Post by duilin on Feb 17, 2011 11:46:13 GMT -5
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[/b][/color][/font] DUILIN BERANIELL[/font]
TONIGHT I'M FINDING A WAY[/color][/font]
to make the things that you say[/font][/center]
Duilin is a cheeky, fresh and clever girl.
She grew up to consider herself equal to her brothers, Daerol and Galwion, she considered herself to be just like them, without any difference, leaving out the fact that she was a girl. So, up until her seventh year, she played with them and did not mind to get dirty, to bruise herself by accident or to scream and shout as if a horde of orcs were after her.
Duilin became fascinated with swords and the techniques of fighting, with riding and caring for the family's horses, and - necessarily, after having suffered a few minor injuries - with some elementary healing methods.
Her mother, Eleneth, was not fond of her little daughter's activities. Often, she scolded the girl to take more care of her clothes, to be more helpful, and to behave more decently and ladylike. However, Eleneth had not much power over Duilin. To her, it was too much fun to scuffle around with her brothers.
That certain kind of wildness Duilin had developed throughout those years until Eleneth left together with Galwion remained in her up until today, at least to some extent. She still could be a hoyden at times, still had a certain uncontrollable side in her, that sometimes showed by her lashing out at someone, stomping with her foot, suddenly embracing another person violently, or feeling a wave of tears come out of nowhere - she let herself be carried away by her emotions.
Beside that raw, windy, emotional side of Duilin there also was the passionate, endless love she felt for her family, and for Hild. Hild had become a close friend, a confident to Duilin over the years. To her, Hild belonged to her family, no matter about blood.
Duilin was connected to her father Beran and her brother Daerol by so much more than blood. They had endured the painful loss, the inscrutable leaving of Eleneth and Galwion, and that had fused the remaining family closely together.
To Duilin, there was no more important person than Daerol. She loved no one more than Beran, and she could enjoy the afternoon with no one better than with Hild. She loves them unconditionally, and this causes her to do anything for them.
Duilin is a very openminded and openhearted person. She welcomes anyone to her life, makes quick friendships, and generally loves people. She believes people to generally be good in heart. She is an optimist, who finds joy in the smallest of things - like a beetle, like riding, or like lying in the grass, staring at a cloudy sky.
The only one big cloud in her heart is the thought of her mother. The topic of Eleneth leaving is touchy for Duilin. She does anything to prevent having to talk about it - feigning unconsciousness or sudden sickness included. Not even her brother she lets in on this topic. The problem is that she won't forgive her mother for leaving them, and for taking Galwion away. She has built a huge wave of anger against Eleneth, and she stubbornly refuses to relieve all this anger, get it out of her system.
JUST A LITTLE LESS OBVOIUS
i confess, tonight i'm dressed up in gold[/font][/center]
Duilin is the third child and only daughter of Beran of Rohan, and of Eleneth of Gondor. Her two elder brothers are called Galwion and Daerol.
Beran has never been anywhere else than in Rohan. He has been born, has grown up and now still lived in his parents’ house, a small smithy in a village in the Eastfold, not too far away of the Entwash. His father had been a smith, his grandfather had been one, and, Beran was certain, his grandfather’s father had been a smith, too. And so, Beran, an only child, did not think much about other options and instead learned to be the village’s smith, following the line of his ancestors. From the time that he was old enough to lift one of his father’s hammers onward, his father taught him. He taught him how to keep the oven at the same heat, how to bring metal to melt, how to forge nails, to hew chains, and – as Beran became more and more skilled as smith – daggers, raw chain mails, and finally swords, helmets, a whole armoury.
Then came the day, Beran had been perhaps thirty years old, that his father died in an accident. From then on, Beran had not only the smithy to take care of all on his own now, but even more so his mother. She would do most of the cleaning in their small house, but more she was incapable to do. And so, it was her son who now was responsible for the cooking, the shopping, for keeping their home intact and keeping the money flow. Day in, day out, he never had any spare time. Always there was something else he needed to take care of. And although it was a heavy burden for a young man to carry, Beran loved his mother and did not lament.
When Beran was about thirty-five, a young woman came to the village, Eleneth. Somehow, she had elvish blood in her veins, perhaps the grandfather of her grandmother was an elf – or so it was rumoured in the local inn. But aside the elvish heritage, she had grown up in Gondor. Out of some reason, she now had moved to this village – why, she would not tell. Eleneth knew how to cover herself in mysteries, which brought her not only Beran’s, but the entire village’s interest and attention. Especially male attention. Who wouldn’t fall in love and wish to marry such a beautiful, mysterious Gondorian? Who wouldn’t find her fascinating? And wanted her for his own? And again, it was a mystery why, out of all the handsome and successful men who wished to court her, Eleneth chose Beran, clumsy slow Beran, to wed.
She moved in with him and his elderly mother. She helped out with the housework and cooked for them. It was no easy life they led, neither was it adventurous, nor filled with much love. It was hard work, every day the same hard work, again and again. But Eleneth did not complain.
Then the children came: Galwion, two years later Daerol, and again three years later little Duilin.
Eleneth never talked much, and so came it that the children and Beran knew not much about her. All they knew was that each evening, every day at the same time, just when the sun has set in the West, she would step outside their house to stare into the East. She would stare for a very long time, seeing something no one else could. She stood there for hours and did not move one muscle, until, finally, she would come back in. No one asked her about it. And she would not have told.
When the children grew a little older, Eleneth seemed to grow closer to her eldest son, Galwion. They sometimes took a walk or a ride together, he helped her with the cleaning or they would go and fetch water together. They talked more than Eleneth talked to Daerol and Duilin. They even talked more than Eleneth talked to Beran. But Beran did not mind. He was glad she had chosen him, and that she had given him his children; and more he did not ask of her. And Daerol and Duilin – well, they still were young and did not acknowledge their mother’s preference of Galwion.
One day, when Duilin was seven years old, Daerol ten and Beran over fifty, the little family woke up to find Eleneth and Galwion gone. And all their possessions and two of the horses were gone, too. Eleneth had left her family, together with her eldest son. It was rumoured that she had returned to Gondor, but no one knew for sure.
Beran could have left to search for his wife, but he didn’t. He let her and his eldest son go, without talking much about it. He did not remarry either – a long time ago he had come to realize that he was no marriage material. He was not very compassionate, had a hard time speaking about his feelings – or actually speaking at all – and had always been rather self-centered. In no mean way, though. His entire life’s reason, he realized, was to raise his remaining two children, and care for his mother.
This is the environment Duilin grew up in. Her mother and eldest brother she almost forgot about in the meantime of nearly twenty years. Out of her life, out of her mind. To her father, to Daerol and to her grandmother, on the other hand, she has built a relationship unnaturally close.
The time Galwion still had been there to play with his siblings was a happy time – one at least Daerol enjoys to remember. Daerol, and Galwion as well, had taught Duilin how to ride, almost before she was able to run. They had heaved her up on one of the family’s horses at the time she was two or three years old, and one of the boys had sat behind her to hold the reins and take care she wouldn’t fall off at the first few times. Soon she was able to ride on her own, keeping the balance, and slowly she learned how to ride at higher speeds as well.
Eleneth had not wanted Galwion to learn to be a smith like his father. Beran had not understood her causes, but accepted her decision. Instead, he taught Daerol his craft, a many years later than he would have taught Galwion. This unintentionally gave the children more time together, and caused Duilin to have a wild, boyish childhood, playing with her brothers. Eleneth would have criticized this behaviour, which she deemed to be anything but appropriate for a girl, but the children did not mind. It was too much fun to them, and they did not care whether they were dirty and spoiled their clothes or not.
This all changed with Eleneth and Galwion leaving. Beran withdrew more and spoke even less than before. Daerol and Duilin missed their elder brother and had to face a long period of not being in the mood to play games at all. It took them a long time to get used to this new situation. It was even more to get used to when their grandmother died. Thus the good spirit of their home was gone.
Duilin was eleven years old when she made a new friend: she met an old lady, who had lived in the village for a long time already, but whom Duilin had not yet paid much attention to. Out of unpredictable circumstances, little Duilin and Hild came to talk to each other, and the girl found she wanted to talk more with the old woman, for she seemed very wise. So, once or twice in the week, whenever Duilin had the time, she visited Hild at her home, and would listen to her for the entire evening.
Hild knew many wonderful, sapid stories to tell: She told of the old world, of Gondorian kings and queens, of the ride of the Rohirrim southwards from Rhovanion, and how they were given the land of Rohan from the Gondorian king. Hild also knew stories about a big battle long ago, against a black sorcerer, who lived eastward of Gondor, and who was killed in this war. She told Duilin about elves and dwarves, and about the legend of a white sorceress in a forest in the north.
And Duilin would listen to each of these stories and be fascinated, learning all the while.
Today, Duilin is sixteen years of age, soon going to be seventeen. Because of the lack of another female spirit in their house, and because Daerol had become their father’s apprentice, it is mainly Duilin who has to take care of their home, becoming a housewife – an occupation she is rather unhappy with. She still visits Hild every now and then, listening to her stories.
YOU'VE GOT ME MESSED UP AND SO
[/color][/font]you talk like you're famous, you're shameless[/font][/center]
hey there. so my name is jules. i also play gwaihir and eru. i happen to be female and i've blown out twentyone candles. if you want to contact me, no sweat. just pm me! but check me out in action. I would like my character to be human and my final last words are edited by admin!
Duilin was standing outside the house, leaning against the wooden wall, with her arms crossed, staring into the East. She wasn't moving, not a bit. There was a light wind in the air that blew about her hair and pulled slightly on her dress. It was nighttime, nothing and no one was seen or heard, but a small candle to her side gave a little light. The moon and the stars were hidden beneath a thick shield of clouds.
She was beginning to freeze a little. Goosebumps formed on her arms. Yet, she still remained, just staring. She was not staring at anything in particular, for all she could see was darkness. But she knew that, somewhere in the direction she was staring at, he must be. Supposedly, he had gone to Gondor, and Gondor lay to the East. Therefore, she was gazing into the East, not caring that her eyes saw nothing but black. It were not her eyes that were searching to find him, but her heart.
It had been a little over nine years now that she had last seen him. He had given her a hug and a kiss on her hair and told her good-night. She had given him a smile, sensing nothing to be any different, and had crawled beneath her bed-sheets. And the next morning, after rubbing the sleep out of the eyes, he had been gone. And their mother had been gone, too. Two horses had been missing. Some food and their clothes had been gone, as well. It hadn’t taken the remaining very long to realize that Eleneth, the mother, had left together with Galwion, her eldest son.
Beran, the father, had shown no reaction. Duilin had thought back then that he did not care his wife and eldest son had left them. Now, almost ten years later, she was wiser and understood: Beran had difficulties with showing and especially voicing his emotions. That made him appear cold, when at the same time he wanted to cry or to jump with joy. Understanding how hurt Beran really must have been had made him even more beloved in Duilin’s eyes.
Daerol, Duilin’s second oldest brother, had reacted much differently. He had shown, from the beginning onward, how much he missed Galwion and their mother. He had talked about missing them, had talked about his and the entire village’s assumptions as to where the two had gone to, and Duilin even had heard him cry in his sleep twice or thrice.
Thinking back now, the girl of sixteen did not know how she had reacted. She couldn’t remember it. Had she cried, had she been angry? Had she been passive, like her father? Duilin knew not what she had felt back then. She only knew what she felt now, and had felt for a long time now: a great longing for Galwion, and a lack of understanding and also anger, much anger, toward her mother.
‘Galwion now must be twentyone’, she thought. She wondered where in Gondor he was. Or if he really was in Gondor, at all. No one knew for sure, it simply had been assumed. Eleneth had come to Rohan from Gondor. So, to the villagers it only seemed natural for her to return there again.
The night was growing even colder. Duilin took a shaky breath, and decided to head back inside. She picked up the candle, holding it close so that the flame might warm her a little. She walked around the edge toward the entrance door to the smithy. Beran was a smith. He had inherited this smithy with attached living quarters for the smith’s family. Duilin walked through the working room, cautiously so not to trip over some leaning axes or helmets, until she reached the door that led to the living quarters. From then on, she moved on tiptoes. She did not want to wake either Beran or Daerol. She even blew out her candle so that the light would not irritate them. Carefully, she moved over to her own room, formerly her late grandmother’s room, and opened the door.
She was blinded by light, and couldn’t see for a few moments until her eyes adjusted to this new sensation. She blinked a few times, then she saw her brother sitting on her bed’s side. She closed the door behind herself. ”Where do you come from?”
She was beginning to freeze a little. Goosebumps formed on her arms. Yet, she still remained, just staring. She was not staring at anything in particular, for all she could see was darkness. But she knew that, somewhere in the direction she was staring at, he must be. Supposedly, he had gone to Gondor, and Gondor lay to the East. Therefore, she was gazing into the East, not caring that her eyes saw nothing but black. It were not her eyes that were searching to find him, but her heart.
It had been a little over nine years now that she had last seen him. He had given her a hug and a kiss on her hair and told her good-night. She had given him a smile, sensing nothing to be any different, and had crawled beneath her bed-sheets. And the next morning, after rubbing the sleep out of the eyes, he had been gone. And their mother had been gone, too. Two horses had been missing. Some food and their clothes had been gone, as well. It hadn’t taken the remaining very long to realize that Eleneth, the mother, had left together with Galwion, her eldest son.
Beran, the father, had shown no reaction. Duilin had thought back then that he did not care his wife and eldest son had left them. Now, almost ten years later, she was wiser and understood: Beran had difficulties with showing and especially voicing his emotions. That made him appear cold, when at the same time he wanted to cry or to jump with joy. Understanding how hurt Beran really must have been had made him even more beloved in Duilin’s eyes.
Daerol, Duilin’s second oldest brother, had reacted much differently. He had shown, from the beginning onward, how much he missed Galwion and their mother. He had talked about missing them, had talked about his and the entire village’s assumptions as to where the two had gone to, and Duilin even had heard him cry in his sleep twice or thrice.
Thinking back now, the girl of sixteen did not know how she had reacted. She couldn’t remember it. Had she cried, had she been angry? Had she been passive, like her father? Duilin knew not what she had felt back then. She only knew what she felt now, and had felt for a long time now: a great longing for Galwion, and a lack of understanding and also anger, much anger, toward her mother.
‘Galwion now must be twentyone’, she thought. She wondered where in Gondor he was. Or if he really was in Gondor, at all. No one knew for sure, it simply had been assumed. Eleneth had come to Rohan from Gondor. So, to the villagers it only seemed natural for her to return there again.
The night was growing even colder. Duilin took a shaky breath, and decided to head back inside. She picked up the candle, holding it close so that the flame might warm her a little. She walked around the edge toward the entrance door to the smithy. Beran was a smith. He had inherited this smithy with attached living quarters for the smith’s family. Duilin walked through the working room, cautiously so not to trip over some leaning axes or helmets, until she reached the door that led to the living quarters. From then on, she moved on tiptoes. She did not want to wake either Beran or Daerol. She even blew out her candle so that the light would not irritate them. Carefully, she moved over to her own room, formerly her late grandmother’s room, and opened the door.
She was blinded by light, and couldn’t see for a few moments until her eyes adjusted to this new sensation. She blinked a few times, then she saw her brother sitting on her bed’s side. She closed the door behind herself. ”Where do you come from?”
Still feeling the chill of the night’s air outside, Duilin sat beside him and covered herself a little by the blanket. ”Just outside.”[/colour] She told him evasively, not looking into his eyes. She did not like discussing the topic of their brother and mother. Daerol, on the other hand, who always had felt protective over his little sister, wished to discuss it at every chance. Probably he thought it would help her, would she speak of it. Stubbornly, she struggled against this discussion.
”Just outside?”[/colour] He echoed. ”I’ve been sitting here for more than half an hour, waiting for you. What have you been doing outside?”[/colour] Again, this kind but strongly inquireing, adamantine tone. Duilin shivered a little. She did not like lying to him. Usually, the siblings had a very open, close relationship without any secrets, but instead much laughter and love. Just when it came to this one topic, Duilin couldn’t help shutting him out. ”I just took a walk.”[/colour] She told him, already knowing he would not believe her. And she was right, now he was eyeing her suspiciously, obviously not believing one word.
She gave in. She was tired and cold, and at the moment had not her usual strength. With a great sigh, she said: ”Fine, I did not just go for a walk. I was outside to think a little. To have some peace.”[/colour] She admitted.
Daerol, being a very sensible nineteen year old man, caught her drift. He nodded a little, and suddenly embraced her. ”But you mustn’t catch a cold while ‘thinkink’.”[/colour] He told her wisely, not deepening the topic of what she was thinking about, but instead rubbing her arms a little to warm her. ”You can think in here, too, can’t you?”[/colour] He asked, standing up to tuck her in beneath the blanket.
Duilin simply nodded in response, sleep overtaking her. She did not want to discuss her reasons now. Perhaps tomorrow. She clutched onto his hand for a little time, and after a short while he spoke again. ”Just tell me when to give you some peace and time to think, Duilin. Then I mustn’t worry. Though I would prefer would you talk to me about them, too.”[/colour] He added softly, well knowing she probably wouldn’t answer anymore. Her eyes were closed. He gave her a kiss on her forehead, carefully disentangled his hand from hers and left her to sleep.
Duilin had not yet realized that by missing whom she could not have, she forgot to cherish the one who always had been there for her.
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