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PostPosted: Sat Aug 18, 2012 8:11 am 
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Location: Green Hill Country
Season 5: Episode 2 The Battle of Unnumbered Tears

Midsummer, First Age Year of the Sun 472

[Camera cut to Hills of Ladros as the sun rises. A low mist hugs the land, and from a distance we cannot see the army camp. Camera shift closer, pan left and front over Ered Wethrin, and we see the army camp concealed. Elves move carefully, cloaked in long concealing wraps. Their horses are draped in the same fabric that hides them from the enemy. Camera pan over the camp of Men of Dor-lómin, who are not cloaked so well but have stuck brush into their hair and belts to hide their shapes. Elves and Men ready themselves for battle, smiling and confident in their leaders. Horses are prepared, weapons checked. Comrades pat each other on the back, congratulating themselves for the victory they anticipate. Camera pan left, focus on Fingon as he straps on the last of his armour. His cloak covers him with enough space to move beneath it. Beleg stands near him, checking the tips of his arrows. Fingon stands. Camera pans right and focuses on Thangorodrim. Black smoke rises from the peak. Camera focus on Fingon, who rises in the saddle, uncertain.]

Fingon: Maedhros is late. He should have lit the beacons to tell us he was ready. Yet, our enemy accepts the challenge as we agreed. Do I trust all to luck and hope for the best, or shall I wait and perhaps miss the best chance to take our foe?
Beleg: [replaces arrows in quiver] Perhaps fortune is with us on this Longest Day.
Fingon: Fortune is a fickle mistress…my father taught me that.

[A cry goes up from lower right draw Fingon’s attention. Camera shift lower right, focus on banners carried by a large approaching force. Sunlight flashes on the golden armour and banners of Turgon of Gondolin, with an army of ten thousand. The trumpets of Turgon sound and the allied forces cheer. Camera focus on Fingon, confident.]

Fingon: [whispers] And now it seems she favours us! [cries aloud] Utúlie’n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie’n aurë! [subtitled: the day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!]
[camera pan over assembled host. Voices cry out in answer: “Auta I lómë!” [subtitled: the night is passing!]

[Camera shift up to Anfauglith Plain. Orcs appear as shadowy forms, growing more real as they approach. Some ride Wargs, most simply carry weapons. Black banners hang from tall poles, flapping lightly in the breeze. Wargs snarl in the stillness. Camera pan over Elves and Men, focus on fear, resolution, uncertainty, and resolve on their faces.

Camera focus on Huor and Húrin, standing with the Men of Dor-lómin and Noldor Elves. As they watch the Orc host approach, tension runs through the host. The enemy forces march on until the front is drawn up before the stream of Sirion, close enough to see the eyes of the enemy. Elves and Men stir, tense. The Orcs seem to falter as they look upon the silent walls and hidden threat of the hills. Then the Orcs begin to shout, taunting and banging their weapons against their shields as they draw near the Sirion.]

Húrin: [scornfully] Think they to frighten us with their war dance?
Huor: [laugh] They think much of themselves.

[Camera shift left, focus on Fingon and Elves. Elves grow restless as Orcs continue taunting. Camera pan right, show Elves and Men ready to charge. Camera focus on Huor, licking his lips, uncertain.]

Elf 1: [impatient] Now! We take them now!
Elf 2: [impatient] Before they form!
Man 1: [impatient] What are we waiting for?

[Elves and Men shift forward. Orcs grow louder. Huor glances at Fingon, Camera follows. Fingon shakes his head. Camera shift to Huor and Húrin, who glance at each other.]
Húrin: He will not be able to hold the lines much longer…
Huor: Then we must think on our feet!
Húrin: [concerned] What are you going to do?
Huor: [turns to face the army, raises his arms] Something foolish... [Army quiets as Huor raises his voice and speaks to all] Are you servants of the Dark Lord? Do you take orders from his servants? [angry grumbling and shouts of “Never!” from the Army.] They want you to attack now! I tell you to wait! Wait for the signal and take them as one! How do we take them?

[Voices reply, shouting. At first it is only those closest to Huor, then the shout grows and spreads from the Men to the Elves.]
Army: As one!

[Camera shift to Orcs. Orcs’ taunting and shield banging slows, then falls silent. Orc host parts, and two Orc Heralds ride forward on large Wargs. They ride to the edge of the river, but the Wargs shy at the water. One Orc Herald carries a twisted horn, which he blows three times. The sound echoes from the hills.]

Huor: [rubbing his ears] Manwë ’s Breath! That was fair loud enough to shake the very foundations of Barad Eithel! Think you that is their purpose, Brother?
Húrin: [lips twitching] Nay, they merely mean to deafen us so we will not hear Morgoth’s insulting offer!
Huor: [cups hand over one ear] What did you say? [both laugh]

[The other Orc stands in his stirrups and shouts toward the hills, speaking to the host he cannot see. His voice is harsh and vile. Camera pan over hills, show slight movement but no certain outline of the Army.]

Orc Herald 2: The Lord of Angband sends his captain and herald to meet with the Eldar seeking to bring a battle to his doorstep. He asks for parley between us.

[Camera cut to Mablung as he loosens his sword in its sheath.]

Mablung: [shouts] Never!

[Camera pan back as other Elves and Men take up the cry. “Never!” [color=blue][i] echoes off the hills. Camera shift to Orc Heralds, angry and frightened. Orc Heralds scowl and retreat to their lines, are swallowed by the Orc Host. Camera shift to Fingon, who glances right. Camera pan right, but there is no sign of Maedhros. Camera cut to Huor and Húrin, who relax slightly. Man 1 leans toward Húrin , grinning.]

Man 1: This is what we get for dealing with them that do not grow old. [chuckles] They think we all have time to waste.
Húrin: [grins] You think this will take long?
Man 1: [pulls beard] How do ye think I got all this snow on me chin, boy? Too much time dealing with Elves, is how. Ye can grow old waitin’ for them to fix breakfast!

[Camera cut back to Fingon. Out of habit, Fingon looks to the east; however, nothing but the smoke and clouds of the sky are present over Dorthonion. With a sigh he set his gaze back on the dark line of Orcs and monsters ahead of him. Fade.]

* * *

[Camera pan out. Shadows shift, showing the day passing. When the sun is at noon, Orc Herald 1 rides through the lines to the edge of the river, followed by two Orcs dragging Gelmir. Gelmir is covered in a filthy blanket, and so exhausted by the march and rough treatment that he stumbles and is dragged into place. Far ahead of the amassed troops of Morgoth, Orc Herald 1 carefully chooses a bend in the river, where he has the best view of the hills all around, making certain he and his companions can be well seen by the Eldar.

Camera cut to Elves of Nargothrond watching from the outworks. Focus on Gwindor, near the front of the line. Gwindor frowns, concentrating on the captive.]

Elf 1: [uncertain] What is it?
Gwindor: It appears no Orc, nor any servant of Morgoth!

[Camera shift to Orcs, focusing on Gelmir as Orcs pull off the blanket. The Noldor can see it is an Elf. Gwindor gazes upon its features and form, hoping to find any sign of recognition. The herald’s soldier throws the form to the ground from the back of his warg and dismounts. He grabs Gelmir’s head, pulling him by the hair to make his face visible and kicking out his legs to force him to his knees. his eye-sockets empty and torn with a tortured, broken body bent and twisted from years of confinement and pain. Angry murmurs can be heard from the Eldar ranks. Gwindor pales, and sucks in a sharp breath, swaying where he stands.]

Elf beside him: Are you well, you recognize him?
Gwindor: [nods, sickened. Whispers faintly] I wish to all the Blessed Realm that I did not – for it is my brother Gelmir… [other Elf looks aghast. Cut back to orc heralds]

Orc Herald: Since you did not take our Lord’s first offer, we have a token that may encourage your agreement to our parley terms…

[Orc Herald motions to Orcs. Orc 2 siezes Gelmir’s hands and wrenches his arms over his head, dislocating both shoulders. Gelmir bites his lip to keep from screaming. Orc 1 grabs the chain between Gelmir’s hands, draws a large knife slowly, and slashes down. Gelmir screams. Camera focus on Orc 1 as he waves Gelmir’s severed hands toward the hills.

Camera cut to Gwindor, screaming. Camera cut to Orc Herald, laughing. Camera cut to Orc 2 as he cuts off Gelmir’s feet with the same brutality. Gelmir writhes screaming on the dead grasses beneath him. Orcs laugh.]

Orc Herald: [smiles] Our Master has many more such pitiful specimens at home, but you must make haste if you would find them; for we shall deal with them all when we return even so.
[Orc Herald dismounts, pulls Gelmir up by his hair, and beheads him. .Orc Herald flings Gelmir’s head into the Sirion. Camera focus on the head, still wearing the shock and agony of his death, as it bobs in the water. The cries of death cease, but they still ring in Elven ears. The Orc soldier kicks the bloodied, beheaded body and moves to remount his monstrous warg.

Camera cut to Gwindor, enraged and blinded by tears. Bile rises in the back of his throat.]

Gwindor: [raises sword] Gelmir! [throws off cloak, leaps on horseback and charges out from the outworks towards the Orcs.

Camera pan over Ered Wethrin. Elves of Nargothrond follow Gwindor first, then all the Hithlum Elves charge at Orcs. Elves are enraged, blood mad, screaming. Camera cut to Orc Herald, who realizes he is the target of their rage. Orc Herald tries to remount Warg as Elves splash into Sirion, but arrows fly and Warg falls, screaming. Arrows strike Orc Herald as he tries to run. Gwindor raises sword, swings low. Orc Herald stumbles, disembowelled. Another Elf slashes at his arm. Orc Herald falls. Elves charge Orc host.

Camera cut to Men, who join the charge. Men scream and wave axes, spears, and hammers. Camera cut to Orcs, frightened and overwhelmed by the fury of the attack. Camera pan right, follow Sons of Fëanor as they join the charge. Camera pan back as Orcs fall back, break and retreat over the Anfauglith.

Camera cut to Turgon as Elves of Gondolin surge forward. Glorfindel stands beside him, and Maeglin is to his right holding the standard of Gondolin. Glorfindel and Maeglin draw swords, eager for the fight.]

Turgon: [shouts] No! We hold this pass until Fingon calls us! [Elves do not stop. Turgon speaks to Glorfindel and Maeglin.] Hold them!

[Camera focus on Glorfindel, confused. Cut to Turgon, firm. Cut to Maeglin, resolute. Maeglin levels his sword at Elves rushing past him, stopping the reckless charge. Cut to Glorfindel, who thrusts the banner out to stop those on his side of the ranks. Several Elves stumble, the rush is stopped. Camera pan up as the part of Gondolin’s army that could not be stopped races toward the battle. Cut back to Glorfindel, impatient and angry.]

Glorfindel: [yelling with throat raw from the smoke and fumes to be heard over the noise] We should be with them! What is the glory in standing back?
Maeglin: [whispers,] This is not right!
Turgon: [calls to Glorfindel] We do not go yet to battle! Our orders are to protect the pass. This we shall do until we are given new instructions. [firmly] No doubt Fingon will call for us soon.
Maeglin: [louder] That was too easy. [Camera cut to Glorfindel and Turgon, frowning] Can you not see? They were provoked! There is a trap in this, somewhere!
Turgon: If that is so, then we will hold this pass and give them safe retreat when they need it.
Maeglin: If there are any able to retreat…
Turgon: We must stop the other houses from breaking away. [barks orders] Ecthelion! Keep the right flank intact… Maeglin, reorganize formations to cover the areas left vulnerable by those who have already broken rank! [The Elven commanders acknowledge the King’s orders. Camera cut to the forces of Turgon: we see several houses of Gondolin hasten away without orders and ignoring Turgon’s commands that are drowned by Fingon’s trumpets. Glorfindel eyes his own battalion and his fury is mirrored in their eyes, but they do not move without his lead.]


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

Last edited by Elentári on Mon Apr 27, 2015 5:29 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Wed Aug 22, 2012 9:12 am 
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[Camera pan over battle. Focus on Fingon, slashing Orcs furiously. Mablung and Beleg fight beside him, and the Men of the House of Hador are close to Fingon’s banner. Elves and Orcs scream and die, but more Orcs fall than Elves. The Allies are cutting through the Orc host effortlessly after crossing the Sirion. Orcs continue to flee and die, running with no order back over the desolate plain to the walls of Angband. Cut to Gwindor, still leading the charge as they pass through the gates. Orc guards fall. In the courtyard, Orcs and Easterlings are cut down without mercy. Many are obviously civilian, but the Elves do not care.

Cut to Gwindor and his men bursting through the Gate, slaying the surprised guards upon the very stairs of Angband. Camera shift to walls over Gate of Angband. One Orc slips out of a guard tower and runs toward a large metal lever that juts out of the floor of the wall walk. He throws his shoulder against the lever. Metal screams. Cut to Courtyard. One Elf hears the noise, glances up to the wall, and is immediately cut down before he can shout a warning. Other Elves are too caught up in the slaughter to notice. Cut to walls. Orc tries again to lower the gate, and this time it works. Gate lowers with a sound of grinding metal and a clatter as it strikes the stone floor to seal the entrance. Two Elves immediately shoot the Orc, but the damage is done - they are trapped there. Gwindor sees an Elf to his right fall, and looks behind him in horror.]

Gwindor: [pulls sword out of an Orc, turns and sees their peril: cries] Where is Fingon? The main host should be right behind us!

[Camera cut to Army outside the gate. As the gate falls, some scramble back and manage to get free. Some dart forward and are trapped. Cut to Fingon, furious. Camera shift right, focus on Caranthir, flanked by Amrod and Amras, with their hosts. All are bloody, sweaty, and breathing hard from the long running fight. Caranthir pounds the hilt of his sword against the gate in frustration.

Camera pan back as Morgoth releases his main host that has been held in waiting. Orcs and Easterlings pour from hidden doors, flanking the Elves and Men. Focus on Uruks, slashing through the Men of Brethil. Cut to Fingon, shocked.]

Caranthir: [commanding] Stand your ground! We have them!
Fingon: [flinches, then shouts over noise of battle] Fall back! Fall back to the hills!
Caranthir: [glares, slashes at two Easterlings] Coward!
Amras: [ducks beneath an Uruk’s blow, slashes at an Orc] With respect, Caranthir, are you mad?
Amrod: We should get out of here while we can! [shouts to his followers] Fall back!
Caranthir: [grabs Uldor] Find Maedhros and get his army here! [Caranthir shoves Uldor right. Uldor exits, cutting through Orcs. Camera follows. Camera cut.]

* * *

[Camera cut to Taur-nu-Fuin. Pan over scrub plain, focus on Maedhros’ Army moving quickly as the sun rises behind them. They cross a small stream. Camera focus on various Elves and Men, all look grim, sweaty, and strained. Camera cut to Maglor, a few steps behind Maedhros.]

Maglor: [shouts, gasping for breath] Brother! This cannot go on!
Maedhros: [grim] We are delayed. We will be of no help if we arrive too late.
Maglor: We will help no one if we arrive too exhausted to fight.
Bór: [staggers, gasping. Borlach catches him.] He is not wrong.

[Camera focus on Maedhros as he glances back to his men. Camera shift over army, focus on Maedhros as he slows and raises his arm to stop the army. Maedhros nods, shoulders slump.]

Maedhros: As you say. [commanding] Ten minutes.

[Camera pan over Army. Men and Elves slump, some bracing on their knees, others sliding to the ground. Some lean against trees, breathing hard. Many drink from skins, while a few try to eat a bit. Camera focus on Borlach, who shoves something into his mouth and chews. He swallows, then staggers to a bush and vomits. Bór follows him. Borlad joins them, drinking from a skin.]

Bór: [chuckles] Now you have learned a lesson, boy. Never eat before you drink.
Borlach: [takes skin Borlad hands him, rinses his mouth and swallows some water] Thanks for telling me.
Borlad: I bet you will not do that again.

[Borlach drinks again and hands the skin to Bor. Camera shift left, focus on Borthand as he moves through the army and kneels beside the stream. Elf Captain 1 is scooping water into his mouth. Elf Captain 1 turns his head as Borthand puts a skin into the stream to fill it. Camera focus on Borthand’s hand, small and smooth against the water skin. Elf Captain 1 seizes his hand. Camera focus on Borthand, frightened.]

Elf Captain 1: Who have we here? [Borthand tries to twist free. Elf Captain 1 pulls him closer, pushes back the hood. Maglor and Maedhros come to investigate the struggle.]

Maglor: [concerned] What are you doing here, boy?
Borthand: [lifts his chin bravely] Going to war.
Maedhros: [firmly] This is not a game. [to Elf Captain 2, in Quenya] Examine our ranks. If we have one interloper, there may be more. [Elf Captain 2 nods, exits right.]
Borthand: I know that. [glances around] Do not tell my father. He will be angry.
Caranthir: [enters right, laughing] We rush to war against all the powers of Morgoth, and this one’s biggest worry is that his father will be angry.
Maglor: It was brave of him to come.
Maedhros: And foolish.
Elf Captain 1: Is there a difference?
Maglor: Frequently not. [glances at his brothers] We cannot send him back alone.
Maedhros: Nor will we need to. We need all the courage we can find in this venture. [to Borthand] Borthand, son of Bór, will you stand as page for me? I need a strong heart on a fast pair of feet to carry my messages.
Borthand: [brightens, smiles] Of course, my lord. I will be your man in life and death.
Maedhros: Not so far as that, I hope. [pats Borthand’s shoulder] Come. You shall march beside me.

[Camera pan over Army as they prepare to move. Focus on Bór, Borlach, and Borlad. They recognize Borthand beside Maedhros. Bór looks furious, then takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. Borlach and Borlad stare at their younger brother. All shoulder packs and exit left, at a quick trot. Camera cut.]

* * *

[Camera cut to Courtyard. Gwindor watches Elves fall, overwhelmed. He and a few survivors retreat until their backs are to the walls. Camera pan Courtyard, now filled with laughing Orcs who taunt the survivors. Two Elves try to climb the wall, but are cut down with spears thrown from above. Others try to defend themselves, some Orcs fall. Finally Gwindor stands alone, the pile of dead Orcs around him nearly breast high. Orcs step back. Camera focus on Gwindor, exhausted, spattered with Orc blood and bleeding from several wounds. Gwindor looks up into the dreary sky, Camera follows. Ravens circle Courtyard. Cut back to Gwindor, who resets himself.]

Gwindor: [to orcs] I am not sorry to face death…I give my life willingly to avenge my brother! Perchance that Gelmir and I can find peace in the Halls of Mandos together. [raises sword with obvious effort]
Orc Captain: [laughs] Take this one alive!

[Camera cut to Walls. Orcs enter left, carrying a large, rough net. Gwindor slashes at any Orc that comes near him. Orcs taunt Gwindor into overextending himself. Orcs on Wall throw net, which settles over Gwindor neatly.

Gwindor still tries to fight through the net, and manages to slash an Orc. Orcs scramble over the corpses around Gwindor and grab him from all sides. Gwindor goes down under a pile of Orcs, all pummelling him. One Orc lifts Gwindor’s sword, smiles, and tucks it into his belt. The rest of the Orcs haul Gwindor to his feet, still bound in the net. Gwindor tries to fight as best he can, mostly using his feet. Each success earns him a blow from his captors. Camera follow Gwindor as he is hauled into the keep. Camera fade to darkness.]

* * *

[Camera fade in on Rivil’s Well. Maedhros’ Army enter right, moving quickly. Sounds of battle are faint, but audible. Camera pan upper left, and smoke shows over the hills. Cut to Maedhros, Maglor, Curufin, Celegorm, and Borthand, who carries Maedhros’ banner. All trot to mid-screen, then slow. Maedhros raises his right arm to stop his Army. Camera shift left as Uldor runs out of the trees, looking both exhausted and relieved. Camera focus on Uldor as he checks a long knife in his belt and waves to the approaching Army. Camera shift to Maedhros, frowning.]

Uldor: [shouts] My lords! I am glad I have found you in time!
Maglor: Whom do you serve?
Uldor: I am sworn to my lord Caranthir. He sends urgent word to you. [Camera cut to Maedhros, inscrutable]

Maedhros: [evenly] Say on.
Uldor: My master bid me tell you that the enemy’s army is retreating to his fortress. If you approach from the north you can cut them off, and we will catch all between us. The High King has broken the enemy in the west, and already won a great victory.

[Camera cut to Maedhros, nodding then cut to Maglor]

Maglor: [suspicious] If this is so, why do we hear sounds of battle?
Uldor: [shrugs] That is merely the nasty business of mopping up the remains of those who served the Dark Lord.
Maedhros: I hear your words, lad. Still, my heart tells me we are needed ahead and not in the north. [to Borthand] Give him some water. We continue as we were.

[Borthand leans Maedhros’ banner against his shoulder and hands Uldor his flask. Uldor drinks, seemingly grateful. Camera focus on Uldor as he palms the knife and draws it slowly. Camera cut to Maedhros, conferring with his brothers and Captains.

Camera cut to Uldor, who drops the flask and jumps for Maedhros. Camera slow. Elves turn, knife flashes. Blood sprays. Camera pull back, focus on Uldor drawing the knife from Borthand. Borthand falls onto Maedhros’ banner, and the banner is soaked with blood. Maglor seizes Uldor. Maedhros kneels beside Borthand. Bór, Borlach, and Borlad enter left and gather around Borthand.]

Maedhros: Borthand! [shouts in Quenya] Bring bandages!
Bór: [choked] It is too late for that. [sobs] My son!
Borthand: [to Maedhros] I did not think you knew my name, Lord…
Maedhros: Your name will be remembered so long as memory lasts. Your valour will never be forgotten.
Borthand: Your man in life and death. [fades, dies]
Maedhros: [to Finyon] See that his body will remain untouched by the foul things that feed on carion. [Finyon nods, lifts Borthand, exits right. Camera cut to Maglor, Celegorm, and Curufin. All hold Uldor, who is defiant.]

Uldor: My lord’s work is accomplished. I will be well rewarded for my service.
Borlad: [draws dagger] Take your reward now!
Borlach: [lifts sword] Murderer!
Bór: [clenches fists] Child slayer!
Maedhros: Peace! To delay us was his aim. We will not give him that victory. To battle! [lifts sword, exits left at a fast trot. Borlad snatches up the bloody banner and follows Maedhros. Others follow, moving quickly. Camera focus on Maglor and Celegorm, still holding Uldor.]

Uldor: I am Uldor, son of Ulfang! Remember my name!
Maglor: [cuts Uldor’s throat] You are nobody!

[Camera focus on Uldor as Maglor and Celegorm drop him and exit left. Uldor lays, staring and choking on his own blood, as Maedhros’ army passes. Camera cut.]

* * *

[Camera cut to Pass. Turgon paces nervously. Glorfindel strains to see what is happening, shading his eyes with one hand. Maeglin stands beside Glorfindel, also squinting. Suddenly Maeglin straightens, frowning.]

Glorfindel: What is happening?
Maeglin: I know not, but it is nothing good. [shouts] Lord Turgon! [color=blue][i] [points toward battle]
Turgon: [joins Maeglin, strains to see what is happening.] What . . . by the Valar!

[Camera pan to Fingon’s army, fleeing across the Anfauglith, pursued by a large host of Orcs and Easterlings. Camera pan to show more Orcs and Uruks flanking around them to cut them off. Several Trolls enter top right and move swiftly toward Fingon’s army. Camera cut back to Turgon, who grimaces.]

Turgon: [to himself] We wait no longer! [commanding] Forward! Our kin call for aid!

[Camera focus on Maeglin, smiling grimly as he leads his host down the slope. Cut to Glorfindel, who looks very young beside the older Elves that follow him but seems eager for the fight. Shift right, focus on Ecthelion as he leads his troops with more control than the other two captains.]


[Camera cut to Fingon as his decimated army is surrounded, injured men and elves lie on the ground among the slaughtered dead of both Fingon’s troops and the Orc army. The fires burning around them light up the scene with eerie shadows and the scene is grave. Elves and Men take defensive positions. Camera focus on Orcs, grinning as they realize their enemy has no escape. Camera cut to Fingon, looking grim with his guard about him.]

Fingon: [loudly, commanding] Have courage, my people! It may be we shall rest this night in the Halls of Mandos, but that is no bad thing! Though none but the foul beasts of Morgoth are here to see our end, we shall make them remember our names for so long as their race remains! They shall fear our courage!

[Elves and Men cheer and renew the fight. Camera focus on battle…there is screaming: screams of pain, shouts of challenge, calls to rally. There is clanging of sword against sword and sword against shield, the sound of swords splitting through flesh and blood.]


[Camera pan back to show the Elves of Gondolin strike the Orcs’ rear. Focus on Turgon, grim and cold as he slashes into Orcs, hewing his way towards his brother. Focus on Orcs, terrified and unable to turn or flee as Maeglin leads his troops in a berserk rush. Cut to Glorfindel as he lifts his sword to encourage his force. A large Orc with curved tusks looms in front of him with an ugly war hammer. Glorfindel ducks beneath the swing, stabs the Orc, then uses the Orc’s corpse as a platform to vault into the mass of enemy. Elves follow him, shouting and cheering their young commander’s skill.]


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

Last edited by Elentári on Mon Apr 27, 2015 5:28 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Sun Aug 26, 2012 6:58 am 
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[Camera cut to Fingon’s Army. Orcs hesitate, hearing the attack behind them and realizing they are trapped between foes.]
Orc Captain: [loud growl] Hold ranks! Or I’ll eat your livers raw!

[Orcs cringe. Some break and run. Elves and Men cut them down as they flee. Others try to fight, but their fear works against their defence. Camera focus on Húrin and Huor, standing together and fighting back to back with their men near the edge of Fingon’s Army. Both fight madly, their blades and arms covered in Orc blood. Húrin strikes and Orc with the hilt of his sword, and the Orc falls with blood spraying from his mouth. Húrin slashes again, but his blow is firmly blocked by an Elf spear. Suddenly the trumpets of Turgon bellow and rays of sun burst through the clouds of smoke like arrows tearing holes. Mounted spearmen strive forward and Penlod hews at the closest Orc to him, the monster falling to the ground in a heap as others collapse from sharp spear points driven through their necks and torsos.Camera focus on Huor as he recognizes that rescue is breaking through to reach them.]

Huor: [amazed, points] Look, to the South! A rescue beyond all hope!
Man of Brethil: [cheering, shouts] Elves! The Elves have reached us!
Húrin: [joyous] Ai! The Gondolindrim have come!

[The cheering spreads and Fingon’s Army attacks with more force, knowing they are rescued. Morgoth’s Army begins to break. Camera focus on Orc Captain as he tries to rally his force. Turgon cuts him down as he breaks through to the centre, alleviating the pressured combat on his brother. Together they meet and embrace, Turgon showing his joy at seeing Fingon after so many years. He joyfully greets Huor and Húrin, his former fosterlings removing their helms and embracing the king.]

Turgon: Well met again! This night has passed indeed!
Fingon: Together we may yet prevail, and our triumph will be all the sweeter.
Huor: [blocks two Orcs, beheads both with one blow] The victory is not yet won!

[All rejoin the battle, the screams of pain and clanging of metal overwhelming as they dove back into the heated mêlée.

Cut to Ecthelion slicing and stabbing almost in a hypnotic rhythm, ripping through the enemy forces, dark, foul-smelling blood staining sword and armour. The Orcs try to assail him, but are not quick enough. Another couple foes get close; nevertheless Ecthelion easily fends off their near-fatal blows. The monsters’ numbers begin to dwindle, many attempting to flee while the assembled Elves and Men chase them onward. The armies are so mingled now that Elves and Men must take care not to hit their own comrades. The Orcs do not worry if they cut down their own kind. Camera shift right, darkness and flame light the screen. Camera focus on Ecthelion as Elves turn, shocked and terrified. Camera shift right to reveal at least ten massive Trolls smashing through the ranks of Men and Elves with spiked clubs. Camera focus on the body of an Elf, stuck to a club, as the Troll lifts the club and swings again. Camera cut to Ecthelion, resolved, as he prepares to charge these trolls.]

Ecthelion: Ai!
[Elves and Men prepare to follow Ecthelion. Trumpets cut the noise of battle. Camera cut to Trolls, surprised. Troll s look forward right, roar. Camera cut forward right. The sky brightens and in the distance the standards of Maedhros and those of his brothers appears on the hills. Camera shift forward right as sunlight glints off swords and spears. Maedhros has arrived. Camera focus on Maedhros, Maglor, Curufin, and Celegorm standing under the banner of their house. Many of those behind Maedhros have arrows nocked. Camera pans down again to show the plain - a sea of Morgoth’s creatures encloses an island of once bright mail smeared red with blood; focus on a ragged banner of blue and silver in the middle.]

Maglor: [aghast] They are surrounded! Why did Fingon not postpone the attack??
Celegorm: [grimly] Let us hope we have yet come in time…

Maedhros: [levels his sword. Commanding, in Quenya] Forward Fëanorrim! Bring them down!

[Maedhros’ Army fire arrows. Orcs and Wargs fall. Trolls roar as arrows strike, causing painful wounds. Camera cut to Maedhros.]

Maedhros: [in Quenya] Charge! [runs toward the battle. His people follow, screaming war cries. Shouts and cheers erupt as the arrivals overwhelm Morgoth’s forces from the rearguard.. Camera pan over battle as Maedhros’ Army charges down the hill and into the foe. Arrows fly, Elves slash into the Orcs. Blood splatters and gushes. Maedhros dodges blows, slashes and turns the small shield lashed to his arm into a blunt weapon. Orcs draw back as a line of dead pile up behind him. Maglor fights grimly, cold and perfect. Bór and his sons work as a unit, avenging Borthand with each kill. Maedhros’ Army unites with Caranthir, Amrod, and Amras on the east of the battle. Camera focus on Caranthir, grinning.]

Caranthir: [grasps Maedhros’ right arm, slaps his shoulder] What took you so long?
Maedhros: [slashes an Orc] You shall have the whole story later.
Curufin: You have been busy.
Amras: There is still plenty of work for lazy hands. [kills two Easterlings]
Celegorm: [fires arrows quickly at a Troll. Troll screams, falls] A target-rich environment! I shall enjoy this feast!

[Camera cut right as Dwarves enter, moving quickly. They carry no banners, but are heavily armed and pull ballistae and trebuchets. Dwarves smash into Morgoth’s Army as a unit, moving with discipline, using their large shields to defend units as a Roman legion would. Camera focus on ballistae as Dwarves fire them at Trolls. Trolls shriek and fall back. Camera focus on trebuchets firing in sequence at the back of Morgoth’s Army. The Trebuchets are loaded with incendiary bombs, which burst in flame when they hit. Orcs burn and scream. Dwarves cheer, and the cheer is taken up by Elves and Men.]

[Camera cut to Mablung and Beleg, grinning and wiping sweat out of their eyes as their enemies panic.]

Mablung: They come late, but they are most welcome.
Beleg: [shrugs] Well, after all, their legs are short.
Fingon: [cheers] We have them! [Elves cheer]

[Camera pan Morgoth’s Army falling back, breaking in places. Just as it seems that they have nearly won, a loud rumbling begins and the ground begin to shake violently, making everyone stagger. Wolves, wargriders, Trolls and dragons fall upon the allies. Last comes Glaurung, fully-grown in strength and terror… breathing fire and smoke he rises from the fortress walls, flying into the sky before diving down upon the Noldor below. The Men and Elves wither before him and he comes between the hosts of Fingon and Maedhros, sweeping them apart. All eyes turn upward as the fire engulfs many.]

Huor: [in disbelief] No!
Magelin: [blanches] What greater evil is this?
Glorfindel: [in Quenya] Fire-drakes…Ai! Elbereth protect us!

[Dragons roar and blast fire at anything in front of them, Elf, Man, Orc, or Warg. Waves of flame roar up. Cut to Dwarves, who refocus their equipment to hit Morgoth’s reinforcements. Elves and Men charge the new threat. Another tremor. Camera focus on Turgon, staggering and falling to his knees. He climbs to his feet. Turgon looks upper right, blanches.

A ballista bolt strikes one of the Dragons and it screams, badly wounded. Dwarves cheer. Camera focus on Dwarves as they charge Trolls. Trolls strike with clubs. Some Dwarves die, but three Trolls fall and are chopped by Dwarf axes as they struggle.

Camera pan over Elves and Men as the sky darkens. Camera focus upper right. Glaurung emerges, flying. His wings shadow half the screen. Camera focus on Glaurung as he circles both armies. His wicked eyes pick out Fingon, standing with his guard under the banner of the High King. Cut to Fingon, pointing with his sword.]

Fingon: Archers! [Mounted Archers fire at Glaurung. Some arrows stick, but most either bounce off his hide or are burned before they ever reach him. Glaurung shoots flame at the Archers, who scramble to avoid the fire. Horses, Elves, and Men shriek as they burn.]


[Camera cut to Sons of Fëanor. Maedhros swings frantically, cutting through Orcs and Wargs. He hacks down an Orc, blocks a blow with his sword. The sword shatters. Camera pan up to Uruk, grinning, red hair blown by the wind. Maedhros throws the hilt of his sword at the Uruk as the Uruk draws back for another blow. Maedhros blocks the blow with his shield. Amrod throws Maedhros a sword. Maedhros kills the Uruk.]

Maedhros: My thanks…
Amrod: What are these things?
Amras: Something ugly!
Maglor: [kills Warg] This whole situation is ugly!
Maedhros: [grim] Less talk!

[Camera cut to Glorfindel as he jabs his long sword through the orcs rushing him; he turn sideways with the other hand to his belt, releasing the slender knife to swipe the throat of an Easterling. A rough arrow with ragged black fletching strikes his forearm and pierces his armor. He breaks the shaft off and glances up, blood still seeping around the tip of the arrow. Camera pan over Gondolin Army to Turgon, fighting surrounded but still fighting. Camera focus on Gondolin banner, still waving in the smoke of battle. Camera cut to Glorfindel as he grimly rallies what is left of his men.]


[Cut to Maeglin pressing onward, cutting through the lines. He draws closer to the front where the battle is fiercest. He breaks forth to Turgon’s side, steeling himself once more for a desperate charge.

Camera pan over the hideous minions of Morgoth, now black, dripping and disfigured in the smoke and fire of battle. Maeglin sweats heavily; a beast breaks through and coils, ready to spring on Turgon. Maeglin snaps forward, hacking viciously even as the Warg jumps, cutting his leap short, and knocking the Elf to the ground. The warg’s belly is caught on the sword point, his snarling teeth near to Maeglin’s throat. A dagger pierces the warg’s eye and Turgon helps Maeglin roll the beast off him. Maeglin gets to his feet, the muscles in his legs regaining feeling; he braces his foot to the Warg's chest to withdraw his sword, heavy with blood.]


[Camera cut to Dwarves, turning a pair of trebuchets to hit Glaurung. Trebuchets fire. Both fire bombs hit Glaurung. The dragon is knocked off his glide and falls, nearly crashing into the earth. Glaurung burns, but the fire does not seem to hurt him. Glaurung turns on Dwarves. Dwarves fire a ballista, but miss. Glaurung shoots flame at Dwarves.]


[Camera cut to Sons of Fëanor. Focus on Caranthir, fighting beside a mixed group of Men and Elves. Camera focus on Ulfast.]
Ulfast: [ducks as Elf blocks a blow that would have killed him. Stabs Elf.] Now!

[Easterlings turn on their allies, hewing down Elves and loyal Men. In the confusion they reach almost to the standard of Maedhros. Camera focus on Bór as he kills an Easterling wearing Caranthir’s colors Maedhros turns, shocked.]

Maglor: We are betrayed!
Curufin: Run!
Maedhros: [commanding] Hold your ground!

[Bór falls, stabbed by Ulfast. Borlach and Borlad scream. Both hack at Ulfast, who falls. Camera focus on Maedhros as he lifts Bór.]
Maedhros: [cries] Ai!
Celegorm: We must get free of this!
Maglor: He is right…we cannot hold here.
Maedhros: [grim, commanding] Fall back! Fall back to the hills!

[Camera pan over Elves and Men retreating. Orcs and Uruks surge forward, with Wargs and Trolls. The Sons of Fëanor fight to hold their force together, but as the enemy overwhelms them panic begins and all break and run. Camera focus several Easterlings led by Ulwarth. Ulwarth grins as he moves to attack Maglor’s left. Borlach and Borlad block him. Ulwarth kills Borlach, slashes at Borlad. Borlad ducks, dodges, blocks, and stabs Ulwarth. At the same time, Borlad is stabbed in the back by an Easterling. Camera focus on Borlad as he falls over Borlach. Borlach’s hand closes on Borlad’s.]

Borlad: [gasping] Borlach?
Borlach: Yes, brother… [softly] we go together.

[Camera pan up to Maglor, who glances down at the brothers as he defends himself. Maglor slashes at a Warg, kills its rider. Camera pan up over Easterlings and Orcs. Cut to Maglor, who slashes at a Warg and kills its rider. Camera focus on Maglor. Maglor swears in Quenya, backs quickly to lower right. At lower right, Maglor turns and runs. Orcs and Easterlings surge forward. Camera cut.]


[Cut to scene of Naugrim wearing hideous battle masks, making a circle around Glaurung as he assails them, and they strike many blows against his dragon armour with their axes. In his rage Glaurung turns and strikes down Azaghâl, Lord of Belegost, and crawls over him. With his last breath Azaghâl drives a knife into the dragon’s unprotected belly, wounding him so badly that he flees the field, the beasts of Angband following after him in dismay. The Dwarves raise up the body of Azaghâl onto a shield and fold his hands around an axe since his sword is still in Glaurung. Dwarves lift the shield and carry Azaghâl off the field and bear him away with slow steps, singing a dirge as if it were a funeral procession. Camera pan left to Elves and Men, watching the Dwarves leave. Focus on Maeglin, angry. Cut to Glorfindel, stunned. Cut to Ecthelion, resolute. Camera pan over Orcs, Wargs, Warg-riders, and Uruks surrounding Elves and Men.]


[Cut to battle raging on the western side. Suddenly all feel the ground shake violently again and look to Angband, A fiery hoard of five Balrogs surge forward from the gates of Angband. They are two metres taller than the Eldar and curled horns encircled their heads while their bodies burn with fire and smoke. Led by Gothmog, their whips of flame cut the sky with loud snaps and smoldering hammers pound the ground. Camera pan over Elves, bracing for Balrogs’ attack. Cut to Fingon, grim and resolute.]
Fingon: Stand firm! Fear neither darkness nor flame! Death comes sweetly to the valiant!

[Camera focus on Gothmog, largest of the Balrogs and their commander. Gothmog points with his axe and roars. Trolls and Balrogs surge forward at his command.]
Gothmog: [roars in Black Speech, translated] Divide their lines! The High King is mine to slay…

[Camera cut to Elves and Men. Balrogs use whips of flame to drive a wedge between Fingon’s Army and the Gondolindrim, thrusting Turgon and Húrin aside. Elves and Men fall back, some on fire, screaming. Cut to Glorfindel as a whip sets his tunic and hair on fire. Glorfindel drops to smother the smoldering cloth. Camera cut to Turgon, trying to rally his forces amid the chaos and panic. Cut to Glorfindel, determined.]

Glorfindel: [catches a loose horse and jumps into the saddle. Wrenches the horse’s head around to control the maddened beast. Waves sword, commanding] Gondolindrim - To our King!

[Glorfindel spurs the horse brutally. Horse leaps into a mass of Orcs, slashing with its hooves as Glorfindel hacks with his sword. Orc 1 knocks the sword from his hands. Glorfindel seizes an Orc scimitar and beheads Orc 1. Glorfindel continues fighting with Orc scimitar. Camera pan to Elves mounted, rallying to follow Glorfindel. Elves force through Orcs and Wargs towards Turgon’s standard.

Camera cut to Turgon, standing with his Royal Guard and Captains rallying around him. Ecthelion and Maeglin have the remains of their commands together. Elves cheer as Glorfindel leads those who followed him through the ranks of Orcs, scattering Orcs and Wargs in every direction.]

Ecthelion: catches Glorfindel’s horse] That was most valiant…
Maeglin: [spears a Warg] Are you insane?
Turgon: [agonized] Fingon! [Camera pan upper left. Fingon’s banner is surrounded by the enemy. More Orcs and Trolls fill the opening Glorfindel. Cut to Turgon, crying:]

Turgon: Fingon! [tries to push through the Orcs and Wargs to reach his brother. Maeglin and Ecthelion hold him back.] We must aid the High King!

[Turgon’s Royal Guard slash into several Trolls and a mass of Orcs. Glorfindel joins the attack, and those who followed him follow him again. Trolls roar. Elves and Orcs fall, but more Orcs fill in the ranks as quickly as they are thinned.

Camera pan to Fingon, surrounded: behind the line of the fire demons Fingon battles against two Trolls. His guards falls one by one around him and the rest of his army is separated or heavily injured. . A hammer strikes Fingon’s shield. Fingon grimaces in pain, kills Troll, but cannot raise his shield.]


[Camera cut to Huor and Húrin are struggling with their troops against a wall of Orcs to get to the High King, but they cannot get through the monsters.]


[Camera cut to Balrog 1, who lashes with his whip. The whip lashes at Glorfindel and he lays flat against the back of his horse as the fire lashes above his head. . Burning bits fleck Glorfindel’s hair, but he ignores the smoldering. He picks up a spear stuck in an Orc corpse he passes, and veers up in his saddle again. The fire demons are not far in front of him, the heat near unbearable as he rides closer. Camera focus on Glorfindel as waves of heat move his hair. Glorfindel aims at one of the Balrogs and throws the spear. The beast roars as it strikes him in his whip-wielding arm. Whip falls.

Camera cut to Turgon as he pulls free of Ecthelion and Maeglin. Turgon dashes forward to launch a new assault.]


[Camera cut to Fingon, exhausted. All around the High King lie his royal guard and his shield arm hangs limp at his side, yet his eyes are ablaze. Focus on Gothmog as he turns upon Fingon. He fights with Gothmog, holding his own until another Balrog comes behind him, casting a thong of fire about him. His anguished cries rise up above the sounds of battle. With the High-King immobilized, Gothmog is able to hew him down with his black axe. Camera cuts to Turgon, frozen in horror]

Turgon: [shouting] Fingon! Fingon!

[Cut immediately back to Fingon as the axe descends. As Fingon’s helm is cloven a white flame springs up. Fingon falls dead to the ground; the jeering minions of Gothmog beat his body into the dust with their maces and the tread his blue and silver banner into the mire of his blood… 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

Last edited by Elentári on Mon Apr 27, 2015 5:26 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Tue Sep 04, 2012 8:31 am 
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Posts: 5199
Location: Green Hill Country
[Camera cut to Turgon fighting to reach Fingon’s broken body. Ecthelion and Maeglin pull him back. Camera cut to Glorfindel, who turns his horse towards Turgon.. An Orc stabs Glorfindel’s horse. Glorfindel vaults off the thrashing, dying horse and struggles to reach Turgon. Camera pan Maeglin, Glorfindel, and Ecthelion. All are covered in blood, bruised, and shaken. Maeglin’s shield is broken. Glorfindel and Ecthelion have no shields. Glorfindel still holds the Orc scimitar.]

Ecthelion: [firm, commanding] We must not let them pass the river: sound the retreat but hold your place at the river.
Turgon: [grey faced, voice heavy] We cannot hold the pass. The battle is lost
Glorfindel: [grabs the reins of an riderless horse] Perhaps not!. [Remounting, he wheels away as a host of Easterlings come at him. One tries to stab him. Glorfindel’s horse rears up, kicking out its forelegs at the attacker and dealing a deadly blow to his temple. The golden-haired Elf’s sword sings in the air as he hacks down his assailants. Through the haze he battles and blocks blows. As soon as he has killed one, another takes the man’s place. rushed into the fray, his horse trampling those attacking his lord.. Cut back to Turgon..]

Turgon: I would not have Gondolin lost as well…
Maeglin: [firmly] Gondolin will not be lost as long as she has her king. [drives his hand harder.]
Turgon: [eyes glance all about him, his sword lingering in the foe dead at his feet.] The remnant of the House of Hador…they still fight on . . . [camera cut to the Edain in action then focus back on Turgon, Ecthelion and Maeglin. ]
Maeglin: [wearily] Those who fight now fight only to their own death. There can be no other end this day.
[Turgon draws himself up, Cut to Húrin, as he cuts his way through to Turgon. His shoulders hang as though weighted but his face is gallant and unflinching, his armour slick with the entrails of his enemies. Huor follows, looking at them with bright eyes.]

Húrin: Go now, lord, while time is! For in you lives the last hope of the Eldar, and while Gondolin stands Morgoth shall still know fear in his heart. The forces of Dor-lómin will see that Gondolin withdraws in safety.
Turgon: Not long now can Gondolin remain hidden, and being discovered it must fall.
Huor: [solemnly] Yet if it stands but a little while, then out of your house shall come the hope of Elves and Men. [He summons the remnant of his battalion, even as Turgon does likewise.

Camera cut to Maeglin frowning and staring at Huor. Cut to Huor, camera focus on Huor’s face as he gazes intently at Turgon. His face seems almost lit from within. Camera pulls back as Huor puts a hand to Turgon’s shoulder in a sign of friendship.]

Huor: [in a low voice] This I say to you, lord, with the eyes of death: though we part here for ever, and I shall not look your white walls again, from you and from me a new star shall arise.

[Camera focus on Turgon, cut to sky. A blinding light flashes across the sky. Cut to Turgon as a look of sudden hope and wonder crosses his face.]

Húrin: [urgently] Go now…we Men of Dor-lómin shall hold the rearguard, for we do not wish in our hearts to leave the Northlands, and if we cannot win back our home, then we shall make a stand here before the end that shall be renowned in the songs of our peoples. [Turgon still hesitates. Cut to Huor, standing firm despite exhaustion]
Huor: [imploring] Gondolin must retreat... [raises his sword once more] Then some will live to fight another battle…

[Camera cut to Turgon as he acknowledges their forthcoming sacrifice in the Elven fashion, his fist on chest and head bowed. He orders his captains to summon all that remains of the host of Gondolin and Fingon’s people and he retreats southward towards the Pass of Sirion with Glorfindel and Ecthelion guarding the flanks to the right and left so that the enemy cannot pass them by. ]

* * *

[Camera cut to Maedhros’ Army cutting a retreat through Orcs and Wargs. Camera focus on Celegorm, Curufin, Amrod and Amras, and Caranthir as each is wounded by a hard blow or an arrow. None of the wounds are fatal, although most are incapacitating. Amrod limps from a long slash across his thing. Amras takes an arrow in the shoulder and pulls it through himself, grimacing. Curufin is stabbed across his hip, and although nothing vital is hit his breeches are soaked with blood. Celegorm has two fingers bitten off by an Orc as he stabs the Orc through its open mouth.

Camera shift to Caranthir and Maedhros as they fight together at the head of the army, cutting a path for the others. Both fight like demons, slashing, stabbing, punching, and kicking at anything that dares challenge them.

Camera cut to Fëapoldo as he slashes at a Warg. An Orc thrusts a spear at his back. Elf Captain 2 hacks the head off the spear. Orc swings the shaft of the spear into Elf Captain 2’s face. Blood and bone fly. Fëapoldo kills Orc, but Orc thrusts the broken shaft through Fëapoldo’s chest as he dies. Camera cut to Finyon, screaming as he rushes to his brother’s side.]

Fëapoldo: [smiles] Get out of here, you idiot. [Camera focus on Fëapoldo’s hand as Finyon takes it. Fëapoldo squeezes Finyon’s hand gently, then relaxes. Fëapoldo’s eyes are still open as a Warg looms over his body. Finyon stabs Warg in the eye, screams, and rushes into the enemy. Camera focus on Finyon, falling as an Orc hacks him in half.

Camera shift to Maedhros and Caranthir, still fighting. A large shadow falls over them both. Both turn to face a Troll with a huge hammer. Troll swings hammer, strikes Maedhros and sends him flying. As the hammer swings down, Caranthir jumps on the Troll’s hand and vaults to his shoulder. Troll bats at Caranthir, but Caranthir stabs Troll in the throat. Blood pours out as Troll screams and falls. Orcs, Wargs, and Elves scramble out fo the way. Caranthir rides Troll down and jumps off the body, but lands hard on his right shoulder.

Camera focus on Caranthir, rising. His shoulder and arm are bloody from the hard fall. He looks furious. Camera shift to Maedhros, picking himself up, bleeding from his head and shoulder. Brothers scramble to join him.]

Maglor: [amazed] I thought you were dead!
Celegorm: He has the hardest head in the family.
Maedhros: [shakes head to clear it. Glances at shield, shattered but still strapped to his arm.] Get back to Himring! As fast as you can! Those walls will hold forever if we can only reach them. [all brothers nod and rally their forces. Camera pan over Elves and Men as separate groups break from the fight and dash for the trees. Orcs cheer. Trolls roar. Camera fade.]

* * *

[Cut to the Men of Dor-lómin holding the rearguard and Turgon’s host is able to escape, vanishing into the mountains, as the eagles watch over them. Húrin and Huor rally their men and withdraw foot by foot, fighting all the way. Camera pan lower right as ground becomes marshy and Rivil Stream threads through the swamp. Camera cut to Huor and Húrin, resolute.]
Huor: [swings axe] I did not think your face would be the last thing I shall see.
Húrin: [stabs Orc] It will probably be something uglier.
Huor: I doubt that. [grabs an Orc’s spear, pulls Orc close. Kicks Orc in the groin, strikes with spear shaft.] Though I dearly wish it could have been my wife…I fear I shall not live to gaze upon the face of my unborn child…
Húrin: [grimly] Aye… I dare say I shall not make old bones either. [A great Orc roar behind him, and Húrin turns as it swings its bladed club at Húrin’s face. Húrin ducks, swinging his sword outward, and into the Orc. The blade is embedded in its belly, pinning the spilled entrails painfully in place. Húrin pulls the sword upwards and the blade cuts through the Orc's chest cavity, coming out of its right blade. It groans and falls to the ground. Seeing a chance to catch his breath, Húrin lowers his sword and looks to Huor.] My son may well grow up fatherless like so many others after this day is done. Even so, Morwen will take care of your Rían. Mayhap your new babe will ease her heart after the loss of our Lalaith…
Huor: [reaches out and grasps his brother’s shoulder in silent understanding then both turn once again into the fray. Cut]

[Camera shift to Gothmog, standing where Fingon fell. Balrogs spout flame, burning corpses around him. Gothmog’s Troll guards look lower right eagerly.]
Gothmog: [low roar, gesticulates towards the Men:.] Go after them... Enjoy yourselves!
[Trolls exit lower right, grunting happily, lifting hammers and clubs.]

[Camera pan 360. Orcs, Trolls, and Wargs surround the last stand of the house of Hador. Dead Orcs and Wargs lay in the marsh, beside dead Men and Elves. Water runs red with the bodies bridge the stream. The sun sets as the fight continues, the dark shadows of the Ered Wethrin growing longer.

Camera focus on Huor, fighting three Orcs. Camera cut to Orc Archer. Orc Archer fires. The arrow pierces Huor’s eye. Huor falls with a grunt. Orc hacks off his head and throws it at Húrin. Huor’s head strikes Húrin’s shoulder. Camera pan the field of dead and dying.

Camera cut to Húrin standing alone, his helm gleaming alone in the river of dusk: he casts aside his shield, and takes up Huor’s two-handed axe . Trolls shove their way to him, eager for the kill. Húrin lays about with the axe until it almost smokes with the black blood of the troll-guard of Gothmog. Each time he cuts down an enemy he cries aloud in the tongue of the Eldar:]

Húrin: Aure entuluva! [subtitled: Day shall come again]

[The cry rings fierce and desperate, his voice clearly heard above the harsh horns of the enemy, the yells of the orcs, and the screams of the wounded as their bodies are trampled and broken by the iron-shod feet of their foes.]

Húrin: Aure entuluva! [he is beset from all sides, enclosed in a sea of enemies. As he stands, bathed in blood, the sun casts its last feeble rays upon him, burnishing him a red-gold, his blade rising and falling in rhythm to his definat call..The field is a hideous, rotten carpet of twisted corpses and mangled limbs. Everywhere,is strewn spent arrows, shreds of limp and bloodied rags….]

Húrin: Aure entuluva! [He continues his defiant cry despite the many hands grabbing at him; he hews off their arms but still they cling to him, and their number is renewed. Eventually he falls, and the Orcs fall over him like a gruesome burial mound… Gothmog stands before him laughing in mockery. Even then Húrin full of pride and defiance and hope in the face of the utmost despair, will not die:]

Húrin: [panting, exhausted] Aure…entuluva! [Expecting a death blow,Húrin looks up when it doesn’t come.]
Gothmog: [roars] Take this one alive!
[Húrin pales in terror as ropes and shackles are brought forward, and he is dragged with chains and whips towards the gates of Angband. Fade.]

* * * * * * *

Characters for Season 5:


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

Last edited by Elentári on Wed May 07, 2014 6:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Sat Sep 08, 2012 8:01 am 
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Joined: Fri Jan 23, 2009 5:03 pm
Posts: 5199
Location: Green Hill Country
[Cut to clips of brothers cutting their way east towards Himring. All are wounded, most seriously. Clusters of Men and Elves rejoin the main force, wounded supporting each other as they keep moving toward Himring. They move through darkness, then daylight; the army does not stop to rest.

Camera pan right toward Himring. It is early afternoon, and the sky is clear except for a thick column of smoke that rises from one of the hills. Cut to Maglor, Curufin, and Maedhros, all frowning.]

Curufin: I do not like the look of that.
[Camera shift upper right, pan tall, straight pine trees. Cut to Celegorm, glancing up at the trees. Focus on Celegorm, grim.]
Celegorm: [sighs] I suppose there is only one way to get a good view of it.
[Celegorm runs a few steps, vaults up the tree. He scrambles up the branches, clearly a skilled climber. He reaches the top and looks upper right. Camera shift upper right, focus on Himring, smoking:]
Celegorm: [shouts] Himring is burning! Himring is under attack!
Maedhros: Come back down! If we hurry we may yet be in time!
[Camera focus on Celegorm as he begins to climb down too quickly. Focus on his wounded hand. Celegorm’s foot slips. He uses the wounded hand to grasp a branch. His hand, missing fingers, slips from the branch. Celegorm crashes wildly to the ground and lands hard on his left side. He tries to break his fall with his left arm. Bone snaps in a compound fracture of the forearm.]
Maedhros: Celegorm!
[Celegorm sits up, holding his broken arm gingerly. He grits his teeth as a Healer kneels beside him.]
Celegorm: You cannot help me here! Go! [Maedhros hesitates] I will catch up! Go! [Camera focus on Maedhros, grim, exhausted, desperate. He turns and begins to run toward the smoke. Elves and Men follow]
Maedhros: No!! [curses under his breath] Himring cannot have fallen!


[Camera pan over Hills of Aglon as Maedhros’ Army moves toward Himring. The Army is limping at best, and clearly in no shape to fight. Still they move on. Camera focus on various Elves and Men as they drink the last of the water in their waterskins, eat a few bites of food, or stop for a desperately needed breath of air before they begin to move again. Camera pan to Himring, smoldering.

Camera shift lower right. Bushes rustle. Nassë steps from the brush, cloaked and armed. She turns left, Camera follows her line of sight as Maedhros’ Army approaches. Nassë pushes her cloak back, puts fingers to her mouth and whistles sharply. Camera focus on Maedhros as he stops quickly and turns. Caranthir, Maglor, and Man 1 crash into him as the Army stumbles to a stop. Nassë moves forward, smiling with relief.]

Nassë: I hoped you would come along this path.
Maedhros: [gasping for breath] What are you doing here? I thought…Himring –
Nassë: Do you remember telling me not to try to defend it with those that were left? Are you surprised that I took your advice? [moves closer, frowns] You are injured. Let me see –
Maedhros: It is nothing. A bruise and a scratch. [pulls her close] I feared –
Nassë: [laugh] We blocked the gates and headed out the tunnel as soon as we saw them coming. Even the Trolls should slow down on the path to the gates. They are probably still butting their heads against the walls and wondering why we do not fight back.

[The refugees from Himring emerge from the brush and search for loved ones. Men and Elves hug their families. Eldacala walks toward Maglor, carrying his harp in both arms. The harp is carefully wrapped in deerskin.]

Maglor: [to Eldacala, smothering laughter] You brought that? With the fortress surrounded and death at the gates, you carried that out? [Camera focus on Eldacala as she nods, smiling. She hands him the harp. Maglor takes it and sets it safely on the ground. Camera cut to Maglor, smiling, tears shining in his eyes.]
Maglor: You are crazy, you know. [hugs Eldacala] You could not have carried food, or blankets, or tools out. You bring a harp that is good for nothing. [Eldacala lays a finger on Maglor’s chin. Maglor nods, retrieves harp. Camera pull back, Camera fade.]

* * *

[It is nightfall, and the shreds of Maedhros’army have set up camp at the base of the hills to care for their wounded. Maedhros sits, leans his back against a tall oak as he listens to the sounds around him. He hears footsteps and looks up to see Maglor approaching.]

Maglor: Let me tend to your shoulder.. You are little use to us broken and exhausted.
Maedhros: [wearily] It matter not… The dreams I had of peace and redemption are shattered, Maglor, destroyed by the betrayal of Men and the underestimates that I made of our enemy. It is over: I have failed!
Maglor: [sits down beside him quietly] All our brothers live: none seriously wounded; scratches and bruises but nothing worse….our womenfolk are safe
Maedhros: [shakes his head] And others? We have lost so many…the battleground was littered with corpses and those we were forced to leave behind as we fled. [Maedhros buries his head in his arms. His shoulders shake with silent tears. Camera shift left. Nassë enters, a bowl of stew in her hands. Nassë squats beside Maedhros, who looks up and wipes his face. She hands him the stew, and begins to probe his shoulder.]

Maedhros: [startled] Leave it, woman! I am fine!
Nassë: [firmly] I will be the judge of that. [probes Maedhros’ shoulder] It must hurt terribly. You should have a healer look at it.
Maedhros: There are others worse than I. [lifts left arm in invitation. Nassë moves to curl up against him] We lost, you know.
Nassë: We know. And, if I know you, we will rebuild and try again. The Red Fox of the North is not so easily cowed. [stretches comfortably] Shall we return to Himring? The walls are still sound, even if the floors will be a bit –
Maedhros: [shakes head firmly] I think not. We could not hope to hold out against the Enemy with so few. We are too vulnerable this far North. Scattered strength is wasted effort: we will find a place near one of the other lords, perhaps my cousin Fingon or Turgon if we can find him. [pauses, turns Nassë’s chin up so she faces him] Are you afraid to rejoin the world?
Nassë: Not as much as I was. If you can look past these scars, others will learn to. [Camera pan back from Camp. Maedhros and Nassë settle to sleep beside the tree. Families gather, Sentries stand alert. Camera fade to black.]

* * *

[Camera cut to scene of brothers huddled around a campfire in the green woods beside the River Celon. It is early afternoon. Maedhros and Nassë sit close together, slightly apart from the rest, talking intently.. Maglor plucks random chords, checking the strings and pins. Eldacala sits at his feet, fashioning a leather pad at the top of a crutch. When Maglor is satisfied, he begins to play a soft tune. Elves and Men pause to listen. Camera shift to Celegorm, who fidgets and fusses restlessly with his arm in its sling.]

Curufin: [sighs in exasperation Will you not give us a moment’s peace, brother? Surely your arm will heal quicker if it is supported…
Celegorm: My arm is stiff and sore….you know how I hate to have my movements limited. I begin to wonder if I will ever again pull a bowstring taut after the arm is healed.
Amrod: [wistfully] How did it come to this: a wounded army scattered and humiliated…
Maglor: [not pausing his tune] Ill chance, the unexpected strength and ferocity of our enemy's forces - both of which we had greatly underestimated - and above all, the treachery of our supposed allies. [pauses, tune becomes more fierce and heavier] I am grateful at least it was my blade that took the life of that cursed traitor Uldor…
Amras: [anxiously] No word as yet on the fate of our allies…I still hold out hope that our western kin have been spared our unhappy fate. [color=blue][i][Maedhros shifts uneasily, watching his younger brothers huddle around the campfire, bandaged and sore..]

Caranthir: [bitterly] Much of east Beleriand is now lost to the enemy – all our strongholds bar Amon Ereb are under his shadow; only Ossiriand, and the southern regions remain free of his foul grip.
Celegorm: Indeed, the taste of defeat is sour to bear; Thusly we wander as leaves before the wind: the seven mighty sons of Fëanor, once glorious scions of a mighty house living off the charity of the Laiquendi.
Amrod: [bitter laugh] That is if the Laiquendi, in their mercy, will permit us to remain here in the safety of Ossiriand! If not, we may well have yet another battle on our hands.
Maedhros: [looks up] Borrow no trouble until we are healed from this last problem, brother. We rest here seven days. That should give our wounded time to heal and let us decide which direction seems best without undue haste.
Curufin: [morosely] The sons of Fëanor are princes no more, but wanderers and homeless. I am tired of not knowing what will happen next, and the constant fleeing, even though there is no other option.
Amras: [lifts head, glances toward cooking fire. Nudges Curufin] Smell that? You will feel better with something in your stomach. [rises, licking his lips]
Caranthir: Are you forever hungry?
Amrod: [also rises] Only when there is food around. [Camera follows as both twins head for the cooking fire. Cook is ladling out stew from a leather kettle. Cut to Maedhros who glances up from the ground.]

Nassë: Cook has gotten better since you first met her.
Maedhros: Are you saying I should apologize to her?
Nassë: Only for saying her meat was charcoal. [kisses Maedhros lightly. Camera shift left as two sentries enter with a bedraggled Falas Elf [Faerval] between them. The newcomer is ragged, bruised, dirty, and exhausted. Maedhros motions them over. All Brothers gather, including Amrod and Amras who carry stew with them. Maedhros stands as they approach. Elf straightens and shakes off the sentries, gathering his courage.]

Faerval: [short bow, speaks quickly in Sindar, translated My Lord, if you mean to kill me do it quickly. I may not be able to stop you, but after escaping from the Dark Lord’s hospitality a second time, death at the hands of my own kind would be a great disappointment. I have been four days without food or drink, and death would be release from the horrors I have seen.
Maedhros: [wryly] We will not slay you for hunger, friend. The only coin we charge for your lodging is news, for my brothers and I have heard nothing from western Beleriand since shortly before the great battle with Morgoth. Take your ease and eat while we hear your news. [glances toward Amrod and Amras. Amras reluctantly hands his bowl to Refugee Elf.]

Caranthir: [gruffly] So tell me, friend, how fare the lands of the west? Do the Noldor still hold out against the Black Foe?
Faerval: [between mouthfuls] Nargothrond still stands, and Gondolin, or so it is rumored, and King Thingol still holds out in Doriath. But all else is in ruins. [Camera focus on Maedhros as, the blood drains from Maedhros’ face; Focus back on Faerval licking gravy from his fingers:] Morgoth's forces have destroyed the Falas; I was in Eglarest when it fell, and was taken captive, but through luck managed to escape and come safely here. Círdan has led a remnant of my people to the Mouth of the Sirion.
Maedhros: [his voice a mere whisper] What of Hithlum?
Faerval: Morgoth controls it now, none of our people remain there, and few of the Edain - most of them died covering King Turgon's retreat, or so I have heard.
Maedhros: [somewhat relieved Then Turgon lives at least; [Nassë squeezes Maedhros’ hand.] And what of the High King, Fingon? Did he also retreat with his brother?
Faerval: [hesitates] …have you not heard? He was slain in the great battle; they say that at the last the High King was surrounded by Balrogs, and Gothmog himself cleaved in his head—
Maedhros: No! I have heard enough… [ rises quickly, exits right, tightly controlled. Nassë follows. Camera shift to follow them. Maedhros breaks into a run as soon as he is at the edge of the camp. Nassë matches, step for step. Camera shift back to Brothers, stunned.]

Maglor: [swallows hard, turns to a startled Faerval] Was his body recovered?
Faerval: There was nothing left to recover. His body was torn apart, trampled into the ground by the Balrogs… [Camera focus on Maglor’s horrified face. Cut.]

[Camera cut to Maedhros, slowing and then stopping in the forest. Camera focus on his face as he turns, tears streaming down his cheeks, furious. Nassë approaches.]
Maedhros: Leave me be, woman!
Nassë: [gently] So you can stew alone in your guilt? I am afraid that ‘alone’ is a luxury none of us can afford. [Nassë embraces Maedhros. After a moment he wraps his arms around her and buries his face in her hair..]
Maedhros: “Tears unnumbered ye shall shed” . . . damn Mandos and all his kind!
Nassë: [softly] Have a care for your words, lest you bring the wrath of the Valar upon us!
Maedhros: What more can they do? [looks up, still crying] Oh Findekáno… why did you attack before we were ready?
Nasse: [gently] It seems he did not attack, but merely followed the flood once it burst, trying to steer it, and failed.
Maedhros: [forcefully] Because of me, because of another betrayal as involuntary as the first at Losgar. [brushes a lock of hair from Nassë’s cheek] Do you know, he cut me from the rocks where I was chained. He was my dearest friend, ever since we were boys. [bitterly] He saved my life and in return I killed him! [wipes his face on his sleeve. Rests forehead against Nassë’s] I hoped he would stand with me when I wed. I could never run from the challenge if he was watching. [Nassë pulls back slightly to look Maedhros in the eyes.]
Maedhros: I still mean to wed you, you know.
Nassë: What is there to stop us? We could marry now. I remember marriage vows being said as we crossed the ice.
Maedhros: No. This one thing I can give you; a bed on our wedding night. You, I will not fail.
[Camera focus on Maedhros and Nassë, kissing. Camera cut.]

* * *
[Camera fade in on River Celon. Several women, both Elves and Men, approach the river. Children run ahead to play in the water. Camera focus on Eldacala and Nassë, carrying soap and lengths of linen towel.]
Woman 1: [to children] Do not go far!
Cook: This part of the river is safe enough. It does not go more than waist deep.
Woman 1: [glances at woods nervously] It is not the water I fear.
Cook: There has been no sign of the enemy for nearly five days. I think we are safe enough.
[Cook unpins her hair and begins to strip. Other Women and Elf Women do the same. Eldacala glances at Nassë, who hesitates.]
Nassë: [smiles, pats Eldacala’s shoulder] I think I will go upstream. They do not need to see my scars.

[Eldacala nods and sheds her tunic. Camera follows Nassë as she disappears into the brush, upper right. Camera shift over Women, Elf Women, and Children as they bathe and play in the water. A loud rustling from upper right startles all. One of Nassë’s boots is thrown from the brush. Camera focus on the boot, splattered with blood. Women scream, exit left, terrified. Camera focus on Eldacala, running through the brush, naked and frightened. .

Camera cut to Camp. Maglor and Maedhros sit together, sharpening long knives. Both are shirtless, as the work is messy. Eldacala enters right and runs to Maglor, hysterical. Maglor drapes his tunic over her as best he can. Eldacala waves frantically, pointing toward River.]

Maedhros: [stands, startled] What has happened?
Maglor: You may guess as easily as I…
Cook: [from a distance, speaking loudly] We were at the river – a bloody boot –
Maedhros: [glances around] Nassë? [Maedhros exits right, picking up speed as he moves. He carries the knife he was sharpening, but no other weapon and he is still shirtless. Camera follows as he runs through the brush to the spot where the women and children left their clothing. Maedhros pauses at the boot, searching the brush.]

Maedhros: Nassë! This is no game! [A loud rustle from upper right makes Maedhros look up. Nassë moves through the brush awkwardly, still partially dressed. Her face is slack, blood trickles from her mouth, but her eyes are still moving. She falls face forward into the clearing, an Orc spear completely through her chest from back to front.

Camera focus on Maedhros as he pulls the spear out of her back and turns her over. Nassë gasps for breath, blood bubbles from her mouth. Nassë shudders once, then goes limp in Maedhros’ arms. Camera shift upper right as brush moves. Maedhros looks up. Thirty Uruks loom through the foliage, grinning. Uruk Captain leers down at Nassë’s body. Maedhros rises, flexing the knife in his hand.

Uruk Captain: Well met….Father! [Maedhros charges the Uruks, slashing madly. Camera focus on fight as Uruks slash and stab, falling before Maedhros’ furious attack. Brothers, Elves, and Men enter left, join the fight, but there are few Uruks left. Those that try to flee are quickly cut down by Caranthir’s bow.

Camera pan over Brothers, Men, and Elves, splattered with blood from the fight and stunned by the fury of the violence. Camera shift to Maedhros, still stabbing and slashing at dead Uruks. Maglor approaches cautiously. Maedhros nearly decapitates Maglor before he realizes who is there. Maglor takes the knife from his hand and drops it. Camera follow Maedhros as he returns to Nassë and picks her up as best he can. Camera focus on Maedhros, covered in blood and looking mad.]

Maedhros: [shouting, sobbing] Eru damn me and my pride! And damn you too, Father, for that cursed Oath! Fingon fought in a war that he did not believe in because I asked him! The woman I love stayed here because of me! My curse drove her to her grave! There is no such thing as free choice; all my choices have been fringed with death and hatred, betrayal and blood!
Maglor: [firmly] Maedhros, listen to me - you are not to blame for any of this.
Maedhros: Yes, I am. I killed them all. The people of Hithlum and the Falas, our followers in Himlad, all of them. I led us all into ruin. This is the worst of all – the last betrayal – the fatal blow.
Maglor: [helplessly] No, you did not.
Maedhros: [despairingly] Yes, I did. Maglor, I want to die.
Maglor: [desperately] Maedhros, would you call the Everlasting Darkness down upon yourself, brother? For if you die, you will break your oath to regain the Silmarils, a solemn oath sworn before Eru Himself. Is that truly your wish?

[For a moment, Maedhros does not react. Then he opens his eyes again and looked at Maglor. To his horror, Maglor sees in his gaze, no longer love and affection but emptiness and despair.]
Maedhros: [Hollowly.] You remind me I am chained here against my will, and now my fear and pride hold me here to suffer. [he walks slowly through the gathered Men and Elves, carrying Nassë ‘s body towards the camp. Camera follows Maedhros until he exits left, then cut to Maglor. Eldacala, wearing Maglor’s tunic, moves beside Maglor and takes his hand. Maglor slips an arm around her shoulders. Eldacala leans her head against Maglor’s chest. Fade.]

[Camera cut to a clearing in the forest. Maedhros stands beside a pyre of wood, a torch in his hand. Nassë lays on the pyre, arms crossed over her breast. Her hair is dressed with ivy and flowers, and flowers cover her body. Camera shift to edge of clearing, Brothers stand together, looking awkward. Eldacala stands beside Maglor, softly crying. The survivors of Nassë’s Wild Elves cluster a bit apart, mourning.

Camera cut to Maedhros, who moves forward slowly. He bends to kiss Nassë, steps back, and puts the torch to the pyre. Wood flames, fire engulfs her body. Camera cut to Brothers, some confused, some revolted.]

Amras: [whisper] We have never burned our dead before this.
Caranthir: [darkly] Maedhros has gone mad.
Maglor: His is not mad. He will not any foul creature to touch her body, not even the grave worm.
Curufin: He is as mad as father was.
Eldacala: [leans close to Maglor. We hear her mind speak to him as a voiceover] She would have wanted that… [Camera focus on Maglor, stunned. Maglor glances at Eldacala. Flames light their faces.]
Maglor: [projects his thoughts towards her, in Sindar, translated] Did you say something?
Eldacala: [replies again, her thoughts in Sindar, translated] I am glad that you can hear me. I will not be so alone now. [Camera pull back, sweep clearing as pyre burns. Elves slip into the forest until only Maglor, Eldacala, and Maedhros are left watching the body dissolve into flames and ash. Camera fade.]

* * *

[Camera fade in on woods in Amon Ereb, one month later. A deer roasts over a fire. The camp is more established than the first camp we saw, with makeshift houses and pens for the few horses the refugees have been able to catch. Camera shift to Maedhros, sitting with his back against a tree, a bottle dangling from his fingers. Camera shift to Brothers, gathered some distance away.]

Curufin: [impatient] How long are we supposed to remain here, like rabbits in a warren waiting for the fox?
Caranthir: [angry] I say we have waited long enough!
Maglor: [glances anxiously at Maedhros] Peace, brothers… Maedhros has taken the loss of our lands and our homes hard, holding himself responsible for the devastation which Morgoth has wreaked upon our people. He blames himself for our unhappy fate.
Celegorm: He mourns the loss of a woman! For that, he could have any woman he wants.
Caranthir: If any of them would have a drunkard.
Maglor: His heart is torn. Give him time, and he will come to himself.
Celegorm: And if he does not… Something needs to be done. [looks challengingly at his eldest brother as Maedhros’ eyes glare at him] Will you even refuse to lead us, brother? [rises to is feet, expecting a warning to follow suit. None comes. Continues softly under his breath] Then perhaps my time has come… [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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