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PostPosted: Fri May 06, 2011 10:10 am 
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Season 2 Episode 3

Fade in to garden at Fëanor’s house in Tirion.
Nerdanel steps out of the workshop and sits on a bench. She is wearing an apron covered in marble dust, her sleeves are laced close to her arms and her hair is bound under a scarf. She pulls the scarf off, runs her fingers through her hair, and shakes her hair free. She examines the clipped stems of the plant nearest her. The plant has obviously been well cared for.


Nerdanel: [to herself] Eärwen’s work. She can leave nothing untended.
[Nerdanel turns to face Aëlle, a male Elf who looks as if he’s just come from a forge and made a quick attempt to clean himself up.]
Nerdanel: Did you finally discover the way out of Aulë’s halls?
Aëlle [smiles] Lord Aulë does not ask us to work harder than he himself works. Besides, we are nearly finished. [sits beside her] You should come and see what we are making. Your heart would smile at the beauty of our work. The world will have light again; light that Melkor cannot steal from us. We fairly dance at our labours.
Nerdanel: [laughs] Then perhaps I must see this for myself. The sight of the lot of you dancing around a forge while waving hammers and glowing metal is one I would not miss. [sobers] But no doubt my father will be there.
Aëlle: Of course. Mahtan is the most skilled of Aulë’s craftsmen.
Nerdanel: Then I will stay away.
Aëlle: He would be reconciled with you, you know. But he is proud, and –
Nerdanel: And I am also proud. I can hold a grudge as long as any man. Father’s words over my marriage are not words I will soon forget.
Aëlle: [carefully] Nerdanel, it is on a matter near that subject that I seek you out. I know you loved Fëanor, all of us do. But he is gone now and it is time you moved on with your life.
Nerdanel: I am moving on, my friend.
Aëlle: In some ways, yes. But there is more to life than molten metal and smoking forges. You are a young and beautiful still. There are many who would have you to wife, if you would but give them a chance to court you.
Nerdanel: You mean there are those who see the chance to step into Fëanor’s wealth?
Aëlle: It is not for wealth I would value you, Nerdanel. Nor for your family connections. I would treasure you for the prize you are, for your beauty and wit and wisdom.
Nerdanel: Are you asking me to marry you? My husband is not yet dead!
Aëlle: Is it so wrong? Fëanor is gone and will not return. Our people are diminished here and must rebuild our numbers. Many of our women have taken husbands among the Teleri. Fingolfin’s wife will take a second husband soon, I am certain of it. She does not shut herself away from all that life might offer.
Nerdanel: She and I are two very different women. I could not love another after Fëanor…I would make that clear to you from the start.
Aëlle: And if I were interested in her I would not be here. [takes her hand] I know I am not the craftsman Fëanor was. But I offer you companionship, and peace. And maybe one day you might come to love me a little.
Nerdanel: You give me much to think about... I beg you, allow me a little time to consider your proposal.
Aëlle: That is fair enough. [camera focus on Aëlle’s face] At least I may yet hope.
[camera pull back as Aëlle bows and exits. Nerdanel rises, exits opposite Aëlle. Camera follows her, fades.]

* * * * * * *

Fade in to shore near Alqualondë.
Nerdanel walks along the shore, her feet in the water. Starlight shimmers off the pearls scattered in the sand. She looks toward the sea. Camera focus on her face. She is crying softly.

Camera shift to sea. A flash of pale flame approaches. We see Fëanor’s spirit, formed of fire, turn from its course and approach Nerdanel. She sees it also, and turns to it.


Nerdanel: Truly you are gone from me, then... [Fëanor brushes his fingers over her cheek, then kisses her. The breeze springs up again, tugging at him.]

Nerdanel: [tears course down her face. She stretches out her hand to stop him:] Fëanor! Wait for me! [Her fingers pass through his and we hear only the sea and wind as his spirit is carried away inland through the Calacirya. She puts her hand to her cheek. Camera focus on Nerdanel’s face. Her cheeks and lips are scorched.]
Nerdanel: [with calm resignation I will surely not be far behind you... [turns and runs back up the beach. Camera follows her, cut.]

* * * * * * *

Cut to Fëanor’s workshop.
Nerdanel pumps bellows until the forge is blazing. A large crucible rests in the forge. There is another marble form cut for a large lamp, but we cannot see what the image is. Nerdanel has tied her hair back, her sleeves are laced, but she is not wearing the leather apron.

Nerdanel lifts the crucible. Camera focus on crucible, there is a crack in one side that glows and widens as it is lifted. Nerdanel swings the crucible over the mould and begins to pour molten silver into the form. Hot metal drips onto her dress, smoulders, and small flames appear.

As Nerdanel finishes filling the mould she realizes she is on fire. She drops the crucible and tries to beat out the flames. As the fire spreads she runs from the shop. The forge snaps, shooting burning sparks into the coal bin. In seconds the shop is in flames. Cut.


* * *

Cut to library, Finwë’s house.
Finarfin and Olwë face each other in the centre of the room.


Olwë: [coldly] I came to the house of a kinslayer not because you summoned me but at the behest of Lord Ulmo and Ossë, whom I respect as none of your misbegotten kind can. Say what you will.
Finarfin: [strained politeness] I asked you here that you and Eärwen might reconcile. Your silence hurts her much.
Olwë: She made her choice when she remained among those who bear the blood of her people.
Finarfin: Many of the women among the Teleri have found mates among the Noldor since the tragedy. Why can you not accept that your daughter is one of them?
Olwë: Because she is my daughter! That you, who drew swords against us, should dare still lay claim upon her –
Finarfin: My hands never shed Teleri blood! Nor did any who followed me back and asked for pardon. I am sick of being held to account for my brothers’ misdeeds!
Olwë: Yet you were there! And you did nothing to stop the slaughter!
Finarfin: What would you have? That I raise blade against my own blood?
Olwë: You made your choice. And you knew what you were choosing.
[Eärwen enters, comes to stand beside Finarfin and they put their arms around each other]
Eärwen: Ada?
Olwë: Eärwen! So… you have forgiven him?
Eärwen: Yes. I love Finarfin... he is the father of my children - your grandchildren, who have both Teleri and Noldor in their veins, Ada. You cannot deny them. This breach born in blood should be healed by love. [Finarfin kisses her]
Olwë: [hesitant] I had not considered…
Finarfin: You thought we would remain, locked in resentment, unable to move on and rebuild what was lost. We are rebuilding, stone by stone. All the pains of the past will bring forth something greater, more wonderful, than anything that has gone before.
Eärwen: If only each one of us can lay the past to rest, Ada.
Olwë: Are you trying to tell me that I am a spiteful old fool?
Finarfin: I would never say that. [all turn to doorway at sound of running feet]
Elf 1: [to Finarfin] My king! There is fire in the city!
Finarfin: Where?
Elf 1: The house of Fëanor is in flames! Lady Nerdanel --
[Finarfin and Elf 1 bolt out the door. Olwë follows quickly. Eärwen starts towards the door, then hesitates, looking both nervous and uncertain. Cut.]

* * *

Cut to Fëanor’s garden.
Elves throw buckets of water on nearby houses, but Fëanor’s workshop and house are completely in flames and it’s obvious there’s no hope of saving anything or anyone.

Elf 2: [to Finarfin] Fortunately, my king, the fire did not spread far. We have stopped any sparks before they could ignite other homes.
Finarfin: [nods] You did right in saving the other homes. Better we lose one house than half the city burn. [Unseen Elves shout “It is falling!” “Get back!” Camera shift to flames. The roof of the house crashes in. Fade.]

* * *

Fade in to burned house and garden.
The remains still smoke, but obviously the fire has been out for some hours. A few charred timbers still stand; the forge seems to tower over the remains of the workshop. Finarfin and Olwë are among the Elves poking through the wreckage. Eärwen, Indis, and Anairë examine the garden.

Olwë: [lifts cracked crucible] This may well be the cause of the fire.
Finarfin: [examines crucible and nods] Molten metal could catch many things in this shop. My brother was always careful, but lately his lady placed more importance on finishing her task than on cleaning up the coal tar that forge put off.
Olwë: Careless of her.
Finarfin: [shakes his head] Not careless. Driven. I wonder where her body is?

Women scream. Olwë and Finarfin run to them. The women have found Nerdanel lying in a charred spot near the shop, close to the stone bench she sat on earlier. She is face down, one hand bent beneath her, the other reaching forward. The back of her dress and her hair are completely burned away. Finarfin gently turns Nerdanel over. Her front is blistered and scorched but not completely charred. Her eyes are open, staring. One hand is closed around the gold and opal necklace. Finarfin gently pulls her hand away and removes the necklace. Black ash falls from it, letting gold and opals gleam through.

Olwë: That would be the Lady Nerdanel?
Indis: It must be. That necklace was most precious to her. Fëanor crafted it…one stone for each young son. Someone must tell Mahtan we have found her.
Eärwen: Why is he not here already?
Olwë: For some parents it is easier to begin a quarrel with a grown child than to end one. Now he will never have the chance to make peace with his daughter. I would not be in his place for any fortune.
Anairë: That necklace was her death. She should have laid down what was past and created her life afresh.
Eärwen: For some it is not so easy to begin again. She may well be happier where she is now.
Indis: [takes necklace from Finarfin, lays it on Nerdanel’s body] We will bury the jewels with her. She and Fëanor truly were a matched pair. Neither was completely whole without the other....now they are reunited for eternity.
Finarfin: Perhaps it is for the best. We will tend the garden and leave the charred remains to be swept away by the years. My brother’s legacy shall be captured in his sons alone. [Finarfin closes Nerdanel’s eyes. Fade.]

* * *

Fade back in on Nerdanel’s open grave.
Many Elves stand around it, but slowly depart. Only Indis, Eärwen and Anairë remain, clinging to each other for support. Mahtan and Finarfin pick up shovels and begin to fill in the grave. Mahtan is crying. Finarfin seems grim, as if this is another unpleasant task to get done as quickly as possible so he can move on. 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: Fri May 06, 2011 10:25 am 
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PART 2...


Open on scene of the Noldor force in the foothills of the Ered Wethrin,
The elves are still reeling from the loss of their leader. The sons are gathered around Fëanor’s belongings, such as they were. Maedhros has taken his father’s sword, as the eldest, Celegorm picks up a hunting knife and tests its weight and balance. Maglor sits away to one side, contemplating the recent events. The Twins also sit side-by-side, heads bowed in grief. Caranthir paces up and down, obviously worked up over something. An argument is brewing on what should be the next course of action.


Caranthir: Why do we tarry here? You heard Father’s words….he held us to our Oath to avenge grandfather, and retrieve the Silmarils!
Curufin: Equally, Brother, we all heard him foretell that the walls of Angband would not fall by our strength alone.
Celegorm: That is true, we should withdraw back to Mithrim, and reconsider our position. We have given Morgoth a taste of what have to offer – let him lick his wounds a while longer!
Caranthir: But surely, now is the time to strike, when he is at his weakest! Maedhros, what say you?
Maedhros: [shakes his head] Brother, you think like Father…and his rashness cost him his life. I say caution is our best friend for now. [stands and looks as a shout rings out from one of the Noldor soldiers] Well, now, maybe once again Fate is taking a hand…smell the air! A foul servant of Morgoth approaches. Be on your guard. [In the distance Maedhros and his brothers spot a single embassy of Morgoth coming towards them. .Maedhros questions the orc.]

Maedhros: What business have you here? Has Bauglir sent you to gloat over our loss? You are not welcome! Return to the pits from whence you came.
Orc: I have a message from the Dark Lord Morgoth. We acknowledge that we have been defeated. He would like to discuss terms…
Caranthir: [interjects angrily] There are no terms that Bauglir could offer that would be acceptable to us unless he is willing to return the Silmarils to their rightful owners!
Orc: My Master knew your stance would be such, and I am at liberty to own that he might be willing to surrender a single Silmaril… Would this induce you to parley?
Maedhros: [glances at his brothers, making sure they all agree with each other.] It is a starting point…We must confer in private. If we chose to accept, where are we to meet?
Orc: 2 miles to the north. Bring only a token bodyguard with you. My Master will do the same. Do not forget…He will be expecting you. [The embassy leaves quickly and Maedhros discusses the matter with his brothers.]
Maedhros: We shall send more forces than was agreed and fight. Does anyone have a better plan?
Celegorm: [cautiously] Brother, is this a wise choice? Morgoth is deceitful and cunning. How do we know this is not a trap?
Caranthir: We do not, but we will have the greater force and strike down his servants.
Celegorm: Fine, it is a plan, but I will not accompany you.
Maedhros: So be it… Farewell. [Maedhros gathers 30 armed Elves to come with him to the meeting spot appointed. They depart, dressed in full battle armour.]

* * *

Cut to Morgoth and his embassy standing above a force of 200 orcs inside the gates of Angband
Orc: Sire, the Elves have agreed to your terms…
Morgoth: Good! They will not stand a chance against us. The Noldor are foolish, the death of their father has made them reckless. Prepare for battle! [Grins wickedly] Let us give them a real challenge. Despatch the Balrogs also... [cut.]

* * *

Cut to Maedhros and his accompanying force march to the agreed point.As they approach the meeting place, they can see a dozen orcs waiting there, but no sign of Morgoth.
Maedhros: [surprised] Where is your Master…is he too cowardly still to face us?
Orc 1: [feigning regret] Our Master sends his apologies – he was unavoidably detained!
Orc 2: [grins in anticipation] But he did send some of his most trusted servants instead… [Suddenly, 3 Balrogs appear from the cover of some rocks, and hundreds of orcs ambush them from all around.]

Maedhros: [in alarm] RETREAT! Get back! We cannot win!
[The Elves fight back, slowly retreating. When they are about to get into the open plains, but the Balrogs block their path, and slay all the Elves except for Maedhros.]

Orc leader: Take the survivor! The Dark Lord wants to speak with him personally!
[Maedhros knows he is defeated and drops his weapons. The orcs bind his hands and carry him to Angband...Fade. ]

* * *

Open inside Angband.
The camera follows Maedhros as he is hauled down dark, winding corridors, down into the depths of the fortress below the mountains. The sound of the thunderous forges grows loud the deeper they travel – we hear hammers clanging, and the chains of the slave workers clinking, followed by agonizing screams as they are induced through pain to work harder….the air is stifling; every so often a searing wind roars up from gaping holes, bring foul vapours from below. Maedhros is choked by the heat and dust that pervades the atmosphere. Huge statues roughly carved in the shape of cave trolls from the blasted rock are illuminated fitfully as the torches of the procession passes, then they fade back into the shadows again.

As they approach the Throne Room, Maedhros hears a din of hoarse laughter, and harsh orc voices singing fiercely. Through the partially-open doors, the red glare of firelight is mirrored on polished stone floors and the towering arches of the cavern roof. High up, the vaulted dome is swathed in wavering smoke and steam, pierced by the flickering flames of the firelight. The party is halted by guards either side of the doorway. [cut]


*

Cut to inside the throne room of Angband.
The pillars, rising like monstrous trees to bear the weight of the earth above, and carved and shaped with some skill, are covered with devilry and images of terrible and foul creatures from the worst nightmare. The vaulted arches where the pillars meet the roof appear as monstrous, writhing serpents.

Beneath them Morgoth’s black-armoured retinue is ranged, fully-armed with spears and swords, the flames from the open fireplaces staining the dark metal a bloody red. Morgoth sits on a throne carved from onyx; on one side a great carved stone wolf lies in repose. Against the other side of the throne rests Grond, Morgoth’s mighty mace, in easy reach. He wears the iron crown set with the Silmarils, and the light from the gems reflects in the facets on the carved throne. The pure light casts a cold radiance over those nearest to him. Doomed and dying prisoners lie gasping on the floor in front of him, used as a footstool until they are hauled away by orc servants. Several Orcs are either standing around as guards, some restraining ferocious, almost rabid beasts on chains and leashes, while others perform menial tasks. Some of the Orcs are definitely female.

An Orc enters and walks quickly to the dais, immediately kneeling.

Morgoth: Speak.
Orc 1: Our men return, Great Lord. They bring a prisoner.
Morgoth: Excellent. I would see the prisoner immediately.
Orc 1: As you command, Master. [Camera shift to follow Orc 1 out of the Hall.]

The great doors open wider and Maedhros is dragged in by 7 or more Orcs. .All the group look like they’ve been engaged in a running fistfight. Dragging him through the forest of devil-carven pillars, the Orcs haul Maedhros before Morgoth’s throne. He stares around, disgusted by the rank smells and odours, his eyes dazed with smoke and flame. The ‘stone’ wolf lifts its head and sniffs the air, then yawns languidly. Finally it lays its shaggy head back down on its front paws, feigning sleep again, but keeping one eye on the newcomer.

Gorthaur the Cruel, otherwise known as Sauron, Lieutenant of Morgoth, steps forward from behind Morgoth’s throne. At first glance he seems one of the Eldar, but of greater stature. He is dressed in flowing black garments, with light armour worn strategically over it. In the shadows it appears almost jet black, but as he steps forward into the light the armour’s metallic lustre glistens a vivid green. His golden skin tones are flushed a ruddy colour in the torch light. His beautiful features mask the terrible darkness in his soul, glimpses of which become visible in the depths of his eyes and in his demeanour...]


Sauron: [arrogantly] Has he no knee for his betters?
Maedhros: [angry and equally arrogant] Of course I have… [looks around] but I do not see any here.
[Two Orcs bend Maedhros’ arms behind his back while two more kick him behind his knees. Maedhros stumbles, and one of the Orcs that kicked him wraps an arm around his throat, strangling him into submission.]

Sauron: [moves down steps. Backhands Maedhros] I think I will enjoy teaching this one some manners.
Maedhros: I should learn manners from the great murderer’s lapdog? [Sauron moves to strike Maedhros again, this time with a clenched fist. Maedhros does not flinch.]
Morgoth: [rising] Gently, my friend. This young lord is our guest. We must take care to see that no harm comes to him.
[Sauron steps back as Morgoth approaches Maedhros. Maedhros glares at Morgoth.]
Morgoth: I apologize for the rough welcome you received, son of Fëanor. I fear my invitation lacked the gentle manners I normally prefer to use.
Maedhros: You wear the stolen treasure of my house and speak of gentle manners? Thief and Murderer!
Morgoth: [chuckles] Softly, young one. It would not do to press your host to wrath when your own future is so uncertain.
Maedhros: I know my future, however short it may be. I am surprised you have the stomach to kill me yourself rather than giving the task to your minions.
Morgoth: Kill you? Oh no…it is not your death I desire. Not when you can be so very, very useful to me. [bends close to Maedhros] I do not suppose you care to make this easier on yourself by simply telling me how many of your annoying kind came with your father, would you?
Maedhros: [snorts derisively]
Morgoth: [exaggerated sigh] I thought not. [to Sauron] Do you see now how recalcitrant these Noldor can be? Far more stubborn than their kin we have dealt with already. Still, I believe we can find worth in this lad that will more than make up for the present inconveniences he causes.
Maedhros: You think my brothers will bargain for my release? What a fool!
Morgoth: No? Not even for your continued existence? For, you see, your kin will be informed that so long as they remain before my gates you will continue to enjoy my utmost hospitality. Your visit will end only when they give up their ridiculous quest and return whence they came. However, should your family be so foolish as to believe they can storm my gates, they will immediately slay you with their own hands. I believe this is more than fair…what say you?
Maedhros: [with bravado] I fear no death, and still less your prison. Do your worst!
Sauron: [chuckles] His reply is as I expected.
Morgoth: Indeed. So very predictable. [walks around Maedhros as if he were inspecting a horse] Still, we must find a way to make use of him while he is here. [to Sauron] Would the addition of some new blood into our ranks excite you?
[Camera focus on Maedhros, shocked. Shift back to wide shots]

Sauron: You know best, my lord. [considers Maedhros critically] He has fine, powerful lines. And his height would be an advantage, if we can keep that trait in the stock.
Morgoth: Yes, the height is quite nice. [strokes Maedhros’ hair] And the hair . . . your mother’s, is it not? You have her hands also, so graceful and strong and sure. Such beautiful hands . . . I desire to see them preserved. [to Orcs] You know what to do. I expect results.
[Orcs haul Maedhros out, laughing. Morgoth returns to his throne, Sauron stands beside him. Camera follows Orcs to door. Cut.]

* * *

Cut to Cell. Orcs drag Maedhros inside. The two holding his arms do not release him as the others leave the cell. Four female Orcs enter, obviously pleased. Camera focus on Maedhros, terrified. Maedhros screams. Cloth rips. Camera pan back, Cell door slams. Orcs crowd near window as screams echo in the corridor. Cut.

Cut to outside Cell. Torches light the hall, and a bit of light filters through a barred window. Camera focus through window, past bars. Maedhros huddles in a corner. His hair hangs loose over him, but we see his bare shoulder, arm, and leg. Camera focus on Maedhros’ face: he is crying silently.


* * * * * * * *

_________________
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: Fri May 06, 2011 10:37 am 
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CONTINUING WITH PART THREE...

Fade in to Noldor camp. Remaining Sons are gathered around a table. The top of the table is covered with charcoal markings; obviously someone has created a vague outline of the walls of Angband and the land between the camp and Morgoth’s stronghold. Huan sits beside Celegorm.

Curufin: [angrily] I told you we should have simply assaulted the gates!
Caranthir: And we would all be simply dead!
Maglor: At the least we are still alive. With life there is hope.
Amrod: That is more than can be said for Maedhros.
Amras: What are we to do about him?
Celegorm: [strokes Huan] What is there to do? He’s dead.
Amrod: You cannot know that.
Amras: He would risk himself for any of us.
Caranthir: How would we help him by joining him in the Halls of Mandos?
Celegorm: At least he would know his kin were no cowards.
Maglor: That is a fine plan! [to Celegorm] We send scouts to risk their lives and you ignore everything they tell us! Have you looked at this map? Have any of you? Assuming Morgoth has left the routes to his walls unguarded, and that is the assumption of a fool at best, there is not a spot on his walls where we would not be exposed to whatever he wished to throw at us.
Amrod: What makes you our new leader? Your skill with a harp?
Amras: Even if you still had one.

Maglor: The fact that I have a brain, and occasionally use it. I will not walk blithely into a trap, even to save my brother. The men that follow us deserve a better fate than death in a hopeless battle.
Caranthir: [mocking] Then what would you have us do? Run away like frightened rabbits?
Curufin: I do not wish to sound like I agree with Caranthir, brother, but what indeed do we do?
[Camera shift to doorway. Elf 1 enters, looking flushed.]
Elf 1: Our enemy has sent a message, my lords.
[Sons scramble out of the tent. Once outside they compose themselves. Many Elves are gathered at the edge of the camp, all armed. Camera shift to approaching Orcs.]
Caranthir: [draws bow, fires two arrows into ground in front of Orcs] Come no closer!
[Orcs halt.]

Orc 1: Our master sends word to you. Your kinsman is now his guest, held as surety against further aggression. If you will but forsake this unjust war you make upon him and return whence you came, or else depart into the far south beyond Beleriand, all will be forgiven and you shall have your kinsman returned to you unharmed as well as the friendship of our master for all time.
Maglor: [softly] Not likely!
Curufin: How do we know you hold any captive?
Orc 2: [draws Maedhros’ tunic out of his armour and holds it up.] We bring a token. [throws tunic. Huan retrieves it and brings it to Celegorm. The tunic is bloody, torn, and dirty.]
Maglor: We must consider your offer. Give us a moment. [Sons draw back from edge of camp. Other Elves cluster around to hear the council.]
Curufin: At least now we know Maedhros may still be alive.
Amrod: I say we attack.
Amras: We can rescue our brother and fulfil Ada’s oath in one blow.
Maglor: Have the walls of that fortress grown less wide while we spoke with that messenger? I think not.
Caranthir: We know one thing for certain; Morgoth wants us gone from here.
Celegorm: Then above all things we must remain where we are. Here our flanks are guarded by the mountains, and Morgoth cannot send his servants to surround us. With our bows we can strike them down before they can reach us. I say we stay here.
Amrod: And what will that gain us?
Maglor: Who knows what a new day may bring? Celegorm is right; we have a strong place here and we must hold it. No stalemate can last forever. As soon as our chance comes we must be ready. Are we agreed? [Sons nod and return to edge of camp.]
Orc 1: Well? What have you decided?
Maglor: Your offer is rejected. Tell your master this; we will never abandon the quest to avenge our kin and retrieve the treasures of our house. It is a sacred trust. If he would have peace he need only relinquish his captive as well as the jewels he holds. Let him do this and we will leave him alone.
Orcs: [snarl]
Maglor: There is more. Tell your master that, should harm come to our kinsman while he is ‘guest’ of your lord we will exact retribution in full measure for wrongs done! Now get you gone!
[Orcs retreat.]
Maglor: [voiceover, looking toward Angband.] Now whatever harm comes to you, I bear the responsibility. I have sent you to your fate. [His eyes shine with tears.] Forgive me, Maedhros.
[Camera shift over plain to the walls of Angband. Shift up to ramparts, where Orcs keep guard. Moon hangs low in sky. Fade.]

* * * * * * *

Fade into shot of the Moon sinking low in the sky to the West… Pull back so that camera is now showing the Moon from behind those viewing it – we see the Valar silhouetted against the pale globe…Focus on Varda who stands before the vessel with the fruit of Laurelin. Arien waits meekly beside her. Varda repeats the same process she used to launch Isil,and we watch as Anar rises into the sky; At the signal, Arien, sheds her outer raiment and, appearing as a naked flame, launches herself heavenwards; as she makes contact with the vessel of Anar it is enveloped in a ball of fire, terrible in its splendour:
Varda: Behold…the first Dawn…
Cut to clips of the Sun lighting the snow on the tops of the mountains, mists and clouds form and are tinged with pinks and golds; the sky lightens from midnight blue to turquoise…rainbows form over waterfalls as the sunlight catches the water droplets…the camera continues to pan across Aman and comes to rest on the Valar who are standing in a semi-circle, admiring Varda’s handiwork.

Manwë: [to Varda, admiringly] This new light of Valinor is truly marvellous to behold. And by its coming and going we shall be able to reckon the days more easily.
Yavanna: Let us also hope that the precious fruit and flower shall be for ever out of Morgoth’s evil reach…

Cut to Mandos who has been standing with head bowed:
Mandos: [raises head and goes into prophecy mode] Thus shall Morgoth be confounded, for he shall fear Arien, and dare not come nigh her. He shall hide himself and his servants in the shadows, unable to endure the glance of her eyes. As he sends forth from himself the evil that he conceived in lies and creatures of wickedness, his might shall pass into them and be dispersed. His power will diminish and he shall become ever more bound to the earth.
[Halfway through Mandos’ speech it becomes a voiceover over clips of reaction in Middle-earth: animals prick their ears and bolt in fright at the new brightness; we see close ups of spiders and myriad critters disappearing hurriedly into nooks and crevices; the servants of Morgoth scream, shielding their eyes and cringing away from the light. They flee back into the shadows and descend into the uttermost depths of Angband, cowering in fear... Morgoth is dismayed. He orders the furnaces to work overtime to produce a great reek and dark cloud to hide his domain from the light of the Sun…]

Cut to Angband. Orcs guard walls. Sun rises. Orcs cringe, shield their eyes. Some run into the guard tower.

Orc Captain: Get back out there you useless lumps!
Orc 1: But, Captain – look!
Orc Captain: Our master will flay you alive if you leave your post. [picks up knife] If I don’t get you first.
Orc 2: The sky is on fire!
[Orc Captain swings knife. Blood sprays. Orc 2 gurgles, then screams as Orc Captain picks up something wet and still attached.] Orc Captain: Now get back to your posts!
[Orcs scramble out. Cut]

* * * * * * *

Cut back to Ring of Doom in Valinor… The Valar have obviously been in a debate for quite some time...

Ulmo: ...surely you cannot suggest that we remove ourselves from them entirely!
Varda: [to Manwë] What they have done is inexcusable. Had they simply disobeyed your counsel, I should not have cared for the folly of Fëanor, but to take up arms against others of his race, and here in the paradise we created for them is a crime we cannot allow to go unpunished.
Nienna: Yet I already hear the cries of the Noldor. Some see their folly and wish to return-
Mandos: Do these cries outweigh the cries of the dead Teleri who now rest in my halls.
Aulë: But what of the Noldor, do we abandon them to torment and grief? And what of the second race that is awakening as we speak…?

Tulkas: And what of Melkor? Shall he be free to roam in and out of Valinor as he pleases, to ravage our lands and destroy all that we have left?
Manwë: I am not willing to make war upon him in Middle-earth…
Yavanna: Nevertheless, let us not forget the ruination our brother brought upon Almaren when he toppled the great Lamps. The like shall not befall Valinor.
Oromë: [folds arms across his chest] Never again shall we be caught unawares, no matter how cowed Morgoth might seem!

Tulkas: [thumps his fists on the arm of his throne and jumps to his feet] Then we must fortify our land anew - prepare solid defences – raise the mountain-wall!
Varda: A sleepless watch must be kept!
Oromë: The encircling seas are our first line of defence [to Ulmo] what protection can they offer us?
Ulmo: I shall fill them with shadows and bewilderment – better still I shall also raise a string of enchanted isles, strung as a net from north to south. Hardly any vessel shall pass between them without being dashed upon dark rocks shrouded in mist…
Lórien: [eagerly]…and in the twilight a great weariness and loathing of the sea shall come upon mariners; all who set foot upon the islands shall become entrapped and sleep there until the Change of the World. [the Valar fall silent, looking to Manwë for his decision.]Manwë: [slowly] All things I have taken into consideration... and I counsel we close Valinor from the outside world, though it grieves me dearly.

Mandos: It shall be as I foretold in the Doom of the Noldor: the Blessed Realm shall be shut against the Noldor…

Cut to clips of landscape changing: Aulë and Manwë raise the mountain-walls of the Pelóri to sheer and dreadful heights on all sides of Aman, the outer sides becoming dark and smooth without foothold or ledge, and dropping precipitously into the seas. The highest points are crowned with white ice. In the Calacirya are set strong towers and many guards, and at its entry onto the plains of Valmar a host of Maiar is encamped. We see Ulmo raising up the Enchanted Isles in a protective line along the Eastern coast around Tol Eressëa and the Bay of Eldamar. Dark clouds form overhead, a mist enshrouds the land and Valinor slowly disappears. As this is happening we see each of the Valar crying for what must be done; lastly we cut to Manwë: he sits alone on his throne with eyes closed deep in thought, a single tear slides down his cheek. Fade.

* * * * * * *

Fade in to Fingolfin’s march. Noldor move through forest easily. They look rested and have more energy than when we last saw them. Flowers are bursting into bloom in the long grass. Camera focus on Fingon, Finrod, and Aredhel, walking together. Finrod and Fingon are eating acorns.
Fingon: [examines an acorn] Have you ever seen an acorn as small as these?
Finrod: Probably because they grew in darkness. Still, their flavour is good.
Aredhel: [laughs] Are the two of you going to eat your way to Uncle Fëanor?
Fingon and Finrod : [together] Probably.
[Camera focus on Fingon, then shift forward. The trees thin, and stars shine on water ahead of them.]
Fingon: The end of the forest.
Finrod: [throws away acorns] A race, then! [sprints toward edge of trees. Fingon follows immediately. Aredhel hesitates, then dashes after them, lifting her skirt. Fade. * * *

Fade in on scene of Fingon, Finrod, and Aredhel emerging onto shore at Losgar. Focus on faces as they see the remains of the first camp and the burned Ships. Abandoned items remain on the shore. Other Noldor join them. Fingolfin stops beside Fingon.
Fingon: What happened here?
Turgon: [examines remains of camp.] It seems they left in a great hurry.
Aegnor: There is no sign of trouble.
Angrod: How would you know?
Fingolfin: Quiet! [walks to burned keel of ship still standing on the shore.] At least now we know they never meant to return for us.
Finrod: [bitterly] We knew that already.
Turgon: It is one thing to believe they abandoned us. It is another to see the evidence left on the shore.
[Others walk through the camp or examine the burned Ships. Angry murmurs rise from the crowd.]
Aegnor: [holds a chunk of burned wood] As Eru is my witness, I –
Fingon: [together] Do not say it!
Turgon: Oaths like that are what got us into this.
Galadriel: We know only what happened here, but not why. Perhaps there was an accident.
Fingolfin: I know my brother. This was no accident!
Fingon: [at edge of camp] There are tracks here. They went this way.
Fingolfin: Good. We will follow them. [flexes a fist] I will enjoy bringing my dear brother the comeuppance for his misdeeds.
Aredhel: [points right] Look there! [Camera shift right. Light from early sunrise grows.]
Turgon: What in Eru’s name ...?
Aegnor: That is fire or I have never seen it.
Angrod: But how large a fire . . ?
[Camera shift to Sun, rising over forest. Focus on Sun, we see Arien carrying the fruit in a bronze setting. Shift to Noldor, amazed.]
Aredhel: Surely that is the light of Laurelin. Perhaps the trees return to us.
Fingolfin: Whatever it is, it gives us light to track our wayward kin. Let us not waste our chance.
[Fingolfin exits right, at a trot. Turgon picks up Idril and begins to run. The Noldor unfurl blue and silver banners, and we see clips of them marching unopposed through Mithrim and into the fastness of Dor-Daedeloth whilst the orcs cower beneath the earth. As Fingolfin’s host comes in sight, they halt, and camera lingers on shot of Angband in the distance. Cut.]

* * * * * * *

MORE TO FOLLOW...

_________________
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.
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PostPosted: Fri May 06, 2011 12:58 pm 
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TO CONCLUDE THIS EPISODE:

Fade in to Main Hall of Angband. Morgoth paces, agitated, as Orcs scurry about frantically. Several Balrogs stand to one side, trying not to be noticed. Sauron examines scrolls scattered over a large table.
Morgoth: [furious] All my efforts are thrown into chaos! My work undone by this light! Who would dare gainsay me?!
Sauron: [looks up, then returns to his scrolls.]
Morgoth: This world is mine! The will that shaped these mountains was mine! I created the ice that shatters rocks and delves canyons! I drew the fire from the heart of the earth to create the clouds and spill rivers of flame over the land! Who do they think they are? These petty, small powers who stand so ready to subject themselves to the will of another. Yet they dare to send light, when I gave them the gift of darkness.
Sauron: [places one hand on a scroll. Looks up, mouth open, but Morgoth speaks before he can say anything.]
Morgoth: [to Balrogs] This maiden who carries the light is one of your kind, is she not? [Balrogs nod, edging backwards.]
Morgoth: Can one of you not teach her sense?
Balrog 1: Dread Lord, I fear she is . . .
Balrog 2: Strong of will…
Balrog 3: Stubborn.
Balrog 2: [to Balrog 1] Did you not try to dissuade her –
Balrog 1: you did no better!
Sauron: [firmly] Master, this is pointless. Worse, this quarrel distracts your attention from our most urgent danger.
Morgoth: [annoyed] What danger is that?
Sauron: My spies report that these annoying Elves do not seem to fear the light as our servants do. Our enemies might use this chance to scale our walls while we waste our efforts in trying to eliminate that which is beyond our reach for the moment. [points to scroll] See these paths? They may be steep and narrow, but with this greater light they are not so treacherous that they could not be scaled by agile climbers.
Morgoth: Yes. And these Elves are agile. How I despise them for it. [paces a few steps more] I have it!
Sauron: What shall we do, Master?
Morgoth: We have a captive they desire, do we not? And now that we have what we needed from him he is of little further use to us. Let us show him to his kin. Let us remind them what his fate will be should they attempt a foolish rescue. Hang our young prince from the rocks!
Sauron: He has been more trouble than he is worth. [smiles] This will be a pleasure.
[Camera follows Sauron out the main door. Cut.]

* * *

Cut to Cell, filthy with rotten straw and spoiled food. Maedhros is approximating pull-ups, with his fingers dug into a crack in the wall. He appears thinner than when we last saw him. He wears torn breeches so filthy we cannot tell their original colour, and his hair is a tangled mass of knots. We hear footsteps in the corridor. Maedhros drops, seizes a broken piece of pottery, and puts his back to the wall, braced for a fight.
[Orc 1 pushes open the door. Four more Orcs enter - all males. Maedhros glances at them. He seems surprised, although he does not lower his guard and they hesitate to move closer to him.]

Maedhros: What is this? Your females are uglier every time.
Orc 1: [laughs] You have made our women very happy, Elf prince.
Orc 2: [mimes pregnancy] Maedhros: So what is this visit for?
Orc 1: Our master is pleased with your – performance. He wants to give you a treat.
Orc 3: A bit of fresh air.
Orc 2: And give us a chance to clean out your room. [all Orcs laugh]
[Orcs move toward Maedhros. Maedhros resists, punching, kicking, and cutting two badly with the broken pottery, before he is subdued. Orcs chain his hands and fasten a collar around his neck.]
Orc 1: Let’s see if you show so much spirit a week from now!
[Orcs drag Maedhros, still struggling, from Cell. Camera follows down corridor until they turn a corner. Cut.]

* * *

Cut to Forge in Angband. Orc 4 lifts an iron shackle with a ring on one side of it from a barrel of water. Camera shift to door where Orcs are bringing Maedhros in. He is held so completely that he cannot struggle. Orc 1 pulls Maedhros’ right arm forward. Orc 4 pushes the cuff over Maedhros’ wrist; it is a tight fit. Orc 2 forces Maedhros’ arm onto a large anvil while Orc 4 pulls a thin piece of glowing iron out of the fire. Orc 4 places the hot iron into the break in the cuff and strikes it with a hammer. Sparks fly. Maedhros screams. Orc 4 strikes the cuff again, same process. Orcs laugh. Cut.

* * *

Cut to the middle peak of Thangorodrim, a rough barren mountain with steep sides. It is night, and a full moon shines brightly. A sturdy wooden scaffold hangs over one side, above a thin ledge. Camera pans down to show Orcs standing on a hanging platform with a brazier of coals and a large hammer. A thick iron bar rests in the coals, glowing red hot. . The Orcs are fastening an iron plate with a ring on it to the rock face over the ledge. Camera pans down the cliff, it is at least 300 feet to the next ledge and there are Orcs on that, looking up. Below we see the fortress of Angband, rings of defences all staffed with Orcs, Trolls, and Balrogs. Camera pans back up to Orcs hauling Maedhros to the edge.

Orc 1: Here we are. How do you like your fresh air?
Orc 2: Why don’t we just kill him now?
Orc 3: He’d roast nice and juicy over that fire.
Orc 1: Orders! The Dark Lord says to hang him here, and hang him we does! [loops a rope through collar.] Don’t make no trouble, now. It’s a long drop. [laughs as Orcs shove Maedhros over the edge. ]

Camera pans down as Maedhros falls. He lands on the platform, barely. Orcs on the platform catch him and haul him up against the cliff. One Orc presses a knife under Maedhros’ chin while the other pulls his wrist against the iron plate. This Orc shoves the hot piece of iron through both the ring on the cuff and the ring on the plate, and pounds the iron to seal them shut.

The Orcs laugh as Maedhros gapes at the cuff now fastened to the rock. They attempt to push him off the end of the platform. Maedhros struggles, and he still has one hand free. The platform rocks, the brazier and tools fall into the Orcs watching below. The ropes strain and snap, sending the platform and Orcs tumbling down the mountainside. Maedhros swings, suspended from the cuff, for a moment. Then he catches the ledge. His wrist is fastened above his head so he cannot sit or rest on the ledge, only by standing straight can he keep from swinging by one wrist. Camera pan up to top of cliff. Orcs are laughing.

Orc 1: That’s a good job done.
Orc 2: Food inside.
[Orcs exit, back. Camera pan down to Maedhros, struggling to find a foothold and free his wrist. Camera fade.]

* * * * * * *

Fade in again inside Angband; it is filled with frenzied activity as hundreds of orcs and other dark creatures are attempting to build rickety scaffolding up to the upper regions of the roof all over Angband. Some are falling off, we see parts of the scaffolds collapse and fall to the floor, but they are exorted on by Sauron who is assisted by Balrogs wielding whips.

The scaffolds cling to walls and pillars and sunlight streams in through holes in the ceiling far above - holes put there to allow smoke and fumes to escape from the furnaces and forges of Thangorodrim. But now the darkness is spoiled by the new creation of the Valar and it has scared the inhabitants nearly to death.

We see several different scenes as the camera pans through several levels. Activity is at a fever pitch and we keep seeing and hearing Sauron scream nearly out of control, his face twisted and contorted, the bell sleeves on his robes flying in the wind as he manically paces back and forth ordering the work be done faster.

We see a large orc fall from hundreds of feet and nearly hit Sauron himself only to be swept right out of their air by a Balrog who smashes him like a baseball and he crumples into a thick pillar bones snapping loudly.

This will last for a few moments and we see different angles and different parts of Angband - all in a feverish race to block out the damming rays of the hated invader from above... ...Then everything comes to a jarring and sudden halt as the shrill loud blast of sound permeates every corner of the bowels of Angband. It is the trumpets of the Noldor. Again and again the trumpets sound and orcs and other creatures cower and cover their ears trembling and shaking in fear.

Cut to throne room. Morgoth himself is startled and looks around in every direction for the source of the shrill blasts now coming every few seconds. A large creature, part werewolf, part orc and parts unidentifiable shambles up and bows low before Morgoth........


Morgoth: what is it, you fool?
Foul Creature: At the gates ..... they are at the gates.
Morgoth gives the poor creature a swift kick in the head knocking him to the ground and storms off with several Balrogs and many more orcs trailing him. As they climb some gigantic stairs carved from pure black marble, a deafening and even louder sound takes over the halls. This time it is not the shrill bleat of trumpets but deep and hollow sounds like being inside a metal bass drum the size of a football stadium. It stops Morgoth and his band in their tracks and causes many of them, even a Balrog or two to cover there ears and cling to each other or a wall or pillar for support.

Morgoth rushes onward, this time with fewer in tow behind him. The sounds continue. The camera follows Morgoth through the levels and halls of Angband for at least four minutes. Along the way he attempts to rally his charges but it is useless as thousands are running or cowering or hiding. Hundreds of others are crushed under falling rock or structures that have failed. Eventually he finds Sauron emerging from a passageway, brushing dust and dirt from his robes and hair, and looking rather pale and nauseous. He halts as he comes face to face with Morgoth:


Morgoth: [growls at Sauron] What is the meaning of this disturbance? Have you allowed the very roof of Angband to cave in on us in your incompetence?
Sauron: [affronted] No my Lord, I have not...this new… inconvenience is beyond my control. I think you should see for yourself: This way... [turns and leads Morgoth back up the passageway.]

Finally Morgoth and Sauron emerge from a passage leading directly atop the Gates. Sauron pushes open a metal covered window grating and steps back for Morgoth to look out to see the source of what is laying waste to Thangorodrim.

We see the face of Morgoth lose control in pain and in disbelief. One hand comes up to his face and he covers a gasp which escapes from his lips. His other hands reaches out and makes a clawing gesture but no words come from his mouth. And then he screams in complete animalistic anger. A scream so loud that it drowns out the deep drum sound for those around him.

The camera pulls back and we see the legions of the Noldor arrayed before the gates. Over 10,000 Elven warriors are assembled. Nearly 1,000 of them are at the gates themselves. Each elf at the gate holds a stone as large as their own helmeted head over themselves and as one they thrust the stones against the iron gates of Thangorodrim producing the deafening sound which picks up and echoes through the bowels of the dark fortress.

Seconds go by and hundreds of other Elves blow a note as one on trumpets. It is a two instrument symphony producing the same pattern over and over again. The trumpets blow for 15 seconds. Then a thousand Elves as one entity slam their rocks into the gate. A few seconds go by, and the trumpets blow again. And again and again the symphony progresses moving along like the finest clock in perfect time and rhythm.

When they tire, others will take their place on both lines. When a rock splits or shatters another is quickly given to them by others waiting close by for such a task. They do not rest, they do not relent, they stop for nothing.

We see hundreds of blue banners of Fingolfin and thousands of his soldiers standing proudly, tall and confident, eager put patient, brave yet cautious. A sea of shining sliver and brilliant blue in the dazzling sunlight produces a beauty that Thangorodrim has never had to witness upon its front porch.

The camera takes us in a long and slow tracking shot down the long line of elves at the gates doing their work in untiring repetition producing the loud and nearly deafening metallic echo.

The camera pans up to Morgoth who turns away from the scene outside and storms back down into the recesses of Angband, leaving Sauron to slam the grate shut. The camera continues to pan upwards along the spires and rock formations over the fortress. We see Maedhros imprisoned on his rock face. His face brightens and smiles and he cries out to those below. He cries out but his shouts are overwhelmed by the never relenting symphony which goes on for hours without end. We see the sun set as the assault continues.. Cut.


* * * * * * *

Cut to Fëanorian camp in foothills of the Mountains between Hithlum and Ard-galen... Tensions are still running high. The sons of Fëanor are sitting round the fire, just before Dawn.

Caranthir: To venture into Morgoth’s stronghold is naught but folly!
Curufin: I must side with Caranthir: Maedhros would never have risked the lives of many for any one of us. Why should we do so for him? I shall lead no host of mine into Angband’s halls for one Elf, even if he is the Lord of all the Noldor!

Maglor: To Hell with the King of the Noldor…this is our brother! We have debated this before, when he was first lost to us. Why must we always be divided? I beseech you all; if you will not think of our brother, then think of Fëanor! Would we not have done the same for our father, and he for any of us?

Celegorm: Our father would have been mindful of his Oath! Let us not forget that he died true to the doom that he made for himself, and any of his sons should be as willing to do so. Did our brother not share in this Oath, of his own will?

Maglor: Is that what we should do, then? Lie here in wait, and make war upon all until we all lose our lives? Shall we forsake our loved ones for our father’s treasures? The theft of earthly treasure should not warrant war, but the life of a brother might well be of more value!
Caranthir: [voice raised in anger.] We shall not make open war upon Morgoth...not for even our brother’s life.
Amrod: [stands suddenly, and lets rip at Caranthir] The war is already made! And our doom is made with it. Curb your tongue and learn love for your kin, Caranthir! What opposition have you ever made to battle? Were I you, I would not worry for dirtying your hands with Orc-blood, but instead staining them with the blood of yet another of our kin! [Caranthir starts violently for him, and Amrod seems ready to take him on. Amras and Maglor step between them protectively, holding them away from each other’s throats.]
Amras: Peace, brothers! Peace! [gains the upper hand against his rage-stricken twin and forces him back into his chair.]
Caranthir: [his voice quieter] I wish not to damn Maedhros,.. I love him and am bound to him by blood. Bless him, wherever he may be; but Morgoth asks that we forsake our quarrels with him and forsake also our lands here for his life.
Maglor: [mutters] What are lands? Are they more than flesh and blood?
Caranthir: [ignores him] That I might well do for love of my brother, but it is without hope! Morgoth shall betray us as ever he has and torture and slay Maedhros despite our compliance, and you all know this, for you have seen it with your own eyes. Trust that Maedhros knows this as well! We would do well also to remember our Oath. For no cause, not even this one, shall we forsake our war against he who holds the Silmarils!

Maglor: [voice quavering] Do all accept that Maedhros is lost to us? That we leave him to his fate, with no hope of rescue? [he looks around at the brothers who nod, slowly.] He is strong of will and body, and my heart foretells that he shall walk free from Angband again, though much anguish shall pass before that day comes. But now, brothers, we shall be doubly cursed, for always we shall remember how we never forsook our greedy war, but rather, our brother. [stands and walks away from the fire, towards a vantage point.] The sun is rising…what fresh intrigue will this day bring, I wonder… [suddenly, a shout is heard from scouts who come running]
Scout 1: My Lords! A wondrous thing has occurred! Our kin, whom we left in Araman have made the treacherous journey by foot across the Grinding Ice, and even now are marching unto the very gates of Angband, led by the Lord Fingolfin!
Celegorm: What news is this? Surely you jest? – not many could survive the passage of that hostile terrain. Their losses must have been grievous -
Scout 2: No jest, my Lord. Thousands of Noldor there are arrayed in front of the three peaks! For three days now they have been smiting the doors themselves, and calling out the Dark Lord, but to no avail…
Maglor: [turns to brothers] Well, this is a turn of events I had not expected... [sighs bitterly] How I long to run to our cousins and welcome them, and commend them on their valour, yet I dare not because of our shameful betrayal.
Curufin: I fear there will be little love in their hearts for the sons of Fëanor… [cut]

* * * * * * *

Cut back to Noldor assault on gates of Angband. Camera close-up of Fingolfin in command position to one side; he appears to be appraising the walls of the stronghold, looking for possible weaknesses. Turgon and Fingon approach and they confer with their father, though we cannot hear what is said. Fingolfin nods and raises his arm. He gives the signal to cease both the assault on the gates and the trumpet blasts. There is a moment of pure silence to contrast with the previous deafening noise - an eerie and unsettling quiet.

Cut to quick reaction shot inside Angband –we see Morgoth sitting on his throne in grim resolution.... Sauron pacing feverishly to and fro.... a couple of Balrogs looking agitated and nervous..... orcs cowering and covering their ears.... dust and small stone pieces everywhere from the vibrations.... ruins of larger pieces which fell on other things ....... and then silence ...... seconds go by ..... Morgoth puts a hand up to his chin and strokes it then purses his lips.... Sauron stops pacing and looks for direction from his master..... Orcs begin to uncover their ears and unsteadily try to get to their feet..... Morgoth points a long finger towards Sauron and gestures for him to go to the gates..... Sauron hurries off shaking his head and smoothing his long tresses back from his face.......

Cut back to outside the walls. Finrod and his brothers also approach:

Finrod: Uncle, why do you order a ceasefire? Surely we should press our advantage while we have superior numbers?
Fingolfin: We have issued our challenge…this is the fifth day since we laid siege to these gates. Even the strong arms and stronger will of an Elf can tire and weaken after such an effort.
Turgon: No one has complained and all have faithfully taken their turn at the gates but soon the toll will be taken on our own instead of the foul creatures of Morgoth. The craven jail-crow quakes in a dungeon of his own design, too fearful of our wrath to face us in honest combat.
Fingolfin: [nods] Yet he knows for now that he is safe behind these walls: I can see that they will not fall to trumpets alone. We must withdraw and look to our own safety.
Fingon: It is a wise decision, Ada. Our people are weary from the ceaseless march, and we need to find a position where we can rest and recover our strength.
Turgon: Indeed, and we still have a score to settle with Fëanor; lest anyone forgets!
Fingolfin: Fear not on that account, although I appreciate it is a matter close to your heart. I think we should withdraw back beyond the mountains again…it will be sensible to have the mountains as a shield between us and Morgoth. I do not underestimate his wiles. And besides, we may hear rumour of Fëanor and his people in that land. [Herald sounds the retreat, and the massed force of Elves begins the withdrawal away from the Gates of Angband]

Cut to shot of Sauron’s face at the grate again, looking both stunned and relieved as the troops retreat. Cut.


* * *

Cut to Maedhros high up on the slopes above. Camera observes the withdrawal through his eyes; He screams with all his strength, as he realizes that the Noldor are totally unaware of his predicament, but his voice is lost in the echoes of the stony peaks. The chimneys bellow fresh smog and vapours which make him choke. He pounds at the rock with his free hand, trying to dislodge loose stones, and yanks frantically at his cuff, practically jack-knifing his body and almost dislocating his shoulder in his attempt to loosen the fixings of the metal plate; his cries get weaker and weaker, and as the last of the Elves marches into the distance his croaking voice dissolve into sobs of utter despair. Camera pulls out to show the haze descending over him, hiding him from view. 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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