Glinduron drips with the same golden heritage of his birth mother, every inch appearing a true Vanyarin elf: a crown of golden hair adorns his head, almost always neatly braided in one line down his back. His silver eyes, bright and striking as any elf’s, are as accusatory and quick to fall on someone as a bolt of lightning when they approach. Every line of his face ends in a sharp angle; there is nothing soft to cradle, and one could cut themselves on his cheekbones if they are not careful with their touch.

He stands tall and proud over the woodland elves whom he lives among. His body is corded with muscle from the years of hunting, traveling, and fighting that he has lived through. Glinduron is a force to be reckoned with at the height of his strength; layers of leathers and fabrics make him a stealth swordsman of the Mirkwood, and he moves quickly and strikes quicker. Between him and his brother, he is the one more likely to don finer clothes in hues of red and blue to make courtly appearances, but rarely does he alter his hairstyle in any way.

On his right hip he carries his sword in a sheath, at the ready to bedrawn by his left hand. On his right arm he carries a small buckler to defend himself, and he often has a dagger on his belt in case of emergencies. He does not carry heavier weapons, as he does not feel the need to weigh himself down with them when he can simply strike before his opponent even knows he is there.

Glinduron, like many elves, is rarely swayed from the steadfastness of his own judgment. Many long years have given way to a willfulness rivaled only by the most stubborn of men, though he has the wisdom and experience to assure him of his path. As there is ancestry in his blood of elves quick to anger and quicker to draw swords, he is not ashamed to admit that he is of the same ilk. Headstrong, ambitious, vain: every Noldorin vice he is accused of, he views as his Vanyarin virtues. If someone stands in his way, he will move them out of it.

Despite all of his wiles and desires for things to go according to his plan, Glinduron learned a long time ago that it is much easier to trap flies with honey rather than vinegar. He holds his temper on a tight leash, choosing instead to soothe others’ sensibilities with pretty words and pragmatic reasoning--even if that pragmatic reasoning is often skewed in his favor. Occasionally he lets go of the leash on his anger, and it has been described--not as the fire-hot wrath of his brother, or of the sun to which he is oft compared--but as the cold chill of ice. His voice never wavers, and his tongue never lashes, but it is the very lack of traditional expressions of his displeasure that frightens others the very same.

Above all else, above all of his shortcomings, Glinduron is one simple thing. Loyal. He is loyal to himself, his friends, his family, and his cause. Once Glinduron has found someone, or something, to be loyal to, there is nothing that can tear him away from that. He will see it all the way through, unto his own failing if he must. There is little that can dissuade him from his support of those who have earned it, and it would take nothing short of a kinslaying for him to turn his back on his allies.

 Glinduron’s ambition and headstrong nature can turn into stubbornness and a clashing against the very same people that he loves and trusts, though faithless is he that says "farewell" when the road darkens.