Mirdanel of Rivendell
Sept 16, 2018 23:36:40 GMT -5
Post by Mirdanel on Sept 16, 2018 23:36:40 GMT -5
.The Facade.
Character Name: Mirdanel
Name Meaning: Jewel-smith
Age: 8,500+
Date of Birth: Y.T. 1134
Race: Sindarin Elf
Residence: Imladris
Profession: Weaver
Appearance: Standing at six feet and two inches in height, Mirdanel’s physique is a balance of slender elegance and wiry musculature. Her posture is always upright and ready for movement, never hunched or slouched. Even at rest, there is an air of alert readiness to her.
Her eyes are hazel-green, her hair is black and waist-length, usually worn in braids or otherwise pulled away from her angular face. She is constantly accompanied by an elegant golden dog called Melui.
Personality: She is old now--older than sun or moon, born before the world was reforged into its current shape. With age comes wisdom, but also weariness; Mirdanel has seen her fill of death and violence. Though she was an exuberant youth before the fall of Menegroth, she’s grown more subdued in her advancing years, like a stone worn smooth by many waters. Mirdanel is always available to those who need her, ready with a story or a song from the early days of Arda. Those who are more familiar with her find her approachable and kind, but know she prefers to keep others at arm’s length.
She knows there’s no returning to that age of innocence, but she chooses to remain in middle-earth as a witness to the history of both the world and her people. She’s quiet but sharp-witted, always speaking with conviction. Though time has its way of healing old wounds, she still resents the dwarves for the actions of their ancestors, and even the Noldorin Elves she mistrusts to a degree.
Parents: Gwindelen (Mother, deceased), Mornand (Father, deceased)
Sibling(s): None
Spouse: None
Children: None
History:
Mirdanel has never seen the Light of Valinor, save in these: the face of her queen, and the facets of a Silmaril. She never saw Cuivienen, never crossed the Sundering Sea. Her story began in a time of waiting under trees and open skies, when the eyes of the Eldar only needed starlight to navigate the wideness of the world.
Born in the forests of Beleriand, Mirdanel arrived in the world not long after Elwe--leader of the Sindar--had wandered off into the woods to vanish for decades. She grew tall along with the trees of the young world while her kin searched for their lost king, and by the time he reappeared hand-in-hand with Melian the Maia, she was nearly fully grown. Melian took the young woman as her handmaiden, where she would serve for hundreds of years to come.
She was present at the birth of Lúthien, an event she recalls with as much awe and reverence as the first sun or moonrise. In the following years, Menegroth was built in the hills of Doriath, and Mirdanel grew into a gracious and wise woman under the hand of Melian, for whom she felt the deepest loyalty and love. Because of the magic of Melian’s Girdle, peace reigned for unnumbered years in Thingol’s court, and Mirdanel served the queen and her family. She carried Lúthien on her hip when the young princess was too small to have yet perfected her walking technique. She brushed their long, dark hair, and played the flute and the lyre for them in the evenings, and learned to weave tapestries and embroider designs on the cloth.
Although her life was a peaceful one, it was not one entirely without incident. The world outside of their kingdom was unsafe, filled with Orcs and other fell creatures too terrible to name. The princes and lords of the Noldor came from the west, some dwelling with them for many years. Mirdanel befriended many of them who dwelt in Menegroth, learning from them and they from her. In time, news of the Kinslaying at Alqualonde reached Thingol’s ears, and he cast out the Noldor who lived in his halls and forbade their language to be spoken by his people.
Mirdanel mourned those who had been lost, and the loss of friendship. She was safe, though, inside Menegroth’s walls. She lived peacefully until she fell in love with someone who fell in love with someone else, and because of who the two someones were, that situation was destined only to end in sadness. Daeron the Minstrel was a good man, skilled with words and music alike, and Mirdanel loved him and the expression he wore when he played in Thingol’s court. Predictably, Daeron fell in love with Lúthien instead as the young princess was coming into her maturity. It was understandable--Lúthien was painfully beautiful, sweet-spirited and kind. Who could look upon her and not love her?
This truth became the downfall of many when Beren son of Barahir came stumbling into the hidden kingdom, and a great Doom came trailing on his heels. The quest for the Silmaril brought terrible strife to the queen, and all of Doriath suffered the loss of their princess. Daeron was lost as well, and a piece of Mirdanel’s heart with him. Melian, perceiving the nature of Lúthien’s sacrifice, charged Mirdanel with the care of her daughter now that her life had been cut short. Shortly thereafter, Mirdanel departed from Menegroth and made her home in Ossiriand among the Laiquendi, serving Lúthien as she had need for the next forty years.
This was a dark period of Mirdanel’s life, far-removed from her home and her beloved queen. Though it was filled with its own beauty--the birth of Dior, watching him grow and start a family of his own--there were many woeful tidings as well. She was anguished to learn of Thingol’s murder at the hands of the Dwarves of Nogrod, of Melian’s departure, and of the subsequent slaughter that befell the Sindar at the hands of the Dwarves. It was then that she began to learn new arts, to fight with bow and blade, learning from the warriors among the Laiquendi. It wasn’t enough to hope for help, or to expect marauders to spare her life from the sword in the heat of battle.
After the deaths of Beren and Lúthien at Tol Galen, Mirdanel returned to Menegroth to serve Dior and his family as she had served his mother and grandmother, but she found herself ill at ease in her old home. Though Menegroth was still as grand as it had been before, the light that had once filled the halls was gone, and Mirdanel grew restless, petitioning Dior to release her from his employ after she had so long served the descendants of Melian, who was now gone away to Valinor. Dior agreed, though he bid her remain in Menegroth at least until the spring, when travel thenceforth would be easier.
Unfortunately, it was in the winter following her return that the sons of Feanor fell upon Menegroth in force, seeking to retrieve the Silmaril and slaying all who stood in their path. Mirdanel was among the few who escaped, taking Elwing and fleeing to the mouth of the river Sirion. She settled there and took up the loom once again, weaving tapestries of incredible beauty that told of the deeds of Lúthien, and the glory of Melian, and of Menegroth at the height of its splendor. When word reached her ears that again the sons of Feanor sought the Silmaril, she pleaded with Elwing to deliver it to them where her father had not, in order to spare her sons the same fate that had befallen her brothers. Her counsel went unheeded, and the sons of Feanor came one last time to bear arms against them.
She barely escaped death in that attack, though she slew three of the Noldorin party in self defense. The horror and regret of that siege has never left her mind or her heart, haunting her dreams for centuries thereafter. Everything was lost to her then; Elwing threw herself into the ocean and her sons were taken prisoner by the Feanorions. Following the only path left to her, Mirdanel followed Gil-Galad and went to Balar, following him to Lindon after the War of Wrath.
There she dwelt for many years until she finally found a home in Imladris. Though she sees herself now as a shadow of what she was in the days of her youth, and though everyone she loved in those days has passed on into the Halls of Mandos or the Doom of Man, she is one of the few remaining in Middle-earth who can yet remember what the world was like when it was new. She sees Melian in the faces of her descendants, and in that, at least, she has found some peace.
Character Name: Mirdanel
Name Meaning: Jewel-smith
Age: 8,500+
Date of Birth: Y.T. 1134
Race: Sindarin Elf
Residence: Imladris
Profession: Weaver
Appearance: Standing at six feet and two inches in height, Mirdanel’s physique is a balance of slender elegance and wiry musculature. Her posture is always upright and ready for movement, never hunched or slouched. Even at rest, there is an air of alert readiness to her.
Her eyes are hazel-green, her hair is black and waist-length, usually worn in braids or otherwise pulled away from her angular face. She is constantly accompanied by an elegant golden dog called Melui.
Personality: She is old now--older than sun or moon, born before the world was reforged into its current shape. With age comes wisdom, but also weariness; Mirdanel has seen her fill of death and violence. Though she was an exuberant youth before the fall of Menegroth, she’s grown more subdued in her advancing years, like a stone worn smooth by many waters. Mirdanel is always available to those who need her, ready with a story or a song from the early days of Arda. Those who are more familiar with her find her approachable and kind, but know she prefers to keep others at arm’s length.
She knows there’s no returning to that age of innocence, but she chooses to remain in middle-earth as a witness to the history of both the world and her people. She’s quiet but sharp-witted, always speaking with conviction. Though time has its way of healing old wounds, she still resents the dwarves for the actions of their ancestors, and even the Noldorin Elves she mistrusts to a degree.
.The Blood.
Parents: Gwindelen (Mother, deceased), Mornand (Father, deceased)
Sibling(s): None
Spouse: None
Children: None
History:
Mirdanel has never seen the Light of Valinor, save in these: the face of her queen, and the facets of a Silmaril. She never saw Cuivienen, never crossed the Sundering Sea. Her story began in a time of waiting under trees and open skies, when the eyes of the Eldar only needed starlight to navigate the wideness of the world.
Born in the forests of Beleriand, Mirdanel arrived in the world not long after Elwe--leader of the Sindar--had wandered off into the woods to vanish for decades. She grew tall along with the trees of the young world while her kin searched for their lost king, and by the time he reappeared hand-in-hand with Melian the Maia, she was nearly fully grown. Melian took the young woman as her handmaiden, where she would serve for hundreds of years to come.
She was present at the birth of Lúthien, an event she recalls with as much awe and reverence as the first sun or moonrise. In the following years, Menegroth was built in the hills of Doriath, and Mirdanel grew into a gracious and wise woman under the hand of Melian, for whom she felt the deepest loyalty and love. Because of the magic of Melian’s Girdle, peace reigned for unnumbered years in Thingol’s court, and Mirdanel served the queen and her family. She carried Lúthien on her hip when the young princess was too small to have yet perfected her walking technique. She brushed their long, dark hair, and played the flute and the lyre for them in the evenings, and learned to weave tapestries and embroider designs on the cloth.
Although her life was a peaceful one, it was not one entirely without incident. The world outside of their kingdom was unsafe, filled with Orcs and other fell creatures too terrible to name. The princes and lords of the Noldor came from the west, some dwelling with them for many years. Mirdanel befriended many of them who dwelt in Menegroth, learning from them and they from her. In time, news of the Kinslaying at Alqualonde reached Thingol’s ears, and he cast out the Noldor who lived in his halls and forbade their language to be spoken by his people.
Mirdanel mourned those who had been lost, and the loss of friendship. She was safe, though, inside Menegroth’s walls. She lived peacefully until she fell in love with someone who fell in love with someone else, and because of who the two someones were, that situation was destined only to end in sadness. Daeron the Minstrel was a good man, skilled with words and music alike, and Mirdanel loved him and the expression he wore when he played in Thingol’s court. Predictably, Daeron fell in love with Lúthien instead as the young princess was coming into her maturity. It was understandable--Lúthien was painfully beautiful, sweet-spirited and kind. Who could look upon her and not love her?
This truth became the downfall of many when Beren son of Barahir came stumbling into the hidden kingdom, and a great Doom came trailing on his heels. The quest for the Silmaril brought terrible strife to the queen, and all of Doriath suffered the loss of their princess. Daeron was lost as well, and a piece of Mirdanel’s heart with him. Melian, perceiving the nature of Lúthien’s sacrifice, charged Mirdanel with the care of her daughter now that her life had been cut short. Shortly thereafter, Mirdanel departed from Menegroth and made her home in Ossiriand among the Laiquendi, serving Lúthien as she had need for the next forty years.
This was a dark period of Mirdanel’s life, far-removed from her home and her beloved queen. Though it was filled with its own beauty--the birth of Dior, watching him grow and start a family of his own--there were many woeful tidings as well. She was anguished to learn of Thingol’s murder at the hands of the Dwarves of Nogrod, of Melian’s departure, and of the subsequent slaughter that befell the Sindar at the hands of the Dwarves. It was then that she began to learn new arts, to fight with bow and blade, learning from the warriors among the Laiquendi. It wasn’t enough to hope for help, or to expect marauders to spare her life from the sword in the heat of battle.
After the deaths of Beren and Lúthien at Tol Galen, Mirdanel returned to Menegroth to serve Dior and his family as she had served his mother and grandmother, but she found herself ill at ease in her old home. Though Menegroth was still as grand as it had been before, the light that had once filled the halls was gone, and Mirdanel grew restless, petitioning Dior to release her from his employ after she had so long served the descendants of Melian, who was now gone away to Valinor. Dior agreed, though he bid her remain in Menegroth at least until the spring, when travel thenceforth would be easier.
Unfortunately, it was in the winter following her return that the sons of Feanor fell upon Menegroth in force, seeking to retrieve the Silmaril and slaying all who stood in their path. Mirdanel was among the few who escaped, taking Elwing and fleeing to the mouth of the river Sirion. She settled there and took up the loom once again, weaving tapestries of incredible beauty that told of the deeds of Lúthien, and the glory of Melian, and of Menegroth at the height of its splendor. When word reached her ears that again the sons of Feanor sought the Silmaril, she pleaded with Elwing to deliver it to them where her father had not, in order to spare her sons the same fate that had befallen her brothers. Her counsel went unheeded, and the sons of Feanor came one last time to bear arms against them.
She barely escaped death in that attack, though she slew three of the Noldorin party in self defense. The horror and regret of that siege has never left her mind or her heart, haunting her dreams for centuries thereafter. Everything was lost to her then; Elwing threw herself into the ocean and her sons were taken prisoner by the Feanorions. Following the only path left to her, Mirdanel followed Gil-Galad and went to Balar, following him to Lindon after the War of Wrath.
There she dwelt for many years until she finally found a home in Imladris. Though she sees herself now as a shadow of what she was in the days of her youth, and though everyone she loved in those days has passed on into the Halls of Mandos or the Doom of Man, she is one of the few remaining in Middle-earth who can yet remember what the world was like when it was new. She sees Melian in the faces of her descendants, and in that, at least, she has found some peace.
