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PostPosted: Thu Jan 19, 2012 8:18 am 
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Season 3 Episode 4

Fade in on scene of men and elves travelling with what speed and stealth they can muster, following almost invisible paths through the darkness of the Forest of Taur-nu-Fuin. The trees that rise out of the forest floor are black and grim, their roots tangled. It is approaching midnight, the moon shines weakly through the few gaps in the leafy canopy. The sound of a stream babbles nearby. The company is weary and many are wounded. Sensing that they have lost any pursuers, Barahir calls a halt:]

Inglor: [looking around in discomfort] Surely Morgoth’s arm has grown long if he can turn this once verdant forest into such a place of dread and dark enchantment…
Barahir: Indeed. Welcome to the Forest under Nightshade…but we can rest here, at Rivil’s Well, for even the orcs fear to enter this forest unless need drives them… [cut.]

[cut to camp at Rivil’s Well. The women and children have already arrived safely. The company collectively pause for breath, some of the men throwing themselves down on the forest floor, panting; the uninjured begin checking over the wounded…many of the elves and men have blood coating their cloaks and tunics, including Finrod…]

Edrahil: My Lord, how are your injuries? The recent flight must surely have taken its toll on you…
Finrod: Nay, they are but scratches. Others are not so fortunate. Gwindor here has taken a heavy blow to the head, and our rescuers did not escape so lightly either. [gestures towards Gorlim and Urthel who are busy staunching wounds on Radhuin and Arthad. Dagnir is doubled over, slightly winded.]

Edrahil: [holds out hand to Dagnir] my thanks….I fear we would not have lived to see Anar sail another day but for your courage and selfless actions!
Dagnir: [clasps Edrahil’s hand] It was no hardship … [turns to Finrod:] Lord Felagund, but for your kindness our race should still be stumbling about in the dark. Out of the gentleness of your heart, you played your harp and spoke with our ancestors. Ever you have been our friend and our ally, and there is no friend for whom I would not put myself at peril to rescue from death or worse.

Finrod: [smiles sadly] Ah, Bëor…he begged leave to serve me, and brought his people to my lands. For four and forty years he gave me loyal service...but he was more than a mere vassal: he was my friend…I miss him still. [turns and walks away to one side as grief washes over his face; after a moment he hesitantly puts out a hand against a tree trunk for support . Barahir, who is inspecting and cleaning his weapons, looks up at Finrod. He stands, pulling himself up by his spear and moves over to Finrod’s side.]

Barahir: My Lord? Are you sure you are well enough to continue? You should rest, at least, and regain your strength.
Finrod: I had more strength in me after crossing the Helcaraxë than I do at this moment, but I am more fatally wounded in spirit than body…[Barahir blinks at him, uncomprehending] …Angrod and Aegnor, my brothers, were slain defending Dorthonion. I had led my force to the North to aid them, but came too late. News came of their deaths just before we were attacked at Tol Sirion…and I my fear for my nephew’s fate also: he was lost to us in the Sirion evading an orc attack at Dawn this morning.

Barahir: Ah, my heart grieves for your loss. These times are not easy for any of us. What will you do now?
Finrod: As soon as we are hale enough to travel, we return to Nargothrond.
Barahir: Then you need no further aid in battle?
Finrod: [shakes his head] We have lost too many. Better that we should live and regroup for a time in Nargothrond and face Morgoth another day.
[Camera shift back to Barahir, who has scratched a rough map on the ground..]

Barahir: Head for the pass at first light. [points to Pass of Anach] It will not be easy through those mountains, if our foes have the high ground. Still, if you move fast and stay alert you should not have too much trouble.
Finrod: We owe you our lives. I am indebted to you and your people. If I can ever offer you or your kin aid in any need you need only ask.

Barahir: [nods in acceptance, then grimaces] If this war continues to go so badly for our peoples then I may make a claim sooner rather than later. My elder brother, Bregolas, has been slain together with the majority of our warriors. Our people have been driven from their homes in Ladros…some have fled to Hithlum, others to Brethil….I only hope we can find refuge for our womenfolk and children in Dor-lómin…
Finrod: Will you join them?
Barahir: Nay…I will not flee from my homeland. I am lord of Ladros now. We will contest the land foot by foot with the enemy. I will not concede defeat even if Morgoth should hunt us like wild beasts to the death. [Finrod nods in understanding and the two turn and walk back to the camp…cut.]

* * *

[Cut to Barahir, Emeldir and men, huddled in conference.]
Barahir: It will not be long before the enemy stumbles across us again. We cannot afford to linger here…
Urthel: So we run like rabbits before the fox?
Barahir: [glares at Urthel] There are too many among us that cannot defend themselves. We must, at any cost, preserve our children, for they are our future.
Radhruin: You mean to abandon Dorthonion then?
Barahir: sighs] For the sake of our innocents, we must divide our people. I vow it will not be forever. We will retake our homes and have our revenge.

Emeldir: As long as we stay together all will be well.
Barahir: [shakes his head] We must run so that our children shall live. I for one would grow old with my wife beside me, but I fear to see our women and children cut down in ground soaked with our blood and cannot choose that fate for other families.
Emeldir: What are you saying?

Barahir: [reaches out and caresses his wife’s face gently, sadly] I would send the womenfolk and children to safety, with you to lead them…
Emeldir: [her face stiffens and she pulls away from his touch.] A word in private, husband… [stands and walks away towards a more secluded area. Barahir follows silently]
Urthel: [subdued] I would not like to be in his shoes!
Gildor: This is not easy for any of us…


[camera focus on Barahir and Emeldir near the spring…]
Barahir: [exasperated] I like this no better than you, but it is the only way!
Emeldir: I will not leave you to face this alone. I vowed to stand by your side –
Barahir: You vowed to obey me! Does that promise mean less to you –
Emeldir: Do not even go down that path. Think you I am so delicate that I would not defend my home? Dorthonion is just as much my land as yours! Yet, because you have hair on your face, you think it is only you who can defend the land your parents are buried in.

Barahir: That is not true. You know why I ask you to go –
Emeldir: I know you wanted to stay and fight. Now you have your excuse to do so without me to hold you back.
Barahir: You have never held me back. And you do not do so now. [stands, catches her arms and pulls her close] Emeldir, my heart. Do this for me. [Emeldir looks at him, confused] When you stand beside me in battle I cannot help but worry for your safety. I cannot keep myself whole if I must fear for your life every moment. If you stay, we will both soon be corpses.
Emeldir: And what of me? Do you think I will not fear for you every day, every hour that we are apart? You send me off to useless idleness.
Barahir: How could you ever be idle? I know what I ask is hard, but I need you for this to work as I mean it to. Who better could I trust to see our women, children, and grandfathers to safety? With your strong arm and stout heart to lead them I need not fear their fate.

Emeldir: You want me to run –
Barahir: I trust you to protect them. I cannot spare many men for this, not if I want to do what I can to pull our foes’ attention from you. There are none here I would trust to be the guide I need to send.
Emeldir: You would make yourself bait for Morgoth’s wolves?
Barahir: I would draw his attention from those who cannot fight him. And cause the beasts who took our home as much misery as I may.
Emeldir: [wipes tears away] If that is your plan, then make it count. Make them curse the day they awakened our wrath. [straightens shoulders] Beren will remain with you, of course.
Barahir: Could I send him away without crushing his pride?
Emeldir: No, of course not. [leans against Barahir] I wish I could have given you more children.
Barahir: With such a son as you gave me, one is more than enough. [They embrace, kiss. Camera fade.]

* * *

[Fade back on camp. Men gather in small groups, looking bedraggled. Beren sits on tree stump, horse grazes nearby. Finrod and Elves are alert, watching the woods. Camera focus on Barahir and Emeldir approaching.].
Barahir: It has been decided. Peril is upon us and these times call for great sacrifice…Our company is too large and cumbersome to evade the enemy any longer…The able bodied menfolk that remain to me shall lead Lord Finrod to safety through paths known only to us. From thence we shall go into exile in our homeland, which we will not forsake to the Dark Lord. Whilst we provide the diversion, the rest of our people shall depart with my wife, she of the Manheart. From henceforth, Emeldir will be your Lord, and your salvation…

Emeldir: Listen well, my people. Those that can bear arms shall do so, for the way will be perilous, and I cannot deny that we may suffer misery or loss on our journey through the mountains and forests. But I promise you that we will find succour and welcome where we may, be it in Brethil, or Dor-lómin! [crowd nods in approval, though many look nervous and fearful.]
Finrod: I will ask for Eru’s Blessing on your people. [clasps arms with Barahir in the Elven manner] I also swear an oath of abiding friendship with the House of Barahir unto death or the ending of the world. And in token of this vow I would have you accept this ring….the badge of my Father… [slips from his finger a heavy silver ring and hands it to Barahir] and the symbol of my House. If ever you or your descendants are in need of my aid, then this ring will secure it for you…

Barahir: My thanks, Lord Felagund… [takes ring, places it on his own finger and holds up his hand for his men to see…they clap and cheer. Camera closes in on the ring until it fills the screen…it is in the design of twin serpents with emeralds for eyes, their heads meeting beneath a crown of golden flowers…

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: Thu Jan 19, 2012 6:04 pm 
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Location: Green Hill Country
…the sound of cheering fades and the camera pulls back again to reveal that the ring is being worn by a different hand – that of King Elessar – as it carefully lifts a well-wrapped item out of a packing box. We are back in the Room of Antiquities in Minas Tirith and father and son are surrounded by boxes that have been in storage. Eldarion is staring, open-mouthed…

Eldarion: That is just like your ring, Ada!
Aragorn: Indeed it is…the one and the same!
Eldarion: [frowns and rubs his hand across his eyes, a little confused] …But, but…how?
Aragorn: Well, the ring was passed from Barahir to his son Beren, and so on down his line through the Kings of Númenor to Elendil, who brought it to Middle-earth. After his death it passed to his son, Isildur, and it became one of the heirlooms of the Kingdom of Arnor. It was kept safe for the heirs of Isildur at Rivendell… [looks up as Arwen enters, smiles] …along with another of the Eldar’s greatest treasures…

Arwen: [puts down box she has been carrying and rubs the small of her back…she is heavily pregnant]
Aragorn: [concerned] My love, you should not be carrying anything heavy at this stage…
Arwen: Nonsense…I was being careful, and in truth it was not so heavy. Just some embroidered hangings from Rivendell that Naneth made for me when I was but a child in your terms. I wanted them for the nursery and Elrohir was only made too pleased to pack them up and send them with Grandfather’s belongings… [wanders over and kisses Aragorn fondly; turns to Eldarion] Were you speaking of the Ring of the Elf-friends? It is one of the oldest artifacts left in Middle-earth, for it was forged by Finrod in Valinor before the Exile of the Noldor…

Eldarion: [eagerly] Yes, Ada has been telling me how Finrod gave it to Barahir in return for him saving his life… [fingers the ring on his father’s hand] and how it was worn by every son in Barahir’s line right down to Ada…
Arwen: [amused smile] Not just the sons, my bright one…it has been worn by 3 daughters also…
Aragorn: [snorts] Your mother is right, as usual….let me see…first would be Beren’s grandaughter, Elwing, then your sister’s namesake, Silmariën, eldest daughter of Tar-Elendil - she was not permitted to rule Númenor because she was a woman- and the third… [frowns] …escapes me for the moment… [scratches his head in puzzlement]
Arwen: [in mock annoyance, trying not to laugh] Surely you cannot have forgotten that evening, so many midsummers ago…on Cerin Amroth??
Aragorn: [sheepishly, in embarrassment] Oh, uhm, yes, of course…the third was the daughter of Elrond - your own dear Mother… [puts arm around Arwen gently, whispers softly] Vanimeldamin…

Eldarion: [now doubly confused] You, Naneth?? Why did you wear it? [jokingly] Do not tell me you are descended from Barahir also!
Arwen: [laughs…sits down next to Eldarion] True words are often spoken in jest, Meldanya… your grandfather Elrond, with his twin brother Elros, are great-grandsons of Beren. So yes, I too number Barahir among my forebears. But the ring of Barahir passed down Elros’ line to your father… and he gave me his ring as a symbol of our betrothal when he was still a king in exile… [looks up at Aragorn and their eyes meet…for a moment each are lost in that special memory from an age ago]
Eldarion: [Looks at them both and sighs heavily. Starts fidgeting noisily with the packaging inside the box on the table…]
Aragorn: [clears throat] Ah, where were we? The ring…yes, as you see, a great symbol of the friendship between Elves and Men…in more ways than one!
Arwen: Truly, there has always been great friendship between our peoples throughout the Ages. And rarely this bond has led to the joining of Elf and Man in marriage.
Eldarion: [curious] How rarely?

Arwen: There have been but three instances of mortal marrying Elf…myself and Ada, the Elf-princess Idril of Gondolin married the mortal Tuor, and before them the first union was between Beren himself and Lúthien Tinúviel, daughter of Thingol and Melian…Without them and their love story there would be no Kings of Gondor and Morgoth would still be striving for dominion over Middle-earth… [wistfully] but the price of such unions is high…
Aragorn: [softly] Only Idril was allowed to retain immortality and dwell with Tuor in Valinor with Eru’s Blessing…both Lúthien and your mother chose to become mortal in order to remain here with the men they loved.
Eldarion: Mmm…I wonder what it would be like to live for ever, anyway? Probably very boring… [fingers his ears, thoughtfully] Naneth…
Arwen: Yes, Darling…
Eldarion: Will the new baby have your ears?
Arwen: [raises eyebrow, rather bemused, glances at her husband]
Aragorn: [laughing] Who knows? We will have to wait and see, Son,that is half the fun! [finishes unwrapping the item he removed from the box. It is a recurved blade almost 2-feet long, finished in silver and etched in brass filigree. The King holds it reverently in his hands, tracing a finger over the inscription.]
Eldarion: [in wonder] What a strange looking sword, Ada….it has no handle to hold it by!

Aragorn: [patiently] that is because it is no sword, Eldarion: It is the legendary spear of Gil-galad, last High-King of the Noldor, who fell in battle at the foot of Mount Doom… [recites the inscription in Elvish on the blade: Subtitles translate: “Gil-galad wields a well-made spear: The Orc will fear my point of ice. When he sees me, in fear of my death, He will know my name: Aeglos.” Originally this would have stood nine feet tall, mounted on a pole turned from ash wood. It would have been wielded two-handed by Gil-galad, like this: [demonstrates imaginary spear] He would have scythed through the enemy using sweeping sideways strokes, slashing back and forth through them, as well as skewering several orcs at a time before they could get within striking reach of him. [Eldarion steps back smartly out of the way; looks suitably impressed.]

Arwen: [softly] The shaft was broken and in time disintegrated, but this spearhead was borne by my father back to Rivendell and placed alongside the shards of Narsil so that the two legendary weapons should remain as close in death as their two wielders had been in life. And now this precious artefact can once more be rejoined with its bedfellow, let us find something sturdier to protect it. There must be something suitable amongst all this…
Aragorn: Clutter? [grins and ducks as Arwen throws a scrunched up ball of the packing paper at him.]
Arwen: [sighs, poignantly] The Eldar have all but left Middle-earth now, and their knowledge and memories must be transferred to the race of Men for safe-keeping…
Aragorn: [inclines head in acknowledgement] It is a heavy responsibility that Men have now assumed, not just for these objects, but for all of Middle-earth.

[All three cast around for something that would serve as a receptacle for the spear head. The camera pulls back further and we see that the room is decorated with tapestries and maps, and statues of various Valar and heroes from the mists of time, carved from the finest marble and obsidian, or wrought in precious metals. And amongst these beautiful objects there are packing boxes lying open, with layers of tissue and other packing materials spilling out where the contents have been removed. Eldarion starts poking around amongst the boxes in one corner. He finds one, half hidden by the cloth hanging over a table that has not yet been opened.]

Eldarion: Naneth! This one seems to have been missed…I hope there are no more boring ballads on dusty scrolls or notebooks full of accounts…or [screws up his nose in disgust] table linen!!
Aragorn: [lifts it up onto the table] Hmm…seems a bit heavy for that. [undoes the fastenings and carefully opens the box, peers inside. Pulls out a rolled up bundle of material…] Ah, obviously a tapestry of some sort… [Eldarion rolls his eyes. Aragorn unrolls it and shakes it out.]
Arwen: I remember that… [touches it gently] It is the hanging from Grandfather’s room at Rivendell. It depicts the first meeting of Thingol and Melian…
Aragorn: [looking into the box again] There is more… [pulls out a small box of beech wood, inlaid with mother of pearl..]
Arwen: [gasps] the star-shell box! [takes it from her husband and opens it; it is lined with velvet, but all that remains of its contents is an impression in the lining.]
Eldarion: [Disappointed:] Empty! …perhaps Grandfather took the shell with him back across the sea?
Arwen: Perhaps…it was a comfort to him in his later years, and maybe he could not bear to part with it. I am glad to have his box, though, and I shall pass it on to Silmariën when she is of age. Is there anything else?
Aragorn: Just some papers… [removes a small wad of parchment covered in Elvish script and lovingly tied with a woven cord.] …ahh…these would appear to be personal correspondence of some sort… [passes them to Arwen who opens the first one and studies it]
Arwen: [blushes, put hand to her face and murmurs ] “Daeradar!”
Eldarion: What is it, Mama?
Arwen: Oh, nothing, Darling…just some letters between my grandparents… [to Aragorn] ...aah, I hope that is all, now?

Aragorn: [Grins] I am afraid not…I have found what was making the box so heavy… [lifts out a long bundle of oiled rags bound with Elven twine] What on earth can this be, I wonder?
Eldarion: [shows renewed interest] Now that looks more promising, Ada…maybe it is a real sword this time!
Aragorn: [carefully unwraps the object] I would say by the feel and weight you would be right, young man… though I cannot recall Lord Celeborn ever wielding a weapon on the occasions I visited him..
Arwen: He had no need in Lothlórien, but you forget he was a warden of the West March in his younger days in Doriath…
Aragorn: True spoken… [pulls away the final layer covering the sword and gasps in amazement] This is like no sword I have ever seen before. Surely it shines as bright as the light of Aman – yet there are some blemishes on it...something has dulled the surface in places…
Arwen: [studies the hilt and craftsmanship of the blade] Truly this is the work of the Noldor, made even before they came to Middle-earth. I would say this sword was made in Valinor by smiths under the tutelage of Aulë himself!
Aragorn: [realization begins to dawn on his face] No…it cannot be!
Eldarion: [excitedly, pulling at his father’s sleeve] What? What is it? Why is this sword so special?
Aragorn: [shakes his head in disbelief] I am almost speechless, Eldarion. I cannot be sure, but I believe this may be the fabled sword of Fingolfin himself: Ringil, the “Cold Flame” [tilts the blade] See how it glimmers like silvery ice? [to Arwen:] Could it be?

Arwen: What became of Ringil after Fingolfin’s death is not told in the histories. He died with it in his hand, but no one recorded if it was destroyed, or taken by the enemy or brought with Fingolfin’s body to his tomb in the Encircling Mountains… [puzzled] but if it is the one and the same, how did Daeradar come to have it?
Aragorn: I do not know nor care for the moment… [in mounting excitement] Eldarion…do you realize this might be the very sword that hewed the foot of Morgoth and left such a wound that caused the Dark Lord to be crippled ever after?
Eldarion: [eyes wide and mouth gaping] now that sounds like a story I would like to hear! [tugs Aragorn’s sleeve] Please, Ada, please!
Aragorn: [smiles] We will see…perhaps after supper! [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 Jan 20, 2012 7:48 am 
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Location: Green Hill Country
[Fade in on scene of horsemen travelling through woods and plains and approaching the River Narog Suddenly they hear a warning:]
[In Quenya, subtitled]
Halt, and identify yourself.

[Celegorm raises hand to halt his party and they rein in, Curufin shifts uneasily in the saddle, trying to fit a comfortable position that doesn't aggravate his sore ribs. His face and necked are mottled with bruises. A dozen Elven archers reveal themselves from the woods, sharp arrowheads mounted on tense bow strings. They bear the golden emblems of the House of Finarfin.]

Celegorm: [imperiously] You are speaking to people you should welcome with proper manner. We are from the noblest house of the Noldor, and your King, Finrod Felagund, is our close kin. - Lord Celegorm and Lord Curufin, heirs of the House of Fëanor. And we bring home someone dear to his majesty: [indicates the pale figure of Orodreth, who is just about managing to stay upright in the saddle]

Elven captain: [gesture, and his following lower their bows] My lords, please forgive our offense.
Curufin: Take us to your King, swiftly..

[The Elven archers lead them into the hills of High Faroth and across the rapid Narog. Ahead we see the beautifully designed and well-hidden doors on the western bank, behind which the caverns of Nargothrond lie. Fade.]

* * *

[Fade into scene in entrance hall…visitors are being ushered in, cloaks and travelling attire are being removed, and refreshments offered. Suddenly a Elven noblewoman rushes forward at the sight of Orodreth. It is Eldalotë , his mother and he stumbles gratefully into her embrace. She leads him off to tend to him. Cut.]

* * *

[Cut into scene of Finrod Felagund standing in front of his throne in the Great Hall, a silver crown shining on his golden hair; he appears a little pale, still recovering from his own ordeals. Curufin and Celegorm stand before him, recounting the event that led them to Nargothrond:]

Celegorm: …it was the fifth day since the Seige was broken: The Orcs of Morgoth were swarming like an endless dark tide, though we inflicted grievous losses and the corpses piled high out of the Pass of Aglon, But we knew we could not hold the Pass by ourselves.

Curufin: Finally, we heard that the fortress of Rerir had fallen, and Caranthir was retreating to the South. We knew then that the hope of any reinforcement was gone. We had no alternative but to gather what remained of our people and flee via the north marches of Doriath towards Tol Sirion, hoping for refuge there.

Celegorm: It is most fortunate that we did so, for upon reaching the River Sirion we came across Lord Orodreth half-drowned in the shallows…and when recovered enough he told us of the terrible attack by Gorthaur the Cruel which you defended against, and also of the valiant deaths of your brothers. [bows his head] The pain of your loss, coupled with the injuries you received no doubt weighs heavily, Cousin…

Finrod: [nods] Indeed… It grieves me to have surrendered the passage of the Sirion to the Dark Lord, but it could have been far worse: I feared Orodreth had perished also, and if not for the selfless aid of the mortal Barahir, of the people of Bëor, I would have doubtlessly fallen before the Fen of Serech! [smiles warmly] Welcome, my kin, and may Eru bless you: I am indebted to you for my nephew’s safe return. For you and your people, Nargothrond's gate is ever open. [The brothers bow, and Finrod embraces them warmly.]

Celegorm: May our numbers increase your kingdom’s strength, and let us hope that the grief between our Houses may be laid to rest, also.

[The assembled nobles of Nargothrond applaud and an excited buzz fills the air. The brothers turn and acknowledge their welcome, camera pan over assembled nobles, some looking pleased, others not so, some whispering behind their hands. Camera focus on a couple of young Elf-maidens eying the brothers with interested smiles]

Curufin: smiling back nonchalantly, whispers to Celegorm] I think we are going to do well for ourselves here, Brother…
Celegorm: [smiles] Indeed…I can see our services are going to be appreciated! [winks at his brother]

[Celegorm walks into crowd of nobels, accepts congratulations from several. Curufin follows, clearly enjoying the attention. An attractive elf-maid moves close to the brothers with several cups of wine on a tray. Both brothers take wine. She smiles. Curufin is turning away from her but turns back quickly enough to spill a bit of wine.]

Giemma: My lord?
Curufin: Forgive me, my lady. I thought for a moment I knew you.
Giemma: And so you should, my lord. You have not changed much since last I saw you. Once you wrapped me in your cloak.
Curufin: [frowns, then eyes widen] Little Giemma? [she nods] You have . . . that is, you are . . bigger. Um . . . and you are . . . older, and . . .
Celegorm: [takes tray from Giemma, hands her a cup] I can find use for these. I beg you, lady, take my eloquent brother out of here before he digs his own grave with his tongue. [turns back to two Elf maidens, hands them wine. Both giggle and move closer to Celegorm. Camera shift to Curufin and Giemma.]
Curufin: [rueful smile] I detest crowds anyway. [Curufin and Giemma stare at each other for a moment. Then Curufin takes her hand and leads her off through the crowd. Fade.]

* * * * * * *

[Camera open on Angband, a room off of the great throne room. Several Men enter. One Man carries several maps, another holds a writing box. Orc Sergeant enters lower left and kneels. Morgoth ignores him for several moments while Men spread maps on table, open writing box, prepare quills and parchment, and arrange themselves to do as their lord commands. Finally Morgoth turns to Orc Sergeant.]

Morgoth: [casually] Speak.
Orc Sergeant: [nervous My Lord, I must report that the prisoner is now hale and hearty. As you commanded, we have tended him with great care –
Morgoth: That is good news. At last we shall discover where these wretched creatures have gone to ground. With the proper encouragement, our prisoner should prove a veritable fountain of information. [smiles, turns to Orc Sergeant] Tell your captain to prepare. As soon as we have a location, your people will proceed and [savours the words] do what you do best.

Orc Sergeant: [smiles] We torture the Elf now!
Morgoth: Not your people, I think. This will require a more . . . delicate touch. Something more subtle. [to Man 1] This work will be more suited to your talents, I think. [emphatic] I want that information, and I want the prisoner recognizable when we present him to his people. They will see who betrayed them before they die. Do not make me wait too long. [Man 1 bows and exits lower left. Orc Sergeant remains kneeling,]

Morgoth: [to Orc Sergeant] What are you waiting for? Be gone! [Orc Sergeant scrambles out lower left. Camera follows, then shifts to Morgoth. Morgoth studies maps, smiles. Camera focus on Morgoth, smiling. Cut.]


[Fade in on Gelmir’s Cell. Gelmir stands against the wall, in the dim light that filters in through the door. Footsteps and rattling chains warn of someone approaching. Gelmir moves quickly to the corner near the door, where he is concealed by shadows.

Camera shift to Corridor. Orc 1 fumbles with keys to open the cell door. Eight Men stand behind him, with shackles, leather straps, and spears. Orc 1 opens the door and steps in, looking for Gelmir. Man 2 follows quickly. Gelmir grabs Man 2, pushes him into Orc 1, and dashes for the corridor. Man 2 and Orc 1 stumble, but Gelmir is caught and pinned against the wall at spear point by Man 3 and Man 5. Gelmir glares as he is shackled and a leather strap is wrapped around his neck. Man 1 approaches, smiling coldly.]

Man 1: So eager to get out of his cell. Well, this should make our job easier. [leans close to Gelmir] Now, do be a reasonable fellow. Tell us what we need to know and we will not have to hurt you.
Gelmir: [glares]
Man 1: Well, it was worth asking. [motions left] Let us be on with it. [Men lead Gelmir down corridor and exit, left. Camera follows, cut.]


[Camera cut to Torture Chamber. Gelmir stands, stripped to the waist, his hands bound with a leather strap behind his back. There is an iron ring fastened to the loose end of the strap. Man 1 examines instruments laid on top of a large map on a rough table. Man 1 looks up, camera follows. An iron hook dangles from a chain about five feet over Gelmir’s head. Gelmir follows Man 1’s lead, sees hook. Gelmir’s eyes narrow. Camera focus on Man 1.]

Man 1: We do not enjoy any of this unpleasantness, you realize. It is you who is being difficult. Must we continue?
Gelmir: [glares, smirks]
Man 1: As you will. [Man 1 nods to Man 4 and Man 6. Man 4 tosses the loose end of the strap around Gelmir’s wrists through the hook. Man 4 and Man 6 pull the strap, and Gelmir’s arms are pulled to shoulder level behind his back. Camera focus on Gelmir, grimacing in pain. Man 4 and Man 6 relax strap, Gelmir gasps for breath.]

Man 1: Is that enough? [offers Gelmir water. Gelmir drinks, then spits in Man 1’s face. Man 1 sighs.] So be it.

[Man 4 and Man 6 fasten the ring to a small winch and turn it. Gelmir is lifted off the ground, his shoulders dislocated. Camera focus on Gelmir, screaming. Cut.]


[Camera fade in on Torture Chamber. Several long irons wait in a brazier of coals. Gelmir is strapped to a chair by his wrists, but his legs are unbound. His arms are swollen and bruised. His fingers are broken. Several fresh burns mark his chest and stomach. His head hangs, barely conscious. Man 4 throws a bucket of water on him and he rouses, sputtering.]

Man 1: [lifting a glowing iron] You really are being very foolish. How much more can you withstand? Surely your king would not expect you to suffer so on his behalf. [moves close in front of Gelmir.] My Master told me how much he admires your courage. He is willing to reward you richly if you will only show him the same loyalty you give to the king who leaves you to this wretched fate. Courage such as yours should not be left unsung. My master would – [Gelmir kicks Man 1 in the groin. Man 1 screams, doubles over for a moment, then seizes a fresh iron and stabs wildly at Gelmir, catching him in the face. Camera focus on Man 1, furious. Gelmir screams, then whimpers. Man 1 drops iron and staggers back, shocked. Camera shift to Gelmir, blinded and whimpering.]

Man 1: [stammers] It was an error . . . an accident . . . [squares his shoulders, glances at Man 4 and Man 6] I will explain to Our Master that this was entirely my fault. A simple error in judgment . . . It could happen to anyone . . . [exits right. Camera focus on Man 4 and Man 6, gaping at each other. Camera shift to Gelmir, limp. Cut.]


[Camera cut to Throne Room, Angband. Man 1 kneels before Morgoth’s throne. Morgoth sits, tapping his fingers impatiently.]
Morgoth: So you tell me the prisoner is blinded, and therefore unable to point to his lord’s holding on any map we possess.
Man 1: [terrified] Yes, My Lord. The error was mine alone.
Morgoth: [sighs] That is unfortunate. Still, if you have not been able to coax cooperation from him after all this time perhaps it is for the best. You have prevented me wasting more effort in a hopeless task and will, no doubt open new possibilities to my inspiration.
Man 1: You do not mean to kill me?

Morgoth: [rises] Your death would serve me not at all. I have much to do, and many more important items demand my attention. [approaches Man 1] Your error cannot be rectified, and your death would bring me little pleasure. [seizes Man 1’s head, rips it off. Man 1 falls. Camera focus on Morgoth, smiling.] But then again, I must take what pleasure can be had. [Cut.]

* * * * * * *

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 Jan 20, 2012 5:40 pm 
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[Fade back into playroom, with the diorama. Aragorn enters, still carrying the newly-discovered sword like child with a favourite toy, followed by Eldarion. He moves over to the landscaped map, and points towards Eastern Beleriand. Eldarion follows his father’s gestures with interest…]

Aragorn: Now, as you remember, the war had gone ill with the sons of Fëanor…well nigh all the east marches were taken by Morgoth: The Pass of Aglon was forced – here: [indicates on map] and Celegorm and Curufin fled south and west to seek harbour at Nargothrond [moves figures across the landscape] Now…where has that dragon disappeared to? [looks around for the dragon figure]

Eldarion: [looks sheepish…retrieves it from his sister’s doll house where it has been terrorizing its occupants!] uh…here, Ada!

Aragorn: [eyes twinkle] Ah - still raiding the homes of the innocent, I see…. So Glaurung surged on with great force and passed through Maglor’s Gap. He destroyed Caranthir’s lands of Thargelion, and the fortress of Mount Rerir fell to the orcs also. Caranthir fled with the remnant of his people south to Amrod and Amras, making a stand upon Amon Ereb – here: [indicates again] All this land, including that of Dorthonion where the sons of Finarfin were overthrown, had fallen to Morgoth… [sweeps the elven figures off the diorama, and replaces them with token orcs] Only Maedhros managed to hold his own against the hoards of Angband. His great fortress upon the Hill of Himring could not be taken, and many refugees rallied to him there, including his brother Maglor.

Eldarion: [eagerly] …and Tol Sirion fell to Sauron… [knocks off Finrod’s figure and replaces it with a toy wolf]
Aragorn: Quite right, I am glad to see you have been paying attention! Now, over here [indicates Hithlum] Fingolfin, the High King, and his son Fingon were facing the heaviest onslaught of Morgoth’s forces, and they were unable to come to the aid of Finarfin’s sons: they were driven back with great loss to the fortress of Barad Eithel. Fortunately, the strength and height of the Shadowy Mountains afforded them some protection from the torrent of fire from Angband, and Hithlum did remain unconquered. But Fingolfin was sundered from his kinsmen by a sea of foes, and when the news came to him that Dorthonion was lost, and that the sons of Fëanor were driven from their lands, to Fingolfin it seemed that he was staring at the utter ruin of the Noldor.

Eldarion: [frowning] …you mean, Morgoth actually won???
Aragorn: Well, Fingolfin believed they had been fools to ever think they were strong enough to besiege the very heart of evil, and were now paying for their folly. He was filled with wrath and despair… [fade into scene of Fingolfin sitting with head in his hands.]

Eventually he stands and utters a single word:
“Enough”. Cut to scene of Fingolfin being dressed by his attendants in his finest armour, each piece of silver polished as highly as a mirror. We see him put on his white helm, buckle up his scabbard and sheath his glittering sword, Ringil. Lastly he receives his blue shield set with a star of crystal. His face is impassive, yet his eyes blaze with a madness of rage]

Aragorn: [Voiceover:]…he mounted upon Rochallor, his great horse, and rode forth alone…

[Scene opens with an up high sweeping panoramic shot of the plain before Angband with a tiny speck moving speedily across it. The camera swoops in and we see Fingolfin clad in silver and blue on his horse Rochallor, racing ever forward. From time to time sparks flash from the hooves of the horse as he scrapes against rock. The camera goes in tight upon the face of Fingolfin and his eyes gleam with a determination that is almost other worldly. Although there are winds in the area, the wind created by his passage seems more powerful and clouds of dust and dirt rise behind him. Cut.

* * *

Cut to an interior of Angband with Morgoth sitting pensively upon his throne with many of his dark creations around him. His fingers are steepled under his lips. A large orc wearing black and purple rag-like robes hurries in agitation up the many stairs leading to the platform throne of Morgoth:

Orc: [bows low and takes a position of subservience] Oh Great One.... the sentries upon the battlements have spotted a rider upon horse heading this way… [there is no reaction from Morgoth.]

Orc: [clears his throat and moves a bit closer thinking he was not heard] Oh Great and Powerful Melkor, Lord of Arda, a rider approaches, travelling like a mighty wind amid the dust... [wrings hands] there is a great madness of rage upon him – they say his eyes shine like the eyes of the Valar… [cringes] …they say that it is Oromë himself, my Lord! [throws himself prostrate to the floor in anticipation of Morgoth’s reaction. Crowd of orcs and Balrogs in throne room start muttering and cursing in alarm.]

Morgoth tries to keep his face impassive, yet his features tighten into a grimace, and his hands grip the arms of his throne. But he says nothing…

The noise of unrest grows - others in the area, including orcs and other creatures including a Balrog, look at each other with looks of incomprehension upon their faces. Several look to the Balrog. Suddenly a tall dark figure in dark greenish robes enters, and approaches the throne, bowing low.]

Morgoth: [barks] SILENCE!
Sauron: [smoothly] Forgive the intrusion, My Lord, but this rider appears to be no more than just a lone warrior on an apparent suicide quest. Though even from a distance the sentries believe he has a lordly bearing and he rides at a speed we have never before thought possible.

Morgoth: [relaxes hands; he cannot disguise the relief in his voice] Has this rider rendered all of you deaf in addition to soiling yourself in fear? Fools! The rider is the King of his kind and he comes to gain his revenge for our latest activities. He sees his kingdom in ruin and his people suffering and dying. He comes to join them.
Sauron: [eagerly] Then you would have us ‘welcome’ him, oh Ruler of the World?
Morgoth: [with relish, each word spoken individually and enunciated as if it is its own sentence] Let - him -come…

Sauron: [bowing at the waist] Most excellent my Lord. And we will give him what he wants if you order us to.... [suddenly a loud and shrill challenge rings out from above, the music comes echoing through the courtyard down to the throne room itself where Morgoth sits unmoving.]


[Cut to Fingolfin now before the Gates of Angband, dismounting from his horse, a silver horn hanging from his belt. He walks to the massive gates and uses the hilt of his sword to pound upon the brazen metal.]

Fingolfin: Come forth, thou coward King! Fight with me hand to hand. Den dweller! Wielder of thralls! You are a liar and a lurker in dark shadows and a foe of the Gods and the Elves.

[He puts the horn to his mouth and blows an even louder challenge upon his horn and many orcs cover their ears from the noise.]

Fingolfin: Come forth, for I would see thy craven face! [blows his horn louder still, causing orcs to cringe and shrink in pain. Many of the beasts deep in Angband whine and groan in discomfort.]


[Cut to Morgoth on his throne..... the sound of the horn slowly stops echoing around the chamber and fades into silence. The seconds tick by ...Morgoth appears to be consumed by an internal debate...]

Morgoth: [anger masking his fear, enunciates thickly] You.... [points others out with a long accusing finger underneath a gauntleted glove] will do ......NOTHING. [menacingly] Leave me now! [and he waves his hand dismissing everyone. Sauron and the Balrog exchange looks and are the last to leave the dais as the others scurry as fast as they can like rats.

Morgoth slowly rises, walks down the steps from his dais and approaches a large black chest covered in dark designs and patterns that look unwholesome. He opens a drawer and removes armour and begins to put it on. He removes a jet black shield and grasps it in one hand. He turns and on a wall is hung Grond, the oversized hammer. As he reaches for the weapon, another loud blast from the horn of Fingolfin splits the air, this one even louder and more shrill than the previous ones. Morgoth flinches, whipping his head towards the sound…his hand knocks Grond off its pegs and it crashes to the hard floor causing a loud noise to resonate through the halls. Morgoth looks quickly around in all directions to see if any of his underlings have seen his misstep. He picks up Grond, issues an audible sigh and begins the trek to the Gates. We see a close-up of black armoured legs and feet climbing the many steps leading from the bowels of Angband to the gates. Each step produces a harsh, hollow sound that echoes through the structure.]


[cut to Fingolfin outside the Gates, sword in hand, awaiting the advance of Morgoth. Fingolfin takes the head of Rochallor in one hand and gently gives him his orders:]

Fingolfin: You must go back to our people now. I know not what will happen here but whatever it is there is nothing you can do. Go now.

The horse looks at him and backs up a few steps. He snorts through his nostrils, and paws the ground with a front foot, shaking his head.]

Fingolfin: [walks up to the horse and slaps his flanks] Go now! [The horse whinnies and shakes his head again.]

Fingolfin: [cradles his head.] You are brave and loyal Rochallor, and as stubborn as your master. Were I blessed to be one of your kind I would do just as you are doing. I cannot make you leave me, but I would spare your life even as I prepare to give up mine. You will know what to do when it is finished.

[Rochallor nudges Fingolfin's forehead with his and turns away sorrowfully, retreating to a low hillock in the near distance.

Cut to an aerial shot above the gates and we see them slowly open and a howling wind rushes forth spewing dirt and dust into the face of Fingolfin. He has to raise his own shield against it and the skies darken and lightning begins to crack throughout the sky. Fingolfin takes some steps back and waves his sword blindly in front of him fearing a sneak attack by Morgoth.]

Fingolfin: So this is how you attack, having to blind me and creep like a cowardly burglar in the night. Thou are indeed without honour.

[suddenly the winds stop and the dirt ceases to fly and Fingolfin begins to lower his blue shield, the inlaid crystals sparkling like stars in the darkness. As he does so the camera angle is changed to the vantage point of Fingolfin. We see towering over him the figure of Morgoth, dressed completely in black armour with a black helm adorned with the Silmarils. His jet black shield is in his right hand and Grond in his left hand. This is revealed as a slow step by step process, beginning with the helm of Morgoth and revealing the rest of him as the shield of Fingolfin is lowered.

The camera pulls back and we get a distance shot of the two before the Gates, Morgoth some two and a half times larger than the Elven King, lightning crackling in the sky. Tens of thousands of orcs and other dark creatures are seen upon the battlements and every conceivable place along Angband which will offer them a seat to the battle.

We see the hammer Grond raised high over the head of Morgoth and then it comes down with amazing speed directly at the head of Fingolfin. He leaps away just as it brushes against part of his shield. Fingolfin rolls on the ground and quickly scampers back up in a standing position. We see a large rent in the earth where Grond tore into it... a divide between the combatants and out of which smoke and tendrils of fire leap up. This scene repeats itself several times and each time Fingolfin barely avoids Grond only to see it rip open and savage the earth itself.

Fingolfin goes to a rock formation of boulders and stones and tries to use them as cover. Morgoth quickly finds him and dispatches Grond yet again in an intended death blow. But the hammer is caught and wedged between some boulders and there is a few seconds hesitation before Morgoth can pull it away. In that time Fingolfin rushes directly forward......]

Fingolfin: [roars] For Finwë! [swings his sword down into the foot of Morgoth. His sword pierces the metal and Morgoth issues a deep yell that sounds like a mix of a speeding freight train and the bellow of a bull elephant.

Morgoth freezes at the sight of his own blood issuing from the rent in his armoured foot. He touches his fingers to the substance and brings them nearer to his face for a closer look. His lower lip twitches briefly and it is obvious that he is thinking - for the first time - about his own vulnerability. Cut to a reaction shot of orcs and others upon the battlements exchanging shocked looks at what they have just seen.

Fingolfin quickly goes behind Morgoth and reaches up and jams his sword into the back of his knee where the armour fails to protect him.]

Fingolfin: [through clenched teeth] …and for my people... [Another deep yell issues forth from the Dark Lord who now has freed Grond from its vice.

The two parry back and forth and Fingolfin gets in several more successful strikes at the feet and lower legs of Morgoth and each time a cry of anguish escapes the lips of Morgoth shocking his minions.

Fingolfin is backed up to one of the open rents in the earth and Morgoth moves in to close the distance. The long flowing blue cape of Fingolfin begins to catch fire when it dips into the chasm and as he realizes it, the Elven king momentarily is distracted as he tries to rip the burning cape from his shoulders. Morgoth uses the split second to swing Grond again and this time Fingolfin cannot move away but raises his crystal encrusted shield against the blow.

His shield cracks but holds but Fingolfin is driven to his knees from the force of the attack. As he stands up Morgoth swings Grond again and this time the blow knocks the shield from the arm of Fingolfin and his arm is badly injured.]

Morgoth: You have given me more sport than your Father...your courage is admirable, King of the Noldor. But the outcome will be the same. Your time is over…

And the hammer Grond comes down for a third time and Fingolfin manages to pick up his shield with his sword hand and barely get it in front of his face as the third blow smashes it to pieces driving Fingolfin to the ground his face now bleeding from many cuts from the shards of the broken shield which shattered around him.

Morgoth places his foot upon the neck of Fingolfin and the blood flowing from two open cuts in the metal trickles onto the face of the Elf and burns him like acid.

As Morgoth raises Grond high overhead to deliver the death blow, he is oblivious and unseeing that Fingolfin has not let go of his sword Ringil. With every last ounce of energy left to him, Fingolfin takes the sword and jams it as deeply as possible into the foot of Morgoth and this time the howl that escapes him dwarfs the thunder and lightning in the skies. Gushers of black, smoking blood pour forth and begin to fill the pits created by Grond. Morgoth puts all of his weight upon the neck of Fingolfin and he is crushed to death.

Morgoth staggers backwards trying to keep his weight off the badly mangled foot. He pulls the sword from his foot and discards it, using Grond as a cane to help him steady him. Orcs begin to look at each other in unbelieving awe and several higher ups quickly get them to begin to clear the battlements to avoid any obvious embarrassment to their Master.

He looks back at the smoking and burning ruin in front of him and sees the broken and crushed body of Fingolfin upon the ground. He looks down at his own wounds and becomes more agitated by what he sees. Seven great wounds mar his armour and he knows he has been exposed to all who worship him. He throws Grond to the ground. He then picks up a rock nearly the size of a man. He slowly and with great effort brings it ever higher until it is over his head ready to pulverize the last remains of the fallen King.

But before he can do so a great Eagle –Thorondor, the greatest of Manwë’s Eagles - swoops in and his talons find the small opening below the helm containing the Silmarils where the flesh of Morgoth is exposed. The talons of the eagle tear deep and wide and Morgoth screams in pain, dropping the rock harmlessly to the ground. Morgoth reaches up to his face and tries to turn away from the talons. Thorondor picks up the body of Fingolfin and flies away.

Camera swings round to look back at Morgoth, standing alone on the severely damaged landscape looking up at the skies, his face a bloody mess. The camera moves up and we see the entire landscape. Rochallor runs down from the hill, rears back on his hind legs and issues a loud and defiant call. A pack of large wolves begins to approach the horse and a chase begins away from Angband.

Morgoth reaches down and picks up Grond from the earth. he looks around at the flames and smoke issuing forth from the torn landscape. He takes a single step back towards Angband and his leg nearly buckles from under him. He barely stays up using Grond as a cane to stop his fall. Wearily he looks out over the battlements to make sure they are deserted and none of his minions have seen his weakness. Slowly, in obvious pain, he begins the trek back across the ruined plain to the gates, each step taken with deliberation and great labour.... pools of thick black blood trailing behind him marking his every step. The camera slowly climbs ever higher until he becomes just a speck on the ground with Angband revealed in all its terrible majesty.]

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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