#WithAllDueRespectOfCourse

[not-glorfindel-stop-asking]

Lindir!! I have seen and heard that because there is no recorded parentage of Gil-Galad that there are theories that you, Elrond, Erestor, and Glorfindle simply made him up and take turns impersonating him. Comments on this theory?

Ah, dearest inquirer,

I must compose myself before addressing such a bold and scandalous theory. Truly, I had to set down my quill and take a steadying sip of tea—yes, tea, for Eredin has hoarded the cocoa once more—before I could even begin to reply with the gravity this question deserves. ☕✨

Let me make this abundantly clear: The lineage of the High King, Gil-galad, is a matter of utmost dignity and profound respect. It concerns His Majesty and His Majesty alone.

It is neither my place—a humble scribe—nor that of Lord Elrond, nor Master Erestor, nor even the illustrious Lord Glorfindel, to gamble with such matters. To suggest we would concoct a High King and take turns impersonating him? Absurd! The sheer audacity!

Ah—with the utmost respect, of course—should such an utterly preposterous scenario arise where Lord Elrond, Master Erestor, Lord Glorfindel, or even myself were to attempt impersonating the High King...

I fear the illusion would crumble immediately.

Lord Elrond? Far too dignified and perpetually burdened with responsibility. The man radiates “I have twelve meetings today” energy. A crown would simply add to his stress—and it would show.

Master Erestor? His withering stare alone would send entire realms into apology. High King? The court would clear out in fearful silence after one council session. The power of sarcasm is mighty, but hardly kingly.

Lord Glorfindel? Admittedly, he would look stunning with a crown. But subtlety? Diplomacy? The Valar themselves would need to step in after the first dramatic entrance.

And myself? Ah—alas. While I do possess impeccable handwriting and a keen sense for maintaining order, I must confess: I lack the sheer gravitas required. The secondhand embarrassment alone should I attempt to wield royal authority would be catastrophic.

No, no. The role of High King demands grace, strength, and dignity beyond compare. We scribes, scholars, and warriors—for all our merits—are best left to our own duties.

Furthermore, let us consider the essence of lineage.

Even should one’s ancestry be shrouded in mystery or complexity, does that diminish their worth? Certainly not. One is not the sum of their forebears’ choices. Character is forged in the fires of one’s own deeds, not inherited from the shadows of ancestry. The nobility of Gil-galad shone brightly because of who he is—valiant, wise, and true—not merely because of whose son he may have been.

I understand the allure of such conspiracies—the drama, the intrigue! But let us not forget respect.

The legacy of Gil-galad deserves reverence, not whispered rumors of impersonations and elaborate masquerades. Would any of us truly have the audacity to don the mantle of the High King? The weight of that crown is no jest.

So, while I do admire the creativity of such tales (and Eredin may or may not have giggled when he heard of it—I reprimanded him promptly), let us proceed with care. The stories we tell shape the legacies we leave. And some legacies deserve nothing less than the truth.

With the utmost respect and the faintest of sighs, Lindir of Rivendell, Reluctant Dispelled of Rumors, Defender of Dignity, and Eternal Witness to Cocoa Theft.