#asharpglance

(REVERSED. Dark Glorfindel for survival Maegs. When you want to 😏😏 @asharpglance )

@asharpglance / pinned against a wall

The instant Glorfindel's gaze falls upon Maeglin, those golden eyes turn red with rage.

How dare he show himself here, the one responsible for the fall of his city, for the deaths of his comrades? Glorfindel's heart, once shining with hope, beats dark with despair in his chest. He barely resists the urge to unsheath his sword and bring it down upon Maeglin's head, but it is a close thing.

" You... " Glorfindel takes a step closer to him, his face nearly unrecognizable twisted in anger. His arm stretches out, and Maeglin believes for a moment that Glorfindel is about to take him by the throat and crush him. But, instead, Glorfindel grabs him by the front of his shirt, lifts him up, and slams him bodily into the wall behind him, leaning in close.

Glorfindel, consumed with hatred, looks so unfamiliar.

Maeglin's response was more snarl than words, the youth unable to leave the room thanks to the chain binding ankle to bedpost. Dark eyes fixed angrily on his father, chest heaving with exertion after throwing anything within reach at the older elf. His attempt to flee had been thwarted with embarrassing ease; for the dark, winding paths obeyed his father alone... and had been dragged home in shame, his hair tangled with brambles and his skin bearing the marks of their thorns. Aredhel had wept with relief to see him alive... or was it misery at his capture? Maeglin did not know. At times, he did not know how to read his mother, nor her relationship with Eöl. Just like his own, it appeared ever changing and unstable. "You don't even like me!" He challenged, hating how his voice sounded thick with emotion. "Why bother to stop me leaving?"

Something dark and angry was in Eöl’s face. He had always been a somewhat distant father, a man of few words and fewer emotions. But in the last years his moods had grown more and more unpredictable and he quarrelled more with his wife and son than he ever had before. His word was law in this house, and he would not stand any challenge.

“Silence!” he snapped, raising his hand as if to strike Maeglin, though he faltered at the last moment. “You will do as I bid you. I am your father.”

He took a deep breath. You don’t even like me. How many times did he have to explain that he did this for love? That the world outside was dangerous and deadly and Eöl sought only to protect Maeglin from his murderous kin and the servants of Morgoth alike.

[Up to you if childhood times or if they are in Gondolin. Decided a prompt suited better than a meme. @asharpglance .]

No stranger was Maeglin to Eöl’s tyrades, especially now that he was old enough to begin doing something his father did not like at all: ask questions. Tonight had been much of the same— Eöl ranted, Maeglin asked, Tinuvion did nothing of note in his eyes, and they both endured their father’s seemingly endless harangue about the evils of the Noldor and the dangers lurking in the world.

By some miracle, he was still alive, conscious, and breathing when their father had finally finished talking, and left them alone. Maeglin hardly bothered to glance at his brother.

The screams of Maeglin echoed through the chambers and cells, high-pitched and desperate. The boy himself shrank against the stone wall of his own cell, clinging to the bitter rock as he screwed his eyes shut against the onslaught of horrors. For naught, of course, as the terrors were within his own mind. "STOP!" His shouts turned to please turned to whimpers in his native tongue as he curled up, fingers curled tight into his limp, matted hair as he wailed against the spectres. The ghost of Eöl stood above him, a whip in his hand as he shouted down at him of his inadequacy, his naivety and how pathetic he was: beating Maeglin and eliciting more cries from the huddled prisoner. About them, the spectral forest burned, and somewhere in the distance, he heard his mother screaming.

“I can make it stop.”

The velvety voice of Gorthaur came through the illusions, distant and soft. Promising. Wouldn’t it be so easy to give in? To give him what he wanted, and then there would be no more suffering.

TIME WITHERS IN THE DARK, LIKE A DREAM, decomposing from the edges inward until all that was left for metaphor was a bleak haze. the depths of angband, this spiraling inferno, knew neither dusk nor dawn. it is as melkor enjoys it, vast and unknowlable, impenetrable. none but he and his servants might manoeuvre their way around the stifling darkness, where the darkness is deepest. here, a cell hewn deep within the endless labyrinths of the fortress, damp stone stained carnelian.

lord melkor's shadow cascades around the imprisoned elf upon his entrance, growing narrower as he strides forward, and even the orcs in their half-mind scatter away from their master's path, slinking away into the corridors. as the cell door hinges, he regards maeglin, and the delirious words amuse him, and he prowls closer, echoes howling where he steps.

❛ I have not crept where I was not welcomed. ❜ of elves and their insolence, ever has he tired! alas, he covets the hidden city, and for the secret of its location, he would humour the captured elfling wretch himself. chiding in taunt, he says, ❛ your pain is of your own making. did I bid you stray beyond the bounds of your kingdom? ❜

Oh, the boy.

I am sure I have seen him before, although I can't pinpoint exactly where.

I am not about to pry into that specfic can of worms. If he doesn't want to talk about it, it is not my place to be nosey.

I feel like he does need a good hug and some kindness. That would maybe help him a little and make him a little less nervous. He must have been through a lot - I could recognize that look everywhere.

I have been there too and it almost meant the end of me.

"How could it be anything but love, Tinuvion?"

Idril sighed, looking down at the paper in front of her. She had been writing a report to present to her father's council, but her mind had wandered, and now a sketchy outline of Tuor's handsome face stared back at her. It was childish this affliction, this infatuation, but she could not deny it.

ecthelion has something to say / @asharpglance

Ecthelion glances around him for a moment, checking for the presence of a certain golden-haired someone, who has made it very clear he is not to say anything to Maeglin about his inclinations, suspected or otherwise.

But, Glorfindel is not here. Ecthelion taps his flute against his shoulder thoughtfully.