glorfindelweek

[glorfindelweek]

Day 2 (Traveling to Middle Earth | The Helcaraxë | Bonds Broken, Bonds Made) for @glorfindelweek !!

This is so so headcanon heavy but tl;dr I like to headcanon a) Idril as the equivalent of 10-12ish at the start of the Helcaraxë and Glorfindel being only a little older than her, b) Glorfindel as Idril's first cousin, on her mother's side, and c) them being more or less friendly before the Helcaraxë but growing very very close during the march!

They're just two kids watching out for each other when the adults are busy with important adult things

#day 2 #helcaraxe #bonds broken bonds made #glorfindel #idril #glorfindelweek #glorfindel week

[glorfindelweek]

Day 2 of Glorfindel Week is here! Today’s optional prompts are traveling to Middle Earth, the Helcaraxë, and bonds broken, bonds made. Hopefully, Glorfindel will encounter some friends along the way! ❄️ (I see y’all have latched onto Ecthelion… 👀)

#silm #silmarillion #glorfindel #glorfindelweek #glorfindel week #tolkien

[glorfindelweek]

Glorfindel Week: Day Two

For Day Two of @glorfindelweek, I continue to dance outside my comfort zone by not even trying to be funny.

#day 2 #helcaraxe #Glorfindel #glorfindelweek #glorfindel week

[glorfindelweek]

@glorfindelweek

Glorfindel Week Day 2: Traveling to Middle Earth | The Helcaraxë | Bonds Broken, Bonds Made

Glorfindel walking with Ecthelion, who hadn't left his side since then. (You can take Friends to Lovers from my cold dead hands).

During the coldest and darkest time in their lives Glorfindel and Elenwe, who shone bright with the light of the Vanyar, were helping guiding the eldar across the ice, giving strength where their own failed. And while Elenwe had Turgon to rely on, Glorfindel had Ecthelion.

#day 2 #helcaraxe #bonds broken bonds made #glorfindel #ecthelion #glorthelion #glorfindel week #glorfindelweek

[glorfindelweek]

🏵️@glorfindelweek Day 2: The Helcaraxë/Bonds Made🏵️

Glorfindel and Ecthelion crossing the Grinding Ice together and forming a bond for life

#day 2 #helcaraxe #bonds broken bonds made #Glorfindel #Ecthelion #glorfindel week #glorfindelweek

[glorfindelweek]

Chapter 2 is up!

@glorfindelweek

#day 2 #helcaraxe #bonds broken bonds made #Glorfindel #glorfindelweek #glorfindel week

[glorfindelweek]

Glorfindel Week, Day 2: Helcaraxë

@glorfindelweek

"[Fingolfin] and his host wandered long in misery, but their valour and endurance grew with hardship; for they were a mighty people, the elder children undying of Eru Ilúvatar, but new-come from the Blessed Realm, and not yet weary with the weariness of Earth. The fire of their hearts was young, and led by Fingolfin and his sons, and by Finrod and Galadriel, they dared to pass into the bitterest North; and finding no other way they endured at last the terror of the Helcaraxë and the cruel hills of ice. Few of the deeds of the Noldor thereafter surpassed that desperate crossing in hardihood or woe." --Of the Flight of the Noldor, The Silmarillion

#day 2 #Glorfindel #helcaraxe #glorfindel week #glorfindelweek

[glorfindelweek]

Day 2: Traveling to Middle Earth & The Helcaraxë

At night Glorfindel climbes an icy hill, hoping to see the shore of middle earth. The stars are bright that night and the ice seems to glow. Maybe the Valar have not forsaken them after all.

#day 2 #helcaraxe #Glorfindel #glorfindelweek #glorfindel week

[glorfindelweek]

The Trial of the Golden Flower: Chapter One

The Golden Flower sleeps in the Halls of Mandos, unaware that he is dead.

It is a quiet place, and dark too, so that the dead may rest quietly without disturbance. It will be many, many years before they are woken.

"He must not be woken, Manwë," Námo says sternly, fixing him with a warning look. The two Valar linger just outside of the sleeper's chamber, Námo barring the Elder King from passing.

Manwë can only catch a glimpse of the Elf's golden curls around the corner, as still and bright as the metal it brings to mind. He is not breathing; his body perfectly still, now only a vessel for a dormant spirit that, if Námo has his way, will not stir until Arda is healed. Manwë pulls his gaze back to Námo, his brow furrowing. "So he is to be left like this - a corpse in a hall! He deserves more than this, for his valiant deeds. He deserves to be revived."

"It is against the laws of Life and Death to bring a dead soul back to life," Námo insists. "What you are suggesting is a cruelty, not a kindness. Please, leave him - he may wake if our disturbance is too great."

"What do you imagine he would say if he knew his life hung in the balance?" Manwë retorts.

"It is not his life that hangs in the balance, but his death," Námo reminds him. "Would you rob him of his rest, of the peace that he has earned, and thrust him back into that painful existence?"

Manwë's wings flutter agitatedly, and he glares at Námo - but the Lord of Death's pure white eyes stare back without a hint of relenting. "Why do you think he ought to be sent back, among all other heroes? His friend Ecthelion has recently found his own place here, yet I do not see you argue for his life."

Ecthelion drowned in a fountain, Manwë thinks sullenly, but of course he would never say this. "...Never before has a Balrog been slain by an Elf," he says. "Not even Fëanor could manage it. The Elves have suffered long at Melkor's hands, and perhaps we ought to send them a warrior who can protect them, one who is not so limited in the ways he is permitted to interfere."

"So to send them that warrior, you would break your own limitations to interfere."

Manwë hesitates. "Yes."

Námo looks long and hard at him, weighing his words carefully; Manwë has always been the heart of the Valar, but Námo is its mind. Though Manwë may rule them, he has always listened well to Námo's counsel, for he too saw the value in logic.

But sometimes, thinks a small part of him, the head must bow down to the heart.

He sighs. "Manwë, what you are suggesting has never before been done, or even considered - but since you are both my friend and my King, I will do as you ask and reembody this Elf before the Great Healing."

He lets his sentence drop like a gavel in the air, and Manwë smiles brilliantly - but his exultation quickly fades into confusion when Námo does not step away from the door.

"Well?" Manwë asks, gesturing his taloned hand toward the sleeping Elf behind them. Here Námo smiles, though his skin is so transparent that Manwë can hardly see it.

"On one condition," the Lord of Death says, raising a glassy finger. "You must convince me that this Elf is worthy of a second walk upon Arda."

Manwë's face twists. "Haven't I already?"

"You have persuaded me to consider your proposition, but now the battle moves from my heart to his." He turned to the still Elf in the chamber. "Make me want to revive him."

For a moment, both Valar glare at each other, light and dark, neither willing to give in.

"I accept your challenge," Manwë finally says. "Now ... Where to begin?"

Here is my first piece for @glorfindelweek! I know it's late, I was really pressed for time, and also had to think of something quick. Think of this as a prologue to the rest of my works, which will be about Manwë and Námo deciding whether or not Glorfindel should be revived - as the only Elf this has ever happened to (I believe) it is a very big decision!

If you'd like to be part of a taglist, let me know! I hope you enjoy!

#day 1 #Glorfindel #manwe #mandos #glorfindelweek #glorfindel week

[glorfindelweek]

Glorfindel Week | Day 1

Quick drawing today for @glorfindelweek! Took a crack at a golden mantle. I don't have my Valinor headcanons for him sorted out yet, but I've been playing with the idea of what his personal device looks like before and after rebirth.

Sketches with haphazard notes below cut:

#day 1 #valinor #Glorfindel #glorfindelweek #glorfindel week

[glorfindelweek]

Catch me crying tears of joy because everyone’s works for Glorfindel Week are so good! And it’s only the first day. 😂

#glorfindel week #glorfindelweek #lotr #lord of the rings #silm #silmarillion #glorfindel #tolkien

[glorfindelweek]

@glorfindelweek

Glorfindel Week Day 1: Valinor | Childhood | Family

Little Glorfindel|Laurefindele with his father Ingil (Ingwion) on the mountaincastle of Taniquetil where many Vanyar live, where Glorfindels grandfather Ingwe lives. He grows up with wind in his hair and the clear voices of his people around him, with a loving family that shelters him, until his own ambitions carry him away to Tirion, where his mother Findis is from, and where his aunt Elenwe lives.

#day 1 #valinor #family #childhood #Glorfindel #ingwion #glorfindelweek #glorfindel week

[glorfindelweek]

moodboard; Glorfindel, lord of the House of the Golden Flower

kicking off @glorfindelweek with a moodboard with no specific prompt, i just love the sunshine boy

#day 1 #Glorfindel #glorfindel week #glorfindelweek

[glorfindelweek]

Glorfindel and his mom for day 1 of @glorfindelweek (Valinor | Childhood | Family)

#day 1 #Valinor #childhood #family #glorfindel #glorfindelweek #glorfindel week

[glorfindelweek]

Glorfindel Week | Day 1: Valinor Headcanons

Glorfindel headcanons for his time in Valinor for @glorfindelweek 💛✨

I primarily write in the Second/Third Age, but I do have headcanons for Glorfindel in his youth and in Valinor that do influence my writing. I thought that today's prompt gives me a good opportunity to share them!

Born after Turgon, around Galadriel and Aredhel’s age. Glorfindel's actual age has never actually come up in my writing (other than he's Very Old), but the idea of it does influence his dynamic with other characters. He is younger than Turgon, and in a way defers to him beyond Turgon just being his king. Turgon is like an older brother to him. Ecthelion is slightly older, but barely; Egalmoth is a little younger, but also barely. Glorfindel treats them as peers as well as his best friends. Galadriel is also a peer and so he interacts with her as such, especially after his return in the Second Age and well into the Third Age. Glorfindel's age also somewhat affects his dynamic with Erestor, whom I of course write him with plenty. While I also now mostly write Erestor as having been born during the Years of the Trees, he is always specifically younger than Glorfindel. I don't think I ever mention it though and I'm not even sure if the effect is noticeable, but it's there. 🤭

Mostly Ñoldorin, but part-Vanyarin, cousin of Elenwë. This is an old but popular headcanon for Glorfindel, considering how: 1) it was said that Glorfindel crossed the Helcaraxë out of his kinship with Turgon; and 2) he has golden hair. I adopted it very early and just ran with it all these years. One thing that has changed over the years is that although I have written him as a pure Vanya before, I have now resolved to have him as part-Ñoldorin, simply because he was the only one among Fingolfin’s host that canonically didn't take part in the kinslaying at Alqualondë. I do not like the idea that some clans are better than others, that violence was a mark of the Ñoldor while “goodness” is ascribed mostly to the Vanyar, who happen to be the whitest of the white among the races in Arda.

Has sisters (and maybe one brother). I imagine Glorfindel as having siblings; he just has that vibe about him. I usually place him around second out of five children, with the older sibling to him being always a sister. The placement sometimes changes, and sometimes there isn't even a brother at all (or if there was, Glorfindel hasn't met him before he left with Fingolfin's host), but somehow key to my idea of Glorfindel is that he has sisters and he has a good relationship with all of them. He is therefore comfortable with women, is gentle with them, and relates with them easily. He does, however, stand a bit independent of his sisters, who share a close bond among themselves, and he is the only one in his family to join the hosts crossing to Middle-earth.

Bonus: Valinor, post-death

He has returned to Middle-earth at least once before the Second Age, by fighting in the War of the Wrath. According to The History of Middle-earth, Glorfindel was reimbodied shortly after his death, within the First Age. Given that he already was there when Eärendil arrived asking the Valar for aid, you cannot convince me that Glorfindel wouldn't have gone. There was hardly anyone in Valinor more motivated to help Eärendil than Glorfindel himself, Eärendil’s savior in Gondolin, and you can take this headcanon from my cold and dead fingers.

Emissary of Manwë, learned from Nienna. It was also said that Glorfindel became a follower and friend of Olórin (Gandalf) in Valinor, so this isn't much of a stretch considering Olórin's alignment as well as a Maia. Given also how Glorfindel was returned primarily for his "goodness", and the fact that he was steadfast against the kinslayings, and his care and love for people, Nienna as the Vala he most aligns with also is not a stretch.

#day 1 #Valinor #childhood #family #Glorfindel #glorfindelweek #glorfindel week

[glorfindelweek]

🏵️ @glorfindelweek Day 1: Valinor/Childhood/Family 🏵️

Glorfindel being Elenwë's nephew, he loved spending time with his little cousin Idril during their youth in Valinor

#day 1 #valinor #childhood #family #glorfindel #idril #glorfindelweek #glorfindel week

[glorfindelweek]

Meeting In Tirion

[for Glorfindel Week, hosted by @glorfindelweek, Day 1: Valinor]

“You’re quite something, aren’t you?”

Laurefindelë looked up from the flavored shaved ice he was eating from a folded leaf. He’d never tried the treat before, ice being a rare commodity in Valmar. The flavor was surprising, sweet like ripe berries chilled in a stream but even colder, and sharp on his tongue like crystalized honey until it melted. He’d been enjoying the novelty at one of the many public benches that dotted the mountain city of Tirion, and now he found himself looking up at one of the black-haired Noldorin inhabitants.

“Pardon?” Laurefindelë said with a mild smile.

“You speak like them, too.” the Noldo said, mouth pulling down in disgust.

Laurefindelë knew that tensions in the city were on the rise. Most of the public rhetoric was focused on the Valar themselves, but this wasn’t the first time his golden hair, simple garment, or voice had singled him out for hatred. The last time he visited, his reception was much warmer.

“I suppose you’ve come to spy on us for your masters.” The Noldo’s frown hardened, an angry line across his handsome face.

Laurefindelë glanced around (the street was busy but no one paid them any mind) and then held up his shaved ice. “I’ll be recommending we find a place to harvest ice so I can have this in Valmar, too.”

The other scoffed. “The ice is made, not harvested. It is a craft beyond what your masters will let you learn.”

Laurefindelë was floored. “What do you mean, the ice is ‘made’? How can you make ice?”

The question had the double benefit of distracting the Noldor from his suspicion and drawing over a growing crowd to debate the ‘how’, ‘whys’, and ‘wherefores’ of making ice from water or even the air, apparently, though he was disinclined to wholly trust the visibly inebriated artisan who made that particular claim. Soon a roaring discussion was filling the street. Bejeweled elves spoke in louder and louder voices, gesticulating wildly as they sought to convince anyone that their particular understanding or theoretical method was the best and most worthy of further investigation. They might not even be discussing ice anymore.

Certain he’d been conveniently forgotten in the hubbub, Laurefindelë rose from his bench and slipped away through the jostling bodies. Just as he passed through the edge of the gathering, a hand fell on the bare skin of his arm, grabbing just below his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” The Noldo from earlier demanded, sharp eyebrows raised.

“I have an appointment I need to get to. I’m going to be late.” He really did not want to be interrogated again. The city’s paranoia was growing out of hand, not that anyone bothered to ask for his opinion on that.

“Don’t lie to me.” The Noldo did not release him. “You were in no hurry to leave before, and you are a poor liar.”

Laurefindelë briefly considered the merits of hitting the elf and running. The mass of arguers could turn into a mob if he wasn’t careful. Wouldn’t that be a terrible way to end his trip to Tirion? He’d been warned no less than three times before leaving Valmar about the mounting hostilities. He would definitely get at least two ‘we told you so’s upon his return.

Before he got too far down the mental escape plan (which currently involved running very fast and seeing if anything he learned from his time climbing sea cliffs with several Teleri applied to scaling walls), his accoster continued.

“The wife of my cousin crafts ice,” he said. “You must meet her, I insist. She will show you how it is done and answer your questions better than these fools. Her workshop is only several streets away. If we hurry, we might catch her before mingling and she will invite you to dinner, too. Come!”

No better option presented itself so Laurefindelë acquiesced. As they walked up the twisting streets, the din of the still-raging debate falling behind them, he asked, “What is your name?”

The Noldo’s smile was far more pleasant than his frown. “Ah, forgive me. I forgot to introduce myself with all the excitement.” He paused to offer a sweeping bow. “I am Ecthelion, flutist under Prince Fingon, and husband of Patacané the master fungi culturist.”

He waited for Ecthelion to right himself and catch up before offering a much more reserved head dip (bowing was something that really should be reserved for the Valar). “I’m Laurefindelë,” he offered.

“Just Laurefindelë?” Ecthelion asked. 

“Yes.”

“I’ve heard it said–” the Noldor said hesitantly, sounding far less self-assured than he had when making acquisitions– “that your people have no craft other than song and poetry. Have you come to Tirion to escape the Valar’s eye and study something that calls to your heart?”

“No, and no.” Laurefindelë shook his head. He answered plainly. “I like to travel. I visited Tirion several times when I was younger and thought I’d come again to see what had changed.”

Ecthelion nodded. “We are always growing and developing here. The Heart of Eldar Greatness, some call Tirion. That is why the Valar fear us: we refuse to be content with what they dain to offer us.” His tone fell to a hush, more to draw his audience closer than to avoid anyone around overhearing. “This is why they seek to divide us. They’ve banished our crown prince to the furthest reaches of Aman. They’ve doubtless kept this information from reaching your people, but King Finwë has all but stepped down from his throne in protest against this overreach of their power. He’s journeying, even now, to join his son in Fermenos.”

He had, in fact, heard this. All news came to Valmar on swift wings and the Valar hid little of it from those who wished to know. “I think threatening death on anyone, a brother, no less, warrants correction.”

Ecthelion scoffed, tossing his head. “Who among us hasn’t said foolish things when our tempers are hot?”

“I’ve never threatened to kill anyone while holding a knife,” Laurefindelë pointed out.

“We have swords, not knives,” the Noldo corrected proudly. “But that is beyond the point. The Valar show their hands too clearly in how they have meddled in the affairs of our people. Stay long enough and the scales will fall from your eyes so that you see it too.”

Laurefindelë doubted that but saw no reason in arguing. He was merely content to no longer be considered some kind of co-conspirator with an enemy. ‘Confused and ill-informed’ was a less hazardous label than ‘spy’. He certainly did not want to be threatened with a knife, let alone a sword (however the latter differed from the former).

 They did not arrive at Ecthelion’s cousin’s wife’s workshop early enough for an invitation to a meal, but she did give them an enthusiastic, whirlwind tour of the entire process of condensing water from the air and freezing it into blocks of ice larger than an elf. Laurefindelë had never seen anything more peculiar in his life. The process was magnificently artful and he doubted there would be a way to replicate it in Valmar—least ways, not without Ulmo’s help. 

The streets and buildings were bathed in the silver light of Telperion by the time they stepped out of the shop. The light was so much softer here than in Valmar, which sat nearly at the roots of the two trees. The difference was too comforting to be strange and too strange to be comforting, which left him hovering in an ambivalent middle ground where he wanted nothing more than to go back inside to the straightforward simplicity of the glowing gems the Noldor used to light their buildings.

“I promised you a lesson on ice-making and a meal,” was the first thing Ecthelion said as they stood on the edge of the street, out of the way of the light traffic. “Alas, I’ve given you only one of these.”

Laurefindelë shrugged. “I was planning to try something from the market. The lesson was more than enough.”

Ecthelion brushed this aside. “Come to my house. Patacané would like to meet you, as would our daughter; she has never met a Vanya before—other than Queen Indis and Lady Elenwë, of course. We will eat and I will let you do the talking at last and tell us of your travels or of your home, and perhaps answer some of little Valianel’s many questions.”

At some point, after he got over the paranoia and conspiracies, Laurefindelë realized that he liked Ecthelion. He was nice when he wasn’t going on about the threat the Valar posed to the Eldar. He had the mind of an artist and musician, which Laurefindelë always found comforting. 

“That sounds lovely,” he said.

They continued through the streets to Ecthelion’s warm home.

#day 1 #Glorfindel #ecthelion #glorfindelweek #glorfindel week