#Asfaloth

[mithrandirl]

THE LORD OF THE RINGS || THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING

[fistfuloflightning]

✨our golden boi Glorfindel! ✨

ehehe

“That is the last time you dump me in the river and go haring off just because Arwen gives you puppy-dog eyes.”

[g-m-kaye]

Asfaloth and Glorfindel in the meadowlands of Eriador 🌳 ☘️ 🌱 ☁️

[gondolindon]

Bonus prompt: Horse riding for @glorfindelweek

🌼 Glorfindel & Asfaloth 🌼

my first attempt at digital art! i have absolutely no idea what i'm doing but it sure is a lot of fun! once a diehard horse girl, i've drawn way more horses than people in my life so this felt like a safe topic to start with.

[lamemaster]

Ways to Coax Your Beloved

Pairing: Glorfindel x Reader

Genre: Romance, fluff (i swear) , sprinkle of angst

Summary: What began as a minor disagreement now feels like an insurmountable chasm between you two. Never before had an argument lasted so long.

AN: written directly on Tumblr interface this is my mania. Enjoy!

"I've brought us some snacks," you carefully balance the tray on the balcony railing. "Cakes, tea, cookies, crackers, cream rolls – I've got everything." He remains facing away from you, his back tense and unyielding to your words.

"Glorfindel," you take a hesitant step closer, your hand hovering in the air. But before you can say more, he disappears once again. This has been the pattern for a week, the longest and most trying week of your life.

What began as a minor disagreement now feels like an insurmountable chasm between you two. Never before had an argument lasted so long. Your beloved simply did not care to hold on to grudges for long.

Sighing, you lifted the tray, contemplating an excuse that wouldn't draw the pitying gazes of the kitchen staff.

"How do you coax a sulking elf?" Erestor looks up from his book. You had never really conversed much with him before this. There was never a reason to. "Specifically a thousands of years old being whose been born twice and is quite a legend."

Much to your surprise, Erestor does not find your humor hilarious. Leave for slight amusement in his eyes there is little appreciation for your jest.

"I would rather you not discuss this with me," the stern looking elf replies as he simply turns back to his tomes. Yikes! Awkwardly swinging your arms you try to plan for a slightly less awkward exit. "Ah yes," picking up the closest book you plan for your emergency exit from the unforgiving company, "I would like to get this book."

With another scathing look directed your way, Erestor meticulously wrapped your borrowed book in a fancy-looking cloth. "Keep it away from any water, heat, or dirt. Any damage is unacceptable," he instructed curtly.

You solemnly nodded, understanding the gravity of his instructions. "Sounds good," you responded with a casual tone, but Erestor's raised eyebrow reminded you that casualness wasn't his forte.

As you turned to leave, you almost collided with the bookshelf, which seemed to have crept up on you. "Oof," you muttered, swaying your way out of the room.

Then, Erestor's voice halted your steps. "Try Asfaloth," he suggested.

With a wide grin, you turned around and threw a jolly salute to Erestor, who had already returned to his books as if nothing had changed.

Armed with Erestor's invaluable intel, you ventured to the stables. Before arriving there, you made sure to thoroughly search your quarters, Glorfindel's rooms, and other frequently visited areas of the dwelling. Finally, you descended to the stables, where your beloved's horse awaited.

"Asfaloth, my boy, how I've missed you!" Your heartfelt enthusiasm was met with an equally excited neigh from the elegant white stallion. Despite towering over you, Asfaloth possessed a temperament that invited nurturing from anyone.

Performing a playful dance with light stomps to celebrate your arrival was entirely unnecessary but undeniably enjoyable. Or perhaps it was the not-so-well-concealed carrots you held in your hands that fueled your jubilant display. "Have you seen him?" you posed a question to the horse, though you knew full well that, despite elven claims, horses did not possess the gift of speech.

Approaching the gentle giant that was Asfaloth, you deftly ensured that he didn't gobble the carrots too quickly. "Patience," you murmured, adjusting the treats to prevent any mishaps. Abandoning the idea of petting the eager horse, you directed all your focus toward preventing a choking incident. You were acutely aware that Glorfindel would never forgive you if Asfaloth were to asphyxiate on your offerings.

"Where is he, Asfaloth?" Your fingers continued to caress the munching horse as you briefly entertained the idea that, just maybe, the elves were right, and Asfaloth understood you.

No fancy braiding or delicate floral decorations adorned his mane this time. "Why is he avoiding you? What have you done?" you pondered aloud, earning a pitiful whine from your equine companion. "I know, incredibly rude, I must say," you commented, deciding against attempting to braid Asfaloth's mane for the sake of both the world's sanity and your own. Instead, you settled on a comfortable pile of hay, hoping you weren't sitting on Asfaloth's dinner from the previous night.

"I brought him flowers, snacks, I even endured the drudgery of laundry, and I despise laundry. I got him books, a random flute, baked him a cake, and even learned a new card trick. But not a single reaction!" You confided in Asfaloth, desperately hoping for some form of understanding and equally enthusiastic compassion. To your relief, Asfaloth seemed to offer a sympathetic snort at just the right moment.

"You wouldn't believe it, but I even dared to venture into Erestor's little cave for intel. I'm at my wit's end, my friend," you sighed, realizing that the hay pile was indeed quite comfortable.

"I mean, I could try going to the nearest town for something, but I doubt I'd find anything better than these snobbish elves. Besides, those townsfolk charge outrageous prices," you continued, and Asfaloth leaned in, sniffing your satchel in hopes of more treats. Allowing the horse to continue his investigation, you didn't stop him. "I might dip into some of those savings. Perhaps Glorfindel would appreciate some rustic tools, eh?" Tired of Asfaloth's curiosity, you playfully tossed your empty satchel into the corner, which, for some inexplicable reason, Asfaloth chased like an adorable hound.

Tucked away in Asfaloth's cozy abode, you couldn't recall when your consciousness had faded into that blissful six-hour nap – the kind you cherished above all others. In the realm of bizarre dreams, you found yourself pinned to a pile of hay, unable to relinquish the unconventional comfort. Maybe Erestor had been onto something when he recommended Asfaloth.

However, your tranquil slumber was abruptly shattered as a metaphorical tsunami wreaked havoc on your sleeping form. Gasping, you struggled to make sense of the blurry world that seemed to whirl too rapidly for your groggy vision to follow.

"Y/n, oh Eru, you're awake!" A voice echoed through your sleep-addled and hazy thoughts.

Grasping the strong arms that held you close, you attempted to piece together the disaster that had overtaken you. "Wha-" your words faltered as you laid eyes on the tearful and sniffling elf standing before you. It was your first time witnessing such an emotional display, and you couldn't quite believe that elves were capable of producing snot.

Shaking off your mental fog, you slowly realized the peculiar predicament you were in. You were seated on a pile of hay, within the stable, beneath Asfaloth's unflinching gaze, and enfolded tightly in the embrace of the Balrog-slayer himself.

"I-I thought you left. You left like you said," Glorfindel stammered, your hands gently cupped your hiccupping beloved's face as his words tumbled out faster than you could process. "I couldn't find you… I had to… I rushed here, and then, you were… your eyes closed like that." Using your sleeves, you wiped away the relentless tears (and yes, even the snot) that streamed down his face as you sought a way to soothe Glorfindel's overwhelming emotions.

You couldn't help but internally curse yourself for your rambling that had led to this emotional upheaval. Days ago, beneath the relentless blanket of snow and impenetrable clouds, your thoughts had wandered without restraint.

"It happens, Glorfindel," you offered in an attempt to console him, "weariness of the world is unavoidable, even more so for Men. A slight change in weather can trigger it. After all, we are bound to some place beyond this." Your words seemed to offer little solace, evident from your beloved's reddening face.

"It is only natural to ponder death or the end. We Men are born with this burden, so it's not unnatural for such thoughts to sneak in. We call it 'existentialism.' But those ramblings mean nothing right now. I would not leave you, vanish into thin air, or transform into an insect just because the snow wouldn't relent." Your words carried a hint of playfulness, but there was undeniable truth in them. You would depart one day, for a fate separate from his. Before that day came, you both would endure the passage of time, a force that dared not mar the Balrog-slayer.

You harbored thoughts about evading him before he witnessed such a sight, but you knew you had some time left. A few years before you would spend eons waiting for another reunion.

But you chose not to speak of those deeper truths.

"But," you interjected, and Glorfindel perked up at the unexpected word. "I would tell everyone about this if you don't stop being an absolute grump." Just like that, the tension surrounding you both dissipated. "Imagine, 'Balrog Slayer, The Balrog Slayer,' in the stables – hmph!" Your words were cut off as Glorfindel playfully covered your face with his hand.

Even with reddened eyes and a rosy nose, your beloved looked every bit his old self. All traces of your angst and his sorrow dissipated into the slightly stinky breath of Asfaloth.

[swaps55]

Okay, but if I ask *nicely* will you yell about how Shadowfax can't do lead changes? :D

MY TIME HAS COME.

Ok. So. When horses are moving at a canter or a gallop, they have ‘leads.’ As in, one front foot and one hind foot is always ‘leading’ the opposite foot. Generally, when they are tracking to the right, they will lead with their right foot, and when tracking left, they’ll lead with their left foot. Turning is smoother when the lead foot matches the direction you’re turning.

Horses can change leads while moving at speed. It works a lot like a skip, only they have to skip the front and the hind end. Changing leads is something horses do naturally, but they can also learn to do it on cue. The trick is getting them to change both the front and the hind in the same stride. If they don’t – and what usually happens is they change the front end but take another step or two to change the hind – their movement gets really choppy because their front and hind ends are on different leads. This can cause you problems when jumping a course, for instance, when you sometimes have to change directions quickly.

Here's a video that demonstrates it:

SO. Imagine my horse-obsessed ass sitting the theater at the midnight showing of The Two Towers, eyes peeled for Shadowfax, because the Lord of Horses was going to be in front of my eyeballs AT LAST, and if Asfaloth in Fellowship of the Ring was not the Lord of Horses, then holy fuck I can’t wait to see who IS.

...

Before I continue, let’s talk about the Flight to the Ford.

This is one of my favorite sequences in film, and it’s largely because Asfaloth is such a badass. Watch this horse’s feet throughout this sequence. This horse is carrying two fully costumed riders (I can’t remember if they had Kiran – Elijah Wood’s stunt double – actually in the saddle for those scenes, but even if they didn’t, they had something bumping along up there) while moving at high speeds, turning, and jumping.

WATCH THIS HORSE’S FEET.

The way this horse moves, the way he changes leads is incredible to watch.

(Side note: the horse’s name is Florian, and his stunt rider, Jane Abbot, adored him and was devastated that she couldn’t afford to buy him when filming ended. Viggo Mortenson bought him for her, and when I looked, she still had him at age 29.)   

[gently takes your face in my hands] WATCH THAT VIDEO AGAIN.

I believe without question that Florian was indeed Asfaloth, Glorfindel/Arwen’s steed.

Hang on, I’m gonna go watch it again.

…

Ok. I’m better now. I’m fine. I’m not totally overwhelmed by how much I love Asfaloth and how quickly I would sell my soul to sit on that horse’s back.

Now let’s talk about Shadowfax.  

One of the Mearas. Lord of Horses. Who should definitely be able to do a really elegant lead change, because of the whole Lord of Horses thing.

As Shadowfax is running down the hill towards Gandalf, he’s on his left lead. Since he’s about to bend right towards Gandalf, he switches to his right.

In the front.

It takes him another step and a half or so to get the hind end to follow suit.

Is that totally normal for a horse, especially one with no rider? Sure.

BUT THIS IS SHADOWFAX, LORD OF FUCKING HORSES.

ASFALOTH IS OUT THERE DODGING RINGWRAITHS WITH TWO PEOPLE ON HIS BACK AND SWITCHING LEADS ON THE FLY LIKE IT AIN’T NO THANG AND THIS ‘LORD OF HORSES’ CAN’T EVEN HANDLE A HILL.

This was your BIG INTRO, man. There was inspirational music. The rapt attention of Aragorn, Legolas, and fucking Gandalf, and he flubbed the lead change.

SHADOWFAX: LORD OF LAZY LEAD CHANGES.

It’s been over 20 years and I am still not over it. Asfaloth was better, fight me.

[lordgrimwing]

The Big 5-0-0

(Or, Glorfindel has a gift for his husband)

[for Glorfindel Week, hosted by @glorfindelweek, Day 7]

“Five hundred years!” Exclaimed the shocked tavern keeper.

Glorfindel shrugged as he helped the Man lift the roasted lamb from the cooking fire that also heated the dining room. “Five hundred years is not so long for elves.”

The Man scoffed, taking up a towel in one hand and pushing the steaming carcass from the spit. She wagged a finger at him. “For an Elf with a thousand years ahead of him, maybe, but any marriage that endures longer than kingdoms ought to be celebrated to the fullest.”

A thousand more years felt like pitifully little time to Glorfindel. He certainly would take every opportunity to celebrate every memory if he knew his time in Arda was so limited. How Men, who were lucky if they lived within a stone’s throw of one hundred, went their whole lives without bursting into song and dance in celebration of existence, he’d never understand. 

“I saw that horse you rode here on, so don’t bother saying you don’t have the means to throw a proper party.”

Asfaloth, being an Elvish steed, demanded a certain level of finary when he went out. The bells, however, were entirely Glorfindel’s idea.

“Erestor detests parties, and he says adorning a horse in gems and bells will get me killed—again!” 

She snorted at the jest, passing Glorfindel a platter for the meat he was stripping from the bones, unbothered by the heat that would burn her hands. “And in five hundred years, have you learned only what he dislikes and nothing of what he likes?”

He smiled softly. He knew much of what his beloved liked.

“Should I call all those men back in and ask them to recount tales of wives whose husbands didn’t bring them an anniversary gift?” The tavern keeper threatened. 

She’d cleared the dining room of local patrons until the meal was ready. The gleaming Elf-lord had garnered more raucous attention than she liked when it was her building, table, and chairs at risk, and it hadn’t felt right to ask him to wait in his room until everyone was distracted by good food. The other Men went willingly enough, though Glorfindel could still clearly hear them milling about outside.

“That won’t be necessary, good lady,” he said. “Duty brought me this way, but I made time to find something he will treasure.” He patted the purse tied to his belt.

She shot the purse a dubious look, doubtlessly skeptical that anything that fit in a small bag could adequately encompass the magnitude of a couple’s 500th wedding anniversary. 

“Well,” she settled on. “Don’t say no one warned you if he kicks you out on your ear.”

--

When Glorfindel finally arrived in Imladris, Erestor met him in the narrow pass leading down into the valley, too impatient to wait longer.

“My brightest night star!” Glorfindel said, alighting from Asfaloth’s saddle to sweep the loremaster into his arms. He planted a kiss on his forehead, thrilled by the absence of an audience to their reunion: Erestor disliked people kissing in public almost as much as he disliked parties. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

Erestor huffed but did not pull away. Reaching up, he pulled Glorfindel’s head down to return the kiss, leaving his husband blushing with excitement. 

“You took your time, Dandelion,” the black-haired Elf accused when they separated. “Elrond expected you back a fortnight ago.”

“I admit to tarrying longer than needed for the task he gave me,” Glorfindel said, leading the dusty stallion as the lovers continued down the path hand-in-hand. “But I promise it was not without reason.”

“It had better be a good reason, and not just that you had to climb some mountain to return one of Manwë’s foolish birds to its nest.”

Erestor was with him on that particular occasion, about fifty years before they married, though he had no interest in scaling the last cliffs to return the unfledged eagle to her home. Glorfindel insisted on it, knowing the young bird couldn’t survive the fast-approaching thunderstorm alone in the open and was too wild to keep in with them until the weather cleared. Trusting his skill and light step, Glorfindel climbed alone, the bird wrapped in a cloth to keep her wings and talons contained and secured in a sack over his shoulder, only her head poking out. The task wouldn’t have been challenging if not for the storm. He made it back to the sheltered test just fine, reassuring the flustered eagle parents with a song as he freed their lost eaglet. On the way down, however, his hands split on the rain-soaked stones and fell—only a few feet down to the next ledge, true, but it was enough to leave his heart pounding and senses ringing with the echos of dragon-thunder and flash of balrog-whips overlaying the storm. 

Erestor threatened to knock him out and tie him up the next time such madness came over him when he eventually made it back to safety, dripping wet and jumping at every clash of thunder that came too close. Glorfindel agreed to let him.

“Oh, no, you will find this delay was entirely to your liking,” he promised.

“A lofty claim, indeed,” Erestor said. “I will require proof.”

“When we are both safely home and done with our duties, I will show you.”

--

Glorfindel was sitting, comfortable and cozy, in bed with his embroidery when something hard bounced off his head and landed on the covers next to him.

“I cannot believe you!” 

Erestor’s sitting in an armchair by the window, using the last rays of the setting sun to inspect his gift—Or he had been. Currently, he was standing, slate tablet in one hand, the other still extended from slinging the little dog figurine from the side table at the golden-haired fool sitting in bed. His face was scrunched up, mouth pinched like he’d bitten into a lemon (except he usually had too much self-control to ever react to the unassuming citrus, but the comparison was good enough). 

“Where did you find this? How did you find this?” He brandished the old slate aggressively, for a moment looking as though he might throw it too.

Glorfindel set aside his project. “Is it not to your liking?” 

Perhaps he’d misjudged entirely and he would end up out on his ear just like the tavern keeper warned.

“Not to my liking? Not to my liking?” Erestor lifted the tablet high, gesturing to the small drawings on it with his other hand. “Sunflower, The elf who made these stories died four thousand years ago. How did you come by this?”

He sounded more shocked than angry, and Glorfindel relaxed. “Through much patience and the exchanging of many letters with various collectors of first age relics. I made a detour to collect that on the way back. That’s what delayed my return.”

“Did it not cost a small fortune? I spied no gems missing from your horse’s daft accoutrements.” 

A grin broke across Glorfindel’s face. “I dare say it is worth as much to you.”

Softness spread across his husband’s face and he touched the old slate now with tender, almost reverent fingers as he caressed the time-warn drawings. His eyes clouded with old memories of the past rarely recalled from the careful places he stored them in. “I laughed over this depiction of Lords Celegorm and Curufin when it was only days old! I helped Vekkawë hide his collection in our mattresses when Captain Crímainya came to destroy the ‘defaming misinformation’. I thought I’d never see one again after the Valar sank Beleriand.”

Eyes clearing, he brought the tablet, with its child-like depiction of long-gone beloved lords, to his chest and said, “This is a great treasure. No fortune can take it from me.”

Glorfindel laughed. “I’m glad the Dwarf I bought it from did not know the true value, then, for I am not sure I could have gotten it honestly for that price and would not have departed without it.”

Erestor snorted, muttering “Six pounds of that hideous tack you insist on dressing your horse in would have covered it, no doubt” as he turned away for a moment of privacy to wipe his eyes clear before he accidentally shed tears over the small remnant of his past.

“Asfaloth cannot be parted from his gems when he is afield.” 

Glorfindel opened his arms, and Erestor—after setting the tablet carefully on the side table like it was as fragile as a hollow dove egg and not slab or stone almost as old as the world itself that had survived devastations and travesties unnumbered—fell into his embrace. 

They spent the rest of the night in bed, though neither got much sleep.

[apathyislikeawoundedsoul]

Slow down

Grab the wall

Wiggle like you tryna make your

[tathrin]

So I've been thinking about Glorfindel's horse recently, okay? (I'm listening to these delightful audio books, and just got to Rivendell.) And I am as ever caught by the inconsistency of Asfaloth's tack with Legolas's later "lol what's a saddle? get rid of that shit man, I'm an elf!" schtick in Rohan. And the question that all of that (plus Gandalf and Shadowfax of course) engenders is why the fuck wasn't Glorfindel "riding elvish style" then?

While the Doylist explanation of "Tolkien hadn't come up with that idea yet + Frodo needed to be able to both hold-onto and steer Asfaloth and he isn't an elf so he had to have a saddle" makes sense, it's obviously not satisfying from an in-universe standpoint, is it?

(And somebody made some extremely good points laying-out a very convincing logistical explanation recently, and I like it quite like a lot, and might well use that in fics myself sometime because it's splendid and seems extremely legit, and opens up some fun things to play around with re: elvish history and culture; but while it's an extremely satisfying answer in terms of Accurate World Building Detail, it's never felt entirely viscerally satisfying to me in terms of Tolkienian Style, if you follow me.)

So I posit: what if the reason why Asfaloth had Conveniently Mortal-Appropriate Tack during that section of story was for the convenience of mortals?

Specifically, the Dúnedain.

What if when the Elves of Rivendell are doing something that involves (or might potentially involve) both horses and their human allies, they put enough tack on their horses to allow one of the Rangers to be able to use that horse in a pinch? That would make sense, right? Just a simple little practical precaution!

Imagine being in a situation where you want to stick one of your human companions on your horse for some reason, or you want one of them to look after your horse for a little while you go off and do a thing, etc etc, but you can't because there aren't any reins. And now you're fucked. What a silly self-inflicted problem that could be avoided with just a little bit of planning ahead!

So, because Glorfindel knew that the Rangers would also be searching around looking for Frodo and/or evidence of the Nine, he put just enough extra tack on Asfaloth that if he, for instance, found an injured mortal in the wild, he could put them on his horse and send them back to Rivendell without him...just as a random example of a hypothetical situation that might happen.

(Anyway, that's the headcanon I'm going to be running with from here out, I think. Also I've gone and retroactively added a little scene revolving around this explanation to my Celebrimbor Fellowship AU fic, for anyone who's been interested in that story.)

*Thoughts and arguments welcome!

[ela-draws]

Glorfindel and Asfaloth

For @tolkienrsb 2023 !

This artwork was claimed by @zivalight and fanfic inspired by it will arrive soon with all the other trsb fanfics !

I cant' wait to read more than the few snippets I saw 👀 Thank you so much for choosing my art ! It was really fun comparing our headcanons 😊

[linestyleartwork]

(English below)

"Glorfindel&Asfaloth" - Bleistift und Polychromos auf getöntem Papier 2022. Mal wieder ein etwas älteres Bild. Vorlage für diese Zeichnung war übrigens ein Foto von mir und meinem Pferd "Joplin`s Boy". Joplin weilt leider nicht mehr unter uns. Ich wollte mir diesem Bild meine Erinnerungen an ihn auf ganz besondere Weise verewigen.

"Glorfindel&Asfaloth" - pencil and polychromos on toned paper 2022. Today, I show you a slightly older painting. The template for this drawing was a photo of me and my horse "Joplin`s Boy". Unfortunately, Joplin is no longer with us. I wanted to immortalize my memories of him in a very special way with this picture.

Music in video by @frametraxx

[thesummerestsolstice]

Glorfindel returns to Middle-Earth, unsure of what he will find after thousands of years in Mandos, but determined to help the new Noldaran in any way he can. Between the strange inhabitants of Lindon, the mess that is Noldor politics, and whispers of a growing darkness in Eregion, he has his work cut out for him.

[Written for the Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2024, for the excellent art #58 by @oopsbirdficced]

This is one of my three pieces for this year’s Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang! It was a wonderful experience to make a fic for this great art, and I hope people will enjoy my take on Glorfindel’s return to Middle-Earth, his relationships with Elrond and Gil-Galad, and how he deals with the general chaos of the late Second Age.

[dartxo]

"Flight to the Ford"

2021

At once the white horse sprang away and sped like the wind along the last gap of the Road. At the same moment the black horses leaped down the hill in pursuit and from the Riders came a terrible cry...

-"The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring", by J.R.R. Tolkien

Following up with my countdown of favorite Fellowship of the Ring scenes is the Chase Scene to Rule All Chase Scenes. Seriously, this scene puts all cheesy car chases in generic action movies to shame. It has high stakes, tension, emotion, beautiful scenery and camera work, very epic soundtrack, and just a touch of magic.

Flight to the Ford is such an epic, exhilarating, iconic sequence. Probably my favorite one out of the whole movie (together with another one, which should be fairly obvious). It's the first time that we've seen the Nine assemble all together since they've left Minas Morgul, which just adds to the sense of peril and urgency. I distinctly remember being completely nailed to my seat the first time I watched it, and flinching so hard at the part where one of the Nazgûl reaches out and almost snatches Frodo from Arwen. I remember also feeling disappointed when the Nazgûl where washed away by the flood, because I thought they had been destroyed, and already at my first watch I loved them so much. Fortunately for me there was a lot more Nazgûl to see in the next two films.

This may be an unpopular opinion, but I think one of the many strokes of genius in these films was to have Arwen do the rescuing. Glorfindel is a popular character, but the truth is that except for this scene his role in Lord of the Rings is fairly inconsequential. It makes sense to introduce Arwen this way. She is Elrond's daughter and Aragorn's betrothed... why shouldn't she go look for them? It also compensates a little for the lack of female representation these stories are known to suffer from.

[nighttimepatrons]

Horse!Glorfindel and Elf!Asafloth dp you see my visions

[theworldsoftolkein]

Glorfindel & Asfaloth