I'm afraid this one is very short.
"Glorfindel bare a mantle so broidered in threads of gold that it was diapered with Celadine as a field in spring; and his arms were damascened with cunning gold."
***
The forces of Morgoth come again, as we knew they must one day. And this time it is not at the enemy's gates, but at our own that we fight. This time I think we will not escape; there is no Hidden City to whose haven we may retreat. Fortune favored my Lord Turgon last time, but I much doubt we will fare the same this day.
That battle, Nirnaeth Arnoediad, has haunted my thoughts over the years, as it has for all who fought on that accursed plain. I saw so many fall, mutilated, burned, tormented by Balrog or dragon or treacherous Men. Fingon, greatest of those of us left on these shores, was overcome and killed with cruelty. We could not win, we could not hold, we could only retreat, and that chance bought for us dearly.
Now I stand here clad in a ridiculously elaborate mantle of gold, and hear comrades jest about my vanity. I smile with them, relaxing the discipline of my command so that all may laugh a bit. It will be the last time, I fear. Shall I tell them it is deliberate, that knowing what is said of me, I have courted their mirth today, as I have nothing else to offer my warriors?
Certainly not hope. Certainly not victory.
I give them what I can. The smile, and my life are all that is left. And I fear neither will survive this day.
* * *
A/N: The quote above from Book of Lost Tales 2 has always made me wonder 'Why would Glorfindel wear something like that, especially going into battle?' This challenge inspired me to find an answer.
"Glorfindel bare a mantle so broidered in threads of gold that it was diapered with Celadine as a field in spring; and his arms were damascened with cunning gold."
***
The forces of Morgoth come again, as we knew they must one day. And this time it is not at the enemy's gates, but at our own that we fight. This time I think we will not escape; there is no Hidden City to whose haven we may retreat. Fortune favored my Lord Turgon last time, but I much doubt we will fare the same this day.
That battle, Nirnaeth Arnoediad, has haunted my thoughts over the years, as it has for all who fought on that accursed plain. I saw so many fall, mutilated, burned, tormented by Balrog or dragon or treacherous Men. Fingon, greatest of those of us left on these shores, was overcome and killed with cruelty. We could not win, we could not hold, we could only retreat, and that chance bought for us dearly.
Now I stand here clad in a ridiculously elaborate mantle of gold, and hear comrades jest about my vanity. I smile with them, relaxing the discipline of my command so that all may laugh a bit. It will be the last time, I fear. Shall I tell them it is deliberate, that knowing what is said of me, I have courted their mirth today, as I have nothing else to offer my warriors?
Certainly not hope. Certainly not victory.
I give them what I can. The smile, and my life are all that is left. And I fear neither will survive this day.
* * *
A/N: The quote above from Book of Lost Tales 2 has always made me wonder 'Why would Glorfindel wear something like that, especially going into battle?' This challenge inspired me to find an answer.