#enerdhil

[overlord-of-fantasy]

Gondolin week prompt 2

Today's prompt was Enerdhil the jewl-smith. I drew him with Maeglin and Rog, the other famous smiths from Gondolin. He is showing of his newest gem.

And yes: I drew Maeglin happy for once.

[exercise-of-trust]

do Enerdhil and Pengolodh in Gondolin please

"look at these respectable sages of the city," everyone says, "talking wisely amongst themselves about some great matter of lore or craft," and everyone gives them a deferentially wide berth as they wander the upper courtyards of gondolin, but really they're just taking their lunch break to gossip about their neighbors

(not currently taking requests; check back in like 3-6 months tho)

[arofili]

@gondolinweek​ day two | the house of the hammer of wrath | enerdhil and rôg

Now the last of the battalions was furnished by the folk of the Hammer of Wrath, and of these came many of the best smiths and craftsmen, and all that kindred reverenced Aulë the Smith more than all other Ainur. They fought with great maces like hammers, and their shields were heavy, for their arms were very strong. In older days they had been much recruited by Noldoli who escaped from the mines of Melkor, and the hatred of this house for the works of that evil one and the Balrogs his demons was exceeding great. Now their leader was Rôg, strongest of the Gnomes, scarce second in valour to that Galdor of the Tree.

—The Fall of Gondolin

There was in Gondolin a jewel-smith named Enerdhil, the greatest of that craft among the Noldor after the death of Fëanor.

—Unfinished Tales

[finnritter]

fit prompt: Where does Turgon get Glamdring?

Turgon watched the last of his lords trickle out of the meeting room, eager to go about their day after several long and exhausting discussions, until he alone remained behind in the empty room.

He opened a window, stretched his stiff shoulders and leaned down to rest his arms on the windowsill, enjoying just for a moment the fresh air stroking his face and the breathtaking view over his city.

The moment he would step out of this room, he would have to retreat to his own studies, back to long-overdue (how was it always long-overdue, no matter how diligently he tried to catch up?) paperwork that he would spend the rest of the day absorbed in.

He loved to take those five minutes in between, when he could do nothing but exist, if only for a blink in time.

He had also noticed, with a spark of amusement, that those were usually the moments when someone would inevitably interrupt him, usually with the latest news of a crisis or an incident or any urgent sensation that was clearly not insolvable by anyone but the king, and still usually got taken to him. It happened alarmingly often, maybe that was why the paperwork never got done.

But today it seemed like he would be disappointed in this regard after all, and he already braced himself for the boredom of the evening, when he heard quick, light footsteps approaching from the hallway, which could only belong to Idril.

He turned around with a smile just as the huge door was pulled open and he was greeted by his daughter’s inquiring eye. Her face lit up as she spotted him.

“Ah, there you are!”

He crossed the room with a few long strides, until he could speak to her without raising his voice.

“You have been looking for me?”

“I want to show you something.”

Her briefness, paired with the telling smile tugging at her lips, made him assume that she would not be sharing much more until she had shown him whatever it was that she had prepared for him. He still asked her about it, curiously, while already holding the door for her and letting her lead him towards the main exit of the palace.

“It is a secret, Atya. A surprise”

“What is the date?”, Turgon asked with exaggerated shock. “Have I missed my own begetting day?”

“You wish”, Idril said with a rather unsettling twinkle in her eyes. “There is no way you would miss what Glorfindel has actually planned for your begetting day. No, although it is a gift, in a way, this is more part of a greater plan that has been brewing for a while now.”

“Now, you’re making it interesting. Why is it that you never tell me of your plans beforehand?”

“That is because the moment I, or anyone, tell you of an idea, you need to get involved yourself and can’t let go of it. It has proven to be way less nerve-wracking for all people involved to just present you with a fait accompli.”

She smiled sweetly at him and all his protests at her – unfortunately rather apt – depiction of his character melted into a half-hearted sigh.

“And this ‘fait accompli’ of yours is hidden in… where are you leading me? The forge?”

“Precisely.”

More was not to be winkled out of her, and so Turgon, who was secretly considering how much more things were being dealt with behind his back for the exact same reason, just resigned himself to his fate and followed her.

…

The secret, as she had called it, was actually waiting for him just outside the royal forge, held by an elf that Turgon recognized to be Angûr, arguably the best blacksmith of the House of the Hammer of wrath. In front of him, actually hiding the object of interest, stood another elf, currently studying it intently.

“Are you certain that he will like it? Maybe we should change the design of the gems after all, it does seem a little over the top, now that I think about it, I just couldn’t help myself. But maybe, before he sees it-”

Turgon frowned and Angûr, who seemed to have heard them approach unlike his companion, met his eyes and bowed his head. Turgon had never heard him speak, unsure if he couldn’t, or didn’t choose to after having been enslaved by the enemy for a long time, but his amused side-eye towards his companion – who Turgon deemed to recognize at once – spoke volumes.

“Angûr”, Turgon greeted, even more curious than before. “Enerdhil.”

The latter spun around at once as he heard his name being called and immediately stumbled into a rather frenzied bow.

“My King”, he exclaimed, once he had gathered himself. “I did not expect you here so soon.”

“And I did not expect to see you today, at all, albeit I’m pleased to see you faring well”, he said, sending an inquisitive look towards Idril, who had jumped up to sit on a low wall and watched the scene unfold with a curious smile.

“Ah, so you see, your fair daughter has commissioned a sword for from us”, Enerdhil explained, as she made no movement to answer. “It is to be yours, my King.”

“A sword?”, Turgon asked, still directed towards Idril. “I have a sword.”

“Enerdhil had an idea”, she said, open in her admiration for the young smith, who had grown to be a rather close friend to her. “To enforce weapons with magical Intent. He is the one who should be explaining de details, but I quite liked the idea and Rog and I gave the two of them permission to experiment with it. It is a prototype, so to speak.”

Turgon’s gaze wandered over to the two smiths, and now, as Enerdhil had stepped aside, he could see the sword, too. It was beautiful, he realized, before a wave of shame hit him at the knowledge that his first impression of a deadly weapon had been its beauty. But even at the second glance, there was no denying it.

The smooth steel of the blade gleamed almost white in the sunlight, and there were intricate carvings adorning its cross-guard and ricasso. Even the hilt was run through with gold and something that looked like ivory, ruel-bone maybe, and at last the pommel was decorated with two white gems, one on each side.

It did not look like a weapon that was meant to be stained with blood and gore, but then again, Turgon hoped that there wouldn’t be much need for excessive bloodshed in the next time, altogether.

As if he knew why Turgon was hesitating, Angûr wordlessly held it out to him at the hilt, an encouraging smile on his lips.

Turgon took it, swung it around by way of trial. It was a lot shorter than every sword everyone had ever forged for him, but inherently way better balanced and easier to wield so that Turgon, who had never been the most skilled swordsman after all, could easily forgive the slight loss of reach.

“It is beautifully balanced”, he said, complementary, but it must have been obvious that he still didn’t quite understand the intent of a gift such as this one, and Enerdhil cleared his throat.

“That is all Angûr’s work. It is a marvellous weapon on its own, one worthy for a king, in times of peace and war alike”, he said. “But its true strength, and the true reason a simple jewel-smith such as myself decided to get involved in a project like this, lies in those carvings, you see.”

He gestured for Turgon to hold the blade steady and ran his nimble fingers over the delicate runes that were etched into the steel. Turgon noticed his voice becoming more certain and clear the more he spoke about his work, and listened intently.

“They are not only for decoration”, he said. “Those runes at the top bind the sword to its wielder and their purpose, and they are meant to protect them, to a certain degree. They absorb some of the force of impact above the blade, meaning that blocking and even hard hits are easier on the hands. It is fairly practical and works quite well, you can try it out later, if you wish.”

“That seems practical, indeed”, Turgon considered. “And those runes on the blade? What are they for?”

“They”, Enerdhil said. “Are the truly fun part. And the experimental part, for we are actually not quite sure if and how they will work, in the end.

They are meant to protect the wielder from foes, the lowly henchmen of the Enemy specifically, and as you can read in the wording of the runes, they are meant to deal orcs great damage in particular.”

“Meant to?”

“Well, we had no orcs to try it out on, so… What exactly will happen remains a mystery. But that is the fun part of magic, after all. You just light the spark, set in some gems to keep it glowing, and what happens after that is out of your hands.”

Turgon did not find this very encouraging, but the young smith sounded so pleased with himself, his eyes gleaming with an expression of pure creative energy that was so particularly Noldorin that Turgon couldn’t help but be intrigued by the magnificence of the creation. He swung it around some more, getting a feel for its astoundingly light weight in his hand, and asked a lot of questions that Enerdhil eagerly answered.

“I like it”, he decided in the end, genuinely. “Thank you for making this for me, I’m sure it will accomplish great deeds when it is next needed, although I hope that this day still lies in the distant future.”

“I don’t doubt it, my King”, Enerdhil answered with a bow, not elaborating which part of the sentence he was agreeing to.

“Oh and Enerdhil”, Turgon added, as Angûr was sheathing the blade with the look of a parent who was sending his child out on their own for the first time. “I may know someone who will undoubtedly love this idea. If you ever think about improving on your prototype, better make one for the Lord Ecthelion as well.”

[yellow-faerie]

I would very much like to hear about your head canons for Findis and co! (if you're not busy, no pressure!) have a great day :)

Oh yes! Would love to! Sorry it took so long - I have exams and I had to go back through all my many, many notes I have accumulated over the last six months of headcanons and things and the post kept getting bigger!

OK, so, while I sometimes go by other people as Findis’ wife/husband, my personal favourite is Rilyanixë and together they have four children: two daughters and two sons. Of these children, they have six grandchildren (3 granddaughters and 3 grandsons) and (as far as I know so far) no great-grandchildren.

(I’ll put the full post under the cut)

So Findis is the eldest daughter of Finwë and Indis called Laurinalma by her mother (meaning Golden Flower) and Lintafinwë by her father (meaning Soothing Finwë) (and maybe Finwë is a male name but I believe -wë is a gender neutral name ending and I like the idea of different families keeping a naming tradition of sorts). The name Findis is actually her Cilmessë.

She dislikes Tirion immensely because of their general attitude to remarriage and everything really.

I have this headcanon that the children of Finwë were all very close until they really got into society and rumours and other people’s opinions really tore them apart - Fëanor to Formenos or Aulë’s halls; Lalwen to the wilds where she spends most of her time with her Maia girlfriend/wife (they aren’t sure which); Fingolfin to the isolation of court; and Finarfin to Alqualondë.

And Findis goes to Valmar and the Vanyar.

She takes on a healers apprenticeship there, returning only a few times a year to her family home where tensions are rising between Fëanor and literally everyone else - not yet about anything important, more about really insignificant things. (I think this post sums up my thoughts on Fëanor and the way I see his relationships with his half-family quite well)

And for her graduation, she goes to the Tirion library before returning to Valmar (this is as much to cool down after arguing with Fëanor over something inconsequential as it is to find resources for her theory exam/essay/things) and meets Rilyanixë.

Rilyanixë (a name meaning Sparkling Ice) is the quiet, middle child of the chief archivist of Tirion Archive. His father is a Vanya hunter (because, really, Findis isn’t going to marry someone who isn’t at least a little Vanya) and his older sister takes after him. His younger sister went down to Alqualondë to learn sailing because she refuses to take after either of her parents, but that’s another story.

They meet because he too is looking to get away because his mother - a staunch supporter of the crown and it’s ability to make sound decisions (thus trusting Indis) - threw someone from the archive for making snide comments about the royal family and Rilyanixë rather disliked the raised voices. It is technically his day off but he came here to put books away because that’s what calms him.

So they meet and get on well: Rilyanixë quite likes this slightly scatter-brained healer and Findis likes the quiet librarian with a small smile and brown hair that shines gold when the light hits it just right.

She agrees to meet him again when she returns the books in a month or two when she comes back to town.

And they go out for coffee and learn that they are both half-Ñoldo, half-Vanya. And they sort-of fall into each other, meeting up in Valmar and in Tirion and eventually they are courting and then betrothed and then they are married, three years after first meeting.

(The marriage does cause tensions to rise between Rilyanixë and his Vanya family who see Findis as too Ñoldor and have issues with that so they don’t end up spending much time with them - there’s a reason Rilyanixë’s parents don’t live together anymore)

Now, Rilyanixë married into this family so he is as veritably crazy as all of they are - except no-one notices until he tells Fëanor that his latest creation was ‘passable, he supposes’ because Fëanor insulted Findis and you just don’t do that. Basically, Rilyanixë is very uncrazy unless provoked at which point he will just provoke whoever’s closest, however ill-advised that is (if that makes any sense).

Anyway, they get a house halfway between Tirion and Valmar (because they can’t be completely separate from politics but...they don’t want to be anywhere near it at the same time) and live fairly peacefully, with occasional siblings just appearing or nephews and nieces and the like (from Rilyanixë’s side too it should be noted).

Everyone is beginning to think that they are not going to have children as Arafinwë is already married and with a baby when Findis declares that she is pregnant. A year(ish) later, she gives birth to a girl that Findis calls Findecurë (Tress of Skill - weird name, but I was trying to come up with a translation for Finvain) and Rilyanixë calls Nofernë (Under Beech Tree). Of the two of them, Rilyanixë’s naming is actually a bit more prophetic than his wife’s (because I find it odd that only women have prophetic visions and while I still think that women are almost always the parent (if either parent does have prophetic name-giving), I thought that men must even just a little).

Before Fëanor pulls the sword and everything finally collapses in on itself, they have three more children. A boy who she calls Findelaurë (I’m using this variation on Glorfindel’s Quenya name for the sake of familial consistency) and who Rilyanixë calls Indiltur (Lily Lord). Another girl that Findis calls Fanyanel (Daughter of the Clouds) and Rilyanixë calls Iþilmolótë (Flower of Starlight - and apparently the Vanyar still used the letter thorn? I might be wrong). And finally another son that Findis calls Finróna (Hair of the East) and Rilyanixë calls Aþumolor (Good Companion in Dreams). In order of birth, their Sindarin names (and the names I shall be referring to them by) are Glorfindel, Finvain, Faniel and Finrun.

At the darkening, Glorfindel follows Turgon (with whom he is close), Faniel follows Glorfindel (with whom she is close), Finrun follows his elder siblings and the other Finwean babies (Galadriel, Argon and Ambarussa), and Finvain follows her siblings.

When her children and family leave, Findis disappears into the wilds (very good fic about this here) and Rilyanixë, with no family, returns to his mother’s house in Tirion.

So Glorfindel we all know goes to Gondolin and dies and gets re-embodied, etc. I would like to add a bit to his story to say I am a big Glorestor shipper and they definitely end up married and they adopt Lindir and his sister Lindis (because no-one can stop me).

As of Erestor, he’s an Avar in my mind who ends up with Gondolin because the Avari keep being pushed from their homes and he knows he would be safe there. (He does initially say he’s a Sindar to try and avoid the general distaste everyone seems to have for the Avari and only tells those he really trusts). Also, he would get on so well with Rilyanixë and it’s such a pity that they don’t meet until the fourth age.

Finvain leaves ME because her brothers and sisters are going, not from any particualr desire of hers to go. She is protective at heart - even if she seems very cold - and loves her brothers and sisters a lot. She does a lot of what she does only grudgingly and eventually swears off killing even orcs as her actions at Alqualondë haunt her that much (she acts as a behind the lines medical assistant due to her knowledge of plants and herbs and is killed because of her oath when the camp is overrun).

She loves gardening. If she’s sitting in a patch of flowers, she’s happy (she would really love hobbits if she had lived). She had a garden in her family home between Valmar and Tirion but when she left it got overgrown, despite Finrun’s best attempts to keep it cared for (he’s busy and the garden reminds him too painfully of his absent sister). She can’t keep a garden in ME (she’s a messenger for Fingolfin, moving around a lot) but she does have a habit of planting flowers in odd places wherever she travels.

She does fall in love, if that is what you would call it. She and Morwen (and I have this headcanon that Morwen and Húrin were really good friends who were both hella gay and both really wanted children so got married for that while agreeing that they could see other people) spend time together and it would have developed further if Finvain wasn’t always being called away and she hadn’t died at Nirnaeth.

Finvain holds guilt over her brother’s death as Finrun died at Alqualondë and Finvain saw him die, still confused as to what was actually going on; and Lalaith’s death (who she thought she could save with her medicine but who died anyway).

When she is re-embodied - before her sister but after both her brothers, she returns to her family home - left abandoned by her mother who had vanished soon after the Darkening; her father, who had returned to his mother in Tirion; and her brother, who was now living almost permanently on the outskirts of Alqualondë. She fixes it up the best she can and tends to her garden as slowly, one by one, her family returns.

Faniel is the sort of person who has everyone wrapped around her little finger but doesn’t seem to know. Hella strong, hella kind, hella oblivious - a summary of Faniel’s character.

Faniel and Ecthelion are both bi (when Ecthelion was younger, there was a time he and Glorfindel were courting before they decided they were better as friends). She and Ecthelion have three children: a son, Elemmakil; a daughter, Meleth; and a child, Enerdhil. Meleth ends up as Eärendil’s nurse and marries Elwing’s nurse Evranin which is all I really have for her and I have next to nothing for the other two. But they exist.

Anyway, Faniel fights with a spear and actually lives to escape to the havens but she dies in the Third Kinslaying.

She is the last of her siblings to be reborn and ends up being the one to initiate the search for their mother.

And finally, Finrun. He dies at Alqualondë when he and a few others go into the city to see what the confusion is all about and gets caught up in the crossfire before he can really tell what’s going on. With no blood on his hands and practically no trauma, he gets re-embodied within a few years but everything is really different: all his family has either gone to ME, gone and secluded themselves somewhere, are exceptionally busy or Finrun thinks they hate him. As someone who thrived off of the familial love of his family (being Aro/Ace, this is one of the main forms of love that he experiences), it’s a jarring experience to say the least and ends up with him being really, really lonely.

He decides to deal with this crippling loneliness by throwing himself into his work. The only family who really talks to him is Finarfin but they mainly talk about work and he’s like, if it makes him happy then it’ll make me happy. (It is making neither of them happy, they’re just avoiding the problem). So he ends up in Alqualondë working towards restoring relations. No-one here particularly likes him (Maglor’s wife, Cantasië, does occasionally come and keep him company to be honest to her).

He is here he meets Elwing, singing and miserable who he promptly adopts. (It is not only the Fëanorians with adopting people on the spot issues). The rest of the Teleri are a bit sceptical of this girl however much they like her and she’s uncomfortable in palace having lived nearly her whole life in near poverty despite being a princess. And Eärendil, when he appears, reminds him of his cousins due to being Turgon’s grandson. There’s a bit more nuance to it, I guess, but basically he sees these two children with no family anymore and as he knows how they feel, he decides to give them that family.

It’s at the end of the First Age that Finrun realises that the Valar intend to keep the Ñoldor in Mandos and he basically becomes the advocate for their release. In his house by the sea, he is slowly collecting war orphans who lost parents far too young and came to these shores to try to heal hurts of their souls and Finrun houses them and loves them and tries to get the Valar to release the families they have lost (not realising that in the process he has become part of that family and the loneliness he has been feeling is lessened somewhat - not gone completely because his family is a different entity entirely but lessened).

Eventually, he convinces them and one-by-one, his family and the others trapped in Mandos are released upon their healing, rather than being kept there forever.

(When Glorfindel is reborn, Finrun is not told and meets him on the docks by pure chance before he must go to Middle Earth. And before he can really get over the shock and bundle of emotions, Glorfindel is gone again. Finrun genuinely thinks that this was a hallucination for a long time.)

It is one sunny day soon after Glorfindel has returned to Valinor that Faniel gets them together to go after their mother, who, despite everyone coming back and a tentative happiness and peace beginning, has not returned from wherever she ran to. During their search, they get to catch up for the first time really since they were all reborn.

Findis has just sort of made camp in a cave, not hiding but decided that society sucked and she didn’t want to go back. Her children convince her otherwise and they return and everything is good and happy.

Umm, so yep, these are my vague thoughts on this family. I hope you liked it!

[sunflowersupremes]

The Dark King of Gondolin: Chapter 1

Maeglin was triumphant. He got everything he wanted.

Except for Idril.

Characters: Maeglin, Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Galdor, Enerdhil, Pengolodh

Tags & Triggers: Dark AU, Abuse, Torture

Read on AO3

The halls of the palace crawled with orcs. Maeglin needed them to keep the elves that had survived the sack and siege in line, but that didn’t make it any easier to look at them, even for him.

But even with the orcs, he couldn’t keep the city under control.

Maeglin scowled, then called their commander forward. “Bring me the surviving lords.”

During the siege the forces of Morgoth had been given specific instructions: they weren’t to kill the lords of the city if they could avoid it.

Glorfindel, Galdor, and Ecthelion had all survived and been captured. Egalmoth had been seen fleeing with Tuor and Idril and since most of the House of the Heavenly Arch had escaped, Maeglin hadn’t seen a reason to install a new leader. Rog had initially survived as well, but he’d managed to break out of his prison and Maeglin had killed him, replacing him with Enerdhil as the leader of the House of the Hammer.

Duilin had been as he’d fired arrows from the city walls, so Maeglin had captured his son, Tuilindo, instead, letting him be in charge of the house of the Swallow.

Penlod had fallen, trampled into dust in an alley, so the Houses of Snow and Pillar went to Pengolodh.

Salgant was noticeably absent, but Maeglin had killed the minstrel himself after his forces had rebelled and had the remainder of his house executed by the orcs.

Then, he’d had the remainder of the Lords brought to the Palace. The Tower of Turgon had fallen, but the Palace had remained more or less intact, and Maeglin had taken it over. He could have made the House of the Mole into the palace, but that would mean letting more people into his house than he was fully comfortable with.

Better to keep them away from his halls.

The Lords were clearly still exhausted, many leaning on one another for support, it had been a few days since the battle, but it was clear they hadn't rested. A few still seemed to be wearing their armor and most of them were stained by blood and dirt. The only thing missing was their weapons, which Maeglin had ordered taken from them as soon as he'd won.

Maeglin leaned back in the throne, surveying the room with dark eyes. “As Turgon’s heir, I am now the King.”

It wasn’t a terribly eloquent thing to say, but it got his point across. He hammered it home by adding, “That means that you do whatever I tell you, even if I order you to kill one of your own.”

He motioned to Rog and Turgon’s heads, mounted on stakes along the wall. “Unless you’d like to join your friends.” Turgon’s head was still slightly squished from where they’d dug it out from the rubble, but it got the point across.

“Perhaps we would.” Galdor stepped forward, shaking off Glorfindel’s hand when the Golden Lord attempted to stop him.

Maeglin waved to one of the orcs. “Cut out his tongue.”

“Lord Maeglin,” Glorfindel said quickly. “He may find it difficult to carry out your orders if he lacks a tongue.”

Maeglin held up his hand to slow the orc as he mulled over Glorfindel’s words. He wasn’t willing to admit that the elf had a point, but since he did have a point, he needed to do something.

“Take him to the Square of the King and give him forty lashes. Then leave him tied to a post until I order him released.” Then, just to prove that he wasn’t easily manipulated. “Take Glorfindel with you. He should have ten lashes for speaking out of turn.”

Orcs grabbed both of the Lords he’d indicated, pulling them toward the door with more force than was necessary. “Give the rest of them five,” Maeglin called. “Just because I’m bored.”

He imagined them protesting or perhaps begging for mercy, but instead they walked outside obediently, following the orcs without a word.

Maeglin lounged on the throne, watching them go, telling himself that he was imagining the disappointed look from Turgon’s head.

Unable to sit by himself, with only a few heads to keep himself company, Maeglin strode out to the balcony, leaning on the rail and watching as the orcs striped the lords of their armor, throwing it into a pile on the ground.

A few of the remaining citizens were watching, too afraid to flee as they were pulled forward, one by one, and beaten.

A few of them screamed.

A few seemed to cry.

But not a single one begged.

Even Galdor remained stoic as blood poured down his back. He had to be helped away from the post when his beating was done.

Maeglin growled and stormed down from the balcony, into the Square. He stopped in front of the line of lords, where they were sitting, leaning on one another for support. Almost at random, he chose one, pointing to Ecthelion and saying, “Come here.”

Glorfindel looked as though he was going to argue again, but Ecthelion brushed him off, stepping up to Maeglin and bowing, only a slight tremor giving away the pain he was in.

“What does my King desire?”

Maeglin hadn’t made up his mind as to what he wanted. All he knew was that he was livid his captives had refused to give him the show he’d wanted. He turned back to the orc that had delivered their beating. “Lash him.”

The creature tilted its head, giving Maeglin a curious look. “‘Ow many?”

“Until I tell you to stop!”

Ecthelion stepped to the post without another word, offering his hands to the orc and letting it tie him in place. The orc took it’s place behind him, whip in hand, without another word.

But it wasn’t Ecthelion he watched. It was Glorfindel.

The Golden lord seemed frozen, watching with horror as he close friend was tortured. He winced with each strike of the whip, and grew paler the longer it lasted.

But when he stood, Maeglin knew something had happened. Glorfindel seemed to plan to run to Ecthelion, but Tuilindo stopped him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back.

Maeglin glanced over his shoulder. The Lord of the Fountain had gone limp, the shackles on his wrists were the only thing holding him upright. “Glorfindel, see if he’s alive.”

Glorfindel rushed forward, placing a hand on Ecthelion’s throat to check his pulse. “He lives.”

“Pity.”

Glorfindel ran his hand through Ecthelion’s dark hair, and Maeglin could already tell he’d won. As if on cue, Glorfindel asked, “Might I take him to a healer?”

“Beg me.”

One of the other lords gasped. Maeglin didn’t care enough to see which one. Glorfindel barely seemed to think before moving forward, kneeling on the ground in front of Maeglin and murmuring, “Please my lord, allow me to help him.”

“No.”

Glorfindel’s head shot up, his eyes widening. “Please! Lord Maeglin-”

Someone called for Glorfindel to be quiet, but Maeglin kept his eyes firmly on the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. “King. I am your King, and you will refer to me as such.”

“King Maeglin,” he said, clasping his hands together tightly. “He needs a healer or-”

“Or he will die a horrific death,” Maeglin finished, almost gleeful at the horrified expression on Glorfindel’s face.

“Please-”

“One week.” Maeglin turned on his heel. “No, three days. You may have three days to heal him. Bring him to me at the end of it.”

Glorfindel sobbed in thanks as he rushed to grab his friend. Maeglin didn’t look back, striding into the Palace with a grin on his face.

Perhaps he hadn’t gotten Idril, but at least he could finally show his uncle’s precious friends exactly what he thought of them.

The only OC in this is Tuilindo (Quenya for “Spring Singer” which refers to the Swallow birds). The rest are canon characters.

I got the idea for this when I was writing After the Fall.

The Current Lords are: Glorfindel - Golden Flower Galdor - Tree Ecthelion - Fountain Tuilindo - Swallow Enerdhil - Hammer Pengolodh - Snow and Pillar Maeglin - Mole and King

The houses of Harp and Heavenly Arch no longer exist.

[celebrimbor-of-eregion]

Celebrimbor: I am still in love with a man I met long ago.

Mairon (eavesdropping): That would be me.

Celebrimbor: He taught me magical crafts.

Mairon: Definitely me.

Celebrimbor: The city where my love arose is now ruined, but my love lives.

Mairon: Ost-in-Edhil. Told ya.

Celebrimbor: His name starts with an “E.”

Mairon: E... Ennatar?!

Enerdhil (blushing): Me, darling?

Celebrimbor (softly): You, my heart.

Mairon: WHAT?!

[arofili]

@aspecardaweek day five | relationships | queerplatonic rôg + enerdhil

Rōka and Anmír were elves of the Tatyar who awoke upon the shores of Cuiviénen. First of their people, they created a fëa-bond together without a simultaneous union of their hröar. Both were resourceful, inventive elves who were among those to the first develop smithing techniques; Rōka made more practical tools, while Anmír was renowned for hir jewelry and soon lengthened hir name to Anmíridil.

The pair was sundered when the Great Journey began, for Anmíridil was enchanted by the promise of Aman while Rōka turned to follow Morwë and the Hwenti eastward. Anmíridil made it to Aman with the rest of the Noldor and became a masterful jewelsmith, named only after Fëanáro Curufinwë in hir skill. In the east, Rōka worked diligently as a maker of weapons, and the work of his hands was vital to the defense of his people; indeed, in one assault of the Dark Vala’s monstrous creatures, Rōka was himself abducted from his home and carried back to Angband, where he was put to work in the mines. Yet he did not go without a fight, and so fierce was his resistance that he earned the name Rôg, “demon,” amid his captivity.

Eventually the Noldor returned to Middle-earth, and Anmíridil was among them. Not long after, Rôg led a rebellion among the thralls of Angband and broke free, escaping to rejoin his long-sundered kin. Thus Rôg and Anmíridil found one another again, unlooked for, and rejoiced to be together once more.

When Rôg was offered a lordship in Prince Turukáno’s hidden city, he asked Anmíridil, now known as Enerdhil in the Grey-elven tongue, to accompany him. Hir heart was moved, and ze accepted, and together they created the House of the Hammer of Wrath. In Gondolin, Rôg and Enerdhil would each create many great works, including the King’s sword Glamdring and the restoration of the famous Elessar.

[Image description: A series of 8 edited photos arranged in sets of two. 1: Headshot of a man with brown skin, golden eyes, and a buzzcut of dark brown hair; his ears have been edited so they are pointy and leaf-shaped; the caption reads “Rôg” with the subtitle “demon.” 2: The business end of a warhammer embedded with a green stone; circular text in the center reads “House of the Hammer.” 3: An erupting volcano below the stars; circular text in the center reads “Unbegotten Tatyar.” 4: A white horse walking on a forest path; the caption reads “Rōka” with the subtitle “swift horse.” 5: The Elessar, a green jewel set in a pendant of a silver eagle with spread wings; the caption reads “Anmíridil” with the subtitle “great jewels.” 6: The interior of a forge; circular text in the center reads “Smiths of Gondolin.” 7: Jewelry of two small golden swords on attached by a chain; circular text in the center reads “Partners of the soul.” 8: Upper body shot of a South Asian person bedecked in jewelry, looking to the side pensively; the person’s ear has been edited so they are pointy and leaf-shaped; the caption reads “Enerdhil” with the subtitle “lover of gems.” End image description.]