need a breeze: without one, we are powerless. And I doubt we can persuade the Valar to aid us. They will not send a wind for our whistling.
Eärendil: [shrugs] It cannot hurt to try…Surely the Lord of the Valar will not close his heart to us once he hears our pleas…

[The four sailors begin to sing softly at first, then more heartily as they join in earnest appeal to the Valar; the sound swells in the still of the night. Camera pans upwards: Against the indigo sky we see the white gull that is Elwing, the Nauglamír still around her neck weighing her down. The flight of the bird grows more and more erratic as she rapidly tires. Nearing the becalmed craft she hears the soft voices of the sailors below her mingling in cheerful harmony in a hymn to Elbereth Star-kindler. As though in recognition, the gull forces her wings to raise her up again, flapping hard. Below her, the singing stops abruptly, and a cry arises:]

Erellont: .Look! A star is falling into the sea!
Aerandir: No, it is a bird! Lord Eärendil! Come and see!

[ Stepping up to the bulwark, Eärendil stares at the bird :]
Eärendil: [in amazement] Surely that is the Silmaril on its chest!
Aerandir: How did such a bird…? [fearfully] Something has befallen Sirion!

[With desperate speed Elwing approaches the vessel; her white feathers appear as though tipped with silver in the moonlight. As she swoops to a halt before Vingilot's helm, Eärendil stumbles back, awestruck and perplexed. Staring at the gull he seems to recognize the sorrowful grey eyes of his wife.]

Eärendil: [confused, murmurs] Elwing? [he blinks, thinking it a passing fog of his mind, but the vision remains, the slender form hovering motionless in the night air. Then her feathered wings stretch up in a gesture of gratitude to the Heavens…with a mew she swoons into the arms of her husband. Eärendil is unprepared to brace the impact which brings him down hard upon the wooden deck. Awkwardly he strives to sit upright, manoeuvring the gull gently in his arms, but she lies still, empty and cold in his helpless arms. He weeps bitterly and holds her close to his chest, sitting unmoving in the darkness. Fade.]

* * *

[Fade into close-up of Eärendil asleep on the deck as morning dawns. Stiff and cold, he opens his eyes… Coughing he tries to sit up, only to find a weight on his chest, pinning him down. He shifts and the camera pans down to show Elwing in her own form, lying across him in undisturbed sleep. Shaking in wonder and relief, Eärendil pulls her closer, wrapping his arms around her. He notices dried tears on her pale face. Sighing, he closes his eyes, and kisses the top of Elwing's head. Camera pan down to Elwing yawning and opening her eyes to the welcome realization of her husband cradling her.]

Elwing: [sighs happily] Eärendil! [Then, as the ship sways she returns to awareness of what she has been through and er face crumbles. Eärendil holds her silently as she weeps. Her eyes are filled with guilt and tears when she looks up at last. She clutches his hand, starts to recall the events, her words stumbling out in a torrent as emotion overtakes her.] They came without warning, not waiting even for our reply to their demands. Their swords spared no one; yea, they even cut each other down, such was their madness! Our home is destroyed: our sons taken in the hope of ransoming them for the jewel but I knew the Fëanorrim’s word was not to be trusted… [sobbing] Forgive me…I leapt into the sea with the Silmaril around my neck, hoping that further deaths would be prevented by mine… [closes her eyes, remembering] The sea came up to meet me - I screamed - but it was the desolate cry of a seabird: [in wonder] I was myself, yet different! I rose out of the waters as a gull on the wing and the wind hurled me westwards towards the Horizon in search of you.

Eärendil: Our sons…gone??? [heartbroken] I knew that sacrifice would be demanded when I set out on this quest, but the sacrifice was supposed to be mine…not that of the innocent! [caresses her cheek softly] Thank Ulmo I did not lose you to ruin as well…
Elwing: [in tearful anger] But it was not I who was saved, was it? It was the Silmaril….I was just the tool of the Valar to bring it to you! [Grasping suddenly at her chest, she tears the Nauglamír from her neck.] Take it! This has brought health and happiness to none. Take the only hope that remains for us and use it well.
Eärendil: [closes his palms around the jewel, Touches his forehead to his wife’s in anguish.] How in Eru’s name has it come to this? [Fade.]

* * * * *

[Scene opens on Voronwë standing on the beach at Arvernien, looking west over the waves of the Great Sea. Behind him we hear the activity of Círdan and the Eves of Balar gathering up the refugees, helping them ready the dead for burial. Nothing but ashes and charred beams is left of the once cosy houses. More than half the population are dead or severely wounded. Círdan’s voice, rich with authority, directs the effort, grief and determination in his eyes. Voronwë closes his eyes, despair washing over him like wave; he does not hear Círdan approaching.]

Círdan: [gently] Voronwë. It is the Will of the Valar…you must not blame yourself
Voronwë: I should have gone to their aid…instead all is lost! The Haven, Elwing…the …children: All gone. [Voronwë looks at Círdan in remorse, tears in his eyes] What will I say when - if Eärendil returns? “Take care of them,” his parents bade me: “Keep them safe."
Círdan: [gruffly but kindly] You could not have stemmed the tide on your own. You did the right thing in raising the alarm on Balar. All is not lost if he succeeds…
Voronwë: [frowns] If….what if he fails, if he is lost, too? What hope for Elros and Elrond then?
Círdan: We will not rest until they are returned to us, or their fate decided of their own free will…
[places comforting hand on Voronwë’s shoulder.] Faithful you have ever been, Voronwë. Do not quail now in this storm. Hold fast, my friend.

[Voronwë nods, and breathes in deeply of the sea air which is blowing over the haven, driving the smoke away. Círdan turns and walks back to rejoin the others. Fade.]

* * * * *

[Fade back to Eärendil, with the Silmaril in his hands, leaning on the bulwark, oblivious of his silent tears falling to join the ocean below. Low clouds drift by; luminous under the full moon. A breeze has picked up and the creak of wood, along with the gentle flap of the sails, echoes in the darkness. Aerandir approaches hesitantly.]

Aerandir Manwë has answered our prayers: the wind has picked up at last… [respectfully] Shall we attempt to return to the mainland, my Lord?
Eärendil: [squares his shoulders, turns to face Aerandir.] What hope awaits us there but our ruined homes and slain kin?
Aerandir: [bows his head, but does not answer]
Eärendil: [softly] Do you wish to return, Aerandir? I am Lord of naught but this ship, now. Tell me to bring your feet to solid land, and I will do so.
Aerandir: [lifts his chin] No, my Lord— my friend. Ever have I believed that our salvation lies in your hands, and I believe it still. [he sighs] I am sorry for your sons. They were a delight in life. Though their years were few, at least they were spent in joyful innocence.
Eärendil: [shakes his head] Your words are caring, and I thank you, though even such kindness causes my heart pain.

Aerandir: [nods in understanding. Tentatively:] Perhaps there are other survivors, besides the lady Elwing. [He shudders.] Though… the sons of Fëanor are not known for their compassion. 'Tis said that any survivors of Doriath were slain.
Eärendil: [quietly] That is what I fear. Only those who could flee and fend for themselves will be spared the Fëanorrim’s mercy. I have no hope for my sons' escape; thus none for their survival. [He meets Aerandir's eyes, and tries to comfort him,] But forget not Elwing's message to the High King. Though his Fleet may not have arrived in time, it will come nevertheless. And if there are survivors who fled or hid or were spared, they will gather to him.
Aerandir: [forces a brave smile] I will maintain our course, and keep watch. Best you take some rest below deck.

[Eärendil nods and walks past. Below deck all is quiet, save for the faint creak of wood as he descends the stairs. Two cabins are on each side of a narrow walkway. Eärendil hears muted murmurs passing through the door on his left, which is ajar.]

Falathar: My wife was in Sirion, I know not whether to hope she survived or that her end came swiftly.
Erellont: [places a hand on his friend’s back.] The best we can do for them is continue our quest, and hope to bring succour to those who remain.
Falathar: [sighs] I would rather have a sword in my hand and the Kinslayers before me…
Erellont: [with grim satisfaction] At least they have lost all hope of attaining what they sought, and if they have the courage to challenge Morgoth for the other two jewels, then we can but hope his revenge on them will be long-drawn-out and unpleasant.

[Eärendil steps into the room. Inside is a small table, with 3 lockers and bunks lining the walls. Erellont and Falathar sit together, their talk halting when Eärendil enters. Falathar looks at Eärendil awkwardly. His face is drawn with sorrow and weariness; it is clear he has been weeping not long before.]

Eärendil: There is naught we can do now, for our people or our home. Truly our path lies now to Valinor, for better or worse. If nothing else we shall be closer to Mandos' Halls and our kin who have gone before us… .
Erellont: [hurriedly] We will make it, my Lord.
Eärendil: Aerandir has the helm. One of you should relieve him at Dawn. I shall take my leave, [turns.] Good night.

[Eärendil leaves his shipmates and walks the short distance to his room. Entering he sees Elwing, lying on his bunk. As he enters she turns her head to look at him. ]

Elwing: You look asleep on your feet! [Crossing to her, Eärendil begins to loosen his clothing and collapses to sit on the bed facing her. Elwing reaches for his face, caressing it softly.]
Eärendil: [places the Silmaril beside the bed. Sighs.] I see no hope left in the lands of Middle-earth… There is no other way: either we will come someday to the Blessed Realm, or we will not. [gestures to the Silmaril] I believe you have brought me the one thing that might persuade the Lords of the Valar to grant us passage…
Elwing: [nods, running her hand down his arm to clasp his hand.] And I am beside you on this journey, as I have always wished. [Smiling bravely, she blinks back the tears in her eyes.] Though I find this is not what I wanted after all, or else you would see me joyful before you, not in undiminished misery!
Eärendil: [weakly] We will mourn for our sons, and nothing will seem as it should until that shadow is lifted, or lessened. But it does not mean that we will never know happiness again. [leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead] Beloved… I am so weary. Let us rest together: let this night pass us by, until the dawn brings new light. And I will love you even through darkness and doubt; this I promise.
[He lies down next to her, taking her in his arms, and in gentle loving their pain is eased a little. Fade.]


* * * * *

[Elentári]

* * * * *

[Scene opens on Fëanorrim campsite in the northern fringes of Taur im dunath. Elrond and Elros sit close to a campfire, firmly holding each other's hands, looking around with a mixture of curiosity and fear in their eyes. Maglor observes the identical small boys, their wide eyes filled with confusion. The sight breaks his heart. He turns to Maedhros who is unsaddling his horse.]

Maglor: Do you remember when Amras and Amrod were that young?
Maedhros: [follows Maglor's gaze.] Yes, I do. [morosely] A poor exchange for the Silmaril.
Maglor: [raises an eyebrow] They are not mere chattels - they are two abandoned children in need of a loving home…
Maedhros: Maglor, They are all what stands between us and Gil-galad: hostages, nothing more.
Maglor: And how long will we have to keep them? Do you believe our cousin will not want revenge for what happened? No, the boys have to be with us, or he would be at our heels at once. And how do you intend to make them stay? Will you keep them chained as prisoners for the rest of this Age? They are children, Maedhros. What will you do?
Maedhros: [reluctantly] I do not know...

Elrond: [crying] Naneth! I want Naneth…
Maglor: [stands up and walks over to the boys. He crouches down, speaks softly] Your naneth is not here…but she asked me to take care of you. She wants you to come with me.
Elros: Where?
Maglor: To my home. It is far away, but I think you will like it there. It is on a big hill.
Elrond: [unsure] Naneth wants us to go there?
Maglor: Yes, she wants you to come with me. I am a distant cousin - I knew your great-grandfather.
[Elros looks to his twin, full of uncertainty, but Elrond does not let his eyes leave Maglor's face.]
Elrond: [shivering] I am cold.
[They huddle closer together. Maglor sits down beside them and very carefully wraps them into a comfortingly warm blanket.]

Maglor: [gently] You must be very tired.
Elrond: [nods] Maglor: What are your names, young ones?
Elros: I am Elros and he is Elrond..
Maglor: [smiles] Those are fine names. I am Maglor and this is my brother, Maedhros.
Elrond: [exclaims] Our cousins from the East!
Maglor: [frowns a little] You have heard of us?
Elrond: Yes, you are Celebrimbor’s uncles…and you – [points to Maglor] – are a singer!
[Maedhros approaches them and kneels beside Elros, smiling a little.]
Maedhros: That is true enough. Do you remember aught else about us?
Elrond: [thinking hard] No.
[Maglor and Maedhros exchange meaningful glances. Then Maedhros shrugs. Maglor pulls the blanket closer around the twins.]
Maglor: Once I had brothers, twins just like you. I brought them to bed and sang for them until they fell asleep . [Gently he encourages the children to lie down on the bedding rolls and begins to sing. The twins listen with fascination, the melody and the sound of Maglor's voice lulling them to sleep swiftly. With a sad smile Maglor strokes their cheeks.]
Maglor: Losto vae, pinneth… [subtitled: sleep well, little ones.] [Fade.]

* * * * *

[Fade into Dawn: Eärendil and Elwing ascend to the deck, walking hand in hand as the sunrises. Eärendil wears the Silmaril bound upon his brow. Erellont greets them each in turn, having relieved Aerandir at the helm, then gestures to the eastern horizon and the rosy dawn:]
Erellont:. The fine morning is evidence that the haze is lifting....

Eärendil: [nods, and passes a hand over his drawn face] So it seems… [releases his arm from Elwing and gestures her to go and converse with Falathar.]
Erellont: For what reason did Ulmo send the stone to you? Do you understand his purpose?
Eärendil: [smiles bitterly] I believe so. Only the light of the Silmaril, can direct our path through the Shadowy Seas to the Lonely Isle and onward. It is called home and the illusions of the Valar cannot confuse it.
Erellont: [Eyes the jewel warily] Then our path is in your hands, my lord, for I do not believe that the gem will allow any but you to touch it.
Eärendil: It belongs to none, now. It remains in my keeping only until I can offer it to the Lords of the Valar.
Erellont: That is wise

[Cut to Elwing stepping carefully to the railing, sniffing the fresh, salty air. Peering down to the water, she jumps back with a yelp as a great grey creature leaps chattering out of the water, followed by another, and then another. Falathar laughs and joins her. ]
Falathar: Dolphins: They often follow our ships, and are great friends to many sailors who learn their tongue. [Elwing looks at him; he seems cheerful enough, but there are dark circles under his eyes.]
Elwing: [hesitantly] I am sorry I could not bring you news of your wife. The road has not been easy in our coming thus far.
Falathar: [nods and smiles weakly but it does not reach his eyes] We can but trust in the Valar…

[Eärendil rejoins Elwing at the prow. He stands with Elwing, his arm wrapped around her waist, and the Silmaril bound upon his brow, its light seemingly growing greater as they draw nearer the West. Cut.]

*

[Cut to Vingilot flying smoothly over the waves, her passage seemingly opened before her, like a moon-path on the dark sea. The haze of confusion that clings to the Isles draws back and the air feels fresher. Although the wind remains against them it blows with less force. Camera focus on Elwing and Eärendil on deck whilst Falathar is at the tiller.]

Elwing: We are making much better progress now…surely we will be in reach the shores of Aman within another day– sooner if the Lord of the Waters sees fit to lend a little assistance…
Eärendil: [smiles] Ulmo has done what he can, but it is for us to find the way and for me to ask for aid. I would not wish his clear favour to prejudice our standing with the other Valar.
Elwing: [sighs] Aye. the time will come soon enough. Have you thought on how you will plead your case before Manwë?
Eärendil: [shrugs] How does one address a Vala? How does one beseech the aid of those who have condemned your kin to exile and unending sorrow? Surely enough blood has been shed to satisfy even the wrath of the Valar. I do not believe that I shall win them over with eloquence, my love. My plea will come from my heart.

[He holds his wife in his arms as they sit out of the wind to watch the dance of the stars. He turns her head to meet his eyes.] It still does not feel right to me to bear the Silmaril when it is yours, after all.
Elwing: [shivers.] I do not want it…it seems fitting that a son of the House of Finwë should return it to the one who made the Trees from which its light comes.
Eärendil: [clasps her to him and wraps his cloak around them both.] True enough, my lady. [They rest in silence for a while, watching the play of light on the water.]

Elwing: [wistfully] Do you think we will ever be reunited with Elros and Elrond? [She sighs] They say the souls of Elves rest with Mandos to be reborn, but I do not know what becomes of men who have received Eru’s gift. Do you think they go to meet their loved ones beyond the world?
Eärendil: [firmly] I believe that one day we will all be together again – we, our children and our parents.
Elwing: [glances up at him.] I hope so…
Eärendil: [rests his cheek on her hair] So do I but our desires and needs do not matter. This quest is not for us – not for personal gain, my love. It is for all those who have no voice; the weak and oppressed, the powerless; those who have lost any hope of salvation. We must simply do our best and trust that it will be enough. [Fade.]

* * *

[Fade into close up of Falathar gazing at the horizon, shielding his eyes with his hand, some days later: The confusion of the Enchanted Isles slips behind them as they emerge to see blue seas below a sky of flawless perfection. The waves sparkle with a vivid brilliance that makes him screw up his eyes until they begin to adjust to the brightness. Suddenly he blinks and stares harder. Camera cut to show what he is seeing: a smudge of white cliffs on the horizon reflecting the morning sun.]

Falathar: [exclaims] Land ho, my lord! ‘Tis the Lonely Isle…
Eärendil: Tol Eressëa? [his hand clutches convulsively at the tiller. Turns to Elwing:] What hope that my parents could have made it this far?
Elwing: Do you wish to go ashore and see for yourself?
Eärendil: [conflicted] Aye, you know I would…but my hearts says we dare not tarry.
Falathar: Beyond the isle, land extends as far as my eyes can see in either direction.
Aerandir: Which way you think will bring us safe into harbour?’
Eärendil: My mother spoke of the pass of Calacirya.. a cleft between the mountains, beyond the swan haven of Alqualondë. We must look for that.
Aerandir: [shrugs] That is as good a course as any!

[the crew move to the halyards to adjust the sails and carry them on their new course. They toil unceasingly to guide Vingilot smoothly round the Lonely Isle. As they draw northwards they see the harbour arch of Alqualondë, but they do not linger. The sea shows an infinite variety of shades as the vessel cuts between the shallows and reefs of the Bay of Eldamar.]

Elwing: We are being observed… [she gazes across the waters to a small fishing fleet, where silver-haired elves pause in hauling on their nets to stare in amazement at the light of the Silmaril guiding the weather-beaten ship among them.. The shoreline grows nearer, the soft cliffs climbing up from a wide beach. Behind them, trees of bright green blow in the gentle wind and bright birds of red and blue and gold fly above the canopy. The ship touches the seabed gently and Aerandir and Falathar drop anchor hastily before Vingilot becomes too firmly grounded Eärendil his crew.]

Eärendil: My friends, from this point on I must go alone. [cries of objection rise immediately from all except Elwing who is ominously silent. He raises a hand to silence them.] No: Landing in the Undying Lands is a danger greater than I intend you to share. Here none but myself shall set foot, lest you fall under the wrath of the Valar. That peril I will take on myself alone, for the sake of the Two Kindreds. [He takes up a small pack and turns to his crew, looking at each one steadily.] Wait here as long as you can, but do not leave it too long. If I do not return, then attempt to set sail and return to the east.

Aerandir: [embraces him affectionately] Be safe, my lord...
Eärendil: [returns the embrace] Look after my lady. [he turns to Elwing, holding her close, bidding her farewell in his heart, even as he promises her that he will do his best to return. He leaps over the side to wade through the warm salty water to the untrodden shore.]

Elwing: [shakes her head in numb denial.] No! I will not remain here, like a piece of luggage to be left. Then would our paths be sundered for ever; but all your perils I will take on myself also.
Eärendil: [turns] Please, Elwing, I do not wish to put you in danger. [but before any can stop her, she leaps into the foam and runs towards her husband.]
Elwing: I do not care if this is the end of me or not, I cannot bear to be left again!
Eärendil: [Clasps her tightly] For all I would do anything to protect you, you are still subject to the wrath of the Valar for breaking their ban.
Elwing: And yet I would risk all for you...

[Taking her hand, Eärendil follows the coast until they find a white road that heads inland. They establish a comfortable camp, with food in plenty and fresh water.]
Eärendil: [pleading] I know you wish to stay by my side, but await me here, please, my love. [touches his fingers to her lips to still her objections.] One only may bring the message that it is my fate to bear. [He combs her silky hair back from her face and looks into her eyes.] Stay here, Elwing,,, please?
Elwing: [Nods. Softly:] I will look for your coming tomorrow at dawn… [Eärendil turns a final despairing glance on his ship and her crew and then heads inland. Fade.]

* * *

[Fade back in to Eärendil making his way up from the coast and up into the pass of Calacirya where the light of the Two Trees once shone through the Pelóri mountains to brighten the Lonely Isle. Everywhere the countryside is more lush, the flowers brighter, the birdsong more melodious. Despite his anxious searching, he finds no sign of Elves, neither waiting to reject his unwelcome presence and drive him back into the sea, nor coming forward to welcome him. The land is seemingly deserted.

He eats a little, drinking from streams of fresh water and seeking only the berries and nuts that hang heavy from some of the vines. And the light at his brow grows brighter with each passing moment as he moves more deeply into Aman, so that by the time he reaches the green hill of Túna, it shines like a beacon.

Eärendil enters into the city of Tirion: it appears to be deserted. He follows the sound of trickling water, until he comes upon fountains made of white stone, reminiscent of the fountains of Gondolin. He kneels and drinks from the waters. He steps away from the merry fountain, and stares at the vacant streets. The dust of diamonds hangs in the air and collects on his clothing as he passes through it.. White sunlight reflects off the tainted windows, the alabaster walls; the pavements and the roofs of gold. He climbs the long white stairways and walks among the tall gleaming houses, appearing as a star come to land.]

Eärendil: [musing aloud] Only now do I understand the foolishness of Turgon…

[He climbs upon the top of the hill, step by step, and stands in its centre. He looks down at the great square, where the Noldor rebellion began so long ago: now the square is clear and barren, and no torch flares in the searing daylight. He calls out in both tongues of the Elves and that of Men:]

Eärendil: Lords of the West! Powers of Arda…hear now your faithful servant! [but no voice answers his. We see Eärendil start down yet another deserted street of Tirion, passing more empty houses and a few more closed shops. Looking up at the late-afternoon sun, he realizes he has been engaged in this fruitless endeavour for several hours now.]

Eärendil: [cries aloud again] A Elbereth Gilthoniel! Kindler of Stars, hear me, O Lady clear!
[his voice echoes eerily among the seemingly uninhabited buildings. He cries once more] Tuor? Idril? Son of Men and Lady of Elves…’tis Eärendil, your son!

[Again his only answer is silence. Coughing hard to clear his parched throat, his voice hoarse from shouting, he turns down one last empty alley and decides to give up his pointless search.]

Eärendil: [in desperation] How can it be that these streets are deserted? What evil has come to the Blessed Realm that even the Valar have departed beyond the bounds of this land of infinite peace?

[By the time he reaches the city gates, anger overwhelms him: He punches one of the great pillars supporting the gates as hard as he can, the pain and exertion an outlet for his frustration and despair. He hammers at it with his fist again and again until his hand bleeds and his arm and shoulder ache from the punishment. He cries aloud to the Valar in one last attempt to be heard:]

Eärendil: Is all the hope of Middle-earth in vain? Was it not the design of Eru that his children, admitting the wrong of their pride and begging for forgiveness, should know relief from their sorrows? [Shaking his head, he exits through the unguarded city gate. Tears begin to slip down his face, one for every step he takes, one for every life lost, one for every person he has failed...]

Eärendil: [voiceover] Oh, Elwing! What have I done? I have come too late. I have failed you. I have failed the Sindar and Noldor, now bereft of every home they have ever known. I have failed everyone…

[His slow decent finally meets the level ground of the seaward road. With naught left to do but return to his ship and take council with his wife, he turns and begins the long trudge back to the sea…

Camera cut to the hill of Tuna above him. Eönwë, herald of Manwë the King of Arda stands silent, watching, marvelling at the beauty of this strange being blended of the two kindreds of the Children of Eru, with the Silmaril boldly bound upon his brow. Eönwë's heart is moved to pity and awe.]

Eönwë : [in a mighty voice] Hail Eärendil, radiant star! Of mariners most renowned, and messengers most fair… the looked for that cometh at unawares, the longed for that cometh beyond hope! Hail Eärendil, bearer of light before the Sun and Moon!

[Eärendil stops in his tracks and turns to face the voice:. The Sun is in his eyes; he sees only the dark, imprecise silhouette, outlined against a sky of burning white, and he thinks it a dream.]

Eönwë : I am Eönwë, herald of Manwë, Lord of the Breath of Arda. I am come to summon you before the Powers of Arda, that you might fulfil the destiny laid upon you.

Eärendil: My Lord. [bows] I had thought these lands to be deserted…
Eönwë : [smiles.] You have, by chance, come at a time of festival. Those who dwell here in Tirion are gathered in great Manwë’s Halls upon Taniquetil for the celebrations. And it is as well they are there, for your words will concern them as they do the Lords of the Valar.
Eärendil: [draws a deep breath.] Hope rises again in my breast! I had thought that all was lost – and still it may be – but at least Lord Manwë will permit me to put my plea. [Cut.]

* * *

[Elentári]

[Cut back to Elwing waking up at the margin of the sea. The fire has died down to softly glowing embers in the early dawn. As she looks out to sea she sees the fishing boats of the Teleri returning to the harbour. The time passes slowly for her, waiting in the silence of the empty land. She begins to fear that Eärendil’s quest has failed, and that she will never see him again. Dousing the fire, she wanders further northwards along the shoreline until she sees the gleaming white arches of the Swan Haven. As she approaches, tall elves with silver hair and eyes of frosted grey behold her with shocked and wary faces.]

Telerin Elf: [cautiously] You are not of Aman... [Elwing shakes her head, fighting to keep the tears of desperation from rolling down her face. A female Teleri steps forward, and embraces her kindly.]
Telerin Elf 2: Be welcome, child of the Outer Lands and tell us your story, for we long to hear of our kin beyond the sea. [Cut.]

* * *

[Cut to Eönwë and Eärendil ascending the slopes of Taniquetil towards the Mansions of Manwë and Varda. Eärendil is glowing brighter still with the diamond dust on his clothing reflecting the brilliance of the Silmaril on his brow. The Elves of the Vanyar and the Noldor have gathered, first in small numbers, then in larger crowds to look in wonder on this stranger who is both son of the Exiles and child of the Secondborn and whose shining form exceeds the brightness of even the most ancient of the Elves.

They stop at last before the Halls of Ilmarin at the head of a silent crowd. Golden Vanyar and dark-haired Noldor, interspersed with small groups of silver-haired Teleri, watch him intently No-one speaks.]


Eönwë: [smiles] The time is come, Son of the Two Kindreds, for you to deliver your errand.

[Eärendil draws a deep breath and, casting a final look round, follows the Maia into the presence of the Valar. A beam of light cuts through the wide archway, its path drawing Eärendil forward. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Eärendil walks forward to meet his fate with as much dignity as he can muster.

For a moment, Eärendil has to screw up his eyes against the glow emanating from the figures. He slows until the glow dims to an endurable level, and opening his eyes, he sees seated before him the Lords of Valinor and their Queens tall and shining and beautiful beyond compare. The air is thick with their power. His mouth goes dry and he drops to his knees, awaiting the instruction to rise and present his plea.

There is silence…then Eärendil becomes aware that, beyond the realm of his hearing, he is the object of heated telepathic discussion between the Valar. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the ground, he suddenly feels a cool hand take his and draw him to his feet: Before him stands the tall slender figure of Varda, robed in gauzy white that twinkles softly beneath a midnight blue mantel. Her bright gaze is piercing, as though her eyes see into the depth of his soul.]

Eärendil: [respectfully inclines his head] My Lady Starkindler…
Varda: Long have we awaited your coming, Eärendil, son of Tuor, for in your hands has been the fate of all Arda [She smiles, and returns to her seat almost imperceptibly, her pale elbow resting on the white marble arms of her throne. Camera focus on Manwë, imposing in full regalia of blue robes and sceptre of sapphire
Manwë: Speak, thou Splendour of the Children of Earth, for we would hear your errand.

Eärendil: Great Ones… Lords of the West and Powers of Arda: I stand before you in supplication… [closes his eyes briefly, unable to think in the intensity of the stares that consumes him.] As representative of both the Eldar and the Edain have I sailed to fair Valinor from the perils of the Hither Lands. Our sorrows are great, for Morgoth’s power has grown so strong that none in Middle Earth are safe from his venom and the Children of Eru are broken beneath his cruelty. [He pauses, drawing a painful breath.] Can you not find it in your hearts to pity our sorrows and forgive the Noldor their arrogance? [imploring] I beg pardon for the Noldor, and mercy upon both Men and Elves who have had no choice but to live in a land corrupted by one whose power only you can match… Succour them in their need, Great Ones, for without your compassion, all will fail!

Mandos: [solemnly.] And what of the Kinslayers? Do they deserve pardon also for their rebellion and taking the lives of their kin?
Eärendil: [raises his chin to meet Mandos’ stern gaze.] They are yet Children of Eru and for them, too, I beg forgiveness. They owe restitution and their actions should not go unpunished for the wrong they have done is beyond the pale, but they acted first from love and loyalty and then from the madness of an inescapable oath.

Manwë: [studies Eärendil’s shining form.] I sense no deceit in you. I have seen and heard much that leads me to wish to grant this plea. The Hither Lands writhe under the lash of our brother – and without our care, the purpose of Eru himself will not be met. [inclines his head] We will consider how your prayer may be granted. You will be summoned to the Máhanaxar, the place of Judgement when our decision has been reached.
Eärendil: [turns obediently in response to a wave of Manwë’s hand, before stopping and turning back. He speaks tentatively] Holy Ones…

[The Valar turn their gaze to him again as one and he takes an involuntary step backwards before gathering his courage and moving forward again.]

Eärendil: Airë Yavanna, Though made by the skill of Fëanor, the Silmarils embody the last remnants of the Two Trees, which gave light to these do Blessed Lands. Two remain still in Morgoth’s crown, yet Beren and Lúthien the Fair sacrificed much to free this one which I humbly return to your care. [He reaches up to his brow and removes the Silmaril. He holds the jewel out before him. The Powers of Arda still and the atmosphere becomes electric.]

Aulë: [marvelling in awe and no little pride at the sight of the Nauglamír to which the Silmaril is still attached] This necklace is among the greatest works of the Dwarves!
Ulmo: [rumbles softly] Why do you offer this now?
Eärendil: [surprised] The jewel has served its purpose: I bore it merely to find my way to these lands. I not believe the Silmarils are the property of any: their light is a gift to all.

[He hesitates as no-one comes forth to take the gem, then places it instead before the Lady of the Earth on the white marble. He bows profoundly and, when nothing further is said, withdraws again from the Ring towards a smiling Eönwë. Camera cuts back to the Valar contemplating the pure light of the Silmaril.]

Yavanna: Do you not wonder that one who has borne the Silmaril could surrender it with his good will, while its creator, the mightiest among the Noldor, driven by the fire of his own heart, was consumed by his passion for the jewel?
Mandos: Yet, though he shines with the light of the Two Trees, shall mortal man step living upon the undying lands, and live? However just, however noble, he is a child of the Secondborn.
Ulmo: For this he was born into the world. And tell me this: Is he Eärendil Tuor’s son of the line of Hador, or the son of Idril, Turgon’s daughter of the Elven-house of Finwë?
Mandos: [Implacably] Equally the Noldor, who went wilfully into exile, may not return hither.
Nienna: [gently] But as Doom is declared, so it may be lifted. I have mourned enough over the fate of the Exiles. I say the time has come to bring home those who would ask forgiveness. Their defiance has been punished and they are wiser for their experience. [the other Valar murmur, debating the idea. Cut.]

* * *

[Cut back to Eärendil journeying swiftly back to the sea in search of his wife. He feels lighter, as if some dreadful burden has been lifted and his heart is filled with joy. But it is almost noon when he reaches the shore where he left Elwing, and there is no sign of her other than the abandoned, long-dead fire. Camera focus on Eärendil’s face, shocked and worried. Searching frantically, he wanders further from the camp, until he sees her footsteps partly washed away by the incoming tide and starts to follow them. Fade.]

* * * * *

[Scene opens on the Fëanorrim riding towards Amon Ereb. Elrond and Elros are mounted in front of Maedhros and Maglor respectively. Both boys are dozing in the early hours of the chilly morning. Mists are lying low and the sky is a gloomy grey, with thick dark clouds obscuring the Sun. ]

Maglor: [wraps his cloak tighter around Elros.] We must ask around the village for children’s clothing that I might borrow, and perhaps, some old toys that could be spared, at least until I can make new ones …
Maedhros: So you have already begun to plan for their arrival! I can see that you will care for them well.
Maglor: [shrugs] We left Sirion in such a hurry, there was no time to gather anything but cloaks to wrap them in. The clothes they are wearing will need washing [fingers a bloodstain on Elros’ tunic] …or burning. [sighs] I have to believe that Amrod and Amras did not die in vain. Someday, we will recover Father’s jewels.
Maedhros: [laughs bitterly] And that will soothe all the hurts we have accrued over the years? [Maglor winces] No, it will not, but it will fulfil our Oath, the promise we made to Father as he lay dying in my arms.
Maglor: My heart is sick and weary with the burden of that dreadful Oath... [glances at the two boys. Softly:] besides, I have jewels of my own now…

[Camera pans round to the imposing stronghold looming ahead of them. Built entirely of solid, grey stone from the high, thick battlements to the cobble-stoned ground; the large front gates are fitted with spikes, and guards are at their posts, their lances long and keen. From the tops of the two highest towers pennants flutter, bearing the emblem of Fëanor. Maedhros and his company make their way up to the entrance, the massive wood-and-iron gates swinging slowly open as the riders gallop into a large courtyard. Elrond, now awake, looks frightened and cold as he realizes escape is impossible for two children within the impregnable walls.

Maedhros dismounts in a flourish and then helps Elrond down. Maglor lifts Elros to the ground and the two boys cling to one another. The company disperses, and the children are led inside by the two brothers. Inside it is spacious and cool, the windows glazed. Dark carpets stretch along the hallways, and bright lamps hang from the ceilings. Tapestries decorate the walls, and fires roar in large hearths. Servants throw tentative, strange looks at the children as they make their way through the fortress. After a while the brothers stop and exchange some muttered words in Quenya…]

Maglor: [in a low voice] I know that I am bound to follow your commands as the head of the House of Fëanor, but I beg you not to call me to war while Elros and Elrond are still small. We owe them that much, at least.
Maedhros: [ presses his lips together, then nods] I think it will do us both good to know that we will not be going to war again for a while, as long as circumstances permit.

[Maedhros turns and leaves the children in Maglor’s charge. Maglor looks after him for a few moments, as if pondering something, and then turns to the boys:]

Maglor: I will take you to your room. [He leads them up a narrow, winding staircase that is somewhat dimly lit, and on one of the landings he stops in front of an arched wooden door. Opening it, Maglor ushers them inside. The boys enter warily, as if expecting the door to be slammed and locked behind them, but Maglor stands patiently as they take in their new accommodation. The chamber is quite airy, with a large bed covered in soft furs and heavy rugs on the floor. There is a desk and two chairs pushed against one of the walls and a small shelf of leather-bound books next to them. An armoire made of oak stands in one corner. There is a tall window fitted with thick glass on the wall facing west. Looking out of it, the children realize they are nearly a hundred feet above the harsh, rocky ground. They turn and look back at Maglor.]

Maglor: [gently] You may rest today. You are welcome to eat in the Great Hall once you feel more at home with us, but for now I think you might prefer to have your meals alone in here? [boys give small nods I will ask a servant to bring you your food shortly. You are free to wander whither you will, but do not go anywhere near the battlements or up the towers. This fortress is large, and it is easy to get lost. [gives what he hopes is a comforting smile.] Do you wish to know anything else?

Elros: [takes a shaky breath] Yes. When can we go home?
Maglor: [sighs and crosses his arms.] ] Your home at Arvernien was destroyed, and we could not leave you out in the wild... For now, you are to live here, with us. But, when you come of age, you will be allowed to leave if you wish. [He turns to go.]
Elrond: [quietly] Is our mother dead?
Maglor: [stops and turns slowly, almost reluctant to meet the boys’ eyes.] I do not know… We saw her leap into the sea. No one knows if she lives…’though it is unlikely. I am very sorry.
Elros: [swallows bravely] What about our father? If he is alive, and comes looking for us, how will he know where we are?
Maglor: [calmly] It is well known that Maedhros and I dwell here at Amon Ereb. If he is looking for you, he will learn soon enough that you are with us. [places a gentle hand on each boy’s shoulder] I know you are both very frightened—and that I am the cause of it as much as anyone—but you must know that you are safe now. No one will harm you. [He exits the room, shutting the heavy door behind him. . Elros and Elrond stand confused, alone in the large room of their enemy's fortress.]

Elros: [warily] He treats us like we are his guests, yet it feels as though we are prisoners all the same… [ Elrond says nothing but reaches for his brother’s hand and clasps it tightly. Fade.]

* * * * *

[Cut to Eärendil reaching the Haven of Alqualondë. He finds Elwing residing in the palace of Olwë. She runs to him and he takes her in his arms, swinging her around joyfully.]

Eärendil: My love…I feared some dreadful fate had stolen you from me whilst I was seeking audience with the Valar.
Elwing: [in remorse] I am sorry, Beloved…I became afraid when you did not return and fearing you were lost to me, I sought out our kin in Aqualondë… [gestures towards Olwë who comes forward to greet them.]
Olwë: Welcome, Eärendil, son of Idril. You are of Finwë’s House, but we bear Idril no ill-will for events in which she took no part and over which she had no control. Still less do we blame you, who were not born until centuries after the sons of Fëanor slew our people and stole our ships.

Eärendil: [bows] I am grateful for your acceptance, and for the safekeeping of my wife.
Elwing: They took me in and fed me, and in return I told them of our plight: I told them tales of Doriath and Gondolin and the griefs of Beleriand… [she sighs] And they are filled with pity and wonder…
Olwë: I have wept for Elu’s betrayal and the loss of Lúthien and raged at the repeated depravities of Fëanor’s sons. I grieve for my grandsons, for Finrod, Aegnor and Angrod and take consolation from Ereinion and Galadriel’s continued safety.
Eärendil: If my pleas to the Valar have been received favourably, then the prayers of our sundered kin may be answered and their suffering relieved.

Elwing: [looks at him thoughtfully] You are less bright without the Silmaril at your brow. But there is a pure, luminous gleam to you, as if the Silmaril you wore so long now shines beneath your skin…
Eärendil: [shrugs] The Eldar who have seen the Trees glow also, and their light is clear and pure. I do not think any find my light remarkable.
Elwing: [smiles wryly] I wonder what they think of me, for I am dark and dull in comparison.
Eärendil: [looks at her in surprise] You have always borne the light of Aman in you: you are descended from Melian, after all. [At that moment the sound of bells ringing far off in the distance are heard.]
Olwë: That is the summons of the Valar. You must return to Valimar to hear their judgement. [Fade.]

* * *

[Fade into the Ring of Doom, with Eärendil and Elwing standing before the assembled might of the greatest of the Valar. Citizens of the Noldor, Vanyar and Teleri gather outside the Ring to hear the judgement also. Eärendil gently squeezes Elwing’s hand in his. The Silmaril rests on a cushion on a table in the centre, directly before Manwë. The Elder King regards the two Half-Elves before him.]

Manwë: [mildly] Neither the Secondborn, nor the Exiles may place foot upon the soil of the Blessed Realm, for it is forbidden. Yet, Ulmo has reminded us that fate demanded one of both Kindreds bring word of the plight of the Hither Lands…

Mandos: [raises his hand.] In this matter the power of Doom is given to me. The peril that he ventured for love of the Two Kindreds shall not fall upon Eärendil, nor shall it fall upon Elwing his wife, who entered into peril for love of him; but they shall not walk again ever among Elves or Men in the Outer Lands. [Eärendil bows his head in silent acceptance; Elwing’s clasp on his hand tightens.]

Manwë: And this is my decree concerning them: to Eärendil and to Elwing, and to their sons, shall be given leave each to choose freely to which kindred their fates shall be joined, and under which kindred they shall be judged. [The crowd stirs in surprise at this judgement and Eärendil glances at Elwing as hope that their sons are still alive swells in his breast. He closes his eyes, conscious of the unsteadiness of Elwing’s breathing as she absorbs the information also. There is silence as Manwë awaits their reply.]

Eärendil: [clears his throat,] I will not be divided from my wife while the world endures. Whatever her choice may be, so shall it be mine also. [He turns to her and raises her fingers to his lips. Softly:] Choose thou, my love, for now I am weary of the world and its tribulations.
Elwing: [swaying giddily. Whispers] Truly? For my heart lies with the Firstborn…
Eärendil: [nods promptly, though his face belies a momentary twinge of regret] So shall it then be as you desire, and it may be for the best, for in choosing the fate of the Elves lies our best hope of reunion with our sons.

Manwë: [smiles with some satisfaction] Those who sailed with you, however, may not remain. My herald will see to it that they are returned in safety to Balar in the East.
Eärendil: [protesting faintly] They, too, sought relief for the woes of elves and men…
Manwë: [reassuringly] They will be unharmed, but these lands shall yet remain closed to all-comers. [Eärendil bows in acquiescence.] But for you, Eärendil, son of Tuor, man of the line of Hador and Elf of the House of Finwë, bearer of Fëanor’s jewel, we have a task. [looks at Eärendil expectantly]

Eärendil: [Releasing his wife’s hand, he kneels before Manwë:] As you command, so shall I do, Great Lord…
Manwë: [turns to his wife] It would seem that a sign of hope is needed for the Children of Arda…

Varda: We intend to set your vessel to sail in the oceans of heaven, that you might steer the paths of night with the Silmaril at your brow. Your presence, unlooked for, glittering and bright, will be a promise to the children of Arda that help will come out of the west and that the reign of Morgoth will be ended.

Yavanna: [gently] Yet this destiny we would have you follow on the pathless voids, is too harsh and cold for a child of the earth and forests. For Elwing we will build a refuge to which you will return, where she may enjoy the form of a seabird at will and the sweet winds that blow on sea and hill.
Elwing: [kneels beside her husband in tearful acceptance] So shall it be… [Fade.]

*

[We see Ulmo and Manwë, Aulë and Varda take Vingilot and hallow her until, as they send her through the Door of the Night, she is filled with a wavering flame, pure and bright. Eärendil is at her helm, with the Silmaril bound to his brow and his clothing a coat of Elvenmail that glitters with the dust of many gems. His radiance fills the ship and she blazes brighter than the sun.

As we watch Vingilot sailing the Seas of Night, camera pans down to a white tower on the borders of the sundering Seas. As the Dawn breaks a pure white bird soars above the trees to greet Vingilot and welcomes Eärendil home to the warmth of the world. Cut back to Eärendil looking down above the world; the armies of elves and men, the havens of their families, the movements of Morgoth’s servants, quaking in doubt at this new light – all are as clear as the movements of ants across the grass. Fade.]

* * * * *

[Fade into Elrond and Elros in their room at Amon Ereb. Sitting by the window they look up at the night sky as the Star of Hope appears in the sky. Elros points excitedly at the new constellation, whose light shines more radiantly than any other.]
Elros: Look, a new star!
Elrond: [in wonder] It shines just like Naneth’s jewel!
Elros: [breathlessly] Then she is alive! Maybe she will come back to us!
Elrond: [allowing himself a small smile, murmurs] I believe it is our father! She has found him. Yes, they are both alive, Elros, though it seems to me that they have forgone the chance of an ordinary life for reasons that are bigger than both of us. [Camera pan back up to the new star…Cut.]

*

[Cut to Maedhros and Maglor outside on the battlements. As the fiery speck of bluish-white light on the horizon appears, murmurs and cries of wonder and alarm drift upwards in the twilight. Some of the soldiers their swords]

Noldo Soldier 1: ‘Tis a sign! A sign for Elves and Men, that Morgoth’s reign will not last much longer!
Noldo Soldier 2: Gîl-Estel - The star of hope!
Maedhros: [inhales sharply, turns to Maglor] Surely that is a Silmaril that shines now in the west? Do you not see it, brother? [bitterly] It is no cause for celebration if our father’s Silmaril is lost to us for ever!
Maglor: [happily] On the contrary, if it be truly the Silmaril, which we saw cast into the sea, that rises again by the power of the Valar, then let us be glad; for its glory is seen now by many, and is yet secure from all evil.
Maedhros: Then may Morgoth’s black heart tremble with fear upon his deep throne, for the day of his reckoning cannot be far off and the Wrath of the Valar will be mighty…

[Camera focus on the bright star as it twinkles then slowly fade to black.]

End of Episode
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