Post by Mîrioniel on May 30, 2018 6:45:33 GMT -5
Mîrioniel let him ponder the question without elaborating further, for open ended questions usually provided more opportunity for a person’s true opinion to be aired, unprompted or tainted by a surplus of information. In the giving of more facts, one could lead a person along to giving an answer that fell more in line with the opinion of the one who asked the question. Nor was she to be hurt or aggrieved when Haldir have breath to his thoughts on the matter.
The sentiments he unfurled for her was not wrong, there was no indication of disdain, nor any improper arrogance or pride. Indeed, there was nothing ugly about the answer he gave her, and had the blonde elleth been any other resident of Lórien, she might have harvested some inspiration from his oration.
Alas, she found herself on the far end of the spectrum he was illustrating for her. The daughter of a king, she had no hope of rising past that which had been bequeathed to her. In a perfect world, she might have matched the title of her father, mayhap she might have carved her name as a glorious leader of the realm, forever feted in the histories of their people. To be placed on a pedestal so high, from birth, that was impossible to scale, for blood could not be overcome, she was left with but two options. The first was to remain perched forever beyond the reach of her kinfolk, and to seek to remain so by being a most noble leader. Else the other path was the one she had unwillingly taken, a fall from grace.
There was no road now that could elevate her hence.
”Lady Mîrioniel. If you wish for a more pertinent answer, perhaps you would tell me why such questions plague you.”
The elf maiden knew he was asking her why she had put her question to him, and yet for a long while she went through a period of introspection. Since news had reached her of King Amroth’s death, she felt haunted, hounded and indeed plagued. The crown yet hovered above her head, and yet all hesitated to coronate her. Her mother had brought calamity to Lothlórien, and should she not be a curse too. She was not born of a true union, her claim as watered down as her blood, tainted by the inconsistency of Nimrodel, a trait many suspected might have been passed down to her daughter.
Mîrioniel had been raised to rule, and those many long years of such tuition was for nought. Now she was drifting in an existence of which there was no longer a clear cut route, and it unnerved her greatly.
“Since my conception it was expected that I should one day hold sovereignty of Lothlórien.” Mîrioniel began. Throughout her life she had been treated as a princess, as a future leader, with the reverence that her title held. It was only in recent weeks that had changed, and whilst she still garnered respect, the change in tone was impossible not to notice.
“I now find myself without cause or purpose, except that upon which this venture hinges.” Mîrioniel said at length, her voice as delicate as the pale orange hue fading from the sky. The greater shame was that if Nimrodel was discovered, neither elleths held any more claim to the throne than Lady Galadriel herself. All hope of that had died with King Amroth, and the knowledge of that was beyond all contestation. Therefore she harboured a treacherous splinter of certainty that her mother would not be found, that this was nothing more than a fool’s errand, and yet she clung to it, desperately, for there was nothing else for her.
“Even the dwarves know of my disgrace, and feel emboldened to speak so vigorously against it, in terms not fit to be repeated by our gentle tongues.” She said. Though she didn’t want to admit that their words had gotten under her skin, they had. If such lowly creatures could say such things, than it stood to reason that many others would share their sentiments. Mîrioniel wanted to believe her kinsfolk wouldn’t be capable of such thoughts, yet her conviction in that was every day degrading.