Yes, I am starting other crack fic, this time based on Gondolinean life as viewed by that ubiquitous chronicler Pengolodh.

I imagine when he first arrives in the city, he is only a student or junior scribe, not yet the respected loremaster second only to Rumil and Feanor. So his prose might be a tad coarse.

Welcome to Gondolin

First Age 116, Tumladen

Ah! Fair city! How may I describe this hidden haven, a slice of the promised Valinor? I dread to think that words would fail me thus. Mayhaps joining the respected college of the Lambengolmor will cure me of that. I do hope Prince Turgon was not serious about the 'no one who comes here leaves here' rule. I mean, we can keep a secret, honestly. At least I hope they will allow me to send a letter back to Ada and Nana at Nervast. I will miss Nana's duck stew but I cannot see myself missing the salt marsh-air. The air here in the mountains is so much fresher. King Finrod's hidden cave-city sounds downright nasty to live in. Even if folks were moving there ten cycles of the sun back and he was not a stickler about no one leaving his city. I know my annoying cousins came back to Nervast for a visit, and kept crowing about how wonderful life was there. Sadly, the orcs got them on the return trip, so we heard. I think I might put in a request to visit my folks in a year or two (with a suitable armed escort of course).

Prince Turgon just proclaimed himself King of Ondolinde, his name for this new hidden city. Most of us here have Sindar blood, and we are a tad rusty in the Quenya, so we are putting it down as Gondolin instead on the records. Wait, did he just say he was serious about the entire locking everyone in thing. Is it too late to back out? The comely elleth next to me seems quite stricken.

What a heavenly vision of light are the replicas of the Two Trees… The dark-haired elleth standing next to me was not impressed. She decried it as a pale shadow of the real deal. I do wonder if on top of the silver and gold, the original Trees had gemstones for flowers. The silver will be real pain for the servants to polish though, especially the fiddly twigs. Still, what pomp and splendour! Truly an echo of the glorious days…

Whoops, just heard there was a problem with the fountains in the southern city and a street was flooded – The Way of the Running Waters, I think the name is. The dark-haired elleth next to me is chuckling in an unladylike manner.

The golden-haired elleth standing next to her with a puppy in her arms goes, "Aunt, you didn't clog the pipes, did you?" Turgon glaring daggers this way. I do see a family resemblance. Mayhaps this is the infamous wild child of Fingolfin's clan – Lady Aredhel?

The celebration of the founding of Gondolin has disintegrated into chaos as craftspeople rush to save their wares from a rapidly flooding marketplace and the King's Square. King Turgon is having a yelling match with his sister. Princess Idril trying her best to restore order. Perhaps I can help her hold her puppy.

Pengolodh, student scribe, soon-to-be of the Lambengolmor

First Age 136, Gondolin

Oh joy! I have finally been recognized for my hard work and appointed royal scribe to the House of the King. Thank Lord Manwe it was not to Lord Penlod's or Lord Rog's. Gondolin is and still remains a piece of art in the making. If His Majesty Turgon started off with the aim of making a copy of his home Tirion across the Great Sea, many believe Gonodlin has far exceeded her by now. Well, to be honest, being holed up here means there is little outlet for any energy to be expanded. The craftspeople seem to cope by throwing themselves into their work to design even better buildings, fountains, and such. Others do not fare so well.

Chiefly, Lady Aredhel. Genteel pursuits such as embroidery and music do not appeal to her. Not as much as galloping through the city streets at speed and knocking back a pint or three with the guards in the seediest taverns as a prelude to a round of fisticuffs. The mighty lords of the court not much better, though I will never say so to their faces. Who can forget the sight of Lord Galdor being chased through the streets by a hammer-wielding Lord Rog for using weighted dice at their weekly get-together? Or Glorfindel skinny-dipping in his friend Lord Ecthelion's great fountain on a dare, just as Lady Idril's ladies-in-waiting were strolling past. Not one to be easily ruffled, Idril took off her shoes and dipped her toes in the water to chat with 'dear cousin Glorfindel' as he scrambled for his clothes (that Ecthelion hid away). Talk about awkward. His Majesty had proposed a series of games to burn off the excess spirits but that ended in a riot after that ball game between the Houses of the Swallow and the Heavenly Arch. There is something about fighting over an inflated pigskin bladder that brings out the orc in everyone.

Methinks Finrod had it right – letting his men out to hunt and decimate orcs and the like once in a while, or visit relations. After twenty cycles of the sun in this city, I must admit it is starting to get stale (unless we need to re-build the marketplace again thanks to a riot). For me, compiling a list of poetic names for the city is enough of a challenge for me.

Pengolodh, junior royal scribe

Author's Notes:

Not sure how this will work out as Pengolodh, though canonic in Tolkien's universe, was never an active participant in the happenings of the First and Second Age in Middle-earth. Given the chronicles were written by him for most part and taken as official, I do wonder if there is another side to the histories that was not preserved through the Ages. Any personal writings done in Gondolin would have been destroyed when the city fell.