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PostPosted: Fri Jan 03, 2014 11:02 am 
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Season 6 Episode 6 Part 2

[Scene opens on the Máhanaxar, where the Valar have convened a council of war. The three clans of Eldar are in attendance: The Noldor of Tirion under their King, Finarfin, the Vanyar led by Ingwë, and the Teleri of Olwë.]

Manwë: [solemnly] It behoves the Powers of Arda to take responsibility for the evil which now besets Middle-earth. It is my will that all take their part in this, each according to his skill and powers. Therefore I summon the Firstborn of Valinor to fight with us against the Throne of Angband. [the crowd ripples with consternation and anticipation.]
Finarfin: I will gladly lead a host of the Noldor to Middle-earth, if it will help the plight of our kin beyond the Belegaer. I desire to see my daughter again and I want to meet Orodreth's child.
Ingwë: For too long have we been in ignorance of the plight of our kin in the Hither Lands. I too, will send the warriors among my people, under the leadership of my son, Ingwion.

Aulë: [folds his arms] Many weapons will need to be forged, shields and swords, and arrows, and spears. It will take time to prepare your forces.
Finarfin: The Noldor craftsmen will not stint in their duty.
Eärwen: My maidens will lend our hands to the working of banners to identify and inspire those who set forth.
Manwë: [looks to Olwë who has kept silent so far] And what say the Teleri? [Ulmo shifts on his throne uncomfortably]

Olwë: [bows] Airë… My people are reluctant to take part in this campaign for they can neither forget nor forgive the destruction and the dead of Alqualondë the Fair.
Elwing: [steps forward, wringing her hands nervously] My lord, have you not heeded the words of my husband of the deeds and sufferings of your kin in the hither Lands? Of all that we both have sacrificed to bring this plea before the Holy Ones? Forget not also your kin who remain in the lands of their birth, least of all Círdan and Ereinion Gil-galad, whose blood ties him to both Noldor and Teleri. [the Teleri murmur amongst themselves]

Olwë: [sighs] Your words have indeed moved our hearts but still we refuse to set foot in the Hither Lands. [raises his hand against further protest] However, we will provide our ships to take the host of the Valar to Middle Earth.
Manwë: [nods] So be it…the Host of the Valar shall be under the command of my herald, Eönwë. [Cut.]


[Cut to silver trumpets sounding as the host set from Aman for the war against Morgoth…they are fair and terrible to behold, the many white banners gleam and flutter in the breeze.. We hear Eärendil’s voice over the images he is describing…]

Eärendil: [Voiceover] Like a rising wave of thunder crashing down over the land, so the Might of Valinor came up out of the West. The host of Eönwë was seen shining upon the sea afar, and the noise of his trumpets rang over the waves and echoed in the western woods. Thereafter was fought the battle of Eglarest, where Ingwion son of Ingwë, made a landing, and drove the Orcs from the shore. Great war came now into Beleriand…

The ringing of the trumpets of Eönwë the Herald of the Valar came rolling to the very feet of the Hithaeglir. The sky blazed with the light of the Calaquendi and the glory and power of the Host of the Valar caused the mountains to ring beneath their feet. The Edain came to the battle, though few of the Elves of Beleriand marched with the Host. Yet they heard the tumult of the War of Wrath from afar. From their lands the peoples of Beleriand looked up in wonder, hope, and terror, as the sky itself writhed with seething clouds, for little of the northern part of the world could escape the chaos.

* * *

[Scene opens on Maedhros, Maglor and Elrond in the hall at Amon Ereb. Maedhros is reading a letter from Ereinion Gil-galad. Elrond watches Maedhros’ face with hardly concealed curiosity while he reads the letter. Finally Maedhros drops the paper, his face flushed.]

Elrond: [eagerly] Well? What does cousin Ereinion have to say?
Maedhros: The Valar have sent forth an army. There will be war against Morgoth.
Elrond: [elated] Then truly Ada has succeeded! I knew it! I must tell Elros! [he jumps up and runs off to find his brother.]

Maglor: [eyes gleaming] Finally the Black Foe will meet justice, and the murder of our beloved grandfather will be avenged!
Maedhros: [takes a swig from his goblet] Or it will be as it was before - too little, too late. [bitterly] They have waited until nearly all who set forth on our journey from Aman are dead before deciding to act: do not tell me that is coincidence! They have not come for the sake of our people - their anger at the Exiles is unabated, I am sure!

Maglor: For whose, then? The Edain are diminished, the few survivors enslaved, and the Naugrim also suffered grievous losses during the Nirnaeth. We should be grateful—
Maedhros: [slams goblet down] --No! I feel no gratitude, only bitterness. And frustration, for we, who have fought so hard and so long against Morgoth, are fugitive who cannot take part in this final war, lest we be recognized and apprehended. [glancing down at letter on the table between them, Maglor picks it up and skims it.]

Maglor: [gloomily] Gil-galad writes that our uncle, Finarfin has come to lead the remaining Noldor of Aman into battle. What must he have felt, when he learned of our conduct? [Fade.]

* * *

[Fade into clips of the Host of the Valar heading out north-east through the Pass of Sirion, the mountains and the lake of Mithrim to their left, the highlands of Dorthonion on their right. All the lands seem deserted.]

Finarfin: Already I begin to fear we may be too late…
Eönwë: Many have died in the great wars of Beleriand, many were killed by Morgoth's creatures, the Orcs. But others survive. The Avari are hidden in the eastern woods and in the South there live Sindar and Falathrim.

[They navigate the Fens of Serech, progressing towards the vast, burned plain of Anfauglith At the sight of the devastated lands spreading out to the North and the East Finarfin stops and dismounts sinking down on a knee to touch the earth that has known his sons and nephews. He turns to Manwë's herald, the unspoken question in his eyes.]

Eönwë: Yes, many were killed here, in a great and terrible attack from Morgoth. But they died to defend their people.
Finarfin: And those who are left?
Eönwë: They live with the remainder of the Doriathrim and surviving Noldor on the Isle of Balar, where Círdan provides a haven for refugees.
Finarfin: Will Ereinion join this fight?
Eönwë: [shakes his head.] A great fate lies before him, even though we cannot see it clearly yet. Much is at stake if he risks his life.
Finarfin: Surely Ereinion has enough reason to fight? He has suffered more than anyone else of our family…
Eönwë: [Gives him a stern glance.] I have summoned all Eldar, Edain, Dwarves, beasts and birds unto my standard, whosoever does not elect to fight for Morgoth. It will be left to them to answer, if they will. [Fade.]

* * *

[Fade into the wide, dusty plain of Anfauglith, where the first battle between the host of the Valar and Morgoth's army is being fought. The warriors from Valinor are a magnificent sight: Colourful banners ripple in the sharp wind, weapons and armour shine in the dim light; The Maiar have taken shapes fair and terrible to behold. Ingwion, Ingwë's son, commands the Vanyar and Finarfin son of Finwë, the Noldor. At the head of them all strides Eönwë, the Herald of Manwë…

Eärendil: [voiceover describing visuals:] Morgoth did not doubt victory, for as dark lord of those lands he had spread his power throughout and there was not a single stone which did not contain at least some of his essence. He opened the gates of Angband and sent forth uncounted legions of Orcs from the depths of his realm; in the vanguard came the Warg-riders, and between the two, Men of the East in his allegiance. Yet before the Host of the West the Orcs perished like straw in a great fire, or were swept like shrivelled leaves before a burning wind. [Fade.]


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

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PostPosted: Sun Jan 05, 2014 9:10 am 
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Eärendil: Thus Morgoth unleashed all the Maiar he long ago lured to his side. These came in many shapes, mirroring their spiritual kind and power, and the most horrifying and mightiest of his slaves, the Balrogs, demons of fire. But the Eldar did not lose courage, even at the sight of Balrogs, having heard of the valiant deeds of Ecthelion and Glorfindel in Gondolin and they gathered to face their enemies. Yet Eönwë bid them stand aside for these were Ainur - spirits older than the world, and the like would be their opponents…

[The battle of the Maiar is terrible, and the land is shaken with the force of their clash. Eventually the Balrogs are defeated, save one, and it flees to hide deep under the roots of the high mountains in the East. But all the others fall, their Maia spirits leaving the shells of their bodies which crumble to ash and they are like clouds of dark mist to behold. One by one they rise up into the grey sky and each time a wind rises from the West and scatters the cloud into nothingness. Fade.]

* * *

Eärendil: Seeing his hosts were overthrown and his power dispersed, Morgoth quailed, and dared not come forth himself. But he loosed upon his foes the last desperate assault that he had prepared… Out of the pits of Angband there issued a dreadful fleet of winged dragons, and their coming was with great thunder, lightning and a tempest of fire. So sudden and ruinous was their assault that the host of the Valar was driven back…

[camera pan over the Anfauglith where the Host of the Valar are still battling the remnants of Angband's black pits. Ingwion ‘s Vanyar are on the western side of the battlefield, making their way swiftly through a phalanx of Trolls. Suddenly Ingwion stops to stare back with fear in his eyes. Camera pans round to show what he is looking at: A huge creature emerges from the depths of Thangorodrim… black and atrocious, with cold, burning eyes it heaves its massive body into the skies. It is the first of the winged Dragon - Ancalagon the Black: no living creature has his strength, and there is nothing in the air mightier than him. Behind him other Dragons follow, the monstrous, scaly beasts ascending high into the air. The Host of the West gape at this new horror, knowing they cannot fight these creatures. Eönwë ‘s silver trumpets sound the retreat…]

Eärendil: But the Valar sent forth Vingilot, shining with white flame, and about her were gathered all the great birds of heaven, with Thorondor the Lord of Eagles as their captain…

[A faint sound fills the air, like the rushing of water mixed with the cry of a thousand seabirds. The next moment a white ship breaks through the low clouds. With the same majestic slowness like the movement of Ancalagon's wings it floats through the sky, all sails set and filled with a strong wind. Its hull exquisitely curved in the likeness of a swan, the most beautiful vessel ever built. The Elves of Aman as one sigh in awe, recognizing the ship. At Vingilot's helm Eärendil stands, a long sword at his side and the Silmaril on his brow, his silver mail glistening with the dust of thousands of gems Behind him the clouds seem alive with dark patches and moving shadows of every form and size: countless birds of all sizes are following the white sails. At the front of the swarm is Thorondor, Lord of Eagles.]

Thorondor: The time of our revenge is come at last! Arise, O Thornhoth, whose beaks are of steel and whose talons swords! Arise!

[Behind him the giant eagles of the Crissaegrim form the vanguard. They cry in answer to their lord and the Orcs shriek in dread at this sound. The winged Dragons turn from the Army of the Light as Vingilot holds its course right towards Ancalagon. Together birds and white ship meet their enemies. There is a cry of many voices, fair and terrible, and only a heartbeat later a huge body plunges from the sky - an eagle, his throat cut by sharp claws. Then first one, then a second Dragon falls. Elves, Men, Dwarves and Maiar retreat to their camp where they wait and hope. Cut.]

Eärendil: Before the rising of the sun was Ancalagon the Black, the mightiest of the dragon-host, salin and cast from the sky; and he fell upon the towers of Thangorodrim, and they were broken in his ruin…

[Fade back in to the pale light of dawn as Anar rises again behind dark clouds: still the fight continues. The bodies of Dragons lie on the plain, surrounded by countless birds of every sort and size. Eärendil and Ancalagon are battling high above the peaks of Thangorodrim.. Suddenly Anar emerges from behind the clouds and its ray catch Eärendil’s Silmaril which flares to full brilliance, shining right in Ancalagon’s face. The dragon is blinded, and in his panic his head snaps upwards and his flame goes wide. Immediately Eärendil turns his ship about, and the prow of Vingilot tears through the dragon’s left wing. Ancalagon screeches in such pain and rage as the vessel pierces the sinews of his leathery wings that the hosts far below cover their ears, and crouch in terror. As he passes, Eärendil smites the dragon a deadly blow that nearly severs the head from his long neck. Ancalagon’s broken body falls slowly back to earth: Crashing onto Angband he destroys Morgoth's fortress, his body tearing down the cruel walls of black stone and the mighty gates of iron as the ground shakes under his impact.

Camera pans across the landscape showing the tremendous reverberations setting off a chain reaction throughout Beleriand: fiery chasms open in the plains and far away on the coast the sea begins to murmur and become restless. The waves creep higher upon the beaches as slowly and inevitably, Beleriand is engulfed by the waters of the Belegaer. Those on the coast take to their ships whilst all who live inland retreat before the coming water. It moves on continuously, day and night and many are washed away by new rivers or fall into the cracks in the earth that open all around. In some places the ground sinks several meters in an instant. The earth’s grumbling and the hissing of water become a familiar sound to the refugees. Fade.]

* * *

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

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PostPosted: Mon Jan 06, 2014 6:58 pm 
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* * *

[Cut to scene of Elrond and Elros out riding; now confident young men, they ascend the gentle slopes of the Ramdal and cresting a rise pause to gaze out westward… Behind them, in the distance we see that Gelion, the closest river, has broken its banks and is flowing backwards. On the western horizon, the forests are flooded and the rising sea reflects the ruddy sunset on its surface as it drives relentlessly eastward .]

Elrond: Sirion is no more! [subdued] All the fair lands, and the wild creatures, drowned… I hope Círdan’s people are safe on their ships.
Elros: The work of so many hands and hearts lost for ever…[shakes his head and turns away from the sun.] It is almost as though the Valar seek to erase all memory of our existence from Middle-earth. [he sighs] I have seen enough. We must warn Maglor of the approaching danger… [he turns abruptly, and makes to descend back down to the plain.. Elrond makes to follow, but his eye is caught by a dark speck between the clouds and the sea, speeding towards them from the North. Calling Elros, he turns back and watches until at last he is certain: a giant eagle, with immeasurable wings spread wide, circles thrice over Mount Dolmed, many leagues to the northeast of them, then drops from view.

Elros: Telling people to flee, no doubt…I do not think the Long Wall will hold back the waters for long.
Elrond: [worried] If the Gelion and other rivers are rising too, we will soon be cut off…amidst the flooded plains. What can this mean, Elros? Do you think Morgoth has been defeated, or is this the world's ending?
Elros: None can know for sure until word comes from the North… [as he speaks, a lone rider is glimpsed way off on the winding approach to the stronghold. The brothers exchange a glance and promptly race back towards the stronghold. Cut.]

* * *
Eärendil: Thus it became clear that Morgoth's power was broken: the remaining Orcs and his other allies fled, All the pits of Morgoth were broken and unroofed, and the prisoners released…. [we see images of the Vanyar and Noldor carrying out those not able to walk. They weep at the sight of their kinsfolk, haggard, frightened and mutilated.]

The might of the Valar descended into the deeps of the earth to find Morgoth at last at bay, and yet unvaliant – for he had fled into the deepest of his mines and sued for peace and pardon. Thus an end was made of the power of Morgoth in the North and the evil one was bound and humiliated…

[We see Eönwë before Morgoth in a hidden lair, craven and begging for mercy. The Herald of Manwë does not listen to him, instead he hews his feet out from under him, and hurls him down onto his face. The iron crown rolls from his head: Eönwë removes the Silmarils from it into his care. The iron crown is beaten into a collar and placed around Morgoth’s neck. Morgoth is once again bound with the chain Angainor by the Maiar of Aulë, trussed so that his head is bowed upon his knees.

Morgoth is brought forth to the light where he has not been since his torture of Húrin many years ago. And so many see the greatest enemy for the first time: still a dark figure, like a black thundercloud, but no longer emanating the fear that tears at their minds and souls. Cut back to Amon Ereb]

Messenger: Many of Morgoth’s former servants came forth voluntarily to sue for pardon, after it was clear that Morgoth's power had been broken and all ways of escape from the inner fortress were barred. [leans forward in a whisper] They say even Sauron Gorthaur appeared silently from the shadows, in a shape of almost heartrending beauty, yet as humble as a truly regretting sinner…

Maglor: [breathes] Truly?
Maedhros: [Scowls darkly, remembering the torture he received under Morgoth’s lieutenant] And was Eönwë swayed by his deception?
Messenger: I fear such was the power of Gorthaur’s chosen form that many of the Maiar were moved and willing to forgive him his atrocities…

[fade in to clip of Sauron humbling himself before Eönwë]

Eönwë: It is not within my power to grant or withhold mercy, hence you must go before the Valar themselves for pardon.
Sauron: As you command, Lord [bows low ] Though I would beg one boon, if I might? [Eönwë nods] I would know what the fate of my former master is to be.
Eönwë: [heavily] Melkor is to be thrust beyond the Door of Night into the Timeless Void.
Sauron: [seems to lose his calm for the first time and he visibly trembles, true fear apparent in his eyes; he swallows nervously] Lord, I would ask time to consider before subjecting myself to Great Manwë’s judgement…
Eönwë [inclines his head in acknowledgement and Sauron moves away from the Herald’s presence…]

Finarfin: [watching from one side] I do not believe it… One so cruel does not repent so easily…
Ingwion: Only the Valar can know what is truly in the heart of one of their own. One must not measure him in the terms of a Child of Eru, or in the light of our own hate...

[Fade back to Amon Ereb]

Maglor: [Addresses messenger] Still, you bring us momentous news - Angband overthrown, and Morgoth captured and banished from Arda, never to return. [turns to Maedhros] Did you not say, long ago- "We will see Morgoth brought to ruin, regardless of the cost. I swear it, brother"? Your words were prophetic indeed!
Maedhros: [somewhat sourly] Indeed…although, to our shame, we have played no part in his downfall…But more importantly, the Silmarils have been recovered from the Enemy: One may grace the sky, forever unobtainable, but the other two now reside with the victorious host of Aman, I will compose a message demanding the return of the Silmarils to this House, that we might fulfill our oath at last.
Maglor: If the Valar will release the gems to us and allow us to finally redeem our accursed oath, let them do as they wish with us after that - I no longer care! I would not protest any punishment they choose to administer to me - even death - so long as they allow us to fulfil that unbreakable vow! [Cut.]

[Cut to the twins arriving back breathlessly as the messenger makes ready to leave. Maglor and the Twins watch with varying levels of anticipation as the messenger rides out from the keep.]

Elrond: [anxiously] What news does he bring?
Maglor: He spoke of Morgoth's defeat; of the victory and the summoning of the Elves of Beleriand to join the Host of the West ‘ere they depart from Middle-earth … [Camera focus on twins reactions. Cut.]


[Cut to Maglor and twins in the main hall of the keep, where he has been giving them the full account…]

Maglor: I do not know whether you are beholden to Eönwë's command, my sons, or whether you are free to wander as you choose. But for my part, I have kept you too long. If you wish to go, then go with my blessing and my love.
Elros: [dismayed] You will not obey Eönwë's summons, even now?
Maglor: [stares into the fire.] My brother and I have not yet taken council on what is to be done. [bows his head] You see, the Silmarils have been recovered. They are in Eönwë's keeping.
Elrond: So they are retrieved at last. Oh, Maglor, will you not come with us, and forget that wretched oath? It will kill you!
Maglor: [smiles wryly] An oath cannot be lightly set aside…surely I have taught you better than that? After Eönwë ’s reply we will know better where we stand. We will at least see you safely returned to your kin.

Elros: [somewhat harshly] It is clear that not all Melkor's chains were broken when he was vanquished; But we would part from you in friendship, even if afterwards we should meet again as enemies. [Fade]

* * *

[Fade in to shot of the Moritarnon opening between mighty basalt jambs, carved with the shapes of hideous dragons. The blackness of the cold chasm is almost painful to behold, and even the Maiar surrounding their prisoner seem to quail at the sight, as a dark aura of dread wrap itself around them.

We see the crippled, cowed shape of Morgoth, burdened under the weight of Angainor. As Manwë moves forward to oversee this final judgement he hesitates, desperately hoping to see some faint hint of regret in the diminished Vala. Morgoth turns his piercing eyes on his brother and for a moment a flicker of his former rage and defiance leaps into their black depths...

Manwë sighs heavily and signals Tulkas who moves forward and roughly pushes Morgoth , thrusting him through the doorway . The Void almost seems to leak through the Door of Night to embrace Morgoth as he vanishes into its Timeless depths. Fade.]

* * *

[Fade in on Maedhros opening the reply from Eönwë. He hurriedly reads the few lines of script, his face paling, then sinks to his knees in despair, as we hear the words of Manwë’s Herald:]

Eönwë: Sons of Fëanor: you ask if I will not now yield up those jewels which your father made and Morgoth stole from him…Hear ye well the reply as ordained by the Lord of the West:

“Your right to the work of your father has now perished, because of your many and merciless deeds, being blinded by your Oath. The light of the Silmarils shall now go into the West, whence it came in the beginning: to Valinor must you return also and there abide the judgement of the Valar.”

I will not yield the jewels from my charge except by their decree alone.

Maedhros: [weeping] I should have known better than to hope, for when has hope ever availed me?
Maglor: [crosses to him and takes the letter from his nerveless fingers to read for himself. He considers the words carefully] The Oath says not that we may not bide our time, and it may be that in Valinor all shall be forgiven and forgot and we shall come into our own in peace.
Maedhros: [furious, despite his tears] if we return to Aman but the favour of the Valar is withheld from us, what then? Out Oath will still remain but its fulfilment would be beyond all hope! If we disobey the Powers in their own land, or worse, bring war again to the Blessed Realm, who can tell what dreadful doom they might meet out to us…
Maglor: [stubbornly] But if Manwë and Varda themselves deny the fulfilment of the Oath to which we named them in witness, is it not made void?

Maedhros: It is not in their power to release us from our Oath save by returning the jewels to us, for, mighty though they are, they are not Eru. In His name we swore our Oath, and only He can release us from it. Yet how shall He hear our plea, bound as we are to the Circles of the World?

Maglor: [gloomily] If none can release us then indeed the Everlasting Darkness shall be our lot, whether we keep our Oath or break it; but less evil shall we do in the breaking.
Maedhros: I will not have it said that the House of Fëanor is led by an oathbreaker! We still have once last chance to regain the jewels.
Maglor: How so?
Maedhros: All are summoned to join the Host of the West to celebrate the end of the Dark Power in Middle Earth. There will be feasting and revelry…what better chance to slip in and take backwhat is ours, unnoticed?
Maglor: They would think we have come under Eönwë’s orders, in any case. ‘Tis a good plan. But what of Elrond and Elros? I will not involve my innocent foster-sons in our defiant act!
Maedhros: [shrugs] We will wait until they are asleep. [Fade.]

* * *

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

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[Scene opens on the encampment of the Host of the West, which has been moving East into Thargelion ahead of the rising waters. The camp is spread wide across many spurs and vales in the foothills of the Ered Luin, the sea of canopies and pavilions are clustered in orderly regiments like the sails of a vast fleet tugging at anchor. Preparations are being made for a night of celebration, before the Host returns to Valinor. The contingent from Balar arrives and we see Finarfin joyfully reconciled with his daughter, being introduced to her husband and meeting his great-grandson…(purely visuals, as some things work better not put into words!) ]

[Cut to trumpets sounding as Eönwë steps forward to address the assembled Elves of Beleriand:]

Eönwë: Let it be known that ban on the Noldor is revoked: it is the Will of the Lord of Arda that all the Firstborn of Eru may leave these lands of blood and sorrow and with us take ship back to Aman when the Seas have calmed. [He casts his eye over the assembled Noldor…among the happy faces we see Finarfin smiling at his daughter, though some of the Elves do not look so sure.] However, those who have led the rebellion against the Valar shall be excluded from this grace, as are all who took part in the Three Kinslayings, until they have come before the throne of Manwë and make atonement for their deeds…and thereafter dwell on the island of Tol Eressëa,. [Finarfin’s smile wavers as he glances at Galadriel]

Galadriel: [swallows hard. Holds her head up defiantly.] What wrong did the Golden House of Finarfin do that I should ask the pardon of the Valar, or be content with an isle in the sea, whose native land was Aman the Blessed? I would rather stay here in Middle Earth with our people.
Celeborn: [Recognizing how deeply hurt his wife feels, despite his own sense of relief] That is well, for I too am not ready to leave. We have fought and suffered so much to defend this land…

Eönwë: In recognition of the service of the faithful Houses of Men shall rich reward be given: They shall be given wisdom and power and life more enduring than any other mortals. Andor, the Land of Gift, shall be raised out of the Great Water for the Edain, neither part of Middle-earth nor of Valinor, where they may dwell under our blessing. [The leaders of the Houses of Men bow in acknowledgement and gratitude.]

[A few paces away, Elrond and Elros search for Maedhros and Maglor's pale faces among their followers. They seem forlorn amidst the happy and relieved Elves around them. Fade.]

* * *

[Fade back in on the great feast held to celebrate the end of Morgoth’s Reign of Terror in Middle-earth. Elves and Men and Dwarves sing and dance by the light of bonfires. Maedhros and Maglor, however, are sitting in quiet conversation on a ridgeline above the glittering camp, looking down on the bright torches, the countless banners rustling gently on the night wind, beneath the bright moon. Maedhros is grim and determined while Maglor seems haunted by pain and regret.]

Maglor: [morosely] All those deaths, and for what? We have yet to even touch one of the Silmarils, let alone hold one. We must end this, Maedhros…
Maedhros: [flatly] It is never going to end, Maglor. We swore an oath…
Maglor: [grabs the front of his brother’s tunic to pull him closer. Looks into his face despairingly] Then break it! Break our oath. We cannot live like this anymore. This has gone too far.
Maedhros: [releases his brother’s fingers from his tunic calmly] If we break this oath now, we render all their deaths meaningless. Would you have that? Would you go to the Halls of Mandos and tell our father and our brothers that they died for nothing?
Maglor: They did die for nothing. Their deaths were meaningless, and if we continue on this path then we will die as well. And our deaths will have no more meaning than theirs.
Maedhros: [after a long silence] So be it.
Maglor: [scared] And what is left for us, brother? All we have now is the Oath… and death.
Maedhros: [sadly] Oh, Maglor... do you not see? That is all we have ever had. [Fade.]

* * *

[Cut to Elrond and Elros sitting as guests of the lords of the Vanyar. They are captivated by the minstrels' accounts of the battle and their father's own part in it, delivering the very heavens from the dragons’ fire.]

Elros: [beaming, exclaims] I wish I had seen it!
Elrond: [quietly, in mingled joy and grief] I do not believe we will ever see him again. They say he and Naneth are accounted Eldar now… But it is not so for he is bound forever to the sky and the Silmaril.
Ereinion: [wearily] Do not think badly of your parents, son of Eärendil. They did what they had to do. I know your father would have stayed for you both if he could have done so, but some of us are not given the luxury of having a choice.
Elrond: Eönwë calls it a gift!
Elros: It seems more like a Doom to me…
Ereinion: If you chose, you could take ship with the host of the Valar. It might be possible for you to rejoin your parents in Valinor… There are many of your kin who would be happy to care for you – not least myself, though I will not be leaving Middle-earth as long as any of my people remain here.
Elros: [frustrated] No matter what we do, we will lose someone we love… it is not just. How can the Valar claim that Maedhros and Maglor have not suffered enough?
Elrond: [looks less sure] How can one repay for the dead of Alqualondë, Doriath and Arvernien?
Elros: [grasps his twin's arm.] Elrond, I do not want to decide for both of us. And if you wish to seek our parents, I understand. But I cannot abandon those who have cared for us. If they are condemned to remain here, I will stay at their side....
Elrond: [sighs and embraces his twin] I, too, am torn, for I would not be parted from you, Elros.
Elros: [nods] Nothing will come between us. [Fade.]

* * *

[Fade back in to shortly after midnight. We hear the noise of fighting. Elros awakes jumps up and quickly seizes his sword, fearing some Orcs in seek of revenge might be attacking the camp. He rouses Elrond quietly. The two listen, realizing that they can hear only fair Elven voices. Move quietly outside and see a commotion around the tent where the two Silmaril are being kept. Heading cautiously over to join the others already on the scene, the boys shrink back at the horrific sight:

The three Vanyarin guards lie slain, Maedhros and Maglor stand above them, their blood-stained swords still drawn. From all directions spears, swords and arrows are aimed at them. Proud and fearless the sons of Fëanor face their opponents.]

Vanyar Elf 1: Let them die!
Sindarin Elf: Kinslayers!

[The circle around the two brothers narrows. Finarfin arrives and urges his great-grandson to the right with him, between the brothers and some of the most outraged Elves while murmuring calming words to the angry crowd. Edain and Dwarves are also in the crowd that is gathering. Someone pushes against Ereinion and he shoots a warning glance at the Elf. Suddenly a sonorous voice rings out from behind, and all weapons are lowered instantly.]

Eönwë: Hold! What madness drives you, sons of Fëanor, to spill the blood of Elves anew - and here in the presence of the Blessed stones?
Maedhros: [does not flinch before the condemnatory tone in Eönwë’s voice. There is a fey light in his eyes reminiscent of his father's.] We only claim what is ours. The oath still stands: whoever takes the Silmarils and keeps them from us shall suffer our vengeance! [A shudder runs through the crowd at these terrible words.]

Ingwion: [furiously] Oath? Curse, I name it, and it has haunted the Noldor and Teleri long enough. Now you involve the Vanyar by murdering my people! Give up the stones and let peace prevail.
Eönwë: [casts a stern glance at the brothers] What claim you might have ever had to the Silmarils is forfeit because of all the terrible deeds you have committed in the pursue of your Oath.
Maedhros: [contemptuously] And what right do the Valar have to grant or withhold from us the work of our father's hands? One of the Blessed Stones is in their possession already and they have not seen fit to return it to us.
Eönwë: [points to the night sky.] Do you begrudge the world the Star of High Hope? There are still two left for you.
Maglor: And what about him? [nods towards Celebrimbor.] Our nephew is still his father's son. There are three heirs of Fëanor here.
Celebrimbor: [takes a startled step back, raising his hands in defence. I renounced my father’s Oath long ago….I relinquish any claim to a Silmaril.
Maedhros: [shakes his head angrily] It is yours by right of birth!
Celebrimbor: Then I abandon this right. By the power of the Silmaril alone was Ëarendil able to reach the Blessed Realm. Do you not understand, uncle? The jewel had to leave our family for the sake of Middle Earth. This was the price we had to pay. And I pay it gladly.

Maedhros: If that is your wish you may do as you please, Telpë. Yet we will defend what is ours. We do not stand alone. [looks over his shoulder at Elros and Elrond who he has noticed among the crowd.]
Ereinion: [incensed] Do you dare to drag the sons of Elwing into the mire of your madness? I have failed to protect them before but I will not see them become victims of the Oath nor Kinslayers themselves!
Maglor: [turns to Maedhros, anger in his eyes.] No Maedhros, not my foster-sons… I will not fight against you, brother, but do not bring them into this.

[The twins exchange a long look, seemingly coming to a wordless, mutual agreement.]
Elros: No. We will take no part in this. [They move away from Maedhros and Maglor, and closer towards Ereinion who takes a deep, relieved breath.]
Maedhros: [desperately] Is this how you reward my brother’s love and care - by betraying him?
Elrond: [calmly] We do not betray you, Maglor… How often did you tell us that you took care of us out of love? Is it so difficult for you to see that now we act out of love, too?
Maedhros: [lays his hand on Maglor's shoulder to solace him in his pain.] A strange love that leads to betrayal. But do as you please…you have chosen your fate and we have chosen ours! [He turns to enter the tent behind him where the stones are being kept.]
Finarfin: [cries] Stop! [weapons are raised again and Maedhros hesitates, his head turned. For a moment all are silent and no one moves. Then Eönwë steps between the sons of Fëanor and the other Elves and raises his right hand.]

Eönwë: Let them go. This is the Will of Manwë: the sons of Fëanor shall take the Silmarils and have free leave. No one is to touch them, no one is to hinder them.

[The crowd around them hesitatingly makes room. Maedhros, no way less surprised than all others, goes into the tent and returns to its entrance with a small casket. He shows it to Maglor who touches it carefully, almost reverently. ]

Eönwë: [steps aside and lifts the tentflap.] Go!

[Maedhros and Maglor flee the tent, past the watching and sorrowing host of Valinor, and away into the night.
Their relatives remain in silence, their heads bowed in grief.]

Elrond: [stands motionless, an expression of dismay on his face; he whispers] How could he say something like that? How can they turn from us so easily?
Galadriel: [places an arm around his shoulders, her eyes glazed with a veil of unshed tears as she mourns the cousins and companions of her youth.] The power of the Silmaril and of the Oath of Fëanor is great, and there are few who are able to resist their call. Maedhros and Maglor never had the strength to do so.
Elros: But what will happen to them? Why have the Valar allowed them to take the jewels?

Eönwë: [sadly] The Hallowed jewels shall themselves be the instruments of judgement and retribution, for they will not suffer the unworthy touch of either son of Fëanor. It shall be as Mandos prophesied: the Silmarils shall find their long homes – one in the airs of heaven, one in the fires of the heart of the world and one in the deep waters. [Cut.]

* * *

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

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PostPosted: Thu Jan 09, 2014 5:03 pm 
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Location: Green Hill Country
* * *

[Scene opens on Maedhros and Maglor riding hard, wary of any signs of pursuit. All around them the land is showing evidence of internal upheaval, with steaming fissures and uprooted trees. Tremors can be felt constantly, and the danger of landslide and rock fall are ever present. Eventually they rein in to catch their breath, and they dismount and rest their horses.]

Maglor: [giddy with relief] The two remaining Silmarils reside again with the House of Fëanor! We are no longer bound by those foolish words uttered in impetuous youth that we never should have sworn…
Maedhros: [in quiet contemplation] Can it be that after all the pain and horror, we are finally free?
[He opens the chest slowly: the radiance the Silmarils emit is dazzling, almost blinding. The light seems to call to the brothers, promising to drive away the darkness that has slowly and inexorably smothered them over the centuries.]

Maglor: [in awe] I had almost forgotten how beautiful our father's creations truly are...
Maedhros: [full of hope] So pure, so…clean…perhaps they are our redemption, Maglor?

[Reverently he reaches out and takes up a jewel in his hand…likewise, Maglor reaches for the other. At first, the Silmarils are cool to the touch, then the gems flare into sudden brilliance as the two Elves admire their prizes Maglor gasps as hot, searing pain jolts up through his arm and drops his Silmaril to the ground. He looks across to Maedhros who still holds onto his Silmaril tightly in his blistered and blackened hands.]

Maglor: [concerned] Are you mad? Put it down!
Maedhros: I cannot!
[Crying out, he reels backwards as pain and fire and black despair tear through his body in thundering waves, burning away his senses Clutching the Silmaril to his breast even though the pain and the heat of the blazing gem nigh-unbearable, Maedhros staggers to his feet and runs blindly... As he runs we see the faces of the Elves that have been slain in pursuit of their Oath flash past in his mind's eye…

Remorse, self-pity and regret well up within him and finally he cries aloud to Erú, for mercy and forgiveness… Violent tremors throw him to the ground, and in front of him a great fissure opens up in the earth, revealing a vast torrent of lava. Spires of fire spring up from the chasm as if calling the burning Silmaril. Maedhros crawls towards the chasm as Maglor staggers into view behind him…]

Maedhros: [crazed with pain and madness he laughs wildly] I understand now… It is as Mandos foretold - the fates of Arda, earth, sea, and air, lie locked within them. [he stands, wavering at the edge.] My path is clear to me… [He raises the Silmaril to gaze on its glory and beauty one last time then simply steps from the lip of the chasm and plunges into the fiery depths below, bearing the Silmaril to its blazing tomb.]

Maglor: [screams and sinks to his knees in grief. Cut.]


[Cut to Maglor returned to their packs and horses; numbly he looks at the Silmaril still lying where he dropped it. He picks up the jewel with the corner of his cloak and returns it to the chest.. Mounting once more he heads for the nearby coastline where he pauses, looking down at the huge, crashing waves from upon a high bluff. Cut]


[Cut to Maglor alone on the shore: Taking the jewel once more into his hand he grimaces as it burns him with its deadly frost, but this time he welcomes the pain. As he looks at the Silmaril in his blackened, smouldering hand a single tear falls upon it. Raising his arm, he throws it far out to sea with one smooth motion. It arcs high in the sky, like a shadow of a star, then it falls, sinking beneath the waves with barely a splash. At the same time the sea calms and a white mist begins to rise off the surface. Maglor bends down and soothes his ruined hand in the cool water. He utters a keening wail of absolute desolation, holding a long wavering note until he can sustain it no more. He repeats the action as a lament gradually begins to take form. Taking out his harp he plucks a note, moving his damaged fingers painfully in an attempt to play a tune…swirls of mist wrap around the figure, gradually obscuring him from view…

Camera fades back in on a chain of fading footprints leading away down the shore. Camera pans up and we see a distant figure wandering along the shoreline, barely visible in the mist and spray. His lone voice can be heard on the breeze in a lament of pain and regret… Fade.]

* * *

[Scene fades in on Elrond with Ereinion in the King’s tent. He is showing interest in the maps and documents on Ereinion’s desk. Sighing, he looks up at Ereinion.]

Elrond: Do you think maybe we could have dissuaded Maglor?
Ereinion: He made his choice, Elrond. He did not have to help Maedhros, he chose to do so. I know you still care for him, but you cannot save someone who does not want to be saved.
Elrond: I is my mind, he was the closest thing to a father we have ever truly known. [bows his head, whispers] I will miss him…
Ereinion: [sighs, putting an arm round Elrond's shoulders in sympathy. He glances up as Eonwë enters.]

Eönwë: [acknowledges Ereinion and turns to Elrond] Elrond, son of Eärendil, where is your brother? I would speak with you both…
Elrond: Elros is in the camp of the Edain who fought on our side. He has been spending a lot of time amongst Men lately…the families of those who fought have been arriving steadily and their number has nearly doubled in size.
Ereinion: I will have him sent for at once… [signals to a page who runs off with the message. He offers wine to Eönwë who refuses with a smile, but Elrond takes a goblet gratefully whilst they wait. ] I expect he is down on the shore with the shipbuilders…both Círdan’s people and the Edain are working hard to build more ships from the fallen trees to make their journeys to the west. Young Elros has the mariner’s blood in him, that much is obvious. [the sound of light feet is heard approaching, and Elros enters the tent breathlessly. He bows to the Herald of Manwë and to Ereinion.]

Elros: My Lords…
Eönwë: The Valar have taken council on behalf of you, sons of Elwing and Ëarendil. As you are Half-Elven, your fate is not bound and you cannot be judged as either Elf or Man. So to you this grace is granted: to choose whether you want to be counted among the race of Elves or of Men and to share their fate.

[The brothers exchange astonished glances. Neither of them speak and the air is heavy. Ereinion watches them in their surprise. Regaining some of his own composure, he instinctively steps forward, halfway between the young brothers and the Herald.]

Ereinion: [frowning slightly] It is a grave and difficult decision you want them to make, my Lord. How much time are they given to contemplate their answer?
Eönwë: [recognizing the protectiveness in the King's bearing] I will give them until the moon has waned and regained full shape again. [Cut.]

* * *

[Cut to Finarfin’s quarters within the camp. We join a conversation between Finarfin and his daughter.]
Finarfin: [softly pleading] Will you not return with us, Daughter, back to your home and family? I would have you and Celeborn both accompany me.
Galadriel: [shakes her head.] My home is here now, Ada. Though my family are in Aman, my love and my life is in this land. I will use all I have learned to help heal its wounds. Celeborn and I both will, together.
Finarfin: [despairing] So - I must return to my beloved Eärwen to tell her that our daughter has chosen to stay in lands ravaged by countless battles and the wrath of the Valar. How can I leave you here to die like your brothers!
Galadriel: Death is not the only thing this land holds: There is life also! Honour, power, hope, friendship, love – I have found all of these here! [softly] Here I am mightier!
Finarfin: My strong, self-willed daughter..still seeking a realm to order as you desire? [places his palm against her cheek] Artanis, tell me truly, why do you refuse the pardon of the Valar?
Galadriel: [reaches for her father, hugging him fiercely. and burying her face against his chest] My heart is proud…too proud to return in failure as I deem it…too proud to humble myself! [whispers] Please say you understand and forgive me, Ada…and that you will help Naneth to accept my decision, too?
Finarfin: [strokes her glorious hair, his blue eyes glazed with tears] Promise me you will return one day?
Galadriel: [smiles up at him] I give you my word: I will return…when it is time.
Finarfin: [kisses her brow lovingly] Ná varna, hinya [subtitled: Be safe, my daughter]

[Finarfin releases her and she leaves the tent. Sighing heavily, Finarfin turns as Ereinion enters.]

Finarfin: And you, too, are sure you want to remain here? What can hold you here where you have lost all those you love?
Ereinion: [lifts the tent flap and lets his gaze wander over the Elves' camp where he can see the fires and hear fair voices singing songs in the Sindarin tongue. Hoarsely:] I miss my loved ones, yes, but these are my people and I cannot abandon them. They have accepted me as their lord and this binds me to them.
Finarfin: The Noldor have peace at last, Ereinion, they do not need you anymore… Many of them are going to leave for the West, and the lands of Beleriand are no more.
Ereinion: Yet some will remain, and other Eldar still dwell here, lingering, unwilling for now to forsake a land where they have fought and laboured long. I have refugees from every shattered realm to care for: they need somebody to lead them and help them build new homes and communities..
Finarfin: [quietly] If you stay, it may be that further trouble and pain await you…
Ereinion: [stubbornly] Then it shall be as Eru wills. [he sighs.] I can return to the West later, when my task in the Hither Lands is finished and my fate is fulfilled.
Finarfin: [sees the determination on his great-grandson's face; with a weary smile he embraces Ereinion. Fade.]

* * *

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

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PostPosted: Sat Jan 11, 2014 6:17 pm 
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Location: Green Hill Country
[Cut to view of the Great Sea moving faster after it reaches the plains of Anfauglith. Within days it has caught up with the retreating Army of the West. On the shore the two communities of shipbuilders work steadily. Ships' masts and pieces of sails along with stacks of prepared timbers are scattered along the water’s edge. The Men to the south can be heard singing great sailing-songs as they work. Elros and Elrond sit on a stony ridge high above the waters, watching the restless waves.]

Elrond: [sighs heavily] How do we begin to decide our destinies?
Elros: [wryly] They say that to Men alone is granted the ability to shape their own destiny, separate from Eru's designs. [looks at his brother] Have you no thought yet to what you will do?
Elrond: [quietly] Ereinion wants me to stay here, I can tell.
Elros: You do not think he will go to Aman?
Elrond: No. He says that it is not meet for a king to abandon his realm and his people. And Galadriel also means to remain…there is much that I can learn from one who has seen the light of the trees of Valinor.
Elros: Why not go to the West, and learn from the Valar themselves?
Elrond: Then to whom would I teach what I have learned?
Elros: [frowning] So you will stay and become one of them…
Elrond: One of whom?
Elros: One of the Eldar, of course. It would not make much sense to stay with Ereinion if you are going to accept the Gift of death to Men. [moves closer beside his twin.] Elrond, I do not want to become like our foster-parents, haunted forever by past errors and mistakes. Nor will I drag out my life, dwindling and pining as the world changes and I do not. Better by far to live briefly and do great deeds. I think the Edain have the right of it – forging what legacy they can from their talent and the strength of their own will.

Elrond: [harshly] Instead you want to dwindle and be lost forever except in the memory of others?
Elros: I will be in your memory, brother. That does suffice for my taste. And who can say truly what is the fate of the Secondborn? Perhaps there will be a new life for me beyond the circles of the world.
Elrond: [confused and upset ] I promised I would never leave your side. I meant what I said to you. My heart wishes to follow you wherever you go. And yet it tells me at the same time that it would be the wrong decision.
Elros: [sighs and looks away] Then you should follow its advice, Elrond… To be separated will pain us both, but I believe it is the only way we will both achieve our desires You always had a deeper insight into the Music, do not act against it. [after a pause] Have we not learned how an oath can destroy not only its taker but others around him? I release you from that vow, brother, and gladly so. After all, one of us should remain with our kin...

Elrond: I cannot say I understand why you want to live the life of a Mortal... [lays an arm around his brother's shoulder and hugs him firmly.] ...but I love you and I trust in your judgement. I dare say Naneth and Ada will be proud to see a son whom the Eldar esteem highly, yet the Edain consider one of themselves. If you want this, I can accept it. I will keep you in my memory as long as Arda exists...
[Elros returns the embrace and they remain entwined, each comforted by each other's heartbeat, for a long while. Fade.]

* * *

[Scene opens on the tents of the army farriers and smiths where they are busy shoeing horses, re-shaping and sharpening weapons and repairing armour. Celebrimbor is at work carefully polishing out dents in some finely engraved armour as Ereinion comes looking for him.]

Ereinion: Walk with me, Cousin, if you would, for I would know your mind on a matter… [Celebrimbor sets his oiled cloths down and settles in stride beside Ereinion. They wander a little way from the last tents, up a wooded bluff, from where they have a view of the coastline with the mountains behind them.]

Ereinion: I feel responsible for the welfare of Maedhros' people. They are lost, without anyone to care for them or decide their future.
Celebrimbor: They have the same choice as the other Eldar… [contemplates the view.] To the East, the unknown land, where Dwarves and Men also must flee. To the West, Valinor and pardon, if indeed there can be pardon for any who followed the Dispossessed this far.

Ereinion: What is left of your uncles’ people is leaderless, and if they will not accept me then they will look to you for guidance.
Celebrimbor: They look in the wrong place. The Fëanorrim must make their own choices; I will not attempt to hold them together. Besides, I am no leader.
Ereinion: [smiles] You cannot say that until you have been tried.
Celebrimbor: Why should they look still to Fëanor’s line? Why any of them still follow is beyond my comprehension.
Ereinion: [shrugs] For good or bad, those who have followed so long will still look to your House. And you are the last.
Celebrimbor: [sighs] What would you have me do?
Ereinion: Take the lead, at least for a while. All else will be your own choice. I do not lay any further duty.
Celebrimbor: [nods] I will do what I can. I do not wish to go to Valinor, where my lineage can be only a shadow of things that ought never to have happened.
Ereinon: [places hand on Celebrimbor’s shoulder] Some would indeed name it ill-luck to have been born into that House, Telpë
Celebrimbor: [resolutely] I cannot flee from my inheritance…which is why I must embrace it: My skill comes from Fëanor by birth, tutored by my father, Curufin. [smiles] If my people are willing, we will go East with you, where there might be work to do even for Fëanor’s heir, and a chance for new beginnings.
Ereinion: Whatever the future brings, you will always be part of my family, and welcome among my people… [they clasp arms in the Elven manner. Cut.]

* * *

[Cut to Elros and Elrond waiting silently outside Ereinion’s tent, both feeling nervous . Eönwë’s voice summons them within and they enter to find the tent bathed in a golden light Although wearing the form of the Eldar, his maia spirit emanating through the sheath of his physical form like the sun filtering through the leaves of a tree.]

Eönwë: Elrond and Elros, you have been summoned here this day to decide with which kindred you wish to be judged. Before the eyes of the Valar, the Powers of Arda you must make your choice, and this shall be your fate within the circles of the world.
[There is deep silence following the Maia's words. ]

Elros: [glances at his brother who smiles sadly. He gathers himself and stands tall and dignified before the Herald of Manwë] I choose the life of a Mortal.
Eönwë: [gazes above Elros’ head, in silent communion with the Valar.] Your wish is granted… [he lays his hand on Elros’ shoulder.] Elros son of Eärendil, you will be the father of a house of Kings. You shall enjoy a life span longer than other Mortal Men, and this grace shall pass to your descendants, for your children will be blessed and your memory shall remain for many ages of the world. [His bright eyes wander to Elrond’s face. Elrond hesitates, knowing this is his last chance to revise his decision. Elros gives him an encouraging smile and nod.]

Elrond: [steps forward] I choose the life of the Eldar…
Eönwë: It is granted… [He places his hand on Elrond’s shoulder:] Elrond son of Eärendil, you will become wise among the Eldar: you shall be a healer and a nurturer of kings and you shall have deeper insight into the ways of Arda than any other. As long as you dwell in Middle-earth, any children you might sire shall have the choice of Mortality also.

[Ereinion watches the almost trance-like expressions on the twins’ faces with reverence. Eönwë turns his head to look at Ereinion. Foresight overcomes the Herald again. He moves to Ereinion and rests his hand on the king’s shoulder .]

Eönwë: Ereinion Gil-galad son of Orodreth of the House of Finarfin, I foresee that one day you will have to face an enemy you cannot defeat. But in your darkest hour the House of Eärendil will stand alongside you. May the Grace of the Valar go with you.
[ Ereinion bows his head solemnly. Fade.]

* * *

[Fade in on early evening. The camp is beginning to break, with its occupants readying to depart to their various destinations. We see Voronwë standing quietly on the edge of the camp, tracing the ascent of Vingilot with bleary eyes. Eventually he becomes aware of Círdan beside him.

Círdan: You see? Eärendil is alive, and has been blessed by the Valar.
Voronwë: Aye, truly, there is hope yet for the peoples of Middle-earth.
Círdan: The Host of the Valar are leaving, going back to Aman: the road to follow is again open to the Exiles.
Voronwë: [nods] And pardons granted to those who would come home again. [turns to Círdan] My friend, I am weary beyond joy, and I yearn to see the Western shores again...
Círdan: Then why do you linger?
Voronwë: I am torn…I was a fool I for thinking I could keep Tuor’s son and family safe. Yet, how can I leave now his grandsons are returned? I deserve to be called faithless if I desert them in such uncertain times.

Eönwë: [from behind them:] His grandsons’ future is assured: they will become mighty in Arda… [they turn to face the Herald of Manwë] You are not foolish, Voronwë. Faithfully have you kept your watch. Go to your reward now and be refreshed.…Tuor is no doubt wondering why you tarry so long here when he could use your steady hands to help him build whatever ship he is dreaming of next…

Voronwë: [joyfully He lives?
Eönwë: [smiling] He lives, and Idril too. He alone of Men is counted among the Eldar.
Círdan: You see, your task is done, Voronwë for ‘tis now mine to bear and to be faithful. I will remain, to ease the path of those who would take ship for the Blessed Realm.
Voronwë: [embraces his Lord and friend] You have the watch, my Lord… and may the Valar lend wind to your sails! [Cut.]

* * *

[We see a montage of clips of the Elves of Beleriand led by Gil-galad, Círdan, Galadriel and Celeborn wandering and sailing along the western coastline which is now near the foothills of the Ered Luin. All along the beaches Elves and Men wander, gathering driftwood for fuel, or to build temporary shelters.

Entering Lindon, they reach a point the Sea has breached the mountain range; Facing them is the wide expanse of the Gulf of Lhûn.

The refugees wander inland along the sound until finally they reach the estuary of the river Lhûn,flowing broad and strong. To the northern side the bank curves in a natural basin, hinting at the potential for a safe port for many ships. Círdan moors alongside and disembarks to confer with Ereinion.]

Ereinion: Well, my friend? The land is covered to the north and south by vast forests which could provide the necessary timber…
Círdan: [examines the nearest trees] Truly, there is not only abundance but quality also. And stone could be quarried easily from the foothills nearby.
[Turning to the shore itself, the old mariner gazes out over the peaceful waters and the gulls that circle high above them; we see in his mind’s eye sturdy walls of stone lining and surrounding the harbour, with warehouses and workshops and graceful houses terracing the slopes above. He hears the voice of Eönwë in his mind:]

Eönwë: [voiceover] Hail, Círdan, Shipwright. Here you have found the place to fulfil your purpose. For you shall build the ships which will bring the Eldar into the West as long as they desire to return.

Círdan: [nods to himself, a new light of understanding in his fathomless eyes.] This is the appointment which I have awaited for so long. We will build a haven and I will dwell by these grey shores until the last ship sails. [Looks out towards the grey sound and the sea beyond:] I shall name this place Mithlond, the grey Havens, for you shall be the gateway to the West for our people!

[Camera pans the bay as gulls circle and cry overhead and the subtle sounds of a future harbour are heard as the sun breaks through the grey clouds. Fade.]

**********************************HERE ENDS THE QUENTA SILMARILLION************************************

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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