Bloody silmarils, book I by Dilly

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Chapter 19: Epic poetry II.

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The eleven heads of the twelve Houses of Gondolin were gathered around the Round Table in one of the rooms of the King's Tower.

Turgon spoke first: "Gentlemen, before we get down to business... It seems that the reputation of the members of this cenacle has improved considerably. We all now have an epithet."

"Fantastic!" exclaimed Glorfindel.

"It remains to be seen which one..." opined Salgant.

The king took the wax tablet from the Intendant's corner.

"So these are epithets that come from various troubadours in Beleriand, but also from the people... You can thank Penlodh's informants by the way."

"May he die," Egalmoth muttered.

"So... Let's start with me. This one hasn't changed. Turgon the Wise. "

"You can tell they don't know him like we do," Egalmoth chuckled to his tablemate, Galdor.

"Then... Duilin of the Piercing Eyes."

All nodded. Ecthelion, on the lookout, seemed eager to know his.

"Egalmoth the Fortunate. Galdor the Agile. Salgant the Ungainly. Penlodh the High..."

"Is that a reference to his height or the poker up his arse?" Egalmoth whispered to an annoyed Galdor.

"Glorfindel Goldenhead. Enerdhil the Skillful. Ecthelion... "

Ecthelion had straightened up.

"...The Bold? The Brave?" he added.

Turgon frowned.

"The Fair..."

"What?!"

"Wait, there's a sequel... Ecthelion, Fairest of all the Noldoli."

"Is this a joke? I don't care about being fair!" cried Ecthelion.

"Oh gosh," said Egalmoth, "I thought Fëanor was the fairest of all the Noldor?"

"But since he is dead, the place is available," said Glorfindel.

All eyes turned to Ecthelion, scrutinizing him from head to toe. The knight's face turned red.

"Yeah, he's pretty good..."

"You can't argue with that. "

"How does he get cheekbones like that?"

"And his hair... It looks like it has blue highlights..."

"But stop that right now!" exclaimed the young elf.

"There is another lord whose nickname is The Fair... Who is he again?" Galdor asked.

"It's Celegorm, one of Fëanor's sons."

"I'll stop you right there," said Turgon. "His epithet means the Blond, not the Beautiful."

"Technically," opposed Glorfindel, "the Fair may as well mean the Handsome. "

"And the Just," added Penlodh.

"So that's it," said Ecthelion. "There has been a mistake in translation. It is Ecthelion the Blond."

"Are you kidding me? You're the elf with the darkest hair in the room."

"Then it's Ecthelion the Just. "

Everyone laughed.

"But how is it that these three characteristics are expressed by the same word?" Turgon suddenly wondered aloud.

"Don't look it up," said Egalmoth, "it's a word of Vanyarin origin. "

Penlodh pouted.

"I think it's more a figurative use of the idea of clarity."

"Can someone translate what he's saying?"

"I never found Celegorm very bright," said Duilin.

"Anyway, Celegorm isn't just, and he's not handsome either," says Turgon. "So he's blond."

"He's not really blond," said Glorfindel.

"Sure, compared to you... But he's not dark-haired either..."

"He is brown-haired," said Enerdhil. "I knew him well in Valinor."

"Brown in winter, blond in summer, case closed," says Turgon. "Frankly, there's nothing exceptional about his look. As for Ecthelion, if you have Maedhros' tendencies..."

Ecthelion frowned.

"As for Celegorm..." he continued. "He's not even the most handsome of the seven brothers."

"I demand that this epithet be taken away from me," declared the Lord of the Fountain. "What does it matter to a knight to be handsome? In any case, I have taken a vow of chastity."

"Huh?"

"What?"

"Oh, you idiot!"

This interjection had escaped Egalmoth. Everyone was looking at him.

"Well, yes..." the merchant explained. "If I were his age and had a body like his... I can tell you that I would already have a dozen half-Avarin children... And I'm not even talking about all those Noldorin girls whose thighs I would have worn out!"

Penlodh's eyebrows rose high.

"Lord Egalmoth... I must confess that I have often wondered whether your vulgarity was a strategy to conceal your intelligence, or a natural trait of your personality."

 

Ecthelion had finished the day practicing his wooden target dagger throwing in the courtyard of his House barracks. He stopped after five minutes.

"Belin, why are you staring at me?" he asked his squire. "It's distracting me."

"Excuse me, milord," replied the human. "It's just that you're so pretty today. I can't stop looking at you. It's like a precious stone that shines."

The elf lord's eyes widened and for the second time that day his face turned completely red. Then a great cry echoed through the southern quarter of the Hidden City.

"I AM NOT PRETTY!"
 

 

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Chapter End Notes

Nb: "I'm not fair!" is a wink to Obelix "I'm not fat!" in Asterix the Gaul. In french: "Je ne suis pas gros !"/"Je ne suis pas beau !"