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PostPosted: Sat Apr 30, 2011 9:09 pm 
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Location: Green Hill Country
SEASON 2 (Continuing and concluding the Tale of Fëanor)

Episode 1

[Opens with recap of Fëanor’s tale from previous episode (1/6,) up to burning of ships, and the realization that Amras is on one of the ships:]

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 ships! [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.

Cut to Elves gathered on shore.
Fëanor sobbing, Giemma patting his back, trying to console him. Sons stand at edge of water, screaming. Focus on Amrod.

Amrod: Amras! Amras! [cut.]

* * *

Cut to inside of ship.
Amras is curled up on some ropes, a blanket over him. Smoke drifts down through hatch. Voices from shore carry in, along with crackling of burning wood. Amras’ ears twitch, his nose wrinkles. He sneezes and wakes, coughing.

Amras: [scrambles up] What?--- [untranslated Elvish] [shouts] Ada!? Help! [coughs] Somebody help me! [coughs. Amras tries hatch. Flames block his way. The deck is completely on fire, and cinders fall through the planking. Amras glances quickly around. There is no way out].

Amras: [frustrated. Punches side of ship] No! I am not yet ready to die!

The wood cracks under his fist. Amras hesitates, then hits the same plank. It cracks more, and there is a noticeable break in it. He holds up both knuckles, now bloody from the wood. Amras steps back and kicks the plank as hard as he can. It breaks completely. Water sprays in, hissing when it hits the falling cinders from the deck. Flames now lick the underside of the deck, but Amras kicks a board below the new hole. The board cracks.

Amras: I- want- to- live! [Words are punctuated by kicks to second board.]

When it finally breaks he kicks the next board down. Water is now flooding in faster. The board splinters. We hear burning wood cracking. Amras glances up and sees the support beam collapsing slowly. Amras lowers his head and charges the hole, hitting it with his shoulder. The deck caves in with a shower of flame and sparks. [cut.]


Cut to Amras in water, kicking to surface.
Burning ships are all around him. He gasps for breath, dives under, and surfaces away from the burning. He swims toward shore, reaching land outside the light of the camp. He staggers, falls to his knees, crawls out of the water and lays on the rocks, gasping for breath. [cut.]


Camera shift to Amrod, sobbing, struggling to get free of the restraining hands that are preventing him from approaching the sinking, burning ship.


Shift to Amras who has lifted his head, his eyes searching for Amrod.
Amras: [whisper] Amrod! [Exhausted, he drops his head back down as he loses consciousness. Fade to black]

* * * * * * *

Fade in on stars in black sky, partly obscured by smoke.
Shift to Ice Field broken by black water. Camera shift down Coast to Fingolfin’s Camp. Fingolfin stands on shore, watching burning Ships in distance. Fingon, Turgon, and Galadriel join him. Focus on Fingolfin, grim and angry.

Turgon: I am tempted to surmise that the Ships will not return to fetch us.
Fingon: [sarcastic] An inspired deduction, Brother.
Fingolfin: [angry but controlled] We are betrayed……
Fingon: I do not wish to press you too quickly, Ada, but what should we do now?
Fingolfin: [angrily] What choices are there left to us? We can perish here, or go back in shame...
Galadriel: [interrupts] I for one will not turn back.
Fingolfin: [looks at Galadriel. Nods.] Nor will I. [He walks forward and stands quietly, staring out across the desolate frozen wilderness stretching ahead as far as the eye can see. His thoughts are heard aloud as a voiceover:] My heart is as bitter and frozen as these cruel hills of ice. Yet even now a desire flickers and burns within me to come by some way into Middle-earth and meet our Betrayer again. My brother has taken enough of the glory for his own name. [turns and walks back to the group. He touches Galadriel’s shoulder. Nods to Turgon and Fingon]

Fingolfin: We shall dare to pass into the untrodden North and endure whatever terrors and hardships fate may throw at us, and ours shall be the tale of valour and endurance the bards sing of when the fires are lit!
Turgon: [hesitates] The ice? [Camera shift to ice flows. Ice grinds against ice. Stars glitter in the clear cold slabs.]
Fingolfin: [firmly] The ice. We cross the Helcaraxë. [Camera focuses another moment on grinding ice. Fade.]

* * *

Cut to interior of Turgon’s tent.
It is sparsely furnished, but a brazier glows. His wife, Elenwë is sitting on a small cot beside Idril, who is sleeping. Turgon enters right.

Turgon: [rests chin on Elenwë’s head] She has finally drifted off?
Elenwë: [smiles] After the third story. I think she is excited about the crossing. So are most here.
Turgon: [pulls her closer] Excited? That is a strange way to describe our situation.
Elenwë: Then the light we all saw –
Turgon: The White Ships will not return for us.
Elenwë: [turns to face him] So what are we to do now? Follow Finarfin’s folk, and hope for pardon?
Turgon: [shakes head] There has been no word, no sign that the Valar are moved to forgiveness. In any case, I doubt the Teleri would allow us to pass them again in safety.
Elenwë: [resolved] Agreed. I suppose we can build ships ourselves. There is little wood, but we have skilled craftsmen and –
Turgon: [lays a finger over her lips. Shakes head]
Elenwë: [stares at him] You mean to cross the ice?
Turgon: What choice have we? If we somehow managed to build enough rafts to hold all our number we could never sail them safely across the cold, dark sea. At least we have a chance if we walk over the ice.
Elenwë: [glances at Idril] You are sure of this?
Turgon: The only thing I am sure of is that I should never have come on this quest. [hands on her shoulders] Would you go back now, if I asked you to?
Elenwë: [firmly] Not even if you ordered it. We shall stay together, whatever may come. Besides, think of the tales we shall have to tell to whatever children may come after Idril. Her younger brothers and sisters will envy her this adventure.
Turgon: This I swear to you; I will keep you safe. Whatever may come, whatever dangers we face, no harm shall touch you. [Camera shift to glowing coals. Fade.]

* * * * * * *

Fade in. The screen is rather dark.. it is the inside of a cave up in the hills near the Firth of Drengist.
As the scene lightens we see four orcs sleeping on the floor of the cave. A few flickering embers from a dying fire burn off to one side providing sparse light. One orc rises slowly and begins to walk towards the cave entrance which is around a bend and not yet visible to us. He stops in his tracks and rubs his eyes as he rounds the bend. The entire front of the cave entrance is filled with a glowing light that dances and bounces off the walls, floor and roof.

The orc takes a step back or two and then moves forward warily. As he emerges we see what he sees - the entire sky before him is bathed in light from the burning of the Elven ships. He begins to move forward even further and begins to hear the noise from afar - shouting and yelling and general noise making. He sees scores of large ships burning in the bay and hundreds of tall Elves upon the shore. He climbs downwards and forward onto a larger rocky outcropping providing a ledge with a better view. As he continues to gape at the spectacle a large hand grips his shoulder from behind and he both jumps and yelps in fright nearly falling off but saved by the strong grip of the larger orc.

Roshak: [the new Orc in the scene... taller and broader and uglier] Why did you not fetch me?

Grubnuc: [the Orc who first sees the ships] Give us a chance! I only just saw the lights meself…I was about to come and get you. What in the Dark Lord’s name is going on?

Roshak: This is important and the news must be carried to the Master back home. Hurry and wake that skinny tracker and tell him I will be there in a moment with instructions. Tell him to ready plenty of water and get ready to run his skinny body all the way back to Angband as fast as his bony legs will carry him.

The smaller orc scurries away back towards the cave while Roshak picks up a stick and begins to make marks on the ground doing some crude form of counting and calculation. He looks at the ground and shakes his head at the marks he has made.

Roshak: Agggh! ... Too many of the tall ones for me to count. But not too many for more of us to kill! [cut.]

* * *

Cut to the tracker orc:
He is barely four feet tall, all skin and bones, rags and patched skins, lean and built to run. He is obviously tired and near exhaustion but he pushes on just the same. As he approaches the mountains of Angband, he is stopped by a group of orcs dressed in more military gear. We do not hear the conversation but the leader of the group gives him a animal skin/sackto drink from and he empties it. He then rushes onward towards Angband and crosses the causeway toward the large gates. Cut.

* * * * * * *

Fade in on Fingolfin’s camp.
The camp is nearly packed away, and the Noldor are in the last stages of preparation for their journey over the ice. Some look toward the sea. Others glance back down the coast, the way they came. Most face north, looking grim and resigned. Angrod, Aegnor, and Turgon adjust large packs.

Angrod: [grunts as he tightens a strap] Tell me again why we are doing this?
Aegnor: Because we have a taste for adventure. Is that not reason enough?
Angrod: I thought it was because we have two stubborn uncles.
Turgon: [face wrapped in a muffler] You two might want to wrap up. It will be colder before we are finished.
Angrod: [grumpy] You mean it will get colder than this?
Turgon: [annoyed] I have just spent time I did not have to spare convincing half this camp that we will be walking over ice for days. It will be cold.
Aegnor: How can you know that? None of us has walked this path. We know not what we will find there. [glances right. Camera follows. Fingolfin, wrapped in a thick cloak and with a large pack strapped to his back, lifts a spear and motions the camp forward. He begins to walk right, and Elves fall into a rough column behind him. ]
Turgon: [slaps Angrod’s shoulder] Look on the bright side, cousin. A bit of walking with these packs and we will all be warm soon enough. [walks ahead of Angrod and Aegnor]

Camera pan over column of Elves. Shift right, focus on horizon where sky meets ice. Cut.

* * *

Cut to Elves crossing ice sheets.
Deep snow blankets everything. Stars sparkle overhead and make the snow sparkle brightly.

Aredhel: [gasps] It is so beautiful. Like walking among the stars.
Fingolfin: [chuckles] We should have a few more hours of walking among the stars before we rest.
Aredhel: How much longer will we travel?
Fingolfin: [slips, catches himself] Like I told you, daughter, a few more hours.
Aredhel: I meant until we reach our destination.
Fingolfin: [glances left, lowers his voice] I do not know. Days, perhaps weeks, maybe longer. [begins walking faster]
Aredhel: [catches up with effort] You do not know where we are going?
Fingolfin: I know where we are going. I simply do not know how long it will take to get there.
Aredhel: Father, what are you saying? You are our king. You must know what is best for us.
[Fingon, Turgon, Finrod, and Galdriel join them.]
Fingolfin: [angry and frustrated] I must know what is best? And what would you have had me do, Aredhel? The Valar banished us from the only safety we have ever known, and the fault lies with me! I followed my brother on a path I cannot undo, and I have dragged those who looked to me for safety down the same fell road. No, I know not how far we must march across this cursed ice. But I do know that we had no other choice. We could sit on the shore and starve to death slowly, or we could trust ourselves to the mercy of those whose ships we helped steal. Perhaps we could jump into the sea and learn to swim like the fish. [turns away] If any of you would take leadership of our people please step forward! I have never desired the responsibility.
Fingon: [to Aredhel] What brought that on?
Aredhel: [shrugs] I merely asked how long our journey would take.
Finrod: Indeed? Not a wise question.
Aredhel: What question would you have asked?
Turgon: The more important one. When we have at last reached our destination, who will have the first opportunity to express our displeasure to the one responsible for this mess.
Galadriel: Do you speak of Morgoth or our uncle Fëanor?
Finrod: Take your choice.
Fingon: I can answer that question: Father.
Finrod: Why do you say that?
Fingon: Because Father may not be the fastest sprinter in our family, but he will never give up. There will be no place either of them can hide from him.
[Camera pan over the column of Elves struggling through the snow. Fade.]


There is magic in long-distance friendships. They let you relate to other human beings in a way that goes beyond being physically together and is often more profound.
~Diana Cortes

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PostPosted: Sat Apr 30, 2011 9:34 pm 
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Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2009 5:03 pm
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Location: Green Hill Country

* * * * * * *

Fade in to Fëanor’s camp, early morning.
A large hound leaves a tent, followed by Celegorm. Celegorm chooses a stick from a pile of kindling and throws it for the hound. The hound chases the stick down the shore, catches it in the air, then pauses and glances toward the water. Hound drops the stick and runs down shore.

Celegorm: Huan! [whistles, then chases hound] Come back here! [glances toward water. Camera follows. Amras lies at the edge of the water, the tide rising nearly to his face] What in Eru’s name – [runs down shore to Amras.
Huan grabs Amras’ collar and tries to pull him out of the water. Celegorm hauls Amras above the tide mark and lays him on his back. Huan licks Amras’ face, whining.]

Celegorm: Amras? [slaps Amras’ face] Amras! [shouts to Camp] Help - here!
Amras: [coughs.]

Camera shift to Camp. Focus on Elves running from tents, some seizing weapons. Amrod, Maedhros, and Curufin reach Celegorm and Amras first.

Amrod: Amras? [shakes Amras roughly] Is he alive?
Maedhros: Possibly, if you do not kill him now. [pulls Amrod back. Amras opens his eyes and spits out seawater. Celegorm and Curufin help him sit up.]
Amrod: Thank Eru! [hugs his twin to him] Are you well?
Amras: I am wet, cold, starving, and my throat feels like I swallowed crushed gems. No, I am not well, brother.
Maedhros: [hands Amras a flask] This should warm you for a bit. Can you stand?
Amras: [takes a long drink] Tell me what blockhead set that fire and I will be on my feet.
[All fall silent. Focus on Maedhros, who glances left. Shift left to focus on Fëanor, who is pushing through the gathered Elves.]
Fëanor: [unbelieving] Amras? My son? [joyful] You live?
Amras: [nods]
Fëanor: [hugs Amras. To gathered Elves] Dry clothes for my son. And food. [to Amras] You must be starving.
Maedhros: [offers a hand to Amras]
Oath: [whispers in Fëanor’s head] See? you were right to burn the ships. No harm has come from this.
Fëanor: [Aloud, focus on Maedhros] Now will you admit that I was right all along?
Maedhros: [straightens] I would call it luck, Father. Amras’ luck that he does not now lie dead in the harbour.
Amras: [stands on his own. Gapes at Fëanor.] You, Ada? You burned the ships?
Fëanor: It was necessary.
Amras: You meant to kill me?
Fëanor: I did not know you were on one of them. I would not have risked your life.
Amras: And what of the rest of our people? What of our cousins, Ada? You have abandoned them!
Fëanor: I told you it was necessary. Now stop arguing and go get yourself dry, we must move inland and find a more defensible place for our people.
[Amras glares at Fëanor, then turns and walks toward camp. Maedhros and Fëanor glare at each other for a moment. Sons gather around Maedhros, all follow Amras. Huan follows Celegorm. Focus on Fëanor, standing alone. Oath whispers, unintelligible. Cut.]

* * *

Cut to clips of Fëanor’s army and followers on moving inland.
They travel up the long Firth of Drengist, following the pass through the hills of Ered Lómin into the plains of Hithlum . The journey is viewed through the eyes of silent watchers, so that the camera moves through the undergrowth at the speed of the scout, pausing occasionally to part the foliage for a better view. As the host moves down towards the Lake of Mithrim the camera swings round and comes to rest on the companion of the scout: we understand that the observers are a pair of Sindarin Elves. The second Elf nods silently at the one who is our eyes. He lets the foliage fall back into place, obscuring our view of the Noldor, and then slips off past the first elf. The camera turns to follow, and fades to black.

* * *

Cut to scene of Noldor beginning to set up camp on the northern shore of the Lake.
Fëanor sends a couple of Elves to scout the area. Fade.

* * * * * * *

Fade into shot of the two Sindar Elves approaching the entrance to Menegroth, over the bridge.
The scouts report their business to the Guards party on the gates an elf is assigned to take them inside. The camera follows their progress as they pass through the gates and hurry down wide passages to the chambers below. The walls of the high halls seem to be made of living stone, carved in images of the natural beauty of Middle-earth. The pillars are hewn in the likeness of beech trees, and lit with lanterns of gold. There are silver fountains, and marble basins, and floors of many coloured stones. The camera travels over carved figures of beasts and birds running on the walls, and climbing the pillars, or peering among the branches entwined with many flowers. The camera picks out one nightingale in close up that seems particularly lifelike; whilst it is still in the foreground we see a young, dark-haired elf girl comes skipping out of one of the side passages, humming a lilting melody. The “carved bird” cocks its head and then answers the little girl’s song. She stops, and looks up at the bird:

Girl: Oh, there you are, Merilin...I have been looking for you everywhere! [she holds out her hand and the bird spreads its wings and flies over to her, landing gracefully on her finger. She strokes the bird’s plumage with her finger. Then, giggling, the girl disappears down another passage way. ]

The caverns are bustling with Sindar going about their business, many barely noticing as the Guard and scouts march through. We catch glimpses of little scenes on the periphery , may be some Elven artists still working on sculptures and bas reliefs; further on we see some dwarves up some scaffolding, working on the ceilings of a side chamber. There are other dwarves perhaps working on gems and semi-precious stones that are being inlaid in the sumptuous decoration.

The scout party enters what is obviously the audience room: the decoration is even finer in here, if it is possible. At one end we see Melian seated on a large throne that seems to have been formed out of a single piece of beech, the back intricately carved to represent the trunk, boughs and leaves of a tree. The veins of the leaves are inlaid with silver and there are carved birds in the branches of the tree and flowers trailing up the arms and legs. The larger throne to her left is empty. Melian is examining some gemstones presented by a group of Dwarves from Belegost. The Dwarves are attempting to fix a price for their work: the atmosphere is cordial, but one can sense coolness between the two parties.

The guard bids the scouts to halt and he continues forward, bowing to Melian, and enquiring where the King might be found. Melian gestures to a chamber off to the left. The guard beckons the Elven scouts to follow him. We see Thingol pouring over a map of Beleriand and the lands to the North, deep in conference with his captain of the guard and other military advisers. He looks up and beckons the newcomers forward, keen to hear their news:

Thingol: [eagerly] Speak plainly: what news from the borders? How fares Círdan against the enemy since his retreat to the Havens of the Falas?
Sindarin elf 1: My Lord, the Orc-host still lays siege to the Havens, and none can yet get through to relieve our people there.

Thingol: [thumps table angrily] How can I enjoy this relative peace, this illusion of normality here in our guarded kingdom, when, despite our recent victories in eastern Beleriand, there is peril and great fear for many of our peoples without, and the servants of Morgoth roam at will?

Sindar 2: We have covered much ground in the last few days, and had passed from Eglarest north toward Vinyamar when we heard such a clamour of mighty voices that we thought the whole strength of Angband had issued forth. There was a great noise and smoke of burning also, magnified by the great Echo of Lammoth, and carried on the sea winds like a thunderous tumult.

Sindar 1: We thought it best to investigate further, my Lord, We ventured into the Firth of Drengist, where the smoke was rising from, and we saw a fleet of white ships ablaze in the cold waters of Losgar…
Thingol: [concerned] White ships? Has the enemy attacked some of the Falathrim trying to escape from their beleaguered cities?

Sindar 1: No, my Lord, these were not ships like those built at Eglarest…they bore the symbol of your brother Olwë’s people, the Swan.
Thingol: [stunned] The Teleri…returned to us? Can it be? There has been no news from Aman, neither by messenger, nor by spirit, nor has my Queen received any vision in her dreams!

Sindar 2: Nay, Lord. It was Elves indeed that landed on these shores, but their hair was for the most part raven in colour –
Thingol: [interrupting] – the Noldor?
Sindar 2: Yes, of the House of Finwë by their blazons. We followed them as they marched inland, and they headed westwards, into Hithlum. They looked to be making camp at Lake Mithrim when we decided to return to you with our news.

Thingol: This is news indeed, you have done well. If some of our kin have returned to our lands then the enemy may find that his plans for the domination of Middle-earth have gone awry. [Dismisses Elves. Cut.]

* * * * * * *

Cut to Helcaraxë:.
Stars shine above Noldor. Focus on Aredhel, Finrod, and Galadriel walking together through knee-deep snow. Aredhel grabs a handful of snow, checks pack. It forms a perfect snowball. Glances at Galadriel.

Galadriel: [whispers and grins] What do you have in mind, Cousin?
Aredhel: Just a bit of fun! [throws snowball at Finrod. Galadriel grabs snowball, throws at Finrod. Both women laugh] Finrod: [grabs snowball] Help! Brothers! I am ambushed! [returns fire]

Angrod, Aegnor, Fingon and Turgon rush to join him. Other Elves take up the snowball fight. Galadriel and Aredhel begin to run across the snow, pursued by their brothers, still throwing snowballs and laughing.

Cut to Fingolfin, at head of column

Fingolfin: [to Elf 1] What on Arda??? . . .
Elf 1: Well, at least they are making good time. And keeping their spirits up. [Both laugh as snowball fight passes them. Fade.]

* * * * * * *

Fade in back at Lake Mithrim…
We see a very low angle camera shot of a dark field with lots of mist hovering over it. The field appears dotted with small hills not unlike a garbage dump. Among the heaps move figures, sometimes scaling small mounds looking at the contents of the hill.

Two Elven soldiers are at work on a mound and in the background we can see other such teams doing the same tasks. As the camera gets closer and the mist less thick, we see that the mounds are made up of large numbers of dead Orcs with the occasional Elf among them. The two carry no large weapons other than knives at their belts or wear any helms. Their clothes appear seriously stained and torn in parts and one has his head wrapped in a crude bandage with some blood staining it. They appear tired and near exhaustion but they labour just the same. The two Elven soldiers pick up Orc bodies and fling them aside until they come to one of their own Elven brethren. Then they carefully extract it from the mound, carry it down and place it on the bare ground away from the Orcs. The dead Elf is covered in blood, entrails, and what looks like charred pieces of skin not his own. His face is smashed in beyond recognition except for his left eye and cheek and a swash of golden blond hair that swoops down the side of his face. The ends of the hair are stained in thick and dark blood.

Elf 1: Can you tell who this is?
Elf 2: [pauses and hesitates… he looks again at the smashed face and pushes back the hair but it does not help instead only reveals more damage]No – I cannot…… his wounds are too great. Not many of us are of fairer hair so others who knew him better may have more luck.
Elf 1: [begins to reclimb the mound and resumes his work. He finds a corpse and begins to extricate it from a tangle with others.] Here, look at this. Here is one that appears to be of our kind but is dressed like the servants of Morgoth.
Elf 2: [comes over and kneels down on corpses and gets a closer look….. the camera moves in and we see what could be an elf but the ears a bit longer, eyebrows a bit thicker and dressed in ragged leather and strips of iron like the other Orcs.] Help me take him into the light.

The two elves carry the corpse down from the mound and over to a burning torch stuck on a pole in the ground. They begin to examine him closely. When they open his mouth they see that his front teeth have been filed and sharpened like the teeth of a saw. Elf #1 almost drops his share of the load and recoils in shock.

Elf 2: Someone needs to see this. Something is very wrong here.
Elf 1: We have been in this land a very short time. We have just littered this entire plain with tens of thousands of corpses of Orcs and not a small number of our own kind. I have seen such creatures that I only thought were alive in tales told to frighten wayward children. My arm can no longer even swing a sword nor can I count the number I have slain over the last day.
Elf 2:They came at us with no fear in their eyes. They came at us in waves without purpose or direction other than to overwhelm us with their sheer numbers. They climbed over their own dead piled in front of them and many slipped upon greasy pools of blood of their fellows only to die themselves. Something is wrong here? You have a talent for understatement my friend.

Elf 2: [calls out to others who bear crude stretcher] Take this one quickly to those at the command tent. They must see this. [The stretcher bearers load the Elf/Orc on and dash off towards the lake.]

As the camera follows them, the camera angle becomes higher and higher until we are well overhead. As far as the eye can see the screen is filled with tens of thousands of corpses – some in mounds and hills – some smoking and burning – some individuals – but death is everywhere as if it is the waiting room for some hell. Fade.

* * * * * * *

Open on scene somewhere on the Helcaraxë.
Camera pans over steep walls of frozen slippery ice rubble; wind and currents tear at the great floating, constantly changing landscape, grinding ice together, pulling sheets apart. There is no sound other than the noise of the ice grinding and cracking, and the moaning of the wind…. Camera focus on jagged, broken ice sheets and the fast flowing water rushing underneath. Then camera pulls back and we see some Noldor Elves standing at the edge of one such crack in the ice with poles in their hands, obviously searching for something; ropes trail forlornly across the ice behind them. Cut.

* * *

Cut to scene inside a battered and torn tent.
Lying on a makeshift bed we see Idril, unconscious. She is wrapped in furs and blankets, her damp hair spread limply across the pillow. Aredhel is kneeling beside her, tenderly stroking her temples. She gets to her feet with a sigh and turns to her brother, Turgon who is sitting to one side, also wrapped in blankets, a woman’s torn cloak across his lap. He is twisting something in his hands, although he does not seem to realize he is doing it. .She gently lays her hand on his shoulder: his glazed expression does not register her at all. There is a pile of wet clothing lying on the ground next to an empty bed. Aredhel stoops to pick up the clothing then looks back at Turgon. She opens her mouth to say something, but her face creases in anguish, and she quietly slips out of the tent. A solitary voice lifts an Elven lament in the background.

Camera returns to Idril on the bed. She moans faintly, and moves her head. Her eyes still closed. Turgon does not react…A few seconds pass…then Idril returns to consciousness in a sudden panic, her eyes wide with fear. She cries out for her father.

Startled out of his daze, Turgon staggers to the bedside, the cloak falling to the ground. He caresses Idril’s cheek gently, calming her. Idril squeezes his hand tightly, then slowly the tension leaves her and she breathes more easily. She turns her head, looking around the tent. Her eyes fall on the empty berth. She stares for a couple of seconds, and then looks up into Turgon’s face anxiously.

Turgon swallows hard, his hands trembling… he opens his other hand so that Idril can see what he has been clasping. It is a brooch/clasp in the shape of a cornflower. Idril takes it from him and holds it in her small hands. Turgon bows his head, unable to bear the moment his daughter realizes what it means. Fade to black screen….

* * * * * * *

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

Last edited by Elentári on Sat Apr 30, 2011 10:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Sat Apr 30, 2011 9:56 pm 
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Location: Green Hill Country

Scene opens with the camera high above the plain in front of Lake Mithrim and between the Mountains of Shadow….
We see the stars in the sky… the camera pans down into a Noldor encampment on the banks of the northern shore of Lake Mithrim. Several tents are up and there is some activity while others appear to be relaxing. The words - THE PREVIOUS DAY - come on the screen and the camera pans outward to show more of the camp then the three words fade away like smoke.

We then cut to Maedhros and Caranthir standing on the edge of the water looking out at the Lake.

Maedhros: The lake is large and it looks cold.
Caranthir: And wet too, Brother.
Maedhros: [smiling] You never tire of the old jokes, do you?
Caranthir: Well, it made you laugh when we were children.
Maedhros: Perhaps I should throw you in…then you can give us a first hand account of both its temperature and wetness?
Caranthir: I could use a good bath but a warm tub would be more to my liking.
Maedhros: A hot bath ... yes. When we left Valinor behind we may have left those comforts behind also.
Caranthir: But that is only temporary. This is good land and we will make a good life here. [Another elf comes up and interrupts them .....]
Elf: You are needed in the main tent
Maedhros: [wryly] Mayhap someone has drawn baths for us? [they head off.]

The two approach a tent and in front of it is Fëanor and several of the brothers. Fëanor is intently questioning two of their scouts who were sent out hours ago to see what lay on the other side of the plain.
Fëanor: And how many do you think there are.
Scout 1: Impossible to say my lord. A very large number ...
Scout 2: Many times what we have here
Fëanor: This was a fighting force - well armed?
Scout 2: Yes my lord. Every creature was armed with some weapon and was clothed in protective leathers, and even some crude type of armour.
Scout 1: And most had shields…
Fëanor: Equipment? Did they have equipment of any kind?
Scout 1: There was no evidence of that but we only stayed long enough to gauge that it was a large force and their intent is not to welcome us here with a party.
Scout 2: We watched from other hills as thousands of them came through the passes and assembled on the plain. They became agitated and wanted to keep moving but appeared to be held back by those in command.
Scout 1: Some could not restrain themselves and ran from the larger host trying to advance but were cut down by archers who filled them with arrows.
Scout 2: Despite large numbers still moving through the passes, the commanders appeared to no longer be able to restrain those on the plain and a very large group - maybe 20,000 began to move in our direction.
Fëanor: How much time do you think we have?
Scout 1: A few hours at most ... unless they stop and are not coming to us.
Fëanor: Then we must prepare a welcome party for them… [Fade.]

* * * * * * *

Fade back to Helcaraxë:.
Clouds cover stars, snow falls, driven by wind. Noldor struggle on, wrapped heavily in blankets, cloaks, whatever they can find. Camera pan behind column to a trail of abandoned packs, sacks, and gear left in the snow. Fade.

* * * * * * *

Cut back to Lake Mithrim:
We see a long line of Elves forming a lazy V shape along the two rivers that extend both north and east of the lake and the larger lake behind them. The Elves are grouped in 20 squads of 400 or so with space between them which can be closed together as needed. The camera closes in and we see a group gathered in front of the command tent behind the line of soldiers.

Fëanor: How far are they away now?
Maedhros: Our scouts say they will be here in under the hour.
Celegorm: We are well positioned Father. They have to come over the flat plain since the river is too high and would slow them down giving us lots of time to regroup and slaughter them as they emerge from the waters.
Maglor: We are in a good place, Father.
Fëanor: What do we know about this army coming down upon us?
Celegorm: Their numbers are mighty. They have four of five times what we have here. Our scouts say they were slowed coming through those mountains and the passes and are forced to wait for most of their host to pass through and join them.
Maedhros: But they became impatient and the first half of the army advances before the others can get through.
Fëanor: So we are fortunate they are making errors already.
Curufin: Morgoth is not as good a field general as he is a seducer of the innocent to his will.
Maedhros: Make no mistake, Brother. Morgoth has sent out this force to destroy us, and were he among them his will would command each one of them to remain just where he wants them. But Morgoth is not among them and there is no iron will to command them.
Caranthir: If he relies on sheer numbers to overwhelm us, he forgets what an Elf can do with proper weapons.

Amrod: What chance do we have against so many, Ada?
Fëanor: I do not know for sure what we can do against superior numbers. We have not faced such an enemy as this before. [smiles grimly] But Morgoth is about to find out! Each of you, take your positions with your troops. Ensure the men do not leave the line and wait until the enemy engages you. [sternly] Whatever happens, do not leave the line. Constrict the line as needed and shift where your numbers are needed – but maintain the line.

Each of the brothers proclaims their agreement and acknowledges the orders. Before leaving they each join hands in a circle. The camera gives us a close up of Fëanor, black hair shining in the starlight, face glowing as he looks at each of his sons…

Fëanor: Now is the moment where we take our first real step to fulfil our Oath. We will defeat the rabble of Morgoth and reclaim the Silmarils as rightfully ours. For our People and for our loyalty to each other. [There is a brief moment of silence and then they leave and go in different directions, each to his assigned place on the line.]

* * * * * * *

Cut to Helcaraxë, later:
Noldor are resting. Pots swing over fires, steam rising. Finrod, Fingon, Turgon, and Fingolfin stand together at the edge of the camp.

Fingon: [gloomily] That may be the last of the food.
Finrod: At least it is enough for this night’s meal.
Turgon: And, if we are fortunate, there will be enough left for breakfast.
Fingon: Fortune did not follow us on this journey.
Finrod: If you have nothing more encouraging to say, Cousin, take your dinner elsewhere.
Fingon: [glares at Finrod] You do not disagree.
Turgon: Who thought the journey could be so long? [looks to Fingolfin] What shall we do, Ada?
Fingolfin: [looks to ice. The sheets of ice are broken nearby, and the sea can be seen] Leather can be used for bait. We will cut some straps into bits and bait hooks. We will fish. [Fade.]

* * *

Cut to Noldor fishing through breaks in the ice.
Many are successful, and the fish are large. Laughter and cheers accompany every catch.

Turgon: [baits hook for Idril] Just let the line fall into the water. Take care not to fall in.
Idril: [lets line fall] Why do fish bite leather, Ada?
Turgon: Because they are not very clever.
Elenwë: [her line jerks. Pulls in a large fish.] But they taste good.
Turgon: Especially cooked over a fire, nice and fresh.
Idril: Can Naneth cook fish?
Turgon: I will have you know, my dear child, that I am the most skilled in preparing campfire meals in this family. Ask your uncle Fingon which of us cooked the fish when we went into the mountains as children.
Idril: [line jerks. Shrieks in excitement]
Turgon: Careful. [puts hands over Idril’s] Do not lose it. [pulls in fish]
Fingolfin: [approaches, carrying a string of flopping fish] At least we will not starve. The worst may be over. [Fade]

* * * * * * *

Fade back into Mithrim and an overview of the entire Noldor formation with the river branches and the lake at their back, waiting.

Up ahead, on a distant hill there appears a sudden fire. Fëanor and others are watching the distance from a command tent behind the centre of the line in front of Lake Mithrim.

Maglor: Ah – the signal. They are coming, Father.
Fëanor: Our scouts will be back in minutes and the orc rabble here soon after. Go to your men.

We see thousands – perhaps twenty thousand orcs – walking across the plain ...a few begin to run … and then more join in the trot … and then all are running ….. some start screaming …. More start screaming … pretty soon most are...

We have a stationary camera posted low on the ground – maybe even in a pit …. Around it go many orcs and the camera picks up their blood lust and frenzied mood …… as most are past this point the viewpoint pivots and we see the orc army from above and behind most of the host …. It looks like a powerful and massive flood approaching a town with destruction as the only result.

As the orcs see the V formation of the Elves along the rivers and lake, they begin to spread out to attack the flanks ……..

Almost as one, five thousand arrows fill the air in a high arc stretching across the plain… they then begin to descend and almost every one hits a target, sometimes several arrows in one charging soldier. We hear the impact noise and the reaction of the orcs as they are hit and go down… we see other charging orcs who have been spared in the first volley and some trip and stumble over their fallen comrades. The volley seems to enrage the army of Morgoth and they scream louder and more frenzied. Seconds later more arrows begin to fly and more orcs go down and more stumble and without break we see some thirty straight seconds of arrows descending like hailstones on the orcs. When the arrows are nearly spent, perhaps five to seven thousand orcs and other creatures lie dead or wounded on the plain.

Ten thousand or more continue the charge now in a full state of bloodlust. As they hit the line of the Noldor the screen splits into two halves and we see the orcs hit the two sides at about the same time …. The Noldor maintain discipline and control …. They use their long swords to begin mowing down the charging orcs like wheat at harvest time… there are so many orcs that they get clogged up and can no longer move forward creating bottlenecks behind them ……

We see snarling, drooling, screaming orcs …. Orcs pushing on each other in frustration and sometimes even attacking each other …the carnage continues and the body count begins to pile up….a few Noldor go down but a small number compared to the orcs.

The screen goes back to full screen and we see the centre attack. These are not mere orcs. In the vanguard are some two dozen creatures that are larger than orcs, covered in hair from head to toe including all over the face, they wear less leather and iron protection, and appear almost lupine in facial appearance. Some run on normal legs while others occasionally drop to their arms and legs and appear to stride like an animal…. The sounds that come from them are fierce growls and barks…..

In the centre of the Noldor line is Fëanor. As he recognizes that the attacking creatures are not orcs he attempts to inspire his men

Fëanor: Morgoth sends his best against us. Let us dispatch them back to the pits that spawned them!

Suddenly Fëanor does something that he told the others not to do… when the werewolf creatures are about 100 feet away he bolts from his line and charges them. He gets about ten feet until others see what he is doing and they rush after him. Within seconds the space is closed and the Noldor engage in battle with the werewolf creatures. Fëanor cleanly slices through the swinging claws of the first and a bloody armless paw flies right past his head. Fëanor pivots, swinging his long sword back and decapitating the same werewolf. Other Noldor join him at his side and engage other such creatures. One Noldor – within reach of Fëanor - goes down hard with a werewolf astride him. Fëanor turns and slices through the back of the neck of the wolf and a thick column of blood spurts forth as the head hangs by sinew to the side. Fëanor looks at the downed Noldor and most of his face is gone and his body twitches horribly. [Cut.]

* * * * * * *

Cut to Helcaraxë.
Wind blows, pulling at clothing as the Noldor walk in column. Elves stumble in the wind. Focus on one, who falls and does not rise. Galadriel turns over fallen Elf. Frost clings to fallen Elf’s eyelashes, cheeks. Lips are blue.

Aegnor: This cold will take more than one of us.
Galadriel: We should stop to rest and get warm.
Aegnor: Uncle says not to stop. We have little wood, and must save it for cooking.
Galadriel: [closes dead Elf’s eyes, folds hands on chest] Perhaps the Halls of Mandos are warm. [cut.]

[Cut to Column, later. Camera pans over Column, moving. Pan to another corpse left behind. Fade.]

* * * * * * *

Cut back to Battle under the Stars:
The camera switches perspective and we see through the eyes of the orcs attacking at various parts in the line. We see them rush forward and see the gleaming metal of the long Noldor swords coming their way and the swords swing right at the camera before we see them make contact with the orcs. We have several quick shots like this, long gleaming swords swing right at the heads of orcs and then the sickening thud of contact and we see it repeated elsewhere. The orc host is completely overwhelmed.

Cut to a high overhead shot which pans the battlefield.... Orcs and other creatures are in full retreat leaving behind over 20,000 of their fellows in mounds and scattered across the field...... a few evil creatures refuse to leave and are overcome by bands of Elves dispatching them quickly ... [background shot as we pan the field] we have on rather large werewolf who rips and Elf rather severely causing a gusher of blood from his chest but is then dispatched by four Elves at once who slice into the creature at different angles in a bloody exchange that takes only seconds .....some Elves begin to chase after them but a loud horn blast stops them in their tracks... the camera gets closer and we see an exchange between a small group of Noldor:

Elf 1: We are not to follow
Elf 2: But we have them at our mercy -
Elf 3: - We should finish them off while they are tired and weakened! [another horn blast rings out three times ]
Elf 1: that is the command - back to the lake... [as some hesitate] …NOW! [Fade.]

* * * * * * *

Fade back on Helcaraxë:
Noldor move over ice. Focus on Fingolfin at head of Column. Ice cracks loudly.

Fingolfin: [raises hand to stop Column] What is that noise? [Ice cracks again, shudders beneath Noldor.]
Finrod: Did the ground shift?
[Ice cracks again, this time splitting the sheet visibly. Focus on Fingolfin, shocked.]
Fingolfin: The ice is breaking up! Run!
[Noldor run as Ice Sheets crack. Some fall into water, others are able to jump breaks safely. Camera focus on a young female, Eldalótë, who jumps a crack that widens as she jumps. She lands precariously on the other side and seems about to fall backward into the water. Angrod gets a running start, jumps the same crack, catches her. They fall into the snow safely, with Angrod on the bottom.]

Angrod: [looks up at Eldalótë, stunned. Eldalótë scrambles up and runs off]
Finrod: [approaches left] Brother? How do you fare?
Angrod: Who was that?
Finrod: I know not. Let us move from here! [Ice cracks loudly. Cut.]

* * *

Cut to Turgon and Elenwë, moving with a group of Elves as quickly as they can.
Elenwë carries Idril. Ice crazes loudly, and a large section crumbles beneath their feet. Many fall into the water, including Turgon, Elenwë, and Idril. Elves surface, gasping from the freezing water. Large chunks of ice churn around them. Many scream.]

Turgon: [reaches for Elenwë] Elenwë!
Elenwë: [struggles to swim with Idril clinging to her shoulders. her cloak hampers her arms.]
Idril: [hysterical. tries to climb onto Elenwë's shoulders.] Naneth! Naneth!
Turgon: [catches Elenwë's arm and struggles to take Idril from her] Hold on! [Idril clings to Elenwë, then when Turgon pulls her off she seizes him and tries to climb on top of him.]
Elenwë: Go on! My cloak is weighing me down, I must release it…
Turgon: [fighting to breathe with the frantic child in his arms] Not without you!
Elenwë: I will be right behind you - Swim!

Cut to Elves at edge of ice.
Elves are throwing ropes to those in the water, some are jumping in to save those having the hardest time. Still, many are rapidly exhausted and sinking or are struck by ice and crushed or swept away. Focus on Fingon, who fashions a monkey fist to weight the rope for distance and throws it to Turgon.

Fingon: [shouting] Catch it! [Turgon catches knot. Fingon pulls Turgon and Idril to shore.] Galadriel! I need help!
Galadriel: [reaches for Idril] I have her!
[Fingon tries to pull Turgon out of the water. Turgon is very pale, his lips are blue. He shakes his head.]
Fingon: [firmly] We will help Elenwë. You will be no use to any if you kill yourself.
Turgon: Let me go! [Turgon shrugs Fingon off and turns back to Elenwë who is still struggling to remove her cloak, frantically treading water. Fingon throws out a rope which Turgon grabs hold of, and stretches out his other arm towards Elenwë. He manages to grasp hold of the cloak to try and pull her nearer but the clasp suddenly comes undone and the cloak comes free from Elenwë who is left fighting against the current again. ]
Turgon: [desperately trying to swim to her, but his strength failing.] Reach for my hand!
Elenwë: [weakly] I cannot! [Elenwë grasps for his hand, holds it for a second, then it slides through her numb fingers before he can get a proper hold. The current pulls her away, she cries silently for Turgon as she floats away beyond help. Galadriel turns away with Idril in her arms. Fingon and Finrod haul the distraught Turgon up out of the water. Camera focus on Turgon collapsed on the ice in despair and exhaustion, still clutching the cloak. Fade.]

End of Episode

There is magic in long-distance friendships. They let you relate to other human beings in a way that goes beyond being physically together and is often more profound.
~Diana Cortes

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