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Post by Maeglin on Nov 24, 2004 5:11:26 GMT -5
SCENE 1
(Picking up from where I left off in the Prologue thread)
(Daeron enters the glade. Luthien is still singing; perhaps the hymn to Elbereth; and does not notice him.)
DAERON: Ah...
(Luthien turns, startled, stopping her singing.)
DAERON: Nay, do not stop for me, my lady. I could listen to you until the unmaking of the world. Yet your voice is a grief to me...it shows me the weakness of my own.
LUTHIEN: What nonsense, Master Minstrel. Everyone knows that your songs are greater even than those of Maglor, son of Feanor. Give me a sample of your latest work.
DAERON: (strumming his harp) Oh, she went lightly, so lightly, in beauty, a beauty that outshone all Elbereth's stars...
LUTHIEN: (teasing, chiding) Another love song. To which lady is this one composed?
DAERON: (blushing) I've...only ever written them for one lady, madam.
LUTHIEN: (sympathetic) Daeron, you can tell me. We've been friends from the cradle.
DAERON: They're...they're all for you, Luthien, fairest creature of all Ea.
(Awkward silence)
LUTHIEN: Daeron, you do me far too much honour. Come, we must away to my father.
SCENE 2
(Cut to a band of twelve men-Barahir, Beren and their outlaws-running for cover as arrows fly and sheltering in a ruined farmhouse. Beren, seen here for the first time, is taller than his father, strong and handsome.)
BARAHIR: How many did we lose this time?
DAGNIR: Furin was cut down by the Orcs...
HATHALDIR: And Nalir went back to help him. He's probably down too.
BARAHIR: Young fool. What about Gorlim?
BEREN: He ran back to protect his house, father. You know Eiliniel wouldn't leave Dorthonion? He feared for her...
(Gorlim rushes in, a big man wielding an axe, with unkempt black hair and beard.)
GORLIM: (sobs) It's too late...gone...the Orcs came...burnt...couldn't find her.
BARAHIR: (sternly) Be thankful that you live to avenge her. So how many are we all?
GILDOR: Thirteen...
(A silence falls.)
BEREN: Father, how can we defend Dorthonion with only thirteen men? Let us flee to Dor-Lomin while we survive. There is no hope for our land.
BARAHIR: (taking his hand) My son, if you alone survived with a sword in your hand, ready to fight Morgoth unto death itself, there would still be hope. (To the outlaws) Onward. We must find a safer refuge.
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Post by Maeglin on Nov 25, 2004 12:09:10 GMT -5
(If double-posting in script threads is frowned upon, feel free to chastise me...but I'm sick of modifying the original post...)
SCENE 3
(We cut to a dark, forbidding river, glistening in the pitch-black night, and a pale light upon a high tower. The howling of wolves is heard. Close up on the tower window, and suddenly we are before a throne. A hooded, shadowy figure sits upon it; opposite him is a terrified looking Orc, wearing battered armour. Two werewolves slink about them.)
SAURON: Six companies of Orcs of Angband have been decimated by these pitiful men, these shades of the folk of Dorthonion. Lord Melkor cannot rest content with such a situation; they mock our power and maintain the leaguer, if only in part. They must be destroyed.
(Silence, but for wolf-howls.)
SAURON: Speak, low slave, or else never speak again. My hounds are ravenous tonight. You alone survived the humans' ambush upon your column. It is to your poor intellect that their ruin must be entrusted. Tell me what you know of them.
ORC: (whimpers) There is one among them, master, who fights as if mad with grief. They call him Gorlim, son of Angrim. His mate was taken in the raid by Garshurk's party. Every night, when the others are abed, this Gorlim sneaks off to visit the remains of his house...
(We cut to Gorlim, sitting by a pile of rubble and ash, sobbing, his axe lying by his side.)
GORLIM: Eiliniel...Eiliniel...
(Eiliniel materialises behind him, within the wrecked house, visible through the threshold.)
EILINIEL: (tearfully) Gorlim, why have you forsaken me?
(Gorlim leaps to his feet, leaving his axe, and runs towards his wife. But she flees, as if frightened, and Gorlim is seized as Orcs spring from hiding-places.)
ORC CAPTAIN: (same as one who spoke to Sauron, he's been promoted) Got 'im easy as winking. Take the filthy human to the Tol, boys.
SCENE 4
(Gorlim is shuddering, clasped by the Orc Captain and a second Orc, before Sauron's throne. Four werewolves regard him, salivating.)
SAURON: (patronising) I hear now that thou wouldst barter with me, sickly mortal. What is thy price to tell me of Barahir's hiding-place?
GORLIM: (stammering) That...that I should have my own Eiliniel back with me again, and that we should be freed.
SAURON: A small price for such a great treachery. That can be arranged. (His eyes gleam beneath the cowl.)
GORLIM: (seems hypnotised.) They rest beside Tarn Aeluin. Barahir, his son, his nephews, all of them. Take them this night and none shall escape.
SAURON: Excellent. And now...behold your wife.
(Eiliniel is brought in, guarded by Orcs. Gorlim moves to embrace her, but in a split-second she changes to a terrible she-werewolf.)
SAURON: Your woman is long-dead, fool. But look on the bright side...
(All five wolves leap upon Gorlim and rip him to shreds.)
SAURON: ...at least you've both been set free...
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Post by Maeglin on Nov 26, 2004 8:53:17 GMT -5
SCENE 5
(We see Beren, alone, sleeping beneath trees.)
VO of ELROND: Yet the affair did not turn out as Sauron would have had it. For it is told that Barahir had sent Beren, his son, more skilled in woodcraft than any human before or since, to spy far afield upon the Enemy's designs...and he lay elsewhere on the night when the outlaw's lair was taken.
(Beren suddenly screams and contorts in his sleep, opening his eyes in horror, as carrion crows, beaks dripping with blood, circle him. They all caw as the hideous, mutilated shade of Gorlim appears.)
GORLIM: Awake, son of Barahir, seize yourself from idle dreams. Orcs have razed thy father's camp; for Sauron captured me, and tricked me to black treachery. Awake, and make haste, Beren son of Barahir; yet forgive me, for the Enemy was too cunning.
(He vanishes with a crack, and the carrion crows, alarmed, take off, flying towards Tarn Aeluin. Grimfaced, Beren draws his sword and sprints after them.)
(Cut to Beren entering the glen. The outlaws lie dead, crows stripping at their flesh. Barahir is in the centre; his right arm grips a sword, but his left hand-and the Ring of Felagund-is missing. His head has been hacked off.)
BEREN: (overcome by anguish) Eru, Eru, how could you allow such a thing? Begone, vermin that foul the dead! (He swings his sword and the crows scatter.)
(Beren kneels by his father, weeping.)
SCENE 6
(Cut to eleven graves, marked with small cairns.)
VO of ELROND: And so Beren buried the bones of his father, his cousins and his last remaining friends in the world. And he found the company of Orc-soldiers that had culled them at Rivil's Well...
(Cut to Beren creeping through the undergrowth, spying on a group of Orcs led by the same Captain who captured Gorlim. They are laughing; a hideous sound.)
ORC CAPTAIN: Did you proud, didn't I, mates? I did in all the leaders...and the Chief himself, though he was some sport, I can tell you...(He holds up the hand of Barahir, with Felagund's ring on it.) Got him in the back of the neck...nice and clean...
(Beren leaps out and casually beheads the Captain.)
BEREN: Like that?
(He seizes the hand of Barahir and escapes. Three Orcs fire after him, but their arrows are wide.)
VO of ELROND: Beren became a solitary and desperate fighter...
(Cut to Beren firing with a bow at approaching Orcs. The leader falls, the band splits up, and four more are hit before the rest flee.)
VO of ELROND: ...harrying the minions of Morgoth wheresoever he found them, and letting none escape.
(Beren pursues the survivors, killing them easily. He is wearing the ring of Felagund.)
VO of ELROND: And he became the friend of birds and of beasts...
(A falcon lands on Beren's shoulder...it could be whispering something. Then it takes off.)
VO of ELROND: ...never fearing death, but only captivity.
SCENE 7
(We see a vast, terrible, infernal fortress. It is Angband itself. We cut to the throne-room; Sauron is prostrated before the mighty, armoured form of Morgoth himself, the Iron Crown on his head. The room is luminated by the radiance of the Silmarils, and Sauron shrinks before it.)
MORGOTH: Does the young human live still, and tarry in Dorthonion?
SAURON: Alas, o Melkor, King of Middle-earth...
MORGOTH: Nay, slave; of Arda!
SAURON: Of Arda, yes, quite, exactly what I meant to say, Your Majesty. Well...this Beren has evaded all my traps, and continues to obstruct my devices. He is ruthless, impossible to pin down; he murders my heralds, slaughters squadrons of Orcs...
MORGOTH: Enough! I will have no more of this nonsense. What is the price you have set on his head?
SAURON: Eight hundred elven captives to the Orc, Troll, or Balrog who takes him alive. (He laughs nervously.) Ridiculous really. Almost as much as the reward for killing Fingon, High King of the Noldor...
MORGOTH: Double it. I want Beren's skin to hang as a banner at my gate, after his stubborn spirit has been broken by torture.
SAURON: (weakly) It will be as Your Majesty commands.
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Post by Maeglin on Nov 27, 2004 6:00:49 GMT -5
SCENE 8
(We see a few Orcs marching by night through the snow across the plain of Tarn-Nu-Fuin. It becomes clear that they are part of quite a large column. Then it is revealed that this column is but one of many, many; and at the flanks and front are werewolves, howling to the night.)
(Beren is watching the army marching from the hills of Ered Gorgoroth. A falcon, the same one we saw before, is upon his wrist.)
BEREN: (to falcon) My friend, at last the Enemy presses me too hard. Dorthonion is lost now indeed; my father was wrong. Alone, I have no hope. Fly south, falcon; fly to the merry elf-lands, and nest no more in the desert of Morgoth.
(The falcon flies north, towards the army.)
BEREN: He is brave, and has his nestlings; I am broken, and have nothing. Farewell, Dorthonion!
(He climbs higher into the mountains, not looking back.)
VO of ELROND: And so Beren at last undertook to cross the Ered Gorgoroth, and to brave the wilderness. The journey was terrible; for madness ruled in the land where the power of Queen Melian, mother of Luthien, met the sorcery of Sauron. No food for Elves or Men could be found, but death only.
(Beren starts to descend. The land is full of caves and crevasses; thick webs are everywhere. Terror is on the young man's face.)
BEREN: Father told me that the last children of Ungoliant, the dread thing in spider-form, dwelt here...monsters born in the long dark before the Sun rose, hunting silently with many eyes...
(A vast spider-thing assails him, coming down from a vast web. Beren hacks at the foul work of its spinning, struggles against it, and at last bears his sword through its underside.)
VO of ELROND: That journey was not accounted the least of the deeds of Beren. And so he came to Neldoreth, northern forest of Doriath; and he passed through the Girdle of Melian...
(Flash to Queen Melian standing above a mirror, like Galadriel's in Lorien but larger and grander. We return to Beren, bone-weary, his sword broken, on the edge of the forest.)
VO of ELROND: ...as no man had done before; for a great doom lay upon him.
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Elennar
Journyer
...for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand...
Posts: 50
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Post by Elennar on Nov 29, 2004 20:42:02 GMT -5
Apologies if this is out of place, I've not had much time to look around here, but
'Come on.'? Perhaps 'twould be better if it were shortened to merely 'Come.'
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Post by Maeglin on Nov 30, 2004 7:42:30 GMT -5
Not out of place in the slightest...all criticism (and praise, naturally!) is welcomed. In fact, my hunger for comments is as Ungoliant's for light...
It can't be "come" because the previous scene ended "Come, we must away to my father." But I do see your point...it shall become "onward." Scene 9 shall be penned in a second...
SCENE 9
(Cut to Beren on the borders of the Forest of Neldoreth. He looks far older; he is unshaven, his hair matted; his filthy rags of leather armour and cloth are soiled with mud, blood, and foul black stains from spiders. His sword is broken near the hilt; he is desperately thin and tired. But the ring of Felagund gleams on his left hand, and there is a spark of defiance in his eye.)
(As he enters Neldoreth, a haunting melody should play; preferably Celtic in origin, either Gaelic or Welsh.)
(Cut to Luthien, in blue, her hair wound with gold, dancing in the same glade where we have seen her before. Perhaps she has even been here throughout Beren's entire ordeal. Her beauty, splendour and happiness should contrast with Beren's wretchedness. The moon shines on her.)
(Beren stumbles into the clearing, and stops in his tracks. He holds his head high as he gazes at Luthien, the hilt of his sword falling dully from his hand. Light spreads across him, and he seems to be healed, relieved of a great burden. But Luthien has not seen him; she fades to nothing, and he is left cheated.)
(Cut to Beren creeping through the woods, like a great cat, a look of obsession on his face. The music falls silent.)
(Luthien's voice-singing the hymn to Elbereth? Or something seasonal?-is heard far away.)
BEREN: (in a hoarse whisper) Tinuviel...nightingale! Daughter of dusk...Tinuviel...
(Cut to Beren prowling through an autumnal scene, golden leaves falling gently to the ground. Luthien's voice can still be heard, slightly louder.)
(Cut to Beren trudging through snow, and bare branches. Luthien's voice is clear now, sad, funereal, elegiac. A hill is on the horizon, and a bright, star-like light, with a hint of long black hair, is glimpsed. The song ends.)
(Cut to the eve of spring, dawn. Young shoots, crocuses and snowdrops, are all about. White blossom adorns the trees. The hill is green, and Luthien stands upon it. We see Beren crouching among the bushes.)
LUTHIEN: (sings, with shrill purity) Fly larks, fly, warblers of the dells Flee to the trees and nurse your pride The Nightingale sings her piece The Sun will rise and darkness hide The withering hoarfrost falls away And spring reigns o'er her earthly sway...
BEREN: (ecstatic) Tinuviel! Tinuviel!
(Luthien turns, ceasing her song, frightened perhaps; yet intrigued. Beren hurtles up the hill, falling into Luthien's embrace; they kiss chastely, but as the sun rises in all its fiery glory she slips from his arms. Beren swoons, "slain by bliss and grief".)
BEREN: (whispering) Tinuviel...
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Post by ElvenBookwyrm on Dec 3, 2004 12:38:16 GMT -5
In my opinion, there is no human being who could do justice to the beauty of Tinuviel. Please do me a favour and do not show her face.
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Post by Huinesoron on Dec 3, 2004 17:12:39 GMT -5
Throughout an entire film, ElvenBookwyrm? Could be tricky.
-- so what about animation? If we use that style, would you accept someone drawing her?
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Post by Maeglin on Dec 5, 2004 9:45:16 GMT -5
I'm assuming it's an animation throughout, and so showing Luthien's face.
The last version of Scene 10, alas, was eaten. I'll give it another go.
SCENE 10
(Mablung and Daeron are walking in the forest, now fresh and summer-green. Mablung has his bow, Daeron his harp. Daeron is dressed in splendid emerald and yellow, and grinning.)
MABLUNG: It is more than the season's bounty that makes you so happy, Daeron my friend. Do you go, by any chance, to attend on the Lady Luthien?
DAERON: (sighing) Aye, Mablung, I do, and this day is different. She has been enjoying my music more than usual of late...my odes to the nobility of lovers and love...she will accept me soon, as Melian accepted Thingol, far below her though I be.
MABLUNG: (laughing) Eru alone knows who will sing at your wedding. Only Maglor the Noldo is fit for such a task, and he is not welcome in Doriath...
DAERON: Maglor! Pah. A pompous, melodramatic fool if ever I encountered one...unoriginal pastiche...heavy handed, but no real depth...
MABLUNG: (shrugging) If you say so...well, I am off to the Marches. Farewell, and happy wooing.
(Mablung strolls off, and Daeron walks on alone, a hunter's obsession in his eyes.)
DAERON: I shall surprise her. She likes to be surprised...
(We cut to Beren and Luthien lying together beneath a tall oak tree. Beren is in simple grey elven garb, brought him by Luthien. Luthien is in green, with her hair disarrayed, falling loosely about her.)
BEREN: (in a murmur) Sometimes this seems to me too sweet a spell to last.
LUTHIEN: Hush, brave one. Enjoy its sweetness and rest content.
BEREN: (getting up slightly and gazing at his love) Luthien Tinuviel...I live but for a moment in the reckoning of your kind. I will not leave you widowed.
LUTHIEN: (alarmed) Hush, I say, and say not such things that hold you in the bonds of Mandos. Are you not happy?
BEREN: Happier than any man has been, or ever will be.
LUTHIEN: Then lie down and rest beside me.
BEREN: As you say...and yet, Luthien, you are the daughter of Elu Thingol and Melian, greatest rulers of Middle-earth. I am a lone man from a wasted land.
LUTHIEN: (defiant) What of it?
BEREN: What of it? Luthien, what if we should be seen together?
LUTHIEN: Shhh, and stop these idle follies. Sleep.
(Beren closes his eyes, putting his arms around Luthien, and sleeps. She does not close her eyes, but seems to look far away, in the elvish waking sleep.)
(Menacing music starts to play as we cut to Daeron, still walking. His fixed, obsessive look of happiness should become slightly unnerving. At the climax of the music he approaches a gap between two willows.)
DAERON: Luthien! 'Tis I, Daeron...(He starts back, in horror. He has seen Beren and Luthien asleep, clipped in each other's arms.)
DAERON: Nay...it cannot be...not Luthien. A creature of Morgoth has usurped her form to destroy me...no...and yet...it is she. And with a mortal...a sickly aftercomer...little better than a wild boar...had I a blade I would slay them both. Nay...
(He flees from the glade, crying quietly, mourning, and no doubt plotting revenge.)
Ooo. That was a long scene. Hope it worked.
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Post by Maeglin on Dec 9, 2004 14:27:19 GMT -5
SCENE 11
(Cut to Thingol's throne-room, Menegroth. Melian is seated beside him; she is taller than him, and radiant. There can be no doubt who is the more powerful of the two. Celeborn and Galadriel, hand in hand, kneel before them. Galadriel looks slightly sour at having to kneel to a mere Sindar King, who is nothing to her.)
THINGOL: Ah, Celeborn, my young kinsman, it is most pleasing to see you again.
(Galadriel visibly winces at the word "young". One might even say she was sulking.)
MELIAN: Quite, my lord. Celeborn, you should go wandering less often...you deprive us of the company of your lady-wife. Darling Galadriel, you really...brighten things up.
(Galadriel smiles at Melian, running a hand through her hair.)
GALADRIEL: My thanks, Lady Melian...
CELEBORN: (turning) Oh, I say, there's old Daeron. He looks rather put out.
(Daeron rushes into the chamber. His hair is matted and torn, his clothes ripped in places. He is missing his harp. His face is ruddy from weepng.)
MELIAN: Daeron...whatever has happened? Are you alright?
THINGOL: Is there some treachery in Doriath? Have Morgoth's spawn passed the Girdle?
DAERON: Treachery passed through the Girdle indeed...but not of Morgoth's making. Lord King...I have seen your daughter...with...a mortal.
(Many things happen at once. Thingol sits rigid, speechless with shock, grief and fury. Melian pales and shudders, seeing in a moment her daughter's fate. Celeborn cries "What do you mean?" and Galadriel frowns.)
DAERON: A mortal. A human. An Adan. A sickly one. A...man. Long have I sung of her, and she turns to such a...creature...
THINGOL: Minstrel, where did you see them?
DAERON: My lord, in the glade of Neldoreth where Luthien loves to dance...
THINGOL: Very well. Fetch Beleg Cuthalion and have this...mortal seized and dragged before me as a common bandit.
DAERON: (eagerly) That I will, that I will, my lord.
(He runs off.)
GALADRIEL: King Thingol...Queen Melian...husband...the heat is beginning to affect me. I should like to go for a walk in the woods. (She stops Celeborn.) Alone, love.
CELEBORN: (sighing) Galadriel, you are impossible. Fine.
(Galadriel sweeps out.)
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Elennar
Journyer
...for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand...
Posts: 50
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Post by Elennar on Dec 10, 2004 20:59:35 GMT -5
More of my fussing. Feel free to ignore me if you wish. Just what seems more dramatic to me. Perhaps "Speak, low slave, else never speak again. Lots of "one"s in there... "...you've both been set free..." I wish I had time to finish my fussing now, but unfortunately I don't. So, I'll probably be back soon, with more fussiness...
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Post by Maeglin on Dec 11, 2004 4:19:12 GMT -5
The expert proof-reader strikes again! Thanks for the imput.
I just about agree with you on the low slave bit. I've changed it.
And that paragraph...you're quite right. Need to cull the ones. It has become
There is one of them, master, who fights as if mad with grief. They call him Gorlim, son of Angrim. His mate was taken in the raid by Garshurk's party. Every night, when the others are abed, this Gorlim sneaks off to visit the remains of his house...
Your last point, though, I don't agree with. The litotes encapsulated in "at least" makes the black humour sharper.
In the next scene, I'm planning to diverge slightly from the plot. I'll rework it if there are objections, but I thought it would be fun to have Galadriel warn Luthien that she has been betrayed and Thingol's elves are coming for Beren.
SCENE 12
(We are back with Beren and Luthien in the glade. They are still asleep. Galadriel rushes into the clearing and shakes Luthien.)
GALADRIEL: Awake, awake!
LUTHIEN: (in horror) Galadriel!
GALADRIEL: Don't worry; I know everything. Daeron has seen you with this mortal...
(Beren blearilly opens his eyes.)
LUTHIEN: Eru have mercy! Has he told Father?
GALADRIEL: Yes. He's sent Beleg with twelve elves to take this human lover of yours captive.
BEREN: (groggily) I'll fight them...
(Galadriel smiles indulgently, patronisingly.)
LUTHIEN: Don't be a fool, Beren. You've just woken up, you haven't a weapon and even if you did, you'd be no match for Beleg Strongbow. You must hide.
GALADRIEL: I will take him to my bower; they'll never think to look there. But did I hear you right? Is this Beren, son of Barahir?
BEREN: I am he, madam.
GALADRIEL: You bear my brother's ring. Doubly pledged am I to aid you. Follow me.
(Galadriel and Beren hurry away. Luthien is alone for a moment, standing straight and tall. Then the sound of approaching feet is heard, and Beleg, Daeron, and eleven other elves-thirteen in all-enter the glen.)
BELEG: Lady Luthien, speak truly. The King knows all. Where is the human?
DAERON: Like a skulking traitor he has crept away. But Luthien will know where he bides, won't you, my lady?
(He draws a sword and points it at Luthien.)
LUTHIEN: Low-born and miserable minstrel, how dare you threaten me? Plunge your blade into my breast if you like, but you shall find neither my heart nor what it worships. Back, all of you! I am going to the King my father, and I will not be hindered.
(Beleg and his men stand speechless, stunned to silence by the wrath of Luthien, and she passes them by with contempt, and thence out of the glade.)
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Post by Huinesoron on Dec 11, 2004 19:15:42 GMT -5
Name Query...
Isn't Artanis Quenya, 'Noble Lady'? Because this time, Thingol had banned Quenya throughout Beleriand. I suspect that by that time, she'd be known by the name she was given in Sindarin by Celeborn, Galadriel.
Just a thought, though.
Of course, I'm sitting here twitching at every variation from Canon, but as I don't intend to write a script for Leithian, except possibly the Finrod bits, I'll let you have the artistic license. Just don't go killing off people who shouldn't be dead.
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Post by Maeglin on Dec 12, 2004 1:55:36 GMT -5
Absolutely right, Huinesoron...I'd clean forgotten. Well, I'll change her to Galadriel throughout.
I will keep varying to a minimum. My PJesque excuses for that change were that it "builds up Galadriel as a character" and shows the usefulness of Felagund's ring. I hope you enjoy it mainly, despite the twitching...
Oh, and do any other aspects irritate you? The idea that fate was not responsible for Beren getting through the girdle, for instance?
Anyway...onward...
SCENE 13
(Thingol's throne room, Menegroth. Melian is seated. Thingol stands, looming over Luthien, who looks straight back, unafraid.)
THINGOL: Tell me where this...this human beast..is hiding.
LUTHIEN: So, after sending his guards to threaten and strongarm me, the King decides to ask himself? How courteous.
THINGOL: I am your father, girl. You must obey me. I act for your own benefit.
MELIAN: Luthien...will you say where you are keeping him if your father swears...
THINGOL: I'll swear to nothing!
MELIAN: (patiently) If your father swears neither to harm nor imprison the man?
LUTHIEN: Aye, but my father will not swear.
THINGOL: Quite right! Bound to a geas in my own hall...
(Melian rises and takes her husband's arm, looking into his eyes. He bows his head.)
MELIAN: (whispering to Thingol) You know what we risk. Is it not worth a little pride's loss to prevent that?
THINGOL: (exasperated) Alright. I swear I will not kill, maim nor shackle the Adan. Now in Eru's name, bring him in.
SCENE 14
(The whole court is gathered in the throne room of Menegroth. Thingol and Melian are seated. Beleg and Mablung flank their thrones. Celeborn and Galadriel sit together to one side; Galadriel is smiling secretively. Daeron, with a sword at his side and no harp, is among the others. Beren and Luthien enter splendidly and kneel before the thrones; Galadriel has apparently decked Beren in more splendid clothes, robes of blue and a cloak of silver. The ring of Felagund flashes on his hand. Luthien is in the blue dress we saw her in earlier, her hair bound with gold again.)
THINGOL: (scornfully) Who art thou, that come hither as a thief, and unbidden dare to approach my throne?
(Beren moves his lips, but cannot speak.)
LUTHIEN: He is Beren, son of Barahir, lord of Men, mighty foe of Morgoth, the tale of whose deeds is become a song even among the Elves.
THINGOL: Let Beren speak! What would you here, unhappy mortal? Can you show reason why my power should not be laid on you, in heavy punishment for your insolence and folly?
(Beren looks at the King; then at Luthien; and finally at Melian.)
BEREN: (looking back to Thingol) I came here through perils such as few even among the Elves would dare. (The court is shocked; Daeron mutters something to Beleg.) And coming here I found not what I sought; but this finding I would possess forever. It is above gold and silver, beyond all jewels, even the Silmarilli in Morgoth's crown. Neither rock nor steel nor the fires of Angband shall keep me from the treasure that I desire. For Luthien your daughter is the fairest of all the Children of the World.
(Daeron lays his hand on his hilt, but stands stock-still. None of the others move. Even Galadriel is shocked.)
THINGOL: (slowly) Death thou hast earned...with these words. Death you should find...but that I swore an oath in haste. I repent that now...baseborn mortal...who in the realm of Morgoth has learnt to crawl in secret as the Dark Lord's spies and thralls.
BEREN: Death you may give me, earned or unearned; but not the names of thrall, baseborn, nor spy. (He holds up his hand with the ring of Felagund.) By the ring of Felagund, that he gave Barahir my father on the battlefield of the North, my house has not deserved such names from any Elf-be he King or no.
(Beleg, Daeron and Mablung all draw their swords. Melian raises her hand, staying them.)
MELIAN: (whispering to Thingol) Not by your hand shall Beren be slain; and far and free does his fate lead him; yet it is wound with ours. Take heed.
THINGOL: (turning back to Beren) I see the ring, son of Barahir; I see thou art proud, and deem thyself mighty. But a father's deeds-even hadst his service been rendered to me-avail not to win the daughter of Thingol and of Melian. See now! I too desire a treasure that is withheld. (Melian looks at him curiously.) Rock and steel and the fires of Angband indeed distance this trinket from me. (Melian looks horrified.) Thou hast said Luthien is beyond even the Silmarils. Go and fetch me one. Bring me in thy hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown, and I shall render up my jewel. (The court bursts into mocking laughter. Galadriel looks furious; Melian stricken with sorrow. Luthien is close to tears.) And though the fate of Arda lie within those gems, yet you will hold me generous.
(Beren laughs lightly. Everyone else falls silent.)
BEREN: For little price do Elvenkings sell their daughters: for things made by craft. If this be your will, Thingol, I will perform it. When we meet again my hand will hold a Silmaril from the Iron Crown. You have not looked your last on Beren, son of Barahir.
(He stands, looks at Melian, bows to Thingol, kisses Luthien's hand, and departs.)
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Post by Maeglin on Dec 12, 2004 13:25:29 GMT -5
Out of Doriath at last! Soon we reach two morally questionable Noldorin princes who happen to be among my favourite characters ever...
SCENE 15
(Dramatic music plays as we watch Beren, in simple leather travelling gear, running across a green highland plain. This should be vaguely remniscent of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli running across the fields of Rohan.)
(We see Beren closer up. The music grows quieter, ideally slightly menacing, with Elvish/Celtic qualities to it. Beren holds up the gold ring of Felagund.)
BEREN: (shouts) I cannot see thee, watchers of Felagund's realm...but I know ye are about me. I am Beren, son of Barahir. Take me to the King!
(Silence. The music continues. Something moves in a clump of heather. A dart flies through the air, landing yards from Beren.)
BEREN: I speak true, wardens. By the ring of Finwe's house, slay me not, but take me to King Finrod Felagund!
(There is no reply. The music still plays. Beren steps on, cautiously.)
VOICE: Stay where you are, mortal, or we shall fell you where you stand. You tread upon the Guarded Plain, at our mercy and that of the King.
BEREN: That I know. Bring me to him.
VOICE: Now!
(Beren is seized at once by a knot of grim Elves of Nargothrond, in grey elven-cloaks. Their leader comes last, and surveys Beren, taking his hand and examining the ring.)
EDRAHIL: The Man is telling the truth. Unhand him. (He bows.) I am Edrahil, Captain of the Guarded Plain. You are welcome in Nargothrond, valiant son of Barahir. Your deeds are oft sung in our halls. Now follow where I lead. Andlang-let him be cloaked.
ANDLANG: Aye, Captain. (He drapes a grey cloak around Beren.)
EDRAHIL: Now, to the King. He will be glad of this guest, whatever his errand.
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