Season 1 Episode 6 (Season finale cliff-hanger!)
Scene opens on aerial shot of Helcaraxë:
We watch as Morgoth trudge over lots of very rough looking landscape heading north, then cut back to close up on Ungoliant.
Several times her sharp beak clips at the ice only to fall inches short brushing her leg. Ungoliant hesitates and we see her marshalling all her strength and reserve. In a lighting like move her beak snaps at her own leg where it meets her bloated torso. She takes a good chunk out if it and a sickly looking liquid pours from both her beak and her leg. She swallows.
She repeats this several times until the leg is severed and she wriggles free of her ice prison. The camera stays behind her and we see her fighting her way through the ice tunnel, leaving behind a trail of ugly pus and poisonous looking thick liquid.
Cut to Morgoth on a somewhat high precipice looking out over a valley.
On the other side are even larger mountains and in the middle are the ruins of the entrance to Angband. Morgoth lets out a very satisfied sigh… checks the straps on his spear and sword attached to him and begins to scramble downwards to a path. As he rounds a blind corner he finds Ungoliant waiting for him. She is obviously agitated, angry and twitching in pain.
Ungoliant: Surprised, my Dark Lord? You did not expect to see me again... did you?
Morgoth: [obviously startled] You have powers that I did not foresee. But let us be happy that you could free yourself when I could not.
Ungoliant: [screeches angrily] Could not?!? WOULD NOT !!!. I have come to collect what was promised to me.
Morgoth: [looks around and quickly decides that Ungoliant is too great an obstacle to fight so he relaxes and attempts to cut a deal with her] Come with me to Angband and there you will be welcomed and given a seat of high stature and honour. You may nurse your wounds. You will be well fed and you can recover your strength.
Ungoliant: [Hisses] Were I to enter Angband, I would never leave after having been ‘honored’ by those who wait to serve you, even if it means giving their worthless lives to do your bidding. No I will not enter Angband. You will pay your debt here and now and then you can be on your way.
Morgoth: It amuses me to see you making demands upon me. Did you not drink fully of the Two Trees and fill your bloated carcass beyond all measure?
Ungoliant: [advances threateningly] Blackheart! I have done thy bidding. But I hunger still.
Morgoth: [backs away] You have consumed the Two Trees. What now? The light of the stars – the very skies above you? And then what when even that is gone? Would you yet have more? Do you desire the whole World for your belly? I did not vow to give you that.
[there are a very tense few moments where both are trying to decide what next to do. Morgoth makes a motion to go around Ungoliant and she quickly cuts off the remainder of the path and rears up on her back legs. She makes menacing sounds.]
Morgoth: [decides on new tactic] I am the Lord of the World! Bow before me! You dare to confront your Lord and Master?! I did not offer you the World to satisfy your thirst, hunger and lust. I will NOT give you that.
Ungoliant: [coming down off her back legs and taking a less aggressive stance.] The World? I do not desire so much. But you have a great treasure from Formenos and I will have all of that. With both hands you will give it as promised. Or we shall discover here and now who is the Master and who shall be the pet!
Morgoth pauses and weighs his alternatives. He reaches behind him under his cloak and pulls out a small wooden casket. He opens it and light fills the scene causing Ungoliant to scamper backwards a bit. Then the light becomes lesser and she advances. Morgoth takes a large jewel and tosses it to Ungoliant like a Master tossing a dog a bone. She takes it into her maw and devours it with an almost orgasmic pleasure.
Ungoliant: [grasping frantically] More… more … all.. [The scene is repeated again and again and Morgoth becomes increasingly disgusted by the spectacle. Ungoliant is now nearly 50% larger around the torso and is only becoming more agitated. Morgoth shows Ungoliant the wooden casket empty of all its contents. He flings it in contempt at Ungoliant who brushes it away crashing it upon some rock.]
Morgoth: [belligerently] My vow and my debt is now paid to you. Stand aside or risk my wrath.
Ungoliant: With one hand you give freely … but with the left hand only.
Morgoth: There is no more ---- but you may consume those wooden shards if it pleases you.
Ungoliant: [snarls angrily] Under your cloak is a casket of clear crystal. It contains a treasure vastly more valuable… more desirable … more worthy of me than those gems I have already consumed….
[Morgoth pauses and throws his black cape back over both shoulders. He stands tall and even appears to loom over Ungoliant. He unfolds his gauntleted hand and in it is a glowing crystal casket. The area where his glove meets the casket appears to be steaming.]
Morgoth: [amiably] You have had enough and all that was due to you. I placed my power in you and your work was accomplished. I need you no more. [He holds out the casket so Ungoliant can see it….. speaks softly:] These things you will not have – not even to see or look upon them. I name them to myself forever!
Ungoliant screams out in fury and rises up on her back legs matching his height. She strikes out with her front legs, the claws striking the crystal chest, which at first seems to resist the force of the blow, but to Morgoth’s amazement suddenly fissures appear all over the surface, and it crumbles in his hands. Morgoth frantically clutches at the jewels lest they fall to the ground and screams in pain as their heat burns straight through his gauntlets. However he continues to clasp them in defiance. Ungoliant begins to emit a gaseous vapour that darkens the area and thick ropey cords begin to fall upon Morgoth binding him tightly in a web that attaches itself to rock behind him. The cords drip with an unhealthy acid like substance that cause the armour of Morgoth to steam and singe. His black cape begins to disintegrate. The drops that hit the ground steam and a sickly vapour begins to rise around Morgoth.
Ungoliant: Now who is the fly in the trap? Now who is the Lord and the Master and the God that must be worshipped? Now who is it that will pay with their very life? I ate my own leg to be free. Can you eat those cords that bind you? I fear the taste will not please you…. Master! [she screeches in laughter, mocking Morgoth]
Ungoliant shambles forward towards the trapped Morgoth… but then he pushes with all his might against the cords and lets out a scream that starts out loudly but manages to increase even more until even Ungoliant scurries backward and buries her head in the dirt……
Rock begins to break off from the cliffs and falls around them. Several large boulders nearly smash Ungoliant and some smaller ones appear to injure her. The scream begins to echo upon other rock faces and bounces back again and again causing Ungoliant to screech in pain, powerless to advance upon Morgoth. Fissures open up in the ground itself and fires leap up singing Ungoliant. The whole area shakes like a massive earthquake is about to swallow everything. She back away, screeching in obvious pain. Cut.
* * * * * * *
Cut to main room, Fëanor’s house in Tirion.
Fëanor and Sons fill packs with wrapped food and blankets
Celegorm: Does anyone have socks?
Curufin: Or any clothing?
Maedhros: Remember what Ada said about travelling light?
Maglor: I am certain we can borrow from our cousins. They should still have a full wardrobe.
Fëanor: I think clean socks will be the least of your concerns. Once we have reclaimed what is ours and brought vengeance home to Morgoth you will have all the clean socks you wish.
[Camera shift right. Sons stop talking as Nerdanel enters. Focus on Nerdanel’s face. She has been crying, and looks very tired. Sons leave, leaving their packs where they lay. Fëanor approaches Nerdanel. She steps back.]
Fëanor: How is Indis?
Nerdanel: Sleeping. We gave her a lot of wine. [glances at mess of packing] I will get our things together.
Fëanor: What did you say?
Nerdanel: I am coming with you.
Fëanor: Do not be ridiculous.
Nerdanel: [picks up a pack. Secures wrapping on a package of food.] You need me.
Fëanor: This will be no walking party. We are going to war.
Nerdanel: Think you I do not realize that. [approaches Fëanor] I let you leave me once. Never again.
Fëanor: [strokes her hair] I cannot keep myself safe in battle if I must worry about you. I could not stand to watch you in danger, and I could not leave you without knowing you were safe. That is why you must stay here, my love.
Nerdanel: Then at least leave the younger boys with me. Amrod and Amras are surely too young for this. I fear some terrible peril will befall one of them ‘ere they set foot in Middle-earth!
Fëanor: [deep sigh] Their oath will bind them now. They cannot recant. And they are grown, though young. [kisses Nerdanel] We will meet again, once I have finished what is now begun. [Fade.]
* * * * * * *
Fade into scene in garden of Amarië's parents in Valmar.
A pair of small lamps light the space, and there are a few stars visible, but otherwise all is dark. Amarië stands near a small fountain, her hands clasped. Finrod paces , clearly agitated. Amarië’s parents sit on a small bench. Her mother is crying silently, her father appears tense.
Finrod: [earnestly, with troubled eyes] Fёanor wants revenge for the theft of his jewels and the slaying of his father. He stood upon the summit of Túna and spoke fierce words of anger and pride to the Noldor. He is now leading a rebellion of Noldor against the Valar. He has taken kingship over them and plans to lead them east over the great sea.
Amarië: [in disbelief.] A rebellion against the Valar? But that is impossible. Surely the Valar shall not permit their departure?
Finrod: They do not advise it but neither will they hinder us [sighs] So there it is. My father likes this mad idea not one bit, but he will neither gainsay Fëanor nor will he stay behind. [to Amarië's father] You are fortunate you were not there to see the spectacle.
Father: So what will you do, Findaráto?
Finrod: [shrugs] I do not want to go. My father and I sought to tame the hearts of the Noldor, but Fёanor’s words have too strong an effect on them. They will depart and with them I must go.
Amarië : [panicky] You will leave Tirion with your people. I shall never see you again!
Finrod: [takes her hand and kisses it sorrowfully] What choice have I? To walk into folly and darkness, or turn my back on my entire family. I would hurt those I love, either way.
Amarië: [calming down a little, lays a hand on his arm] I know you will do the right thing.
Finrod: I hope so. [takes both her hands in his] It seems to me there is but one way I can resolve this dilemma: I would ask you to come with me. [Camera cut to Parents, shocked. Mother cries more intensely, Father stands, fists clenched.]
Finrod: [hurried, stammering] I know I ask a hard thing. This will be no pleasant journey, and only the Valar know what we will find at the end of it. Wilderness at the very least, and perhaps defeat at the hands of the Dark Lord. Still, if this is what is to be then I would have you by my side –
Amarië: [eyes shining] And I would be there!
Father: [determined] No, you will not! [Camera shift to Father. Amarië and Finrod gape at him.]
Father: [to Finrod] You speak of a hard journey and an uncertain end, and yet you ask my daughter to join you in what you have already called folly? I had thought better of you when first you asked to court her. Had I known what you would become I would have thrown you from my door when first you darkened the stoop!
Finrod: [indignant] That is unfair!
Amarië: Father, it is my choice, surely?
Father: No, it is not. You are still under age, and while I have the power I will protect you from the madness of these Noldor princes and their lust for the craft of their hands. [to Finrod] I speak not of you, for you have never shown yourself to be anything but sensible until this moment. If you would take my child to wife, you must remain here.
[Camera focus on Finrod. Tears fill his eyes, his lips tighten as he fights not to cry. Camera drop to their clasped hands. Amarië squeezes his fingers gently.]
Father: [firmly] The choice should be an easy one, son of Finarfin.
Finrod: [incredulous] To forsake the family that bore and raised me or abandon she who holds my heart?
Father: If there is any question in your heart, then your decision is already made. [leans close, whispers] Do not leave my daughter with noble words that will bind her heart and prevent her finding happiness with another once you are gone! [to Mother, firmly] Come, let us leave them to their farewells.
[Parents exit right. Amarië hugs Finrod and buries her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking. Finrod kisses the top of her head, then lifts her chin gently so she looks at him. Camera focus on pair.]
Finrod: [gently] You know I cannot stay. And you know why. We have changed. We are no longer children and we cannot turn our backs on what has happened
Amarië: [her face falls] I...had hoped that their doom would not be yours as well, but it is not to be... [her eyes brim with tears. ] Leave or stay, I would be happy so long as I was with you. How can my father deny us our chance of happiness? I hate him… [sobs, dampening Finod’s tunic with her tears.]
Finrod: [comforts her, stroking her back soothingly] But he is right: I cannot ask you to come, we journey far and it will be perilous.
Amarië: [in desperation] Then stay with me and we shall be married!
Finrod: How could I ever be the man you believe me to be if I left my family to their fates? You are Vanya…it is not your king that must be avenged. You belong here with your people who love the Valar still: not out in the darkness of the Hither lands where many will face death.
Amarië: Surely to die would be better than to endure the pain of losing the one whom you love so much.
Finrod: [anguished] That would be a bitter Fate indeed. We must trust that Eru has ordained otherwise for us.
Amarië: [Nods, blinking away her tears with a new resolve. Whispers] Finrod, Beloved, safe journey and peace. [kisses him fiercely.]
Finrod: Amarië, [looks into her eyes for the last time.] I will be lost without you. May your life bring you joy. [holds her tightly] I do not ask you to wait for me when I cannot be sure any of us will return.
Amarië: You may not ask, but I willingly answer. Yes, I will wait for you until the end of time. We will meet again, my Lord.
Finrod: [nods] If Eru wills it, after the End...[They kiss. Camera fade to mist, cut.]
* * * * * * *
The History of the Silmarils - Season 1, Episode 6
The History of the Silmarils - Season 1, Episode 6
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
Fade in to scene at Tirion
We see shots of the Noldor preparing for the march and assembling in the main square. Those who have elected to stay are watching the activity from their doorways and windows, almost in disbelief. Everything is in disarray. The sound of a thousand voices shouting commands and confusion over each other is barely heard above the crashing and clanging of people gathering together their belongings. Young children are crying in their mothers arms; women are screaming in frustration at their husbands; tearful good-byes were being said to those who are refusing to leave Tirion with the rest of the Noldor.
People are running around everywhere shouting for others to move out of their way. Lanterns and torches are being lit, trying to offer some light amongst the darkness. Restless horses, carrying their owner’s belongings neigh loudly, stamping the floor with their hooves. Banners of the different households flutter high into the air. The sudden blasts of horns and trumpets echoes above all of the confusion and mayhem occasionally, but does not quiet the elves. We see close-ups of individual elves, in their preparations, then as the last few fall into line, camera pans down the line and we pick out the faces of the main characters, some excited, some nervous and fidgety, etc. There are two divided groups, the greater one led by Fingolfin, and the other by Fëanor in the rear. Fingolfin seems to be procrastinating, though Fingon paces restlessly, urging him to hurry and be ready. Eventually Fëanor steps out to the front:
Fëanor: Enough! Let us be gone! [a great cheer goes up from the host, and trumpets sound a fanfare.]
The hosts move off down the hill towards the city gates. As they go, the remaining Noldor come out of their doors and form a silent crowd behind the departing Elves.
The marchers pass out through the gates; as they do so, an enormous eagle soars into view. It circles above them then swoops gracefully down towards the column of Elves, landing on a largish boulder at the side of the road. As the leading Elves watch in amazement, the eagle seems to stretch out and grow taller, shaking its feathers. For a split second there is a blur as the bird transforms into a tall, slender ‘Elf’ with outspread wings still attached to his back. Then the wings fold and become a rippling cloak around him.. Eonwë, the Herald of Manwë steps forward, holding up his arm to halt the column.
Eonwë: Go no further! The hour is evil! Against the folly of Fëanor only is my counsel set. The Valar will lend you no aid in this quest…
Fëanor: [steps forward to confront Eonwë] We need no help from your Lords and Ladies! They have failed us before, we no longer put our trust in them. Our course is set…do not try to dissuade us!
Eonwë: The Valar have not sent me to hinder you: you came here freely, so freely may you depart. But you, Fëanor Finwë’s son, by your own oath you are exile, and you shall unlearn the lies of Melkor in bitterness. You say he is Vala? then your oath is useless – you would not be strong enough to overthrow any of the Valar even if you were three-times greater than you are now.
Fëanor: [laughs loudly in Eonwë’s face, then turns to the Noldor] So! will you valiant people send the heir of your dead King alone into exile with only his sons to comfort him, and return yourselves to bondage? [cries of “No”, and “Freedom!”, etc. Fëanor’s host moves up alongside to support him. Fëanor turns back to Eonwë:] Say this to Manwë Súlimo, High King of Arda: Even if I cannot overthrow Morgoth, at least I am not delaying to attack him; I do not sit idly in grief… [Eonwë flinches at the insult ] Perchance, Eru has set in me a fire greater than anyone knows, and perhaps I shall be able to cause such hurt to the Foe of the Valar that even the mighty in the Ring of Doom will be amazed to hear it. Yes, my people will follow where I lead….Farewell! [Eonwë bows stiffly to him, and departs.]
The Noldor continue their march, this time with Fëanor’s followers hurrying in front of the host of Fingolfin. We have wide shots of the marchers as they travel through the Calacirya. The camera pans along the column very slowly from the head to the rear: we have a series of vignettes, snatches of conversation, etc, illustrating the effects of leaving behind all that they hold dear.
We catch rowdy banter and laughter from Fëanor’s sons and Fingon, who march eagerly, eyes only for the way ahead; The camera moves on a little further back and picks out a group of women pulling a small handcart; they are chatting, making plans for their new lives, but the cheerfulness seems slightly forced.; the camera moves on again, this time stopping at a couple of boys, one holding the hand of his younger sibling who is dragging his feet and sniffling. The older boy is teasing him with talk of battles and fighting monsters, which makes his brother cry even more. Their mother angrily rebukes the older son and picks the little boy up in her arms to comfort him;
Camera moves further back again and stops over a group of learned Noldor who are in earnest conversation, perhaps speculating on the fate of the Eldar who they left behind in Middle-earth when the 3 clans made the great journey. Moving further back again we see that Fingolfin’s people are travelling more slowly and less eagerly, led by Fingolfin and Fingon; We see families clutching chests and packs full of prized possessions, memories of their time in Valinor that they hope will be a comfort to them, though they might regret the weight of their burdens later. In the rear are Finarfin and Finrod, and others of their family, often glancing back at the city; we see Galadriel stop to remove a stone from her shoe. As she straightens again she pauses, looking at the gleaming tower of the Mindon Eldaliéva. Her resolve strengthened, she determinedly turns her back on the city and picks up pace again.
Finrod: [perturbed] Father, should we not be following the counsel of our hearts, and not the seductive words of our outlawed Prince?
Finarfin: [shakes his head sadly] My son, it is not that simple…Do you think I would not rather stay in our beautiful city, full of the wonder and knowledge we received at the feet of the Valar?
Finrod: No…I just meant… [falters lamely]
Finarfin: I will carry with me forever the memories of the bliss we are forsaking, but my allegiance is to my brother and our people. Their will is to depart and Fingolfin must lead them or be renounced. That is why we are doing what we must. [He turns and stops suddenly. The road has twisted and turned so that the city is almost lost from view. Only the lamp in the very top of the Tower of Ingwë is visible. Close up on Finarfin’s face as he stares at the sight. Then he closes his eyes and a tear courses slowly down his cheek. Fingon, Aegnor and Angrod stand silently beside him, their heads bowed. Then together they turn and continue on their way. Cut.]
* * *
Cut to Nerdanel and Indis standing motionless at the top window of the Tower
They are watching as the column slowly moves out of sight.
Indis: [puts arm around Nerdanel’s shoulder; sighs] If Eru answers our prayers it will not be so long before they are safely returned to us.
Nerdanel: [whispers] My heart tells me I shall not see my Beloved again… [Fade]
* * *
Fade back into scene later of column approaching the sea a few miles from the haven of Alqualondë.
Fëanor calls a halt for rest. Shots of grateful Elves dropping their packs,etc, sitting by the wayside.
Cut to scene of Fëanor walking a little way apart from the host; he stands looking out of the sea towards Middle-earth. Maedhros comes up alongside him. They talk softly.
Maedhros: What are your plans, Ada? Have you decided on a course of action?
Fëanor: My first purpose was to travel north, to follow Morgoth’s trail to where the sundering seas grow narrower….
Maedhros: And now?
Fëanor: Now I think our people will struggle over the long distance north to the crossing point, and once we reach it, how shall we manage the crossing without a great fleet to sail in?
Maedhros: It will take a long time and great labour to build such a fleet as we will need, even if we had any skilled shipwrights among our people!
Fëanor: [Nods, folds arms] Truly. I am minded to speak with Olwë of Alqualondë. The Teleri have ever been friends to the Noldor. If we could persuade them to join our cause, they might lend us their ships, or at least help us in the building of our own.
Maedhros: [pauses for a moment, thinking] And if the Teleri were to abandon Valinor like us, the bliss of the Valar would be further diminished… [grins at his father]
Fëanor: [grins back] …and our power for war upon Morgoth increased! [they clasp shoulders and return to the rest of the column. Cut]
* * * * * * *
Cut back to Morgoth & Ungoliant in Lammoth:
We see Morgoth bound with Ungoliant’s cords dripping with foul looking acid. Ungoliant waits some feet away to see if her web can kill the Valar so that she can take the Silmarils. The cords are choking Morgoth. Ungoliant advances upon Morgoth believing he has finally succumbed to the acidic poisons of her cords. She rears up upon her back legs and is furiously clicking her beak and is about to strike when she hears a loud roaring and the area is filled by a Balrog wielding a whip of flame.
The Balrog advances and flails at her with his fiery whip. Ungoliant shrieks in obvious pain and scurries backwards. A second Balrog rounds the bend and joins the first. Ungoliant sizes up the situation and begins to slowly advance towards the duo. She raises herself upon her back legs to appear at her tallest and dispels some dark inky looking vapours towards them. Two other Balrogs arrive and they rush right to her only to be hit my more black vapours stopping them. Then they hear the loud command of Morgoth:
Morgoth: Free me! Now!
[One of the Balrogs makes a motion to one of the others to attack Ungoliant and the other two turn towards Morgoth. Ungoliant snaps and squeals while the two Balrogs try to hit her with their whips, occasionally hitting and causing some pain. After a moment of this stand-off, Ungoliant turns and runs off. Before they can get to her she jumps down a cliff-side and scurries down head first. One of the Balrogs goes to pursue but is restrained by the other. From behind them we hear a deep voice, obviously angry and in discomfort....Camera cuts back to Morgoth]
Morgoth: I said, Free me... NOW! What are you waiting for?
[Another of the Balrogs attempts to cut through the cords with a large cleaver like weapon but it fails to do the job and the acid eats away at the metal. A second Balrog attempts to use his own clawed hands to rip at the cords but pulls back and yelps in pain when they burn him.]
Morgoth: Tear the cords with your whips...... they cannot hurt me for I am well protected.
[The Balrogs hesitate for a moment and look to each other. One steps forward and lightly flicks his whip and it fails to cut anything. ]
Morgoth: Fools... I tire of this... [screams loudly] GET ME OUT OF HERE NOW!!!
[The Balrogs all wade in together swinging their fiery whips into the cords. The screen fills with fiery sparks as some of their blows strike Morgoth’s armour producing a myriad of colours that look like fireworks emanating from his body. After about twenty seconds of this, all we can see is the fireworks and suddenly Morgoth emerges from the fiery inferno. As he emerges, his black armour begins to blot out the fireworks and eventually blackness fills the entire centre of the screen --- the contrast should be dramatic and the music should match. Morgoth looks back at the cords burning and sizzling upon the ground and the Balrogs who are agitated from their labours.]
Morgoth: To Angband! [The Balrogs all roar together and the scene fades out.]
* * * * * * *
Fade in to scene at Tirion
We see shots of the Noldor preparing for the march and assembling in the main square. Those who have elected to stay are watching the activity from their doorways and windows, almost in disbelief. Everything is in disarray. The sound of a thousand voices shouting commands and confusion over each other is barely heard above the crashing and clanging of people gathering together their belongings. Young children are crying in their mothers arms; women are screaming in frustration at their husbands; tearful good-byes were being said to those who are refusing to leave Tirion with the rest of the Noldor.
People are running around everywhere shouting for others to move out of their way. Lanterns and torches are being lit, trying to offer some light amongst the darkness. Restless horses, carrying their owner’s belongings neigh loudly, stamping the floor with their hooves. Banners of the different households flutter high into the air. The sudden blasts of horns and trumpets echoes above all of the confusion and mayhem occasionally, but does not quiet the elves. We see close-ups of individual elves, in their preparations, then as the last few fall into line, camera pans down the line and we pick out the faces of the main characters, some excited, some nervous and fidgety, etc. There are two divided groups, the greater one led by Fingolfin, and the other by Fëanor in the rear. Fingolfin seems to be procrastinating, though Fingon paces restlessly, urging him to hurry and be ready. Eventually Fëanor steps out to the front:
Fëanor: Enough! Let us be gone! [a great cheer goes up from the host, and trumpets sound a fanfare.]
The hosts move off down the hill towards the city gates. As they go, the remaining Noldor come out of their doors and form a silent crowd behind the departing Elves.
The marchers pass out through the gates; as they do so, an enormous eagle soars into view. It circles above them then swoops gracefully down towards the column of Elves, landing on a largish boulder at the side of the road. As the leading Elves watch in amazement, the eagle seems to stretch out and grow taller, shaking its feathers. For a split second there is a blur as the bird transforms into a tall, slender ‘Elf’ with outspread wings still attached to his back. Then the wings fold and become a rippling cloak around him.. Eonwë, the Herald of Manwë steps forward, holding up his arm to halt the column.
Eonwë: Go no further! The hour is evil! Against the folly of Fëanor only is my counsel set. The Valar will lend you no aid in this quest…
Fëanor: [steps forward to confront Eonwë] We need no help from your Lords and Ladies! They have failed us before, we no longer put our trust in them. Our course is set…do not try to dissuade us!
Eonwë: The Valar have not sent me to hinder you: you came here freely, so freely may you depart. But you, Fëanor Finwë’s son, by your own oath you are exile, and you shall unlearn the lies of Melkor in bitterness. You say he is Vala? then your oath is useless – you would not be strong enough to overthrow any of the Valar even if you were three-times greater than you are now.
Fëanor: [laughs loudly in Eonwë’s face, then turns to the Noldor] So! will you valiant people send the heir of your dead King alone into exile with only his sons to comfort him, and return yourselves to bondage? [cries of “No”, and “Freedom!”, etc. Fëanor’s host moves up alongside to support him. Fëanor turns back to Eonwë:] Say this to Manwë Súlimo, High King of Arda: Even if I cannot overthrow Morgoth, at least I am not delaying to attack him; I do not sit idly in grief… [Eonwë flinches at the insult ] Perchance, Eru has set in me a fire greater than anyone knows, and perhaps I shall be able to cause such hurt to the Foe of the Valar that even the mighty in the Ring of Doom will be amazed to hear it. Yes, my people will follow where I lead….Farewell! [Eonwë bows stiffly to him, and departs.]
The Noldor continue their march, this time with Fëanor’s followers hurrying in front of the host of Fingolfin. We have wide shots of the marchers as they travel through the Calacirya. The camera pans along the column very slowly from the head to the rear: we have a series of vignettes, snatches of conversation, etc, illustrating the effects of leaving behind all that they hold dear.
We catch rowdy banter and laughter from Fëanor’s sons and Fingon, who march eagerly, eyes only for the way ahead; The camera moves on a little further back and picks out a group of women pulling a small handcart; they are chatting, making plans for their new lives, but the cheerfulness seems slightly forced.; the camera moves on again, this time stopping at a couple of boys, one holding the hand of his younger sibling who is dragging his feet and sniffling. The older boy is teasing him with talk of battles and fighting monsters, which makes his brother cry even more. Their mother angrily rebukes the older son and picks the little boy up in her arms to comfort him;
Camera moves further back again and stops over a group of learned Noldor who are in earnest conversation, perhaps speculating on the fate of the Eldar who they left behind in Middle-earth when the 3 clans made the great journey. Moving further back again we see that Fingolfin’s people are travelling more slowly and less eagerly, led by Fingolfin and Fingon; We see families clutching chests and packs full of prized possessions, memories of their time in Valinor that they hope will be a comfort to them, though they might regret the weight of their burdens later. In the rear are Finarfin and Finrod, and others of their family, often glancing back at the city; we see Galadriel stop to remove a stone from her shoe. As she straightens again she pauses, looking at the gleaming tower of the Mindon Eldaliéva. Her resolve strengthened, she determinedly turns her back on the city and picks up pace again.
Finrod: [perturbed] Father, should we not be following the counsel of our hearts, and not the seductive words of our outlawed Prince?
Finarfin: [shakes his head sadly] My son, it is not that simple…Do you think I would not rather stay in our beautiful city, full of the wonder and knowledge we received at the feet of the Valar?
Finrod: No…I just meant… [falters lamely]
Finarfin: I will carry with me forever the memories of the bliss we are forsaking, but my allegiance is to my brother and our people. Their will is to depart and Fingolfin must lead them or be renounced. That is why we are doing what we must. [He turns and stops suddenly. The road has twisted and turned so that the city is almost lost from view. Only the lamp in the very top of the Tower of Ingwë is visible. Close up on Finarfin’s face as he stares at the sight. Then he closes his eyes and a tear courses slowly down his cheek. Fingon, Aegnor and Angrod stand silently beside him, their heads bowed. Then together they turn and continue on their way. Cut.]
* * *
Cut to Nerdanel and Indis standing motionless at the top window of the Tower
They are watching as the column slowly moves out of sight.
Indis: [puts arm around Nerdanel’s shoulder; sighs] If Eru answers our prayers it will not be so long before they are safely returned to us.
Nerdanel: [whispers] My heart tells me I shall not see my Beloved again… [Fade]
* * *
Fade back into scene later of column approaching the sea a few miles from the haven of Alqualondë.
Fëanor calls a halt for rest. Shots of grateful Elves dropping their packs,etc, sitting by the wayside.
Cut to scene of Fëanor walking a little way apart from the host; he stands looking out of the sea towards Middle-earth. Maedhros comes up alongside him. They talk softly.
Maedhros: What are your plans, Ada? Have you decided on a course of action?
Fëanor: My first purpose was to travel north, to follow Morgoth’s trail to where the sundering seas grow narrower….
Maedhros: And now?
Fëanor: Now I think our people will struggle over the long distance north to the crossing point, and once we reach it, how shall we manage the crossing without a great fleet to sail in?
Maedhros: It will take a long time and great labour to build such a fleet as we will need, even if we had any skilled shipwrights among our people!
Fëanor: [Nods, folds arms] Truly. I am minded to speak with Olwë of Alqualondë. The Teleri have ever been friends to the Noldor. If we could persuade them to join our cause, they might lend us their ships, or at least help us in the building of our own.
Maedhros: [pauses for a moment, thinking] And if the Teleri were to abandon Valinor like us, the bliss of the Valar would be further diminished… [grins at his father]
Fëanor: [grins back] …and our power for war upon Morgoth increased! [they clasp shoulders and return to the rest of the column. Cut]
* * * * * * *
Cut back to Morgoth & Ungoliant in Lammoth:
We see Morgoth bound with Ungoliant’s cords dripping with foul looking acid. Ungoliant waits some feet away to see if her web can kill the Valar so that she can take the Silmarils. The cords are choking Morgoth. Ungoliant advances upon Morgoth believing he has finally succumbed to the acidic poisons of her cords. She rears up upon her back legs and is furiously clicking her beak and is about to strike when she hears a loud roaring and the area is filled by a Balrog wielding a whip of flame.
The Balrog advances and flails at her with his fiery whip. Ungoliant shrieks in obvious pain and scurries backwards. A second Balrog rounds the bend and joins the first. Ungoliant sizes up the situation and begins to slowly advance towards the duo. She raises herself upon her back legs to appear at her tallest and dispels some dark inky looking vapours towards them. Two other Balrogs arrive and they rush right to her only to be hit my more black vapours stopping them. Then they hear the loud command of Morgoth:
Morgoth: Free me! Now!
[One of the Balrogs makes a motion to one of the others to attack Ungoliant and the other two turn towards Morgoth. Ungoliant snaps and squeals while the two Balrogs try to hit her with their whips, occasionally hitting and causing some pain. After a moment of this stand-off, Ungoliant turns and runs off. Before they can get to her she jumps down a cliff-side and scurries down head first. One of the Balrogs goes to pursue but is restrained by the other. From behind them we hear a deep voice, obviously angry and in discomfort....Camera cuts back to Morgoth]
Morgoth: I said, Free me... NOW! What are you waiting for?
[Another of the Balrogs attempts to cut through the cords with a large cleaver like weapon but it fails to do the job and the acid eats away at the metal. A second Balrog attempts to use his own clawed hands to rip at the cords but pulls back and yelps in pain when they burn him.]
Morgoth: Tear the cords with your whips...... they cannot hurt me for I am well protected.
[The Balrogs hesitate for a moment and look to each other. One steps forward and lightly flicks his whip and it fails to cut anything. ]
Morgoth: Fools... I tire of this... [screams loudly] GET ME OUT OF HERE NOW!!!
[The Balrogs all wade in together swinging their fiery whips into the cords. The screen fills with fiery sparks as some of their blows strike Morgoth’s armour producing a myriad of colours that look like fireworks emanating from his body. After about twenty seconds of this, all we can see is the fireworks and suddenly Morgoth emerges from the fiery inferno. As he emerges, his black armour begins to blot out the fireworks and eventually blackness fills the entire centre of the screen --- the contrast should be dramatic and the music should match. Morgoth looks back at the cords burning and sizzling upon the ground and the Balrogs who are agitated from their labours.]
Morgoth: To Angband! [The Balrogs all roar together and the scene fades out.]
* * * * * * *
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
PART THE THIRD...
Fade back into Fourth Age:
We see aerial shots of Aragorn's party trekking slowly through the Ithilien countryside, up the old Morgul road towards the Crossroads. The road has been renovated, and the wayside cut back. Gimli is practically dozing in the saddle, and Farin is riding alongside, attentively, ready to prop his uncle up if he starts to slip sideways. Eldarion is riding alongside his father, listening to his tale. He casts a conspiratorial wink back at his friend and proceeds to speak in a very loud voice to Aragorn:
Eldarion: Balrogs!! Trust Morgoth to have good fortune! It seems to me that the Enemy always has the most exciting and ferocious monsters to do his bidding. [thinks again] Hmm…though they were not the wisest of creatures, were they, Ada? When I am fully grown I am going to fight Balrogs, just like Glorfindel – except I will not get myself killed…Nay, I shall defeat 5 in single combat… [dances around in his saddle, pretending to parry and thrust his sword at imaginary Balrogs] Take that, you Flame of Udûn. Back I say, Durin’s Bane, you cannot defeat me!...
Gimli: [starts mumbling in his sleep] Durin’s Bane…they are coming… run…[nearly falls out of the saddle, and Farin has to grab him roughly.] Balrogs? Where? [reaches for his axe] Get behind me, Laddie... Let me at them, I am ready! [suddenly realizes where he is and that everyone is looking at him in amusement. Grins sheepishly.] Och, ‘twas just a dream I was having after all. [to Farin] Did I ever tell ye about the time Aragorn and Legolas and I unearthed a Balrog in Moria? And mighty cross he was to be disturbed, I can tell ye! If it had nae been for old Gandalf, things might have been very different… [cut back to Aragorn and Eldarion riding ahead as Gimli’s voice fades into background]
Eldarion: So, Ada, Morgoth escaped again! But it was a narrow pinch this time, was it not?
Aragorn: Yes, Son. Ungoliant nearly overpowered Morgoth, for she had grown so large on the Light of the Trees and the jewels, and Morgoth’s Vala power had weakened: his hatred ate himself up from the inside, and he spent his strength of spirit in dominating his servants and inspiring them with the lust of evil. He had taken the shape of a great Dark Lord, gigantic and terrifying. The weakening of his power in this time and his desire for lordship destroyed his ability to freely change shape, and he became bound to this one terrible form.
Eldarion: So how did he protect himself from further attack?
Aragorn: Simple: He returned to his stronghold at Angband, where his second-in-command, Gorthaur the Cruel had been waiting a long time for his master’s return. You know him as Sauron, of course. Remember how he escaped from Utumno when Melkor was captured by the Valar? [fade into live action with Aragorn voiceover]
We see Angband being restored and rebuilt. We see the gradual development on the lower foothills of the three peaks as they are piled higher, with scaffolding and bridges, etc. Carrion birds fly out from ledges on the slopes and circle above the smoking pits. At the base of the south face of the middle peak is the Great Gate of Angband, a deep canyon leading into the mountain, lined with towers and forts. Deep chasms drop away on either side of the road. There are also a number of secret gates scattered around the sides of the mountain group.
Aragorn: All this time he had been rebuilding Angband and continuing Morgoth’s work in breeding the orcs as armies and slaves. When Utumno was destroyed it was only levelled to the ground, the secret chambers and dungeons underground were not discovered fully. Sauron delved anew vast vaults and dungeons and above the gates of Angband he reared the threefold peaks of Thangorodrim as furnaces for Morgoth's great smithies deep underground.
[We see tens of thousands of orcs and various evil minions jamming the walls and lookout towers hailing Morgoth’s return. Sauron waits before the doors of Angband as the official greeter. Morgoth acknowledges nobody and pushes past all the adulation like he is having the worst day of his life. His only concern is the Silmarils, still clench tightly in his hand. Cut to clips of Morgoth bent over a forge and work bench.]
Aragorn: Deep in Angband Morgoth forged for himself a great crown of iron, in which he set the Silmarils, and he called himself King of the World. That crown he never took from his head, though its weight became a deadly weariness.
[We see an epic distance shot of the throne room in Angband. It is as large as the interior of a football stadium and the roof sits up twenty stories high. The throne of Morgoth sits on a carved dais a couple of stories above the rest of the room. The dais sits on pillars and below the pedestal are arches and recesses where foul and dark creatures lay below Morgoth. Behind Morgoth’s throne is a huge pillar, some forty feet in circumference and extended all the way up to the ceiling where it is lost crisscrossed in beams and other supporting structures. Upon the pillar are carved craven images of dark beasts and creatures performing evil and unholy acts. In places the carvings are so deep and so lifelike it is as if the actual beings were frozen and placed within the marble and then covered over. Their victims have tears running down their bodies and you can almost reach out and wipe them away but you know that to do so would tear your skin beyond repair.
The room is filled with hundreds of Orcs in their labours. Larger and fouler looking creatures are there as well. Large carrion birds are perched on upper beams. In several places, the floor has large iron gratings with flame, smoke and gasses spewing forth. A large and ornate carved marble set of stairs goes from the floor to the dais on which is set Morgoth’s throne.. Two Balrogs stand on either side of him. He is dressed completely in black including a black helm.
Camera zoom in for closer shot of Morgoth climbing to his throne. He removes his helm and casts it tumbling down the stairs where it is seized by a twisted small dragon like creature with a horribly misshapen head. He opens up a large dark wood casket and removes his three pronged Crown of Iron, each with a blazing Silmaril placed in its centre. As he does so he briefly utters a single soft cry. Morgoth stands and places the crown slowly upon his head. The weight of it, the pain of it, the sheer significance of it, staggers him and he has to reach out to an arm of his throne to steady himself. He composes himself, stands tall to his full height and sits upon his throne. No one has noticed.]
Aragorn: His hands were burned black by the touch of the hallowed Silmarils and they remained black ever after; he was never free of the pair of the burning, nor from the anger of the pain. He governed his armies from his throne room, and only once more did he leave that fortress… [Shot of Morgoth on his subterranean throne fills the screen, then fades to black screen]
* * *
Camera fades back in to an image of another seated King, this time carved in white marble.
Camera swings aside to show Aragorn and Eldarion approaching. They rein in.
Aragorn: [turns to grin at Eldarion] Look! Do you know where we are?
Eldarion: [looks around and sees the spot where the north-south Harad road through Ithilien converges with the Morgul Road.] The Crossroads! Where Frodo and Sam saw the old King’s head covered with flowers on their great journey! [gazes at the statue in wonder. The others in the party have also reached the Crossroads, and sit astride their mounts, waiting patiently.]
Aragorn: Gimli! Here our paths must divide…unless you wish to travel southwards a little and visit the Lord of Emyn Arnen with us?
Gimli: Aye! It would be rude of us not to pay our respects to Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn whilst passing through, like! Besides, Young Farin is enjoying the company of younger folks, aren’t you lad?
Farin: Yes, Uncle! [in a low voice to Eldarion] and I could do with a respite from this pony, too!
Eldarion: [smothers a laugh.] I cannot wait to see Faramir’s estate. It was the ancestral home of the Stewards of Gondor ages ago. I have heard much about it from Father – there are many different types of trees to climb and places to hide! We shall have great fun playing there, Farin. I wonder how far grown Faramir and Éowyn’s son is now? The last time they visited us he had newly found his legs. Maybe he will be more interesting this time! What was his name, Ada?
Aragorn: Elboron, if I remember correctly. [Eldarion pulls a face]
Farin: [tries not to giggle. Changes subject.] So, ah, Legolas and his people have settled up in the gentle slopes of Northern Ithilien?
Aragorn: Yes, it is a fair country of climbing woods and swift-falling streams; there are so many streams and pools and waterfalls that it is known to us as the Land of Many Fountains! Legolas’s company of Elves from the woodland realm have made gardens and tended the plants and trees. In time, Ithilien will once more be the fairest country in the westlands of Middle-earth. We will journey there after we have spent a few days with my Steward and his family.
Eldarion: [excitedly] I am looking forward to seeing the waterfalls! Mama said that Ulmo’s waters carry an echo of the Great Music.of the Ainur… [looks at the road ahead. Although neat and well-tended near the Crossroads, the path soon appears to grow wilder and more overgrown as it winds away up into the distant hills. A stagnant stream still flows sluggishly by the side of the road. As he stares, a sudden breeze blows down the paths and he shivers. ] Where does the middle road lead, Ada?
Aragorn: [sombrely] It leads to the Morgul Vale…
Gimli: [in a hushed tone] …Minas Morgul! The City of the Nazgûl..a foul, evil place.
Aragorn: It was beautiful once, Gimli, the Tower of the Moon! Minas Ithil, it was named when Isildur built it. Then Sauron captured it… [sighs] I ordered Minas Morgul to be destroyed completely after my coronation, and the process of cleansing the Morgul Vale of evil has taken many years. Even so, no man will ever dwell there again. Beregond, the captain of Faramir's guard, the White Company, has maintained the eastern marches of Gondor and cleared Ithilien of any Orcs and outlaws that remained. [nudges his horse to move off again] But let us not linger here any longer...our path leads south where the warm air is fresh and fragrant, and the land is lush with sweet-smelling herbs and shrubs. Come, it is not far!
Eldarion: Good! ‘Though I hope it is far enough for you to finish Fëanor’s story. I dearly wish to know what happened when the Noldor got to Middle-earth…how did Fëanor cross the Great Sea? Did the Teleri help them?
Aragorn: Not exactly. Fëanor first tried the same tactics that had worked with his own people: He spoke to the Teleri in their city to try and rally them to his cause. But the Teleri were not moved by his words. They were saddened that their kin and friends were planning to leave Aman. Instead of offering them aid, the Teleri tried to persuade them to stay. They themselves were quite happy living in their pleasant Haven of the Swans and did not want to go against the will of the Valar. Indeed, they had always trusted Ulmo to know what was best for them, and believed that the Valar would repair the damage Morgoth had done… [Fade back to live action:]
Fingolfin, Finarfin, the others, and Fëanor are seated at a fire…
Fingolfin: It seems the Teleri have more love for the Valar than our people, isolated as they are in their Haven...What are your plans now if they will not aid us? Do we continue North across the ice?
Finarfin: There are too many to cross the ice, and most are not strong enough.
Fëanor: [tartly] Do you think I have not already realized this? [muses] Perhaps, if we can still get some ships, our plight may be lessened.
Fingolfin: [confused] But the Teleri have not listened to you, they will not offer aid willingly, and none of our people are skilled enough to build ships that will last such a voyage.
Fëanor: No, you are right, but Olwë might be convinced to persuade his people if I appeal to him directly; He has supported us in the past. If the Lord of the Teleri can bring his people to our cause then our victory against Morgoth shall be even greater.
Fingolfin: [to himself] ...and perhaps some unseen evil will come of this.
[zoom in on fire… when camera zooms out, the flames are a torch at Alqualondë. We see Fëanor approach the guards.]
Fëanor: Step aside, I am Fëanor, High King of the Noldor. I wish to speak with my old friend, Olwë, your King.
[guards open gate and let Fëanor pass. Fëanor makes his way through the city, until he finds Olwë. They greet each other warmly.]
Olwë: Greetings, my old friend. I have heard of your business here. My people have given you their answer already, I deem.
Fëanor: Are you sure I cannot persuade you to our cause… [voices fade as they walk off into distance. Cut.]
Cut to top of sea arch:
Olwë and Fëanor are near the end of their discussion.
Fëanor: …we shall rule, and when-
Olwë: No!
Fëanor: [surprised] ...What?
Olwë: [shakes head sadly] I will not grant you your request. I will not abandon the Valar, and I urge that you abandon this quest. These ships [motions to ships docked in the bay] are the pride of my people. We learned our craft from Lord Ulmo and his herald, Ossë, not the Noldor; the white timbers were cut and shaped by the toil of our hands and their white sails woven by our womenfolk. These are the work of our hearts, as the Silmarils are yours, and their like shall never be seen again in all Arda. I will not let you have them.
Fëanor: [stunned] But we-
Olwë: You will not persuade me otherwise…
Fëanor: [fighting to control his temper] you would still be peasants but for the Noldor, as you were when you arrived, camping along the beaches in huts. We built your city. We gave you all your precious gems. Will you renounce our friendship so lightly?
Olwë: I renounce not my friendship; I simply rebuke your folly. And when we came, you spoke differently. We were to dwell in Aman forever as brothers side by side. And it was not the Noldor who gave us our ships for which you ask. My answer is no. If you have nothing else to discuss, leave my city! [they have a tense stare-down, until Fëanor turns and leaves. He steps through the gates, and disappears into the darkness. Fade.]
* * *
Fade to a dimly-lit city, later in the evening.
Everyone is going to sleep. We see the guards at the gate. Suddenly Fëanor appears from the darkness, sword drawn.
Guard: You will not enter the city, unless I am slain.
Fëanor: [thinks for a moment] So be it. [brutally kills guard the second guard runs through the gate. Fëanor motions, and his sons step into the light, followed by a host of Noldor who issue into the city; some go for the ships, and begin taking them by force, some violently kill the Teleri, who have not drawn swords. Some are cast into the sea. Some Teleri draw swords, though most have only slender bows and chaos ensues.
Fëanor's host is driven back, but pushes forward into the city
three times. The dead are mounting on both sides. Suddenly Fingolfin's host approaches and are dismayed by the scene in front of them.]
Fingolfin: To arms, my people! It seems the Teleri have turned on us, their brothers! Perhaps it is the will of the Valar that they hinder us. Draw your swords! Fight!
[The fight is uneven, and after a brief spate of fierce fighting the Teleri are driven back and the Noldor escape in the ships. Olwë is on the great arch still. Arms wide he invokes the maiar of the sea for aid:]
Olwë: [desperately] Ossë! Stop them, I beg you, they have murdered my people! Justice must be done upon them.
Ossë: [voice from the sea] No! the Valar have forbidden me to hinder them…
Olwë: [collapses dejectedly] Then all is lost! [cut.]
* * *
Cut to Fëanor and his sons aboard one of the ships in the harbour entrance.
They are struggling to unfurl the sails and make a fast escape.
Maedhros: Father, some say they have seen a storm approaching from the South the likes of which they have never seen before; could it be that Morgoth has returned to finish what he began?
Fëanor: No, I fear the worst from the cravens of the sea, with whom the Teleri have allied themselves. [the waves start to rise in height and strength, and the sound of weeping can be heard on the wind. Soon a full blown storm rages; we see ropes snapping, sails ripping, waves breaking over the bow; many ships are pushed onto the rocks, and others are capsized. The sound constantly rises until the end of the scene. Many of the Noldor are killed. We see some of the principle characters keeping control of their ships, and see Fëanor on the wheel of his ship, holding it with all of his strength, yelling but still almost drowned out]
Fëanor: Hold them steady, my people, hold them!
*
[cut to dead silence, later; we see much flotsam, and dead bodies.]
Cut back to Fëanor's ship
Maedhros: [shocked] Ada, we must gather our dead.
Fëanor: [empty look on his face] No, we leave them… [Fade.]
* * *
STILL MORE TO FOLLOW!
Fade back into Fourth Age:
We see aerial shots of Aragorn's party trekking slowly through the Ithilien countryside, up the old Morgul road towards the Crossroads. The road has been renovated, and the wayside cut back. Gimli is practically dozing in the saddle, and Farin is riding alongside, attentively, ready to prop his uncle up if he starts to slip sideways. Eldarion is riding alongside his father, listening to his tale. He casts a conspiratorial wink back at his friend and proceeds to speak in a very loud voice to Aragorn:
Eldarion: Balrogs!! Trust Morgoth to have good fortune! It seems to me that the Enemy always has the most exciting and ferocious monsters to do his bidding. [thinks again] Hmm…though they were not the wisest of creatures, were they, Ada? When I am fully grown I am going to fight Balrogs, just like Glorfindel – except I will not get myself killed…Nay, I shall defeat 5 in single combat… [dances around in his saddle, pretending to parry and thrust his sword at imaginary Balrogs] Take that, you Flame of Udûn. Back I say, Durin’s Bane, you cannot defeat me!...
Gimli: [starts mumbling in his sleep] Durin’s Bane…they are coming… run…[nearly falls out of the saddle, and Farin has to grab him roughly.] Balrogs? Where? [reaches for his axe] Get behind me, Laddie... Let me at them, I am ready! [suddenly realizes where he is and that everyone is looking at him in amusement. Grins sheepishly.] Och, ‘twas just a dream I was having after all. [to Farin] Did I ever tell ye about the time Aragorn and Legolas and I unearthed a Balrog in Moria? And mighty cross he was to be disturbed, I can tell ye! If it had nae been for old Gandalf, things might have been very different… [cut back to Aragorn and Eldarion riding ahead as Gimli’s voice fades into background]
Eldarion: So, Ada, Morgoth escaped again! But it was a narrow pinch this time, was it not?
Aragorn: Yes, Son. Ungoliant nearly overpowered Morgoth, for she had grown so large on the Light of the Trees and the jewels, and Morgoth’s Vala power had weakened: his hatred ate himself up from the inside, and he spent his strength of spirit in dominating his servants and inspiring them with the lust of evil. He had taken the shape of a great Dark Lord, gigantic and terrifying. The weakening of his power in this time and his desire for lordship destroyed his ability to freely change shape, and he became bound to this one terrible form.
Eldarion: So how did he protect himself from further attack?
Aragorn: Simple: He returned to his stronghold at Angband, where his second-in-command, Gorthaur the Cruel had been waiting a long time for his master’s return. You know him as Sauron, of course. Remember how he escaped from Utumno when Melkor was captured by the Valar? [fade into live action with Aragorn voiceover]
We see Angband being restored and rebuilt. We see the gradual development on the lower foothills of the three peaks as they are piled higher, with scaffolding and bridges, etc. Carrion birds fly out from ledges on the slopes and circle above the smoking pits. At the base of the south face of the middle peak is the Great Gate of Angband, a deep canyon leading into the mountain, lined with towers and forts. Deep chasms drop away on either side of the road. There are also a number of secret gates scattered around the sides of the mountain group.
Aragorn: All this time he had been rebuilding Angband and continuing Morgoth’s work in breeding the orcs as armies and slaves. When Utumno was destroyed it was only levelled to the ground, the secret chambers and dungeons underground were not discovered fully. Sauron delved anew vast vaults and dungeons and above the gates of Angband he reared the threefold peaks of Thangorodrim as furnaces for Morgoth's great smithies deep underground.
[We see tens of thousands of orcs and various evil minions jamming the walls and lookout towers hailing Morgoth’s return. Sauron waits before the doors of Angband as the official greeter. Morgoth acknowledges nobody and pushes past all the adulation like he is having the worst day of his life. His only concern is the Silmarils, still clench tightly in his hand. Cut to clips of Morgoth bent over a forge and work bench.]
Aragorn: Deep in Angband Morgoth forged for himself a great crown of iron, in which he set the Silmarils, and he called himself King of the World. That crown he never took from his head, though its weight became a deadly weariness.
[We see an epic distance shot of the throne room in Angband. It is as large as the interior of a football stadium and the roof sits up twenty stories high. The throne of Morgoth sits on a carved dais a couple of stories above the rest of the room. The dais sits on pillars and below the pedestal are arches and recesses where foul and dark creatures lay below Morgoth. Behind Morgoth’s throne is a huge pillar, some forty feet in circumference and extended all the way up to the ceiling where it is lost crisscrossed in beams and other supporting structures. Upon the pillar are carved craven images of dark beasts and creatures performing evil and unholy acts. In places the carvings are so deep and so lifelike it is as if the actual beings were frozen and placed within the marble and then covered over. Their victims have tears running down their bodies and you can almost reach out and wipe them away but you know that to do so would tear your skin beyond repair.
The room is filled with hundreds of Orcs in their labours. Larger and fouler looking creatures are there as well. Large carrion birds are perched on upper beams. In several places, the floor has large iron gratings with flame, smoke and gasses spewing forth. A large and ornate carved marble set of stairs goes from the floor to the dais on which is set Morgoth’s throne.. Two Balrogs stand on either side of him. He is dressed completely in black including a black helm.
Camera zoom in for closer shot of Morgoth climbing to his throne. He removes his helm and casts it tumbling down the stairs where it is seized by a twisted small dragon like creature with a horribly misshapen head. He opens up a large dark wood casket and removes his three pronged Crown of Iron, each with a blazing Silmaril placed in its centre. As he does so he briefly utters a single soft cry. Morgoth stands and places the crown slowly upon his head. The weight of it, the pain of it, the sheer significance of it, staggers him and he has to reach out to an arm of his throne to steady himself. He composes himself, stands tall to his full height and sits upon his throne. No one has noticed.]
Aragorn: His hands were burned black by the touch of the hallowed Silmarils and they remained black ever after; he was never free of the pair of the burning, nor from the anger of the pain. He governed his armies from his throne room, and only once more did he leave that fortress… [Shot of Morgoth on his subterranean throne fills the screen, then fades to black screen]
* * *
Camera fades back in to an image of another seated King, this time carved in white marble.
Camera swings aside to show Aragorn and Eldarion approaching. They rein in.
Aragorn: [turns to grin at Eldarion] Look! Do you know where we are?
Eldarion: [looks around and sees the spot where the north-south Harad road through Ithilien converges with the Morgul Road.] The Crossroads! Where Frodo and Sam saw the old King’s head covered with flowers on their great journey! [gazes at the statue in wonder. The others in the party have also reached the Crossroads, and sit astride their mounts, waiting patiently.]
Aragorn: Gimli! Here our paths must divide…unless you wish to travel southwards a little and visit the Lord of Emyn Arnen with us?
Gimli: Aye! It would be rude of us not to pay our respects to Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn whilst passing through, like! Besides, Young Farin is enjoying the company of younger folks, aren’t you lad?
Farin: Yes, Uncle! [in a low voice to Eldarion] and I could do with a respite from this pony, too!
Eldarion: [smothers a laugh.] I cannot wait to see Faramir’s estate. It was the ancestral home of the Stewards of Gondor ages ago. I have heard much about it from Father – there are many different types of trees to climb and places to hide! We shall have great fun playing there, Farin. I wonder how far grown Faramir and Éowyn’s son is now? The last time they visited us he had newly found his legs. Maybe he will be more interesting this time! What was his name, Ada?
Aragorn: Elboron, if I remember correctly. [Eldarion pulls a face]
Farin: [tries not to giggle. Changes subject.] So, ah, Legolas and his people have settled up in the gentle slopes of Northern Ithilien?
Aragorn: Yes, it is a fair country of climbing woods and swift-falling streams; there are so many streams and pools and waterfalls that it is known to us as the Land of Many Fountains! Legolas’s company of Elves from the woodland realm have made gardens and tended the plants and trees. In time, Ithilien will once more be the fairest country in the westlands of Middle-earth. We will journey there after we have spent a few days with my Steward and his family.
Eldarion: [excitedly] I am looking forward to seeing the waterfalls! Mama said that Ulmo’s waters carry an echo of the Great Music.of the Ainur… [looks at the road ahead. Although neat and well-tended near the Crossroads, the path soon appears to grow wilder and more overgrown as it winds away up into the distant hills. A stagnant stream still flows sluggishly by the side of the road. As he stares, a sudden breeze blows down the paths and he shivers. ] Where does the middle road lead, Ada?
Aragorn: [sombrely] It leads to the Morgul Vale…
Gimli: [in a hushed tone] …Minas Morgul! The City of the Nazgûl..a foul, evil place.
Aragorn: It was beautiful once, Gimli, the Tower of the Moon! Minas Ithil, it was named when Isildur built it. Then Sauron captured it… [sighs] I ordered Minas Morgul to be destroyed completely after my coronation, and the process of cleansing the Morgul Vale of evil has taken many years. Even so, no man will ever dwell there again. Beregond, the captain of Faramir's guard, the White Company, has maintained the eastern marches of Gondor and cleared Ithilien of any Orcs and outlaws that remained. [nudges his horse to move off again] But let us not linger here any longer...our path leads south where the warm air is fresh and fragrant, and the land is lush with sweet-smelling herbs and shrubs. Come, it is not far!
Eldarion: Good! ‘Though I hope it is far enough for you to finish Fëanor’s story. I dearly wish to know what happened when the Noldor got to Middle-earth…how did Fëanor cross the Great Sea? Did the Teleri help them?
Aragorn: Not exactly. Fëanor first tried the same tactics that had worked with his own people: He spoke to the Teleri in their city to try and rally them to his cause. But the Teleri were not moved by his words. They were saddened that their kin and friends were planning to leave Aman. Instead of offering them aid, the Teleri tried to persuade them to stay. They themselves were quite happy living in their pleasant Haven of the Swans and did not want to go against the will of the Valar. Indeed, they had always trusted Ulmo to know what was best for them, and believed that the Valar would repair the damage Morgoth had done… [Fade back to live action:]
Fingolfin, Finarfin, the others, and Fëanor are seated at a fire…
Fingolfin: It seems the Teleri have more love for the Valar than our people, isolated as they are in their Haven...What are your plans now if they will not aid us? Do we continue North across the ice?
Finarfin: There are too many to cross the ice, and most are not strong enough.
Fëanor: [tartly] Do you think I have not already realized this? [muses] Perhaps, if we can still get some ships, our plight may be lessened.
Fingolfin: [confused] But the Teleri have not listened to you, they will not offer aid willingly, and none of our people are skilled enough to build ships that will last such a voyage.
Fëanor: No, you are right, but Olwë might be convinced to persuade his people if I appeal to him directly; He has supported us in the past. If the Lord of the Teleri can bring his people to our cause then our victory against Morgoth shall be even greater.
Fingolfin: [to himself] ...and perhaps some unseen evil will come of this.
[zoom in on fire… when camera zooms out, the flames are a torch at Alqualondë. We see Fëanor approach the guards.]
Fëanor: Step aside, I am Fëanor, High King of the Noldor. I wish to speak with my old friend, Olwë, your King.
[guards open gate and let Fëanor pass. Fëanor makes his way through the city, until he finds Olwë. They greet each other warmly.]
Olwë: Greetings, my old friend. I have heard of your business here. My people have given you their answer already, I deem.
Fëanor: Are you sure I cannot persuade you to our cause… [voices fade as they walk off into distance. Cut.]
Cut to top of sea arch:
Olwë and Fëanor are near the end of their discussion.
Fëanor: …we shall rule, and when-
Olwë: No!
Fëanor: [surprised] ...What?
Olwë: [shakes head sadly] I will not grant you your request. I will not abandon the Valar, and I urge that you abandon this quest. These ships [motions to ships docked in the bay] are the pride of my people. We learned our craft from Lord Ulmo and his herald, Ossë, not the Noldor; the white timbers were cut and shaped by the toil of our hands and their white sails woven by our womenfolk. These are the work of our hearts, as the Silmarils are yours, and their like shall never be seen again in all Arda. I will not let you have them.
Fëanor: [stunned] But we-
Olwë: You will not persuade me otherwise…
Fëanor: [fighting to control his temper] you would still be peasants but for the Noldor, as you were when you arrived, camping along the beaches in huts. We built your city. We gave you all your precious gems. Will you renounce our friendship so lightly?
Olwë: I renounce not my friendship; I simply rebuke your folly. And when we came, you spoke differently. We were to dwell in Aman forever as brothers side by side. And it was not the Noldor who gave us our ships for which you ask. My answer is no. If you have nothing else to discuss, leave my city! [they have a tense stare-down, until Fëanor turns and leaves. He steps through the gates, and disappears into the darkness. Fade.]
* * *
Fade to a dimly-lit city, later in the evening.
Everyone is going to sleep. We see the guards at the gate. Suddenly Fëanor appears from the darkness, sword drawn.
Guard: You will not enter the city, unless I am slain.
Fëanor: [thinks for a moment] So be it. [brutally kills guard the second guard runs through the gate. Fëanor motions, and his sons step into the light, followed by a host of Noldor who issue into the city; some go for the ships, and begin taking them by force, some violently kill the Teleri, who have not drawn swords. Some are cast into the sea. Some Teleri draw swords, though most have only slender bows and chaos ensues.
Fëanor's host is driven back, but pushes forward into the city
three times. The dead are mounting on both sides. Suddenly Fingolfin's host approaches and are dismayed by the scene in front of them.]
Fingolfin: To arms, my people! It seems the Teleri have turned on us, their brothers! Perhaps it is the will of the Valar that they hinder us. Draw your swords! Fight!
[The fight is uneven, and after a brief spate of fierce fighting the Teleri are driven back and the Noldor escape in the ships. Olwë is on the great arch still. Arms wide he invokes the maiar of the sea for aid:]
Olwë: [desperately] Ossë! Stop them, I beg you, they have murdered my people! Justice must be done upon them.
Ossë: [voice from the sea] No! the Valar have forbidden me to hinder them…
Olwë: [collapses dejectedly] Then all is lost! [cut.]
* * *
Cut to Fëanor and his sons aboard one of the ships in the harbour entrance.
They are struggling to unfurl the sails and make a fast escape.
Maedhros: Father, some say they have seen a storm approaching from the South the likes of which they have never seen before; could it be that Morgoth has returned to finish what he began?
Fëanor: No, I fear the worst from the cravens of the sea, with whom the Teleri have allied themselves. [the waves start to rise in height and strength, and the sound of weeping can be heard on the wind. Soon a full blown storm rages; we see ropes snapping, sails ripping, waves breaking over the bow; many ships are pushed onto the rocks, and others are capsized. The sound constantly rises until the end of the scene. Many of the Noldor are killed. We see some of the principle characters keeping control of their ships, and see Fëanor on the wheel of his ship, holding it with all of his strength, yelling but still almost drowned out]
Fëanor: Hold them steady, my people, hold them!
*
[cut to dead silence, later; we see much flotsam, and dead bodies.]
Cut back to Fëanor's ship
Maedhros: [shocked] Ada, we must gather our dead.
Fëanor: [empty look on his face] No, we leave them… [Fade.]
* * *
STILL MORE TO FOLLOW!
Last edited by Elentári on Thu May 05, 2011 11:20 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 PART:
Cut to ships sailing north along the coast of Aman;
No light from Alqualondë is in sight, and time has obviously passed.
Voice from another ship calls out: Look, a black figure on the cliffs!
[camera swings to focus on a black draped figure standing high on the cliffs.]
Mandos: [deep, solemn, booming voice] Noldor, I bid you stand and listen!
[all activity on the ships ceases as all turn to the figure on the cliffs; the ships float listlessly on the current of the water. Fëanor stands impassively and statue-like on the prow of his ship. The remaining host of the Noldor who are marching along the coast also stop and listen.]
Mandos: Hear you well the Prophecy of the North, for I foretell your Doom:
Tears unnumbered shall you shed, for you are henceforth exiled from Valinor. The Blessed Realm shall be fenced against you, and we shall close our ears to your wails of sorrow. Upon the House of Fëanor and all their followers is the Wrath of the Valar laid. Your Oath shall drive you ever onward, yet it will betray you and cause the loss of that which you pursue... [during the prophecy camera cuts back and forth between Mandos and the Noldor on the ships and on land, showing the varying reactions of the Elves. Some are frightened and remorseful, others defiant. ]
...By killing your kin unjustly you have stained the land of Aman and you shall be the dispossessed forever. By the will of Eru, sickness will assail you, and you will be slain. By weapon, torment and grief only will your spirits come to the halls of Mandos, and long shall you abide there without pity. Those of you who are not slain will grow weary with the burden of living in the world, and will wane, and become as shadows before the younger race of Men that are yet to come. Thus have the Valar spoken, and so shall it be.
Cut back to Fëanor aboard ship.
He looks around at his sons and followers, some of whom are fidgeting uncomfortably, look at him for leadership.
Fëanor: [defiantly] We did not swear our oath lightly. And we shall keep that oath. We are threatened with many evils and treason not the least. However, let it not be said that we suffer from cowardice or the fear of cravens. Therefore, we will go on, and I also add this to the prophecy: our deeds shall be the subject of song until the end of days! [Fade]
* * *
Cut to Camp along the coast of Aman:
Elves stand at edge of Sea, watching wrecked ships flounder in distance. Focus on Fingolfin, grim-faced. Finarfin approaches, visibly upset. Fëanor sits quite a way apart, with his sons.
Finarfin: [wringing his hands] What shall we do now, guilty and doomed as we are? We have only two choices; to remain constrained by our kinship to our half-brother, or to return home, though the way is barred behind us.
Fingolfin: There is no hope in remaining where we are. Do you think the Teleri will forget or so easily forgive what has passed? Would you?
Finarfin: [sighs heavily] I would that I could take these past weeks back.
Fingolfin: What hope is there in wishing deeds undone?
Finarfin: We could lead our people back to Tirion and beg pardon of those we angered when we left so abruptly? My people are of close kinship with Olwë on my wife’s side, and we did not have any part in the slaying of the Teleri. Even though the same cannot be said for some of your people, not all will blame you for your choice.
Fingolfin: [glares at distant fire] I will not lead them back, brother. Though you may, if you so wish.
Finarfin: I – pardon?
Fingolfin: You can return to Tirion with all who wish to remain in Aman. Not all among our folk are strong enough for a long journey. It is better they remain, whatever the cost to their pride.
Finarfin: And where will you be, then? You would leave me to face the Valar alone?
Fingolfin: [resolutely] I would. Like many of my people I fear to return home and be shamed. I am going on and hope to teach our elder brother of the error of his ways.
Finarfin: [incredulous] You swore you would never raise sword against our brother. Do you now recant your oath?
Fingolfin: I will lift no weapon against Fëanor. But he will be well glad that he is such a craftsman when he is gathering his teeth from the grass at his feet! [fade]
* * *
Fade in to scene of Finarfin and those followers who are intending to return to Tirion.
His sons and daughter are arguing with him.
Finrod: Dearly though I wish to set eyes again on my beloved Amarië, I know she will wait for me; My path lies beside my cousin Turgon in this venture.
Finarfin: [to Galadriel] Beloved daughter! Surely you can see the folly in going on with this foolishness. Would that I had listened to your mother in this. Now I must return to her with a heavy heart, bearing the news of the slaughter of her people.
Galadriel: [gently, puts her arm around his shoulders] Dearest Ada, long have you known that it is not in my character to put aside unfinished any task that I have laid my hands to. Besides, I fear I am too proud to seek the pardon of the Valar in this.
Finarfin: But Daughter! you are the wisest among us; you have great insight into the minds of others. You must know that no good can come of following Fëanor? He is blinded by pride and consumed by the thought of revenge against too powerful an enemy.
Galadriel: Truly, I have looked into Fëanor’s mind…and I saw only darkness. [shakes head as though clearing a bad memory] But there is nothing left here for me and who knows, I may be able to put what I have learnt from Yavanna and Aulë into good use in Middle-earth in a realm of my own! Wish me well, Ada. [kisses him on the cheek, and moves away to join Fingon near Fingolfin’s people. Finarfin looks enquiringly at Angrod and Aegnor.]
Finarfin: [despairingly] Will none of my children return home with me to their mother?
Angrod: Father, you cannot make us go back with our tails between our legs. We are old enough to make our own choices…
Aegnor: We will go with our errant sister, to protect her, if only from herself! Who knows what trouble she will stir up without us to guide her!
Finarfin: [hugs them both. Whispers:] I beg you, for her own safety, take Galadriel to my kinsman Elwë’s people if you can. For though he was presumed lost on the Great Journey, surely his people have made a home for themselves in Middle-earth. [Finarfin turns away sadly, and joins the head of the solemn procession of his people as they start the return journey. Fade]
* * *
Cut to scene of Noldor camp at Araman.
In the distance is the Helcaraxë, vast clashing hills of ice rising out of the waters, and deathly cold fogs are rolling off it over the sea. The ships are at anchor and the Noldor are camped nearby. Many fires are lit and the Noldor huddle round them, trying to stave off the agonizing cold; Camera weaves around the scene, and settles on Fëanor in counsel with Fingolfin:
Fingolfin: [disgruntled] Now what, Brother? You have led us to this accursed place. Shall we all perish from the cold? My people are beginning to curse you as the cause of all our woes…
Fëanor: Let them believe what they will. I care not. As I see it we have two courses before us to reach Middle-earth: either by crossing the sea by ship here, at the narrowest point, or to risk the passage of the ice.
Fingolfin: The grinding ice is well-nigh impassable! And the ships are too few to bear us all across together.
Fëanor: [equably] Then we must divide the host, and half must remain upon this western coast while the others are ferried first.
Fingolfin: And how are we to decide who will cross first Not many will be willing to abide here while others escape the perishing cold!
Fëanor: Perhaps we shall draw lots, unless you can think of another way…
Fingolfin: The cold is addling my brain and I cannot think straight. I will think on it a while.
[leaves fire and returns to his people. Curufin approaches Fëanor, his other sons also gather round.]
Curufin: Ada, there is unease in the camp. It is obvious to many that there are not enough ships and people fear treachery on either side.
Celegorm: [earnestly] True spoken…no one wants to be the one left behind. I fear more bloodshed over this!
Fëanor: [with grim determination] Then let us take matters into our own hands. We have retained control of the fleet since it was seized from the Teleri, and it is manned by those loyal to me. When a suitable wind rises, I say we slip away secretly with all those true to our cause! [looks around at his sons faces] Are you with me in this? [sons nod in agreement] Good, then let us make our plans known to those we can trust. [fade]
* * *
Camera focus on masts of Swan Ships.
Sails flutter and banners flap as wind blows out towards the open sea.. One banner opens against the stars, and we see the device of Fëanor’s house moved by the wind.
Camera shift to action aboard ships. Elves move on the decks, backlit. Sails unfurl, and the ships begin to drift away from land. Cut to Fëanor at the tiller of the lead ship. Wind whips his hair. His expression is resolute, then he looks back.]
Fëanor: [his thoughts are heard as voiceover] And now we are upon the path from which there can be no return. Forgive me, my brother, that I abandon you to the judgment of those who would be our masters. You swore no oath to bind you to my folly. Live well beneath the stars.
*
Camera shift to another ship.
Maedhros is at the tiller, while Caranthir struggles with the rigging. A rope slides through Caranthir’s hands, the sail swells with wind. Both Sons laugh as the ship surges forward ahead of the rest.
*
[Cut back to Fëanor. We hear a deep voice in his head whispering in Elvish.]
Oath: [subtitled] Remember the blood of your father shed without thought. Remember your stolen treasure, the tears of your women, and the cries of your children. Remember your purpose! [Fade]
* * *
Fade in to Ships sailing on calm sea.
Camera shift right to shore, in the Firth of Drengist. We see a wide shallow harbour, a pebble beach, and the land sloping up into thick forest.
Camera shift to Fëanor standing at the tiller of the lead ship. He steers the ship into shore. Cut to prow running up to shallows. Elves jump off and drag the ship farther onto shore, beaching it. Other ships follow. Some Elves draw swords and form a perimeter at the edge of the beach; others secure ships and begin unloading supplies.
Camera pull back and pan Elves making camp on the beach. Stars glitter overhead.
Fëanor: [scanning trees. Clenches fist, voice low] Now, Morgoth, shall vengeance greet you from the hands of those you thought to dispossess! Now it is you who shall know fear, dark Vala! And loss! From the line of him whom you slew without thought shall your end fall, and all you cherish shall be destroyed before your final end!
[we again hear the words of the Oath whispering in his head:]
Oath: Destroy the ships! They must not be left, lest they be used against you… [Camera shift to Sons, approaching from left]
Maedhros: [steps forward] Ada?
Fëanor: [turns] Is all prepared?
Maedhros: All is as you wished it. The camp is set, and food will soon be ready.
Celegorm: [to brothers] I must be starving. That stew smells good.
Curufin: Only because you fed the fish all the way across.
Amrod: [to Curufin] You were no better.
Fëanor: Enough. [to Maedhros] There is work yet before we rest. The ships must be dealt with.
Maedhros: I thought on that. There will be need for all stout hearts and trusty friends in this wild place, and as quickly as we may find them. How many of our force will you spare for rowers to return? And whom shall they bear over first? Fingon the valiant?
Fëanor: [Camera focus. Grim look.] None and none! What I have left behind I count now no loss; needless baggage on the road it has proved. [Cut to Sons, glancing at each other, disbelieving. Cut to Maedhros]
Maedhros: [shakes head] You cannot mean that, surely?
Fëanor: [short, bitter laugh] Let those that cursed my name curse me still, and whine their way back to the cages of the Valar! Let the ships burn! [gestures to Elves standing near fire] Torches!
Elf 1: Our lord is right! Those we left call us kinslayers.
Elf 2: What need have we of them?
Elf 3: The fewer of us there are, the more the glory! Burn the ships! [shouts of agreement]
Maedhros: Hold there! [moves to block Fëanor] This is but the work of the Prophecy moving among us. We were warned of treason of kin upon kin. [louder, to crowd] Would you bear then the name of Betrayers also, and force your children to hang their heads for their father’s shame? [angry shouts from crowd]
Maglor: [to Maedhros] This must stop now. I fear the consequences should this madness run its course.
Fëanor: [firmly, to Maedhros] Would you deny the will of your father? Would you turn betrayer to our cause?
Maedhros: Only when your will would destroy us. Can we not discuss this before we take actions in haste that we cannot undo?
[We hear the Oath whispering again in Fëanor’s mind, but we cannot understand what it says]
Fëanor: [calmly] Let us discuss it, then. [seems to relax and gestures Maedhros to one side. Maedhros complies. Suddenly Fëanor turns and punches Maedhros in the jaw hard enough that Maedhros falls back onto the beach. Fëanor steps over him and takes the torch from the nearest Elf. Maedhros wipes blood from his lip.]
Fëanor: [glares at Maedhros] Do not ever cross me again!
[Camera follows as he walks to the ships. He pulls back his arm; the camera follows the torch as it arcs towards the nearest ship. Camera pan up the swan prow, focus on stars glittering through the deep curve of the neck. Snaking tendrils of smoke rise, drifting over the stars. Pull back to show the ship in flames.]
Maedhros: No! [scrambles to his feet. Maglor and Caranthir catch him before he can run toward the fire.]
Maglor: Stay, brother. There is naught you can do.
Other Elves throw flaming torches into the rest of the boats. Soon the fleet is a burning inferno in a bay of dark water, visible for miles around...the fire seems to grow from the water, engulfing the many ships anchored off shore. On the shore, the Noldor are gathered, most in awed silence. Some are dispersing and turning away from the burning.
Camera focus on Maedhros, distressed. Fire reflects in his eyes. The veils of smoke tear, revealing a path of dark water extending far beyond the light of the fire. To Maedhros it seems almost possible to see the other shore, patches of light from the camp fires. As he stares he seems to hear the laments of those left behind…the Betrayed. Or are the voices in his mind? He shakes his head in disgust.
*
Cut to Fëanor who walks through the crowd and it parts for him. He ignores the puzzled and stunned looks on many faces; no one dares say anything to him. Fëanor looks confident but sullen. He walks along the waterline, away from the crowd, and stares at the burning ships, the light reflecting off his face giving it a ruddy glow. He notices a young elf-girl - perhaps eleven years old, standing about twenty feet down from him knee deep in the cold waters. She is holding her sides with her arms wrapped around her and is softly crying. He goes over to her.
Fëanor: And who are you, child?
Girl: [sniffs] Giemma, my Lord.
Fëanor: You should get out of the water, it is cold and the fire is too far away to properly warm you. Where are your parents? [Fëanor puts his hand on her shoulder and tries to turn her around but she pulls back and points to the burning ships.]
Giemma: My parents put me on that boat and said they would follow with the next crossing as there was no room left. They are waiting with Lord Fingolfin’s people. [she turns to look up in his face] How will they get here now, my Lord?
Fëanor: [hesitates.....struggling for words] It will take them longer, but they will find a way.
Giemma: [tearfully] Why, my Lord? Why did you burn the ships?
Fëanor: You are young. You would not understand. In time, you will. It had to be done for all of our sakes.
Giemma: My Papa saw you once in the Great Square and you spoke and he talked for hours about how you were greatest of all of us. He worships you. He would do anything for you. Now he and mother await the boats that you promised to send back for them. Boats that are burning here and will never carry anyone.
Fëanor: [uncomfortably] It had to be done, little one.
[Suddenly, a tall mast from one boat cracks and breaks off and hits the water making a loud noise startling the girl. She looks back to the ships]
Giemma: And what happens to me my lord? What happens now to me? What happens to all of us?
Fëanor: I will find someone among my people who can look after you, someone with children of your age... [makes to turn away]
Giemma: [grabs his hand] My Lord....thank you for your kindness.
[Fëanor turns to the girl and begins to open his mouth to say something.... he hesitates ..... his head lowers just a tad.... Suddenly, he becomes aware of a commotion behind him. Amrod is being restrained by a number of strong-armed Elves, and he is struggling and screaming incoherently. A sudden chill of horror spreads through Fëanor’s veins as his son’s cries become more intelligible:]
Amrod: [screams] Amras! [He finally breaks free of those holding him. He runs past Maedhros, who grabs at his arm.]
Maedhros: What is it, Amrod?
Amrod: [pulls away. Without looking behind, he calls back, grief-stricken] Amras is on one of the boats! [Maedhros is frozen to the spot, unable to speak. At that moment, Maglor arrives at his side, his face white.]
Maglor: Ai! Maedhros, I did not know! When Father demanded that the boats be set alight we… we did not know that Amras had returned there to sleep!
Maedhros: [whispers] No! [stirs into motion, cries out] Amrod! Come back! There is nothing you can do, you will surely perish!
Maglor: We cannot lose both of them, Maedhros! Come! [The two eldest sons of Fëanor began to run after their brother, but he has already reached the shore and stopped, staring helplessly. As the realization of what has happened dawns on Fëanor he cries out in anguish:]
Fëanor: [screams] Noooo!..... [voice cracks as he convulses in sobs] Nerdanel, what have I done? [drops to his knees besides the little girl, who puts her arm around his shoulder, trying to comfort him.]
Cut to ship which is now just a black shape against the red flames. Fade.
End of Episode and First Season
*************************************************************
Cut to ships sailing north along the coast of Aman;
No light from Alqualondë is in sight, and time has obviously passed.
Voice from another ship calls out: Look, a black figure on the cliffs!
[camera swings to focus on a black draped figure standing high on the cliffs.]
Mandos: [deep, solemn, booming voice] Noldor, I bid you stand and listen!
[all activity on the ships ceases as all turn to the figure on the cliffs; the ships float listlessly on the current of the water. Fëanor stands impassively and statue-like on the prow of his ship. The remaining host of the Noldor who are marching along the coast also stop and listen.]
Mandos: Hear you well the Prophecy of the North, for I foretell your Doom:
Tears unnumbered shall you shed, for you are henceforth exiled from Valinor. The Blessed Realm shall be fenced against you, and we shall close our ears to your wails of sorrow. Upon the House of Fëanor and all their followers is the Wrath of the Valar laid. Your Oath shall drive you ever onward, yet it will betray you and cause the loss of that which you pursue... [during the prophecy camera cuts back and forth between Mandos and the Noldor on the ships and on land, showing the varying reactions of the Elves. Some are frightened and remorseful, others defiant. ]
...By killing your kin unjustly you have stained the land of Aman and you shall be the dispossessed forever. By the will of Eru, sickness will assail you, and you will be slain. By weapon, torment and grief only will your spirits come to the halls of Mandos, and long shall you abide there without pity. Those of you who are not slain will grow weary with the burden of living in the world, and will wane, and become as shadows before the younger race of Men that are yet to come. Thus have the Valar spoken, and so shall it be.
Cut back to Fëanor aboard ship.
He looks around at his sons and followers, some of whom are fidgeting uncomfortably, look at him for leadership.
Fëanor: [defiantly] We did not swear our oath lightly. And we shall keep that oath. We are threatened with many evils and treason not the least. However, let it not be said that we suffer from cowardice or the fear of cravens. Therefore, we will go on, and I also add this to the prophecy: our deeds shall be the subject of song until the end of days! [Fade]
* * *
Cut to Camp along the coast of Aman:
Elves stand at edge of Sea, watching wrecked ships flounder in distance. Focus on Fingolfin, grim-faced. Finarfin approaches, visibly upset. Fëanor sits quite a way apart, with his sons.
Finarfin: [wringing his hands] What shall we do now, guilty and doomed as we are? We have only two choices; to remain constrained by our kinship to our half-brother, or to return home, though the way is barred behind us.
Fingolfin: There is no hope in remaining where we are. Do you think the Teleri will forget or so easily forgive what has passed? Would you?
Finarfin: [sighs heavily] I would that I could take these past weeks back.
Fingolfin: What hope is there in wishing deeds undone?
Finarfin: We could lead our people back to Tirion and beg pardon of those we angered when we left so abruptly? My people are of close kinship with Olwë on my wife’s side, and we did not have any part in the slaying of the Teleri. Even though the same cannot be said for some of your people, not all will blame you for your choice.
Fingolfin: [glares at distant fire] I will not lead them back, brother. Though you may, if you so wish.
Finarfin: I – pardon?
Fingolfin: You can return to Tirion with all who wish to remain in Aman. Not all among our folk are strong enough for a long journey. It is better they remain, whatever the cost to their pride.
Finarfin: And where will you be, then? You would leave me to face the Valar alone?
Fingolfin: [resolutely] I would. Like many of my people I fear to return home and be shamed. I am going on and hope to teach our elder brother of the error of his ways.
Finarfin: [incredulous] You swore you would never raise sword against our brother. Do you now recant your oath?
Fingolfin: I will lift no weapon against Fëanor. But he will be well glad that he is such a craftsman when he is gathering his teeth from the grass at his feet! [fade]
* * *
Fade in to scene of Finarfin and those followers who are intending to return to Tirion.
His sons and daughter are arguing with him.
Finrod: Dearly though I wish to set eyes again on my beloved Amarië, I know she will wait for me; My path lies beside my cousin Turgon in this venture.
Finarfin: [to Galadriel] Beloved daughter! Surely you can see the folly in going on with this foolishness. Would that I had listened to your mother in this. Now I must return to her with a heavy heart, bearing the news of the slaughter of her people.
Galadriel: [gently, puts her arm around his shoulders] Dearest Ada, long have you known that it is not in my character to put aside unfinished any task that I have laid my hands to. Besides, I fear I am too proud to seek the pardon of the Valar in this.
Finarfin: But Daughter! you are the wisest among us; you have great insight into the minds of others. You must know that no good can come of following Fëanor? He is blinded by pride and consumed by the thought of revenge against too powerful an enemy.
Galadriel: Truly, I have looked into Fëanor’s mind…and I saw only darkness. [shakes head as though clearing a bad memory] But there is nothing left here for me and who knows, I may be able to put what I have learnt from Yavanna and Aulë into good use in Middle-earth in a realm of my own! Wish me well, Ada. [kisses him on the cheek, and moves away to join Fingon near Fingolfin’s people. Finarfin looks enquiringly at Angrod and Aegnor.]
Finarfin: [despairingly] Will none of my children return home with me to their mother?
Angrod: Father, you cannot make us go back with our tails between our legs. We are old enough to make our own choices…
Aegnor: We will go with our errant sister, to protect her, if only from herself! Who knows what trouble she will stir up without us to guide her!
Finarfin: [hugs them both. Whispers:] I beg you, for her own safety, take Galadriel to my kinsman Elwë’s people if you can. For though he was presumed lost on the Great Journey, surely his people have made a home for themselves in Middle-earth. [Finarfin turns away sadly, and joins the head of the solemn procession of his people as they start the return journey. Fade]
* * *
Cut to scene of Noldor camp at Araman.
In the distance is the Helcaraxë, vast clashing hills of ice rising out of the waters, and deathly cold fogs are rolling off it over the sea. The ships are at anchor and the Noldor are camped nearby. Many fires are lit and the Noldor huddle round them, trying to stave off the agonizing cold; Camera weaves around the scene, and settles on Fëanor in counsel with Fingolfin:
Fingolfin: [disgruntled] Now what, Brother? You have led us to this accursed place. Shall we all perish from the cold? My people are beginning to curse you as the cause of all our woes…
Fëanor: Let them believe what they will. I care not. As I see it we have two courses before us to reach Middle-earth: either by crossing the sea by ship here, at the narrowest point, or to risk the passage of the ice.
Fingolfin: The grinding ice is well-nigh impassable! And the ships are too few to bear us all across together.
Fëanor: [equably] Then we must divide the host, and half must remain upon this western coast while the others are ferried first.
Fingolfin: And how are we to decide who will cross first Not many will be willing to abide here while others escape the perishing cold!
Fëanor: Perhaps we shall draw lots, unless you can think of another way…
Fingolfin: The cold is addling my brain and I cannot think straight. I will think on it a while.
[leaves fire and returns to his people. Curufin approaches Fëanor, his other sons also gather round.]
Curufin: Ada, there is unease in the camp. It is obvious to many that there are not enough ships and people fear treachery on either side.
Celegorm: [earnestly] True spoken…no one wants to be the one left behind. I fear more bloodshed over this!
Fëanor: [with grim determination] Then let us take matters into our own hands. We have retained control of the fleet since it was seized from the Teleri, and it is manned by those loyal to me. When a suitable wind rises, I say we slip away secretly with all those true to our cause! [looks around at his sons faces] Are you with me in this? [sons nod in agreement] Good, then let us make our plans known to those we can trust. [fade]
* * *
Camera focus on masts of Swan Ships.
Sails flutter and banners flap as wind blows out towards the open sea.. One banner opens against the stars, and we see the device of Fëanor’s house moved by the wind.
Camera shift to action aboard ships. Elves move on the decks, backlit. Sails unfurl, and the ships begin to drift away from land. Cut to Fëanor at the tiller of the lead ship. Wind whips his hair. His expression is resolute, then he looks back.]
Fëanor: [his thoughts are heard as voiceover] And now we are upon the path from which there can be no return. Forgive me, my brother, that I abandon you to the judgment of those who would be our masters. You swore no oath to bind you to my folly. Live well beneath the stars.
*
Camera shift to another ship.
Maedhros is at the tiller, while Caranthir struggles with the rigging. A rope slides through Caranthir’s hands, the sail swells with wind. Both Sons laugh as the ship surges forward ahead of the rest.
*
[Cut back to Fëanor. We hear a deep voice in his head whispering in Elvish.]
Oath: [subtitled] Remember the blood of your father shed without thought. Remember your stolen treasure, the tears of your women, and the cries of your children. Remember your purpose! [Fade]
* * *
Fade in to Ships sailing on calm sea.
Camera shift right to shore, in the Firth of Drengist. We see a wide shallow harbour, a pebble beach, and the land sloping up into thick forest.
Camera shift to Fëanor standing at the tiller of the lead ship. He steers the ship into shore. Cut to prow running up to shallows. Elves jump off and drag the ship farther onto shore, beaching it. Other ships follow. Some Elves draw swords and form a perimeter at the edge of the beach; others secure ships and begin unloading supplies.
Camera pull back and pan Elves making camp on the beach. Stars glitter overhead.
Fëanor: [scanning trees. Clenches fist, voice low] Now, Morgoth, shall vengeance greet you from the hands of those you thought to dispossess! Now it is you who shall know fear, dark Vala! And loss! From the line of him whom you slew without thought shall your end fall, and all you cherish shall be destroyed before your final end!
[we again hear the words of the Oath whispering in his head:]
Oath: Destroy the ships! They must not be left, lest they be used against you… [Camera shift to Sons, approaching from left]
Maedhros: [steps forward] Ada?
Fëanor: [turns] Is all prepared?
Maedhros: All is as you wished it. The camp is set, and food will soon be ready.
Celegorm: [to brothers] I must be starving. That stew smells good.
Curufin: Only because you fed the fish all the way across.
Amrod: [to Curufin] You were no better.
Fëanor: Enough. [to Maedhros] There is work yet before we rest. The ships must be dealt with.
Maedhros: I thought on that. There will be need for all stout hearts and trusty friends in this wild place, and as quickly as we may find them. How many of our force will you spare for rowers to return? And whom shall they bear over first? Fingon the valiant?
Fëanor: [Camera focus. Grim look.] None and none! What I have left behind I count now no loss; needless baggage on the road it has proved. [Cut to Sons, glancing at each other, disbelieving. Cut to Maedhros]
Maedhros: [shakes head] You cannot mean that, surely?
Fëanor: [short, bitter laugh] Let those that cursed my name curse me still, and whine their way back to the cages of the Valar! Let the ships burn! [gestures to Elves standing near fire] Torches!
Elf 1: Our lord is right! Those we left call us kinslayers.
Elf 2: What need have we of them?
Elf 3: The fewer of us there are, the more the glory! Burn the ships! [shouts of agreement]
Maedhros: Hold there! [moves to block Fëanor] This is but the work of the Prophecy moving among us. We were warned of treason of kin upon kin. [louder, to crowd] Would you bear then the name of Betrayers also, and force your children to hang their heads for their father’s shame? [angry shouts from crowd]
Maglor: [to Maedhros] This must stop now. I fear the consequences should this madness run its course.
Fëanor: [firmly, to Maedhros] Would you deny the will of your father? Would you turn betrayer to our cause?
Maedhros: Only when your will would destroy us. Can we not discuss this before we take actions in haste that we cannot undo?
[We hear the Oath whispering again in Fëanor’s mind, but we cannot understand what it says]
Fëanor: [calmly] Let us discuss it, then. [seems to relax and gestures Maedhros to one side. Maedhros complies. Suddenly Fëanor turns and punches Maedhros in the jaw hard enough that Maedhros falls back onto the beach. Fëanor steps over him and takes the torch from the nearest Elf. Maedhros wipes blood from his lip.]
Fëanor: [glares at Maedhros] Do not ever cross me again!
[Camera follows as he walks to the ships. He pulls back his arm; the camera follows the torch as it arcs towards the nearest ship. Camera pan up the swan prow, focus on stars glittering through the deep curve of the neck. Snaking tendrils of smoke rise, drifting over the stars. Pull back to show the ship in flames.]
Maedhros: No! [scrambles to his feet. Maglor and Caranthir catch him before he can run toward the fire.]
Maglor: Stay, brother. There is naught you can do.
Other Elves throw flaming torches into the rest of the boats. Soon the fleet is a burning inferno in a bay of dark water, visible for miles around...the fire seems to grow from the water, engulfing the many ships anchored off shore. On the shore, the Noldor are gathered, most in awed silence. Some are dispersing and turning away from the burning.
Camera focus on Maedhros, distressed. Fire reflects in his eyes. The veils of smoke tear, revealing a path of dark water extending far beyond the light of the fire. To Maedhros it seems almost possible to see the other shore, patches of light from the camp fires. As he stares he seems to hear the laments of those left behind…the Betrayed. Or are the voices in his mind? He shakes his head in disgust.
*
Cut to Fëanor who walks through the crowd and it parts for him. He ignores the puzzled and stunned looks on many faces; no one dares say anything to him. Fëanor looks confident but sullen. He walks along the waterline, away from the crowd, and stares at the burning ships, the light reflecting off his face giving it a ruddy glow. He notices a young elf-girl - perhaps eleven years old, standing about twenty feet down from him knee deep in the cold waters. She is holding her sides with her arms wrapped around her and is softly crying. He goes over to her.
Fëanor: And who are you, child?
Girl: [sniffs] Giemma, my Lord.
Fëanor: You should get out of the water, it is cold and the fire is too far away to properly warm you. Where are your parents? [Fëanor puts his hand on her shoulder and tries to turn her around but she pulls back and points to the burning ships.]
Giemma: My parents put me on that boat and said they would follow with the next crossing as there was no room left. They are waiting with Lord Fingolfin’s people. [she turns to look up in his face] How will they get here now, my Lord?
Fëanor: [hesitates.....struggling for words] It will take them longer, but they will find a way.
Giemma: [tearfully] Why, my Lord? Why did you burn the ships?
Fëanor: You are young. You would not understand. In time, you will. It had to be done for all of our sakes.
Giemma: My Papa saw you once in the Great Square and you spoke and he talked for hours about how you were greatest of all of us. He worships you. He would do anything for you. Now he and mother await the boats that you promised to send back for them. Boats that are burning here and will never carry anyone.
Fëanor: [uncomfortably] It had to be done, little one.
[Suddenly, a tall mast from one boat cracks and breaks off and hits the water making a loud noise startling the girl. She looks back to the ships]
Giemma: And what happens to me my lord? What happens now to me? What happens to all of us?
Fëanor: I will find someone among my people who can look after you, someone with children of your age... [makes to turn away]
Giemma: [grabs his hand] My Lord....thank you for your kindness.
[Fëanor turns to the girl and begins to open his mouth to say something.... he hesitates ..... his head lowers just a tad.... Suddenly, he becomes aware of a commotion behind him. Amrod is being restrained by a number of strong-armed Elves, and he is struggling and screaming incoherently. A sudden chill of horror spreads through Fëanor’s veins as his son’s cries become more intelligible:]
Amrod: [screams] Amras! [He finally breaks free of those holding him. He runs past Maedhros, who grabs at his arm.]
Maedhros: What is it, Amrod?
Amrod: [pulls away. Without looking behind, he calls back, grief-stricken] Amras is on one of the boats! [Maedhros is frozen to the spot, unable to speak. At that moment, Maglor arrives at his side, his face white.]
Maglor: Ai! Maedhros, I did not know! When Father demanded that the boats be set alight we… we did not know that Amras had returned there to sleep!
Maedhros: [whispers] No! [stirs into motion, cries out] Amrod! Come back! There is nothing you can do, you will surely perish!
Maglor: We cannot lose both of them, Maedhros! Come! [The two eldest sons of Fëanor began to run after their brother, but he has already reached the shore and stopped, staring helplessly. As the realization of what has happened dawns on Fëanor he cries out in anguish:]
Fëanor: [screams] Noooo!..... [voice cracks as he convulses in sobs] Nerdanel, what have I done? [drops to his knees besides the little girl, who puts her arm around his shoulder, trying to comfort him.]
Cut to ship which is now just a black shape against the red flames. Fade.
End of Episode and First Season
*************************************************************
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