All language subtitles for Dalias.Idok.1983.1080p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

HEROIC TIMES

"As if a blazing shepherd's fire
on autumn nights,

seen from afar on a sea
of barren steppes,

thus appears to me
the figure of Mikl�s Toldi

from the depths of
nine or ten generations."

J�nos Arany

My life began
on the middle of that summer,

now I know,

that was the concluding summer
of my childhood years.

Me and my older brother became
orphans too soon.

My father, a knight of the king,

fell in battle,

thus it fell onto our
widowess mother to rear us.

My brother,

as the rightful heir
to the land and title,

was embraced by the royal courts,

proceeding to shove me down

to his servantry.

It wasn't the hard labour
I was afraid of.

I've respected our servants,

as I ate the same bread

our collective efforts won
from the hard, sullen earth.

Then again, I reckoned,

I have a calling
for more noble tasks.

My conviction was boosted by the
example set by our father.

In the feverous, uneasy dreams
of my adolescence

I often found myself
leading a mighty army,

found myself gaining a glorious victory

with the triumphant sword of my father.

Oh that sword...

He guarded it
from them all until his death.

In the middle of that summer

a shiny army crossed our land,

and their leader,

thinking I was some filthy serf,

asked me for directions.

When he tossed me a gold piece
with an air of superiority,

my glass of bitterness finally
got filled to the brim.

I've decided to counter the
fate I was handed down,

soliciting for my paternal lot
and leaving my childhood home.

Oh wretched anger!

The woeful cross of my life!

If our mother fails to intervene,

my blind rage might have driven me
to the vicious crime of fratricide.

But my loving brother

knew the way to fan the coals
of my passion without him

being victimised by it.

He roused his serfs against me

to unleash the utmost of my anger

with their blatant taunting.

I murdered.

I've killed a hapless,
unwitting man.

I've become both the tool and the
victim of my brother's lowly plan

at the same time.

I've had a single desire left:

to say goodbye to my mother.

But the shades of the night
whispered evil advices in my ear:

even he wants your blood,
like the wolves!

A single snap, and you're free!

Why hesitate? Kill him!

You've already killed before!

The ways of God are inscrutable.

Was it His will that a storm happened
to wash away my traces?

Either His will

or blind chance directed me
to the king's headquarters,

I don't know which.

Days or weeks passed meanwhile.

Time is blurred in my memory.

There was a custom in those times

involving vagabond knights

who would challenge royal
warriors when in the courts.

The loser of the duel was obliged
to give his weapons to the winner.

Wandering the town streets,
I've heard about the knight

with the bull's head who managed
to triumph over our best fighters,

showing no mercy to anyone.

The king would attend
the duels every day,

and he was disappointed
each and every time.

One day,

when two young
heroes applied to the duel,

I was among the spectators.

The king happened to receive

emissaries from some
distant country that day.

Those surrounding me
whispered that

they brought the portrait
of his prospective bride,

in order to secure the wedding

which could advance our country
to become an empire.

At that point
I wouldn't care about this,

I only focused on the duel.

The first knight was easily
defeated by the vagabond,

and I couldn't help but glance
towards the tent of the king

to see how he
receives the latest defeat.

As if struck by lightning,

I was stunned at what I saw:
my brother was

whispering in the king's ear!

There my last hope vanished
as I was sure that

the king knows everything now.
Maybe even more,

maybe things
that haven't happened!

None of our knights dared to
undertake the duel.

I wasn't surprised by my brother,

as he used to shelter
himself from all storms,

but all the valiant fighters
of our country,

one by one they cowardly
defied the bidding of the king.

There were quite a few
fine-looking lads though

who could've stood a better chance

than the young fighters
that were defeated.

But alas, that dear life!

The one life!

That was when the idea came to mind.

If I could fight this knight...

Duel!

Without a weapon and armours?

But I was a pursued, lawless
pauper at this point!

As I stood there in front of
the blacksmith's workshop,

yearningly staring
at all the merchandise,

I heard that a ruckus
developed on the street:

a runaway bull chased after
all the people and animals.

I saw this as divine guidance:

Fight the bull!

And then you'll fight the
bullheaded one too!

I've led the bull back
to the slaughterhouse,

nurturing a na�ve hope that

my reward will guide me
closer to my goal.

However, divine destiny is
wiser than mortal men,

who would be quick to trade
in their virtue for cash.

A mother's heart was sure
to discover the trace

that brotherly hatred was
unable to find.

My mother found me

and brought with her
my most sacred relic:

the weapons of my father!

Triumph was complete.

With that single blow of this sword,

I've not only managed to gain the
pardon of this world for my crime,

but also cut the vicious head of all

the envy and intrigue
I was subjected to.

My brother fell out of favour
and I was glorified.

The outcast, the pariah,
the criminal rogue ascended

to become a knight of the king!

Oh, I cannot imagine how
that sudden happiness

failed to crush my heart
there and then!

I didn't know, I couldn't know
that I was standing

on the pinnacle of my life.

It was a glorious fight.

Ours was a noble cause:

to protect our home.

Now I know:

for the last time in my life.

The enemy's preponderance was
close to crush our handful of warriors,

when a sort of otherworldly
force energised our tired arms.

They say it was a miracle:

the legendary knight king himself,
arising from his ashes,

helped our weary army
to achieve victory.

Me, I've made a solemn oath
then that from now on,

I will dedicate all my life as a loyal
knight of my country and king

to the virtues of clarity, honour,

bravery and brotherly love,
and if need arise,

I shall sacrifice my life for them!

Illustrious words...

soft, colourful petals.

I believed in those words,

but the years to come failed
to put me to the test.

I was expecting heavy boulders,

but I finally stumbled on tiny pebbles.

The contenders fought a tournament
for the hand of a maiden.

A girl, a pink sprout...

from God's parterre.

I didn't line up among them,

the notion of marriage was
stranger to me back then,

preferring other things.

Backing out from this brash,
childish foolishness,

my eyes fell on a fellow of mine,

one not blessed with great strength,

what's more he was left-handed.

He admired the "winner's
prize" with such a yearning

that I felt sorry for his
suffering and easily offered him:

let us trade clothes, and
I will win the girl for him.

But how I wish I were piked
to death by my rivals!

Death could've saved me from
the further torments of my destiny!

At the end of the tournament...

I saw the girl!

My world just turned upside
down, everything became fuzzy.

All the things that were
sacred to me, my faith,

my life, my honour, I was ready

to toss away all these for a single
smile from those clear blue eyes!

I knew, I felt that she was the one,

I must have her,

and she knows it too,
she must know!

I fought for her in honour...

In honour?

But a true man and knight

must not fight in stupid disguise!

My poor red flower!

Neither the actual owner

nor the usurper of this armour is
fit for your wreath.

What is this miserable and
still sickly sweet feeling?

A secret power?

The absolute will of demons or angels?

Know that I've seen that girl before,

but not like...

today...

And I see her like that
ever since...

Forever...

Then a herald came.

The emperor commanded
our young king to submit to his rule.

Around me a rouse of enthusiasm:

let us avenge this offence with arms!

March forward for our country!

For our king!

Fate smites with one hand,
liberates with the other,

but at the end of the road,
man is once more ambushed

by another snare, not freedom.

As a sweltered man
yearns for water,

I thirsted for a duel.

Perhaps the storm of a war
shall wash my honour clean,

or death might soothe
my aching soul.

Yet our wise king had

measured the might of our force
to the army of the emperor,

and thought up a strange jest:

he made our fighters wear a disguise.

As for me, this festive shirt
burned my skin like ember.

To put on a disguise once more?

That what was dishonest
on the tournament field

shall be a noble virtue in a war?

That which ashamed me should
bring glory to the king?

Aren't we supposed to fight for
a noble goal with noble tools?

How could our knight king
enable such a guile?

The "triumph" was complete.

The "jest" ended in style.

The tower fell,

the cowering emperor offered
his daughter's hand

to the king as a pawn
to lasting peace.

The tears of shame

and powerlessness were
pricking at my throat.

Away from here,

from this gory sideshow
of monstrosity and perversion!

How could I even measure

my misstep to this
orgy of betrayal and dishonour?

May the holy knight king, the
one I solemnly vowed to,

pardon my sin.

And that girl, I can feel it,

will love me!

I wove a tapestry of neat words

that should extenuate
my being hotheaded.

It is unthinkable that she
would push me away,

since fate has created us
for one another.

The long years of a complete,
happy life shall prove that

I was born for her hand.

These years ought to tip the
balance of her judgment,

when on the other side is a
mere moment of trifleness.

When I saw that shrieking girl
in the saddle of the robber,

it was as if I saw this girl...

At the bottom of a stone pit,

on filthy hay, with broken limbs,

tormented by fever,
it became known to me

that the fruit of revenge is now ripe:

the children of the bullheaded
knight set a trap for me

to avenge the death of their father.

No one ever saw me being scared:

this is more of an illness
rather than a virtue,

but this particular girl,

the daughter of the bull-headed
knight, truly made me frightened.

I, who always yearned
for the purest love,

was thus far unaware of the fact

that the human soul
harbours such a hell of wild

and lecherous passion.

This repulsion and desire did
multiply my strength:

I broke out of my prison.

I thought,

perhaps it's not too late,
perhaps she still awaits me.

It cannot be that the heavenly
judge should smite me

so terribly for a single offence.

For a few moments
I could hold her in my arms.

A few moments of happiness,

the length of an autumn leaf
falling to the ground,

of a snowflake melting to water
from the warmth of our hand -

that was all the happiness
my fate allotted me

for an entire lifetime.

Then her husband stepped in,

my "brave" comrade champion,

lifting his filthy hand on her.

I would've crushed him if She
doesn't wedge in between us,

I know, rather protecting
me from the filth

than that miserable worm,
who slandered me

with horrific backbites
while I was away!

The abomination!

I murdered again.

I killed nevertheless.

It's a noble obligation to avenge
an insulted weak woman

- that is how I palliated myself,

though all I really wanted was
to sweep away

the dam that was wedged
between the two of us.

And her, this pure soul,

shuddered at the thought of a
happiness won by blood,

measured my doing
no the scale of conscience,

and afflicted the both of us
with her cruel adjudication:

she pushed me away.

I was hoping to find
my peace of mind

in the solitude of a monastery.

I have applied as a servant brother.

There wasn't a lowly,
base drudgery

that I would mind doing with
obedience just to punish myself.

The king's betrothed,
the pale daughter of the emperor

was called to Himself by the Creator.

Our king didn't desire a
permanent widowhood,

seeking for the consolation
of a new woman.

That is how

the image of his one-time bride
appeared to him again.

The small fact that the former
sweetheart was now happily married,

seemed irrelevant to him.

It shouldn't hamper such an
ambitious plan:

the unification of the
two countries.

It appears that even the destruction
of a happy marriage is

transcended into a sublime notion

if the king is its mastermind.

But this actually helped
my cause.

I saw a glimmer of hope:

I can reclaim my title of chivalry
in the ensuing battle.

I was sure that the king
would pardon my vice.

And perhaps that girl as well...

I am sweltered by blood.

The sputter of flesh,

the penetrating stench of
the smoke from burning towns,

the rattle, the crying,

the rotting smell of all the corpses
roasting under the parching sunlight,

the nocturnal fumbling of
foxes and corpse-robbers...

This is war.

This much is the price
to pay for a dream.

At the end a precise
and swift strike,

just as a scholarly surgeon
would cut off a putrefied limb,

spells the death of the prince.

Nothing steps in between the
king and the marriage anymore,

the country may now enter a
phase of convalescence.

I have reached all my goals
as well, since the king,

to repay his being saved, and for me
being zealous and chivalrous,

have gracefully pardoned me.

As a broken branch squirming in a flood,

sometimes pulled down in the depths,
sometimes floating on the wild surface,

we are thrashing about in the midst
of our fate's opaque maelstroms.

The weary swimmer

who hopes for a solid ground
under the green of a moor's grass,

but his feet sag into black swamp,

the bottom of which a
cruel death awaits...

That girl perished,

and with her I perished as well.

The world died,

goals and reason...

all perished.

The cherished dream of the
empire scattered to the wind.

The heavenly judge sent his
murderous angel

onto our triumphant army.

The name of the angel is:
repulsion and perdition.

The name of the angel is:
hatred and revenge.

The name of the angel is:

pestilence and contagion.

A crime is a crime
even if committed by kings.

They cannot walk about
unpunished for anything.

Years,

decades passed.

The country's life was once
again thriving.

The king,

as if attempting to remedy his sins,

his duplicity and destruction,

newly dedicated his life

to purify the monarchy
from its dust of olden notions.

Yet I didn't find,

couldn't find my place
in this brave new world.

I haunted the alien streets
as a spirit of withered times,

and the strangers
evaded me like a sceptre.

Images of ancient times were
floating in front of my eyes:

sword against sword,

pike against pike...

What use for this anymore?

When a single wilted creature is

capable of sweeping away armies

with a twitch of his finger?

What use for the old virtue?

What use do I have?

And then once again, for a last time,

satanic heat boiled up inside me.

All I see is a black knight

who conquered everyone,

and my blood was boiling hot:

to hell with you, wretch!

To hell with all of you who
defile the sacred virtue,

the pure faith of man!

To hell with the whole world!

Let all be destroyed!

Down with this fancy farcical world!

Oh, Lord!

We are yearning
for light and clarity...

yet our mundane passions

keep on polluting our pure goals
with the mire of sin.

You poor little red flower...

Lord,

save my soul!

Screenplay was based on the
Toldi Trilogy by J�nos Arany

Music composed by

With the participation of

Painted by

Cinematographer

Designed and directed by