#Anglachel

[mandhos]

I made a version of Eol with black hair, but I can't.

[eldamaranquendi]

Legendarium by Pete Amachree

Oromë leading his forces during The War of Wrath

Beleg is presented with the sword, Anglachel

Númenórean shrine to Yavanna, before the arrival of Sauron

Húrin's last stand at Nírnaeth Arnoediad

Melian the Maia and her daughter Lúthien, in the throne room of Menegroth

Húrin finds the Nauglamír, in the ruins of Nargothrond

Luthien sends the court of Morgoth to sleep with a song of enchantment

Fingolfin challenges Morgoth at the Gates of Angband

City of the Gondolindrim

Gondolin: The House of the Golden Flower

Daeron at the court of Menegroth

Assault on Nargothrond

Ruins of Doriath

Beren and Luthien flee Angband

Two Valaraukar, or Balrogs at Nírnaeth Arnoediad

Húrin returns to Morwen

Fëanor's last stand at Dagor-nuin-Giliath

The Catacombs of Menegroth

The Halls of Mandos

Númenórean shrine to Yavanna Kementari

Melkor and Sauron

[eri-pl]

Maeglin and Anglachel for the character asks!

Thank you for the ask!

Maeglin.

How do I feel? Hm. Not a lot. I mean, he is a very tragic character and did some awful things (with unclear degree of his fault) but he's not one of those I'm very invested in. Generally the Gondolin story is less interesting than Nargothrond for me. But yes, Maeglin is sad tragic and I'm sorry for him.

Also, I have no idea why but he's very hard to write for me. Harder than many very niche characters. Waay harder than Eol. I just don't feel him.

Ships. OK, this is funny. So one day I was wondering what Finduilas did after getting reembodied, and I realized that I can very much see her and Maeglin together, post-Halls. The symmetry of it. She's into hidden-city-destroying brooding cursed guys. He's into blond princesses. If I ever wrote a post-Halls Maeglin, they'd likely be together. Unless she'd be with Tyelpe, he's my second idea. But Maeglin fits better. I'm sorry.

Non-romantic OTP. I wish he got along well with Idril :( anyway I think Maeglin's main problem is the lack of someone who he could honestly talk to about his feelings. He had a lot of friends, but nobody close enough. Post-Halls I think he'd get along well with Tyelpe.

And yea, when I imagine Sauron falling onto Gondolin… and squint a little bit, I can see Sauron not being a total evil jerk to someone who actually saved his life, and the two of them as a very close and interesting friendship, but not romantic.

Unpopular opinion: He is (at least in the Silm, idk about the extended Gondolin material) very open to interpretation and may be read as anything from a really bad case of stalking that didn't get full on SA only because of the circumstances; to a very lonely and sad innocent guy with loads of trauma, who later got his mind broken by Morgoth and is not responsible for what came to pass. Or anything in between.

TBH I don't have one set opinion on how I see him on this scale. But the whole idea that both readings are possible seems quite controversial to me.

Oh, and to keep with the tradition of "unpopular canon fact": He wasn't a coward, he fought in the battle of… I think it was Unnumbered Tears.

One thing I wish: *shakes Tolkien by the arms* I need to know what happened to Anguirel!!!

Anglachel

How I feel: I really like black talking swords XD Anglachel is one of the weirdest… I'm not sure if I see her as a full character. I can but typically I don't. Typically I see it as "reflects your darkest thoughts on you" not as a full "talks and is sentient".

But also I can see her as a character and then she's a "she" (because Silm names ending on -el are generally female) and I imagine her humanoid form like in the Czech musical.

Ships: She's a sword. I don't.

Her nonromantic OTP is obviously the forgotten-by-narrative Anguirel. They are naturally a pair, why is Anglachel in the stupid prophecy and Anguirel not???

Unpopular opinion: I think she's too niche for any opinions to be unpopular. Counting her as a character is unpopular already. XD

Oh, and also: the "second prophecy" is not a legit prophecy of Námo. This is an opinion about Anglachel, kind of. No bestie, you don't get to permakill Morgoth, neither does Túrin come back even if you miss him. Sorry.

One thing I wish happened: reunite the black swords! Seriously. Why is Anguirel lost in the narrative.

[airendis]

Anglachel?

I'm in the photo. The black blade turned out to be accidental))

[breakintomyhead]

turin turambar is on my mind, so here are some doodles of the emo boi

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Sometimes I think about Gurthang going dull after it killed Beleg and specifically telling Turin it wants to avenge the death of Beleg which suggests that Beleg treated Gurthang so well and Gurthang really liked him and I just—

[morgulscribe]

Meteorites in Middle-earth

Eol crafted two swords, Anglachel and Anguirel, from an iron meteorite. Tolkien described Anglachel as "a sword of great worth, and it was so named because it was made of iron that fell from heaven as a blazing star; it would cleave all earth-delved iron." (Of Turin Turambar, The Silmarillion) The sword was said to have a black blade which glowed with a pale fire. Anglachel was also sentient, and it was said that the blade was imbued with the malice of its creator Eol. The sword seemed to possess a sense of honor, for it resented that it had been used to slay Beleg and Brandir. In fact, Anglachel was so grieved about Beleg's death that it lost its lustre and dulled its own edges, necessitating its reforging. Since Anglachel (reforged as Gurthang) broke when Turin fell upon the blade, it's theoretically possible that the sword committed suicide as well, as Anglachel/Gurthang was described as being extremely durable.

To my knowledge, the only time Tolkien wrote about meteorites was the case of Eol and his two swords. This makes me wonder what powers meteorites might possess, since they come from beyond Arda. There is a darkness to Anglachel, although this seems to be attributed to the influence of its creator rather than being a trait of the extraterrestrial iron itself.

Varda is associated with the stars, while Morgoth is associated with the vast reaches of space. Would meteorites be touched by Varda, or tainted by Morgoth? Could it be possible that there is a certain duality to meteorites, and they bear the influences of both good and evil?

And, for that matter, what powers might tektites possess? These small pieces of natural glass are formed when a meteorite hits the earth and melts rocks and soil around the point of impact, similar to how obsidian is formed from volcanic eruptions. I think that tektites would possess fewer magical properties than meteorites, but there would still be an innate power found in them.

[morgoth-into-the-void-week]

The previous poll is still going, but since i'm impatient (like our main star of the week... ):

[albumarchives]

Anglachel | Of Tuor, Idril and Their Departure From Gondolin (2019)

[mandhos]

Fate of Anguirel and Anglachel the twin swords

[dungeonsynthguide]

Anglachel & Idylls of the Last King Prometheus (2023)

[eri-pl]

For the friendship ask game, I'm suggesting Anguirel and Anglachel for 3 and 12!

Thank you for the ask!

Tumblr is laggy and weird, so I hope this post works.

3. Random HC.

I never understood why Anglachel was supposed to be so metaphysically important and Anguirel not. I think they both have something important to do. What? It depends.

Also, not my own HC but I love how Falešné společenstvo made human Anglachel look [warning for the link: the story of Túrin, the end of it ro be precise]. It's simple and low-budget, yet iconic.

Also, Anglachel is clearly older. Reasoning: their names end with -el, and they are elf-made, so they go with elvish (not even only elvish) tropes, not human tropes. So, of a pair, the elder sibling is tragic and/or problematic, the younger sibling is toned down, lives longer and sometimes disapears out of the story (Maglor). (With humans it's sometimes the other way around)

Anglachel "dies" once, is reforged as Gurthang, "dies" again. Also has a tragic story with Túrin. Anguirel just dissapears out of the story. Clearly Anglachel is the older sibling.

12. A word to describe them.

Eol's Angels ;D (because if you take what their names have in common, it's "ang- -el").

More asks welcome.

[silm-pronunciations]

Now for Precious Baby Boy's sword siblings, Anguirel and Anglachel! Please :D

Anguirel

Anglachel

[maironsbigboobs]

@sindarweek day 1: heroes and villains

Iron of Death

"No, it is not.” Eöl clearly did not agree. Beleg had never seen him looking so miserable,

The comet-ore was so precious; Thingol knew it, that was why he had named it as his prize.

“It is not ready yet, Cúthalion. Return in a moon’s turn, and I will have it for you.”

-

Beleg, Mablung and Eöl - and Anglachel.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Cúthalion.”

“Charming as always, Eöl.” Beleg’s hand traced over one of the swords hanging on the wall of the forge, and then he turned and sat on the bench. He saw Eöl roll his eyes, and grinned. “Don’t look so miserable. I thought we were friends.”

“... I suppose we are.” He folded his arms, but his scowl lessened. “What brings you?”

“Can’t I visit my dearest friend when passing through Nan Elmoth?”

“I am not your dearest friend. And if you were a visitor, you would come to my door, not lurk in wait in my forge. Out with it - Elwë sent you, did he not?”

Beleg sighed. He detested being sent out on diplomatic missions. He was not an envoy; he did not like to dance around with words and pretty promises. It felt dishonest; he had been chosen to deliver this request (no, it was a command) because of his friendship with Eöl, but was it not a betrayal of trust?

He wished Mablung had agreed to come with him.

“Yes, the King sent me.” he answered, “He grows impatient; you were supposed to bring the sword to him half a season ago.”

Eöl’s scowl returned. “Always he demands. If my mother were here to see how Elwë treats her only son-”

“I knew your mother. She would tell you not to make promises you cannot keep.” Beleg’s tone sharpened, like a sword on the grindstone. He would not hear his King disrespected. “The king has granted you a lordship of a forest of your own - and this forest that is so dear to him! A single sword is not such a high price to pay for that.”

“No, it is not.” Eöl clearly did not agree. Beleg did not blame him. It was not just a single sword he had promised Thingol.

The comet-ore was so precious; Thingol knew it, that was why he had named it as his prize. The metal it made was sharper and stronger than anything the Doriathrim had; only the fine craftsmanship of the Dwarves they traded with even came close.

“It is not ready yet, Cúthalion. Return in a moon’s turn, and I will have it for you.”

Beleg stood. His gaze drifted over the forge; the finished weapons in their racks, the piles of ore and ingots; Eöl was not only a weaponsmith, and turned his hand to all kinds of metal work. Beleg had bought lovely jewellery off him before, for himself and as gifts for whoever he was courting that month.

But his best work was always in swords. Eöl’s swords were the finest in Beleriand, sharpest and deadliest and lightest in hand.

There was little need for such a blade in Beleg’s life - he hunted and he ranged, and so his knife and bow served him well enough. But if there came a time for war, it was Eöl’s swords he would want to wield. But he would not ask for one - Eöl would undoubtedly remember his involvement in this matter, and name some ridiculous price. Menegroth’s steel would be good enough.

“Very well. But if I return empty handed a second time, he will not be pleased. You made a promise, Eöl.”

Eöl shooed him out the door.

*

The second time, Beleg was not alone.

Eöl was not caught off guard this time, either. He was ready, the black sword wrapped in cloth on the table.

A sharp knock. A servant rose to answer it, but Eöl stayed them with a hand and unlocked the door himself. He would deal with Cúthalion himself.

Ah.

“Captain Mablung.”

“Smith.” He nodded, as stern as his knock. Eöl stepped aside to allow them inside. He preferred Mablung’s company. They had been boys together - so long ago it seemed like another life. They understood each other, both serious and quiet. Mablung always treated him fairly.

“I have the King’s sword.”

Mablung stood by the table, and drew back the cloth to look at the sword.

The iron was black as the sky, the hilt wrapped in dark leather. Eöl had worked hard on each final touch; even if he resented letting the sword go, he was not about to let the king have anything but his best work. More than that, the metal was so precious, so good to work with; it would be a shame to waste it.

Anguirel hung on his hip, a thin line of glittering darkness. It pined, radiating grief as if it knew it was about to part from its mate. Eöl ran his finger along the hilt, murmuring a soothing word. A pity to separate them; they were brothers, made a pair, they belonged together - but perhaps it was better that this one went out into the world. Eöl could not wield both and he had no son nor brother to give the second sword. A king’s hand was worthy to wield it.

“It’s beautiful.” Beleg’s breath caught in his throat as he leaned over Mablung, running his fingers over the metal. Beleg’s fingertips beaded with blood, and suddenly a dark mood came over Eöl. He was seized with the desire to take back the sword and turn them out of his house; it was hungry. It was alive, power reflecting in the candlelit metal. It was his.

Thingol did not deserve it. The sword would know it. Perhaps it would turn on him, wound him, kill him. A fine revenge for his greedy demand. His witch-queen might even send it back in grief.

But he could not change his mind now; he had built for himself and his house. He had established his independence and he would rather drive himself through with Anguirel than submit again to a king.

“Does it have a name?” Beleg wiped his bloody fingers on his trouser leg and tenderly re-wrapped the sword.

“I have called it Anglachel.”

“A fitting name.” Beleg gathered the sword bundle in his arms. “The King will be pleased, I am certain.”

Mablung smiled; “And he will be pleased to hear how pleasant a home you have built, in so little time.” He reached out and grasped Eöl’s hand firmly. “I look forward to being invited for dinner sometime soon, old friend. You spend far too much time on your work. I’ll bring the good wine.”

Eöl shook his hand, and the ghost of a smile danced over his face. The darkness passed. In all likelihood, Anglachel would lie on display in an armoury for the rest of time, used perhaps for ceremony, and nothing more. There was no darkness in the sword. It was his own paranoia and unwillingness to let go that was reflecting in the iron, not malice, not magic.

“I’ll hold you to that, Captain.”

*

Mablung did not knock.

It was not Nan Elmoth. It was not his friend’s house. It was only an obstacle in the path of his burning rage.

The door to the forge flew open at his shove, and Eöl bolted upright, from where he stooped over an anvil. His face was blank; shock, surprise - Mablung had not paid him a single visit until now.

Mablung’s strong fist gripped his shirt, almost enough to lift Eöl off the ground. Staring into his face, Mablung could hardly find the words. His rage made him shake.

What did he say? You killed him. You doomed him. You made that damned sword.

Why?

What did you do to it?

“He won’t come back. He won’t come back and it’s your fault. If you had never shown him that damned sword…”

Eöl’s face contorted in understanding. Mablung saw a hundred emotions in his dark eyes: grief, shame, anger.

“It is not my fault. You let him go off with the boy.” Eöl was still proud. Mablung threw him to the floor, and he collided with his work-stool so hard it broke beneath him. A trickle of blood dripped from his temple. Mablung did not care.

“No. It was the sword. Did you ever know his hands to be unsteady? And yet it slipped. It slipped…”

He swallowed a sob. Even in this new life, the grief was raw. Daily, he went to the doors of Námo’s halls and begged for news, and at last it had been given to him: Beleg refused to return.

He could not scream at Túrin. He could not throw Morgoth to the floor and make him revoke his dooms. He could not scold Beleg for his reckless loyalty.

Only Eöl remained here for him to blame - only Eöl and himself.

Eöl climbed back to his feet, wiping the blood from his face. Mablung shook with rage.

“Why did you not tell us? You must have known the sword was so cruel.”

Eöl was silent. Mablung lunged at him again, but Eöl darted out of the way.

“Answer me, Eöl! Answer me, if I was ever your friend! Now I wish that I were not!”

“Yes.”

It is hardly more than a whisper. Mablung reached for a hammer on the workbench, but Eöl did not stay silent.

“Yes,” he repeated, “I knew. I knew there was something wrong with it. I knew it had power and malice and resentment in it. But I did not know that Beleg would take it. It was made for Thingol! If there was any I wished for its malice to slay it was him!”

The hammer flew from Mablung’s hand. It crashed through the wall an inch from Eöl’s head, with such a force it remained wedged there.

“Come not to my house again, Mablung, if you do not learn to control yourself! I did not slay Beleg - you are the one who failed to restrain the boy in the first place. Perhaps you should have given sager advice.”

It was not anything Mablung had not said to himself. From Eöl’s lips it was like acid, cruel and sharp. He understood the fruitlessness of it all. That did not make it any easier.

“No.” he clenched his fist. “No, Eöl. If you had told us what evil lay in that sword… much may have been averted. Fear not. I will not come here again. Let our boyhood rot - you have never been my friend, you, who let evil into my home, who wished for it to slay my king, and let it slay Beleg. You knew. All those years you knew and never said. And even now, in this new life, you never mentioned it.”

He turned his back on Eöl.

In the doorway, he paused.

“I understand now. You are a vicious, jealous elf. Little wonder you brought such evil with you when you left Nan Elmoth.”

His voice was even, but cold.

“I wish you were there still. There, dead and drowned under the sea.”

“Wish whatever you want, Mablung. It won’t bring anyone back.” Eöl spat, wiping his bloody face. “Learn where to lay the blame - on your king’s greed. It was greed that brought Anglachel to Doriath. Greed killed Beleg, the boy and Thingol - it killed you. Go and throw your fits in Thingol’s face, not mine.”

Mablung slammed the door and returned to the forest alone.