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PostPosted: Wed Feb 01, 2012 7:14 am 
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Season 4 Episode 3

[Fade into scene of Thingol sitting morosely on his throne in Menegroth: He looks grim and despairing. He clutches one of Lúthien’s old toys. Melian approaches but he barely acknowledges her presence. She sits in the throne beside him, and gently places her hand on his in a comforting gesture. He looks up into her face.]

Thingol: Do you not know where our daughter is? Or is it that you know and will not tell me?
Melian: [gently] If I knew where she was, I would tell you, my love, yet that would help but little. What you have set in motion must reach its destiny. Neither you nor I may interfere with its outcome.
Thingol: [covers Melian’s hand with his] I would empty my treasury to have our daughter returned unharmed. I miss her dearly… [Melian nods, sympathetically, then suddenly the doors of the hall are opened and two elven warriors are ushered in. Thingol sits up eagerly as the Elves make their way through the hall. Melian looks askance at Thingol]
Thingol: [abashed] I sent them shortly after Lúthien had escaped from Hirilorn. I asked them to try to persuade her to return home. Now I crave any news of her to know she is safe…

[Mablung, Captain of the Guard, and Beleg Strongbow, Cheiftain of the Marchwardens of Doriath, approach their majesties and bow. The King and Queen look eagerly from one to the other, hopeful of news:]

Mablung: I am sorry, my King and Queen, but we found no trace of Lúthien or indeed of the mortal, Beren.
Beleg: While searching, we thought several times we heard her voice; but when we followed it, we found no sign of her.
Thingol: [sighing] If my daughter wishes not to be found, then found she will not be.
Mablung: We are very sorry – indeed, the whole of Doriath grieves with you for the loss of our princess…
Thingol: [despairingly] How I curse the Fate that this Afterborn has brought upon us… since the morning my daughter fled, it is as though the starlight has failed above us and the shadows of Angband have already crept over this realm, putting fear into every heart…

Beleg: Indeed, Lord, as you know, all of our woodland folk have hunted with tearful eyes beneath the beeches and oaks for her. It seems that many have strayed past your Majesty’s protection, and, leaving the Guarded Realm, have become dazed…their senses disorientated. They have not returned to these lands, and maybe never will.
Mablung: [in hushed tone] I sorrow to tell that Daeron was among them: pouring out his anguish in song in the hope that she might hear him. He wandered heartbroken and forlorn, and forsaking the bounds of Doriath, he has vowed to neither rest nor end his journey till he has found her.

[Thingol shifts uncomfortably, and Melian closes her eyes against the pain she senses among her people. Mablung and Beleg again bow and start to take their leave. They have barely turned away when trumpets sound, and a messenger is admitted. The figure is wrapped in a dark cloak, bearing the star of Fëanor as an emblem. He strides swiftly before the King and Queen.]

Noldor Elf: Your Majesties: I bring a message from my master, the Lord Celegorm, who currently resides in the realm of his cousin Finrod…your kinsman also. He sends tidings regarding your daughter, Lúthien Tinúviel.
Thingol: [rising from his throne] He has seen her? Where? Is she safe? Tell me, Envoy, at once!

[The envoy brings forth scroll with a flourish and hands it to Thingol who tears it open and reads it eagerly. Camera close up of Thingol’s hands gripping the missive tightly, his knuckles going white as he reads. Finally he slams the scroll down in his lap in disgust. Melian takes the scroll from Thingol and reads the message for herself.]

Thingol: [with barely controlled ire] Those deceitful, power-craving kinslayers have the temerity to hold my own daughter hostage, demanding her hand in marriage with my blessing or they will keep her shut up in Nargothrond and we shall not see her again!
Noldor Elf: My Lords have also expressed their hope that Beren’s Quest will fail, and that he doest not return from Angband in triumph, for their oath will not permit their father’s gem to abide in other hands.
Thingol: [in disgust] And if the Quest is, by some small chance, successful? What then?
Noldor Elf: Should Beren succeed in bringing a Silmaril here, the House of Fëanor will declare a seething tide of war and hate until you return the gem to them in shame…
Beleg: [incredulously] Cannot King Finrod control his house guests better? I am amazed that he condones such actions carried out under his nose!

Noldor Elf: [smugly] Felagund joined the mortal’s foolish Quest two months ago…leaving his kingdom in the less than capable hands of his nephew Orodreth. Alas, the likelihood is that neither Finrod nor the Adan will return. In which case, Finrod’s line is ended, and the people of Nargothrond do not support Orodreth, favouring the sons of Fëanor instead.. It is only a matter of time before Lord Celegorm claims Narog’s throne!
Mablung: Aha! Now all becomes clear…the loathsome brothers see the opportunity to unite two kingdoms under the banner of Fëanor: firstly Nargothrond by usurping Finrod’s chosen heir, Orodreth, then through marriage with Lúthien, Celegorm will try to wrest power in Doriath! ‘Tis a fiendishly clever plan..
Thingol: [rises from his throne again. Raises voice angrily] My daughter’s hand will not be bought by force or threat of force! [to envoy:] Tell your master that if he does not release my daughter into my safe-keeping immediately, I will lay waste the land of Nargothrond, pursuing its lords to the farthest shores and beyond – yea, even back to Aman to face the solemn judgment they have fled from. Now get you hence with all speed! [envoy bows obsequiously and leaves]

Thingol: [to Mablung and Beleg] Summon forth all strength of arms that lie in Menegroth…we march at once against the North, this time in strife against kin, though it diminishes our honour. Yet glory is still there to be won, and we shall avenge the insult to our kindred. [Mablung and Beleg nod and hurry away to carry out the kings orders.]
Melian: [turns to Thingol, aggrieved] My heart misgives me sore, my Lord. I believe you have wrought an evil deed, seeking our ruin. I would forbear on you not to fight, but my inner sight tells me that the two armies of Nargothrond and Doriath shall not meet whilst you remain King in Doriath.
Thingol: [shrugs off her concern] Do not cause me to scorn you, wife…I shall take no heed of omens, nor shall I renege on my vow of vengeance on the lords of Nargothrond. And if that mortal by some chance should be successful, I shall most eagerly lay Fëanor’s gem in my hoard.
Melian: [sadly] Then our fate is sealed by haughty pride. [Fade.]

* * * * * * *

[Camera fade in on path leading up to walls of Himring. It is late afternoon, with long shadows. Camera focus on Rough Elves moving up the path, carrying their few possessions. They are flanked by a company of armed Elves. Rough Elves look tired and discouraged. As they reach the walls a small door opens for them.

Rough Elves and their escorts enter Himring Courtyard. Elves and Men stop what they are doing to stare at the newcomers. Camera pan over Courtyard; we see both male and female Elves and Men. Most begin talking low to companions, commenting on the Rough Elves appearance and manner. Rough Elves draw more closely together. Camera shift right as Maedhros and Maglor enter. Maglor carries a bottle of wine and a cup. The residents of Himring turn to see what their lord will do.]


Maedhros: [projecting voice] Welcome to our home, kinsmen and friends long separated and missed. [Maglor fills cup, Maedhros takes cup and offers it to Nassë.] A Greeting Cup given to show our gladness that you have accepted our invitation.
Nassë: [glares, takes cup, drinks. Speaks sarcastically] I thank you, Lord, for your charity in opening your fine doors to such poor wretched creatures as we are. Pray, where will you store us now that you have acquired us? [Camera pan Courtyard. Elves and Men are surprised by Nassë’s tone, now look unfriendly. Camera shift to Maedhros, tense.]
Maedhros: [lowers voice] Lady, we have not had much time to make room for your people. Yet we have beds prepared, and such comforts as we have to offer are yours. If you will follow me? [gestures right. Nassë nods. Maedhros leads her off screen, right. Most Rough Elves follow. Camera shift to Maglor, who approaches Eldacala and hesitantly offers her the bottle. Eldacala eyes him for a moment, then takes the bottle and drinks.]
Maglor: If my brother and your friend had not carried the cup away with them I would welcome you properly. [hesitates] I have something to show you, something I think you will like. Will you come? [Eldacala nods. Maglor offers her his arm, but she steps back. Maglor nods and exits upper right, Eldacala follows. Camera pan courtyard, fade.]

* * *

[Camera open on hall inside Himring. Maglor enters left, pushes open a door, and steps inside a workroom that seems to have been little used. Eldacala follows, keeping distance from Maglor until she sees the workroom. She darts around him and hurries to the racks of tools on the wall. Eldacala lifts sections of leather piled on a bench, examines arrow heads in a basket. Camera shift through a door, focus on a smithy with an open front, partially seen from the workshop. Camera shift back and focus on Eldacala, her eyes shine with joy. Shift to Maglor, smiling.]

Maglor: We have a few among us who craft with metal and leather. They keep us armed and armored, but none have such skill as you show.
Eldacala: [smiles, nods]
Maglor: I would ask one favor of you, Lady.
Eldacala: [nods, tips head, interested]
Maglor: Since my brother lost his right hand, he has become a most capable swordsman with his left. I do not fear for his skill in battle, but he has no shield to guard his open side. Can you fashion some way for Maedhros to carry a shield, even if it is a small one, on his right arm?
Eldacala: [frowns, nods]
Maglor: I would bless you for it. Now come and I will show you where you will sleep. [Camera pulls back as they exit Workshop. Cut.]

* * *

[Camera cut to Training Yard. Focus on Maedhros, who is fighting four opponents. All have wooden swords. Borlach and Borthand watch, along with a crowd of Elves and Men. The fight is vicious, with the combatants concentrating so hard on the battle that they ignore what is going on around them. All are armoured, but they now show bleeding bruises.

Camera shift screen right. Eldacala enters, carrying a metal buckler backed with thick leather. The buckler has a narrow, raised boss. She pushes through the watchers and waits at the edge of the crowd and waits for the fighters to pause. As soon as they stop for breath she darts to Maedhros and catches his right arm.]


Maedhros: [startled] What are you doing!? [pulls away, Eldacala grabs his arm again and tries to place the buckler.] Leave me alone!
Maglor: [approach at a trot] Relax, Brother. I think she has a gift for you. [lays a hand on Maedhros’ shoulder.]

[Camera focus on Eldacala as she positions the buckler. Camera shift to back of buckler where we see a leather sleeve and a pair of straps with buckles that fasten the buckler to Maedhros’ maimed arm. Eldacala shows Maedhros how to slip his arm into the sleeve and fasten the buckles with his left hand; he can fix the shield without help. Maedhros shakes his arm, then swings it violently. The buckler stays in place.]


Maedhros: [pleased and surprised] This is splendid! [to his opponents] Come at me! All of you!

[The four Elves attack Maedhros. Maedhros defends with his shield alone, using the raised boss to catch their swords and the edge of the buckler as a blunt trauma weapon. Maglor grabs Eldacala and carries her to the edge of the crowd as the fight escalates. Finally only Maedhros is standing, his sparring partners are too battered to rise but all are smiling. Maedhros approaches Eldacala and drops to one knee.]

Maedhros: Aulë blessed us the day he brought you here. [catches Eldacala’s hand and kisses it in homage. Eldacala pulls away quickly and runs, pushing through the crowd. Camera follows her, then cut back to Maedhros, who is confused by her reaction. Nassë steps out of the crowd, shaking her head.]

Maedhros: [confused] I only meant to thank her –
Nassë: She does not like to be restrained in any way. If you would thank her, ask her to create something for you. That is her way: to be left alone with a project to complete.
Maedhros: [thinking aloud] What could I… [Camera shift right to Maglor, who has picked up one of the wooden swords and is showing Borthand some basic blows.] I wonder . . .
Nassë: I have not found anything beyond her talents. Now she has proper tools, wood, leather, and steel. Do not hesitate to ask what you will.
Maedhros: Then I shall set her a task of the heart. [exits right, following Eldacala. Camera shift to Nassë, who looks confused. Camera 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: Wed Feb 01, 2012 9:55 pm 
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[Scene opens just as before Dawn on the banks of the Sirion. In the moonlight, Lúthien and Beren approach the bridge that leads to the haunted isle of Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Faintly a song comes to their ears of the Seven Stars, the sickle of the Valar, that Varda hung in the sky to signify the fall of Morgoth. ]

Lúthien: [halts Huan] Surely that is the voice of my Beloved…he lives still! [With anxious tears, she dismounts and, casting back her hood, starts to sing back to him a song of the wonders of Doriath, of the nightingales singing in the trees.]

*

[Cut to Beren in the dungeon. He lifts his head in amazement as he hears Lúthien’s voice]

Beren: Tinúviel! [he sings louder for a few bars, then stops and puts his head in his hands] Nay, surely I am but dreaming…and yet it is a good dream! [he continues to sing until all strength has left him and he falls unconscious. Cut.]

*

[Cut back to Lúthien who sings a song of greater power in challenge to Sauron. The wolves howl, and a trembling can be felt in the ground.]

*

[Cut to Sauron standing in the high tower, wrapped in his black thought; he smiles hearing her voice]

Sauron: Do you know to whom that lovely voice belongs, Draugluin? [looks down at wolf reclining by his feet.] Surely it is Lúthien, daughter of Thingol and Melian. What brought the foolish fly to my web, I wonder? Well, she is more courageous than I would have guessed. If I were to capture her and hand her over to Morgoth, my reward would be great, [smirks] although first I would reward myself with her. [turns to Orc awaiting orders by the door] Send a wolf to force her across the bridge and into the Tower!
Orc: As you wish, my master. [exits down the tower]

*

[Cut to gatehouse of the fortress leading to the bridge. Moments later a wolf coming running across the bridge. As he nears the shore he sniffs the entrance of the bridge. Fear suddenly grips him, although he does not know why. Then Huan darts from under Lúthien’s cloak. Before the wolf realizes, and with a strike like a snake, Huan’s teeth are sunk deep into his windpipe. The wolf doesn’t even have a chance to yelp. He is then dragged by Huan off the edge of the bridge and down into Sirion’s rolling waters.

Sauron sends other werewolves one by one; and Huan takes each of them by the throat and slays them.
Sauron is shown from the inside of his tower room watching while Lúthien still stands calmly on the far shore. Angrily, Sauron turns to Drauglin.]


Sauron: What devilment is this that overcomes my fiercest servants? Can my wolves not overpower one small Elven-maid? Drauglin, sire of all werewolves, arise…the time has come for you to show the whelps how it is done.
[Drauglin rises, showing the scars of many battles. His hide has become toughened and ragged over time. He races to meet Huan. Huan and Drauglin fight in a fierce battle. Both show great strength and determination. Huan is scratched often but always keeps back the poisoned fangs of the werewolf. Eventually, Huan catches the back of Drauglin’s neck and holds him until his life is nearly spent. At the last minute, Drauglin breaks free and runs in fear to the fortress. Huan gives chase but stops at the bridge’s end. Lúthien uncovers herself and runs to Huan.]

Lúthien: Huan, how badly are you hurt, my friend? [Ignoring his wounds, Huan snuggles into her embrace as she caresses his face. They watch as Draugluin limps into the Tower.] We had better hide beneath the cloak again. Who knows what Sauron will do when he sees that Draugluin has been so badly injured. [Cut.]

*

[Cut to scene of Draugluin crawling through the doorway to Sauron’s throne room. His nose is nearly to the floor as he walks slowly toward the throne, and blood pours from his wounds. ]

Draugluin: [slowly looks up at Sauron and laboriously whispers] Huan…is…here. [He then falls dead at Sauron’s feet. Sauron remains expressionaless, showing no sign of remorse.]
Sauron: [ponders] Huan??? Well I know the fate decreed for the hound of Valinor: that he shall not die until he has faced the mightiest wolf that walked the world… [a sudden thought strikes him and he smiles, pleased with himself] It seems to me that I might accomplish his death myself!

[Dropping his robes from his shoulders, Sauron once more takes on the form of a mighty werewolf, one and a half times bigger than Draugluin. He runs forward to block the passage of the bridge. Wolf-Sauron, being a maiar, is not fooled by the cloak of darkness and he runs directly toward Huan and Lúthien.

So great is the horror of his approach that Huan leaps aside, and Sauron springs upon Lúthien; She sees the fell spirit in his eyes and his long yellowish fanged teeth; she feels the hot vapours of his breath, and she swoons. But just as she falls she casts a fold of her cloak before Sauron’s eyes, and he stumbles as drowsiness comes upon him for a fleeting second. It is enough: Huan leaps on him and they roll away from Lúthien. The battle of Huan and Wolf-Sauron commences with howls and baying echoing in the hills.

After a long tussle, Huan finally gets his jaws clamped on Sauron's neck, and pins him down with his huge paws, digging his claws into Sauron's chest.. Sauron then transforms himself into a huge snake. He wraps himself several times around Huan’s body. Huan tightens his grip and shakes his head causing his teeth to penetrate deeper into Sauron’s neck. Snake-Sauron hisses loudly and unwinds. He tries to transform into other creatures but each time Huan’s grip remains unshakeable. Eventually he transforms into his human form. Blood drips from Sauron’s neck and steams as it hits the ground.]


Sauron: [labouring to speak, pleads to Lúthien] Tell him to release me!
Lúthien: [sternly] No, Hound of Morgoth! I have a mind to allow Huan to slay you…. stripping you of your raiment of flesh, so your ghost can go quaking back to Morgoth. There your naked self shall be pierced by his eyes and endure the everlasting torment of his scorn.
Sauron: [cowering in craven cowardice] Nay! I will do whatever you wish!
Lúthien: Then you will render me the keys of this black fortress, and tell me the spell that binds stone to stone. You must speak the words of opening. There is no other choice for you or for me. What say you? Do you yield?
Sauron: [hesitates, but Huan presses harder into Sauron’s chest with his claws] Yes! I yield. I yield the words that rule all the wardings and workings set through the citadel to you! [Gasping and shuddering, he opens his mind to her and as the mastery is passed to her the island immediately becomes brighter as the shadow of evil recedes.

Suddenly a hiss, like adder's, assails Huan’s ears and a sharp pang sears his wounded sides anew; in the instinct of battle, needing no thought, he turns upon the spot and bears down this desperate winged assailant. With the merest expenditure of his strength, Huan crushes and shakes the bat-creature, the bird-thin bones splintering beneath his jaws' power, its slight limbs and lean frame no match, despite the iron barbs, for the huge-muscled weight of the Lord of Dogs. Soon the wretched Thuringwëthil lies a wrecked and empty shell beneath his paw, her fragile wings straggle behind her, like a most hideous butterfly new-crept from its shell of sleep.]


Thuringwëthil: [pathetically] Flee,, Master! Save yourself… [Sauron, having been released by Huan, immediately takes the form of a great vampire bat. Without even sparing a glance for his devoted servant, he flies away like a dark cloud across the moon, dripping blood from his throat upon the trees. Thuringwëthil’s Maiar spirit rises from its broken body, crying after him, but evaporates into the shadows. Huan sniffs at her husk, to prove her spirit has truly fled.

Lúthien and Huan watch as Vampire-Sauron flees from sight. They then hear loud rustling noises within the woods and around the Tower. His servants, realizing that they are lordless and defeated, flee in disarray, those with wings hurling themselves from aerie, shrieking after their lord in their own flight; while orcs hurl themselves into the river, daring Sirion's wrath rather than face the maiden who holds the bridge.

Many are swept under, sucked down by the fast current, not knowing how to swim… Those who make it to shore do not wait to see what comes next…Northward they fly, scattered like Autumn leaves. Lúthien then stands on the bridge, looks toward the tower, raises her hands and announces her mastery as Huan proudly stands beside her:]


Lúthien: I am Lúthien the Elven-daughter of King Thingol and Queen Melian, a Maia of Valinor! I claim the mastery of this Island and all its contents!

[She begins to chant the unbinding spell, bringing forth all her power. The wards that bind stone to stone are broken: Tol Sirion shakes and the gates fall in crumbling ruin; the pinions quake and the dark stones shake and loosen themselves from the grasp of the others, falling, tumbling into piles. The foundations crack and the breaking of treacherous, jagged rocks fills the valley and the silent night. When it ceases at last no rock is left on top of another, all lies in scattered ruin.

Emerging slowly from winding tunnels and cracked openings come many thralls and captives in wonder and dismay, shielding their eyes against the pale moon light, after the darkness of Sauron. But there is no sign of Beren. Not heeding the captives or cries of wonder that escape from their lips, Lúthien looks among the stones, frantically searching for a way to get down to the dark dungeons and tunnels to find her beloved. She and Huan hurry through dark passages, calling his name with increasing desperation.]


Lúthien: [despairing] I fear we have come too late to his aid…

[Eventually they reach the cell where Beren lies unconscious next to the body of Finrod. He does not respond when she calls. Skittering on the slick, blood-covered floor, Huan reaches him first and licks Beren’s face, but Beren in shock doesn’t react. Lúthien kneels beside him, releases his bonds then wraps her arms around him.]

Lúthien: [desperately] Beren… [strokes his face] Beren… [puts his head on her shoulder and hugs him, rocking him gently. Thinking he is also dead, she begins to weep…

Slowly Beren awakens, feeling her warm body beside him. He gazes in wonder at her shadowy hair and her soft white skin. He lifts a hand to her cheek and she turns her trembling lips to kiss it. They gaze upon each other in utter silence, and through the jagged stones the first light of the dawn breaks upon them. Fade]


* * * * * * *

[Camera fade in on Armoring Hall, Menegroth. Elves are arming, filling quivers, checking blades. Camera pan over Mablung and Celeborn, both looking grim. Camera focus on Thingol, looking grim as he belts his hauberk over a padded gambeson. Melian enters, right, distressed.]

Melian: Can we not discuss this?
Thingol: I have made my decision!
Melian: Then you will ignore what counsel I would offer, even at risk of your own –
Thingol: I will have our daughter safe! Be content with that, wife!
Melian: She would even now be safe if you had listened to me when first Beren came to us!
Thingol: By Oromë’s horn! Will you give me no peace!
Melian: You beg for peace while you prepare for war? A war not for justice, but for vengeance? No, husband! I will not be silent on this!
Thingol: [pauses while buckling his sword belt] You will say I am wrong in this? Do you want our daughter wed by force to one of those kinslayers?
Melian: And will you not be just as guilty of the same sin if you bring death to Nargothrond?
Thingol: [firmly] This is different!
Melian: [exasperated] It always is. But I tell you this, my lord and my love: you shall never meet the armies of Nargothrond while you rule here.
Thingol: [chooses a bow from a rack, straps on a quiver] Then perhaps your vision tells me that Orodreth will be reasonable. I vow this to you, wife: I will return with our daughter beside me.
Melian: And if you are too late, and she is already wed to the Fëanorian?
Thingol: [grim] Then I shall make her a widow!

[Thingol exits right. Elves follow. Camera pan over Celeborn and Mablung, who pass Melian on their way out. Celeborn pauses and offers Melian a reassuring smile. Camera follows Celeborn as he stops at the door. Galadriel is just outside. She approaches, embraces him. Camera focus on Galadriel, with tears on her cheeks.]
Galadriel: I have not the foresight of our lady, yet I see no good in this for us.
Celeborn: No fear yet, dear one. I will return before you miss me. [leans close to Galadriel, whispers] I love the life I have too much to take foolish chances.

[They kiss passionately. Celeborn exits right, running to catch up with his mates. Camera focus on Galadriel, watching, nervous. Melian joins her. They embrace, crying. Camera pull back, cut.]

* * * * * * *

[Fade back in a while later, as Lúthien helps Beren up through the rubble of the fortress. Slaves, people from all three races have escaped from the Tower. Some approach Beren and Lúthien:]

Dwilen: I am Dwilen son of Doelen at your service. [the Dwarf bows low, his straggly beard brushing the ground. Another Elf comes from behind Duilen, followed by eight other Elves who are carrying Finrod’s body which has been wrapped tenderly in a cloak.]
Hâlmir: I am Hâlmir of Nargothrond. You were with my Lord when he died?
Beren: [nods] I cannot believe he is gone; every single one of my companions: they are all gone… It should be me lying there. [shoulders shake with emotion] It should be me...
Lúthien: What do you mean?.
Beren: The werewolf that slew him was coming for me when Finrod burst his bonds and slew it. He saved me, but there was nothing I could do for hm. [bows his head disconsolately] Forgive me…I am not worthy of his sacrifice.
Hâlmir: [gently] We blame you not, Beren. Our king loved your people greatly, and he judged your worth wisely.
Lúthien: [wretchedly] If I had but arrived sooner! I surely would have if not for the dark-hearted sons of Fëanor!
Duilen: What do you mean, my Lady?
Lúthien: Celegorm and Curufin imprisoned me in Nargothrond. [Beren, Dwilen and Hâlmir all exclaim in disbelief]

Lúthien: They said they would help me; that we would go to the Caverns first to gather aid. I went with them, and they imprisoned me. Celegorm planned to usurp the throne, learning from me that Sauron had captured Finrod and his companions. Celegorm also desired to marry me to increase their power. They even sent messengers to Menegroth with words to force my father to give my hand to him.
Beren: [angrily thumping his fist into his palm with what little strength he has left] They were the reason why we came with only ten soldiers. The brothers put fear in the hearts of Finrod’s people, using the Oath of Fëanor and threatening all in the kingdom. I have never seen the like before!
Lúthien: Orodreth now rules: the crown is on his head but he has no power… the brothers have the people under their yolk.
Hâlmir: That shall change! Orodreth shall hear of this treachery. I shall tend to this when I return to the Caverns of Narog, But first we must bury our King… [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: Thu Feb 02, 2012 7:48 am 
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[The scene opens on later that day.. A burial mound sits on a hill of Tol Sirion, facing the West and overlooking the river valley. With it, a stone faces west with a bright ray of sunlight hitting its face and highlighting the inscription: “King Finrod Felagund, Beloved Son of Finarfin, Brother, Keeper of Oaths, Greatest Friend to Elves, Dwarves and Men.” In front of the stone a clump of the star-flowered white uilos has been planted . Beren kneels with Lúthien and Huan standing behind, heads bowed. Around them, the newly freed captives bow their heads.]

Lúthien: Despite the victory we have won our hearts are heavy with grief for the loss of King Finrod, our ally and friend. He willingly gave his life for Beren, in payment of an oath sworn to his father. Darkness has been purged from this isle, but it has come with great cost…
Beren: Of the companions we brought with us, none have survived, though each remained loyal unto death. We have buried the bodies of each of them with honour, cleansing the isle of the horrors of Sauron… and marked the place of their rest with the flowers of Evermind that knows no season and withers not.
Hâlmir: Let us vow to always remember this fairest of princes who has died in the dark accepting his fate, fulfilling his vows, and fighting against evil until the very end. And may this green grave remain inviolate, until the land is changed and broken.
[The elves among them begin to sing an elegy in memory of Finrod. When the song is finished, Huan looks to Lúthien. She nods her head and Huan disappears heading south.]


Beren: [takes Lúthien’s hands in his own] Never have I met another with such strength of will as Finrod Felagund…unless it be you, my own beloved and determined Lúthien! [twists the ring on his finger] One day, if fate and the Powers allow it, I will pass the ring of Barahir on to a child of ours…
Lúthien: [smiles wistfully] First you must recover from your torment and regain your strength. I foresee many trials lie ahead of us, still. In spite of my joy at being reunited with you, my heart has misgivings: I fear our victory is only temporary… We have sent Sauron back to his master, and cleansed his stronghold. But the curse of the Silmarils yet casts a shadow over us. [Beren pulls Lúthien close and they stand side by side, joined together again. Fade.]


* * * * * * *

[Camera pull back from Finrod’s grave on Tol Sirion. Beren, Lúthien, and the newly free Elves stand around the small mound. Camera shift up screen. Finrod stands near the edge of the ruins of the fortress, watching the burial. His form is almost transparent, but recognizable and unmarked by his imprisonment and injuries. A breeze stirs his hair, then grows stronger. Finrod looks again at the mourners, turns to glance at what was his tower, and finally his spirit form wavers in the breeze, floating westward on the current. Camera pan over Mithrim, Dor Lómin, and finally the sea as Finrod’s spirit rides the wind. Camera shift left, focus on the distant shore of Valinor. Camera cut.]

* * *

[Camera open on Western Shore of the Outer Sea. Camera pan over Halls of Mandos to Vairë’s chamber. Vairë sits at her loom, weaving quickly and expertly, in front of a window facing out on to a garden of flowering trees. Námo enters right and hesitates. Vairë senses him and turns on her bench. She smiles and Námo approaches. He lays his hands on her shoulder, embraces her lightly, and examines the weaving.]


Námo: Fëanáro has finished the new clips you asked him for.
Vairë: I am glad of that, for I have several tapestries ready to hang
Námo: You could have had them more quickly had you asked Aulë, you realize.
Vairë: [nods] I could, but our long-term guest seems happier when he has something for his hands to do.
Námo: Wife, you are a marvel. [examines tapestry on loom] You record all their deeds, even those that no one sees.
Vairë: Eru sees everything… [sighs] There is valour in them, and honour, and love, even when their deeds are not sung by bards.
Námo: [soft chuckle] And then you hang these tapestries on the walls so I may forget nothing, good or bad, when one of them comes to me for disposition.
Vairë: Is that not my task, husband?
Námo: And you do it well, my love. You should be pleased. Your labours have offered me a chance to reunite a pair long separated by chance and fate.
Vairë: [frowns, confused]
Námo: Do you not remember the lady Finrod left behind when he followed his uncles and cousins?
Vairë: [looks askance] What have you done?
Námo: [shrugs] I merely sent a message, informing her of his return to us. [Camera focus on Vairë, eager for the reply. Námo remains silent. Vairë nods, encouraging him to tell her..]
Vairë: And what was her reply?
Námo: [smiles enigmatically.] I believe she ran all the way to Irmo’s gardens to wait for him… [Vairë hugs Námo and kisses him breathless. Námo returns her kiss, his shoulders shaking with laughter.]
Námo: I gather you approve?
Vairë: You knew I would. A touch of brightness amid so much tragedy is most welcome.
Námo: You have a while before this part of the story is ready to preserve in your tapestries.
[Vairë kisses him again. Camera pull back, focus on the half-woven image of Finrod’s grave covered in small white flowers. Cut.]

* * *

[Fade in on Finrod kneeling on the floor before Námo who sits on his throne. His incorporeal form is clothed in a white shift. He keeps his head bowed.]

Námo: [sternly] Welcome, Findaráto, son of Finarfin. Do you fear to appear before me? You tarried long on your journey to these Halls…
Finrod: I was reluctant to leave those I cared for…but now I must answer for my past deeds: [wretchedly] I have done what no elf should do…I scorned the Valar in the eagerness and unrest of my youth and the desire to rule a kingdom of my own… I am a king who abandoned my people… I am cursed with the kinslayers. [images of the slaughter of the Teleri flash through his mind. Finrod shudders, shuts his eyes tightly at the memory to stop the tears from falling.]

Námo: [gently] You did not lift a sword against your mother's people, yet you have not forgiven yourself for not stopping the slaughter…Look at me!
Finrod: [takes a deep breath and does as Námo commands, shaking with the effort to keep from flinching as the Valar looks upon him with a fierce gaze.]
Námo: Did you not also build a stronghold and refuge for your people? You opposed the terrible oath of Fëanor, and died in the protection of a mortal man…one whose people you befriended and found a safe dwelling out of the Shadow…

[Námo gazes more intense upon Finrod, who cries out. The Lord of the Dead thrusts images into his mind:

Finrod is back in the dark dungeon. He watches as he gives his life, wrestling with a werewolf, to save a mortal man. Then he sees the beautiful elf maiden Lúthien burying him, and a green grave on top of him, until the world changes, sinking into the sea, broken. Then,Beren with a Silmaril in his hand, closing his fist around it…and finally, Eärendil, with the Silmaril upon his brow.

A sudden clarity of understanding hits Finrod. He opens his eyes and finds Námo looking upon him, with compassion. Vairë rests a hand on her husband's shoulder, her eyes crinkling up as a hint of a smile appears on her lips.]


Námo: Now you understood what Vairë has known since she wove your thread along with every other. Your hands may not have touched the Silmarils, but you are a part of their story. No victory over the Darkness may yet be accomplished without your sacrifice.
Vairë: You have earned the love and respect of all the Children of Eru. You kept your sworn oath of friendship: You did not forsake those who needed your guidance and protection. Because of your generous heart and noble actions in life, you have earned a special honour.
Námo: Your soul will be reborn: you will be the first Elf to be reincarnated and released from these Halls, to dwell in Aman until the world ends.

[A voice is heard behind Finrod, he gasps in recognition]

Manwë: You may stand, Findaráto the Faithful, most beloved by Elves, Dwarves and Men.
Finrod: Lord Manwë, [summons his pride and dignity, stands to face the mighty Valar.]
Manwë: [looks down upon him, his light filling the Hall.] I have always remembered you, and I have always loved you, Child of Eru.
Finrod: [bows deeply.] Thank you, my lord. [hesitates as if there is something else he wants to say, but he cannott bring himself to utter the words., as Manwë stands beside Vairë and Námo,, looking down upon him.]

Manwë: Your father has been charged with governance of all your people. He is in sore need of a good administrator, one who can moderate between competing interests and take some of the burden from his shoulders. Would you be willing to accept this duty?
Finrod: Of course, my lord. I will gladly stand at my father’s side. [puzzled But what of the Doom?
Námo: You have moved beyond that. The Finrod who emerges from my Halls is not the same elf as the one who defied the Powers.
Finrod: [considers thoughtfully] Is death what it takes, then, to be forgiven?
Manwë: Not necessarily. There are as many paths to forgiveness. But it must be earned – through selflessness and service, through atonement.
Finrod: [anxiously] Will my kin return?
Námo: [non-committal] When it is right for them to do so. The process cannot be hastened. Each case is different. Are you ready?
Finrod: For what? [apprehensive] What will you have of me, lord? Am I to wait long in your Halls?
Námo: Not so long, I think. Though it is true that many choose to abide with me and rest the weariness from their souls before they return to service, while others are kept that they may ponder their errors and amend their ways, you are a unique case: You need to resume your interrupted life. You have moved beyond the trials of the Hither Lands. Now you may return to the Blessed Realm. [He raises a hand over Finrod’s spirit form and we see it quiver and glisten as it begins to solidify. Finrod blinks. He moves his arm and watches his hand stretch its fingers, long and pale and responding to his thought. His being is brought together and placed in a shell – a new, clean and unscarred body. He flexes his fingers, like trying on new gloves to see if they fit. A momentary qualm makes him feel nauseous. The Valar watch him, their eyes warm and encouraging.]

Finrod: [bows his head] Where do I go from here?
Námo: [thoughtfully] My brother will take you into his care, until you are ready to take up your new life. Now, I am sure that your parents are anxious to see you. But there is someone else, when you are ready. [waves his hand across Finrod’s eyes and everything fades into white.]

* * *

[Fade in to sunlit scene in Gardens of Lórien, the most beautiful place in Arda. It contains forest groves, flower gardens, silver willows, fountains, and the Lorellin lake, where Estë has her island. A dwelling nearby provides a place of healing, rest and refreshment. and many Elves come there to relax from the cares or burdens of the world. There are also many spirits wandering the gardens.

Finrod is lying on the fragrant banks of the crystal waters of the lake. He opens his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings. After a while he notices a lithe figure, clad in palest blue, her golden hair loose, her feet bare. With her eyes fixed on him, she waits nervously for him to acknowledge her.]

Finrod: [rises to stand unsteadly, murmurs unsure, as though tasting her name on his lips for the first time] Amarië… [breathes deeply] Amarië…Forgive me?

[Stumbling forward, she moves to stand at arms length before him, her golden tresses falling around her face, her eyes soft and trusting, gentle and generous.]
Amarië: What is there to forgive?
Finrod: [hesitantly taking a step a step towards her. ] So much… [awkwardly] And I am not the Elf I was.
Amarië: [crosses the distance between them. Fiercely] You are Findaráto: no matter what has happened to you, no matter what you have suffered, no matter what becomes of you in the Ages to come. You are the honest, true, courageous and loving elf I have carried in my heart over long years. You are my Finrod – you do not need to be anything else.

[Finrod reaches out a tentative hand and brushes his fingers gentle over her cheek, then tangles them in her hair. Trembling she leans towards him. Finrod smiles and bends his head so that their lips meet in a gentle kiss.]
Amarië: [puts her arms around him and holds him to her tightly] I have waited long enough. [kisses him again passionately]
Finrod: [Folds her in his arms as she buries her face against his shoulder.] I will not leave you again, I promise!
Amarië: [softly] You will do what you must till you are fully healed; I will not put limits on you.
Finrod: That seems hardly fair…But I would accept any terms you offer – they would be more than I deserved.
Amarië: [smiles] Love is not a cage. But it is a responsibility. Are you ready for it yet?
Finrod: [gazes at her in adoration] If I am not, I will rely on you to teach me…to let me know when it is time.
Amarië: [looks up, startled.] It is not my decision to make. [laughs] When you are ready, everyone will know!
Finrod: [tentatively, resting his head against hers,] You are right, it may be too soon, but that does not mean I am going to let you go. Once was enough for that. I do not know where my new life will take me or what it will ask of me, but of one thing I am sure. I would have you walk it at my side and I will be content. I love you, Amarië!
Amarië: [pulls apart from him and Finrod shyly meets her gaze, his breath caught in his throat.] My Beloved…I always knew you would come back, I would not forget you, and I have waited for you. [smiles, with tears of joy in her eyes] I love you and I would be your wife! [Finrod exclaims in happiness, spins her around, laughing, kissing and embracing her tightly.

Camera shifts to path leading into the Gardens. Finarfin and Eärwen walk quickly up the path, eager and excited towards the happy couple. Finrod looks up and embraces his parents. Finarfin touches his son on the shoulder, indicating that they should walk a little way alone beneath the trees…]


Finrod: [breaking the silence] So, you are King, now? I dare say that was not the reception you expected when you turned back…
Finarfin: [stops walking] I turned back because it was not right to go on.…not because it was the easy path.
Finrod: Ada, I never believed you guilty of cowardice--
Finarfin: [holds up hand to silence his son] I could not lend support to the murder of your mother’s people. [closes his eyes against tears] There were times – many times – when I wished that I had ignored the voice that had spoken within me and gone with my children to a different fate. No price would have been too dear to save you from that dreadful death.
Finrod: I am glad you did not; it is a shame that none of us swallowed our pride and had the courage to return with you. [sighs] And yet it seems that we all had a role to play – and that matters would have turned out differently had we not continued in our defiance.
Finarfin: [draws a deep shuddering breath.] You are saying that you would die again?
Finrod: A thousand times I would bear the pain of death, to salvage hope for Middle-earth. [He turns back to Amarië, not wanting to take his eyes off her for long.]

Finarfin: The Valar say that by your deeds you have helped set in motion those events that will prove Morgoth’s undoing… [Finrod nods] You have shown yourself to be a far greater Elf than I. Never doubt that I was always proud of you, and that I have always loved you. I am overjoyed to call you my son… [holds out his arms to his son]
Finrod: [steps into his father’s embrace] And I to call you Father!

[Camera cut to Eärwen and Amarië, arm in arm watching them, Amarië with a quiet smile and his mother wiping away a tear of joy. Cut .]

* * *

[Camera cut to Halls of Mandos, Great Hall. The souls of waiting Elves mingle as new tapestries are hung with large silver clips. As each tapestry unfolds, the souls examine it and react. Camera focus on the last tapestry, which shows Finrod’s fight with the Werewolf. Souls murmur in awe and appreciation. Camera shift right over tapestries, 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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[Camera cut to Nivrim, early evening. Stars begin to show in the darkening sky. Camera shift down to edge of forest, focus on Beleg and another Elf Scout pausing at the edge of the trees.]

Elf Scout 1: Varda smiles on us tonight. This should be a fast journey. [grins] We may have this done before Captain Mablung catches up with us.
Beleg: Not that I would say this to our lord, but I like not this errand. Drawing swords against our kind is no proper use for a fine blade. [Camera shift to plain, focus on a patch of dark mist that seems darker than the rest of the shadows. The dark mist moves together, as if it had some intelligence. Camera shift to Elf Scouts.]
Elf Scout 1: What madness is this?
Beleg: Dark magic or evil runs afoot this night!

[Thingol enters right, crouched and moving quickly. Celeborn follows close, as do other Elves. Elf Scout 1 points toward dark mist. All crowd around, whispering, to see the dark mist. Thingol motions for silence, and whispering stops. Camera focus on dark mist. Rough voices can be heard, but are at first unintelligible. Camera cut to Thingol, listening intently.]

Boldog: [voice at distance] Keep moving!
Orc 1: [voice at distance] The slog through those swamps was not enough for you?
Orc 2: [voice at distance] If we don’t rest soon I will fall over.
Boldog: [voice at distance] Good. We need some fresh meat for when we find this Elf girl. Can’t feed her on bread and dried rats.
Orc 2: [voice at distance] Why don’t we just eat her?
Orc 1: [voice at distance, chuckle] Or find some other games to play. [Camera cut to Thingol, tense and angry. Shift to Elves, most of whom heard the Orcs. All are enraged. Camera shift to mist.]

Boldog: [voice at distance, commanding] Enough! Don’t talk about the Master’s bride like that or he’ll have your head for the wedding feast. [chuckles] And I will be sitting at the high table, once I’ve brought our Master this Elf princess. Then Lúthien the Fair will be queen of all the world, and I will be richly rewarded! So let’s get her now! [chuckle] Besides, there’s plenty of soft Elf wenches for the rest of you when we’re done. [Orcs cheer]

[Camera cut to Thingol, who draws his bow and nocks an arrow. Beside him, Celeborn also prepares to shoot. Camera pan back, all Elves have bows ready. Camera focus on Thingol as he aims and fires into the mist.

Camera cut to mist. The arrow enters, strikes Boldog through one eye. The mist dissolves and the Orcs are revealed. Elves fire, Orcs scream and charge the trees. Elves meet them with drawn swords. Orcs fall, screaming and bloody.

Camera focus on Thingol, battling two Orcs furiously. He beheads one, stabs the other but the second Orc slashes his side as it dies. Camera shift to Celeborn, who dodges a blow and runs to help Thingol. As Celeborn lifts Thingol from the ground a great shout comes from screen right. Camera shift right as Mablung and the rest of Thingol’s army charge the Orcs. Orcs scream and run, but most fall with knives or arrows in their backs. Camera cut to Thingol, now sitting against a tree as Celeborn examines his wound.]


Thingol: [to Celeborn] How many did we lose?
Celeborn: Aside from you, there are a few scratches here and there. No casualties, unless it be yourself. [to Mablung] You came in good time.
Mablung: [smug] Just about perfect, if I must say so myself.
Thingol: Quiet, both of you! I seems I must re-examine the wisdom of my plan in light of these new developments… [frowns, we hear his thoughts as voiceover] So, the Dark Lord thinks to have my little nightingale for his own. That will never be! I will swallow my pride and offer peace to the lords of Nargothrond before I allow his foul hands to touch my dear one! [Thingol glances upper right, camera follows] Worse for me, but I will even beg the help of those I swore never more to acknowledge as kin. I will beg the Lord of the North aid me in this, and give whatever he asks in payment.

Mablung: [kneels] Lord can you rise?
Thingol: [firmly] I can. My thanks for your timely assistance, Captain Mablung. Now I must ask yet more of your loyal men. I command you, with a full dozen of your swiftest runners, get you to the walls of Himring in the far north. In my name I ask you to beg the lord Maedhros for his aid in rescuing my daughter. I must trust he will not fail me in this: for all that there is no love between us, he surely cannot condone his siblings’ actions.
Mablung: [surprised, bows] At once, my lord.
Thingol: Then go with all speed. [Mablung exits right, motioning as he goes. Twelve Elves follow him.]

Thingol: [turns to Celeborn.] I need your ready tongue now more than ever, my friend. I bid you, go to Nargothrond and sue for peace. Offer the alliance they desire. If all the force of Angband were sent to take Lúthien from them, even the might of the sons of Fëanor could not prevail against such a dread menace. I spoke rashly with their messenger, and no doubt my hasty words will be remembered. You are always a calm voice, and your politeness may go far to mending this breech.
Celeborn: [bows] I will do as you ask, my lord. Commend my errand to my lady.

[Celeborn exits left, motioning. Four Elves follow him. Camera focus on Thingol, leaning against the tree. Thingol looks up. Camera pan up, focus on stars.]
Thingol: [in Sindarin, with subtitles] Kementári, I remember how you love your children and care for all things your power blessed with life. Giver of Fruits, I beg your help now. My only child stands in the centre of a maelstrom. Watch over her. Keep her safe until I can again protect her with my own strong arm. [Camera shift down to treetops, pan forward over forest to Talath Dirnen. Camera fade.]

* * * * * * *

[Scene opens Celegorm’s chambers in Nargothrond. He is lounging on a chaise-longue, drinking from a goblet of wine and scanning some scrolls, looking for word from Doriath. Suddenly there is a knock on the door. To his surprise the door opens straightaway without waiting for his acknowledgement. He jumps up in anger, ready to blame any intruders, and finds himself facing four unfamiliar guards in the King’s livery. ]

Guard 1: Lord Celegorm, the King requests your presence in the Great Hall.
Celegorm: [inclines his head] Then I have no choice but to comply. Lead on. [the guards escort him from the chamber. Cut]

* * *

[Cut to Celegorm striding into the splendid hall of Nargothrond. It seems that all the people in the city have been summoned. Arranged in their different factions, they are united by the fact they are all silent. Intimidating and threateningly silent. He walks through a narrow passage left for him among the crowd to the high seat at the other end of the hall: He sees his younger brother standing below the dais of the throne, and beyond him, an Elf standing in front of the throne, a silver crown shining on the golden hair of the House of Finarfin. For a moment he think that he sees a ghost come to haunt him:]

Celegorm: [taken aback, whispers] …Finrod? [then as the figure turns at his approach, he sees that it is Orodreth, reborn in the strength and composure of his uncle. Orodreth sits on the king’s throne. Kneeling in front of him on the dais are some of Sauron’s released elves. One of the ex-prisoners, Hâlmir, stands with Huan at his side; The hound is still bearing wounds. Celegorm and Curufin move to step on to the dais.]

Orodreth: [halts them with a gesture. Sternly:] Sons of Fëanor, you have no right to stand here.
[the brothers halt, confused. Out of the corner of their eyes they see movements nearby, and immediately realize that there are elven guards, fully armed, positioned in vigilance over them... Huan moves silently to stand next to his master. Celegorm sees the new scars, half buried in the thick fur.]

Celegorm: [looking down at him, mutters] So you return, faithless hound. What have you to say for yourself? [Huan sits by his feet without looking at him. Celegorm addresses Orodreth] For what grievance have we been dragged before the Regent like this?
Orodreth: News has come of my brother’s fall. Such tidings you were expecting, I am sure. But news also comes of a bold maiden who would dare to do what the sons of Fëanor would not. Tol-in-Gaurhoth is no more and Sauron’s watch over the river has fallen. Kin thougSirionht long lost now walk free. Harken to their tale:

Hâlmir: [angrily turning to the crowd] Hear ye well, Nargothrondrim! Our beloved King Finrod Felagund son of Finarfin is dead! [Murmurs of disbelief and sounds of lamentation come from the crowd. Some weep, as does Eldalotë, who puts her head in her hands; Celebrimbor hides his face in his mother’s skirts and weeps.] He was slain as he fought one of Sauron’s werewolves, who had devoured all his other companions. He perished while fulfilling his oath and protecting the mortal, Beren, who grieved over his body; he and Lúthien have buried him upon the green isle of Tol Sirion… [pauses] But he was not sent to his death by Sauron or his beast! No, his death occurred by treachery here in the Caverns of Narog; by the fell words of the brothers, Celegorm and Curufin! [The murmurs of the crowd become louder.] All here who listened to them and turned their backs on our King and his house are also to blame! You all should feel shame!

Hâlmir: [looks at the brothers] But you, sons of Fëanor; you have always used that ever-troubling Oath to put fear in people’s hearts. There was no reason for your words of corruption other than to send our King to his death. If you truly cared for our people, you would have come to Tol-in-Gaurhoth to save us. Instead, an Elven-maid braves what the sons of Fëanor would not! Your hearts are black! You are disloyal to this kingdom its people. We need you not! What say you, people of Nargothrod?
[The crowd’s murmuring continues. Someone in the crowd shouts, “Let us slay these treacherous, faithless lords!” This causes others to chant, “Slay them! Slay them!”]

Curufin: You are fools! Who have guarded your borders? Who have protected you? Now you say we bite the hands that feed, what about you? Are you any better? - Who completely rejected their King? Who willingly accepted our rule? What justice can you lay upon us?

Orodreth: [holds up his hand and the crowd silences.] I must place blame on all who heard my brother’s request for aid and did nothing. However, I also deem that your decision rested on the words of these brothers and the fear they set in your hearts. [turns to Celegorm and Curufin] Thus, I decree the banishing of you both: Nevermore shall you have food or rest in the Kingdom of Nargothrond from this day forth. [To Curufin] You shall have one hour to make provision for your family – they may repudiate your deeds and stay, or leave this city with you. Regardless, you have until midnight tomorrow to be beyond the borders of this kingdom. You are fortunate that I do not order you slain, but I shall not have kin slay kin, and thus bind us more closely to the curse of Mandos. From this hour hence, there shall be no love lost between our two Houses. Do you have anything to say, Sons of Fëanor? [The crowd remains silent. Curufin stands stiffly beside Celegorm.]

Celegorm: [menacingly] Let it be so… We shall remember this. [with no sign of remorse, they walk through the glaring faces of the crowd and out of the Hall. Cut.]

* * *

[cut to Curufin’s suite of chambers. He is packing hurriedly. Giemma enters. She sees his things strewn across their bed. Picks up one of his shirts that she embroidered lovingly. Caresses it gently]

Curufin: [glances at her] Now, wife what do you want of me? Did you come to mock me or to come with me to exile?
Giemma: [pain in her voice] Neither... I came only to help you pack. I wish that everything did not go otherwise.
Curufin: [sighs] Ah, it indeed is a pity that I did not succeed. If it had not been for Hâlmir...

Giemma: [shakes her head sadly] No, I did not mean that, but that I wish you never had had these designs. See, you did not care about the Doom of Mandos and now it has stricken you.
Curufin: [loses his temper.] 'Tis well to come and offer me such consolation! I need not your morals! Now is the time to give you the final choice: To come with me now and stand by my side or remain here and become my enemy. Choose quickly!
Giemma: [hesitates, clearly torn, and agonizing over her decision] My love for you still lingers in me, even though it has suffered much hurt. But to go into exile with you would mean that I accept and support your actions. And that I do not. [takes deep breath] Curufin, I will not come with you, not after what you did. But I am not your enemy, never have I raised my hand against you and will not, come what may.
Curufin: [face is as still and hard as stone; he blinks as if to hold back tears.] So be it then. Fare well or fare ill, I do not care. I hope you will enjoy living in this nest of cowards and traitors.
Giemma: [bitterly] Who made them cowards and traitors?
Curufin: [ignores her. Turns and walks away, proud and tall as ever. Fade.]

* * *

[Cut to stables, several minutes later. Celegorm and Curufin are mounted on their horses. Huan sits next to Celegorm’s. Curufin speaks with Celebrimbor, who stands beside his horse.]
Curufin: [offers Celebrimbor a hand up] Time to leave, son.
Celebrimbor: [steps back] I cannot follow a father I am ashamed of.
Curufin: [looking away] I am not proud of what we did,
Celebrimbor: It has nothing to do with pride. You are upset that your crafty plan did not succeed!
Celegorm: [irritably] I would not allow a son of mine to talk that way to me.
Celebrimbor: Oh, Eru forbid that you might have a son. You would first have to find some woman who could abide you. Before that happens Orcs will sprout feathers and sing with the birds. I am glad the beautiful lady escaped! [Celegorm strikes at Celebrimbor with the ends of his reins. Celebrimbor dodges and laughs, but comes too close to Curufin. Curufin grabs Celebrimbor’s collar and leans down to confront him.]

Curufin: Take back your words, boy! I will not have you disrespect our family!
Celebrimbor: Disrespect? What know you of that word? You disrespect our King; you disrespect our people.
Curufin: You would stay in a kingdom that exiles the sons of Fëanor?
Celebrimbor: The sons of Fëanor? You and your dreadful Oath! Would you like to know the truth? I care not for the Oath, nor for my grandfather who called you all to swear it. I am no more a part of the family of Fëanor, and I care not for the Silmarils!

Curufin: [lashes out at Celebrimbor with his leather riding gloves, catching him in the face. He stumbles, dabs at his bleeding mouth.] As you will: shun your family! I will not remain to listen to any more. You have a good life here in a doomed kingdom. If someday you should have need of me, count not on my coming. For as far as I am concerned, I have no son. We leave now, my brother. [Curufin looks ahead and nudges his horse forward towards the gate. He looks back and sees crowd of his former followers come to watch them depart. Giemma is comforting Celebrimbor. ]

Celegorm: [Waives fist at them] You fools, you think you can escape the curse thus? I say no, you cannot. You shall not only bear that evil curse, but also this doom I add - the Doom shall find you before me, and you shall be defeated utterly because of the one you trust and support. For treason, that is the price! [He turns his mount, his spear near the saddle, his sword at his side, and his bow on his back. The wind stirs his crimson cloak and reveals the Star of Fëanor on his chest.] Curse you all…and curse this city you are so proud of! [He spurs his stallion to gallop through the gate…camera follows as he crosses the creeks and over the hills, not slowing until he is certain that the hidden fortress is out of sight. Just then he notices Huan. The hound has followed his horse silently, like a sad ghost.]

Celegorm: [Staring at the hound with clenched his teeth.] Why do you yet follow me, after causing the loss of all we had almost within our grasp? - The key to Doriath. The crown of Nargothrond. The only heir of the House of Fëanor after we seven brothers. You feel the damage is still not enough? [Huan just looks at him sadly]

Curufin: [Reins in, allowing his bother to catch up with him.] Brother, where now are we heading?
Celegorm: [hesitates] ...Himring in the North, or Amon Ereb in the South.
Curufin: [lips curl in a cunning smile] Then I shall suggest Himring…our eldest brother has the right to know what happened in Nargothrond, and what aid Finrod had planned to offer that mortal.
Celegorm: [marvelling] I always forget how marvellously shrewd you are, little brother! Once Maedhros hears that our cousin planned to help another retrieve a Silmaril in our stead, he will not overlook this. Together we will have the full support of the remaining strength of the House of Fëanor: nearly half of the Noldor! Hmm…that should make tolerating Maedhros' commands bearable enough… [claps brother on the back and they gallop off towards the crossing of Teiglin. Fade.]

End of Episode
*******************************************************************************

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


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