Sirion Pelendir
Apr 29, 2018 12:39:06 GMT -5
Post by SIRION on Apr 29, 2018 12:39:06 GMT -5
.The Facade.
Character Name: Sirion of Rivendell
Name Meaning: Son of the River; also a homophone for the River Sirion which flowed through Doriath and where Gilorneth had her labour.
Other Names:
Uimithel (Ever-Grey Spear; Father-Name)
Nordhil (Oak Heir, married name)
Pelendir (He Who Fades)
Age: 6,652
Date of Birth: FA 386
Race: Elf; Sindar
Residence: Imladris
Profession: Warrior of Imladris and Servant of Elrond
Appearance:
I was forged by the Lord of Eregion for the doorwarden’s son;
That the light of the stars should shine o’er his path.
In the long eve of his watch my bite shall chill his Enemy;
And they will know that my name is Silverthorn.
- Cirth runes inscribed on the blade of Echeleb
Tall and slight like many an Elf, soft and subtle in his features, Sirion would be easy to miss amongst his own kind and might only be really noticeable or distinctive amongst the kingdoms of Men or Dwarves. Muted and pale, perhaps the only really striking thing about him are his slate grey eyes, old and wise beyond their apparent years as with all Eldar but harboring a keen insight uncommon in even they. Matched with his silver-grey hair which flows long and free over his shoulders like Thingol of old it’s not hard to see why his father named him such, as one might look upon him to be the image of the Sindar entire.
Favouring soft colour and simple cuts of clothing, he even hides the shining silver armour of his youth beneath the grey hood and cloak which honours his fallen home still, but if one were to ever see him cast it aside he would seem at once princely and terrible, wreathed about in pristine plate and soft light, perhaps the memory of Melian only or just perhaps… something else. Indeed to see him with his trusty spear in hand, a mithril-headed partisan a little taller than he, the servants of the Enemy might well think twice before accosting the unassuming servant of Elrond.
Personality:
Solemn and steadfast, Sirion is the very vision of a dedicated protector, a loyal guard whom one would never think to marry with the vigor and valor of his youth. For too quickly does reckless valor become unbridled battle frenzy even in the minds of the Eldar, especially of them who endure much and then too much. Since the sacking of Doriath and its final downfall Sirion became vigilant as much as valorous, bravery now tempered with the keen hammer blow of loss and of defeat. For the Elves, who are immortal save for the gravest wounds and deepest sadness, it is hard to stop mourning and Sirion never did, carrying his father’s specter with him wherever he went. In many ways he became him, wise and watchful, but also muted and humble, stepping aside where others would leap forward and standing his post to whatever end.
He knows all too well how easily something precious might be snatched away and wherever he goes, whomever he strives against it can be sure that he strives to defend the otherwise defenseless, holding fast at the penumbra to keep the Dark from everything green and good that he can.
Those brave few who would meet they Enemy in open battle, who would root Him out of wherever he hides and march glorious and gleaming into the annals of history, he pities them now more than anything else. Dwarves, he hears, have a saying about sleeping dragons and he has learned well that great deeds court easily the whims of destruction. Somewhere out there, ruined in the unfeeling sea he knows that whatever remains of his first home stands testimony to that. Taken down in to the depths with the Silmaril which cast it down.
Now though he carries his home with him, for wherever the thought of his radian, nourishing sun or his heartfelt oath are he may find at least some measure of peace.
.The Blood.
Parents:Calaear (Father, deceased FA 506) and Gilorneth (Mother, sailed West SA 440)
Sibling(s): None.
Spouse: Midhiel/Aradien (As of SA 1355)
Children: Amdiran (Son)
History: Born in the marches of Doriath to the doorwarden of Menegroth and his wife, Uimithel as he was then called was observed at first to be a solitary and sullen child on whom the burden of the Shadow weighed ever heavy despite the light of Melian which dwelt all about. Though far threats weighed on his spirit the young elf knew much joy in those years, for in Doriath as it was protected by King Thingol and the Girdle of Melian the Maia there was no semblance of the passage of time, but for the evil that pressed to its borders the lives of the Sindar there were filled with laughter and song and wonder. But whether one is aware of it or not, long years pass until all the world is changed and so came Beren in to Thingol’s domain as were the footsteps of Doom and the promise of a Silmaril. For Uimithel this was the first sight or sound he had heard of Mortal Men and though at first he knew not what to make of the stranger’s face, marred and marked by years gone by, he recalled ever afterward the courage and defiance in Beren’s voice, in his eyes. Though indeed this Man would in turn bring ruin upon the land of his birth the elf grew in great fondness for his kinfolk and those who would in later years be dubbed the Men of the West in particular.
In those early years with Morgoth’s hordes running rampant in Beleriand and so near at hand it seemed, Uimithel was brave and impetuous, wishing always to seek and slay the servants of the Enemy where he could. His father though impressed upon him that this was not their way, nor their war and that while the Noldor drew out their bloody quarrel with The Dark Lord it was for them to stand vigilant, to turn their hands instead to those who were yet closer and protect them to the last. So young then, with his spirit stirring strong in his breast, Uimithel did not understand and he mistook his father’s steadfast nature for cowardice, often venturing abroad where he ought not have to slay orcs wherever they came close to the fenced realm.
Time passed and indeed the light of the Silmaril found its way hither into the midst of their home and as they lost it and King Thingol, they lost too the light of Melian which passed away to the West in sorrow. It was after this tragedy that the young Uimithel bereft of light, or perhaps not so blind of it first chanced to spy Midhiel, the daughter of a lampwright who seemed to him the most beautiful creature that he had yet known; she seemed to him the first rays of the morning sun which came after the long dark night of the realm’s grief and in his mind he called her Aradien, daughter of the sun.
She too, where others saw a rebellious and downcast youth, observed in him a quiet strength and nobility yet to be made manifest and in the course of their courtship they exchanged promise rings marking them out as betrothed. No official engagement was held, for dark and perilous was the realm once secured by the power of Melian, so they could not be sure of their union until it was done but those close to them marked well the change.
Time went on its way, claiming now even Luthien who had chosen to be sundered from her own people and to stay with Beren, but this again brought the Silmaril in to Doriath. For a time it was well to see the halls of Mengroth renewed with light but there were forces in Beleriand lower and more vindictive than the Enemy who desired the treasures of Feanor as He did. So the Sons of Feanor made war on Doriath, for they claimed the Silmarils before all others whether in Middle-Earth or beyond. Dior Eluchil was slain, Doriath utterly ruined and as it was thrown down Calaear stood his last protecting the King before he too was overtaken by Feanor’s sons. Too late his brave boy understood the courage behind his loyalty and the depths to which the love of his people ran and he ever afterwards carried the weight of his father’s death with him to keep him strong, unmoving.
The days that followed were dark. Many Elves fled south in fear of the Enemy’s power unleashed and Uimithel, though he left this painful name behind, went with them. Going now as his mother had named him, Sirion, he went south with his kin and though he searched for her he was unable to find his Aradien. Though the Shadow would pass away in time, though the fury of the Elves would be avenged upon the Enemy and Sirion’s own utterly spent in The War of Wrath he felt more keenly then than ever before or since the passage of time. Parted from the one whom he loved and had loved him, he wandered the paths of Middle-Earth, the Elven Realms that sprang up here and there, stopping only to see off his mother as she made for the outer West to find her own love again and wore still the ring of promise he had received so long ago now.
In the cruel passage of time he came to reside in Eregion, the realm of Celborn and Galadriel whom he had known from his days in Doriath but they would depart soon after to Lorien where they would establish a realm not dissimilar from that they had all shared in the First Age. It was well named, Sirion thought, for what was it more than a dream of something long passed? What more did any of them have now?
The realm of Eregion passed to Celebrimbor, the grandson of Feanor and though Sirion bore him no love for this perceived deficiency of his blood he lingered still with nowhere else to go and a good thing it was too. Whether by chance or whim, or the tangled machinations of fate he would meet his love again amongst the holly bushes of Eregion, seeming unchanged from when he had first seen her plucking flowers in Dior’s kingdom save for now she wore the band that he had given her as he too wore hers. Their renewed love filled him with life again, for he knew now that there was something to hand, something precious which he must guard until the long years of his life were utterly spent.
So the lovers long parted concluded their engagement and with the Lord of Eregion now standing in for the fallen father of the bridegroom they declared their love to the world entire. Knowing perhaps the movements of his vassal’s mind and well aware of the love one bore his family, Celebrimbor gifted him a stout spear cast of mithril which would never dull nor break and he named it Echeleb, the Siler Thorn for the plants that were beloved of Aradien.
But as the Elves are eternal and wish their joy to last as long as they, the world ever defies them and Darkness it seemed would always return to Arda marred.
Sirion it seemed, never saw it coming, in the loving embrace of his family and the rearing of his son whom he had named Amdiran to mark the bond of his parents never to be broken again, he too was content maybe for the first time in his adult life. The fire and fury which rained down on Eregion might have claimed them all if not for fate again interceding. The last sight Sirion saw of his lord Celebrimbor was after he retreated over the mountain where he was bid carrying with him his family and ‘a mighty gift’ that Celebrimbor bid him bring to the High King Gil-Galad.
In the long crossing of the Misty Mountains, apart from his people but at least with those closest to him he thought that there was another presence there entirely. For though the Three Rings were hidden and Sauron had never touched them their Power was a will unto itself and it was the will of the Elves whom Celebrimbor had fashioned them for, to be made whole and young again as in Elder Days. In the long nights while he stood watch over his sleeping family Sirion would contemplate the strange package he had been given and the task that came with it. There in the deepest, darkest part of the night he thought often that he would hear it whisper.
’Three Rings for the Elvenking under the sky,’ it would say, filling his mind with the promise of power, of strength sufficient to protect those close at hand. ’Three Rings for the Elvenking,’ again it called, but even opening the package and silencing the mighty voices, even looking upon the Ring of Fire he desired it not. For what treasures could he hoard for himself when already he had the sun and the promise of a future together so near?
Again. He had failed his Lord again, but this he would do right and so came the rings Vilya and Narya to Gil-Galad, who took Sirion gladly into his service for his great task’s completion and for a time while they made war on Sauron for his deceit Sirion protected him as the High King’s shieldbearer. Dark and daring were their days then and darker still the nights but they came at length to the siege of Barad-dur, the very seat of Sauron himself. Here the Dark lord himself came forth in open combat and Sirion, parted from the side of the King, found himself beaten down by the brutal, repressive power of the Maia before he could approach. So Gil-Galad fell upon the slopes of Mount Doom… another failing, but this one at least not without compensation.
The Dark Lord was thrown down, by a Mortal Man of all things and Sirion at least felt vindicated in his admiration for these Second Born. All did not go as it should have though, he would learn later that the Ruling Ring was not destroyed and so the Shadow of Sauron went un-purged from Middle-earth, reduced only in power until he might again take shape.
In this way Imladris passed to Elrond, who shirked the mantle of High-King, instead making it a refuge East of the outer sea where all free people were welcome. Sirion too came in to his service and he with his family dwelt there ever since. So the Second Age of the Sun came to its end, Lords rose where Kings fell and amongst all the clamour there he was, the doorwarden’s son striving his utmost to stand strong and fulfill his duty. Wars and battles would still come in their own time, but it seemed at least that Middle-earth was for the time being free from the grip of a Dark Lord and in this Sirion was content, he would stand ready, but just for a little while he would stand with his family.