Post by duilin on Sept 5, 2011 10:19:46 GMT -5
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 eighteen 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.
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 eighteen 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.