Sorry for taking so long with writing my synopsis/review. Just when I thought I had plenty of time to work, I got sick for a few days, and then I got busy for a few days. But here is Part I, and Part II will follow later today, after I edit it.
Synopsis, 1.04
(Part I)
The episode begins with Queen-Regent Miriel blessing the children, a ritual welcoming the infants recently born in Númenor. It is a charming scene as she cuddles the babies, one-by-one—until she is interrupted by a rumbling and shaking. “Our island needs to stretch,” she explains calmly, but the shaking and rattling continue and grow worse, and white petals from the tree in the plaza below come blowing in through the great arched window at the end of the room. As the Queen looks out upon her city, she sees rolling waves coming in from the harbor, engulfing the buildings. Walls fall, domes collapse, people scream, the giant waves come all the way up to the terrace where she stands, knocking her violently off her feet.
And then ... Miriel is shocked out of her dream. She is sitting in her bedchamber and a maid is drawing back the curtains on her window, telling her what a perfect day it is.
Down in the streets, her cousin, Chancellor Pharazôn, is strolling through the markets, shaking hands, politicking. His son, Kemen, follows after him, trying to get his attention, but being treated dismissively. “What seems to be the trouble?” Pharazôn finally asks.
“We may have a bit of a squall on our hands,” replies Kamen.
And they certainly do. One of the men (it develops that his name is Tamar) who fought Halbrand is in the square spreading lies: Elf ships in the harbor! Elves will soon be taking over all the trades! Workers who don’t tire, don’t sleep, don’t age! “The Queen is either blind or an elf lover, like her father.”
Well, of course, this is nonsense. Immortal elves with their own beautiful cities and forest homes, their arts and superior technologies, wanting nothing more than to slave away day and night in Númenor’s workshops? Why would they? Not to mention that there is only one elf currently on the island and she has very different business on her mind. But historically, in times quite recent to our own, the argument that foreigners are there to rob the common man of his livelihood by robbing him of his job has been extremely effective in rousing up mob violence. So the whole idea is stupid, but realistically stupid. And I suppose that having broken off contact with the elves generations ago, the average Númenórean has no idea how elves actually live. Too, the workers are reacting to Tamar’s outrage. Such things can be contagious. Still, I’d like to imagine that the more reasonable members of the crowd who were roused up in the moment went home afterward and thought, “What could we have been thinking?”
As hysteria rises Pharazôn steps in to calm things down. He refers to their glorious past and great deeds (exaggerating some of these) and contrasts it with what he sees now, men of Númenor feeling threatened by one elf, a castaway. “Trust in me,” he says. “For by the callouses on my hands …” He holds up his hands, which do not appear calloused at all. “I swear that elven hands will never take Númenor’s helm. She will remain a kingdom of Men.” Then, as the people cheer him, he orders drinks all around. As he goes through the crowd greeting people, he takes a moment to give an embrace and a brief nod to Tamar.
So it looks like Pharazôn and Tamar are in league. The Chancellor has encouraged a near-riot, just so that he can step in and restore the peace, painting himself as the hero of the common folk in the process. And of course it works—despite the fact that I highly doubt that shaking the roughened hands of workers, and signing proclamations, and performing the other work of government, or any of his other regular activities has noticeably hardened his hands.
Meanwhile, Eärien (daughter of Elendil, sister of Isildur) has been watching all this as it happens. Kamen, spotting a pretty girl standing apart from the crowd—a girl whose mode of dress proclaims her as fairly high status—comes over to offer her a glass of the free wine. “There isn’t a name in the city he doesn’t know,” Kemen says of his father, “or a crowd he can’t turn, a favor he isn’t owed.”
“Impressive,” replies Eärien, but she doesn’t say whether the impression is a good one or a bad one, so we’ll have to wait and see on that. Especially because as the two young people continue to chat, someone from the architects' guild comes by to remind the new apprentice of her duties elsewhere, so Eärien hastily departs.
Something tells me that Eärien is going to become deeply involved with this family as the story progresses. Also, I suppose Kemen goes on the list of potential future Nazguls, being human, well-connected, and someone whose ultimate fate we know nothing about, since he is an original character to the series. All of which applies to Eärien, come to that.
Elsewhere, Queen Miriel has summoned Galadriel to a meeting with her and Elendil. “You vex me, elf” says Miriel, taking Galadriel to task for her trip to the archives in the last episode, as well as for what she brought back. What she stole as Miriel puts it, but if Galadriel had stolen the manuscript then why is it the Queen who holds it in her hands? She also scolds Galadriel because while the elf was gone her southlander companion assaulted Númenórean citizens. (As if Galadriel has any control over Hal!) We know that they assaulted Hal first, but I doubt any of the witnesses would be inclined to side with him.
“He is understandably quick of temper,” says Galadriel quietly. “His people are dying. I believe the man you hold in your dungeons is no common brawler, but the lost heir in exile to the throne of the Southlands.” The Queen answers sarcastically, and Galadriel, who started out quiet and respectful becomes vehement. “His people are scattered, leaderless, but with your backing they might unite behind his banner.”
Miriel doesn’t like the sound of this. “What do you mean, 'backing'?”
Galadriel is still holding her own temper. She reminds the Queen that Sauron was the enemy of the Númenórean people as well as the enemy of the elves. She asks for an an alliance and an army to help her prevent Sauron from claiming the Southlands. The Queen refuses her request with a bit of a sneer concluding, “King or carpenter, the Southlander will face judgement.”
As Miriel ends the audience and begins to stalk away. Galadriel trades a look with Elendil. Elendil’s expression, while sympathetic, indicates that Galadriel should just let things be for now. But it is here that she finally lets loose the rage she has been holding inside. She demands an audience with “Númenor’s true ruler, your father the King.”
Miriel now loses her own temper—which was on a short leash to begin with. “You should not speak of things you do not understand.”
“And you should stand aside, that I might present my proposal to one who holds the power to answer it.”
Elendil steps in to try to calm Galadriel (good luck with that!) but the two women are both too angry and continue their quarrel. During which, the Queen disparages Galadriel as “a castaway, grasping for a handhold in a tempest.”
Then Galadriel speaks the line that some viewers dislike, but I actually loved. “There is a tempest in ME. It swept me to your island for a reason, and it will not be quelled by you—Regent!”
I will pause here to say that I think both women are playing their roles very well. Addai-Robinson looks, moves, and sounds like a Queen. This may seem a little wooden to modern viewers, but it is what the part requires. Not only that, but she is a Queen in a land that has come to mistrust her family, a land that originally did not even allow women to rule, though it has been allowed for generations now. ( But had they changed the law sooner, Silmarien would have ruled instead of her brother, and Elendil's line would have been the royal family, not a minor cadet branch.) A male on the throne could roister and wench and who would blink an eye. But Miriel, one of the few women ever to rule in Númenor, must be aware of constant observation, of people who would gleefully point out any failure of dignity, any least moment when she fails to be regal-enough.
Clark, on the other hand, remains intense, and seething with anger and impatience she can't always hold inside. But as a princess of the Noldor, a commander of armies, she has a confidence that Miriel could never have. It would never occur to her that she need prove her worth to anyone. She, too, holds herself like royalty, because that is what she has been all her life, a life that has already lasted thousands of years. But we can also see the tempest inside.
While we hear no response to Galadriel's challenging words from Miriel, the next visual is Galadriel being locked away in a cell, next to Hal’s.
“Don’t tell me,” teases Hal. “Tavern brawl?”
“Sedition,” answers Galadriel.
I don’t see how anything she said to Miriel could truly be classed as sedition, but I guess the Queen in an old-fashioned monarchy could bring any charges she chooses—whether it would stand up in a Númenórean court remains to be seen. The two women seem like kindred spirits to me, but obviously with different circumstances driving them. And one of them is in a position of power, and it is not, alas, Galadriel. By the way, the place where Hal—and now Galadriel—is locked up was described by someone earlier as a dungeon, but if that is what it is, it is the classiest dungeon I’ve ever seen. The bars are bronze, there are decorated marble arches and floors of well-laid stone blocks, and prominently displayed is a large and glorious statue of a mermaid—or perhaps one of the Valar associated with the sea, or one of the Maia who serve them? Maybe this is part of an ancient temple converted to a prison? Whatever it originally was, it can’t have been built to serve its present purpose.
The next scene is aboard a training ship where sea cadets are having one of their final sails. Going by what the sailing master says, it looks as if at the moment everyone has been doing well enough to pass and be promoted to the Sea Guard.
But Isildur is listening to voices no one else can hear, voices calling him from the west (I presume the western part of the island, since he’s been raised to respect the Valar and wouldn’t contemplate violating their ban) and he doesn’t want to join the guard, at least not yet. He allows a halyard to slip from his hands. His friends, Ontamo and Valandil, leave their place at the wheel and leap to pull the rope back, and as a result they are the ones who end up facing the irate Sea-Master. As Ontamo tries to excuse what happened, Isildur inserts himself between and confesses, “It was my fault. I let it slip.”
But the Sea-Master is having none of that. “I’ve seen you ease that halyard proper a hundred times. That was deliberate. You’re off the Sea Guard … all three of you!”
Well, that is extremely unfair! All that the others did was try to rescue the situation and the ship. Maybe if Ontamo had not tried making excuses? I suppose that might have made it look as though they were in cahoots. Still, I don’t entirely buy it that he could dismiss them all without some sort of hearing, especially when their performance of their duties had been satisfactory up to that point. Maybe call it dramatic license, since we don’t really want to watch a hearing? Still it all happened awfully quickly.
Back on land, Isildur’s friends are understandably upset. “I thought the Sea-Master would only dismiss me,” says Isildur. “I’m sorry.”
But a furious Valandil does not accept his apology. “You just set our whole lives on fire.” Ontomo asks for a chamber pot; he thinks he is going to be sick.
"I’ll speak to my father,” says Isildur. “Convince him to see that you are both re-instated.”
“Leave it to you,” sneers Valandil, “to get kicked out of something you never earned in the first place.” He and Isildur start to tussle, Ontomo breaks it up, and Isildur walks away.
It’s true that Isildur got placed as a sea cadet through his father’s influence. Also other opportunities before that, and didn't do well. The other boys are perhaps of less noble parentage—actually, they almost certainly would be, since Elendil and his sons, though only minor nobility now, are descended from Elros, the first king of Númenor and Valandil in particular has wanted to be in the Sea Guard as long as he can remember. To lose their dream because their privileged friend accidentally involved them in his own scheme to get dismissed would be infuriating indeed. It looks like this quarrel is the sort that might never be made up, and that Isildur might have turned a friend into an enemy—but since future Isildur, per the books, names his youngest son Valandil, perhaps not.
In the next scene we are back in the orc tunnels, where Arondir and a seriously—perhaps even mortally—wounded Magrot await the orc’s much revered leader, Adar. Adar appears, and is not—as might be expected—an orc himself, but an elf, an elf with many scars on his face (and therefore, possibly, more scars where we can’t see them). Adar kneels down beside Magrot and puts a hand on his head, as if to offer comfort or healing, but instead he stabs the orc in the chest and watches him die.
Was this an impulse of cruelty, or a mercy killing? Adar seemed grief-stricken afterwards, so I am guessing the latter. But we don’t know this character, so it could be either.
After the other orcs remove the body, and Adar sits looking downcast for a while, he finally addresses Arondir—in Quenya. He asks where Arondir was born.
Arondir answers, “Beleriand.” (Beleriand was a vast land, so this isn't telling much. By the second age, most of Beleriand is under water, but we have no way of telling Arondir's age.)
“Was it by the river?”
Arondir doesn’t answer the question, but instead asks, “Who are you?”
Now it is Adar’s turn to avoid a question. Switching to the common tongue—which is to say, they are speaking English now, and we need not rely on captions to understand them—he says softly, reminiscently, “I went down that river once, when I was young. I remember, the banks were covered in sage blossoms, miles of them.”
Is this a clue to his identity? Are we supposed to think, “aha” and immediately think of some particular elf? If so, I am stumped. Or perhaps he is trying to establish a rapport with Arondir, prior to more questioning? That is a well-known interrogator’s technique. Since he doesn't go on to interrogate him, however, maybe it's supposed to be a clue.
“Why do the orcs call you ‘father’?” Arondir is not giving up.
“You have been told many lies. Some of them run so deep, even the rocks and roots now believe them," Adar answers cryptically. "To untangle it all would all but require the creation of a new world. But that is something only the gods can do, and I am no god—not yet.”
“What are you?” Arondir asks (reasonably enough).
But Adar is not going to be the first one to give a straight answer. “Go to the Men who have taken refuge in the old watchtower. Deliver to them a message.”
“What message?” But though Arondir must finally get an answer—or how could he deliver the message?—the scene ends before we hear that answer.
Yes, this is a trick growing a little old by now, cutting off a scene at a suspenseful moment. But since we are surely going to hear the message when he delivers it, do we really want to hear it twice? No. But it is frustrating ,nevertheless, placed as it is after a series of questions with no clear answers. The screenwriters seem overly addicted to teasing us. Guessing games can be fun, but there is a limit, after which they are no longer so much fun. I only hope we get some solid answers before that point.
As it is, we are left with many questions about Adar. Who is he? Why do the orcs worship him so? Why do they call him their father? What does he mean by his cryptic remarks about becoming a god? It has been said that Morgoth first created the orcs by twisting and torturing and corrupting elves. This is what some of the characters believe, but I don’t know if we are meant to be absolutely certain. But it has been made plain in Tolkien’s writing that the gift of life to sentient beings is reserved for Eru Iluvatar, the creator, to give. And Tolkien specifically said that Morgoth lacks the power to make new things. He can only spoil what already exists. So the elves to orc theory seems sound. Could Adar, who still looks like an elf—though one with scars that most elves should have been able to heal for themselves—and who in some ways acts and talks like an elf—could he be an early but not entirely successful attempt by Morgoth to create goblins out of elves? If this is so, he must be very, very old. Perhaps each generation of orcs after the first experiment became more monstrous. But because Adar came first, orcs like the ones we meet here look on him as a father? Well, it’s the only theory I have now. Maybe further information will explode this theory completely. What do others think?
Someone posed the question, “If orcs were made from elves, are they also immortal? Which is a good question. I don’t know if anyone knows the answer. Maybe there is no answer. Once orcs became numerous, they were treated as expendable, as cannon fodder. Plus they are violent among themselves. Perhaps none of them survive long enough that even they have an idea of what their natural life span might be?
Next we join the afore-mentioned southlanders at the tower. Nobody says how long they have been there, but they are running out of food, so probably for several days. Furthermore the countryside around the tower hasn’t enough game to provide so many people with sufficient rations for more than a day or two at a time. Theo suggests that they send a small party into Tirharad during the day when the orcs are less active, go in quick and quiet, and raid Waldreg’s root cellar—as Waldreg ran the tavern we can assume there must be large stores of food there, though even those won’t last for long amongst such a crowd, which encompasses the populations of several villages.
“What poor sod will you rope into that?” says Treadwill (the fellow with the fleece jerkin and the white cap).
“I’ll do it, if nobody else will,” Theo eagerly volunteers, possibly feeling a little cocky after he and his mother killed that orc who attacked them at home.
But Bronwyn forbids it. If some of the men had volunteered who knows what she would have said to that, but she’s not about to send a boy—her boy—to do what the men fear to attempt. “We’ll forage the hills again first. Gather the hunters.” It’s like Bronwyn has forgotten what teenage boys are like.
I figure Theo to be thirteen or fourteen. He’s much taller than his mother, but since she’s so small that’s not saying much. He has a very little fuzz on his upper lip, which we wouldn’t even see if his hair wasn’t so dark. But whether in his early or middle teens, still a teenager.
So having been told not to do it, of course Theo and his mouthy friend Rowan head for the village to gather supplies. The countryside is littered with the carcasses of dead animals—the orcs seem to kill sheep and cattle for the joy of killing, not as food for themselves. The villagers left their livestock behind, which was short-sighted, but it’s too late to do anything about that now; the carcasses are rotting. It’s a gruesome sight, and Rowan wants to go back to the tower, but Theo taunts him into continuing.
In terms of their search, it’s a successful trip. The boys heap a large wheelbarrow with bags of food. Theo points to a large building they haven’t entered yet, and suggests they check inside. Rowan proves reluctant, so Theo goes alone. Outside, Rowan hears a noise and swiftly decamps—pushing the clattering wheel barrow before him. Inside, Theo has discovered a bag of grain half-spilled on the floor. As he kneels to refill the bag, an orc enters the building. “Where did you get that!” Unfortunately, it is not the grain he is asking about, but the ill-concealed sword hilt that Theo carries at his side.
The orc (whose name is Vrant, according to the captions) draws a long knife and takes a vicious cut at Theo’s leg, then, with a smirk, licks off the blood. Theo draws the hilt of the black sword, and jabs it into his own arm to feed his blood to it, which, as expected, magically summons the blade. He takes a swipe and slashes Vrant’s hand, and as the orc reacts the boy takes the opportunity to escape through the door.
Vrant follows. Though he can’t see where Theo has gone, he is still triumphant. “Oi, oi,” he shouts to the other orcs. “I’ve found it. It’s a boy. He’s found the hilt.”
“A boy? Where is he?” another orc shouts back. Vrant doesn’t know but we do: we see Theo hiding down inside a well.
Vrant sends word to Adar, then orders the other orcs to spread out and search. “Nobody sleeps until he’s found!”
So we leave Theo for the time-being, wet, wounded, and stranded in a well, while the village around him swarms with orcs determined to find him. Another suspenseful end to a scene, but I think this one is meant to allow for some passage of time before Theo is either found or makes his move, which seems legitimate.
And now we know what the orcs were looking for by digging their trenches. The tunnels made sense because they were using them to sneak up and attack villages, but the trenches never did seem to have a clear purpose, since they were so exposed—not least to the sun—unless Arondir was right when he speculated they were searching for something, perhaps a weapon. How he made such a lucky guess I don’t know. It seems implausible. I didn’t see or hear anything that specifically hinted at a search for a weapon. Perhaps Arondir was using some elven intuition? Or did I miss something?
Next we find ourselves in Eregion, where Elrond and Celebrimbor are viewing the skeleton of what will become the forge tower. It is obvious that elves and dwarves have been at work for quite some time (and also, therefore, that not all the timelines of the different groups of characters are in sync with each other—maybe none of them are, and we will only grow frustrated if we try to interpret the passing of time as if they were). Celebrimbor makes a remark about Elrond resembling his father, which leads into a story about Eärendil, one that seems irrelevant to what is happening, and also is maybe a lie, since Elrond says that he doesn’t remember ever hearing that Celebrimbor knew his father. In a future episode, Celebrimbor will also tell a story about speaking to Eärendil, though again the inclusion of the anecdote will seem a bit forced.
Elrond drinks these references in, eager to learn anything he can about the heroic father that he himself never had much opportunity to know. But though he seems to believe every word, are we meant to accept these stories for truth? Because I didn’t, even this first time. Or is the significance of these scenes to the present story supposed to be a suggestion that perhaps Celebrimbor is not entirely trustworthy, not necessarily to be believed when he says something? I can see no other point to them, unless such references to legendary figures are supposed to please ardent fans of the legendarium—who in my opinion are the very viewers most likely to be displeased by all the diversions from Tolkien’s writing, and many of whom probably gave up watching the series long since. Some of us, of course, know some things about what Celebrimbor will be up to in the future, and perhaps this is supposed to foreshadow some of that, but the impression I always had concerning things of … an annular nature … was that Celebrimbor was guillible, not deceitful and bad.
“You seem unsettled today, my lord,” says Elrond to Celebrimbor. “What troubles you?”
“No, I promised I wouldn’t mention it to you,” answers Celebrimbor, looking sad and soulful. “He’s your friend.” Elrond sighs and whispers, “Durin.” The older elf hesitates before speaking with dramatic pauses and sighs in significant places. “Either he’s avoiding me, or he’s hiding something.”
He promised himself that he wasn’t going to mention it—but yet he immediately does, no coaxing required. Yes, Celebrimbor is looking a tad sly and manipulative to me.
So of course Elrond hurries off to Khazad-dûm to speak to Durin, but has little luck in finding him. “Did you try asking his work teams,” suggests Disa.
“I did,” says Elrond, “all nineteen of them. One would almost think it suspicious.”
“Are you suggesting that Durin’s got himself a wee girlfriend,” asks Disa.
“There is none other than you milady!”
“I know,” laughs Disa, “Who’d have him?” But not all the dwarf princess’s subsequent efforts to divert him (he's mining quartz seems to be the gist of it), nor the sound of dwarf children singing and rhyming in the background, distract Elrond from his suspicions.
He leaves Disa and her children, but he does not leave Khazad-dûm. A while later, while sitting on a bridge, he (overhears? lip-reads?) employs his keen elven senses to eavesdrop on a conversation between Disa and Durin from a distance. “We’re making good progress in the old mine,” says Durin, amidst the arch flirtation of the happy couple.
“The old mine beneath the Mirrormere,” whispers Elrond to himself, pleased to discover the sort of clue he’s been seeking. He follows a stone staircase to a lower level, and notes fires lit at intervals to illuminate a location that has, supposedly, been long-deserted. But this path leads him nowhere until he comes to a blank wall that somehow attracts his attention. After pushing on it unsuccessfully, an idea occurs to him, and he recites the rhyme that Durin’s children were singing earlier (which they must have overheard from their parents). It proves to be the spell or password that unlocks a hidden door, which grinds open before him.
Elrond enters the passage behind the door, where there is ample evidence of some mining activity taking place. Reaching an archway covered by a curtain, Elrond moves the drape aside, revealing a small vein of brightly shining ore behind it.
“I knew it,” roars a familiar voice behind him. “Come to spy on me, elf?” And turning, Elrond spies an angry Durin approaching from another passageway.
While Elrond denies spying, Durin remains suspicious. “Do you expect me to believe that this was not the true reason he sent you here to begin with? You want it for yourselves.”
”Want what?” says Elrond, puzzled. “I care nothing for whatever is in that chamber. I do care for you, for this friendship—and secrets do not become it,” he adds earnestly. “What is the meaning of all this?”
Durin is impressed by his sincere demeanor. (And so am I. That is, I believe Elrond, but I’m not so sure about those who sent him.) “I need your oath,” says the dwarf prince. “ Hand to mountain, you’ll never breathe so much as a whisper of what I am about to tell you to another living soul. Dwarven anger outlives even dwarves memory. Break your promise and the power of this stone will doom you and your kin to sorrow to your last day on this Middle-Earth. Do you swear it, Elrond?”
As an elf, Elrond knows something about oaths that doom generations to sorrow, but since he is innocent of deceit in this case himself, he doesn't hesitate to swear on the memory of his father.
Satisified, Durin brings out a piece of the mysterious glimmering metal. “A new ore. Lighter than silk, harder than iron, as weaponry it would best our proudest blades. As specie, it might be dearer than gold.”
“It is strange how it catches the light. Almost seems as though it is lit from within,” says a fascinated Elrond.
Durin lowers his voice to an intense whisper. “This could be the beginning of a new era for our people. Strength, prosperity …”
“But then, why all the secrecy? Why not celebrate this?”
“It is perilous to mine. My father has restricted our every efforts, in the name of caution.”
There follows a discussion of what the dwarves call this new ore, and how the name would be translated into Elvish and so on, but most of us will already know (from The Hobbit and LOTR): this new ore is mithril. (Imagine a long ominous drumroll, or some spooky music.)
“So you really came all this way just for Eregion?” asks Durin.
“I came,” answers Elrond, still unsuspicious, “because twenty years is far too long to stay away. Even for an elf.”
When Elrond tries to hand back the piece of ore Durin has handed him, the dwarf says, “Keep it. A token of our friendship.”
As if it were an omen, the mine begins to shake. There are cries of distress, sounds like a mineshaft collapsing. Durin runs toward the tunnel out of which dust is pouring. Elrond tries to stop him, but Durin pulls away. “There are four dwarves down there.” He continues toward the danger, and Elrond loyally follows him.
). This has probably been my favourite episode so far, there's a lot that I like, and a lot that I don't but I think the show is opening up a little bit more for me now. I really do love the Durin/Elrond/Disa scenes, the singing for the miners was a really powerful and well done scene. I can't help but think - the Balrog will be released as a consequence of Durin going against his father and mining more Mithril. 
