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PostPosted: Tue Sep 11, 2012 5:47 pm 
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Season 5 Episode 3: First Age, Year of the Sun 499

(Húrin by Alan Lee)

[voiceover over clips of Húrin chained to a stone chair on top of Thangorodrim, being shown visions of his children’s lives by Morgoth]
Here it must be told that during Beren and Lúthien’s first three decades on Tol Galen, events were taking place in Doriath and throughout Beleriand that would soon affect all the peoples of Middle-earth. These events, pertaining to the children of Húrin, concern some of Morgoth’s most evil doings in capturing Húrin during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, placing him on a stone seat and giving him vision to watch the unfolding of the sad lives of those he loved most…

After nigh on 30 years of imprisonment and the death of his children, Húrin was finally released. He had grown grim to look upon: his hair and beard were white and long, but there was a fell light in his eyes. Returning to his old homelands in Hithlum he found House of Hador had been destroyed, and those who remained as slaves or outlaws held him in suspicion and fear, believing he served the evil lord Morgoth. In despair, Húrin went to the Vale of Sirion, seeking the entrance to Gondolin…

[Fade into scene of Húrin crossing over the Ford of Brithiach, and wandering in the dark feet of the Echoriath. All the land is cold and desolate… He comes to a great fall of stones beneath a sheer rock wall. Although he does not know it, this is all that is left of the old way into Gondolin, after Turgon ordered the entrance to be blocked. Húrin looks up into the grey sky, hoping that he might descry the eagles as he did before, so long ago. But he sees only dark clouds and shadows blown from the East, and hears only the wind hissing over the stones.

Húrin stands in despair before the silent cliffs of the Echoriath; the setting sun pierces the clouds for a brief moment, and his white hair is stained blood red. He cries aloud in the wilderness, not caring if any heed him, cursing the pitiless land…Climbing onto a prominent rock he cries in a great voice:]

Húrin: Turgon, Turgon, remember the Fen of Serech! O Turgon, will you not hear in your hidden halls? [cut.]

* * *

[Cut to scene of Thorondor descending from the skies above Gondolin, which are clouded with the dust of Angband. He speaks to Turgon from the walls.]

Thorondor: There is one in the valley who came long ago as a stranger and departed as a friend. I know not how he returns here beyond hope.
Turgon: [in wonder] Can it be that Húrin now returns out of the very darkness of Angband? Does Morgoth sleep? [shakes head in disbelief. Firmly] You were mistaken…
Thorondor: [sharply] Not so. If the Eagles of Manwë were wont to err thus, then long ago, lord, your hiding would have been in vain.
Turgon: Then your words can bear but one meaning. [purses dry lips.] Even Húrin Thalion has surrendered to the will of Morgoth. My heart is shut.

[Thorondor is silent, giving only a last penetrating gaze. The King of Eagles pushes off from the walls with mighty claws, spreads his wings once more, and swiftly launches into the sky. Turgon turns away, heartsick, his own words ringing in his ears. Idril enters, and seeing her father’s distress, tries to comfort him.]

Turgon: Thorondor tells me Húrin is seeking access to our realm again. I have refused, for Morgoth allows none who do not serve his purpose in some way to walk freely from Angband.
Idril: Do you not recall the boy you once knew? … do you remember also the man who, with his brother counselled you to leave the field of battle and save our people? The man who, standing between Angband and Gondolin, gave the aid of the House of Hador that Lord Ulmo prophesied?
Turgon: [nods in anguish]
Idril: Then surely you cannot bring yourself to believe that such a man would seek now to betray us?
Turgon: I have erred in my pride… [rushes again to the balcony, cries to the Eagles] Eagles of Manwë, come to me! [Several of them come to the city walls in a rush of wings.] Make haste and bear word to the one who seeks me: the one I doubted in this dark hour but will doubt no longer. Bear word and welcome to Húrin Thalion! [Cut]

* * *

[Cut back to Húrin standing still on the rock. There is no sound save the wind in the dry grasses.]

Húrin: [Bitterly] Even so the grasses hissed in Serech at the sunset… [as he speaks the sun sets behind the Ered Wethrin and the wind ceases as a silence falls in the waste. In the darkness Húrin stumbles as he steps down from the rock, and he falls into a heavy sleep of grief. The Eagles circle above, unable to find him, yet the spies of Morgoth, who has not truly released him, observe all and hurry to report back to their Master. Fade.]

* * *

[We see clips of Húrin travelling southwards, crossing the Teiglin river and heading towards Nargothrond. He pauses, contemplating the lonely height of Amon Rûdh; we next see him on the banks of the Narog, and making his way precariously across the wild river via the fallen stones of the bridge. He stands before the broken doors of Finrod’s underground realm, leaning on his staff. Cut.]


[Cut to shot inside the ruined halls of a strange, stunted creature sitting amidst the piles of gems and gold, fingering them, and letting them run through his fingers. It is a petty-dwarf. He looks up as he hears the scratching and thudding of Húrin’s staff echoing far above at the entrance to the caves… Cut.]


[Cut to Húrin attempting to enter the caves over the rubble of the doorway. Suddenly he is aware of a glowering presence in front of him. He looks up to see the petty-dwarf barring his way, axe in hand.]

Húrin: [angrily] Who are you, that would hinder me from entering the house of Finrod Felagund?
Dwarf: I am Mîm; and before the proud ones came from over the Sea, we Dwarves delved the Halls of Nulukkizdin. I have returned to take what is mine; for I am the last of my people.
Húrin: Then you shall enjoy your inheritance no longer; for I am Húrin son of Galdor, returned out of Angband, and my son was Túrin Turambar.
Mîm: [blanches at that name, takes involuntary step back]
Húrin: I see you have not forgotten who slew Glaurung the Dragon who wasted these halls where now you sit; Neither is it unknown to me by whom the Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin was betrayed…
Mîm: [in great fear] My Lord, I beg your forgiveness…I beseech you, take what you will, only spare my life! I beg you, Lord! [but Húrin does not heed the dwarf’s pleas, and drawing his great sword, beheads him with one stroke, leaving the body where it falls across the threshold. He enters into the halls and coming across the treasure strewn across the floor of the great throne chamber, stands in contemplation, weeping silently.

Eventually he turns to leave, but as he does so, something catches his eye, and moves to pick it up. Struggling outside, he holds it up under the blue sky and we see it is the Nauglamír of Felagund. He grunts and pockets the necklace, shuffling off on his way. Fade.]

* * *

[We see clips of Húrin journeying eastward, to the Meres of Twilight above the Falls of Sirion, and there he is captured by the marchwardens of Doriath. Cut.]

* * *

[Cut to scene of the ragged and decrepit Húrin being dragged before Thingol. He looks upon him in wonder and grief]

Thingol: I know this man! Surely beneath that grim and aged countenance lies Húrin Thalion, the Steadfast! [gestures to guards to release him] Welcome to our Halls. We have long-believed you a captive of Morgoth and my heart rejoices to see you freed among us…few can claim to have survived the hospitality of the Dark Lord! [offers Húrin refreshments but Húrin refuses any hospitality and makes no answer. He draws forth from beneath his cloak the Nauglamír, and casts it at the feet of Thingol]

Húrin: [cries bitterly] Receive you your fee, for the fair keeping of my children and my wife! For this is the Nauglamír, whose name is known to many among Elves and Men; and I bring it to you out of the darkness of Nargothrond, where Finrod your kinsman left it behind him when he set forth with Beren son of Barahir to fulfil the errand of Thingol of Doriath! [glares scornfully at Thingol, who looks upon the great treasure, recognizing both the carcanet, and the intent behind Húrin’s gesture. Being filled with pity for the Man’s misperception of events he restrains his wrath, and says nothing.]

Melian: [calmly] Húrin Thalion, Morgoth hath bewitched thee; for he that sees through Morgoth's eyes, willing or unwilling, sees all things crooked. Long was Túrin thy son fostered in the halls of Menegroth, and shown love and honour as the son of the King; and it was not by the King's will nor by mine that he returned not to Doriath. And afterwards thy wife and daughter were harboured here with honour and goodwill; and we sought by all means that we might dissuade Morwen from the road to Nargothrond. With the voice of Morgoth thou dost now upbraid thy friends.

Húrin: [stands unmoving, gazing long into Melian’s eyes. Eventually the veil of Morgoth’s lies is lifted and Húrin understands the truth. Nodding, he sighs: ] Here in Menegroth, defended from the darkness of the Enemy, I read the truth of all that was done, and taste at last the fullness of woe that has been measured for me by Morgoth Bauglir. [stoops and lifts up the Nauglamír from where it lies before Thingol's chair, and gives it to him:] Receive now, Lord, the Necklace of the Dwarves, as a gift from one who has nothing, and as a memorial of Húrin of Dor-lómin. For now my fate is fulfilled, and the purpose of Morgoth achieved; but I am his thrall no longer.

[Thingol bows his head in acknowledgment. Húrin turns away, his face grimmer than ever; he passes out from the Thousand Caves, as all that see him fall back before his face, clearing his path. Fade.]

* * *

[Fade back into Throne room of Menegroth. Thingol sits silently gazing upon the necklace that lies across his knees. Melian enters and goes to a table to pour a goblet of wine. She hands it to her husband with an enquiring look on her face.]

Melian: Has my lord considered yet whether he might keep the Dwarven-necklace, or send it to Finrod’s kin at the Havens?
Thingol: I have given the matter much thought, and I begin to wonder if the carcanet might not be remade…it would please me to have the Silmaril fashioned within it so that I might bear it with me always in memory of our daughter. [to guards:] Call before me the Dwarves from Nogrod who are presently dwelling among us.
Melian: [concerned] Ever have I counselled you to return the Silmaril to Fëanor’s sons: despite Beren and Lúthien’s blood and sacrifice, your own lust for the Silmaril threatens to match theirs…
Thingol: [heavily] Nonetheless, I fear I am bound to it, for good or ill. There is a power within this holy jewel that keeps me from surrendering it!

[Guards re-enter, escorting Regin and another Dwarf before the throne.]

Thingol: Master Dwarves: Behold you the work of your fathers! [holds up the Nauglamír before them. Dwarves murmur, making admiring noises] …likewise this jewel, fashioned by the greatest of the pupils of Aulë himself in the Undying Lands: [opens the casket containing the Silmaril. Dwarves gasp in wonder and no little lust as they stare dumbfounded at the brilliance of the gem] If your skill is great enough, it is my wish that you undertake the task of uniting the two.

Regin: [swallows hard, fighting the urge to snatch the Silmaril from Thingol’s hand and drags his eyes back to the Nauglamír] If I may? [reaches out for the necklace and makes a show of studying its craftsmanship, confers in Khuzdul with his companion. Turns back to Thingol:] It will take some time, my Lord, and much patience, but I would say it could be done to your satisfaction…and for suitable recompense.
Thingol: [eagerly] I am sure we can come to some agreement on completion of the task. For now I would ask you to humour me and allow me to observe your craftsmanship, for I am loath to allow these treasures out of my sight.
Regin: [glances at companion briefly, replies cordially] Then you must accompany us down to our smithies deep within these Caves. Though I am sure you will find our labours less than exciting… [Fade...]

* * *

[Fade back in to clips of Dwarves working on the necklace in their smithy, Thingol sitting ever among them, watching eagerly. Eventually Thingol’s desire is achieved and the two are brought together and made one. The Dwarven smith holds up the finished necklace: the countless jewels of the Nauglamír reflect the light of the Silmaril, casting it abroad in marvellous hues around the chamber. Thingol, still alone among the Dwarves, makes to take it up and clasp it about his neck; but the Dwarf at this moment withholds it from him:]

Regin: By what right does the Elven-King lay claim to the Nauglamír that was made by our fathers for Finrod Felagund who is dead? It has come to him but by the hand of Húrin, the Man of Dor-lómin, who took it as a thief out of the darkness of Nargothrond.
Thingol: [scornfully] I perceive your hearts, and see well that you desire the Silmaril beneath this fair cloak! How do ye of uncouth race dare to demand anything of me, Elu Thingol, Lord of Beleriand, whose life began by the waters of Cuiviénen years uncounted before the fathers of the stunted people awoke? [stands tall and proud] Be gone unrequited out of Doriath, foul swindlers and base liars!

[The Dwarves are kindled to rage by these words and they rise up about him angrily protesting; Thingol makes a grab for the necklace and they lay hands on him to prevent it. Suddenly in the tussle we hear a sword drawn and an exhalation of breath as Thingol is stabbed. His last sight is of the Silmaril before his eyes roll upwards in their sockets. His body becomes limp in the arms of the Dwarves he was struggling with, and his sudden dead weight drops slowly to the floor. The Dwarves make good their escape as Elves come running to investigate the sound of the uproar. Fade.]

* * *

[Fade into shots of the Dwarves fleeing with the Nauglamír passing out of Menegroth and fleeing eastwards through the forests of Doriath. Tidings are passed swiftly through the forest by animals and birds, and the company are soon pursued to the death by the Sindar as they approach the eastward road; the Nauglamír is retaken, though we see Regin and another Dwarf manage to escape and shot fades as they head towards the Blue Mountains.]

* * *

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 5:32 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Sat Sep 15, 2012 6:39 am 
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[Scene opens in Doriath: The throne room is empty except for Melian occupying her customary seat. In front of her lies Thingol, dressed in courtly finery on his funeral bier. Mablung approaches, battle-weary and blooded, clutching the Nauglamír, and kneels before her.]

Mablung: [whispers] My Queen?
[Melian does not answer, her eyes are unfocused as though her thoughts are turned inward: her Maia aura is diminished and it almost appears as though she has begun to age like a mortal woman. Mablung places the Nauglamír gently in her lap and a sudden tremor courses through her body.]

Melian: [lifts her eyes to his face.] I am no longer your queen, my dear Mablung the ever faithful.
Mablung: [not understanding] Why are you saying this? You are our queen. You will be as long as Arda remains, until the end of days!
Melian: [shaking her head] I am leaving… [Tears begin to flow silently down her grief-stricken face]
Mablung: [protesting weakly] Nay! [presses his hands together.] You cannot leave your people behind. My lady, I beg you, please, by all that you hold dear...
Melian: Enough. [gestures] There is nothing left for me now. I no longer belong here….in truth, I never did. For the love of Elwë I took on the form of the Elves, and in that union I became bound by the chains and trammels of the flesh of this world. Now he is no more and I... [her voice breaks and she utters a quiet sob.] I have lost my power over the land, if not over the hearts of my people.
Mablung: [kisses her hand] You will never lose that. But I fear the doom of Doriath is drawing near.
Melian: [with a shaky hand she covers the Nauglamír, enclosing her slender fingers over its light, not daring to touch the hated jewel.] You must let them know... [gestures to Thingol’s sword, Aranrúth, resting against the bier.] See that my grandson receives it safely.
Mablung: [flatly] Yes, my lady: I will set out immediately.
Melian: No! [firmly] I would have you guard the Silmaril. I trust no one but you.
Mablung: [bows his head, places his hand over his heart.] I will. You have my word.
[Melian inclines her head, letting her dark hair fall and cover her face in shadow; her lips quiver in a voiceless whisper, as if casting a spell on the ill-starred necklace.]
Melian: I can sense it even now, calling to the shadows: the holy jewel only shines so bright because darkness surrounds it.
Mablung: My Queen?
Melian: [She raises her head, sighing lightly] You may leave now, Mablung…but first I would have you place this cursed jewel upon my husband’s bier. [he stands, and takes the Nauglamír from Melian’s lap, crosses to the bier and lays the necklace across Thingol’s chest. The jewel illumines his deathly face, giving a glimpse once more of the light of Aman which used to glow in his countenance. Mablung makes the Elven salute and turns to leave the room. He sees Elmo newly arrived and goes to speak to him at the doorway.]

Mablung: The queen has asked me to send news to Beren and Lúthien. [whispers] She plans to leave us…
Elmo: [replies likewise, hollowly] Her husband is gone, and now she has no purpose? Are her people not purpose enough? [Mablung shakes head and exits.]
Melian: [gazes at Elmo as he enters, sorrow and apologies swimming in her eyes.] Forgive me… [her voice sounds pitifully weak in the immense throne room] I am not strong enough. Though I am Maia, I cannot hold back the shadow any longer, not without him.
Elmo: I mourn the loss of my brother, also. But surely you can try! Already the wards are failing, and soon Doriath shall lay open to its enemies. That which we love shall be doomed…what of Thingol’s heir, your grandson, Dior – will you not stay for him?
Melian: [looks at her husband’s body.] It is not within my abilities to hold back Doom. Doriath has its own fate, one which no one can change. It is time I made my way back to Valinor. The burden is too much to bear… [Her head droops. Elmo bows and exits, passing Galadriel in the corridor on her way to see Melian.]

Elmo: It seems your uncle’s Silmaril has started to wreak havoc here as well. [Galadriel flinches but does not respond. Cut back to Melian, sitting alone.

We see her thoughts visualized as she thinks back to her first meeting with Elwë in starlit Nan Elmoth. A change seems to come upon Melian. Her body becomes translucent, then transparent, following the command of her subconscious will. Forsaking her physical shell, her spirit follows her spouse westward…

Cut to overview of Doriath: we see Melian’s power withdraw from the forests as the Girdle tipples and fades away; the River Esgalduin speaks with a different voice, and Doriath now lays open to its enemies…Fade.]

* * * * * * *

[Fade into clips of the two escaped Dwarves returning to their city of Nogrod in the Blue Mountains; we see them address a crowd of their people in Khuzdul (with subtitles) telling of what has befallen, but changing events to suit their own purpose:]

Regin: Brother Dwarves, listen well to these sad tidings for Noli and I have been pursued night and day by the treacherous Lathrim of Doriath, barely escaping with our lives! Our brothers were not so fortunate… [crowd murmurs, somewhat is disbelief]

Noli: The cowardly Elven-king did command us to rework a masterpiece of our forefathers, the Nauglamír of Felagund, and within it set a priceless Elven jewel from Westernesse. Yet on completion of this work Thingol did order us Dwarves slain in the very smithy where we worked thereby cheating us of our reward! [the host of Dwarves erupts with great wrath and lamentation for the death of their kin and their great craftsmen, and they tear their beards and wail; Cut.]


[Cut back to Nogrod, later. A council of Dwarves is sat taking thought for vengeance. A messenger enters.]

Dwarf 1: What is the answer from Belegost? Do they support our action?
Messenger: [bows low] Regretfully, our request for aid is denied. The Dwarves of Belegost seek to dissuade us from our purpose.
Regin: Then I say we act without our cousins and vengeance shall be ours alone! [other Dwarves stand, crying “Aye” in support. Fade.]


[Camera fade back in to see a great host came forth from Nogrod, and crossing over Gelion marched westward through Beleriand. Fade.]

* * * * *

[Fade back into scene of two men sparring beneath the green leaves of Tol Galen with willow staves. The older, one-handed man is laughing as he teaches the younger:]

Beren: Not like that! …Keep your foot in! [Dior ducks and dances and swings his staff, seeking to imitate his father’s effortless precision.]
Beren: [pauses the fight] Very good, Dior, you are improving! [color=blue][i] [turns to acknowledge the company approaching. Lúthien stands a little way off, being comforted by a pregnant silver-haired elf maiden and two young silver haired male Elflings. An Elf in the livery of Doriath stands beside her, clutching something in his arms. Beren goes to his wife whilst his son catches his breath and hurries after them.]

Lúthien: [looks to Beren with tear-stained cheeks] Our friend has come bearing dark tidings from Doriath… [elf bows ] …my father is dead! [she breaks down, wracked with sobs. Beren takes her in his arms]
Messenger Elf: His blood was spilt by treacherous Naugrim and has blackened the stone of our fair city. The Queen has passed from Middle-earth and Doriath lies ungirdled…
Beren: [hesitantly] … the cursed Silmaril was the cause of this?
Messenger Elf: [nods] …it now lies adorning his Majesty’s body, guarded by Mablung of the Heavy-hand. We pursued the perpetrators as far as the eastern marches, where we slew all but two and regained the stolen jewel, but I fear repercussions from the Dwarven cities.

Beren: I fear you maybe right…we have heard rumours of a Dwarven war-host spilling down from Ered Luin.
Elf Messenger: [blanches] No warnings can surely have reached Menegroth as yet! It will be too late for me to return in time. [Camera cut to Dior who is standing with an arm around Nimloth, his wife, his young sons clutching his thighs.]
Dior: [grimly] Then we will waylay them on their return and deal out retribution for their transgressions. [ponders] Sarn Athrad!…we can head them off where the Dwarf Road crosses the River Gelion.
Messenger Elf: [nods curtly. Remembers bundle in his arms. Unwraps it and holds out an exquisitely sheathed sword, kneels, head bowed before Dior] I have been commanded to deliver this to Thingol’s heir…’twas the last request of your Grandam, my Lord.
Dior: [releases hold of his wife, takes sword and unsheathes it, holding the blade out in front of him.]
Beren: ‘Tis Aranrúth, mighty sword of Thingol!
Dior: King’s Ire indeed, it is well named, for bearing it shall I avenge his death and restore his kingdom, once my wife is safely delivered.
Beren: [balances his stave thoughtfully. And what of these?
Lúthien: [simply] Let us plant them: perchance they will grow… [fade.]

* * * * * * *

[Fade into shots of the Dwarven host crossing over Aros and passing unhindered into the woods of Doriath; none of the elven warriors can withstand their number and their ferocity. The captains of the Grey-elves fight despairingly to hold the great bridge over the Esgalduin but the Dwarves breakthrough, passing into Menegroth; Cut to shots inside of the battle in the Thousand Caves…many Elves and Dwarves are slain and the halls of Thingol ransacked and plundered. Finally we see Regin felling Mablung before the doors of the treasury in one-to-one combat. As the great captain’s body falls we see the doors to the treasury forced open and the victorious Dwarves advance on the treasure within. Silmaril was taken. Camera focus on Regin snatching up the Nauglamír from Thingol’s chest. He holds the jewel up before his lust-fuelled gaze. [Cut.]

* * * * * *

[Cut to clips of diminished Dwarven host retreating from Menegroth burdened with the spoils of Thingol’s treasury. We see birds twittering and swooping above them, and soaring off to pass word among the Elves of Ossiriand. They bring tidings to Beren at Tol Galen.]


[Cut to clip of Beren and Dior travelling silently through the trees with many of the Green-Elves of Ossiriand north of the River Ascar where they prepare an ambush at the Ford of Athrad.

Cut to Dwarves crossing the stony ford weighed down by Doriath’s spoils. All seems quiet. As they reach the far side and start climbing up Gelion’s bank burdened with their plunder, suddenly all the woods are filled with the sound of Elven horns, and shafts speed upon them from every side. The first onset sees very many of the Dwarves slain, as the Elves proceed to lay into the remain force with knives and swords, but some coming behind escape from the ambush, and gathering together, flee eastwards towards the mountains.

Beren himself slays Regin with the Dwarf’s own blade, wresting from him the Nauglamír. Regin curses all the treasure with his dying breath. Dior calls the Elves to cease as they watch the fleeing Dwarves.]

Dior: Let the Naugrim run while they may…the Shepherds of the Trees will not let them pass freely while their axes run with the blood of Elves…

[As we watch, the Dwarves begin to climb the long slopes beneath Mount Dolmed. Suddenly the trees surrounding them start to rustle and move; the awakened Ents drive the startled Dwarves into the shadowy woods of Ered Lindon…not one Dwarf survives to climb the high passes leading to their homes. Cut.]

[Cut to Dior, helping his father who has been slightly injured in his fight with Regin.]
Dior: Ada, are you well?
Beren: Well enough, my son…our campaign I deem a success: we have recovered the treasure and our people have suffered no casualty… though I foresee this has been my last fight. [To the Green-Elves] Let us throw this accursed treasure into the deeper waters of the Ascar so that none may suffer the malice of the Naugrim again. [cut]


[Cut to scene on banks of the River Ascar. Elves proceed to scatter the gems and gold into the deep waters. The waters take on a golden hue in the sunlight.]
Beren: I name this river anew Rathlóriel, the Goldenbed! [Looks at the blood encrusted jewellery in his hand then bends and washes it clean in the waters of the river. Dior gazes on it in wonder.]
Dior: Is this the selfsame jewel of Fëanor that you cut from Morgoth's iron crown, now set amid gold and gems by the cunning of the Dwarves?
Beren: [nods] It is strange to set eyes upon it again, after almost half a lifetime, and even stranger to find that it shines more brightly than I remembered.
Dior: [drinks in the brilliance with his eyes, already becoming enamoured of it] This shall be for Naneth: dearly bought, justly reclaimed, hers to wear and to treasure.
Beren: [says nothing, ponders the wisdom of keeping the jewel from the Fëanorians]
Dior: You are much too silent, Ada. Is something still troubling you, now that we have done what we set out to do?
Beren: [sharply] I begin to wonder why this jewel has not turned the colour of blood, after all the lives it cost...
Dior: [confidently] Pure light cannot be sullied!
Beren: The purer the light, the more dangerous it is. Does not Anar blind you if you look straight at her?
Dior: [stubbornly] Yet we can look at the jewel without being blinded
Beren: Yet it is stolen…
Dior: But if not to us, to whom does it belong? Do you propose to yield it to Fëanor's accursed sons? Do you consider returning it to the Valar, who do not seem to interfere in the affairs of Middle-earth anymore? [wonderingly] Can it be that you fear this light, Ada?
Beren: Perhaps…You would do well to share my misgivings: I died because of this Silmaril.
Dior: [is silent for a while, pondering. He sighs, disappointed] You believe we ought to shun it?
Beren: [shrugs.] I fear in my heart that it is ourselves we must beware of. Yet Lúthien is still Elven-wise, mortal though she may be. She will know what to do with this Silmaril, I trust. [fade.]

* * *

[Fade into scene of Beren and Dior returning home to Tol Galen, being welcomed by Lúthien, her daughter-in-law and grandchildren. Beren embraces Lúthien, then sombrely presents her with the Nauglamír.]

Beren: Your father has been avenged. Regin of Nogrod died by his own sword. I know this news will ease your grief but a little…as might this: [He places the carcanet around her neck and immediately her beauty is reflected, causing the stone to blaze and fill the land around Tol Galen with a fair light reminiscent of Valinor…we see flowers burst into bloom and and the fruitfulness of the land increases many fold. Fade.]

* * * * * * *

Lúthien & Beren on Tol Galen by Joseph Olonia

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 Fri Nov 28, 2014 2:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Wed Sep 19, 2012 6:37 am 
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[Fade into scene in Dior’s house in Lanthir Lamath. In their bedchamber Nimloth lies spent after a long labour, her silver hair spread across the pillow, blending with the moonlight that bathes the room. She sleeps whilst her husband Dior stands cradling their newborn daughter. Wispy black down lies on her forehead, contrasting with her flawless porcelain skin. His mother enters, having come to check that Nimoth is comfortable. The baby fusses slightly and Dior strokes her tiny face with his forefinger.]

Lúthien: [smiling] The Maia blood runs more truly through her than in you or her brothers… Have you thought of a name for her?
Dior: [Shaking his head, hugging the baby close.] Not yet… [he walks over to the open window, rocking the baby gently. and looks out at the waterfall. The tumbling water swirls and flashes in the moonlight, creating sweet harmonies as it crashes about the rocks. The starlight glistens in the sparkling drops as if caught in the spray. A cool breeze seems to waft in suddenly and Dior moves away from the window.

Lúthien moves over to close the window and as she looks out the foresight of her mother comes upon her: she sees a vision of a beautiful dark-haired woman clad in white, standing on the water’s edge. The Nauglamír bearing the Silmaril rests upon her breast; she spreads her arms, as though preparing to dive into the tumbling waters. Lúthien blinks, but she is gone…in her place a white bird soars up through the mist from the waterfall and disappears. She turns from the window at the sound of the baby crying fretfully.]

Lúthien: I will see if Nimloth is awake… [puts her head in the bedroom door to check, and beckons Dior over. Entering their bedroom, Dior lovingly kisses his wife’s lips.]
Dior: [whispers] My love.
Nimloth: [smiles at him sleepily as he passes her their daughter back into her waiting arms. As the baby feeds she gazes pensively on the tiny face. Briefly, something clouds her expression. When it has passed, she looks knowingly at Dior.] Have you graced our daughter with a father-name yet?
Dior: [Glances down at the lovely face of his daughter and then back at the equally enchanting face of his wife, and smiles happily] Yes, we shall call her Elwing, for the stars of this night and the waters beside our home.
Nimloth: [softly] “Star-spray…”
Lúthien: [muses] That shall suit her well, for the water and the stars shall ever be in her life. [fade]

* * * * *

[Cut to scene a few years later at Dior’s house at Lanthir Lamath. We see Elwing as a lively three-year old, and the twins are about six years old. Nimloth is hanging out her washing as the children play outside. Camera cut to shots of Dior walking with his father on the riverbank, deep in conversation. Beren is now sporting many grey hairs, and walks more stiffly.

Cut to scene inside the house… We see Lúthien dozing on a daybed. She has aged, her youth and vigour beginning to visibly drain from her. Beren enters and goes over to his wife. He leans over and whispers her name. Lúthien’s eyes flutter open.]

Beren: [smiles] My beloved…are you feeling any better?
Lúthien: [her face darkens] I fear not…I have been feeling faint and weak. I hardly slept last night. I do not know what is happening to me.
Beren: [sighs. Looks at his wife with love and pity] You begin to feel your years like a mortal woman, Love.. [wraps his arms about her, trying to soothe her anxiety.] To grow old together is surely not the worst of our ordeals. Tell me not you regret your choice?
Lúthien: [shakes her head and forces a smile] I know that my time is coming, but I am glad of it…and if we remain here, eventually, we shall become entangled in the woes of Men and Elves yet again. I am weary, Beren. I am weary of the world and weary of myself.
Beren: [nods, and takes a deep breath.] Lúthien, Dior has made plans to take his family back to Doriath shortly. You are aware of his desire to restore your father’s kingdom?
Lúthien: [almost steadily.] A New Age…
Beren: [takes her hand] I have told him that we will not be returning to Menegroth with him…
Lúthien: [raises her hand and caresses Beren’s cheek in silent gratitude]
Beren: [continues] …I am growing weary also. Though my time upon this earth is short, I believe I have done my share. I told him we shall go home to Tol Galen, Land of the Dead that live.
Lúthien: I have never heard you call it that.
Beren: So it shall be soon. It shall be our resting place, where we built our home, bore our son and reared him. It is a fitting place.
Lúthien: It is better than remaining here until we are ancient as Hirilorn and senseless as a dumb beast... I wish no further distress to our family.
Beren: Yet what of our children? What shall become of them? Do you still have the foresight of your youth?
Lúthien: [her face becomes grave] Before she departed, my mother prophesized that our line should never fail, but I know now that it cannot be protected from sorrow. All my hopes now rest upon Elwing.
Beren: [concerned] And what of the boys?. Elúrin and Elúred are healthy and strong. They shall find wives of their own and bear children, surely?
Lúthien: [sighs. She shakes her head] I have looked upon the stars and searched my heart, Beren, and of their fate, nothing has been revealed to me. Perhaps it is better that we shall not live to know.
Beren: ‘Tis little comfort…
Lúthien: [weeps] I would that we could remain and save our children from all perils and grief. I would not have them suffer as we did! It is the wish of every mother. But now I know that it cannot be so. We shall meet them soon enough, perhaps.
Beren: Perhaps… [somewhat harshly] But I must ask you, shall the Silmaril have anything to do with our children's suffering? Should we not take it with us?
Lúthien: For now. Yet we cannot take it with us when we pass from this world.. When it is time, we shall give it to our son. [Beren takes Lúthien’s hands in his in affirmation and they sit, heads bowed as camera fades.]

* * *

[Fade into clips of Dior and family taking leave of his parents at Tol Galen and journeying to Menegroth]


[Cut to scene as the Great Door of Menegroth opens…it is made of dark logs of solid ancient oak braced together with purest mithril, and embossed with the Cirth runes of Daeron. Camera moves inside: The Hall within seems to give a sigh which reverberates through every leaf of the carved trees. Two high thrones, for a king and queen who ruled as one, stand apart on the dais at the opposite end of the long aisle.. The paintings on the walls are skillfully carved, massive engravings from ceiling to ground, depicting instances from years lost but never forgotten. They are everywhere, on vaulted archway and domed rooftop, the images alive and their memory real. Camera swings round to show Dior and his family entering. The children stare at their surroundings with large eyes, at the crowds of assembled people standing in the aisles. Dior is silent in mind and speech, moved by the experience, sensing the pleasure of the people at the sight of the children. Eluréd and Elurín, so alike it is almost impossible to distinguish them, and the rarity of twins is an added surprise. Elwing clings to her father, her cloud of dark hair floating about her face, as he carries her in his arms.

Dior throws an inquiring look at Nimloth as they continue to advance forward. Elwing burrows her head further into her father’s shoulder. He reaches up to stroke her head, an absentminded gesture, pale fingers smoothing over dark hair. Her eyes laugh at him, tinged with sleep, and he smiles at her. The boys who walk by his side almost run to keep up with his steps. Elmo steps forward to greet them. His upper forearm is wrapped in linen, a wound, skillfully covered. He looks pale and the glow in his usually bright eyes is dimmed. Celeborn and a small company of royally clad elves who appear to be advisors or warriors stand beside him, fair and mighty, though most bear some mark of battle also – some scars healing, and some more recently treated.]

Elmo: [steadily] Welcome, Dior Aranel, child of Lúthien and Beren.
Dior: [bows formally] I thank you, my Lord.
Elmo: [embraces his great-granddaughter, Nimloth] I trust your journey was comfortable?
Dior: [neutrally] Comfort was of no importance, but speed was. The escort you sent was admirable in every way.
Celeborn: [turns to Nimloth] It is good to see you again, brother-daughter [holds out arms to her]
Nimloth: [embraces her uncle] And you as well, Uncle. [smiles with affection. Dior sets Elwing down and she runs to Nimloth] You have not yet met our children: this is our youngest, Elwing… [Elwing glances curiously up at the tall, silver-haired elf.] and our twin sons, Eluréd and Elurín. [the boys place their hands on their chests and bow in unison]
Celeborn: [smiles at the twins and returns the bow] Your fine sons surely to do you proud… [bending down to tickle Elwing under the chin ] A beautiful child…Tinúviel’s likeness continues strongly in her. [Elwing’s eyes grow wide as she sees the golden haired lady by his side, and she will not stop staring, no matter how much Nimloth moves to shush her.]

Galadriel: [smiles at the little girl] I am Galadriel… [raises her eyes to Nimloth asking silent permission. Nimloth nods slightly and Galadriel extends her hand to Elwing. Dior places his hand on Elwing’s head, and the little one meets his eyes in another wordless exchange then she shyly turns and places her hand in Galadriel’s. There is a quick drawing of a breath from the crowd at the sight of the child and the Noldorin princess as she leads the children off to find refreshments.]
Elmo: [smiles sadly] It has been a long time since there were children in the halls of Menegroth. These halls have seen a war, lost a king and a queen, and many have been rendered homeless and countless more wounded. We have paid a heavy penance for the jewel your father earned.
Dior: It is my pledge that no longer shall my people wander in sorrow and despair, with only the yearning memories of Doriath’s past glory for bitter comfort. I set myself to raise anew the glory of this kingdom, and erase the memory of our pain.

Elmo: [nods] It would have been the King’s desire, and it will be done… [leads Dior to stand before the throne of Thingol and turns him to face the assembled populace of Menegroth. Celeborn gestures to a guard who stands to one side, holding something wrapped in crimson velvet, embroidered with silver and pearl. The guard steps forward and Celeborn takes it from him. For a moment Celeborn stands staring down at what he has in his hands. Camera cuts to Galadriel watching Celeborn, with sympathy in her eyes, helplessly watching her husband grieve for a loved one. Then Celeborn turns and faces Dior once more, removing the covering from what he holds. It is the silver leaf crown of Elu Thingol, gleaming in the soft light of the torches.

Wordlessly, Celeborn extends the crown upon the cloth towards Dior, his eyes never moving from the polished sheen of its surface. Dior does not move, and nor does he accept the crown. Celeborn raises his eyes to meet Dior’s gaze ]

Dior: Princes of Doriath…If I would be your King and command your allegiance, I would have you place this symbol of kingship upon my head. [Celeborn nods curtly and bows, passes the crown to Elmo; Dior kneels to receive it.]
Elmo: [places crown upon Dior’ head and helps Dior to rise, presenting him to the Doriathrim] Behold your King – Eluchíl! [crowd cheers and applauds, whispers are heard of how beautiful he is, that he looks like his mother; Dior beckons to Nimloth who joins him on the dais, tears sparkling in her eyes. Fade.]

* * * * * * *

[Fade into clips of many Elves at work in Menegroth, restoring the "Thousand Caves” labouring with unwavering purpose under Dior's staunch will and unerring direction..]

Melian voiceover: Now it is said that time heals the wounds of both body and mind, and joyous songs and merry laughter were soon to be heard in the forests and halls of the land. Yet the mirth of the Elves of Doriath was halting, as the grief of haunted memory was still near to their mending hearts. Many halls in Menegroth that were once filled with merry Elven folk now stood empty, shrouded in solemn darkness as a grim testament to their dwindled numbers…

[Fade into scene as camera moves through the forest of Neldoreth on an Autumn evening as dusk settles…the wind swirls through the trees, causing the fallen leaves to fly around the boles of the great beech trees. We see a lone rider approach the bridge before the entrance to Menegroth; he speaks briefly to the guards and is ushered across. Dismounting, he smites loudly on the great oak doors:]

Messenger: Open up!
Guard: [voice from inside] Who comes before the Doors of Menegroth unannounced?
Rider: I am a lord of the Laiquendi from Tol Galen and I am come on an urgent errand to the king..
Guard: What then is the purpose of your errand and who sent you?
Rider: That is for the King’s knowledge alone. Your apparent suspicion of strangers serves Doriath well in this time of watchful peace, no doubt. Yet you would serve the realm even better if you would at least see me out of this chill night for I have travelled far to kneel before the king.
[The doors are opened; there is another pause as the guards suspicious eyes regard the messenger curiously.]
Guard: Very well! You seem harmless enough, though I have yet to know of the tidings you bring. [admits Elf inside.] Follow me therefore to our guardroom where a warm fire awaits. I will see if the King will grant you an audience. [ Cut.]

[Cut inside to door-warden escorting the Laiquendi messenger to the King’s audience chamber. The door opens and we see Dior sitting in the chamber alone. Messenger enters in silence, comes before Dior and bows. He places a simple but finely-worked wooden chest on the table before the King and takes his leave without speaking word.

Hesitantly, Dior opens the coffer and gasps, a sudden grief clutching at his heart. Camera shifts so that we can see within lies the Nauglamír, its golden chain overlaid with a fabulous multitude of gemstones and the Silmaril at the centre of the web.

Dior stares at the necklace in the coffer, tears beginning to course down his cheeks, for the meaning is clear to him that Beren Erchamion and Lúthien Tinúviel have died and passed to a fate beyond the world. A log breaks and settles in the fireplace, throwing a rain of golden sparks whose reflections dazzle the jewel to life. He moves it slowly, watching the light of the torches glint along wrought gold, diamonds and rubies.

Long does he sit there in the dim room grieving in mournful silence, gazing at the shining jewel while the fire dies down down and several torches flicker and go out. Then closing the coffer he extinguishes the Silmaril's penetrating light in deep sorrow.

The door opens quietly and Nimloth slips into the darkened chamber, standing awhile in silence by the doorway, watching her husband’s bowed form in the surrounding gloom.]

Nimloth: [softly] What ails my lord that he should sit so, seemingly bowed with grief and come not to retire? [Dior slowly raises his head to face her and she starts, seeing his trailing tears in the ruddy light.]
Dior: [gestures to the coffer lying closed upon the table next to him.] Therein lies the cause of my sorrow Nimloth. Open it and see for yourself what has come to me!

[Fearfully Nimloth takes up the coffee with tembling hands and opens it. The dark of the chamber is suddenly thrust aside and the shadows waver and fade as the living light of the Silmaril is released. Nimloth looks about her, gasping in awe at the colourful display. Her wide eyes turn back to the necklace and for a moment she is mesmerised by its impossible beauty.]

Nimloth: [wonderingly] How can this fill you with such apparent grief?
Dior: For all its beauty it is but a herald of grief… Do you not see? Its coming to me is a sign that my father and mother have died, and gone to that place beyond the circles of the world. Arda has lost Lúthien the Fair forever! [Nimloth gently lays the coffer down and goes to her husband, setting her slender arms about him. She closes her eyes as tears come to her also.]

Nimloth: I, too, loved them well…it is hard and my heart grieves with yours. Yet it was a doom of sorrow long foreseen.
Dior: Even so, that makes it none the easier to endure. [sighs with weary grief] Nimloth, I am king, yet have lived no longer than those of men who are deemed newly come to full manhood: I am as young in years as I am in kingly policy, and would that my father were yet living to counsel me from afar. I wish too that my fair mother still lived to grace this world. It grieves me deeply that they were granted too few years to enjoy the happiness they deserved.

[Nimloth nods in sad agreement and slowly kneels before Dior, clasping both his hands in hers.]
Nimloth: Indeed my husband, and all of true heart shall grieve with you. But do not fall to despair for you are far more than you know yourself to be. You are king of a great people, all of whom revere and love you. Do you not see what you have achieved? Doriath has been raised from ruin and its people are joyful again! Yet you are the mover of all these things O wise lord and your people do not forget it! [She then takes up the open coffer and holds it before her husband. The flaming beams of the Silmaril's heart rise to bathe his face, painting a heavenly vision of beauty]

Nimloth: [whispers] Dior the Beautiful… [She raises a hand to gently caress his cheek] Now the great jewel has come to you.
Dior: By all rights, I feel as though I should not take such pleasure in something that carries such a burden of sorrow…
Nimloth: But rather than receiving it in sorrow, I would say receive it now in hope as I deem your father and mother would have desired.
Dior: [gazes at her, a faint smile lightening his face.] Did we not witness the power of the Silmaril as it were worn by Lúthien? How the “Land of the Dead that Live” became an unrivalled vision of light and beauty! It shall surely give added hope to our people, and aid in healing the wounds of our realm. When morning comes I will face the people and reveal the return of the Silmaril to Menegroth, as well as the grievous news of my parents’ end. [Fade.]

* * *

[Fade back into scene in Great Hall of Menegroth, the next day: All the population of Doriath are assembled before the dais at the western end of the hall, atop which sit the twin thrones of oak which are intricately carved in the form of a carven birch tree that seems to half grow out of the wall behind so that many of its silver branches and leaves are as wide spread tracings, forming a canopy. Dior and Nimloth enter from a side door, ready to make their way towards the dais. Celeborn steps to Dior’s side, touching his arm gently.]

Celeborn: [quietly] Pray accept my condolences for these sorrowful tidings, my Lord.
[Dior nods in appreciation of the sympathy and continues towards the throne. Nimloth sits whilst Dior stands, holding the coffer before him.]

Dior: Elves of Doriath! You have all been summoned to witness that which signifies an eternal grief and yet a hope beyond reckoning!

[The elves turn to each other with uncertain glances, questioning in low tones as to their king’s proclamation. Dior opens the coffer and holds the Silmaril aloft for all to see. Its light blazes forth and fills the great hall with a glorious living light. Now weep with joy on seeing its return, whilst many seeing the rumoured jewel for the first time gasp in wonder.]

Dior: [exclaims] Behold! Here is the jewel that Beren and Lúthien rescued from the perils of Angband! Here is the jewel that was coveted by the dwarves who in their malice slew our king and attempted to destroy his realm. They have paid for their folly and evil deeds. [more softly] Here also is the jewel which thereafter was worn by Lúthien the fair, who so became a vision of such beauty and glory never before seen outside the realm of Valinor! [He falls silent, overcome by grief ; the elves look at each other with wonder on their faces, not yet comprehending the full meaning of the Silmaril`s return.]

Dior: [pulling himself together] Now that jewel has come to me, tokening the deaths of my parents, Beren Erchamion and Lúthien Tinúviel… [color=blue][i] [A great hush falls across the great hall as the elves are stunned into disbelief. Only the gentle fall of water from the halls fountains can be heard.] Two most beloved Children of Eru whose great deeds shall be honoured and whose memory shall never fade though time immeasurable should pass! Their passing shall ever be a grief to Elvenkind, yet their love and sacrifice shall remain imperishable in our hearts memory and endure in song and tale even to the appointed end and beyond!

[He falls silent again and all heads in the hall are bowed. There arises the murmur of weeping maidens and lamenting elf lords as they begin to mourn Beren and Lúthien. Dior takes the Nauglamír from the coffer and clasps the Silmaril to his neck and all look up at their king in amazement for the rays of the jewel seem to well through his body and the very light of Aman is reflected in his beautiful face. The light of the Silmaril begins to grow in brightness and spread outward from Dior`s person, reaching every shadowy corner of the huge hall, casting away all despair from that people, kindling hope in their hearts.]

Crowd: [as one voice:] Hail, Dior Eluchíl!
Dior: Indeed to witness an eternal grief I said, yet also a hope beyond reckoning! See now the power of the Silmaril has healed the sorrows of our hearts! [comes forward now to the very edge of the dais and the great light about him shines upon his people’s upturned faces] So shall it also heal the hurts of our land, fostering the growth and wellbeing of old that was lost to Doriath! For though our hearts shall never forget our loss, the holy jewel shall serve as a memorial to those twain who won it in hope for themselves, and so sent it to Doriath in hope for us all! [As he speaks it seems an even greater majesty is now revealed in him, and a potent power placed upon him before his people: All bow low before him and cry again in one voice...]

Crowd: Hail, Dior Eluchíl, ordained anew! Let the king now rule us in great glory and bliss! [the crowd applauds and cheers as the camera cuts away to Galadriel and Celeborn observing to one side.]

Galadriel: [pensively] ‘Tis a doom of both joy and woe that is bequeathed to any who would keep a Silmaril of Fëanor…
Celeborn: [shivering as one perceiving an evil omen] I fear its coming to Doriath will be of no exception to that fate. [Fade.]

* * *

Melian: [voiceover] So it was that the Silmaril of Fëanor resided once more in Doriath and its power was felt again in the woods of Neldoreth and Region, for the king wore the jewel always. Its holy light healed the dreary mood of the realm that had taken hold since Melian`s departure. The. Festivals long celebrated yet lately abandoned were renewed and the greenswards of Neldoreth were alive once again with the singing, the dancing and the feasting of merry elves. Thus led by Dior, Thingol`s Heir, and with the aid of the Silmaril, Doriath indeed regained its glory of old and its people were content.

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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