Mithrellas

Unlike a vast majority of Silvan elves, Mithrellas is in possession of raven black hair. Long and curly, it stretches the whole length of her back. Her eyes are a stormy shade of grey, with a steely glint. Considered to be her most attractive feature, in an effort to draw attention to the borderline hypnotic duo, a faded emerald colorant can be glimpsed, dusting her eyelids. They have been known to play a part, and play one masterfully, in her attempts to convince others of the victimization she’s suffered, so quick are they to glaze over on command. Her skin is a ghostly pale, white pallor. Once as unblemished as the driven snow, it has since become as twisted as Mithrellas herself.

She has spent years under the constant glare of the sun at sea, which resulted in her skin becoming dry and wrinkled, marked by a warty thickening. Her profession has also had a similar effect on the skin of her hands, leaving them raw and rough. To the left of her body, a large portion of her stomach, and breast have suffered severe burns as a result of an attack that was launched against her and her crew years previous. Where the points of her ears, as one of the Eldar, once were, there is now scar damage to the skin, evidence of the self-mutilation she inflicted upon herself so as to hide her status as an elf. This all adds to her gaunt appearance and small angular face, emphasized by a pair of sharp cheekbones and offset by plump lips. Those cheekbones, so sharp they could cut glass, are probably Mithrellas' most distinguishing feature, but not the only one.

Like most of her kin, Mithrellas stands tall at six foot and one inch, and lithe with a lean frame and long limbs that allow her to move gracefully and quickly, to the extent that she gives the impression of moving on air. A long black lace dress is what Mithrellas can usually be found in, which is long sleeved and fitted to her form, although having become worn, and faded over the many centuries she’s been garbed in it. Like most of the Eldar, Mithrellas tries to avoid weighted armour when it comes to battle, so as to avoid robbing her of the light feet that give her an advantage in combat, and would sooner guard against injury with padded armour. Included in this is a thick black leather corset bound around her waist, and black leather leggings that cover her legs, as well as layers of green underskirts, which can be glimpsed beyond the lace fabric of her gown. Add to this, a pair of black leather bracers, and black leather boots.

What little, and there are very little, curves Mithrellas possesses, only appear with the aid of certain items of clothing, namely the corset she wears, which accentuates her cleavage, and the low hanging neckline, offering those in her presence a peek… and welcoming it. Mithrellas doesn’t wear any jewellery, with the exception of a silver ring on her fourth proximal digit, bearing the image of a swan, her wedding ring from Imrazôr. The very same ring can be seen on the ring fingers of every princess of Dol Amroth.

Afflicted with anger issues and a deep-seated rage, her dull eyes and pale pallor lend more of an icy air than they do a fiery one, creating the wrong impression of her at face value entirely. Despite what the last ten centuries have done to her, Mithrellas maintains the startling beauty, reminiscent of her mother, and speaks with the same refined and polished inflection the Eldar are known for to this day. This always set her apart from her allies, despite the attempts she made to assimilate with them.

Mithrellas is comparative to the water she longed to see so much as an elfling.

Confined to land, like the rivers that flowed through it, she was adventurous, driven by a wide-eyed curiosity and carefree nature. She delighted in song and dance, and all things musical, even the lapping waves of the river were musical to her, and she would skip along their banks in an effort to track their source and destination. This often meant that she ventured beyond the forest’s boundaries, whether that was by foot, or by scaling the trees surrounding her, just so she could catch a glimpse of the western world. She loved trying to spot the sea from afar. She was certainly her mother’s daughter, both in appearance and character, far more interested in her mother’s weapons than she was in her father and grandfather’s medicinal leanings. As a result, Mithrellas didn’t retain much in the way of knowledge of the healing arts, and became practiced with a sword, but preferred the bows and arrows she would craft for herself, adopting a ranged combat style. Carpentry was to become an art Mithrellas would lose herself in to distract from the world around her, namely her unrequited love for Nimrodel.

Mithrellas’ spoken languages are the old Silvan Elvish dialect, and Sindarin dialect of the Woodland Realms she grew up on. She also speaks Adûnaic from her time spent at sea, surrounded by Númenóreans, as well as Westron, after having resided in Gondor for over a century. Despite attempts to set herself apart from her own kin, some things are too ingrained, and there are some things that remain to Mithrellas that is very true of. For example, she continues to wear the wedding ring given to her by Imrazôr, indicative of some lingering loyalty to the Laws and Customs of the Eldar. In Elvish culture, a marital union is impossible to break, even in death.

Nimrodel came to represent the waters Mithrellas loved and longed to see, the waters that she would follow unquestioningly as a child and crush her in years to come. Those same waters were what brought Mithrellas to Nimrodel in the first place, and those same waters were what reminded Mithrellas of Nimrodel centuries after they were separated. To this day, Mithrellas refuses to let her beloved mistress go, and will occasionally be found, singing her song under her breath from time to time. The mere flash of golden hair in her periphery remains enough to catch Mithrellas’ attention, and her head will immediately whip around at the very notion of it being Nimrodel. The one good thing, perhaps the only good thing, to manifest from Mithrellas’ love for Nimrodel was loyalty. Mithrellas was fiercely loyal to Nimrodel, fiercely loyal to Haarith, as well as his crew, and the children of his crew. Nimrodel also remained the reason that Mithrellas held on, though it remains to be seen whether that was for the best or for the worst. Some might say she’s corrupted and burdened by years of weariness, but the truth is simpler than that.

Mithrellas is just heartbroken, and living with that heartbreak.

At sea, uninhibited by boundaries, she could be violent, emphasized by a selfish and vengeful disposition. There, everyone was to blame but Mithrellas herself for all the wrong turns her life took, wrongs that eventually ensured that she would never sail west with the rest of her kin. This violent streak surfaced in her mother when she lost someone, so it’s difficult to discern if it took root in her daughter, or if Mithrellas’ more negative traits simply gave rise to it over time and by circumstance. She harbours a deep resentment for Sindar elves, and all elves since her failed attempts to reach Valinor, but the Sinda more so than any other collection of elves. Mithrellas resented Amroth, or resented the fact that Nimrodel loved him, despite him being one of the Sinda her mistress claimed to dislike. Matters haven’t been helped by the fact it would seem her descendants, the ‘Princes of Dol Amroth’, carry his name. It was this love for Nimrodel, and envy of Amroth, that began the slow and steady process of corrupting Mithrellas, but it was only when she reached the sea without them that the true extent of that was unleashed. Just as she hates the elves, particularly the Sinda, that abandoned her, she hates, albeit selectively, the men that resulted in that, the Númenóreans.

Once innocent and naïve, it didn’t take the world of men long to chip away at that, with Imrazôr targeting her innocence, and Haarith her naivete.

Mithrellas doesn’t cope well with loneliness, often going to extremes to manage it, such as marrying Imrazôr when she failed to locate Nimrodel, and ensuring that the space beside her abed never remained empty or cold for long. In time, weariness set in, and Mithrellas began to experience the burdens of Arda, and the terrors its shadow held as she watched her daughter grow and her son succumb to illness. Selfishness for the fear she felt overruled the love she bore her children, and unable to watch them grow and eventually die, Mithrellas was driven away, or drove herself away. It played its hand again when Mithrellas discovered she would never reach Valinor, before lashing out and killing those who could. So battered was Mithrellas after suffering Imrazôr and Haarith’s crew, that she came close to considering giving up her life, only to change her mind at the lingering thought of finding Nimrodel. To say that Mithrellas has anger issues would be an understatement, as proven when she snapped upon discovering she couldn’t sail for Valinor, killing the passengers aboard her ship, before targeting the people she felt were responsible for her descent into darkness.

Sometimes Mithrellas’ rage manifests, and manifests itself in a frenzy. Other times, it burns low like the coals in a fire.

Mithrellas isn’t a particularly good liar, as can be gleaned from her attempts to paint herself as some unfortunate victim in the past, wherein all her lies had to contain a majority of the truth. As well as being a poor liar, she tends to believe that every word that comes out of a person’s mouth is a lie, as a result of the empty words of both Imrazôr and Haarith, as well as the promise Amroth made to Nimrodel. Needless to say, she isn’t inclined to trust anyone anymore, especially if it appears their promises are too good to be true. In her eyes, everyone lies, or is lying. Her ability to exert power over those allied to her was also questionable, as could be seen when she used her sexuality to keep her allies under her control, namely her crew. After watching not one, but two ships that were meant to be her salvation go up in smoke, Mithrellas has developed a particular distaste for fire, and that was before she was subjected to it and burned. Life on the sea, and a majority of it, means that Mithrellas is ill suited to life on land, and the steady ground beneath her feet. For her to walk and fight properly, she requires the ground to be constantly shifting, constantly moving and swaying, in a state of constant unsteadiness.

Rhavaniel was born in the Woodland Realm, daughter of healer, Elenion, and herbalist, Rhavaneth. The pair had relocated to the forests east of the Anduin as the year T.A. 1050 dawned, recognizing there would be need of their assistance as a great evil started to take root in the south of the Eryn Galen. It was as a direct result of this that the life of an apothecary was not one Rhavaniel was destined to pursue. Unbeknownst to the wood elves at the time, this great evil was none other than Sauron himself, and under the guise of the ‘Necromancer’, he established for himself a fortress at Dol Guldur. Thus, a shadow fell upon the Woodland Realm, and it became known as Taur-nu-Fuin. With the spread of giant spiders, as well as bats and orcs, causing the forest to thicken and darken, the woodland population were pushed further and further north in fear of the growing threat.

Rhavaniel was one of the elves appointed to the Elven guard at this time, proficient in the art of combat. An experienced archer, as well as a swordswoman, with her dual blades she blasted through the creatures that started to take up residence in the forest. However, ‘Rhavaniel’ had not been granted her name without good reason, which became evident when her mother took a chance, and ventured beyond the eastern border in search of herbs one day, only to be set upon by orcs. In the days that followed, Rhavaniel tracked down each and every foul creature that had been responsible for her mother’s death, and cut them down, but it wasn’t enough to satiate her thirst for vengeance. The grief threatened to consume and overwhelm her, and Rhavaniel developed something of a wild streak that not only threatened her, but her comrades in the heat of battle as well.

In the end, it was Rhavaniel’s father, Elenion, that thought it best for them to relocate for the foreseeable future, somewhere they could both live in peace and recover from the growing shadow for the time being. Elenion had once served in the capacity of a healer in Caras Galadhon, in the Heart of Elvendom on Earth. It was there that they remained for years to come, and there that Rhavaniel became acquainted with a friend of her father’s, another fellow healer, Mithrenorn. Though significantly older than Rhavaniel, within a century, the pair were married. Quite a few more would pass by before they welcomed their first, and only child. A daughter, she was named Mithrellas. With her birth, Rhavaniel’s spirit finally found the peace it needed after living in the shadow of Dol Guldur for so long. Every moment was spent with her daughter, who everyone else claimed was the image of her.

With the exception of Mithrellas’ stormy grey eyes, belonging to her father, mother and daughter shared everything else. While unusual for Silvan elves, the pair shared the same raven black hair, and ghostly pale skin. Though, Rhavaniel’s long hair was straight, her daughters’ was curly, and both black waterfalls spilled down the length of their backs. As she grew, Mithrellas proved to possess her mother’s same tall and lithe build, but her lips were plumper, and her face smaller, with a more defined, angular shape to it. Mithrellas’ most defining feature is her cheekbones, as sharp as glass to behold, making up her pretty but gaunt face, and adding a certain steely glint to her blustery eyes. Not only did Mithrellas prove to be her mother’s daughter in appearance, but in character too. She didn’t take to the profession of healing like her father or grandfather, and was only mildly interested in listening to them speaking of it, much preferring to watch her mother practice with her dual blades, affectionately called the ‘Gwanûn’.

Mithrellas was mesmerized by the sight of the blades as they cut through the air, and flashed in the light that petered through the golden trees around them. She might not have had any need to defend herself in Lórien, but she paid close attention all the same. At least, that was what she believed, until Sindar and Noldor elves started to take up residence in the golden wood, and she was quick to notice the discomfited fashion in which people reacted to their arrival. It was then that her mother graduated from merely practicing in front of her daughter, to training her, starting with wooden swords fitted to her size, focusing on greater swords as she grew and the Noldo numbers saw a significant increase. The Kinslayings of ages passed had yet to be forgotten, least of all by those that had been alive to see them, as Mithrellas’ father and grandfather had been, when they had both been just a little over three hundred.

As a child, Mithrellas was curious and carefree, delighting in dance and singing, and all things musical. However, unlike other elves, residing in the golden wood, she wasn’t nearly as secretive or reclusive. If she couldn’t be found skirting the borders of the forest, then she could be found scaling the flets that had been built into the trees, in an effort to see the ocean to the west. Within the forest, the rivers were the closest thing to the sea that could be found, and upon venturing along the length of one of the tributaries of the Celebrant, Mithrellas became acquainted with the elf who was to become the namesake of that very tributary, Nimrodel. As the golden wood had started to become more and more occupied by Sinda and Noldo alike, Nimrodel had relocated beyond its borders and taken up residence there on the riverbank to escape their numbers.

Taken in by this elf maiden’s preference for the forest’s streams as opposed to its trees, Mithrellas would return for the occasional visit, and upon reaching maturity, she became one of Nimrodel’s maidens. It was upon fully maturing that Mithrellas realized why she had kept returning to Nimrodel, before eventually opting to remain forevermore with her mistress, and was left hurt and betrayed when the Sinda elf, Amroth, caught her eye. Still, Mithrellas remained, and among dance and song, as well as swordplay, she added carpentry to her list of abilities. On the riverbank, she had developed a taste for fashioning bows and arrows from the nearby trees, before graduating to carving small wooden vessels to sail back down the river whenever she wanted to visit her parents. Her craft served as a worthy distraction from her feelings for Nimrodel, the envy she felt for Amroth, and the hurt and betrayal that continued to tie her stomach in knots.

Her elation at Nimrodel’s refusal to marry Amroth wasn’t permitted to last long, when another great evil took root, this time in Lórien, in the Hithaeglir that towered above them. There, the dreaded ‘Balrog of Morgoth’ had awoken, right on Nimrodel’s doorstep. Trapped between the forest full of Sinda and Noldo alike, and the mountains from which that creature threatened them, Nimrodel felt she had no other choice but to flee, and Mithrellas felt like she had no other option but to accompany her mistress. After bidding her parent’s farewell, the travelling party made it as far as Fangorn, but were left too fearful to enter it. Eventually, and much to Mithrellas’ displeasure, Amroth found them. In exchange for him bringing them somewhere, free of the growing shadow that was sweeping across Arda, Nimrodel agreed to marry him. They set out for Edhellond, a haven where ships were being built in preparation to sail west, toward Valinor.

Finally, Mithrellas would see the ocean, which was enough for the elf maiden to swallow her resentment for the Sinda elf leading their company, and they made good progress until they reached the Ered Nimrais and became separated. Alone, and in the unknown land of Belfalas, Mithrellas’ desire and curiosity to see the ocean quickly gave way and was replaced by fear amidst the dense grey fog that surrounded her. She tumbled through the wooden regions that speckled the mountains, and was found by the Prince of Belfalas, Imrazôr. Innocent and naïve at a mere sixty years of age, Mithrellas accepted his offer to stay within his household for the night, promising he would help her locate her travelling party come morning. Morning came, and several mornings more, but no trace was found of Nimrodel, or Amroth. But news was.

Months later, the prince discovered what became of the elven king, who had drowned at the havens of Belfalas. Fearful that the same fate would befall Mithrellas if she tried to sail out from there as winter loomed, Imrazôr’s findings never reached her ears, but he kept up a pretence of a search so as to reassure her, ensuring that she would remain with them as the cold winds began to descend from the mountains. When winter passed, and spring came, Mithrellas rode out on her own to find her travelling party, Nimrodel most of all, but to no avail. Then, Imrazôr, having fallen in love with the elf maiden, made her a promise. If Mithrellas remained in Belfalas, then he would have a ship built for her so that she could sail to Valinor – a promise that would see as much fruition as the one Amroth had made to Nimrodel.

Imrazôr saw to it that a ship was built, albeit slowly, and while Mithrellas admired his efforts, she never came to love him. She certainly didn’t love him as he loved her, or as she loved Nimrodel, but as the years passed without her mistress, Mithrellas soon became lonely. It was this that finally succeeded in granting Imrazôr’s wish, and Mithrellas married him. Together, they bore two children, a daughter, Gilmith, and a son, Galador. Twenty-three years they remained together, during which Mithrellas could feel herself becoming weary, burdened by the time she had spent among mortal men, as well as living as one of them. While she remained naïve, life was starting to pick away at her innocence. The birth of two children within four years of one another took its toll on Mithrellas, and if watching her daughter grow at a rate she shouldn’t have hadn’t already left her frightened, then the hours after the birth of her son saw to it that that fear took root.

For hours, he struggled to breathe, and while he survived, Mithrellas was left reeling. Her kin weren’t meant to grow at the alarming rate her daughter was, nor were they susceptible to illness as her son was, and she lived in fear of the next cough, a reminder of the mortality that had been inflicted upon her children because of her decisions. Mithrellas continued to reel at the sight of the ship her husband had been building for her, close to completion, catching fire one night, and she watched as twenty-three years of work went up in smoke and down in ashes. It was one blow after another for Mithrellas, with the hammer coming down in the form of a minstrel that arrived at Belfalas in celebration of Galador’s birth and sang a certain song.

Upon hearing the ‘Song of Nimrodel’, Mithrellas was left pondering her mistress’ fate, as well as the intentions of Imrazôr. The combination of fear for her children, and fear of her husband, as well as her growing weariness, eventually resulted in Mithrellas slipping away that very night in search of her mistress. With Amroth lost at sea, there was no telling what had become of Nimrodel, and along the western shore, for the best part of fifty years, Mithrellas searched in vain. From Belfalas she travelled, along Anfalas, through Enedwaith, and along the coast of Minhiriath, before reaching the Shire. It was there she conceded, and decided that Nimrodel must have travelled west, or at least, she hoped so. In preparation to do much the same herself, Mithrellas returned to Lond Daer, only to find the once ‘Great Haven’ had been all but abandoned, with the exception of one ship.

Desperation, and that lingering naivete, saw the elf maiden putting her fate in the hands of the wrong people, when she boarded a ship that had sailed from Umbar under the captaincy of the Black Númenórean, Haarith. Despite having spent twenty-three years living among the men of Númenór, it did little to prepare her for the Black Númenóreans, who bore an ill-disposition toward the Eldar, Mithrellas’ kin. Imrazôr might have been manipulative, but never brutal. Physically, Mithrellas’ was capable of coping. Every cut healed. Every bruise. Every broken bone. Mentally, and emotionally, however, was an entirely different matter. It didn’t take long for Mithrellas to consider, after everything she had endured within a little over a century, to surrender her life, and enter the Halls of Mandos. Gazing out to sea one night, Mithrellas beheld the waves she had once longed to see, the waves that were once meant to take her into the west, when she spotted a storm in the distance.

This left her with two choices, to release herself from life everlasting, a fate few among her skin considered, or live on and continue to try and find Nimrodel, and finally sail west where her body and spirit could be sustained. As had been the case since she was a mere elfling, Mithrellas choose her mistress, and so tried to convince her captors of the storm that lay ahead, but none believed her. The storm came, and it went, leaving only a handful that survived in the aftermath, Mithrellas and Haarith among them. Upon seeing what was left of his men, and his ship, the captain realized the folly of not listening to the elf maiden, but still didn’t entirely trust her intentions. In an effort to test them, as well as restore his crew, Haarith concocted a plan, but for it to succeed, he required Mithrellas’ assistance. First, he needed her eyes to spot any ships on the horizon, then he needed her to act as a lure.

Mithrellas was placed upon one of the last remaining lifeboats after spotting a merchant vessel not too far away, and pushed out to sea. Upon being discovered by the crew, she was helped aboard and proceeded to explain that her ship and crew, destined for Valinor, had been caught in the storm the night previous. Still clearly shook up, and not entirely lying, she managed to convince the crew of what had happened, whom proceeded to salvage what was left of the wreckage, sailing into a trap she laid for Haarith and his crew. The merchant vessel was quickly taken, and its crew swiftly dispatched, but then one of the remaining crew attempted to stop them, targeting Haarith. It was Mithrellas that came to his aid, stabbing the crew member in the back of the neck, saving Haarith’s life in the process. After trying to save them from the storm, and then the wreckage of their ship, before finally saving Haarith’s life, Mithrellas’ position aboard the ship was secure, and so was her life.

While Haarith had never played a part in the beatings Mithrellas received, he ensured they came to a stop and that she was allowed the freedom to roam about the ship. What little wood that had been salvaged from the previous vessel, Mithrellas was permitted to use to fashion a weapon for herself, crafting a bow, and several arrows from it. Mithrellas’ skills in carpentry benefitted her life on the seas, and she regularly attended to the hull and masts when they suffered damage, as well as the hatches and yards on her light feet. Most of her days were spent in the crow’s nest, keeping an eye on the horizon, and for any impending danger, aiding in overcoming it at every turn. With her help, Haarith’s crew successfully plundered many a vessel on the open sea, and avoided retribution in the form of capture. As a result, she became a valuable member of the crew, and Haarith made her a promise in exchange for the aid she had leant them all, a promise that Imrazôr had made her so long ago. He would help her to reach Valinor.

Mithrellas might have had reason to doubt his word, after Imrazôr had proven his word couldn’t be trusted, but Haarith had one thing the prince didn’t, and that was a ship to make the journey west. The crew sailed, time and time again, trying to reach the Undying Lands, and after several attempts, Mithrellas was forced to concede to the reasons for their failure. After the destruction of Númenór, men had been rendered incapable of sailing west, and the Straight Road could only be reached by certain ships, namely ones fashioned by the Eldar themselves. So, another strategy was adopted: try and deliver Mithrellas to one of those ships. However, as they sailed north to Lindon in an effort to intercept one, a bad case of dysentery spread throughout Haarith’s crew, striking down the captain himself. Having developed feelings of trust and affection for the man, Mithrellas mustered what little healing skills she could recall in an effort to aid his recovery, but to little avail.

Within a few days, Haarith died from dehydration, and a burial was organised for him at sea, and from the bow, Mithrellas sang. Her voice, however, drew the attention of a nearby ship, sailing for Valinor itself. Quickly, Mithrellas took one of the lifeboats, and sailed out to meet the vessel, before being welcomed aboard. The crew was small, consisting of little more than six passengers, one man, two women, and three children, and to them, she recited what had happened to her, once again, opting for as much of the truth as possible. They seemed to believe her, but Mithrellas paid them little mind, so relieved and in disbelief was she to be finally sailing west, where she would be reunited with her beloved Nimrodel at last after all this time. But then, another obstacle emerged, and Mithrellas couldn’t believe it, when the ship failed to find the Straight Road. The men she had been travelling with, and the ship could no longer serve as the blame for her inability to sail. The fault lay with Mithrellas herself.

After everything she had endured, at Imrazôr’s hands, and then Haarith’s, and in her desperation to find Nimrodel, Mithrellas’ spirit had become corrupted. It didn’t take long for the crew’s suspicions to come to rest on her, as the latest addition, but by then, Mithrellas had already snapped. Yet another attempt to reach Valinor had been scuppered, only this one confirmed that the Valar had abandoned her, and she would never reach the Undying Lands, and never see Nimrodel again. Suggestions were made for her to sail back to Lindon, but Mithrellas had already made up her mind. If she wasn’t going to Valinor, no one on that ship was. Envy, fear and desperation finally culminated, and got the best of her. In a frenzy, she lashed out, burying six arrows within the crew members. When she proceeded to collect them, pulling them out of their chests, she made sure that the arrows pierced their throats as well. However, she hesitated at one of the children, and opted to simply retrieve the arrow, believing the child to be dead.

Without the numbers the crew provided in navigating the ship, the vessel was left floating in the Belegaer, until it crossed paths with Haarith’s crew, who discovered an unresponsive Mithrellas sitting on deck, amongst the dead and still bodies on board. What Mithrellas felt in that moment was not the despondency that almost drove her to give up her life on the night of the storm, but a quiet rage she eventually decided to take out on those responsible. Had it not been for Imrazôr, the Prince of Belfalas, had he not lied to her about Nimrodel’s fate, Mithrellas would have found her mistress before she had a chance to disappear. She wouldn’t have endured him, nor Haarith, nor any of the Númenóreans that had turned her into this, and had forever prevented her from finding Valinor and her mistress. The loss of Nimrodel was the most grievous thing Mithrellas ever had to cope with, and she didn’t cope.

For years, centuries, afterwards, Mithrellas went through an everchanging crew, whom she had to prove herself to time and again, both as an elf, and as a woman. To remedy the former, Mithrellas took a knife to her ears, in front of her crew, and sliced off the pointed tips that identified her as one of the Eldar. She renounced her old name, and adopted another identity, ‘Mawiyah’. Such a decision aided her relations with future generations, born of the crew that would die and be replaced before her very eyes, but there was no such remedy for her gender, only manipulation. The startling beauty she had once rued, which had drawn Imrazôr to her, became as much a weapon as the bows and arrows she crafted for herself, and one she used to keep her crew under her thumb and herself from becoming lonely. Lacking the physical prowess of a man, she learned to embrace her sexuality as a suitable and subtle means of control. The only thing that didn’t change was the ship she sailed, which she named Haarith, after its original captain, and the closest thing she had to a friend after Nimrodel disappeared.

Together with her crew, Mawiyah raided the coasts of Gondor, with Belfalas and Anfalas becoming particular targets, attacking ships and threatening all traffic on the sea. In T.A. 2746, Mawiyah’s crew set their sights on invading Dor-En-Ernil, but upon arrival, were met by a party of Gondorian soldiers. In an attempt to beat them back, the Gondorian general was felled in the attack, a prince of Dol Amroth. Mawiyah found herself startled upon looking down at his dead body, not at the body itself, but the lifeless eyes. They were an exact mirror of her own, stormy grey with a steely glint. Coordinating their efforts with the men of Harad and Dunland, Mawiyah’s crew continued to lay siege to Gondor from the sea, and when Sauron eventually revealed himself, they declared their allegiance to the Dark Lord. But then, destruction came in the form of Thorongil, on the orders of Ecthelion II of Gondor. Among the Umbar fleet destroyed in the assault, Mawiyah’s ship and crew were burned. Mawiyah herself suffered severe burns, which marred a significant portion of the left side of her body; stomach and breast, namely. Her injuries saw to it that she was found by soldiers as they combed the shore in search of survivors, and believing her to have been a captive of the pirates that had laid siege to southern coastline, they brought her to the Houses of the Healing in Minas Tirith.

Without a ship, it was there she remained for thirty years, never aging. She adopted the name ‘Cardis’, sourced a position as a carpenter, and looked on as the shadow from the east began to spread and threatened the world of men again as she once did…