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anduril269 |
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Macilie~Undomiel |
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LarienLindorenan |
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alcarinque |
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alcarinque |
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Macilie~Undomiel |
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LoremasterMiar |
RE: The Jewel of Valinor on: September 18, 2005 02:15
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((Hiiiiii! I would post some reply for Glorfindel…but I have writer’s block…I can’t think of anything intelligent for him to say or do =_= Anyway here is a post for Alcar…This might be a bit dramatic, but I think it might help move things along…I think is now is about the time that Watcher is coming in?))
(occ: And your wish is my command! I feel I owe you all a VERY big apology for my VERY extended absence. Many thanks also from keeping Glorfindel Ingold going, I afraid that you had phased him out, and just to clear up a few points, Glorfindel has got DARK blonde hair, almost a mousey brown, just throught I'd clear up a little question! Also, I'll try to fit back in, but if there is a problem with one of my posts I will of course edit it straight away. And finally, nice to see you all again! Now I gather that we have just camped on the first night out of Moria so without further ado, here I go!)
The night was deep and cool, almost like the great caverns of Moria, except that no jewelsmith of the dwarves could ever hope to match the raidiant brilliance of the star that glistened overhead. So brilliant, so true, they stirred up deep feelings of....of......memory. Memory, now there was something he could do without. For most memories were something to delight in recalling, even those whose lives were torched in some way could recall at least moment of pure happiness. For Glorfindel were none.
Since the group had left Moria he had been quiet, speaking only when spoken to, otherwise travelling in silence, every now and again stealing a glance at Almarea.
(Ok, from here, and reading past posts I have an idea for Glofindel. I gather that so far the group imagines him to be none other than Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, that renowned hero who fought with the Balrog, to buy Tuor and the Gondolin survivors some time as they fled the siege. Now of course he fell to his death, and LarienLindorenan I gather that Almarea has trouble recalling him from the battle. What I propose is that what if he is not actually Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, but a pretender, someone who has assumed the identity of that particular individual for reasons that, well, read the following flash back and see what you think.)
Seated on the edge of the group, outside of the circle of firelight, not looking or speaking to the others. His eyes were trained upwards to the blazing heaven of stars, and slowly, very slowly he sank deep into memory.
The chamber was dark and quiet, outside the window the night air was quiet, the sound the peaceful sound of the sea washing calmly againist the base of cliffs below. A faint breeze stirred the drapes, which rustled slightly then fell back into place.
Decorations, grand and proud were just visible in the flickering light of the firelight in the grate, but they were strangley distorted into grosteque forms by a combination of the lowering shadows and the distorted light. In the middle of the chamber was a large hearth rug, laid before the great fireplace, and on which was positioned a large oasken table and two large, highbacked chairs. The table was was almost completely covered in an odd assortment of strange maps and parchments, but there was also a silver platter and an empty goblet, the remains of an evening meal.
And in one of the highbacked chairs sat an elf. He was of a strong and powerful build, a mane of dark hair cascaded down to his shoulders, and his piercing blue eyes were fixed on the fireplace. His face pocessed fine chiselled features and was set in an expression of intesne concerntration. About his forehead he wore a circlet of silver, entwined in vine trace and being fruits of pure white gems, which blazed brightly in the half gloom.
He neither moved nor stirred, just stared straight into the fire. Neither did he move or stir when the sound of hurrying feet broke the silence of the chamber. The steps grew louder and louder, until finally the door at the other end of the chamber swung open and a grey cloaked figure strode in, his hood up so his features were lost to darkness. His attire was simple, only green and brown, and it was clear that he had been travelling, for both these, his boots and his cloak were were scuffed with dust and dried mud.
Still the figure in the chair made no move or sign to acknowledge this new arrival, until the figure had reached the centre of the room and stood about ten feet from the back of his chair.
"You are late, Glorfindel," his voice was low and yet it held some presence it which seemed to silence all other noises in the room, even the sea outside.
The cloaked figure bowed and pulled back his hood, "Pray pardon my lateness sire," he replied, his head still bowed, "There were affairs that commanded my attention."
"I guessed," the first continued, "What news from the front?"
Glorfindel, still bowed, answered, "Bad sire, Sauron's forces are gaining ground, forcing us further and further back, I fear that we will not be able to hold the line of the Lune. Elrond and Celeborn......"
"I am not interested in reports of Lords Elrond and Celeborn," the figure interupted, "We have recieved reports ere you came that they had been cut off by the second force, it matters not now, we must now look to their own affairs. Sit down Glorfindel."
"Thank you sire."
Glorfindel crossed the room obidently and took the other seat next to the fire. For a moment he cast his eyes over the wide assortment of papers that obscured the table in front of him, before he redirected his full attention back to the other. Still he had not shifted his gaze from the fire, nor had he looked at his companian since his arrival. Silence now hung again over the room, a deep and awkward silence. For a few minutes both sat like this, listoning to the crackle of the flames and the beating their own hearts. Until the first broke the verbal statement.
"Are you going to say it then?"
Glorfindel started guiltitly out of his own thoughts, "I'm....I beg.....I'm sorry sire, I don't quite understand."
The first speaker drew a long, deep breath, pressed his forefingers together, before continuing, "Why did you ask to see me? Why have you left the front line? What need has pressed you to here?"
"Well sire....it's.....I.....may I speak frankly sire," these last words came out in a torrent, little more than a gabbled mess, but Gil-galad smiled and nodded.
"Of couse Glorfindel, I always prefer it when you do," he added with a small smile.
"Sire, it is my elves, my soliders, they....they....they are losing their heart. It's this war, we are losing Gil-galad," and at this use of his name the other elf finally broke his gaze away from the fire, "The casulties, they are unacceptable, we are losing too many men and wasting too many resources. After we lost the line of Branduin they, they've lost the will to fight."
"That is indeed a great problem," the High King pondered, leaning foward onto the table, chin in hands, "What is your assessement of the troops' general moral?"
"Honestly, it's bad, very bad, they think the ends near," here Glorfindel paused, "And to be honest Gil-galad, so do I. Sauron's forces have us out numbered 2:1, we have no reserves, no reinforcements, Imladris is cut off, and Numenor...."
"We have been over this Lord Glorfindel," that was the signal that they were back in the realm of formality, "And I will not evacuate the havens and pullout, Sauron will enter Lindon over my dead body."
"But, sire, they have no fighting spirit left, no hope," Glorfindel insisted, he had to make Gil-galad see, "They....
"I think," Gil-galad's voice rose and echoed in the chamber, "That is time for the Balrog Slayer to deliver one of his famous speeches, to raise that moral back to what it should be."
"No, no," Glorfindel whispered, "Gil-galad, this is beyond a joke now. I am....
"A symbol of hope and energy for your people, a great and impressive warrior and leader, who....."
"NO! It's wrong, I am NOT Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, I NEVER went to Gondolin, I have never even FOUGHT a Balrog let alone bested one! There is...."
"If you could have seen how much you look like him, aside from your hair, I see your mother's Sindarian side came in there. But...."
"He was a cousin of my father's! So course I look like him, THAT'S WHY I WAS NAMED AFTER HIM! BUT YOU, IN SOME DELUDED SENSE SEEM TO THINK THAT I AM HIM!"
"Sit down," Gil-galad's voice was now hard and cold as steel, "Yes Glorfindel we have been over this before, and I will not repeat myself again. YES, you are an impressive leader, YES you are a good solider, but we need more than that these days. You said it yourself we are losing this war, and leaders and soliders are almost spent. We NEED a symbol, someone who can prove that the enemy can be hurt, and if the the people.....
"It's a lie though," Glorfindel's voice was almost distraught, "It's not right Gil, not right at all. Why should I get praise for the deeds of one great warrior just because I share his name and look a little bit like him?"
Gil-galad's expression softened as he looked at the elf opposite.
"I know it is hard, but please think here. You have seen how they react when they see you, how people look at you, they part for you in the street. I would even hazard that they at times pay more attention to you than to me. You give them hope Glorfindel, and like you said, that is exactly what we need now. Are you really willing to take that away from those wives and children who have to watch their husbands and father's go off to war, and just await their return? You and I have both been there, and you remember what is was like? To know that they may never return, but if there is a figure there, one who you KNOW can hurt the enemy, one who CAN make a difference? What if that one warrior can make sure your father or husband or brother, comes home, that they make it out alive?"
Placing his head in his hands, Glorfindel said nothing, but merely nodded very slowly in reply.
"Please don't take that away from them Glorfindel," Gil-galad continued, "Look, I know that you want to make your name, make your own way in the word, and of course I did promise to help you find the Elves with murdered your mother. However if there is no Lindon, no Elves, no Gil-galad how can you? How can you find them and......?"
"I understand," words so strained, so forced that they sounded almost bitter, came from Glorfindel's mouth, "I understand. Now if you'll excuse me sire, my page awaits me."
"Of course," Gil-galad looked slightly surprised by this sudden mention of depature, "Safe travels ."
"Thank you, sire," without looking up, Glorfindel bowed once more and crossed the room to his door. But here he paused and looked back.
"I wonder sire," he said, his jaw clenched, "If our positions were reversed what I would have said to you, if you were being compared to the likes of him," and he waved his hand towards the statue of Fingolfin on the wall above Gil-galad's head.
Gil-galad turned and spent a few moments staring at the statue, again not moving or speaking, until he finally turned back to Glorfindel.
"Who says I haven't?" he smiled grimly, and waved Glorfinde out of the room.
Once the door had clicked shut and the footsteps echoed away down the corridor he turned back to statue of his grand father.
"Who says I haven't?"
The memory was gone, and Glorfindel was back in the clearing of low woodland, eyes fixed upon the heavens. Lies, decit, his reputation, all were connected. There was nothing worse than pretending to be something you are not, and even worse when you have continued to do so, long after said event has passed.
Glorfindel found his gaze wondering, out accross the clearing, and finally his gaze fell on Almarea. Slowly he rose and made his way around to where she lay, and pausing a short distance away, he chanced to hail her.
"Almarea?"
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Elessar_2 |
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LarienLindorenan |
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featari_telcontar |
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alcarinque |
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featari_telcontar |
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