Season 1 Episode 4
Scene opens on Nerdanel and Fëanor’s bedchamber:
Nerdanel is rushing around, throwing open trunks and gathering clothes for herself and Fëanor. Tears shine on her face, and her jerky movements show she is very upset.
[Camera shift to doorway. Finwë enters and pauses, watching Nerdanel for a moment.]
Finwë: [calmly] Nerdanel, stop.
Nerdanel: [ragged] I have to gather our belongings together.
Finwë: No, you do not. [closes the trunk she was packing] I think you should remain here.
Nerdanel: [begins folding the pile of clothing] He is my husband. No matter how asinine . . . or pigheaded . . . or stupid he is . . . [faces Finwë] I will stand by him.
Finwë: [gently] That would not help him right now… [grasps her hands, stops her work] Hear me in this. Fëanor needs to think about what he has become. I fear if you are with him he will never allow himself to face the truth of his actions…twelve years is not so long for you to be apart.
Nerdanel: [pulls back] I will go if I please. You have no hold on me. Now I have work to do! [opens chest so hard the lid slams back against the wall. Camera shift to Fëanor, who enters quickly]
Fëanor: [obviously tense] Packing already? Good. We will soon be well out of here. [opens a small chest of jewels, checks contents, locks it] There is a place I have been looking at. We will build a fine stronghold there.
Nerdanel: [upset] Twelve years! You will take our boys into the wild for twelve years, and what will they be when they return? Will their friends wait for them?
Fëanor: [pulls the casket of Silmarils out from behind a hanging; voice is clipped and very controlled.] If they do not then they are not worth knowing. This will do little harm.
Nerdanel: Have you paid no attention to your children lately? There is a girl Maglor likes, though he has not plucked up the courage to speak to her yet.
Fëanor: [dismissively] Then she cannot be that important to him.
Nerdanel: [frustrated hiss. Straightens from packing and sits down on the bed, rubbing the back of her hand across her brow. Sighs.] Perhaps if you had listened when I told you Melkor was making trouble….
Fëanor: So now I get the round of "I told you so". Can we not omit that part?
Nerdanel: I am only saying --
Fëanor: [puts chest of Silmarils on bed] What has you so upset?
Nerdanel: [ties a bundle of clothing tightly] What do you think? That you can upset all our lives because you cannot control your hot-temper? Because you overreact to perceived slights? You never think twice about the consequences!
Fëanor: [mildly exasperated] I am banished and you are the one in a temper. [unfolds both cloaks. pauses.] Oh, I know what is wrong. You are with child again?
Nerdanel: [incredulous, raises her voice] With child…!?
Fëanor: Well, that would explain why you are screeching like a magpie. [walks out the door. voice from hall.] I will see what we can bring from the workshop. We will send for the rest later --
Nerdanel snatches chest of Silmarils. runs to the door, throws chest at Fëanor. Chest strikes the wall and breaks, scattering Silmarils down the hall. Camera follows jewels as they bounce and spin. One stops in front of Fëanor. He slowly picks up the Silmarils and the chest. For several moments he stands there, transfixed by the gems. Then he comes to with a start.
Fëanor: [distantly] The chest is ruined. I will have to find something stronger… [he drops it and starts to descend the stairs. then turns back to Nerdanel.] …Sorry, dearest, what were you saying?
Nerdanel: [Screams] Take yourself off to Eru-knows-where! Make your bed in the sea if you choose! I no longer care! I am staying right here! [runs past him, down the stairs, crying.]
Camera shift to Finwë, standing nodding, arms crossed.
Finwë: Well, that did not go so cleverly...
Fëanor: Spare me your pearls of wisdom, Ada.
Finwë: Of course. [exaggerated bow] You do well enough on your own.
Fëanor: [gathers clothing] We are leaving. If you want to lecture me you can wait until I return.
Finwë: There will be no need. I am coming with you.
Fëanor: [stops what he is doing] But you are needed by our people, Ada, their King cannot abandon them. Why would you do this?
Finwë: Fingolfin can rule in my stead. He will lead our people well. [slowly] Have I not shown my unworthiness to rule by allowing this hatred between my children to fester for so long? I blame myself. It is because of my failures as a father that this discord arose between those I love most. I do this because I have realized that I do not know my son as I would like to Because I grow tired of the endless talk, of concern over what others might think. Because I want to find peace, with none looking to me for leadership. [embraces Fëanor] And because I love you.
[Fëanor slowly raises his arms and embraces Finwë in return. Camera fade.]
* * *
Camera open on courtyard, much later:
Nerdanel and Indis enter... Indis hesitates, but Nerdanel walks into the house. The place is cluttered with discarded items of clothing, pans, boys' toys.
Nerdanel: [calling] Amrod? Celegorm? Amras? . . . Anyone?
Indis: [hesitantly] I think they have gone with their father, dear.
Nerdanel: [picks up broken chest. tries to fit the pieces together. as soon as she loosens her hold the broken chest falls apart] The last thing I said to him was so hurtful….
Indis: [gently] Do you think you and Fëanor are the only couple to have a fight? He will forgive you, and once you forgive him the making up will be all the sweeter.
Nerdanel: [distracted] I have work to do . . . So much to straighten up here . . .
Indis: I have a better idea. Come home with me…we will wait for them together, and we can have a nice cup of something now. There is no hurry in dealing with the mess. [takes the broken chest, drops it on the floor. She leads Nerdanel outside. Camera focuses on pieces of chest lying on the floor beside a toy bow and small arrows and a stuffed animal. Fade.]
* * * * * * *
Fade back to Osgiliath,
Eldarion, Farin and Aragorn are standing on the ancient stone bridge, leaning on an unbroken part of the wall, looking down river. Farin idly skims a pebble across the surface...
Eldarion: Ada, this is becoming a very sad story - poor Nerdanel abandoned by her husband and her sons! Did they ever get back together again?
Aragorn: Well, you see, the problem was that Fëanor was completely intoxicated by the beauty of his creation - the Silmarils--
Eldarion: --Like Gollum and the Ring, you mean?
Aragorn: Ah, somewhat… with his fiery, passionate spirit he was blinded by pride and arrogance, and unable to think of anyone but himself – you remember the warning Mandos gave him?
Eldarion: [nods] So, what happened after they left, where did they go?
Aragorn: Fëanor and his sons, with Finwë and some others of the Noldor made a strong place and treasury in the hills at Formenos. They laid a multitude of gems and in strongholds, and the Silmarils were shut in a chamber of iron... [fade back into First Age…]
* * *
Camera open on Formenos.
We see rough, hilly terrain covered with forest. A wide stream runs between the hills. Fëanor, Finwë, and Sons enter from left, riding and leading pack animals.
Fëanor: [stops and holds up a hand to halt group] This is the place I have been considering for some time. There is good water here, wood to build, and unless I miss my guess –
Finwë: Iron is in those hills, if I can judge by the colour of the soil. It will take some time to cut enough wood to build here, but I suppose we have nothing better to do with our days.
Fëanor: [glances back at sons] And hands enough to do the work.
Maedhros: [dismounts] I will take my bow and see what I can find for dinner.
Fëanor: No you will not. We have enough in the packs to see us through until our fortress is built.
Caranthir: [to Maedhros, grins] Ah…you thought to get yourself out of this!
Maedhros: Well, it was worth a try.
Maglor: [dismounts. Removes leather harp case from a pack horse. Pulls a bright ribbon out of the strings]
Maedhros: [lays a hand on Maglor’s shoulder] So you finally found the courage to talk with Illirin?
Maglor: [blushes. Tucks ribbon back in harp case and fastens case] No. This fell from her hair the day we left.
Maedhros: Why do you not write to her?
Maglor: [forlorn] I cannot find the words…
Fëanor: [from distance] Why are you all standing about? There is work to be done. [Camera shift to Twins, who pull packs off horses]
Amrod: Know you what the best part of this will be?
Amras: No more lessons!
Amrod: No one to make us eat vegetables!
Amras: [makes a face. Falsetto voice] They are good for you.
Amrod: And no one to tell us to wipe our feet.
Amras: Or when to go to bed! [both Twins whoop from excitement]
Fëanor: [looks toward Twins] What do they find to be so excited about?
Finwë: [chuckle] You probably do not want to know.
[Sound of horses, creak of wagon wheels. Camera shift to forest, then pan group. Fëanor, Finwë, and older Sons reach for swords. Younger Sons look curious. Camera cut back to forest. A group of Elves approach, with a loaded wagon. Camera pan group. All relax.]
Amrod: [disappointed] Is that who I think it is?
Amras: [nods unhappily] Cook. And our Tutor.
Fëanor: [approaches newcomers, sword still drawn] Why do you follow us?
Elf 1: [bows] There are those among the Noldor who would not leave our king.
Elf 2: And some among us who agreed with your words before Manwë.
Elf 1: [to Finwë] If you would have us, we will join your exile.
Finwë: Welcome, my friends.
Fëanor: With more help we can build in stone. That will be stronger. What have you in the wagon?
Elf 2: Your lady sent some things she thought you might want. Tools and materials from your workshop… [they begin unpacking the wagon]
Cook: [approaches the wagon] Hand me that chest. And those pans. I will have a meal ready by the time the rest of you have shelter set up for us.
Fëanor: [obvious surprise] What brought you out here?
Cook: [disapproving glare] Your lady wife. Nothing else could have made me come to this place, I will tell you that! But she worried about her boys, and you too, though Eru knows why. I would have let you eat what you could prepare yourself, so I would! [takes chest and pans and leaves, muttering. Camera focus on Fëanor, who stands in the wagon, staring at his tools]
Finwë: [approaches wagon] Did you think she would not forgive you?
Fëanor: I had not actually consider it.
Finwë: [takes a heavy bag from wagon. Arches eyebrow at his son.] Liar. [fade.]
* * *
Fade into stronghold at Formenos, 6 months later:
Cut to new workshop.
Fëanor is alone. He attaches a lock to a crystal chest, tests the hinges, then places the chest on an anvil. He strikes it with a hammer as hard as he can. The chest is unmarked. Focus on Fëanor, smiling. He removes a velvet pouch from his tunic. The Silmarils glow even inside the dark velvet. He puts the jewels carefully into the crystal chest, and then fastens the lock. The Silmarils glow brightly.
Cut to treasury in Formenos.
Fëanor enters with a hammer, a bucket of glowing rivets, and the Silmarils. He sets everything down, carefully moves several chests, and exposes an iron safe set into the wall. An iron plate sits below it, with holes drilled at the edges. Fëanor places the Silmarils inside the iron safe. They glow more brightly, as if they are alive. Fëanor caresses the chest, then puts the faceplate over the safe. One by one he pounds the rivets in. With each rivet, the light from the Silmarils fades a bit. At last the light is gone, and Fëanor’s face is lit only by the glowing rivets in the bucket. Camera fade.]
* * * * * * *
TO BE CONTINUED...
The History of the Silmarils - Season 1, Episode 4
The History of the Silmarils - Season 1, Episode 4
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
...CONTINUED
Cut back to Osgiliath, 4th Age:
Eldarion: And what of Melkor, Ada? Did Tulkas find him and capture him again? Surely the Valar were most displeased with him?
Aragorn: Yes, but Melkor, knowing that he had been found out, hid himself with his Valar power - if you remember, the Valar could become invisible, shedding their human forms? - and he passed from place to place as a cloud in the hills. Tulkas sought for him in vain.
Eldarion: [disappointed] No! So, he was left to cause more trouble?
Aragorn: Unfortunately, yes, and that is exactly what he did. When the search for him had been called off, he resumed his form and silently went to Formenos in the guise of a traveller seeking for lodging, to speak with Fëanor again and feign friendship...
Fade into view of Formenos viewed from a distance... A strong stone palisade stands at the top of a hill. Several houses, a smithy, a smokehouse and a well are visible inside the walls. We see Elves working. One by one, they stop what they are doing and look up. There is obvious nervousness.
Cut to Melkor, enter through gateway. Elves watch him. Fëanor leaves smithy carrying a newly forged sword. He moves towards the gateway to intercept Melkor. . Finwë steps out of house but stands back to watch.
Melkor: [bows to Fëanor] Well met, Prince of the Noldor. You have a comfortable home here.
Fëanor: It suits us well enough.
Melkor: Then banishment is not as onerous as it might be, I expect. You have your own little kingdom, free of the powers that would hold you captive to their will.
Fëanor: [tersely] If you have a point, make it.
Melkor: It is only that I am sorry to see your ambitions so dimmed. Not long ago you spoke of taking back that which you were robbed of; the free lands of Middle Earth. Have you forgotten that dream so quickly?
Fëanor: I have not forgotten. I well remember it was your words that provoked the desire to leave, and where those words have taken me.
Melkor: [spreads hands innocently] Behold the truth of all that I have spoken, and how thou art banished unjustly. But if the heart of Fëanor is yet free and bold as were his words in Tirion, then I will aid him, and bring him far from this narrow land. For am I not Vala also? Yea, and more than those who sit in pride in Valimar; and I have ever been a friend to the Noldor, most skilled and most valiant of the people of Arda.
Fëanor: [nods slowly, apparently thinking]
Melkor: What have you here that the Valar cannot take from you should they choose? Think what they have stolen from you already. Home. Wife. Your place among your people.
Fëanor: [nods]
Finwë: [approaches warily]
Melkor: What else might they wish to take? Here is a strong place indeed, and well guarded. But think not that the Silmarils will lie safe in any treasury within the realm of the Valar! [camera focus on Fëanor, his eyes narrowed.]
Fëanor: [temper rising] Now I see your heart, and well I should have seen it earlier. For all my troubles you are the chief cause. It is at your feet I can lay my banishment. You thought to drive me alone into the wild, that you might more easily rob me of that which you cannot yourself match no matter your skill!
Melkor: [holds up hands in a placating gesture] I meant no wrong to you, Prince of the Noldor.
Fëanor: [Hand reaches to draw sword, Eyes are wild.] Gangrel!
Melkor: [backs away through Gateway. ] Can we not speak peace between us?
Fëanor: [advances more quickly..harshly:] Get thee from my door, thou jail-crow of Mandos!
Melkor: How will it look for a prince among the Noldor to throw an honoured guest from his home in such a manner? I am willing to forgive this --
Fëanor: [seizes door and slams it in Melkor's face]
Melkor: [clearly furious.] So this is how you will have it. Then as you will. For I have strong allies, and I will leave nothing behind to bring joy or solace to any of your people. Their woes lie upon your head, Spirit of Fire.
[Melkor shifts to a shape of smoke and shadow and moves quickly over the hills. Camera fade]
* * * * * * *
Scene opens on Manwë’s audience chamber:
The Hall of Ilmarin, the Mansion of the High Airs are high on Mount Taniquetil. The circular walls and floors are of white marble, with light streaming in through the many windows set around the circumference. Outside, the sunlight sparkles on the web of airs woven around the dome of the watchtower. Manwë is in Council with the Valar, discussing the lengthening shadows, and what to do about Melkor:
Tulkas: Brothers and Sisters, as you know, I sought long and hard for the one of our number who has brought distress and shame upon us with his deceit and malice. My efforts were in vain, and he has slipped such leash as was around him after his unchaining. He has vanished from Valinor.
Oromë: That may be…but he has left a legacy of shadow and doubt over the fair land of Aman.
Yavanna: I fear the worst. It seems to me that the light of the Trees is dimmed, and the shadows of standing things grow longer and darker… [there is a commotion at the door, then Eonwë ushers in a messenger of the Noldor in exile.]
Manwë: Welcome, emissary of your people, from whom do you come in such haste?
Elf: [bows] By your leave, Lord, I am sent to beg your counsel by my Master, Finwë, King in Exile of the Noldor
Manwë: Finwë is in exile of his own making, but, nonetheless, speak your message, faithful servant.
Elf: My master is afeared, Lord, because the rogue Melkor has come unbidden to our stronghold at Formenos, in an attempt to regain our goodwill, and Prince Fëanor threw him out ungraciously, slamming the door in the mighty one’s face. We are frightened of what Melkor might do to our people in revenge. [Tulkas and Oromë glance at each other in agreement, and both leap to their feet.]
Tulkas: [to Manwë] Give us leave, Brother, to renew the hunt for this miscreant.
Oromë: If we combine our efforts we will have a better chance of catching him!
Manwë: Go with my Bless– [more messengers are shown in, and stand, heads bowed, in the doorway] – What is this? More news already? Speak! [the new Elves approach, one is a Noldo Elf from Tirion, the other one of the Teleri, from Aqualondë. Both bow to Manwë]
Tirion Elf: My Lord, we come with news of the Dark Vala, Melkor! He has fled through the Pass of Light between the Pelóri Mountains – from the top of the hill of Túna in our fair city Elves saw him pass in wrath as a thundercloud.
Teleri Elf: Lords, it is true! I am sent to tell you that the great thundercloud turned northwards and passed by our Haven towards Araman.
Manwë: It seems plain to me that our errant sibling purposes to escape to his old strongholds in the north of Middle-earth. [to Tulkas and Oromë] Brothers! I charge you to hasten with all speed northward, to try and overtake him before he runs to ground. Seek out any trace or rumour of him. Double the watch along the northern borders of Aman. [Tulkas and Oromë exit the chamber hurriedly. Manwë turns to the Elves] If Melkor has truly left these shores, perchance the shadow will be lifted from this land and your peoples, and we will all be the gladder for it. [Elves bow in agreement and dismissal. Fade]
* * * * * * *
The screen is dark - nearly black and empty
Slowly dim rays of twilight appear in the middle and we see that we are at night in the mountains, at the top of a deep ravine. We see a shadow, smoky and insubstantial and as we watch the shadow starts to take a form, picking up bits of rock and metallic ores. Finally the matter coalesces into a figure of a tall and terrible warrior, a dark Lord. The very large and dark figure moves through the area and we glimpse that it is dressed in black armour that neither shines nor reflects any of the small amount of light available.... the armour is incredibly intricate... made up of almost hundreds of tiny pieces of what look to be a very pliable metal. The figure wears a tall helm which is covered by a oversized hood and a jet black cape is wrapped around his form.
As he moves through the ravine, suddenly to his right side, a small landslide of rock and shale erupts from on high cutting off his progress and forcing him to back up to a sheer rock wall on his left. The wall is covered with thick ropey cords, some still containing bones from past meals. He turns to retrace his steps but a great shadow begins to loom over him. He turns his cloaked head and sees almost all blackness ... but the twilight gives off some illumination and we begin to see the monstrous shape of Ungoliant poised above the intruder.
Melkor does not move. He waits until Ungoliant is inches away from him, then he speaks:
Melkor: Do you not know me, Ungoliant?
[Ungoliant pulls back slightly ... now hesitates....she does not speak in the sense that words come from her mouth but instead we hear her communication with Melkor as a voice inside his own head... it is a raspy, liquidy voice that sounds garbled and very unhealthy.]
Ungoliant: You! I thought not to set eyes on you again. Why have you come here to my domain?
Melkor: [still making no move] I, mightiest all the Valar, the one who first discovered you at the dawn of the World? The One who brought you into my service? I may go where I wish…
Ungoliant: Perhaps. But now I serve no master. It is I who am mistress here and you who are caught in my trap.
Melkor: And what would you do with me, Mistress Ungoliant? Would you devour me and burn from your insides like a sun inside of you?
Ungoliant: [hesitates not knowing if this is true] We will see.
Melkor: And then what Mistress Ungoliant? These mountains are empty from your lust and feeding. You soon will begin to cannibalize your own body in your hunger and thirst. And that is if the Valar do not hunt you and find you first.
Ungoliant: [flinches and retreats slightly in sudden panic] The Valar! …they will never find me so far from them... they look not here for me but elsewhere... they will never find me in my Darkness.
Melkor: I found you. The Darkness affords you no protection from my eyes.
Ungoliant: [fidgets uncomfortably] Why have you come here? What could you need from one such as I?
Melkor: The Valar hunt me. The Valar will hunt you. They will pick us off one by one until there are none of us remaining. Unless ...
Ungoliant: Unless...?
Melkor: Unless our common desire for survival brings us together as allies in my revenge against the Valar. And besides ... I know of where there is so much light, even you could not feed upon all of it.
Ungoliant: Do not be so sure. My hunger knows no bounds or limits.
Melkor: Join with me for a little while. Do as I bid, and if you hunger still when all is done, I will give you whatever your lust demands...with both hands I will give it to you. You need not hide away in the darkness but can go forth into the world and let it serve and sustain your glory.
Ungoliant: [waits, then stands up to her full height on all her legs ....] We will join forces as allies…for now… [she spews forth a great cloak of darkness, an Unlight, which envelops them both.. Ungoliant begins to spin more cords up the side of the mountain face, from cleft to cleft, as they begin climbing higher and higher towards the summit of the mountain. Fade.]
* * * * * * *
THIRD PART TO FOLLOW...
Cut back to Osgiliath, 4th Age:
Eldarion: And what of Melkor, Ada? Did Tulkas find him and capture him again? Surely the Valar were most displeased with him?
Aragorn: Yes, but Melkor, knowing that he had been found out, hid himself with his Valar power - if you remember, the Valar could become invisible, shedding their human forms? - and he passed from place to place as a cloud in the hills. Tulkas sought for him in vain.
Eldarion: [disappointed] No! So, he was left to cause more trouble?
Aragorn: Unfortunately, yes, and that is exactly what he did. When the search for him had been called off, he resumed his form and silently went to Formenos in the guise of a traveller seeking for lodging, to speak with Fëanor again and feign friendship...
Fade into view of Formenos viewed from a distance... A strong stone palisade stands at the top of a hill. Several houses, a smithy, a smokehouse and a well are visible inside the walls. We see Elves working. One by one, they stop what they are doing and look up. There is obvious nervousness.
Cut to Melkor, enter through gateway. Elves watch him. Fëanor leaves smithy carrying a newly forged sword. He moves towards the gateway to intercept Melkor. . Finwë steps out of house but stands back to watch.
Melkor: [bows to Fëanor] Well met, Prince of the Noldor. You have a comfortable home here.
Fëanor: It suits us well enough.
Melkor: Then banishment is not as onerous as it might be, I expect. You have your own little kingdom, free of the powers that would hold you captive to their will.
Fëanor: [tersely] If you have a point, make it.
Melkor: It is only that I am sorry to see your ambitions so dimmed. Not long ago you spoke of taking back that which you were robbed of; the free lands of Middle Earth. Have you forgotten that dream so quickly?
Fëanor: I have not forgotten. I well remember it was your words that provoked the desire to leave, and where those words have taken me.
Melkor: [spreads hands innocently] Behold the truth of all that I have spoken, and how thou art banished unjustly. But if the heart of Fëanor is yet free and bold as were his words in Tirion, then I will aid him, and bring him far from this narrow land. For am I not Vala also? Yea, and more than those who sit in pride in Valimar; and I have ever been a friend to the Noldor, most skilled and most valiant of the people of Arda.
Fëanor: [nods slowly, apparently thinking]
Melkor: What have you here that the Valar cannot take from you should they choose? Think what they have stolen from you already. Home. Wife. Your place among your people.
Fëanor: [nods]
Finwë: [approaches warily]
Melkor: What else might they wish to take? Here is a strong place indeed, and well guarded. But think not that the Silmarils will lie safe in any treasury within the realm of the Valar! [camera focus on Fëanor, his eyes narrowed.]
Fëanor: [temper rising] Now I see your heart, and well I should have seen it earlier. For all my troubles you are the chief cause. It is at your feet I can lay my banishment. You thought to drive me alone into the wild, that you might more easily rob me of that which you cannot yourself match no matter your skill!
Melkor: [holds up hands in a placating gesture] I meant no wrong to you, Prince of the Noldor.
Fëanor: [Hand reaches to draw sword, Eyes are wild.] Gangrel!
Melkor: [backs away through Gateway. ] Can we not speak peace between us?
Fëanor: [advances more quickly..harshly:] Get thee from my door, thou jail-crow of Mandos!
Melkor: How will it look for a prince among the Noldor to throw an honoured guest from his home in such a manner? I am willing to forgive this --
Fëanor: [seizes door and slams it in Melkor's face]
Melkor: [clearly furious.] So this is how you will have it. Then as you will. For I have strong allies, and I will leave nothing behind to bring joy or solace to any of your people. Their woes lie upon your head, Spirit of Fire.
[Melkor shifts to a shape of smoke and shadow and moves quickly over the hills. Camera fade]
* * * * * * *
Scene opens on Manwë’s audience chamber:
The Hall of Ilmarin, the Mansion of the High Airs are high on Mount Taniquetil. The circular walls and floors are of white marble, with light streaming in through the many windows set around the circumference. Outside, the sunlight sparkles on the web of airs woven around the dome of the watchtower. Manwë is in Council with the Valar, discussing the lengthening shadows, and what to do about Melkor:
Tulkas: Brothers and Sisters, as you know, I sought long and hard for the one of our number who has brought distress and shame upon us with his deceit and malice. My efforts were in vain, and he has slipped such leash as was around him after his unchaining. He has vanished from Valinor.
Oromë: That may be…but he has left a legacy of shadow and doubt over the fair land of Aman.
Yavanna: I fear the worst. It seems to me that the light of the Trees is dimmed, and the shadows of standing things grow longer and darker… [there is a commotion at the door, then Eonwë ushers in a messenger of the Noldor in exile.]
Manwë: Welcome, emissary of your people, from whom do you come in such haste?
Elf: [bows] By your leave, Lord, I am sent to beg your counsel by my Master, Finwë, King in Exile of the Noldor
Manwë: Finwë is in exile of his own making, but, nonetheless, speak your message, faithful servant.
Elf: My master is afeared, Lord, because the rogue Melkor has come unbidden to our stronghold at Formenos, in an attempt to regain our goodwill, and Prince Fëanor threw him out ungraciously, slamming the door in the mighty one’s face. We are frightened of what Melkor might do to our people in revenge. [Tulkas and Oromë glance at each other in agreement, and both leap to their feet.]
Tulkas: [to Manwë] Give us leave, Brother, to renew the hunt for this miscreant.
Oromë: If we combine our efforts we will have a better chance of catching him!
Manwë: Go with my Bless– [more messengers are shown in, and stand, heads bowed, in the doorway] – What is this? More news already? Speak! [the new Elves approach, one is a Noldo Elf from Tirion, the other one of the Teleri, from Aqualondë. Both bow to Manwë]
Tirion Elf: My Lord, we come with news of the Dark Vala, Melkor! He has fled through the Pass of Light between the Pelóri Mountains – from the top of the hill of Túna in our fair city Elves saw him pass in wrath as a thundercloud.
Teleri Elf: Lords, it is true! I am sent to tell you that the great thundercloud turned northwards and passed by our Haven towards Araman.
Manwë: It seems plain to me that our errant sibling purposes to escape to his old strongholds in the north of Middle-earth. [to Tulkas and Oromë] Brothers! I charge you to hasten with all speed northward, to try and overtake him before he runs to ground. Seek out any trace or rumour of him. Double the watch along the northern borders of Aman. [Tulkas and Oromë exit the chamber hurriedly. Manwë turns to the Elves] If Melkor has truly left these shores, perchance the shadow will be lifted from this land and your peoples, and we will all be the gladder for it. [Elves bow in agreement and dismissal. Fade]
* * * * * * *
The screen is dark - nearly black and empty
Slowly dim rays of twilight appear in the middle and we see that we are at night in the mountains, at the top of a deep ravine. We see a shadow, smoky and insubstantial and as we watch the shadow starts to take a form, picking up bits of rock and metallic ores. Finally the matter coalesces into a figure of a tall and terrible warrior, a dark Lord. The very large and dark figure moves through the area and we glimpse that it is dressed in black armour that neither shines nor reflects any of the small amount of light available.... the armour is incredibly intricate... made up of almost hundreds of tiny pieces of what look to be a very pliable metal. The figure wears a tall helm which is covered by a oversized hood and a jet black cape is wrapped around his form.
As he moves through the ravine, suddenly to his right side, a small landslide of rock and shale erupts from on high cutting off his progress and forcing him to back up to a sheer rock wall on his left. The wall is covered with thick ropey cords, some still containing bones from past meals. He turns to retrace his steps but a great shadow begins to loom over him. He turns his cloaked head and sees almost all blackness ... but the twilight gives off some illumination and we begin to see the monstrous shape of Ungoliant poised above the intruder.
Melkor does not move. He waits until Ungoliant is inches away from him, then he speaks:
Melkor: Do you not know me, Ungoliant?
[Ungoliant pulls back slightly ... now hesitates....she does not speak in the sense that words come from her mouth but instead we hear her communication with Melkor as a voice inside his own head... it is a raspy, liquidy voice that sounds garbled and very unhealthy.]
Ungoliant: You! I thought not to set eyes on you again. Why have you come here to my domain?
Melkor: [still making no move] I, mightiest all the Valar, the one who first discovered you at the dawn of the World? The One who brought you into my service? I may go where I wish…
Ungoliant: Perhaps. But now I serve no master. It is I who am mistress here and you who are caught in my trap.
Melkor: And what would you do with me, Mistress Ungoliant? Would you devour me and burn from your insides like a sun inside of you?
Ungoliant: [hesitates not knowing if this is true] We will see.
Melkor: And then what Mistress Ungoliant? These mountains are empty from your lust and feeding. You soon will begin to cannibalize your own body in your hunger and thirst. And that is if the Valar do not hunt you and find you first.
Ungoliant: [flinches and retreats slightly in sudden panic] The Valar! …they will never find me so far from them... they look not here for me but elsewhere... they will never find me in my Darkness.
Melkor: I found you. The Darkness affords you no protection from my eyes.
Ungoliant: [fidgets uncomfortably] Why have you come here? What could you need from one such as I?
Melkor: The Valar hunt me. The Valar will hunt you. They will pick us off one by one until there are none of us remaining. Unless ...
Ungoliant: Unless...?
Melkor: Unless our common desire for survival brings us together as allies in my revenge against the Valar. And besides ... I know of where there is so much light, even you could not feed upon all of it.
Ungoliant: Do not be so sure. My hunger knows no bounds or limits.
Melkor: Join with me for a little while. Do as I bid, and if you hunger still when all is done, I will give you whatever your lust demands...with both hands I will give it to you. You need not hide away in the darkness but can go forth into the world and let it serve and sustain your glory.
Ungoliant: [waits, then stands up to her full height on all her legs ....] We will join forces as allies…for now… [she spews forth a great cloak of darkness, an Unlight, which envelops them both.. Ungoliant begins to spin more cords up the side of the mountain face, from cleft to cleft, as they begin climbing higher and higher towards the summit of the mountain. Fade.]
* * * * * * *
THIRD PART TO FOLLOW...
Last edited by Elentári on Sun May 01, 2011 7:32 am, 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
FINAL INSTALMENT:
Cut to forest somewhere between Formenos and Valimar.
Maedhros, Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin move through the woods quickly. They are obviously intent on a destination. Camera shift to look ahead, we see a clearing with light and open grass. Maedhros, in the lead, waves and breaks into a run. Shift to other side of clearing. We see four Elves, led by Fingon and Turgon, emerge from the woods. Turgon holds a brown leather ball about the size of a football. Another Elf carries a large ring and a long pole. Fingon and Turgon smile.
Fingon: You took your time.
Maedhros: No more than you did. [glances at ball and basket] What, there is still no one to play with?
Turgon: No one good enough to challenge us. The winning is too easy.
[Elf 1 and Curufin set up ring and pole in centre of field. The ring is now ten feet off the ground, horizontal to the pole.]
Turgon: [looks about] Where is Maglor? You cannot hope to win without him.
Maedhros: We thought to give Curufin a chance today.
Fingon: [lowers voice] So tell:
[Camera shift to Caranthir and Elf 2, who have started a wrestling match. Celegorm and Curufin watch, cheering.]
Maedhros: He is still lovelorn over Illirin. I think he is writing a song to win her heart.
Turgon: [winces] Ouch!
Maedhros: He is actually quite accomplished.
Fingon: [shakes head] I did not mean that: [grins wickedly] Turgon has been smitten himself.
Turgon: [grimaces] A brother should keep secrets.
Fingon: The brother that warned you should have the privilege of taunting you when you do not listen.
Turgon: So be it. [to Maedhros] We are choosing new teams this time. I am on yours.
Maedhros: That is good with me. [shouts across the field] Caranthir! Fingon is in need of your help this time.
Caranthir: [thrown down. Picks himself up, laughing] Why not? [glances at Fingon] Our cousins need all the help they can get.
[The game begins. It seems to be a cross between rugby and soccer, with lots of shoving and tripping involved. The goal is to throw the ball through the hoop any way possible. There is much laughter, shouting, cheering at each score. Fade.]
* * *
Cut to end of game. Shadows are noticeably longer. All Elves look sweaty, bruised. Most have tunics off. Curufin and Caranthir are clearing up the gear.
Fingon: [to Maedhros] How fares your father?
Maedhros: [to Fingon] Sometimes I think Ada has a sickness of the mind...
Fingon: [joking] Father has thought that for years! [more seriously] Has somewhat happened?
Maedhros: He sits alone in the vault, sometimes for days on end. Staring at a wall, if you will. He does not eat, or sleep, and I think we could burn the place down around his ears.
Fingon: Let me guess. Those jewels still hold his mind.
Maedhros: More than ever, I think. [kicks stick on ground] Would you think me disloyal if I wished they would be swallowed by something?
Fingon: Not if you do not think less of me for saying that my father is affected too. He never wanted to be king, and now that he has the job he obsesses over it.
Maedhros: Take heart. This banishment will soon be over, and Grandfather will be able to take the responsibility back.
Fingon: Thank Eru! You would never believe the tedious arguments that ADa has to settle, and they always seem to occur right around dinner. [falsetto] I must ask the king in what colour I ought to tile my stable floor! Your grace, should I allow my son to stay out after the mingling of the lights –
Maedhros: [laughs] Take heart, cousin. Your travail will soon be over.
Fingon: Well… if your father decides to do something this foolish again, swear to me you will not follow him.
Maedhros: [elaborate, exaggerated bow. Hand on heart] You have my word as an honourable Elf. [cut]
* * *
Cut to woods.
Maglor sits on a rock with his harp. Parchment, ink and quill lay on the ground near his feet. He plays broken chords, then alters the music a bit and tries again. At last, apparently satisfied, he lays aside the harp and picks up quill and parchment.
Maglor: [aloud, to himself] If I could see you only once, with the light of the trees mingling in your golden hair, I would ask for nothing more. The jewels of Aulë envy the brilliance of your eyes. You shine as Telperion, with a light as clear and pure as your gentle heart . . .
[Picks up harp and resumes playing. Maedhros enter from right.]
Maedhros: There you are.
Maglor: [looks up] Who sent you to find me?
Maedhros: Grandfather. [glances at parchment] So you have heard from Illirin?
Maglor: [blushes] She writes to me. I write back. What of it?
Maedhros: [gently] But she does not venture to visit you?
Maglor: [gathers parchment quickly] Her father forbids her to have anything to do with any of us. What do you think? That she will venture into these woods alone? She is a delicate flower, not a valiant heart.
Maedhros: Aredhel comes so far alone.
Maglor: Aredhel is our cousin, and more a man than many who wear boots.
Maedhros: Brother, I am only saying –
Maglor: Say nothing then. [passes Maedhros the quill and ink. Puts harp into case.]
Maedhros: Grandfather worries about you.
Maglor: Grandfather worries too much. He will be happy enough when I marry Illirin.
[Focus on Maedhros, frowning. Cut]
* * *
Cut to Twins, obviously older now, shooting bows at twigs thrown by Caranthir. Arrows split twigs. Twins laugh.
Cut to Celegorm and Curufin sparring. They are evenly matched, and not pulling anything back. Finwë watches, smiling.
Cut to Maedhros and Caranthir sparring with staves. Maedhros has more skill, but Caranthir rolls and returns from every throw. Finally Caranthir throws Maedhros. Maedhros lands hard and lies still for a minute. Caranthir rushes to him, worried. Maedhros laughs and begins to tickle his brother. The staff match dissolves into a tickling contest.
Cut to Maglor sitting in a window seat. His harp is beside him. He holds a letter. Focus on his face. He traces a finger over his lower lip, smiling, eyes misty. Fade.
* * * * * * *
Cut to Manwë’s watchtower on Mount Taniquetil.
Manwë is standing on the balcony of the watchtower, surveying the goings on in Aman through the web of airs. Behind him, in the cool of the inner room, a Vanya Elf plays the harp whilst Varda sings a gentle song. Shift back to Manwë as a wood pigeon flutters into view. Manwë holds out his arm and the pigeon alights. It coos softly in his ear. Manwë replies, imitating its call, and scatters a pinch of grain on the balustrade, which the pigeon pecks at daintily before flying off southwards. Varda has finished her song, and she wanders out to join her husband on the balcony.
Varda: [communicating telepathically] News, my Love?
Manwë: Yes, Yavanna confirms that this year’s crops are ready for gathering.
Varda: [smiles] Oh, that is glad news indeed. Harvest is a time of thanksgiving and merry-making for all who dwell in Valinor. How I love to hear the Eldar pour forth their joy in music and song in praise of Eru!
Manwë: I wonder how many will feel like celebrating this year…the escape of our erstwhile Brother portends toils and sorrows to come, and the hearts of the Noldor are still heavy with the grief that lie between their princes.
Varda: All the more reason to celebrate, then. Make this year’s feast more glorious than any since the coming of the Eldar to these shores. Entreat all the Clans to celebrate with us here. Invite the sons of Finwë in the name of friendship to lay aside this enmity between them. Make them see that the lies of Melkor are utterly without foundation..
Manwë: [rubs chin thoughtfully] Think you it will work? The pride of Fëanor may prevent him from doing what is best for his people.
Varda: Then pander to his vanity, my Love – write him a personal invitation, as guest of honour, to attend you in his finery, wearing the Silmarils for all to see and admire his craftsmanship. But I think you should not invite his father. The sons will be more accommodating without his presence.
Manwë: [smiles] In this I shall bow to your wisdom, dear Lady. [calls for parchment and writing implements. Fade]
* * *
Fade in to view of Formenos.
We see Finwë, moving down stairs toward vault. He opens door. Camera shift to vault. Fëanor sits staring at the iron plate riveted into the wall to secure the Silmarils. Shift to Finwë’s face. He looks worried.
Finwë: Fëanáro…you have a message from Lord Manwë.
Fëanor: Mmm…? [turns and sees the letter that Finwë is holding out to him. He takes it slowly and sits there, staring at it.]
Finwë: [impatiently] Will you not open it? There is no other way to learn of its contents! [Fëanor hesitates a bit longer, then rips open the seal and scans the message. His eyes blaze as he takes in the words. When he is finished he folds up the letter and hands it to his father to read.]
Finwë: [having read the letter, looks up at Fëanor.] Will you go?
Fëanor: I will…I owe Fingolfin that much at least. He tried to save me from the judgement of Manwë though I was too pig-headed to accept his offer.
Finwë: [relieved] That is a wise choice, my son. No good can come of this bad blood between my children. I will sleep the better knowing that this ill-feeling is behind us. Who knows, if the Lord Manwë is pleased with your peace-making he might see fit to reduce the length of your term of exile.
Fëanor: Perhaps. I would not count on it. But see here! [grabs letter back from Finwë and jabs at line in script] he wants me to attend in my finery, as guest of honour, and wearing the Silmarils! [temper flares] That I will not do! The sight of my precious jewels I deny to the Valar and other Eldar save you and my sons, and I shall wear no other adornment in their place.
Finwë: [frowns in anxiety] I hope the Valar will not be offended…
Fëanor: Let them be! Father, you are the one who should be offended. Did you not read what it says at the end? “You are requested to attend alone…” You, Father, are not even invited! You, the rightful High-King!
Finwë: [shakes head and waves his hands in a gesture of unconcern] While the ban lasts upon you that you may not go to Tirion I hold myself un-kinged, and I will not meet my people. I am happy to stay here while you make your peace. Hold you head high, my son and make me proud.
Fëanor: [nods grimly, then suddenly embraces Finwë fiercely. Camera fade.]
* * *
Fade back in to Formenos main gate.
Fëanor stands beside his horse, preparing to leave for the Festival. His Sons and Finwë gather around him. Sons are dressed for the Festival, and Maglor carries his harp. Fëanor and Finwë wear ordinary clothing.
Fëanor: [firmly] No! and I will say it again if I have to. I alone am commanded to attend, and I alone will go.
Amrod: But why should we miss the feast?
Caranthir: [sarcastic] Because he does not want us to watch him beg Mother to take him back.
Curufin: And grovel at the feet of the Valar.
Fëanor: [furious glare] It should be enough that I have commanded you to remain here.
Finwë: Peace! I am certain we can find something to pass the time while you are gone.
Amras: [defiant] We do not have to stay here... We can leave whenever we wish.
Fëanor: Then do so. I care not. [mounts the horse] Just be here when I return. [rides off quickly]
Finwë: [sighs] Well, what shall we do today?
Maedhros: [shrugs] I still have that hinge I am working on.
Celegorm: Fishing...
Maglor: [turns away, obviously disappointed]
Finwë: [to Twins] How about you? I believe that young mare is just about ready for a saddle. Do you wish to help me gentle her?
Twins: [apparent disinterest, in unison] All right. [camera focuses on Twins, who grin eagerly at each other. Cut]
* * * * * * *
Cut to scene of dark shadow climbing up a sheer rock face.
As the camera zooms in it penetrates the cloud of darkness and we can make out Melkor and Ungoliant. They reach the pinnacle of Hyarmentir, and look out over the 'Guarded Realm.' Camera pans over Valinor: Below them lie the woods of Oromë, and westward shimmering the fields and pastures of Yavanna, golden with tall wheat. Melkor looks north, and we see far off the shining plain, and the silver domes of Valmar gleaming in the mingling of the lights of Telperion and Laurelin.
Melkor laughs menacingly, and leaps swiftly down the long western slopes, Ungoliant at his side, her darkness covering them. Fade.
END OF EPISODE
*************************************************************
Cut to forest somewhere between Formenos and Valimar.
Maedhros, Celegorm, Caranthir, and Curufin move through the woods quickly. They are obviously intent on a destination. Camera shift to look ahead, we see a clearing with light and open grass. Maedhros, in the lead, waves and breaks into a run. Shift to other side of clearing. We see four Elves, led by Fingon and Turgon, emerge from the woods. Turgon holds a brown leather ball about the size of a football. Another Elf carries a large ring and a long pole. Fingon and Turgon smile.
Fingon: You took your time.
Maedhros: No more than you did. [glances at ball and basket] What, there is still no one to play with?
Turgon: No one good enough to challenge us. The winning is too easy.
[Elf 1 and Curufin set up ring and pole in centre of field. The ring is now ten feet off the ground, horizontal to the pole.]
Turgon: [looks about] Where is Maglor? You cannot hope to win without him.
Maedhros: We thought to give Curufin a chance today.
Fingon: [lowers voice] So tell:
[Camera shift to Caranthir and Elf 2, who have started a wrestling match. Celegorm and Curufin watch, cheering.]
Maedhros: He is still lovelorn over Illirin. I think he is writing a song to win her heart.
Turgon: [winces] Ouch!
Maedhros: He is actually quite accomplished.
Fingon: [shakes head] I did not mean that: [grins wickedly] Turgon has been smitten himself.
Turgon: [grimaces] A brother should keep secrets.
Fingon: The brother that warned you should have the privilege of taunting you when you do not listen.
Turgon: So be it. [to Maedhros] We are choosing new teams this time. I am on yours.
Maedhros: That is good with me. [shouts across the field] Caranthir! Fingon is in need of your help this time.
Caranthir: [thrown down. Picks himself up, laughing] Why not? [glances at Fingon] Our cousins need all the help they can get.
[The game begins. It seems to be a cross between rugby and soccer, with lots of shoving and tripping involved. The goal is to throw the ball through the hoop any way possible. There is much laughter, shouting, cheering at each score. Fade.]
* * *
Cut to end of game. Shadows are noticeably longer. All Elves look sweaty, bruised. Most have tunics off. Curufin and Caranthir are clearing up the gear.
Fingon: [to Maedhros] How fares your father?
Maedhros: [to Fingon] Sometimes I think Ada has a sickness of the mind...
Fingon: [joking] Father has thought that for years! [more seriously] Has somewhat happened?
Maedhros: He sits alone in the vault, sometimes for days on end. Staring at a wall, if you will. He does not eat, or sleep, and I think we could burn the place down around his ears.
Fingon: Let me guess. Those jewels still hold his mind.
Maedhros: More than ever, I think. [kicks stick on ground] Would you think me disloyal if I wished they would be swallowed by something?
Fingon: Not if you do not think less of me for saying that my father is affected too. He never wanted to be king, and now that he has the job he obsesses over it.
Maedhros: Take heart. This banishment will soon be over, and Grandfather will be able to take the responsibility back.
Fingon: Thank Eru! You would never believe the tedious arguments that ADa has to settle, and they always seem to occur right around dinner. [falsetto] I must ask the king in what colour I ought to tile my stable floor! Your grace, should I allow my son to stay out after the mingling of the lights –
Maedhros: [laughs] Take heart, cousin. Your travail will soon be over.
Fingon: Well… if your father decides to do something this foolish again, swear to me you will not follow him.
Maedhros: [elaborate, exaggerated bow. Hand on heart] You have my word as an honourable Elf. [cut]
* * *
Cut to woods.
Maglor sits on a rock with his harp. Parchment, ink and quill lay on the ground near his feet. He plays broken chords, then alters the music a bit and tries again. At last, apparently satisfied, he lays aside the harp and picks up quill and parchment.
Maglor: [aloud, to himself] If I could see you only once, with the light of the trees mingling in your golden hair, I would ask for nothing more. The jewels of Aulë envy the brilliance of your eyes. You shine as Telperion, with a light as clear and pure as your gentle heart . . .
[Picks up harp and resumes playing. Maedhros enter from right.]
Maedhros: There you are.
Maglor: [looks up] Who sent you to find me?
Maedhros: Grandfather. [glances at parchment] So you have heard from Illirin?
Maglor: [blushes] She writes to me. I write back. What of it?
Maedhros: [gently] But she does not venture to visit you?
Maglor: [gathers parchment quickly] Her father forbids her to have anything to do with any of us. What do you think? That she will venture into these woods alone? She is a delicate flower, not a valiant heart.
Maedhros: Aredhel comes so far alone.
Maglor: Aredhel is our cousin, and more a man than many who wear boots.
Maedhros: Brother, I am only saying –
Maglor: Say nothing then. [passes Maedhros the quill and ink. Puts harp into case.]
Maedhros: Grandfather worries about you.
Maglor: Grandfather worries too much. He will be happy enough when I marry Illirin.
[Focus on Maedhros, frowning. Cut]
* * *
Cut to Twins, obviously older now, shooting bows at twigs thrown by Caranthir. Arrows split twigs. Twins laugh.
Cut to Celegorm and Curufin sparring. They are evenly matched, and not pulling anything back. Finwë watches, smiling.
Cut to Maedhros and Caranthir sparring with staves. Maedhros has more skill, but Caranthir rolls and returns from every throw. Finally Caranthir throws Maedhros. Maedhros lands hard and lies still for a minute. Caranthir rushes to him, worried. Maedhros laughs and begins to tickle his brother. The staff match dissolves into a tickling contest.
Cut to Maglor sitting in a window seat. His harp is beside him. He holds a letter. Focus on his face. He traces a finger over his lower lip, smiling, eyes misty. Fade.
* * * * * * *
Cut to Manwë’s watchtower on Mount Taniquetil.
Manwë is standing on the balcony of the watchtower, surveying the goings on in Aman through the web of airs. Behind him, in the cool of the inner room, a Vanya Elf plays the harp whilst Varda sings a gentle song. Shift back to Manwë as a wood pigeon flutters into view. Manwë holds out his arm and the pigeon alights. It coos softly in his ear. Manwë replies, imitating its call, and scatters a pinch of grain on the balustrade, which the pigeon pecks at daintily before flying off southwards. Varda has finished her song, and she wanders out to join her husband on the balcony.
Varda: [communicating telepathically] News, my Love?
Manwë: Yes, Yavanna confirms that this year’s crops are ready for gathering.
Varda: [smiles] Oh, that is glad news indeed. Harvest is a time of thanksgiving and merry-making for all who dwell in Valinor. How I love to hear the Eldar pour forth their joy in music and song in praise of Eru!
Manwë: I wonder how many will feel like celebrating this year…the escape of our erstwhile Brother portends toils and sorrows to come, and the hearts of the Noldor are still heavy with the grief that lie between their princes.
Varda: All the more reason to celebrate, then. Make this year’s feast more glorious than any since the coming of the Eldar to these shores. Entreat all the Clans to celebrate with us here. Invite the sons of Finwë in the name of friendship to lay aside this enmity between them. Make them see that the lies of Melkor are utterly without foundation..
Manwë: [rubs chin thoughtfully] Think you it will work? The pride of Fëanor may prevent him from doing what is best for his people.
Varda: Then pander to his vanity, my Love – write him a personal invitation, as guest of honour, to attend you in his finery, wearing the Silmarils for all to see and admire his craftsmanship. But I think you should not invite his father. The sons will be more accommodating without his presence.
Manwë: [smiles] In this I shall bow to your wisdom, dear Lady. [calls for parchment and writing implements. Fade]
* * *
Fade in to view of Formenos.
We see Finwë, moving down stairs toward vault. He opens door. Camera shift to vault. Fëanor sits staring at the iron plate riveted into the wall to secure the Silmarils. Shift to Finwë’s face. He looks worried.
Finwë: Fëanáro…you have a message from Lord Manwë.
Fëanor: Mmm…? [turns and sees the letter that Finwë is holding out to him. He takes it slowly and sits there, staring at it.]
Finwë: [impatiently] Will you not open it? There is no other way to learn of its contents! [Fëanor hesitates a bit longer, then rips open the seal and scans the message. His eyes blaze as he takes in the words. When he is finished he folds up the letter and hands it to his father to read.]
Finwë: [having read the letter, looks up at Fëanor.] Will you go?
Fëanor: I will…I owe Fingolfin that much at least. He tried to save me from the judgement of Manwë though I was too pig-headed to accept his offer.
Finwë: [relieved] That is a wise choice, my son. No good can come of this bad blood between my children. I will sleep the better knowing that this ill-feeling is behind us. Who knows, if the Lord Manwë is pleased with your peace-making he might see fit to reduce the length of your term of exile.
Fëanor: Perhaps. I would not count on it. But see here! [grabs letter back from Finwë and jabs at line in script] he wants me to attend in my finery, as guest of honour, and wearing the Silmarils! [temper flares] That I will not do! The sight of my precious jewels I deny to the Valar and other Eldar save you and my sons, and I shall wear no other adornment in their place.
Finwë: [frowns in anxiety] I hope the Valar will not be offended…
Fëanor: Let them be! Father, you are the one who should be offended. Did you not read what it says at the end? “You are requested to attend alone…” You, Father, are not even invited! You, the rightful High-King!
Finwë: [shakes head and waves his hands in a gesture of unconcern] While the ban lasts upon you that you may not go to Tirion I hold myself un-kinged, and I will not meet my people. I am happy to stay here while you make your peace. Hold you head high, my son and make me proud.
Fëanor: [nods grimly, then suddenly embraces Finwë fiercely. Camera fade.]
* * *
Fade back in to Formenos main gate.
Fëanor stands beside his horse, preparing to leave for the Festival. His Sons and Finwë gather around him. Sons are dressed for the Festival, and Maglor carries his harp. Fëanor and Finwë wear ordinary clothing.
Fëanor: [firmly] No! and I will say it again if I have to. I alone am commanded to attend, and I alone will go.
Amrod: But why should we miss the feast?
Caranthir: [sarcastic] Because he does not want us to watch him beg Mother to take him back.
Curufin: And grovel at the feet of the Valar.
Fëanor: [furious glare] It should be enough that I have commanded you to remain here.
Finwë: Peace! I am certain we can find something to pass the time while you are gone.
Amras: [defiant] We do not have to stay here... We can leave whenever we wish.
Fëanor: Then do so. I care not. [mounts the horse] Just be here when I return. [rides off quickly]
Finwë: [sighs] Well, what shall we do today?
Maedhros: [shrugs] I still have that hinge I am working on.
Celegorm: Fishing...
Maglor: [turns away, obviously disappointed]
Finwë: [to Twins] How about you? I believe that young mare is just about ready for a saddle. Do you wish to help me gentle her?
Twins: [apparent disinterest, in unison] All right. [camera focuses on Twins, who grin eagerly at each other. Cut]
* * * * * * *
Cut to scene of dark shadow climbing up a sheer rock face.
As the camera zooms in it penetrates the cloud of darkness and we can make out Melkor and Ungoliant. They reach the pinnacle of Hyarmentir, and look out over the 'Guarded Realm.' Camera pans over Valinor: Below them lie the woods of Oromë, and westward shimmering the fields and pastures of Yavanna, golden with tall wheat. Melkor looks north, and we see far off the shining plain, and the silver domes of Valmar gleaming in the mingling of the lights of Telperion and Laurelin.
Melkor laughs menacingly, and leaps swiftly down the long western slopes, Ungoliant at his side, her darkness covering them. Fade.
END OF EPISODE
*************************************************************
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