Ingaran,
Can you please tell us the backstory of Aeglos? When did you start using it, and why is it your weapon of choice?
What the Frost Remembers
My friend, many tales surround Aeglos, but this I know: it was born in fire and tempered in ice. Forged not in war, but in the quiet before it, by hands that knew what was coming. A shield in the shape of a spear, meant not for conquest, but for defense.
Once, it was wielded by a king before me. But history is not as whole as we wish it to be, and the full tale of Aeglos is obscured by time. What is known is this: it was raised in defiance of the dark. And then, in the ruin of war, it was lost. For years, it was thought gone forever. Or so I thought.
But Círdan, wise as he is patient, knew better. When others mourned, he searched. He walked through the battlefield until he found it, wreathed in frost, untouched by time, waiting to be wielded once more. And he kept it, not as a relic, nor as a weapon for war, but as something greater: a trust not yet ready to be claimed.
I did not wield Aeglos as a child, nor as a youth. Not when I first took up arms, nor when I proved myself in battle. Only when I was crowned High King did Círdan come to me. He stood before me in the golden light of the harbor, spear in hand, and said:
“This was not meant to be lost. And neither are you.”
And so, I took up Aeglos, not to reclaim the past, but to carry it forward. When I first held it, I felt its weight in my hands. Not just the weight of steel, but of what it meant to bear arms at all. To hold the past, and the duty that came with it. To swear that if I must wield it, then it will be for something greater than myself.
For those who fought and fell, though their names are lost to time.
For those whose swords and spears carved the road I walk.
For those who did not seek war, but met it all the same.
Aeglos was made for war, but it is not war itself. And if it must be raised, then let it be raised in defense, in defiance, and in the name of all who stood before, whose hands bore steel, whose voices are now silent, but whose courage remains.
And if I fall, if Aeglos is lost once more, then I can only hope that someone, somewhere, will walk through the echoes of battle and know:
It was never just the weapon that mattered.
It was the hands that held it, and what they held it for. Yours Gil-galad