[piosenniel]

Elves of Lórien


Arestevana's character

NAME: Gilduin Lindorion

AGE: 1,438

RACE: Elf (Noldor) of Lorien

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS : Gilduin bears the standard of the Lorien contingent. The oaken shaft is inlaid with silver and capped on either end by a silver spike. Gilduin also carries a longbow and a quiver of arrows. He keeps a long dirk sheathed on his right hip, but rarely uses it for fighting. The dirk is of his own making, a decorative weapon with a blade like that of a sword set into the wooden handle.

APPEARANCE: An even six feet in height, Gilduin has straight, golden hair which falls to his shoulders. He is slender and has the graceful strength common among elves. His eyes, dark grey, appear a lesson in contrast against his fair skin. He wears a loose, long-sleeved tunic of light grey, belted at the waist. He also sports leggings, stivali (light boots), and a half-cloak of the same color, with embroidery in silver on the neck and sleeves of the tunic and the hem of the cape. He wears a glove on his right hand (with which he bears the standard) but the fingers are open so as not to hinder his work.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Gilduin, though well over a thousand years in age, is younger than many elves. He has a tendency toward pride, and often feels an irrational sense of superiority around others, especially individuals of other races. However, this is rarely apparent, as he is by nature withdrawn. He is slow to give trust or friendship, though when he views someone as an equal he becomes a loyal companion. His pride does not equate to confidence, and under stress he often lapses into deep thought, taking no notice stimuli of the world around him. He is filled with deep regret for past decisions, but he hides it well. Gilduin was once skilled in the delicate working of metals. He made no large weapons, but occasionally created small knives, such as his dirk. With disuse this talent faded, and his strength is now in tracking and woodcraft. He is a fine shot with a long bow, but has little skill in melee combat. If needed, he has a fair hand at the quarter-staff, but his sword skill is lacking.

HISTORY: Gilduin has lived most of his life in Laurelindórinan. For many years, his greatest wish was to join the Elvensmiths at Ost-in-Edhil. However, he doubted his own skill, and his pride would not permit him to seek an apprenticeship there. He abandoned his craft and took up the bow, patrolling the borders of his homeland and withdrawing from life for long periods of time. His outward silence could not hide his inner restlessness and regret from his mentor, an elf in the service of the lady Galadriel. Unwilling to speak to his mentor or receive advice, Gilduin left Lindórinan and wandered for years in Greenwood the Great. Shortly after he returned home, a messenger came from Eregion requesting aid. Eldegon, the commander of the contingent, had known Gilduin from years ago and asked him to join the company. Gilduin agreed and was assigned as standard bearer.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Arestevana's post

Gilduin gazed at the sunlit trees of Laurelindórinan in silence, hearing little of the bustle that surrounded him. It had been many years since he had been so near Caras Galadhon, its protective walls extending in a gentle arc before him. Years ago they had welcomed him with the promise of safety, renewal, and fulfillment. Now they closed him out. Though he was not forbidden passage through the high green walls, he knew he could no more cross the white bridge of the Galadrim than he could return the golden leaves carpeting Lindórinan to their silver branches and reclaim the springtime of his youth.

Gilduin reluctantly withdrew from his revere as someone approached him. He took quick note of his surroundings. A stone’s throw to the north lay Caras Galadhon, its great mellyrn stretching sunward above them. Outside the city a great number of elves had gathered, many of them bearing weapons. He turned his attention to the elf who stood in front of him.
“Greetings, Gilduin Lindorion,” said the elf. “It has been many years since last I saw you. Where have been wandering?”
“In Greenwood the Great,” Gilduin replied slowly, adding belatedly, “Eldegon,” as he recalled the elf’s name. “Who calls the Galadrim to arms?”
“A messenger from the Ost-in-Edhil. We send a company to aid the Mírdain. Will you join us?”

Gilduin, caught off guard, felt himself pulling into a state of deep concentration. Though he had just returned to Lindórinan after years of roving, he needed nothing but what he had. He knew that Eldegon expected him to refuse. I do not want your pity. “I will join you,” Gilduin said at last. “Who commands the contingent?”
“I do.” Eldegon replied. If he was surprised at Gilduin’s decision, he did not show it. “What skill have you in combat?”
Gilduin thought a moment. “No sword-skill, if that’s what you mean. I have no close weapon, save my knife.” He showed Eldegon his dirk and longbow. “I’m a fair shot, and if needs be I can keep my head with a quarterstaff.”
Eldegon shook his head. “I have no need for archers. Three-score already are marching with us, and two-score swordsmen. Will you bear the standard?”
“I will.” Gilduin said, after a moment’s wondering at the request.

Eldegon nodded and led him a short ways south to a hill overlooking the wide clearing where the company was mustering. There he departed momentarily, leaving Gilduin to stare out over the many ranks of warriors. There were six ranks of archers, ten elves in each rank, and ahead of them four ranks of swordsmen. Behind the archers was a line of light wooden carts, laden with food and supplies for the march. The horses that would draw them were tethered a short ways away from the company.

Eldegon returned, carrying the standard of Lindórinan. “You said you could handle a quarterstaff. Can you keep formation while bearing a standard or polearm?” He asked, continuing when Gilduin nodded. “Good. You will march at the herald’s left, in the first rank with myself and my captains.” He handed the standard to Gilduin, who hefted it to feel its weight. The oaken shaft was straight and smooth, and the fabric of the banner, though light, was very strong.

“When do we march, commander?” Gilduin asked with a glance at the sun, which had long passed its zenith and was nearing the horizon.

“Not today,” Eldegon replied. “Tonight the captains meet with Lord Celeborn. Tomorrow we will march, or perhaps the day after.” With that, he nodded briskly to Gilduin and headed toward Caras Galadhon, pausing briefly to speak to another elf before continuing to the city’s gates.

Reluctantly, Gilduin hefted the standard in his hand and left his hilltop post, seeking out his place in the marching order. He reached the first rank and sought out the herald, introducing himself with as few words as possible and taking his place on the elf’s left. He glanced over his shoulder at the green-walled city as dusk crept over the restless company, a thin sliver of sun clinging desperately to the horizon on his right. One by one, lanterns appeared on the walls, until Caras Galadhon gleamed like a jewel, or perhaps a star which had wandered from its place in the darkening heavens. Beside him, the herald had lit a lantern, and by its light Gilduin noticed a green-garbed archer approaching the rank. He occupied himself with the standard and did his best to look busy, but the elf stopped directly in front of him.

Shying away from speech, as he so often did, Gilduin sought for the correct syllable by which to vocalize a noncommittal murmur. He wished to disappear, as did that final finger of golden sun in the face of inexorable night, as the elf addressed him.

“Excuse me, friend, but is this the first rank?”